Embracing Syncretism in Julian Hellenism: A Bridge between Julian's Pagan Revival and Christian-Canaanite Harmony

Introduction

At a critical juncture in history, as Christianity was emerging as the predominant religion within the Roman Empire, Emperor Julian envisioned an alternate path. Known to Christian scholars as Julian the Apostate, he championed the resurgence of ancient pagan faiths and aimed to curb the rising sway of Christianity.

Imagine if Julian’s Hellenistic vision, characterized by its polytheistic inclusivity, had acted as a conduit for harmony between pagan and Christian doctrines, even embracing the Canaanite deities. Christ is the fulfillment of all pagan traditions, he is The Way, The Truth, and The Life, exalted above all entities and authorities, seated beside the Father. Yet, within the Pleroma, a multitude of divine beings exist. Referred to as aeons or gods, their essence remains identical.

Julian’s Opposition to Christianity

My primary contention with Julian lies in his rejection of Christianity. To comprehend his stance, it’s crucial to recognize his upbringing in the Orthodox tradition and his subsequent ascension to power with a determined mission to revive ancient religions. His objections to Christianity were varied, criticizing its monotheism, claimed ethical supremacy, and the distancing from societal rituals he considered essential. Julian’s policies, notably the prohibition of Christians from teaching classical literature, were designed to diminish the intellectual stature of Christianity.

Evaluating Julian’s Anti-Christian Views

Emperor Julian’s stance, while relatable from the standpoint of a devout follower of Roman religious customs, invites criticism for its polarizing effect. His goal to undo Constantine’s endorsement of Christianity did not foster a peaceful religious coexistence. Julian resisted what he perceived as a structural menace, potentially neglecting the personal spiritual experiences that Christianity provided, which could harmonize with pagan principles. It’s also noteworthy that Julian’s education was rooted in Christian Orthodoxy.

The ancient Canaanite faith had been long eradicated, with Yahweh replacing Ba’al. Julian regarded Yahweh as the sovereign deity, considering the Hebrew faith as venerable and authentic. However, our studies suggest otherwise. Julian’s interpretation of Christ diverged from the portrayal in the Gospel of John. Associating Christ with Yahweh is deemed repugnant, as the Law condemned Christ.

In my view, Ba’al stands as the true sovereign, with Christ being Ba’al’s corporeal manifestation. Christ’s mission was to dethrone the prince and reclaim his rightful seat, accomplished by abolishing the Law and its creator. This underscores the significance of John 8; the father of the Jews is depicted as deceitful and murderous. The supreme deity is not Yahweh, but El Elyon, the God whom Melchizedek revered in Salem.

Fusing Christian and Pagan Doctrines

Embracing the syncretic spirit of Julian’s Hellenism, we could envisage a framework that blends Christian values with the myriad deities of paganism, including those from the Canaanite tradition. This form of syncretism is not novel; it reflects the early Christian integration of pagan practices and calendars, fostering a more inclusive spirituality. El-Asherah represents the divine Parent, the Originator of the cosmos.

Asherah, considered El’s partner and a symbol of fertility and maternity, aligns with Mary, the Mother of God, reaffirming the significance of the divine feminine. Wisdom, once revered in the Temple, now cries out unheard in the streets, akin to the Jews’ inability to perceive Christ, shrouded in obscurity.

Integrating these deities into Julian’s Hellenistic framework doesn’t change their essence; it broadens our comprehension of their divine traits—traits that find echoes in Christian thought. Julian held the view that all gods were good, but this isn’t always so. There are darker entities intent on keeping humanity ensnared in ignorance, away from a higher truth, which can only be found in Christ.

The Canaanite Creation Myth

In the time before names graced the heavens and the earth found its form, there existed only the primeval Arapel, a shroud of cloudy darkness, and the chaotic Baad, a wind that knew no bounds. Together, they coexisted in an endless dance. From Baad came Ruach, a distinct wind that swept across the abyss, parting the darkness to usher in light.

According to Canaanite lore, the cosmos began with Arapel and Baad. Arapel, symbolizing a dense, enveloping darkness, and Baad, representing the wind, existed in an ageless union. Darkness, in this ancient worldview, was not merely the absence of light but a palpable, enveloping cloud that could be stored and released by the deities, blanketing creation. Yet, with the birth of Ruach, a new wind arose, one that did not blend with the dark but dispersed it, revealing illumination.

Their union gave rise to Teshuqah, born of both yet unbeknownst to Baad. Teshuqah, embodying ‘Desire,’ ignited a yearning for dominion and creation, albeit without consciousness or understanding.

From the desert’s dust and the ocean’s silt, the earth was sculpted, a germinal canvas for creation. It was a desolate expanse, a vast oceanic abyss where neither heaven nor earth had yet emerged.

Life began with the sensationless, the primordial beings. As eons passed, the Zaphashamim came into existence, celestial sentinels shaped like eggs, their true nature shrouded in mystery. Some speculate they are akin to heavenly birds soaring through the firmament.

With the dispersal of Arapel, light broke forth, and the elements stirred. Winds rose, clouds gathered, and the waters of heaven flooded forth. From every corner, the winds converged, celestial beings that traversed the sky, stirring the deep with their wings.

Kol-piakha, the mighty heavenly gale, approached Bahu, the barren wasteland, and from their union, new life was conceived.

As time unfolded, Ulom and Kadmon were summoned into existence. Ulom, signifying ‘time,’ became the catalyst for creation, marking an era of profound antiquity. Kadmon, associated with the east and the dawn, suggested a cyclical rather than linear progression of creation. Together, these male entities, with Kadmon’s dual nature, facilitated the birth of further creation.

As the days stretched on, Qen and Qenat came into being, embodying the genesis and essence of all origins. From them, all of creation would spring forth.

The passage of days grew longer, and from this lineage emerged Ur, the embodiment of fire, Ec, the essence of flame, and Lehobah, the sacred light. These marked the introduction of elements into creation. In the ancient Near Eastern tradition, the fundamental elements were ranked: the Sea, synonymous with Water; the Earth; the Wind, akin to Air; and the Sky, comparable to Ether. Fire, while significant, was not among the original elements but made its debut with Ur, Ec, and Lehobah.

During this epoch, El’abu was born, along with Aliyan the noble, and his consort Berith. Together, they were revered as the progenitors of deities.

El’abu, revered as the Most High, stands as the inaugural deity, the patriarch of progenitors, entwined with the rites of ancestor worship. Berith is the embodiment of the sacred pact between the divine and mortals. Prior to El’abu, the notion of ‘real’ gods had not taken shape. Yet, El’abu remains distinct from the contemporary pantheon, which includes El, Baal, and Yam, led by the chief deity El and his consort Asherah—those most frequently adored in worship.

From this divine lineage arose Shamuma, the paragon of excellence and beauty, brimming with pride, unrivaled in stature. Alongside him, his sister, the venerable Artzu, resplendent in glory, their union unbroken. And there was Guruma, the ancient one, and Tahamatu, the embodiment of chaos; they existed in unity.

Shamuma signifies the ‘Heaven’, the expanse above, while Artzu represents the ‘Earth’, the terra firma beneath. Inseparable, they are akin to an egg, not yet divided. Guruma denotes the ‘mountains’, and Tahamatu, the ‘deep’, the primeval waters and peaks that shaped the world’s foundation.

In an age before the earth bore fields or marshes, before the gods had names or forms, all remained as it was in the beginning. It was then that the gods were fashioned, both in the celestial heights and the oceanic depths. Time marched on, and from this primordial state emerged El, the mighty deity, along with Bethel and Anak. Shamuma, spiteful towards his offspring, conspired against them, sending his daughters, Asherah and Rachmay, to assassinate El. However, El, benevolent and captivated by their grace, took them as his consorts instead. From their union sprang numerous progeny, forming the divine assembly of seventy gods. In the sacred birth chamber, the pantheon was established, born of El and Asherah, the Womb of the Deep, and El and Elat.

This marks the genesis of the current generation of gods, born from the union of Heaven and Earth or Heaven and the Abyss, represented by Shamuma and Artzu or Shamuma and Tahamatu, respectively. These deities emerged from the watery chaos, tasked with shaping a world fit for habitation. Prior to their arrival, the earth was a formless void. Despite Shamuma’s malice towards his descendants, particularly El, and his attempts to maintain the chaos, the world was destined for order. El’s union with his sisters, rather than leading to his demise, resulted in a flourishing divine lineage. The narrative of creation thus evolves from simplicity to complexity, mirroring the intricate tapestry of life itself.

As the epochs passed, the pantheon expanded with Dagon, who sprouted from the fertile black earth; Kothar, master of craft and spell; Mot, the malevolent; Shaddai, the embodiment of the mountain; Ashtart, the dignified Morning Star; Yam, sovereign of the deep; Resheph, the incendiary ruler; Anat, the divine combatant; and Allani, the immaculate daughter. These were the paramount, the most formidable of gods. From their lineage arose Mishar, the arbiter, and Zeduq, the discoverer of salt; and from Mishar came Nebo, the chronicler.

In this era, El seized the heavens, Asherah claimed the earth, and the Virgin Allani was taken to the netherworld as a trophy. Guided by Anat’s counsel and Nebo’s decree, El forged a sickle and an iron spear. With these, he repelled Shamuma, his progenitor, banishing him from his realm. El then bestowed his concubine upon Dagon, who conceived and bore Hadad within Dagon’s abode. Named Hadad, he was a champion from inception, distinguished and formidable, his spirit brimming with exultation.

In the unfolding saga, El ascends with the heavens, and Asherah descends with the earth, their children acting as the forces that part them. The firmament is set aloft, and the terra firma is laid below. Allani, the untouched daughter, is seized by Mot and taken to the underworld, never to return. Urged by Anat and Nebo, El confronts Shamuma. In the ensuing struggle, El’s consort, heavy with child, is bestowed upon Dagon. In Dagon’s domain, she gives birth to Baal Hadad, the formidable warrior. This narrative appears to reconcile two origin stories of Baal: one as the progeny of Heaven, and the other, more commonly known, as the offspring of Dagon.

Shamuma, the progenitor of deities, wages war against El, harboring malevolent intentions towards his son. El overpowers his father, and the blood from Shamuma’s wounds feeds the fountains of the abyss. The divine council establishes their abode in the lofty realms of Shamuma’s heavens, convening there in council.

Upon hearing of these events, Tahamatu is consumed by fury and unleashes her wrath, her cries echoing day and night, instilling dread among the gods. Yam confronts her but retreats in fear. El, too, faces her but ultimately withdraws. It is the mighty Hadad, Baal himself, who charges forth in his chariot of thunder. He confronts Tahamatu, strikes her down, and her visage is marred by his might.

With Tahamatu’s wrath quelled and her challenge surmounted, Baal stands victorious, and the divine assembly is poised to embark on the act of creation.

The gods then crafted a firmament, a celestial dome, amidst the waters, separating the waters above from those below, and thus staking their claim over heaven and earth. At the behest of El, the waters above the mountains receded, unveiling the dry land beneath.

The firmament served as a barrier, holding back the celestial waters, while the terrestrial waters retreated into the abyss, the domain of Yam. From the receding waters emerged mountains and dry land, and the once-stagnant waters transformed into life-giving rivers.

Ashtart, in her divine maternity, brought forth seven daughters, the Kathirat, along with Qudshu and Chesed. Resheph, skilled in the arts of shipbuilding and healing incantations, fathered the Qabirim. He chose a goddess from among the Kathirat, and she bore him Eshmun, the eighth son. Their progeny were beings of immense size and stature, the giants of legend, known as Zapan, Lubnaan, Hermon, and Martu—figures of great renown in the annals of myth.

El, in a divine council, sealed Anak’s destiny, casting him into an abyssal pit beneath the earth upon Nebo’s counsel. Concurrently, the Qabirim’s progeny crafted vessels, embarking on journeys that led them to Mount Zapan’s shores, where they sanctified a temple.

El then ordained celestial abodes for the deities, aligning the stars as zodiacal images. He commanded Shapash to illuminate the day and Yarikh the night. The great Kakabuma stars were positioned in the sky as omens. He established the cycle of the year, the unfolding of seasons, and the lunar calendar, its phases echoing Yarikh’s horns. He delineated the days, sanctifying the seventh as a day of rest and reflection.

The gods summoned life in all its diversity, from the depths of the seas to the breadth of the land, bringing forth creatures great and small. They placed these beings in a hallowed sanctuary, a verdant garden to the east known as Mount Lel—a place untouched by death or sorrow, a realm of perfect concord.

In this divine cradle, the earth burgeoned with flora—shrubs, herbs, and towering trees, offering sustenance to all living spirits.

From the earthen clay, El sculpted humanity, forging them in the divine likeness. With a breath, he instilled life within them, transforming them into sentient beings. These mortals, in gratitude, erected temples in the east, dedicating sacred spaces to their celestial benefactors. In the gods’ garden, they dwelled, amidst the splendor of paradise.

Bardaisanite Commentary

In the primordial narrative of the Canaanite creation, we discern the workings of the celestial bodies and the forces of fate, as understood by Bardaisan. The chaotic mingling of Arapel and Baad, representing darkness and wind, is akin to the struggle between light and darkness, a central theme in Bardaisan’s thought. The emergence of Ruach, a wind that dispels darkness and reveals light, symbolizes the triumph of knowledge and enlightenment over ignorance.

The concept of Teshuqah, or ‘Desire,’ reflects the Bardaisanite belief in the inherent yearning within creation for order and purpose, despite the absence of conscious intent. This aligns with Bardaisan’s view of the stars influencing human destiny, yet not determining it absolutely, allowing for the exercise of free will.

The formation of the earth from the desert’s dust and the ocean’s mud, and the subsequent birth of life, echo Bardaisan’s cosmology where the physical world is shaped by the interplay of elemental forces under the governance of the stars. The Zaphashamim, celestial observers, could be seen as representations of the heavenly bodies that watch over creation, influencing it subtly.

The division of heaven and earth, the defeat of the chaotic deities by the orderly gods, and the establishment of the divine assembly resonate with Bardaisan’s belief in a cosmic order overseen by a higher power. The gods’ creation of the firmament, the separation of waters, and the establishment of the celestial bodies reflect the Bardaisanite view of the cosmos as a structured and ordered system, governed by divine law.

The birth of the current generation of gods from the union of Heaven and Earth, or Heaven and the Abyss, symbolizes the merging of spiritual and material realms, a concept Bardaisan might have appreciated for its reflection of his own dualistic worldview.

The narrative of El’s battle with Shamuma and the subsequent establishment of the divine council in the heavens could be interpreted as the victory of divine providence over chaos, a victory that Bardaisan would attribute to the workings of the stars and the divine will.

Finally, the creation of humans from clay and their endowment with life echoes Bardaisan’s belief in the divine spark within humanity, capable of transcending the deterministic influence of the stars through the exercise of free will and virtue.

In essence, a Bardaisanite commentary would likely focus on the themes of cosmic dualism, the influence of celestial bodies on fate, and the potential for human beings to rise above their material conditions through the pursuit of spiritual knowledge and moral living.

Concluding Thoughts

Emperor Julian’s adversarial stance towards Christianity represents a missed opportunity for an intellectual leader who deeply valued the syncretism inherent in Hellenism. Instead of sowing seeds of division, he might have cultivated a spirit of unity by highlighting shared values across the empire’s diverse religious landscape.

The Canaanite creation myth, with its depiction of order emerging from chaos, echoes Bardaisan’s philosophical views. This myth, which features a collective of deities bringing structure to the primeval world, parallels Bardaisan’s concept of a cosmos influenced by astral forces and destiny, yet still open to the exercise of free will. The Canaanite narrative offers a counterpoint to the Yahwist tradition, proposing a multifaceted view of creation and divinity that diverges from the monotheistic, covenant-focused relationship between Yahweh and the Israelites.

Furthermore, the Canaanite myth challenges the Yahwist claim of exclusive divine truth. The existence of a complex Canaanite mythology, predates Yahwist texts, which raises questions about the influence of neighboring cultures on Israelite religious thought, potentially undermining claims of the Bible’s unique divine inspiration.

The Canaanite cosmology, with its emphasis on a pantheon of gods, presents alternative perspectives on creation, the divine, and humanity’s place in the universe. It also suggests that Yahwist authors may have adapted earlier myths to promote their own deity, Yahweh, as a supreme being, who demands obedience. Bardaisan’s teachings, however, invite us to transcend cosmic laws, while Christ’s message reveals the secrets of the divine realm, upending conventional truths and honoring the peacemakers as divine offspring.

Imagining Julian’s philosophical approach to religion, one could speculate that he might have drawn from Bardaisan’s insights and Canaanite lore to foster a more inclusive religious environment. Rather than pitting Hellenism against Christianity, Julian could have found in the Canaanite tale of order from discord a symbol for harmonizing the diverse spiritual expressions within his realm.

In this way, Julian’s true Hellenistic legacy might have been his ability to honor the collective pursuit of wisdom and the shared ethical foundations common to all spiritual traditions. The convergence of ancient myths and Bardaisan’s philosophical reflections beckons us to bridge divides and pursue a broader, more encompassing spiritual understanding.