Augustus As The Archetypal Anti-Christ

We all remember that one very important historical figure who, out of relative obscurity, rose to prominence in the social and political turmoil of the approaching B.C. to A.D. transition (hint hint) and, by way of oration and persuasion, gained an ever-increasing following that reached it’s pinnacle when he turned 33 and became embroiled in an event so historically significant that it still shapes our modern world more than 2000 years later, right?

I’m speaking, of course, about the first Roman emperor, Augustus. And yes, the details of his life story probably sound eerily similar to the details of another prominent historical figure’s life story with which you’re probably familiar.

In case you aren’t brushed up on your ancient history, allow me to fill you in.

Both the historical and apocryphal versions of the man we now know as Jesus are said to have been born in the earliest days of the Roman Empire, under the reign of Rome’s first Emperor, Augustus.

First is the key word here: prior to Augustus, Rome was a republic. Rome had been a republic for quite a long time, and then, Augustus’ grand-uncle (and eventual adoptive father), Julius Caesar, came along and made it not so much of a republic anymore. Fearing he’d undermined the power of the democratically-elected Roman senate and become de-facto King (spoiler alert: he had become a de-facto King), a number of conspirators came together and assassinated Caesar. Following this assassination, a civil war ensued, and Caesar’s post-humously adopted son (and heir to his fortune), Octavian, rose to power.

Octavian was 33 when the civil wars ended, and he properly came to power; at this point, he renamed himself Augustus, and an Empire was officially established in Rome.

History lesson complete. Now, we can begin to approach the point of all this.

The stories of Augustus and Jesus have quite a bit in common. The rise out of relative obscurity, the slow gathering of followers, the leadership based not on militancy (though Augustus did command an army) but on oration and persuasion, the culmination of all this in the 33rd year of life.

All of these are apparently “literal” similarities, but the thematic or metaphorical similarities are even greater. And we’ll get to that in a second.

Right now, though, I need to communicate the following point: Augustus was, probably more so than anyone else in all of history, a man equipped to successfully run an Empire. Simply put, he did a stellar job as Rome’s de facto monarch. He settled the populace following decades of civil war, established order, improved infrastructure, instituted massively successful financial policy, and about a million other things — and he did it all, unlike his adoptive father Caesar, without being (or being seen as, at least) an arrogant and power-hungry jerk. He didn’t rule with an iron-fist, he didn’t terrorize the citizenry, he wasn’t outwardly extravagant or selfish; by all accounts, he was very smart, very reserved, and overall a pretty cool guy.

In addition to being Rome’s first Emperor, Augustus is considered by many to have been Rome’s greatest Emperor, too. He was also its longest-reigning Emperor.

And it’s here that we start to get into the broader thesis of this essay:

Jesus’ life story — whether historically by cosmic coincidence or apocryphally based on the smudging of some historical facts — was meant, at the original time of its telling, to be understood as a direct counterpoint to the life story of Augustus.

People living in the first century A.D. (with the reign of Augustus still relatively fresh in their minds) were meant to have seen Jesus as the thematic opposite of Rome’s first Emperor. Jesus and Augustus were to be seen as two great, intelligent, wise, and moral men, one of whom established a worldly Kingdom and one of whom established a Heavenly Kingdom.

In other words, the early Christians might not have seen the “Anti-Christ” as someone who was coming but as someone who had already been. Augustus was (and is) a perfect, archetypal Anti-Christ; he’s a direct counterpoint to Jesus.

Why, though, can this be said? Well, if you go to the Bible, you see that Jesus’s “transfiguration” (i.e., his official coronation as Divine and the “King” of the heavenly Kingdom on Earth) was directly preceded by his so-called temptations. There were three of these, but in the final and most important of them, Jesus is tempted by Satan with rulership over “All the Kingdoms of the world.” In practical terms, this can be understood as him being tempted with the opportunity to lead the Roman Empire as King (because, in the same way, the US President is often referred to as “the most powerful man in the world,” the Roman Emperor was understood to be the most powerful man in the world in ancient times).

So, quite literally, Jesus was “tempted” with the exact same fruit as Augustus was: the opportunity to become de facto “King of the World.” Because that was Augustus’ temptation, too; he could’ve restored the Roman Republic and the democratic way of life, but he didn’t — he became its Emperor instead.

Again, it doesn’t really matter if we view all this historically or through the lens of metaphor — the point is basically the same:

Hey, you — you smart, cool, well-meaning 33-year-old — the world is kind of going to shit right now, and it could sure use a smart, cool, well-meaning King to restore order and bring prosperity to the people again… So, what do you say? Want to take control of Rome and establish it as an Empire?

And that’s where the stories of Jesus and Augustus diverge — at this exact point. Jesus said, “No, thanks,” and Augustus said, “Sure, sounds good.”

Here is the crucial thing to understand, though: Rome was falling apart and needed Augustus to step in, take power, and restore it to greatness. We often think of dictatorship as an inherent evil (for a good reason), but in the case of Augustus, Rome was way better off with him in control than if he’d just restored the Republic. Not for some vague, ideological reason either — in a direct, material way, the Roman people benefitted from the dictatorship of Augustus. Their lives would’ve been so much more terrible had he not seized power. He helped people, not hurt them, and — for all intents and purposes — he saved Rome because the republic was on its last legs before he ever even came around.

This forces us to address an interesting idea:

Though we hear the term Anti-Christ and think of a Hitler or a Stalin — of someone with decidedly malicious intentions who aims to hurt and intimidate and hoard power only for their own benefit — the original Anti-Christ was not like this at all. Augustus was not a perfect person by any means (and he got worse and worse over time, as one would expect), but on paper, his decision to establish Rome as an Empire was probably the right one; it was probably the kindest and best decision he could’ve made in regard to the immediate well-being of the average Roman citizens living at the time.

And that brings us to the lesson in all this:

As is often said, “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.” Or, in other words, “evil” isn’t always “evil” in any obvious way — meaning, it’s not always malicious and angry and destructive. Sometimes, as in the case of Augustus, the right and rational action — the justifiable and beneficial-to-the-people action, too — isn’t the righteous action. Though the people might benefit materially from your reign as King, it is still to their spiritual detriment to be ruled over.

As for how you can apply this to your own life, I’d simply say the following:

Think less of whether your actions are right and reasonable and think more of whether they’re engaged in from the most righteous perspective. It doesn’t quite matter what you do; it matters how or why you do it. Or, to phrase it in the context of our metaphor, sometimes it’s better not to step in and rule over those who desperately need a King — even if they suffer in the short term, by refusing to rule, you give them the opportunity to one day learn to rule over themselves.

It sounds silly, but it’s worth asking yourself occasionally in day-to-day life whether you’re acting like Augustus or like Jesus (or the Buddha, or Zoroaster, or whichever spiritual figure you hold most high).

When you strive to be Augustus, you strive for the greater good; when you strive to be Jesus, you strive for the greatest good. And that little distinction can make a world of difference.

As always, good luck.