Let’s start with the fundamentalists. For them, the phrase Christ
Consciousness triggers a defensive response rooted in dogma, not
discernment. It doesn’t matter how rich or theologically nuanced the term might
be; if it isn’t found in their tightly sealed canon—especially not in the King
James Version, with its 17th-century English and 4th-century theological
scaffolding—they see it as a threat. Their understanding of Christ is largely
limited to the atoning work of Jesus of Nazareth as the blood sacrifice
demanded by a wrathful God. Their entire framework hinges on penal substitutionary
atonement, personal salvation, and the inerrancy of the Bible as they interpret
it.
To such a framework, Christ is not a state of being, not a
universal reality, and certainly not a consciousness. He is a man—historically
located, doctrinally defined, and monopolized by their theological system. The
Christ is Jesus and only Jesus, and the rest of the world—some 7.5 billion
people—is either saved through this narrow formula or damned. Any attempt to
broaden this view is, in their eyes, heretical, New Age nonsense, or
worse—demonic.
But what they miss, or refuse to consider, is that Christ
is not Jesus' last name. Christos is the Greek word for anointed one,
and in deeper esoteric understanding, it refers to the anointing of divine
consciousness—Logos-consciousness. The New Testament itself introduces this
cosmic dimension when the Gospel of John opens, “In the beginning was the
Logos, and the Logos was with God, and the Logos was God.” This Logos is
not limited to first-century Palestine. It is the creative, ordering principle
of the cosmos, echoed in Greek philosophy and Hermeticism as divine reason, or Nous—consciousness
itself expressing itself through form.
On the other side of the debate, we find the materialists.
They reject Christ Consciousness not because it threatens religious orthodoxy,
but because it threatens their reductionist view of reality. For them, Jesus—if
he even existed—was just a Jewish mystic or apocalyptic prophet speaking
exclusively to the sociopolitical situation of ancient Israel. They reduce
Paul’s writings to early Christian sectarian politics, locked in their own time
and place. Anything that smells of spirituality, metaphysics, or transcendence
is dismissed as woo—irrational, unverifiable, and therefore meaningless.
But materialism itself is beginning to crack under the
weight of evidence. Quantum physics, neuroscience, and even branches of
cosmology are forcing serious thinkers to reconsider the primacy of
consciousness. Bernardo Kastrup, Donald Hoffman, and others are mounting
persuasive cases for consciousness as the bedrock of existence—not as an
emergent property of matter, but as the ground of being itself. If we accept
this—and many are—we are suddenly standing on metaphysical ground that makes Christ
Consciousness not only plausible, but deeply resonant.
Christ Consciousness is not about ignoring history,
or bypassing the ethical and prophetic dimensions of Jesus’ life. It is about
realizing that what animated Jesus is available to all—that the Logos is not
confined to a single man or a single religion, but is the divine template
within each of us, the imago Dei awaiting awakening. It is the part of us that
remembers—not with our brain, but with our soul—who we are and what we come
from. It is what the Gospel of Truth, a Valentinian text, calls our forgetfulness
of the Father and the return of that memory through Christ.
Both the fundamentalist and the materialist critiques fail
because they do not address the spiritual reality that most people live with
daily. They do not account for the overwhelming human longing for meaning, for
transcendence, for connection with something greater. Nor do they adequately
address the mounting evidence that consciousness is not produced by the brain
but localized through it, as light is focused by a lens. They do not explain
near-death experiences, mystical visions, or spontaneous awakenings—because
they do not want to.
The fundamentalists cling to a brittle orthodoxy that makes
God small, petty, and tribal. The materialists cling to a brittle rationalism
that makes consciousness an illusion and love a chemical. Neither of these is
satisfying to the spirit. Neither reflects the boundless presence of the
Christ, who said, “Before Abraham was, I AM.” That is not history; that
is eternity speaking through a man fully awake.
We must remember that Christ Consciousness is not a
call to abandon Christianity. It is a call to transcend the limitations placed
on it by those who confuse the wine with the wineskin. To be in Christ, as Paul
often said, is to be in a new state of awareness—a new creation. But this
awareness is not exclusive. As the Spirit was poured out on all flesh,
so is the Christ available to all consciousness. Some may call it the
Logos, others Buddha-nature, others Atman, but the essence is the same: divine
awareness within, urging us to awaken, to love, to remember.
In a world of 8 billion people, with less than a third
identifying as Christian and only a fraction of those as evangelical
fundamentalists, it is absurd to imagine that God’s work is confined to one
theological lane. The Logos speaks all languages, wears all faces, and reaches
all hearts. The Christ is not the mascot of a religion. The Christ is the
anointed awakening of divine consciousness in humanity—and we are all invited.
It is time to reclaim Christ Consciousness not as an
alternative religion, but as a deeper reality. It is time to stop arguing with
dogma and start living from presence. It is time to remember—not just
intellectually, but spiritually—that we are of God, that we are not separate,
and that the Logos is the animating force behind every act of love, every
moment of grace, and every whisper of awakening in this fractured world.
That, to me, is the gospel worth sharing.
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