Exploring Spinoza’s radical view of Jesus as human, extraordinary through choices—not divine birth.
Spinoza (1632-1677) was not destroying the Catholic religion—he was trying to save it. Save it from institutional corruption, from idolatry, from itself, because true spirituality does not depend on myths. It depends on authenticity, on the courage to face reality as it is, on the willingness to grow through truth, not in spite of it. His investigation into Jesus’ father teaches us something fundamental about the nature of human greatness: it does not come from extraordinary origin but from extraordinary choices; not from special privileges but from accepted responsibility; not from supernatural powers but from developing natural capacities to their fullest. Jesus was great not because he was the son of God, but because he chose to live as the son of humanity at its best. And that choice remains available to all of us—every moment, every decision, every opportunity to choose compassion over selfishness, truth over convenience, courage over conformity.
Spinoza discovered that the greatest miracle was not the virgin birth, but the transformation of an ordinary man into an eternal example of human excellence. That miracle is still available to anyone willing to pay the price: the price of honesty, of pursuing truth, of taking personal responsibility for one’s own spiritual growth. His investigation into Jesus ends with a devastating question, one that echoes through the centuries: if Jesus was human like us, why are we not extraordinary like him? The answer is not in the heavens but in our daily choices; not in supernatural revelations but in our willingness to question, investigate, and grow; not in religious institutions but in our personal courage to live according to our highest values.
Spinoza died young, at 44, consumed by poverty, illness, and social isolation. Yet his discoveries survived—hidden, persecuted, preserved by courageous minds who understood their importance. Centuries later, archaeology confirmed his suspicions, historical science validated his methods, and psychology explained the mechanisms he had intuited. But the central question remains: what do we do with this truth? Do we use it to destroy faith, or to liberate it from childish forms and build a mature spirituality? Do we use it to attack Christianity, or to purify it of distortions? Do we use it to promote atheism, or to reveal that the sacred can be found in reality itself?
The truth about Jesus’ father does not solve anything on its own. It offers an opportunity—an opportunity to rebuild our relationship with the transcendent on solid foundations, to honor Jesus for what he truly was: a human being who achieved the extraordinary through conscious choice. It is the opportunity to follow his real example rather than his mythological image, to stop waiting for external saviors and assume responsibility for our own salvation. Spinoza discovered that Jesus had a father, but also something more important: that we can all be parents of our own greatness. The final authority does not lie in sacred books or religious institutions, but in our capacity to think, to question, to choose. Truth is not the property of any church—it is the heritage of humanity. The greatest act of faith is not believing in the impossible, but having the courage to live up to the possible.
The door Spinoza opened has never closed. Each generation brings new evidence, new questions, new possibilities. But the essential choice remains the same as it was 300 years ago: do we live in the light of truth or in the darkness of illusion? Do we take responsibility for our spiritual growth or outsource it to institutions? Do we honor the great masters of humanity for what they truly were, or idolize them for what they never were? Jesus had a father, and that fact does not diminish him—it enlarges him, because it means everything he achieved he achieved as one of us. And everything he achieved, we too can achieve—not through miracles, but through choices. The investigation continues, the truth keeps emerging, and with every discovery we become a little more responsible for our own greatness.
As Spinoza said in his final days, truth is not comforting, but it is liberating. And freedom is worth any discomfort—because in the end, only truth makes us truly free.
Spinoza’s thought about Jesus, a heroic figure in the Novam Testamentum was unlike the official Christian narrative and radically different from what the Church wanted preserved. He did not deny Jesus’ existence or his importance, but he approached him historically and logically, stripping away layers of myth. For Spinoza, Jesus was not a supernatural figure born of a virgin or conceived by divine intervention. He was a man, extraordinary because of his wisdom, compassion, and courage, but still a man. His greatness lay in his humanity, not in divinity.
One of Spinoza’s most striking points was that the story of Nazareth as Jesus’ birthplace did not hold up historically. Roman maps and records from the time do not mention any such town. In fact, Nazareth seems to have been created centuries later by the Church to reinforce a theological story. Instead, Spinoza believed that Jesus may have lived among Jewish ascetic groups such as the Nazorites or Essenes, and that being called a “Nazorite” was later transformed into being from “Nazareth.” This, he argued, was part of a deliberate misrepresentation by the Church to cement its narrative.
Spinoza noticed contradictions in the Gospels themselves. The genealogies of Jesus in Matthew and Luke do not match, neither in names nor in number of generations, and both conclude with Joseph, who, according to the virgin birth doctrine, was not Jesus’ father. Even more telling were passages where Jesus is plainly referred to as the “son of Joseph,” with both father and mother known in his community. John 1:45, Luke 4:22, and John 6:42 all show that Jesus’ contemporaries recognized him as Joseph’s child. Spinoza pointed out that Paul, the earliest Christian writer, never once mentions a virgin birth, but speaks of Jesus as born “of the seed of David, according to the flesh.” To him, this was decisive evidence that Jesus’ origins were entirely human. Paul never met with the family of Jesus.
Digging deeper, Spinoza studied Jewish rabbinical texts, where Jesus is mentioned as “Yeshu ben Pantera”—Jesus son of Pantera. This name, he found, was linked to a Roman soldier, Tiberius Julius Abdes Pantera, stationed in Palestine at precisely the time of Jesus’ birth. This opened the possibility that Jesus’ father may not have been Joseph but a Roman soldier, which carried enormous implications for the official story. Spinoza explored three possibilities: that Joseph was the father, that Pantera was the father, or that Mary had suffered violence under Roman occupation. In all cases, the conclusion was the same—Jesus was not born of divine origin, but of human parentage.
For Spinoza, this did not diminish Jesus. On the contrary, it elevated him. If Jesus achieved his wisdom, his moral vision, and his courage without divine privilege, then his example was far more powerful. He showed what a human being could become. Spinoza argued that Jesus’ true mission was not to found a Church or create a new religion but to challenge corrupt authority, both Roman and religious. His crucifixion was the punishment Rome gave to rebels and dissenters, not a divine sacrifice.
Spinoza saw how, over time, Jesus’ story was transformed. To make him acceptable to the Greco-Roman world, his life was recast in the mold of pagan heroes and gods: a virgin birth like Perseus, divine parentage like Augustus or Alexander, miraculous deeds like Hercules, and resurrection like Osiris or Mithras. Myths were layered onto his story, not out of history but out of political and cultural necessity. This was how the man Jesus became the Christ of institutional Christianity.
Later councils and church authorities destroyed or suppressed texts that presented Jesus in more human terms. Early writings like the Didache and the Gospel of Thomas portrayed him as a teacher, a master, and a philosopher, not a god. His earliest followers respected him deeply, but as a man. Spinoza concluded that the Church erased this memory because a human Jesus threatened clerical power. If Jesus was fully human, then ordinary people could aspire to his greatness. They would not need priests, dogma, or rituals to mediate salvation. The divine spark would be recognized as within each person.
For Spinoza, the danger Jesus posed to authority was not his claim to be divine, but his insistence that humans could live in freedom, in truth, and in justice. This was the true revolution, one that the Church transformed into dogma and hierarchy in order to control. Spinoza paid dearly for such insights—his works were banned, he was excommunicated, his writings burned. But he held firm that truth was worth more than comfortable illusions.
In the end, Spinoza’s thought about Jesus was clear: Jesus had a human father and lived as a man. His greatness lay not in supernatural origin but in his extraordinary humanity. The Church’s transformation of him into a divine being was a distortion, meant to serve power rather than truth. For Spinoza, this did not diminish Jesus’ importance. It made him more inspiring. Because if Jesus achieved what he did as a man, then we too can strive for wisdom, compassion, and courage—not by miracle, but by choice. The real legacy of Jesus, in Spinoza’s view, was not a religion of dogma but an example of human potential.
Tanmoy Bhattacharyya (Advocate)
Date: 21/09/2025
Bibliography
- Benedictus de Spinoza: A Short Treatise on God, Man and His Well-Being; translated by A. Wolf. London, Adam and Charles Black Eds., 1910).
- Benedictus de Spinoza: Tractatus Theologico-Politicus (A Theologico-Political Treatise, 1670)
