Finding AI Jesus in the Ruins of Rome
- John E. Carr
- Jun 27
- 7 min read
Updated: Jul 5
It may seem counterintuitive to look for answers about using artificial intelligence to recreate Jesus in Ancient Rome's ruins. However, Rome's history tells us something deeply meaningful about how humanity adapts, incorporates, and remixes other cultures' imagery.
My central research focuses on how ancient Rome, through conquest and encounter, absorbed foreign cults, deities, and artistic expression into its own cultural vocabulary. That practice left indelible imprints all over the city, but one is far stranger and more literal than the rest. It still stands today, attached to the Aurelian Wall at the edge of the Protestant Cemetery, looming large and curious over both the dead and the living: the Pyramid of Caius Cestius, a Roman tomb built in the shape of an Egyptian pyramid.
Who was Cestius
Caius Cestius was an influential and respected Roman magistrate in the late 1st Century BCE. Cestius held several prominent public offices in Rome, including praetor, tribune of the plebs (the people) and was a member of the Board of Seven, where he was in charge of public feasts (septemvir epulonum). Born into the Poblilia voting tribe his family was one of the thirty-five tribes into which Roman citizens were divided for voting within the comitia (popular assemblies). As a member of a voting tribe Cestius and his family status identified him as explicitly and deeply ethnically Roman.
For many Romans of his status, cremation was the most common form of disposing of the dead, though some aristocratic families still practiced inhumation (burial in the earth). After cremation, the ashes were collected and placed in ceremonial urns. These urns were then interred in family tombs or mausolea outside the city walls. This practice of exiling the dead outside the city was twofold: it was a signal of ritual and religious purity and a practical concern about sanitation and disease.
Yet, Caius Cestius chose a distinct and deliberate burial plan. Instead of cremation or interment in a family mausoleum, he chose a pyramid. This was a form that reflected Roman interests and fascination with all things Egyptian. After Emperor Augustus's conquest of Egypt, there was widespread enthusiasm and interest among the Roman elite in Egyptian culture, luxury goods and art. The Egyptian motif became fashionable, symbolizing cosmopolitan taste and access to exotic luxury. In the same way humans today often associate brands like Apple, Maybach or Gucci, the Romans wanted to signal wealth, power and access through the use of Egyptian motifs.
This adoption of Egyptian forms was also a way to celebrate their conquest and eventual dominance of Egypt. By displaying Egyptian-style monuments in Rome, it was a pure sign of imperial power and the ability to appropriate the most prestigious visual symbols of a conquered land. While the appropriation of culture is looked down upon by modern Western society, in ancient Rome it was extremely common. It was, for the Romans, a mark of their supremacy and cultural reach.
The Death of Cestius and the Building of His Tomb
Caius Cestius died in the late 1st Century BCE, most likely of natural causes as was the norm for Roman elites of his era. Though his death details are not recorded, his burial and tomb are exceptionally well documented. They provide significant insight into his intentions and the practices of his time.
The pyramid itself was built between 18 and 12 BCE and stands 37 meters high. It was constructed with a Roman concrete core faced with white Italian marble slabs, making it both durable and artistically monumental. The structure itself is a true isosceles pyramid, an unusual feature in Roman architecture, with a base measuring 29.6 meters on each side. Freestanding columns once stood at its corners, with two bronze statues of Cestius placed at its base. In accordance with his will, the tomb was completed in 330 days. His heirs, including prominent Romans, oversaw its construction and ensured his wishes were fulfilled.
Deep within the pyramid is a small barrel-vaulted chamber decorated with wall frescoes in the so-called "Third Style" of Roman painting, considered among the earliest examples of this uniquely Roman decorative style. Outside, the pyramid carries Cestius's story in stone. Inscriptions on the east and west faces list his name, his offices, and the executors who carried out his will, while further inscriptions on the statue bases record the fulfillment of that will and his burial instructions. Those statues had an unusual source: Cestius had wanted luxurious gold-embroidered fabrics (attalica) buried with him, but a Roman law forbade it, so his heirs sold the cloth instead and used the proceeds to cast the two bronze figures that once stood at the tomb.
Why the pronounced deviation from classic Roman burial? We can assume that, due to his office and the way he was buried, Cestius wanted to ensure his memory would endure, and that his power and status would be displayed in a cosmopolitan taste. Its prominent location outside the city walls, at a busy intersection, guaranteed visibility and lasting recognition.
And looking at it today, we can see that he succeeded in his goal.
Within the burial chamber are various images of the personification of Victory. These winged figures are typically understood as the visual representation of Victoria, a Roman goddess who is often depicted with wings and associated with both personal and military triumphs. In the context of funerary art, these figures could symbolize the deceased's victory over death and the hope for a blessed afterlife.
Included in the tomb may have also been an image of Cestius in apotheosis, yet this may be contested. For the Roman imagination, apotheosis is a transformation of a human being into a god. In Roman imperial iconology, the winged figures sometimes accompany various scenes of apotheosis, lifting the soul or the image of the deceased toward the heavens. For Cestius, this very Roman imagery inside a very Egyptian structure may have conveyed messages of triumph, remembrance, and the hope for immortality.
Lost and Found Though Time
By the 3rd century CE, the pyramid was incorporated into the Aurelian Wall, a newly constructed defensive circuit. This integration helped preserve the monument but also obscured its original context as a tomb, making it less accessible and visible as a standalone monument. Over time, as knowledge of its origin faded from Roman cultural memory, a new identity began to form around the theory that it was the tomb of Remus, the legendary twin of Romulus, or perhaps an unknown Roman pharaoh. The lack of understanding of its inscription and the rarity of pyramids in Rome may have added fuel to these theories. The structure was sometimes identified as "Meta Remi" and its true purpose as the tomb of Caius Cestius was forgotten.
In the 17th century, Pope Alexander VII ordered the clearing of earth and debris that had accumulated around the pyramid, and during this excavation and restoration the inscriptions were uncovered and studied, revealing the true identity of the tomb's owner. Later, the burial chamber was opened and the frescoes inside documented, leading to renewed scholarly and public interest in the monument. An extensive restoration of Rome's ancient Pyramid of Cestius was financed by Japanese businessman Yuzo Yagi, who donated approximately €2 million to scrub and repair the monument's exterior marble.
Borrowed Heavens: How Christianity Reconquered Rome
When Christianity became a power in Rome, it began to do what Rome had always done: remix, reclaim, and reuse. The Christian church began to reinterpret and reclaim not only physical material from ancient Roman structures but also the symbolic heritage of the ancient period, through a process known as spolia. Spolia was the reuse of architectural elements, sculptures, and even pagan images in new Christian contexts. This practice was viewed as both pragmatic and deeply symbolic, allowing for an ease of transition from the old pagan ways to the new Christian faith, and to assert the church's authority as the inheritor of Rome's legacy.
Roman emperors and later Christian popes moved Egyptian obelisks from their original homes to prominent locations in Rome. Initially these symbols of pharaonic power and Egyptian sun worship became recontextualized in their new Roman perches, first as signs of imperial power and later papal authority. One example is the obelisk at St. Peter's Square, re-erected by Pope Sixtus V in 1586 as a Christian monument; it was crowned with a cross and reinterpreted as a symbol of Christ's triumph over paganism.
Many early Christian churches also participated in spolia, often featuring colonnades made from reused Roman columns and pillars. These were taken from abandoned temples, civic buildings, and even Roman tombs. The variety and irregularity of these columns became a hallmark of early church architecture, signaling both continuity with Rome's ancient past and the transformation from pagan materials into holy Christian worship. This reuse was partly due to economic reasons, but also symbolic, to build the new Christian order on the foundations of the old.
The reclamation and reuse didn't stop at physical material; even images and pagan gods were reassigned. The Winged Victory (Victoria) that adorns Cestius's tomb was reinterpreted in Christian art as angels. The visual language of triumph and divine favor was retained, yet the meaning was transformed to fit Christian theology. These winged Victories, which may have guided Cestius into apotheosis or celebrated civic and military victories, now raise their wreaths to the triumph and presence of God.
What we Inherit
Cestius' pyramid still stands today because Rome built a wall around it. On the outside, a Roman wore an Egyptian costume to convey his power, while keeping Rome on the inside. Rome was reworn by the church centuries later, with basilicas built on pagan columns. The winged Victory who carried Cestius into the heavens was reborn as an angel lifting a wreath to God. Whoever held the power to rewrite the meaning rewrote the form.
Humans have a long habit of building the divine from what the conquered, the old, and the absent left behind. Rome did it. The church did it. And now I am holding the same tools, building a visual recreation of Jesus, historically grounded and silent, from a model trained on images no artist ever agreed to give up.
So the question is this: can I ethically build a visual recreation of Jesus from scraped data taken without consent? Or is it simply the latest version of what the Roman culture has always done, making the profane beautiful, baptizing what it took, and calling what resulted holy?
Bibliography
“Trophies and Orphans: The Use of Spolia Columns in Ancient Churches | Article Archive.” www.sacredarchitecture.org, n.d. https://www.sacredarchitecture.org/articles/trophies_and_orphans_the_use_of_spolia_columns_in_ancient_churches.
Hope, Valerie. Death in Ancient Rome. Routledge, 2007.
L’Orange, Hans Peter. Apotheosis in Ancient Portraiture. New rochelle, New York: Caratzas Brothers, publishers , 1982.
Schwartz, Jacqueline D. “Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle: The Spolia of Late Antique and Early Christian Rome.” Swarthmore Undergraduate History Journal 2, no. 2 (2021): 61–70. https://doi.org/10.24968/2693-244x.2.1.5.
Swetnam-Burland, Molly. Egypt in Italy : Visions of Egypt in Roman Imperial Culture. New York, Ny: Cambridge University Press, 2015.
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