The Temple of Mithras Near Carrawburgh Fort: A Hidden Gem of Roman Heritage

Mithras: The God Before Christ?

Before Christianity became the state religion of Rome, Mithraism was among its most popular and widespread belief systems. Its roots run deep—back to ancient Persia, where Mithra was worshipped as a solar deity and guardian of truth and contracts as early as 2000 BC.

By the 1st century AD, Mithras had been transformed—Romanised—into a heroic, almost Christ-like figure:

• Born of a virgin in a cave (on December 25th, no less)

• Accompanied by 12 followers

• Associated with light, rebirth, and cosmic salvation

• And even depicted slaying a bull (a symbolic act of sacrifice)

Coincidence? Or cultural crossover?

Scholars still debate whether Christianity borrowed aspects of Mithraic symbolism or vice versa. But what’s undeniable is that Mithraism was once a serious contender for the Roman soul.

And one of its surviving sanctuaries is still here… quietly resisting time.

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A Temple Hidden in Plain Sight

Carrawburgh Fort—Roman name Brocolitia—sits along Hadrian’s Wall, a frontier of empire. And just beyond its edge, down a quiet track, lies something even older than any church in the region: a Temple of Mithras, built around 200 AD.

The setting is perfect: rugged, remote, liminal. These temples—mithraea—were always hidden, often underground or semi-subterranean. Worship was conducted in shadowy chambers by flickering torchlight. Ritual, secrecy, and initiation were central.

And here at Carrawburgh, the layout still whispers those old secrets:

• A central aisle, where initiates walked into mystery.

• Stone altars depicting Mithras slaying the bull—his defining myth.

• And remnants of side benches, where followers likely reclined during ritual feasts, echoing the Last Supper.

Even the mother goddess carving, still present at the entrance, hints at pre-Christian beliefs that flowed into and through Mithraism—Earth, fertility, cosmos.

This was not the stern stone face of empire, but something far older, deeper, and stranger.

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Mithras vs. Christ?

The comparisons are striking, and unsettling.

Mithras	Jesus
Born of a virgin	Born of a virgin
Birth celebrated Dec 25	Birth celebrated Dec 25
Had 12 disciples	Had 12 disciples
Promised salvation	Promised salvation
Performed miracles	Performed miracles
Celebrated a sacred meal	Last Supper
Died and rose again (symbolically)	Crucified and resurrected

Whether these similarities stem from shared archetypes, cultural blending, or deliberate syncretism, one thing is certain: Mithraism was not paganism in the crude sense. It was sophisticated, symbolic, and deeply spiritual.

Had history turned just slightly differently, it’s not hard to imagine Mithras, not Jesus, at the centre of stained glass windows and Sunday sermons.

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A Visit That Stays With You

To stand among the stones of this temple is to step outside time. There’s no roof, no incense, no chanting priests—but the atmosphere lingers. It’s hard not to feel the weight of forgotten belief, the flicker of old gods, and the fragility of faith.

These ruins provoke big questions. Not just about Mithras, or Rome, or Christ—but about belief itself. About how religion is built, borrowed, and sometimes buried.

And that’s what makes this temple so important—not just archaeologically, but emotionally, existentially.

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If You Go

Location: Carrawburgh Fort (Brocolitia), Hadrian’s Wall, Northumberland
Parking: Small lay-by beside the B6318 (Military Road)
Walk: Short, easy walk down a track from the roadside
Best Time: Early morning or twilight for full atmosphere
Tip: Bring boots—it can be muddy. And bring questions.

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Final Thoughts: Between Worlds

Christian churches dot the Borderlands, telling stories of saints, martyrs, and resurrection. But this small, silent temple near Carrawburgh tells a different story—of a god now forgotten, of an empire in flux, and of spiritual hunger that transcends eras.

Whether you come for the history, the myth, or the mystery, the Temple of Mithras will leave a mark. A quiet one. But a deep one.

Because here, where stone altars crumble and sheep graze, a forgotten god still watches. And perhaps—just perhaps—still waits.