The story of Pharaoh is more than a tale of a historical tyrant, he is a recurring archetype. He embodies the human delusion of self-sufficiency taken to its extreme: the belief that one is not contingent, but the source itself. In modern terms, we’d call this narcissism, sociopathy, or psychopathy; where a person becomes the final reference point for truth, power, and reality. But beneath those labels lies something deeper: a broken relationship with objectivity.
Pharaoh was not merely ignorant. He was aware. He understood the mechanics of reality: the power of narrative, the sway of perception, and the psychological structure of transcendence. He knew what it meant to “step outside the box,” to see beyond the illusion. But instead of using that insight to build a just order, he weaponized it. He hid the ladder he climbed, and made pawns of those who hadn’t yet found it. He manufactured divinity, not out of divinity itself, but out of knowledge withheld.
This isn't ancient history. It's a template that repeats.
In our modern age, the God complex has simply changed clothes. We gloss over the language of temples or divine bloodlines. Instead, we glorify the autonomous individual, the “rational” mind, the “self-made” innovator. But behind the slogans of freedom and secular progress, a quieter, more insidious illusion takes root: man as his own god.
Contemporary labels like atheism, agnosticism, and deism are often framed as neutral stances, but culturally they operate as philosophical gatekeeping. They sever people from the idea of an objective, transcendent reference point; what earlier civilizations referred to as “God.” And without that grounding, people lose any vantage point to step outside of their own experience.
What remains is subjectivity, and with it, two outcomes:
Arrogance: Those who inherit favorable circumstances or intellectual aptitude begin to credit themselves for it. They see their advantage as evidence of superiority, and use it to manipulate, dominate, or dismiss those without it. They become miniature pharaohs, propped up by a ladder they pretend doesn’t exist.
Obedience: Others, lacking a reference point beyond their environment, become passive. They surrender to systems, ideologies, or institutions—not because they believe, but because they’ve been trained out of transcendence.
Both are symptoms of the same disconnection: a world where objectivity is denied, and experience becomes the only truth.
This is the exact context in which the Antichrist archetype arises—not as a myth or fantasy, but as the final form of the God complex. If Pharaoh was the blueprint, the Antichrist is the completion. He represents a pattern: a manufactured mind or system that does not merely reject objectivity, but replaces it with itself.
The Antichrist doesn’t arrive waving flags of tyranny. He comes speaking the language of progress, technology, equity—even spirituality. But behind the carefully crafted image is the same core deception: you don’t need a ladder. You never needed one. You are the source.
In this system, objectivity becomes a threat. Truth is replaced with preference. Justice becomes a brand. Identity becomes merchandise. Reality becomes programmable, and those who control the code claim godhood without saying the word.
This is the ultimate warning embedded in both the ancient and modern narratives: the most dangerous illusion is not that there is no objective truth, though that is a cause for concern, but that man can become it.
The final deceiver doesn’t just deny the transcendent; he mimics it, simulates it, offers a counterfeit coherence that feels liberating but enslaves. It tells you that subjectivity is sacred, that consensus is clarity, that there is no higher reference point beyond what the system approves.
And like Pharaoh, it doesn’t need to enslave you with force. It just needs to convince you that there is nothing above you. That you are self-made. That meaning, morality, and even existence itself are yours to edit.
But here’s the truth: if you deny the source, you lose the structure. If you reject the constant, you lose coherence. If you pretend the ladder never existed, you fall the moment the illusion breaks.
Pharaoh was the warning. The Antichrist is the fulfillment.
I’m struggling to grasp what you mean by the terms you’re using.
For example, what does it mean to “believe that one is not contingent” or “to be the source of oneself”? These phrases seem to imply a denial of dependence on anything beyond oneself—but what exactly is meant by “source” in this context?
I also find the phrase “the final reference point for truth” philosophically confused.
I understand truth as a property of a proposition that accurately describes some aspect of reality. Truth, then, is relational: it depends on a correspondence between what is said and what is. Its reference point is not the self, but reality—because truth describes reality (which can include oneself since we are part of reality).
While it is the self who forms and evaluates propositions, truth itself is not grounded in the self, but in the objectivity of what exists.
As for “power” and “reality,” I’m unclear on their connection. Reality is what it is, independent of our beliefs, preferences, or ignorance. Power does not determine reality—objectivity identifies it. That is, reality takes metaphysical precedence over mental processes.
Objectivity is the epistemological principle that recognizes this: it is the mental orientation that gives primacy to reality over the contents of the mind. And when the contents of the mind—such as evaluations or propositions—successfully reflect what is, we say they are objective and true.
So if your formulation is meant to describe a kind of radical subjectivism or self-deification, I think it would benefit from more precise language. But maybe I’m misreading you. As it stands, it appears to conflate categories—truth, power, and reality—and risks smuggling in metaphysical confusion under a rhetorical approach to these issues.
Anyway, I look forward to hearing what you have to say in an effort to clarify what you mean.