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Adam Saw God's Throne Before Any Prophet Did

Near death, Adam was carried back to Paradise on a chariot of fire and saw the divine throne. He begged not to be cast out a second time.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Called to the Deathbed
  2. What Adam Saw in Paradise
  3. The Plea at the Throne
  4. The First Chariot Vision

Called to the Deathbed

Adam called his son Seth to him. He was six hundred years old and dying, and he wanted to leave Seth something more than a warning about the serpent or a memory of the garden. He wanted to leave him a witness account of something no one else had seen in the same way.

"Listen to me, my son," he said. "When your mother and I had finished our prayers after the expulsion, I was taken up. Not by an angel. Not in the ordinary way of prophetic vision. A chariot appeared before me, like the wind, and its wheels were fire, and before I could understand what was happening, I was carried back across the boundary I had been expelled from. I was in Paradise."

What Adam Saw in Paradise

There, at the center of everything, the Lord was seated on a throne. Fire radiated from the divine face. Angels surrounded the chariot in numbers that could not be counted. The creatures of the chariot wheeled and turned. The whole apparatus of heaven that Ezekiel would later try to describe in words was there, present, overwhelming.

Adam fell on his face. This was not a chosen posture. There was no other position available when confronted with what he saw.

And then the voice: "Because you transgressed my commandment, the time has come for you to die."

The Plea at the Throne

Adam did not accept the verdict silently. He pleaded. "Master of the Universe," he said, "do not cast me out entirely. I know I sinned. I know what I did in the garden and what it cost. But look at what I have done since: I have done penance. I stood in the Jordan River for days, water up to my neck, fasting, calling out to you. I have not eaten. I have not drunk. I have done everything that a person can do to demonstrate that the sin was not the whole of him."

The angels heard the plea. Michael descended and stood before God and argued for Adam. "At least," he said, "let the man be taken up after death and shown a restoration. Let the end not be only expulsion. Let there be something on the other side of the dying."

The First Chariot Vision

What the text from the Life of Adam and Eve is doing with this account is staking a claim about precedence. Ezekiel had the chariot vision in the sixth century before the common era, and it became the foundation of Jewish mysticism. Enoch was taken into the heavens in the antediluvian period and saw the divine throne room. But Adam saw first. Before any prophet, before any mystic, before the tradition had even developed a vocabulary for describing such things, the first man was carried back to the place he had been expelled from and was given, as the last act of his life, a vision of what he had lost.

This is not a comfortable gift. To be shown the throne when you are dying, to be carried to the garden you were expelled from in order to be told that the time for dying has come, is a form of mercy that is also a form of grief. Adam sees what he and Eve gave up. He sees it from a chariot, which means he cannot stay. He pleads not to be cast out a second time. The first time was from the garden. The second time would be from this vision, from this momentary return, back into the dying body on the earth below.

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From the tradition

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Life of Adam and Eve 45-48Apocrypha

Apocrypha turns to Adam Cries Out as the First Human to Face Death.

Well, Jewish tradition has a lot to say about the death of Adam, the first human. And it's not just a simple passing; it's a cosmic event, filled with angels, regrets, and a whole lot of divine intervention.

Adam is lying in his tent, and he knows. He knows the end is near. According to Louis Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, Adam, realizing his time was up, cries out with a mighty voice. “Let all my sons gather by me," he pleads, "so that I may see them and bless.” (Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, 1:10). Can you imagine the scene? The weight of millennia on his shoulders, the knowledge that he was the beginning?

His son Seth, ever dutiful, hurries to gather the family. But here’s where things get interesting. Seth isn't alone. With him are not just his siblings, but also… an entourage. According to the Tree of Souls, Seth and his mother, Eve, are on a quest to plead for mercy. (Schwartz, Tree of Souls, 9:7).

They venture to the Gate of Paradise, desperate for a cure for Adam. Think of it as the ultimate doctor's visit. They beg for oil from the Tree of Mercy, hoping it will heal him. But an angel appears – some say it's the archangel Michael himself – and delivers a somber message: their plea is denied. Now is the time for Adam to go.

But why? Why deny Adam, the first man, a longer life? The angel explains that this is God's decree, a necessary part of the cosmic order. It's a harsh reality, a reminder that even paradise has its limits.

When Seth and Eve return, grief hangs heavy in the air. Adam prepares for his final moments, surrounded by his children. The Zohar, a central text of Kabbalah, paints a vivid picture of Adam's death. The sun begins to dim. The earth trembles. Even the celestial realms feel the impact of his passing.

According to tradition, God then sends angels to prepare Adam for burial. They wash and anoint his body, a ritual that becomes the basis for Jewish burial practices. It's a poignant moment, a divine act of compassion for the man who walked in the Garden of Eden.

And where is Adam buried? Tradition places his grave in the Cave of Machpelah in Hebron, alongside Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Rebecca, Jacob, and Leah. This cave, purchased by Abraham as a burial plot, becomes a significant site in Jewish history, linking the first man to the patriarchs and matriarchs of the Jewish people. (Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, 1:10).

The death of Adam, as depicted in Jewish tradition, is more than just the end of a life. It's a powerful reminder of our mortality, the consequences of our choices, and the enduring presence of God's compassion, even in the face of death. It's a story that invites us to contemplate our own lives, our own legacies, and the eternal questions that have haunted humanity since the very beginning.

So, next time you think about death, remember Adam. Remember the angels, the pleas for mercy, and the solemn acceptance of God's will. It's a story that stays with you, long after the last word is spoken.

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Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah 13:4Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah

The mystics of old wrestled with this all the time, particularly when contemplating the Divine Chariot, the Merkavah (the Divine Chariot), described by the prophet Ezekiel (Ezekiel 1). What does it look like, this vehicle of God's presence? And how do we even begin to understand such a vision?

That's precisely what the ancient text, Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah (Wisdom), "138 Openings of Wisdom," seeks to illuminate. It dives deep into the complexities of prophetic visions, offering us glimpses into the very structure of spiritual reality. After laying a general groundwork, it turns to the specific details, the nuts and bolts, so to speak, of the Merkavah.

One of the first, most fundamental questions it asks is: What form do the Sefirot (the divine emanations) take?

The Sefirot, these are the ten emanations, the ten attributes through which the Divine manifests in the world. Think of them as the building blocks of creation, the channels of God's infinite light. But how do they appear in the prophetic vision? Do they arrange themselves in a circle, or stand upright, in a linear fashion?

Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah presents us with these two possibilities right from the start.

The text explains that the forms we see in prophetic visions are not to be taken literally, as physical shapes. They're symbolic representations, hints at deeper, spiritual realities. These forms offer us a framework for understanding the unfolding of the Divine will, how the Infinite becomes knowable.

Think of it like this: imagine trying to describe a complex emotion like love. You might use metaphors – a warm fire, a gentle breeze, a sturdy oak tree. These aren’t literally love, but they give us a way to grasp its essence. Similarly, the circular and upright forms are ways of conceptualizing the Sefirot.

So, what's the difference between them? Why both? The text goes on to explore the circular and upright, linear schemes in which the Sefirot appear. One arrangement speaks to a sense of cyclical completion, encompassing all within its bound. The other suggests a linear progression, a chain of cause and effect, a journey from one point to another.

These aren't just abstract concepts. They reflect different aspects of the Divine, different ways in which God interacts with the world.

The Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah is inviting us to contemplate not just the what of the Divine Chariot, but the how. How does the infinite become finite? How does the unseeable become seen, even if only in a symbolic, prophetic glimpse?

And perhaps, by wrestling with these questions, we can begin to glimpse that hidden architecture ourselves.

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