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Philo Said Moses Sat on the Throne of God at the Peak of Sinai

Philo of Alexandria wrote around 20 CE that Moses ascended Sinai, found a throne, and sat on it while a divine figure stepped aside and handed him the scepter.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Figure on the Summit
  2. What the Kavod Tradition Already Held
  3. Adam on the Throne Before Moses
  4. The Souls of the Patriarchs

The Figure on the Summit

Moses ascended to the peak of Sinai and found a throne so vast it touched the clouds of heaven. A figure of noble bearing sat upon it, crowned, holding a scepter. The figure beckoned Moses forward. Moses approached. The enthroned figure rose, handed Moses the scepter, gestured for him to ascend, set a crown of light on his head, and stepped aside.

Moses sat on the great throne and wrote what his Lord had taught him.

This is not a passage from a Kabbalistic text. It is from Philo of Alexandria, a Jewish philosopher writing for a sophisticated Greco-Roman audience around 20 CE, trained in Greek philosophy, careful with language, not given to extravagance. That makes what he wrote in Life of Moses the more startling. Translators have been softening it ever since.

What the Kavod Tradition Already Held

Philo was not inventing the imagery. He was drawing on a tradition already present in the Hebrew prophetic literature. Ezekiel had described a human-like figure seated on a sapphire throne above the divine chariot (Ezekiel 1:26-28). The tradition had a name for the luminous human form that appeared in prophetic vision: Kavod, divine Glory, the mode by which God makes Himself visible to human perception.

What Philo did was follow the Kavod tradition to its logical conclusion in the specific case of Moses. Exodus 7:1 has God telling Moses: See, I place you in the role of God to Pharaoh. Moses was not just a messenger. He was God's representative with the full weight of divine authority behind his words and his staff. If Moses entered the darkness where God resided, if the divine voice proclaimed him both God and King of the entire nation, then Philo's throne scene is not a theological innovation. It is the explication of what the earlier texts were already saying.

Adam on the Throne Before Moses

The Testament of Abraham, a Second Temple text that circulated in Jewish communities and was later preserved in multiple recensions, places Adam in a similar position. The archangel Michael takes Abraham on a celestial journey in a chariot drawn by cherubim. Abraham sees births, weddings, and funerals below him. The chariot reaches the gates of heaven and Abraham sees a figure on a golden throne radiating glory. Michael identifies the figure as Adam, sitting at the first gate, judging souls as they enter and either weeping or laughing depending on where they are going.

The enthronement of Adam, like the enthronement of Moses, draws on the same principle: the human being who stands closest to the divine image is capable of occupying the divine seat. The throne is not deserted when God steps aside. It is inherited by the one who has become most fully what humans are capable of becoming.

The Souls of the Patriarchs

Ginzberg's synthesis of midrashic traditions preserves the scene of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob being raised from their graves and ascending into Paradise. They stand before God and pray. But they do not pray quietly. They challenge. Master of the Universe, they say, how long will You sit upon Your throne like a mourner, with Your right hand behind You, and not redeem Your sons and daughters? They are advocates in the throne room, not passive spectators. The enthronement tradition carries with it an expectation of active participation in divine affairs, not merely passive proximity.

MosesEnthronementDivine PresencePhilo
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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 Moses 1:155-158Philo of Alexandria

It sounds radical, I know.

Some accounts say God bestowed immense honor upon Moses, gifting him dominion over the entire earth, the seas, the rivers – all the elements themselves. He granted Moses the world as a fitting inheritance, proclaiming him both God and King of the entire nation. As it says in (Exodus 7:1), "See, I place you in the role of God to Pharaoh."

Moses entering the darkness where God resided, perceiving realities beyond the grasp of ordinary humans. He dwelt within those mysteries until he was crowned with light, adorned in a radiant robe, his face shining with a divine beam.

The story continues that when Moses ascended to the peak of Mount Sinai, he beheld a throne of such immense scale that it touched the very clouds of heaven. Upon it sat a figure of noble bearing, crowned and holding a scepter. With a gesture, this being beckoned Moses forward. Moses approached and stood before the throne. The figure then handed the scepter to Moses, inviting him to ascend the throne and bestowing upon him a crown of light. Then, the figure withdrew.

And Moses sat upon the great throne, and wrote what his Lord had taught him.

This powerful imagery echoes similar enthronement myths surrounding other pivotal figures in Jewish tradition, like Adam, Enoch, Jacob, and King David.

Now, who was the figure on the throne? Some interpretations suggest it was a manifestation of the Kavod (כָּבוֹד), the Glory of the Lord. Think of Ezekiel's vision in (Ezekiel 1:26-28), where he describes a human-like figure seated upon a sapphire throne. It's a powerful image of divine presence.

Philo, a Hellenistic Jewish philosopher, even saw Moses as transcending the role of prophet, approaching a messianic or divine status. In this astonishing myth, Moses is invited to take the place of the enthroned figure who clearly seems to represent God.

While these ideas might seem unusual within mainstream rabbinic Judaism, similar traditions are found in Samaritan texts like Memar Markah and Samaritan hymns. The Samaritans, a Palestinian sect closely related to Judaism, held Moses in incredibly high regard, almost as a messianic figure. So, it's perhaps not entirely surprising that their texts sometimes elevate Moses to a godlike status.

Ezekiel the Tragedian even describes the actual enthronement of Moses. At the end of the enthronement, it seems as if God turns over His scepter and His throne to Moses and withdraws.

What does it all mean? Is Moses truly elevated to divine status? Perhaps. Or perhaps these stories are powerful metaphors, illustrating the immense authority and responsibility entrusted to Moses, the prophet who brought God's law to the Israelites and shaped their destiny. It's a evidence of the profound impact one human being can have, and the ways in which that impact can be interpreted, generation after generation.

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The Testament of Abraham 10-11Testament of Abraham

Testament of Abraham turns to The Enthronement Of Adam.

One such idea, found in The Testament of Abraham (chapters 10-11), paints a breathtaking picture. The archangel Michael, no less, whisks Abraham away on a celestial chariot – a chariot pulled by cherubim, soaring above the earth. Abraham sees the whole world spread out below him, witnessing the cycle of life: births, weddings, even funerals.

Then, the chariot reaches the gates of heaven. And Abraham sees two paths: one wide, one narrow. Many souls are herded through the wide gate by angels, while only a few are led through the narrow one. Outside these gates sits a figure on a golden throne, radiating glory.

Who is this majestic being? Abraham, understandably, is curious. He asks Michael, who reveals that it is none other than Adam, the first human. Adam, enthroned in heaven!

But why? What's he doing there? According to this tradition, Adam observes the fate of all who live on Earth, because, after all, they are all his descendants. When he sees souls entering the gate of the righteous – the gate that leads to eternal life – he rejoices. But when he sees souls being driven through the gate of sinners, the gate of destruction, he is overcome with grief. He throws himself down and weeps.

Think about the weight of that image. Adam, the father of humanity, eternally connected to the destinies of his children. The Testament of Abraham presents him not just as the first man, but as a figure of immense responsibility, deeply invested in the fate of every single soul.

This isn't the only tradition that elevates Adam to a divine-like status. Some myths, like those discussed in Tree of Souls by Howard Schwartz, portray him as a giant, reaching from earth to heaven, or as an enormous golem – an animated being – asleep in paradise. These stories point to an ancient impulse to see Adam not just as human, but as something more, something closer to the divine.

Why this elevation of Adam? Some scholars see this as evidence of early Jewish mystical speculation, which often appears in texts like the Pseudepigrapha. The idea is that Adam, as the first human, shares in God's rule and concern for the world. He’s not just a passive figure in the story of creation, but an active participant in the ongoing drama of human existence. He is a judge, a mourner, and a celebrant, all at once.

So, the next time you think of Adam, remember this image: Adam, seated on his golden throne, watching over us all, feeling our joys and sorrows as if they were his own. It’s a powerful reminder of our shared humanity, and the enduring legacy of the first human.

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3 Enoch 443 Enoch

Some of these images paint a picture of them continuing to fight for us, even from the next world.

One such story tells of the souls of the patriarchs – Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – being raised from their graves and ascending into Paradise. Imagine the scene: these foundational figures, the very avot, fathers, of our people, standing before God Himself. It's a moment filled with both awe and, surprisingly, a fierce kind of advocacy.

What do they do when they get there? They pray. But not just any prayer. According to this tradition, they challenge God, almost pleading with Him. "Master of the Universe," they cry, "how long will You sit upon Your throne like a mourner, with Your right hand behind You, and not redeem Your sons and daughters and reveal Your kingdom in the world? How long will You have no pity upon Your children, who are made slaves among the nations of the world? Have You no pity?"

Can you feel the weight of their words? The raw emotion? They’re not just praying for abstract justice, but for their descendants, for us, suffering in exile. Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer, chapter 44, is one source for this incredible scene.

God's response, however, is…sobering. He essentially says, "Since these wicked ones have sinned and transgressed, how can I deliver them from among the nations of the world and reveal My kingdom?" Ouch.

The weight of that answer crushes the patriarchs. They begin to weep. Picture Abraham, the compassionate one; Isaac, the one who knew sacrifice; and Jacob, the striver, all weeping together. The image is devastating. Then God asks them, "Abraham, My beloved, Isaac My elect, Jacob, My firstborn, how can I save them at this time?" This comes from 3 Enoch, chapter 44, by the way.

At this point, Michael, the Prince of Israel, the angelic protector of our people, steps forward. And he doesn't mince words. With a loud, tormented voice, he cries out, "Why do You stand far off, O Lord?" This piercing question, a direct quote from (Psalm 10:1), cuts through the heavenly court.

What does it all mean? This myth, as Lawrence Kushner and Nehemia Polen would likely argue, isn’t just a story. It's a window into the ongoing dialogue between God and His people, a dialogue that continues even after death. The Zohar tells us that the souls of the righteous never truly leave us; they continue to advocate on our behalf.

This story, like others such as "The Pleading of the Fathers" (found elsewhere in Jewish lore) and "The Patriarchs Weep over the Destruction of the Temple," found in Midrash Rabbah, reveals a complex and sometimes challenging relationship. God loves us, but also holds us accountable. The patriarchs love us and plead for mercy. And the angels, like Michael, stand ready to defend us. It's a powerful reminder that we are not alone in our struggles. We are part of a chain, a legacy, that stretches back to the very beginnings of our people, and extends even into the heavenly realms.

So, the next time you feel lost or overwhelmed, remember the souls of the patriarchs. Remember their tears, their prayers, and their unwavering commitment to the Jewish people. And remember that even in the face of divine judgment, there are voices in heaven crying out for our redemption.

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