This immediately addresses the problem that becomes significant along the way, namely that we are talking about a historical or an envisioned event. This may certainly be explosive within a generation and locally, but the reverberations throughout the rest of the world came later when the original story had changed significantly. When it is no longer “I have a vision …” or “the Master told us to do this …” but wrapped up in the portrayal of a divine being that incarnated as a human being, you can see how things have significantly changed. We have entered the area of mythology.
It is for this reason that perhaps the criticisms of Judaism came later, when this transformation had taken place, because as long as they were talking about visions or masters, as you say, there were many of them, depending on the interpretation. But when the idea of the Messiah becomes mythology, it undermines the more realistic hope of a human messiah. When Christianity is transported as a “cosmic” event but the world looks unchanged, and the superficial shifting of power doesn’t change the experience of everyday life, you have to ask what is real.
As universalists, we both acknowledge the positive contributions of wisdom cultures around the world. There is an agreed goal, which, to me, seems to require acknowledging unity among human beings and, possibly, with all life. This means recognising that we are all interconnected and that we interact with and confront each other with our different perspectives. Cultural differences are like the colours emerging from a prism. But it is all light. If we come to a point in which traditions say that they are the only true religion like the Abrahamic traditions, this contradicts our universalism.
Okay, so that we know what we’re talking about: Merkavah mysticism (from the Hebrew for “chariot”) is an early form of Jewish mysticism that flourished from roughly the 1st to the 10th centuries CE. It is centred on visionary experiences inspired by the prophet Ezekiel’s vision of the divine chariot (merkavah) described in Ezekiel 1. The tradition is characterized by attempts to ascend spiritually and experience the heavenly realms, culminating in a vision of God’s Throne.
Practitioners sought to recreate Ezekiel’s vision by ascending through the heavens, often described as a journey through seven “palaces” (hekhalot) guarded by angels. The ascent was both a metaphysical and ecstatic experience, involving altered states of consciousness, ritual purity, and meditative techniques. It sounds a lot like other ecstatic revelations, past and present, that has its place in many traditions. Practitioners across traditions report entering trance-like or ecstatic states, often accompanied by visions, euphoria, and a sense of timelessness. Many traditions describe encounters with divine beings, angels, or manifestations of the sacred, often as the culmination of spiritual ascent or deep meditation.
Scholars note that ecstatic and visionary elements are a recurring motif in religious history, from the Maenads of ancient Greece to Christian saints and Sufi mystics. Modern research suggests that while the phenomenological content (visions, ascents, union with the divine) is similar, each tradition interprets and integrates these experiences according to its own beliefs and cultural context.
This is what takes precedence over the Sermon on the Mount? We must also recognise that Acts is generally a book introducing Paul as ‘the’ Apostle and early Christian rites, including the Eucharist, were influenced by Greek mystery traditions, particularly in their symbolism of death, rebirth, and spiritual transformation. I wouldn’t be at all surprised that this tendency was observed by Rabbis and criticised.
You can see how far we have moved away from the Galilean teacher who proposed that compassion transforms people into the ‘light of the world’ and ‘salt of the earth’. He claimed that it is this compassion that is divine and consumed him as it could consume his followers. They could be one in this transcendent power and it could change the world. He was of course right, but compassion is a universal value, recognised by most traditions.
In Buddhism, compassion (karu ṇā) is one of the Four Immeasurables and central to the path of enlightenment. The Buddha taught that compassion for all beings leads to liberation. In Hinduism, the principle of ahimsa (non-harming) is rooted in deep compassion for all living beings. Unfortunately, many modern spiritual practices have shifted toward ritual, ecstatic experience, or personal enlightenment, sometimes at the expense of the simple, radical call to compassion.
The Galilean teacher’s insight, that compassion can consume and unite, making people “one” in transcendent power, remains as relevant as ever. Compassion is not only a personal virtue but a social force capable of healing divisions and inspiring justice. As Christianity evolved, especially under the influence of Paul’s epistles, the focus of the faith shifted in notable ways from the simple, transformative compassion at the heart of Jesus’ message to more complex theological constructs centred on faith, grace, and atonement.
If such ecstatic experience is the basis of a revelation, surely the call is to all followers to pursue this kind of experience! Is this the metanoia that Paul spoke of? Its meaning is broader and deeper than simple repentance as commonly understood. In the original Greek, metanoia means a “change of mind” or a “transformation of heart and consciousness”—a radical reorientation of one’s entire way of thinking and being.
But the parallels between the metanoia associated with early Christian transformation and the spiritual journey at the heart of the Eleusinian Mysteries come to mind. Both traditions centre on a profound, often life-altering change in consciousness, facilitated by ritual, symbolism, and communal experience. In both traditions, metanoia is not merely repentance but a radical transformation of being—a new way of seeing oneself, others, and the world.
Aristotle noted that initiates “have not a lesson to learn, but an experience to undergo and a condition into which they must be brought while they are becoming fit for revelation.” This is a long way off from the Roman idea of faith and makes me ask what is not being said about Paul and his conversion.
Indeed! But this is what I mean. It is something completely different and Jews will have noticed this. It also makes the following arguments somewhat irrelevant.
If Paul is promoting a radical metanoia as described above, then we have to ask whether following old traditions is something he can agree to. His public confrontation with Peter over table fellowship with Gentiles (Galatians 2:11-14) was a clear demonstration that he would not tolerate what he saw as hypocrisy or a retreat to old divisions. He would clearly be unhappy with what is passed as Christianity or Judaism today.
He creates a tension he never fully resolves, as seen in his nuanced discussions in Romans and Galatians. History reveals how his struggle was passed on to later generations. Paul’s letters reveal ongoing disputes—not just with Peter, but with the “super-apostles” in Corinth and with communities that question his authority. He defends his apostleship with passion, but also with a sense of vulnerability and woundedness. Modern scholars and psychologists often see Paul as a figure of great internal complexity.
Paul’s writings reveal a man who was not at peace with himself, but who channelled his inner conflicts into a passionate and transformative vision.
However, if he had spoken about a kind of “repulsion” to the aspects of the Tanakh that you mention, rather than saying the law was a burden, he would probably join some gnostic sects in saying the God of Jesus is not the God of the Tanakh. I agree with all the critical points you make regarding the ‘Holiness Code’ and am obviously not a Jew because of that.
Paul’s teaching represents an “extreme distancing” from the Holiness Code’s ritual obligations, especially for Gentiles. He promoted a new way of covenant participation based on faith in Christ and the transformative work of the Spirit, rather than on ritual purity or legal boundary markers. This was a significant departure from the Torah’s original framework, and it set the trajectory for much of later Christian theology and practice.
Agreed, but we are talking here about a sign of the covenant, which, along with the Sabbath, is even today a defining trait of Judaism.
Agreed, but once more, we are talking about defining traits of Judaism, not nuances in practice. For Jews, the Messiah was not and is not someone who is executed on the cross.
We remain with a personality whose singular influence, while presumably well-meaning, transformed and internationalised a Jewish reform movement, created a tension that remains to the present day, and was apparently inspired by mystical experiences that he gave priority over tradition. No wonder that the church thought they had to deify Jesus to return him to a prominent position in the church. The mythologisation of Christ served to contrast him with the Eleusinian and Dionysian Mysteries, and the former version of the Gospel of John showed him to be the ‘better’ Dionysus, with a better wine to offer.
This emphasis inevitably marginalizes the voices and experiences of the original disciples, including Mary Magdalene, who are far more prominent in the Gospels and in some apocryphal writings. The canonical tradition, shaped heavily by Paul’s influence, tends to sideline these figures and their witness in favour of the “revelation” Paul claims to have received directly from Christ.
Fortunately, the apocryphal Gospels—such as the Gospel of Mary, the Gospel of Thomas, and others—preserve alternative perspectives. These texts often highlight the authority and insight of Mary Magdalene and other disciples, sometimes even challenging the authority of Peter and Paul. They suggest a more diverse and contested early Christian landscape, where different communities remembered and interpreted Jesus in distinct ways.
In summary, Paul’s mystical vision and theology of the resurrected Christ did set a new direction for Christianity, but one that overshadowed the lived experiences and teachings of Jesus’ earliest followers. The apocryphal Gospels remind us that other voices and stories existed, offering a richer and more complex portrait of the early movement.