Paul’s Celestial Christ: Myth or Visionary Revelation?

Was Paul’s vision on the road to Damascus a genuine encounter or a clever reworking of Hebrew narrative to forge religious authority? I ask this question because beneath the surface of Paul’s dramatic conversion lies a subtle mimicry of the Hebrew Scriptures, most strikingly the story of Balaam and his donkey in Numbers 22. This blog post will look at the symbolic layers beneath Paul’s celestial Christ to explore whether Paul’s visionary religion is rooted in authentic revelation or constructed myth.

The Damascus Drama and Balaam’s Vision: A Curious Parallel

In Acts 9, Saul (later Paul) is dramatically halted while traveling to persecute followers of the Jesus character. He is thrown from his mount, blinded by a celestial light, and hears the voice of a risen Christ (Acts 9:3–5). This foundational story of Paul’s apostleship is eerily reminiscent of Numbers 22, in which Balaam, also journeying on a seemingly divine errand, is stopped by a vision of an angel, unseen by him but visible to his donkey. After being rebuked by both the ass and the angel, Balaam's eyes are opened to the heavenly warning.

What ties these two stories together is not only the structure; a prophetic figure traveling with malicious intent, confronted supernaturally on the road; but also the theological implications. Balaam, though given words from God, is remembered as a false prophet (2 Peter 2:15; Revelation 2:14). If Paul's experience is shaped after Balaam’s (and the author writing the book of Acts does do this), could this be an intentional literary signal suggesting Paul’s revelation is similarly spurious?

Literary Fabrication or Prophetic Fulfillment?

As Maurice Goguel outlines in Jesus the Nazarene: Myth or History?, the early Christian narrative was not formed in a vacuum. Rather, it was steeped in a milieu of prophetic exegesis and creative reworking of Hebrew traditions. The Gospels and Paul’s epistles repeatedly claim that Jesus’ life and death fulfilled Old Testament prophecy, but Goguel cautions that these “fulfillments” may have been discovered after the fact or created to match existing prophetic patterns.

This methodology helps explain the similarities between Paul and Balaam. The author of Acts, likely aiming to authenticate Paul’s apostleship (and to subtly reveal the character of his ministry), mirrors the Balaam narrative, perhaps knowingly. But if Balaam, a non-Israelite seer who sought to curse Israel but was overruled by “divine intervention,” is ultimately judged false, then what does that imply for Paul, whose own vision also contradicts the established leadership of the Jerusalem apostles?

The Celestial Christ: Vision or Invention?

J. Gresham Machen, in The Origin of Paul’s Religion, defends Paul as a genuine recipient of divine revelation. He argues that Paul’s religion was not shaped by paganism or borrowed myth, but by a real encounter with the risen Christ and continuity with the historical Jesus. Yet, Machen concedes that Paul's writings do not focus heavily on Jesus' earthly life, suggesting that Paul's Christ is primarily a celestial being—not a rabbi of Galilee but a divine redeemer whose drama unfolds in the heavens more than on earth.

This celestial emphasis is precisely what gives rise to mythic interpretation. Paul's Christ appears to many as a revealed being, introduced through apocalyptic visions rather than historical witness. There is nothing historical about Paul’s Jesus. Unlike the other apostles who are scripted to have known Jesus in the flesh, Paul boasts, “I did not receive [the gospel] from any man… but by revelation of Jesus Christ” (Galatians 1:12). This bold claim sidesteps the earthly ministry of Jesus and lays apostolic authority on visionary ground alone.

Mythic Constructs and Prophetic Mimicry

There are good reasons to suspect Paul’s Christ is a theological construct more than a historical memory. As Goguel explains, Pauline thought was deeply influenced by mystical concepts of sin, redemption, and divine intermediaries, concepts common not only in Jewish apocalyptic literature but also in surrounding Hellenistic religious thought. His Christ is not merely a messiah; he is a cosmic savior operating beyond time and space.

Goguel identifies the tendency of early Christian authors to create stories that match prophecy, transforming figures like Jesus, and possibly Paul, into eschatological templates. This meshes well with the idea that Paul’s Damascus experience, echoing Balaam’s confrontation, is less about spontaneous revelation and more about literary and theological construction.

Theological Implications: The Mark of a False Prophet?

In Numbers 22, Balaam claims to speak for God, even prophesying truly at times, but his ultimate legacy is one of deceit and seduction. He leads Israel into compromise (Numbers 31:16) and is repeatedly condemned in the New Testament as an archetype of the false teacher.

Why would the author writing the book of Acts have Paul’s conversion echo such a controversial figure?

Some may argue this is coincidental or merely typological. But for those attuned to the literary crafting of biblical narratives, this parallel is troubling. Could Acts be subtly critiquing Paul’s role by embedding him in a Balaam-like framework? Or did later editors overlook the irony, unintentionally exposing the fragility of Paul’s claims?

The Mask Behind the Vision

Paul's celestial Christ, proclaimed through a private vision and divorced from any known “historical Jesus,” bears all the signs of mythic fabrication. When compared to the Old Testament story of Balaam, the similarities are more than poetic; they are prophetic inversions. Balaam was rebuked for claiming divine vision while leading people astray. Paul, claiming his own isolated revelation, introduces a radically new understanding that sidelines the supposed teachings of Jesus and the leadership of those believed to have walked with him.

Whether one sees Paul as a visionary apostle or a reinvented Balaam may depend on one’s theological commitments. But the flow of Numbers 22 within Paul’s narrative should not be ignored. We should be asking whether Paul’s fall from his beast is an act of “divine commissioning,” or a literary confession that, like Balaam, he is a prophet whose mouth may have been opened, but whose message was not rightly “inspired.”

Watch on Youtube

PowerPoint Presentation on the conspiracy behind Paul’s vision (click)

What did Paul actually teach? (click)

Is Paul’s Argument Biblically Legitimate? (click)

References

Goguel, M. (1926). Jesus the Nazarene: Myth or History? New York: D. Appleton & Company.

Machen, J. G. (1925). The Origin of Paul’s Religion. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company.

From Mystical Messiah to Imperial Creed: How the Jesus Movement Became Roman Orthodoxy

Before orthodoxy, there was plurality. As Rebecca Lyman explains, early Christian communities developed in urban networks, often shaped by Jewish scripture and Greek philosophical reflection. These communities offered varied theological models: some viewed Jesus as the incarnate Logos (John 1:1), others as an adopted son of God, and still others, such as the Monarchians, saw Father, Son, and Spirit as mere titles of the one God acting in history.

This diversity was not a defect but a generative force. Drawing from the Hebrew Bible and Greco-Roman philosophical cosmologies, early Christians articulated rich soteriologies (salvation doctrines) that emphasized divine mediation and unity in creative tension. I, in my book A Fallen Record, add some weight to this interpretation, exposing how the original teachings of Jesus were aimed at personal spiritual regeneration rather than external conformity to legal religious codes. I highlight that love, as originally taught from the Bible, means “to edify,” and that “edification is mental” and rooted in comparative spiritual reflection; not institutionalized mandates (Jackson, 2018, p. vi).

This meshes with a broader theme: that the early Jesus movement was most likely a deeply internal, philosophical journey toward enlightenment, not simply a religious subscription. It wasn’t until the third century that bishops began to gather in synods to assert doctrinal boundaries; initially local, but increasingly prescriptive.

Constantine’s Calculus: Christianity as Imperial Glue

Enter Constantine. In the fourth century, Christianity moved from being one among many pagan religious currents to the favored cult of the Roman Empire. Johannes Wienand notes in Contested Monarchy that Constantine’s rule hinged on creating ideological unity across an empire fractured by war and religious pluralism. Christianity, especially in its emerging Trinitarian formulation, offered a compelling, even if deceiving, symbolic order.

By convening the Council of Nicaea in 325 CE, Constantine wielded theology as statecraft. No longer was doctrine merely a matter for spiritual discernment; it became a matter of imperial cohesion. The Nicene Creed served both to define Christian belief and to establish political unity, asserting that the Jesus character was “of one substance” (homoousios) with the Father. This was no small theological tweak, as it was a metaphysical claim enforced by imperial decree.

And as Potter (2006) makes clear, the transformation of Roman governance under emperors like Diocletian and Constantine was tightly interwoven with these theological shifts. Religious unity was essential to administrative stability.

Creeds and Councils: Institutionalizing the Ineffable

The Council of Nicaea was only the beginning. As Lyman observes, the subsequent councils and theological treatises forged a new ontology of divine unity: a Trinitarian Deity, eternally co-equal and co-eternal in three persons. These developments were not inevitable outgrowths of scripture, but carefully negotiated outcomes shaped by politics, persuasion, and ecclesiastical muscle.

I, in A Fallen Record, echo this concern, pointing to how Christian elders and clergy strayed from the Bible’s intended “mental” path of edification and instead reintroduced “legal religious ordinances”—structures the Jesus character is written to have abolished. This institutionalization was a return to the very bondage that Jesus sought to liberate people from (Jackson, 2018, pp. viii–xi).

From Cross to Cathedral: The Architecture of Empire

As Leif Vaage’s Religious Rivalries in the Early Roman Empire shows, Christianity’s rise involved not just belief but strategic adaptation to Roman modes of power. Where the image of the Jesus character once preaching in fields and synagogues existed, now his image stood colossal in basilicas. The church became Rome’s spiritual senate. The bishop of Rome (later the Pope) took on roles of adjudication and administration once reserved for imperial magistrates.

Potter (2006) provides a valuable lens for understanding this shift. The transformation of cities, social hierarchies, and even domestic life under Rome’s rule embedded Christian institutions into every facet of public and private life.

Cathedrals became the architecture of belief, and belief itself became architecture: rigid, hierarchical, and imperially endorsed.

A Mindful Reflection

The story of how the Greek cosmic Logos became the Christ of cathedrals is not merely a tale of theological evolution; it is a narrative of institutional capture. The mystical, esoteric teachings of the Jesus character were transmuted into imperial doctrine. Unity came at the cost of diversity. Orthodoxy became a crown falsely beautiful, heavy, and exclusionary. It reminds me of Isaiah 28:1, “Woe to the crown of pride, to the drunkards of Ephraim, whose glorious beauty is a fading flower...”

I’m hoping this blog post raises the same concern that I highlight in A Fallen Record, that for the sake of our devotional conversation’s character, we capture a faith born of personal conscience “written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God” (2 Corinthians 3:3). This means moving beyond tradition-bound creeds to rediscover the contemplative and philosophical fact found at the core of the scriptures from Genesis to Malachi.

We also can’t forget, as Potter (2006) does remind us, that every empire, even Rome, was just a philosophical project, an attempt to order the cosmos by ordering society. If this is true, then to re-engage the mind at the core of the scriptures is not a retreat from history, it is a reclaiming of philosophy for our inward society.

References

Jackson, L. J. (2018). A Fallen Record: The Christian Transgression. Fideli Publishing, Inc.

Lyman, R. (2024). The Theology of the Council of Nicaea. St Andrews Encyclopaedia of Theology.

Potter, D. S. (Ed.). (2006). A Companion to the Roman Empire. Blackwell Publishing.

Vaage, L. E. (Ed.). (2006). Religious Rivalries in the Early Roman Empire and the Rise of Christianity. Wilfrid Laurier University Press.

Wienand, J. (Ed.). (2015). Contested Monarchy: Integrating the Roman Empire in the Fourth Century AD. Oxford University Press.

Jesus Vs. Christ: Did the Historical Jesus Even Matter?

When reviewing Paul’s overall mythology, one begins to question whether the historical Jesus even mattered, and particularly when comparing the Christ of Paul’s theology with the Jesus of the Gospel narratives. This debate touches on the very foundation of Christianity, raising concerns about whether its movement is rooted in a real historical figure or a theological construct that evolved independently of any specific individual.

Paul’s Christ Without a Historical Jesus

Paul’s letters, the earliest Christian writings, present a Jesus who is overwhelmingly mythological and theological; a cosmic Christ, whose death and resurrection define Christian theory. Unlike the Gospel narratives, Paul rarely references the life and teachings of Jesus. Instead, his Christ is the sacrificial atonement, a divine mediator between God and humanity. The implications are significant: if Paul’s Jesus was primarily theological and not based on an earthly figure, does Christianity even need a historical Jesus?

In 1 Corinthians 15:3-5, Paul states:

"For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the Twelve."

This passage, one of the few instances where Paul presents an early Christian creed, does not focus on Jesus’ earthly life or teachings but on his death and resurrection. This emphasis suggests that for Paul, the significance of the Jesus character lay not in his historical actions, but in his theological function. Paul’s Jesus is universal, transcendent, and salvific—not a rabbi or social revolutionary, but a divine intermediary.

The Gospel Jesus: A Narrative Counterbalance?

In contrast, the Gospels somewhat anchor Jesus firmly in Jewish tradition. They depict him as a prophet, a teacher of ethics, and a proclaimer of the philosophy of the Kingdom of God. The Jesus of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John interacts with his disciples, debates with religious authorities, and preaches about justice and the inward work of God the Father. His teachings, particularly in the Sermon on the Mount, emphasize morality and social ethics in ways that Paul does not.

Given that the Gospels were written after Paul’s letters, were they attempting to correct his vision of the Jesus character? Some within the field argue that the Gospel writers sought to ground the theological Christ in history, providing a biographical framework that Paul had ignored. Others suggest that Paul’s vision was the original, and the Gospel narratives were a later mythologization, an effort to make a cosmic savior more relatable to a broader audience.

Paul’s Theology: A Jewish Evolution or a Radical Departure?

Pamela Eisenbaum, in Paul Was Not a Christian, argues that Paul remained fundamentally Jewish and was not “converting” to a new religion, but rather reinterpreting Jewish messianic expectations in light of his revelations. Paul’s Jesus was not a moral teacher but, according to Paul’s perception, a fulfillment of divine prophecy, a necessary sacrifice for the redemption of humanity.

This perspective further complicates the issue of the historical Jesus. If Paul’s vision was the earliest and most influential, then the Gospel Jesus might be a theological innovation rather than a corrective. That is, Jesus the rabbi and ethical teacher may have been a later narrative construct to appeal to Jewish and Greco-Roman audiences.

Christianity Without a Historical Jesus?

If Paul’s Jesus was primarily a theological concept, can Christianity function without a historical Jesus? Some in the field argue that it already does. Christian faith, as articulated by Paul, depends not on the deeds or words of an earthly Jesus but on belief in his death and resurrection. Paul himself claims that his Gospel was received “through revelation” rather than human tradition, suggesting that historical veracity was secondary to theological truth.

Yet, the absence of a historical Jesus would create existential challenges for Christianity. Without a tangible figure to ground its beliefs, Christianity risks being seen as a philosophical or mythical system rather than a historical faith. The tension between Paul’s cosmic Christ and the Gospel’s Jewish teacher reflects an ongoing struggle within Christian thought: is faith rooted in theological necessity or historical reality?

The Question

The question of whether the historical Jesus even mattered ultimately hinges on what one considers essential to Christian theory. If Christianity is about faith in a figure of salvation, then Paul’s theological Jesus is sufficient. If Christianity seeks historical legitimacy, then the imagined narrative of the Gospel Jesus becomes indispensable for a mythological historical framework (I realize that a “mythological historical framework might sound odd, but Greek epic writers, this was literary culture, namely, to make epic appear historical). The divergence between Paul’s letters and the Gospel narratives suggests that early Christianity was simply a lively and evolving belief system—one that continues to have a losing battle with the balance between history and theology.

 References:

Bedard, S. J., J. (n.d.). Paul And The Historical Jesus: A Case Study in First Corinthians. In McMaster Journal of Theology and Ministry (Vol. 7, pp. 9–22).

Matthew, D. & Pamela Eisenbaum. (2009). PAUL WAS NOT a CHRISTIAN: the original message of a misunderstood apostle. In HarperCollins.

Taylor, N. (2003). Paul and the historical Jesus quest. Neotestamentica, 37(1), 105-126.