2 Enoch — Large Print

Introduction

There are books that exist at the very edge of the known world — texts that were written down by human hands yet claim to carry the breath of something far older, far stranger, and far more luminous than anything ordinary scholarship can easily contain. The ancient document you are about to read is one of those rare and extraordinary works. It survived the collapse of civilizations, the burning of libraries, the suppression of heterodox traditions, and the long silence of centuries during which it was known only to a handful of scholars working from Slavonic manuscripts copied and recopied by medieval monks who may not have fully understood what they were preserving. And yet here it is, intact in its essential vision, offering the modern reader an experience that is at once deeply alien and profoundly intimate — a journey through the architecture of the cosmos as imagined by a brilliant, spiritually serious mind working somewhere in the ancient world, probably in the first century of the Common Era.

To read this text is to step through a door that most people do not even know exists. The canonical scriptures of Judaism and Christianity are familiar to billions of people across the world, and even those who have never read them in full have absorbed their language, their imagery, and their moral frameworks through culture, art, and the long residue of religious tradition. But the canonical texts represent only a fraction of the vast literary and spiritual output of the ancient Jewish world. Around and beneath and alongside those familiar scriptures lies an enormous body of writing — apocalypses, testaments, hymns, wisdom texts, and heavenly journey narratives — that was produced during the same centuries, by writers who shared the same fundamental worldview, but who were exploring questions and visions that the canonical editors ultimately chose not to include in the official record. These are the texts scholars call the Pseudepigrapha and the Apocrypha, and they offer a window into the full, wild, searching richness of ancient religious imagination in a way that the canonical texts alone simply cannot.

Among all these forgotten and rediscovered works, the Enochic literature holds a special place. The figure of Enoch — the seventh patriarch from Adam in the genealogies of Genesis — receives only the briefest of mentions in the Hebrew Bible, but those few verses ignited centuries of imaginative and theological elaboration. Genesis tells us that Enoch walked with God, and that he did not die, but was taken by God. That is all. But for ancient writers, those two sentences were an open door into an entire cosmos of speculation. If Enoch was taken by God without dying, where did he go? What did he see? What was he shown? What did he learn? And what did he bring back, or leave behind, for those who came after him? The answers that various ancient writers imagined to those questions produced a remarkable body of literature, of which the text you now hold is one of the most extraordinary examples.

The work known to scholars as 2 Enoch — distinguished from the earlier and longer 1 Enoch, which is preserved in Ethiopic, and from the later 3 Enoch, which is a product of Jewish mystical tradition — survives primarily in Old Church Slavonic manuscripts, the oldest of which date from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. This late manuscript tradition long obscured the text's true antiquity, and for much of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries scholars debated vigorously about when and where it was originally composed. The consensus that has emerged from more than a century of careful scholarship is that the core of the text was almost certainly composed in Greek, probably in Alexandria or another major center of Hellenistic Jewish culture, sometime in the first century CE — before the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in 70 CE, and possibly even before the birth of Christianity. Some scholars have argued for an even earlier date. What this means is that you are reading something that was already ancient when the Roman Empire was at its height, a text that was circulating in the Mediterranean world at the same time that the earliest Christian communities were forming and the rabbis were beginning the long process of codifying Jewish law.

The Slavonic manuscripts in which the text survived present their own fascinating story. When the Byzantine missionaries Cyril and Methodius brought Christianity to the Slavic peoples in the ninth century, they also brought with them a rich tradition of translated Greek religious literature, including many texts that had already been marginalized or suppressed in the Greek-speaking world. The Slavic scribal tradition preserved these texts with a kind of unconscious fidelity, copying them generation after generation without always understanding their full significance. It was not until the nineteenth century that Western scholars began to examine the Slavonic manuscript tradition seriously, and not until 1896 that the English scholar R.H. Charles and the Slavic scholar W.R. Morfill published the first major English translation, bringing this ancient vision to modern readers for the first time. Since then, the text has been translated, analyzed, and debated by scholars across multiple disciplines, and each generation of readers has found in it new layers of meaning and new reasons to take it seriously as a document of ancient religious thought.

What makes this particular text so compelling — so different from other ancient religious documents, even other texts in the Enochic tradition — is the quality of its imagination. This is not a dry theological treatise or a simple moral fable. It is a visionary narrative of extraordinary vividness and ambition, a text that attempts nothing less than a complete account of the structure of reality, from the lowest levels of the created order to the highest reaches of the divine presence. The writer was not content to speculate abstractly about God and the cosmos. He wanted to take you there. He wanted to show you the heavens one by one, to introduce you to the angels who inhabit them, to let you stand at the edge of the abyss where creation meets uncreated darkness, and ultimately to bring you into the presence of the divine light itself. And he does all of this through the figure of Enoch, whose journey becomes a kind of template for the journey of every human soul that dares to ask the deepest questions about the nature of existence.

A Cosmos Alive With Meaning

To fully appreciate what you are about to read, it helps to understand something about the cosmological worldview that underlies it — a worldview that was shared, in its broad outlines, by many educated people in the ancient Mediterranean world, Jewish, Greek, and eventually Christian alike, but that has become so foreign to modern assumptions that it requires a conscious act of imaginative reconstruction to enter into it properly.

The ancient cosmos was not the vast, cold, mechanistic universe of modern physics, stretching for billions of light-years in every direction without inherent meaning or purpose. It was a layered, living, purposeful structure, organized from top to bottom according to principles of divine wisdom and saturated at every level with spiritual significance. The earth was not a planet orbiting a star in an unremarkable corner of an unremarkable galaxy. It was the center and ground of a cosmos that ascended in stages from the material world through successive heavens, each more luminous and more spiritually refined than the one below, until the highest heaven was reached — the throne room of the divine, the source of all light, all wisdom, and all being.

In this cosmological framework, the heavens were not simply a metaphor for the divine presence. They were real places, inhabited by real beings — angels, archangels, and other spiritual creatures of various kinds and ranks — who performed specific functions in the administration of the cosmos. The movements of the sun, moon, and stars were not mechanical processes but the visible expression of angelic activity, the outer face of an inner spiritual order. The weather, the seasons, the cycles of day and night — all of these were governed by angelic beings who carried out their appointed tasks with perfect precision, fulfilling the commands of the divine will that had set the whole system in motion at the moment of creation.

This is the cosmos that the ancient author of this text inhabited, not just as a theoretical framework but as a living reality that shaped every aspect of his experience and imagination. And it is into this cosmos that Enoch is taken when the two mysterious figures appear at his bedside in the opening pages of the narrative. What follows is a guided tour of the entire structure of reality, conducted by angelic guides who show Enoch everything — the treasuries of the snow and the dew, the angels who govern the movements of the heavenly bodies, the souls of the righteous waiting for the final judgment, the place of punishment prepared for the wicked, and ultimately the highest heaven, where the divine presence dwells in a light so intense that no created being can approach it without special preparation.

But the cosmological tour is only one dimension of what makes this text so rich and rewarding. Woven through the visionary narrative is a sustained meditation on some of the most fundamental questions of human existence: What is the nature of God? How did the world come into being? What is the relationship between the divine and the human? What is the purpose of human life? What happens to us when we die? How should we treat one another? What is the meaning of time? These are not questions that the text addresses in an abstract or philosophical way. They emerge organically from the narrative, embedded in the visions and the speeches and the instructions that Enoch receives and then passes on to his sons before he is taken permanently into the divine presence.

The account of creation that appears in the middle sections of the text is particularly remarkable. It represents one of the most detailed and philosophically sophisticated accounts of creation in all of ancient Jewish literature, and it raises questions about the nature of existence itself that anticipate later philosophical and theological debates by centuries. The text's account of how God brought the world into being from nothing — or from something that was itself a kind of nothing, a primordial darkness and silence before any created thing existed — is a passage of genuine philosophical power, and it rewards careful reading and re-reading. Here the ancient writer is grappling with one of the hardest problems in all of metaphysics: how can something come from nothing? How can a God who is wholly other than the created order bring that order into being without already having something to work with? The answer the text offers is not a simple one, and different readers and scholars have interpreted it in different ways, but the very fact that the question is being asked with such seriousness and sophistication tells us a great deal about the intellectual world in which this text was produced.

The angels who populate the heavenly realms in this text are not the sweet, passive, decorative figures of popular imagination. They are powerful, specific, purposeful beings, each with a name and a function and a place in the divine hierarchy. Some of them are terrifying in their otherness — creatures of fire and light whose faces no human being could look upon directly. Others are more approachable, serving as guides and interpreters for the bewildered but courageous Enoch as he moves through realms of experience that no living human being was ever meant to enter. The text's angelology is one of its most fascinating features, reflecting a rich tradition of angelic speculation that was widespread in the Judaism of the Second Temple period and that fed directly into both early Christian theology and the later Jewish mystical tradition known as Merkavah mysticism — the mysticism of the divine chariot-throne.

There is also, running through the entire text, a powerful ethical dimension that is easy to overlook if one focuses exclusively on the cosmological and visionary elements. The instructions that Enoch gives to his sons before his final ascent are not mystical abstractions. They are practical moral teachings — about honesty, generosity, humility, the treatment of the poor and the stranger, the importance of keeping one's word, the dangers of pride and cruelty. The visionary journey through the heavens is not an end in itself. It is meant to produce a transformation in the one who undertakes it, a transformation that manifests not in spiritual ecstasy alone but in the way one lives in the world, treats other people, and fulfills one's responsibilities to family and community. The highest wisdom, this text insists, is not esoteric knowledge but ethical integrity — the willingness to live according to the principles of justice and compassion that are built into the very structure of the cosmos.

This ethical emphasis connects the text to the broader wisdom tradition of ancient Judaism, with its insistence that true wisdom is not merely intellectual but practical, not merely theoretical but lived. The sage is not the one who knows the most secrets but the one who has most fully integrated knowledge and action, vision and virtue, the contemplation of the divine and the care of the human. Enoch, in this text, is the supreme exemplar of that integration — a man who has seen more than any other human being has ever seen, and who uses that vision not to elevate himself above others but to serve them, to teach them, to leave them with the wisdom they need to live well in a world that is more complex and more beautiful and more dangerous than most of them will ever fully understand.

Reading an Ancient Vision Today

There is a question that any honest introduction to a text like this must address directly: why should a modern reader, living in a world shaped by science, technology, and secular rationalism, bother with an ancient Jewish apocalypse that describes a journey through seven heavens populated by angels and ends with its protagonist being transformed into a being of light? What can such a text possibly offer to someone whose cosmology is shaped by astrophysics rather than ancient mythology, whose ethics are grounded in philosophy or secular humanism rather than divine revelation, and whose sense of the sacred — if they have one at all — is more likely to be found in nature or art or human connection than in ancient religious texts?

The answer, I think, is both simpler and more profound than it might initially appear. The value of this text — and of the entire tradition of ancient apocalyptic and visionary literature to which it belongs — lies not in the literal truth of its cosmological claims but in what those claims reveal about the deepest aspirations and anxieties of the human beings who made them. When the ancient writer describes Enoch ascending through the heavens and standing in the presence of the divine light, he is not giving us a factual account of the structure of the physical universe. He is giving us something far more interesting: a map of the human longing for transcendence, for meaning, for connection to something larger and more enduring than the individual self. That longing is not a relic of a pre-scientific age. It is one of the most fundamental features of human consciousness, and it is as alive in the twenty-first century as it was in the first.

Moreover, the specific form that this text gives to that longing is one that has shaped Western civilization in ways that most people do not fully appreciate. The imagery of the heavenly journey, the angelic hierarchy, the divine throne room, the books in which human deeds are recorded, the transformation of the visionary into a being of light — all of these images and ideas flowed from texts like this one into early Christianity, into Jewish mysticism, into Islamic tradition, into medieval European literature and art, and ultimately into the cultural DNA of the modern West. When Dante describes his journey through the heavens in the Paradiso, he is drawing on a tradition that goes back directly to texts like this one. When Milton describes the angelic hosts in Paradise Lost, he is working with imagery that was already ancient when the earliest Christian communities were forming. When modern writers and filmmakers reach for the imagery of light and darkness, ascent and descent, judgment and redemption, they are drawing on a reservoir of symbolic meaning that was filled, in part, by the ancient writers who produced this extraordinary body of literature.

Reading this text, then, is not an exercise in antiquarianism. It is an act of cultural and spiritual archaeology — a way of recovering the deep roots of ideas and images that continue to shape our world in ways we often fail to recognize. And beyond the historical and cultural interest, there is the simple, irreducible fact that this is a work of genuine literary and imaginative power. The writer who composed it was not a dry compiler of theological data. He was an artist, a visionary, a storyteller with a remarkable gift for the concrete detail that makes an abstract vision suddenly vivid and real. The descriptions of the heavenly realms in this text are not vague and impressionistic. They are specific, sensory, and strange — full of colors and sounds and textures and temperatures that give the reader the uncanny sense of actually being there, of actually moving through spaces that no human eye has ever seen.

There is also something deeply moving about the human drama at the center of the narrative. Enoch is not a remote, superhuman figure. He is a man — a father, a husband, a member of a community — who is suddenly called to an experience that will separate him from everything and everyone he loves. The grief of his family when the angelic messengers arrive, the tenderness with which he says goodbye to his sons, the weight of the wisdom he is trying to pass on before he goes — these are not theological abstractions. They are deeply human moments, rendered with a simplicity and directness that cuts through the centuries and touches something universal in the reader's experience. We all know what it means to face a departure from which there is no return. We all know the desperate urgency of trying to give the people we love the wisdom they will need after we are gone. Enoch's situation is extreme, but the emotions it generates are entirely recognizable.

It is worth saying something, too, about the particular challenges and pleasures of reading a text that has survived in the form this one has — through multiple translations, across multiple centuries, in manuscripts that differ from one another in significant ways. Scholars distinguish between a shorter and a longer recension of the text, representing different manuscript traditions that preserve different amounts of material and sometimes differ in significant ways about specific details. The version you are reading represents a careful synthesis of the best available scholarship, drawing on the major manuscript traditions to present the text in as complete and coherent a form as possible. But it is worth keeping in mind, as you read, that you are encountering a text that has been on a long journey of its own — from its original composition in Greek, through translation into Slavonic, through centuries of copying and recopying, through the labors of modern scholars working to reconstruct the original from fragmentary and sometimes contradictory sources. That journey has left its marks on the text, and some of those marks are themselves part of the story.

The inevitable variations and occasional obscurities in the text are not defects to be apologized for. They are evidence of the text's vitality — of the fact that it was read, copied, used, and valued by real people across many centuries and many cultures. A text that survives only in perfect, pristine form has often survived because it was locked away and never truly lived. A text that shows the marks of use and transmission has survived because people found it worth preserving, worth copying, worth passing on to the next generation even when they did not fully understand it. This text is of the latter kind, and its imperfections are part of its humanity.

As you prepare to begin reading, it may help to approach the text with a certain quality of attention that is different from the kind of reading we typically bring to modern books. This is not a text that rewards skimming or speed-reading. It asks to be read slowly, with pauses for reflection, with a willingness to sit with images and ideas that may initially seem strange or opaque. The ancient writers who produced texts like this one assumed a reader who would bring to the experience a lifetime of engagement with the religious tradition in which the text was embedded — a reader who would recognize the allusions, feel the resonances, and understand the significance of details that might seem arbitrary or obscure to someone without that background. Modern readers come to this text without that preparation, but we can compensate for it with patience, curiosity, and a willingness to let the text work on us in its own way and on its own terms.

Let yourself be surprised. Let yourself be disoriented. Let the strangeness of the heavenly realms wash over you without immediately trying to translate everything into familiar categories. The ancient writer was trying to describe experiences that exceeded the capacity of ordinary language, and he knew it — which is why he reaches again and again for the language of light, of fire, of overwhelming radiance, of faces that cannot be looked upon directly. These are not failures of description. They are honest acknowledgments of the limits of human language when confronted with realities that exceed human comprehension. In that acknowledgment, there is a kind of intellectual and spiritual humility that is itself one of the text's deepest teachings.

The journey you are about to take is one of the oldest and most profound journeys in the human imaginative tradition — the journey upward, through the layers of reality, toward the source of all light and all being. It is a journey that has been undertaken in imagination by mystics, poets, and visionaries in every culture and every age. The particular form it takes in this ancient text is unique, shaped by the specific traditions and concerns and imaginative resources of its time and place. But the journey itself — the longing to know what lies beyond the visible world, to understand the purpose of human existence, to stand, even for a moment, in the presence of something that is wholly real — is as universal and as urgent as the human condition itself. Turn the page, and begin.

The Son of Jared: A Man Wise and Beloved of God

[Concerning the Life and the Dream of Enoch.]

There was once a very wise man who achieved great things. God loved him deeply and chose him to see the heavenly realms, the places of wisdom, and the eternal, unchanging God. He was shown the Lord of all—glorious, bright, and beyond imagination. He saw the shining presence of God’s servants, the throne that no one can approach, and the countless spiritual beings who serve the Lord. He witnessed their different forms, heard their indescribable songs, and saw the vastness of the universe.

At that time, he said, “When I was 165 years old, my son Methuselah was born. After that, I lived another 200 years, making my total lifespan 365 years.”

On the first day of the first month, I was alone in my house. I lay down on my bed and fell asleep. As I slept, a deep sadness filled my heart, and I began to weep in my dream. I didn’t understand why I was feeling this way or what was about to happen to me.

Then, two men appeared before me. They were very tall, unlike any humans I had ever seen. Their faces shone like the sun, their eyes burned like torches, and fire came from their mouths. Their clothes looked like they were made of feathers, their feet glowed purple, and their wings were brighter than gold. Their hands were as white as snow. They stood by my bed and called me by my name.

I woke up and saw them clearly standing in front of me. I was terrified and quickly bowed before them. My face changed because of the fear I felt.

The men said to me, “Do not be afraid, Enoch. Be strong. The eternal God has sent us to you. Today, you will go with us into heaven.”

They continued, “Tell your sons, your servants, and everyone in your household not to search for you until the Lord returns you to them.”

I quickly did as they said and left my house. I called my sons—Methuselah, Regim, and Gaidal—and told them everything these two men had said to me.

Chapters I.2–II.2

Listen to me, my children, because I do not know where I am going or what will happen to me. I ask you now, my children, do not turn away from God. Stay faithful to the Lord and follow His ways. Do not worship useless idols that did not create the heavens and the earth, because they will be destroyed along with those who follow them.

May God give you strength to remain faithful and always respect Him. And now, my children, do not search for me until the Lord returns me to you.

After I finished speaking to my sons, the two men who had appeared to me called me to them. They lifted me up on their wings and placed me on the clouds. The clouds began to rise, carrying me higher and higher.

As I ascended, I looked down and saw the air far below me. As we went even higher, I entered a new place beyond the sky. The men brought me to the first heaven, where they showed me a vast and powerful sea—much larger than any sea on earth.

Chapters II.3–VII.1

They brought me before the elders and leaders in charge of the stars, showing me two hundred angels who guide the stars and make sure they follow their paths in the sky. These angels had wings and moved in circles around the stars, keeping them in their correct places.

Then I looked and saw huge storehouses filled with snow and ice, guarded by angels who watched over these powerful treasures. I also saw where the clouds were kept, the place where they form and where they return.

Next, they showed me the storehouses of the dew, which looked like a fine, anointing oil. Its colors were as beautiful and varied as all the colors on earth. Many angels were assigned to guard these places, opening and closing them at the right times.

The men who were guiding me then took me to the second heaven. There, I saw a dark and dreadful place where prisoners were hanging, waiting for eternal judgment. These imprisoned angels were filled with sorrow and despair, darker than the deepest shadow on earth. They cried out constantly, their voices filled with pain.

I asked the men with me, “Why are these beings suffering endlessly?” They answered, “These are the ones who turned away from the Lord. They refused to follow His commands and chose their own ways instead. They rebelled with their leader, and now they are imprisoned here in the second heaven.”

I felt deep pity for them. Then, to my surprise, the angels turned toward me, bowed, and said, “Man of God, pray to the Lord for us.” But I answered, “Who am I, a mere human, to pray for angels? I don’t even know where I am going or what will happen to me. I don’t even know who could pray for me.”

Chapters VII.2–VIII.5

[Of the taking of Enoch to the third Heaven.]

The men then took me to the third heaven. They placed me in the middle of a breathtaking garden, a place more beautiful than anything I had ever seen.

I saw trees of every color, full of ripe, sweet-smelling fruit that filled the air with a wonderful fragrance. There was an endless supply of food, each kind giving off its own pleasant scent.

At the center of the garden stood the Tree of Life, where God Himself rests when He visits Paradise. This tree was beyond words, its beauty unmatched. It gave off a heavenly fragrance, and its appearance shone like gold, deep red, and something like glowing fire, radiating light all around.

From its roots, four streams flowed—one of honey, one of milk, one of oil, and one of wine. These streams moved gently, spreading out in four directions. They flowed toward the Paradise of Eden, existing between the worlds of the living and the eternal, and continued their course across the earth, moving in harmony with the rest of creation.

There was also an olive tree that never stopped producing oil. Every tree in this garden bore fruit, and each one was overflowing with blessings.

Three hundred glorious angels guarded the garden, singing songs of praise without end. Their voices filled the air, offering worship to the Lord every day. I was amazed by the beauty of this place and said, “What an incredibly blessed place this is!” The men who were with me answered:

Chapters VIII.6–X.2

[The showing to Enoch of the Righteous, and the Place of Prayer.]

“This place, Enoch, has been prepared for the righteous. It is for those who have endured many hardships and attacks in their lives, yet have remained strong. It is for those who turn away from evil and choose to do what is right. It belongs to those who feed the hungry, clothe those in need, help the weak, and care for orphans who have no one to protect them. It is for those who live blamelessly before the Lord and serve Him with all their hearts. This is their eternal reward, a place of peace prepared just for them.”

Then the men took me to the northern side, where I saw a place so terrifying that words could not describe it. It was filled with unbearable suffering. Thick darkness covered everything, and it was impossible to see through the heavy gloom. There was no light, only a fierce and never-ending fire. A river of flames flowed through it without stopping. The entire place was surrounded by burning fire, yet at the same time, there were icy winds and freezing cold. It was a place of both unbearable heat and bitter cold.

Inside this terrible place were prisoners who looked wild and tormented. The angels guarding them were fierce and showed no mercy. They carried terrifying weapons and punished the prisoners without relief. I cried out, “Oh no! This place is horrifying!”

The men with me answered, “This place, Enoch, is for those who have rejected God and lived wickedly on earth.

“It is for those who have committed terrible sins, practiced witchcraft, and used dark magic. It is for those who took pride in their evil actions, stole from others, spread lies, and caused harm out of jealousy. It is for those who lived in impurity, committed murder, and took advantage of the weak.

“This place belongs to those who let the hungry starve when they could have fed them and left the poor without clothing when they had the power to help. It is for those who did not acknowledge their Creator but instead worshiped idols—lifeless objects that cannot see or hear. These false gods were made by human hands, yet they bowed down to them as if they had power.

“For all these people, this place has been prepared as their eternal punishment.”

Chapters X.3–XI.1

[Here they took Enoch to the fourth Heaven, where is the Course of the Sun and Moon.]

The men then took me to the fourth heaven, where they showed me how the sun and moon move along their paths. I saw how bright their light was and measured their courses. I learned that the sun’s light is seven times stronger than the moon’s. I watched as they traveled in their orbits, moving quickly like a rushing wind. They never stopped, continuing their journey day and night without rest.

I saw four large stars moving alongside the sun. Each of these stars had a thousand smaller stars following on its right side, and another four stars had a thousand stars each on their left side. In total, there were eight thousand stars surrounding the sun.

Around the sun, I saw an enormous group of angels—fifteen myriads of them—who traveled with it during the day, guiding and watching over it. At night, a thousand angels took their place to accompany it.

Each of these angels had six wings, and they flew in front of the sun’s chariot, leading and directing its path. A hundred other angels were given the task of keeping the sun warm and bright, making sure its light and heat reached the earth. It was an incredible sight, a breathtaking display of heavenly order and divine power.

Chapters XI.2–XII.1

[Of the wonderful Creatures of the Sun.]

I looked and saw amazing flying creatures, unlike anything I had ever seen before. They were called phoenixes and chalkadri, and their appearance was both incredible and strange. These creatures had the feet and tails of lions, but their heads looked like crocodiles. Their bodies shimmered with a purple glow, shining like a bright rainbow. Each one was enormous, measuring nine hundred units in size.

They had wings like angels, with twelve large and powerful wings each. These creatures served the sun’s chariot, traveling alongside it on its journey. They carried out tasks given to them by God, bringing heat and dew to the earth as commanded.

As the sun moved along its path, these creatures followed, guiding its way beneath the sky and through the hidden places under the earth. The sun’s light never stopped shining, constantly moving to brighten the world and sustain life below.

Chapters XII.2–XIII.5

[The Angels took Enoch, and placed him on the East at the Gates of the Sun.]

The men took me to the East, where they showed me the gates through which the sun rises at different times. The sun follows a set pattern based on the changing seasons, the months of the year, and the hours of day and night.

I saw six enormous gates, each carefully measured. They were massive, with each gate measuring sixty-one stadia and a quarter of a stadium. I measured them myself and confirmed their enormous size. These gates are where the sun begins its journey, moving westward and following a path that changes with the months and seasons.

The sun travels through the first gate for forty-two days, then through the second gate for thirty-five days. It moves through the third, fourth, and fifth gates for thirty-five days each. However, when it passes through the sixth gate, it stays there for forty-two days.

After that, the sun reverses its path, returning from the sixth gate. It moves through the fifth gate for thirty-five days, then the fourth gate for thirty-five days, followed by the third gate for thirty-five days, and finally through the second gate for another thirty-five days.

This completes the full year, with all the days perfectly matching the sun’s cycle and the changes in the four seasons.

Chapters XIV.1–XV.4

[They took Enoch to the West.]

The men then took me to the western part of the sky and showed me six huge open gates. These gates were just like the ones in the East, and through them, the sun sets after completing its journey across the 365 days and a quarter of a day in a year.

As the sun passes through the Western gates, four hundred angels come to take its crown and bring it before the Lord. The sun, traveling in its chariot, remains without its light for seven full hours during the night. But when it reaches the East during the eighth hour, the four hundred angels return its crown and place it back on the sun.

At that moment, the phoenixes and chalkadri, special creatures of the sun, begin to sing. Because of their song, all the birds in the world flap their wings with joy, praising the giver of light. These creatures sing at the Lord’s command.

The sun then rises again, spreading its light across the entire earth. The men explained to me how the sun’s movements are measured and showed me the gates through which it enters and exits. These great gates were designed by God to mark the passing of days and to set the cycle of the year.

This is why the sun is so large and plays such an important role in the order of the world.

Chapter XVI

1–7

[The men took Enoch and placed him at the East, at the Course of the Moon.]

The men then explained to me how the moon’s movements are calculated. They showed me its paths and cycles, pointing out twelve large gates stretching from west to east. The moon enters and exits through these gates at its set times.

The moon moves through the first gate when the sun is in the west, staying there for exactly thirty-one days. It also spends thirty-one days in the second gate. In the third and fourth gates, it remains for thirty days each. It continues this pattern, staying in the fifth and sixth gates for thirty-one days, in the seventh gate for thirty days, in the eighth and ninth gates for thirty-one days, in the tenth gate for thirty days, in the eleventh for thirty-one days, and in the twelfth for twenty-eight days. This cycle repeats as the moon moves through the western gates, following the same pattern as the eastern gates, completing the year.

The sun’s yearly cycle is 365 days and a quarter, but the lunar year is only 354 days, made up of twelve months alternating twenty-nine and thirty days. This leaves an extra eleven days that must be added to match the sun’s full cycle for the year. These additional days, called lunar epacts, make up the difference between the sun and the moon’s cycles.

Over three years, the extra quarter day from each year is ignored, but in the fourth year, the missing time is accounted for. That is why three years seem to be missing days, but in the fourth year, everything aligns again. To keep the calculations correct, two extra months are added over time, while others are slightly adjusted to maintain balance.

Once the moon completes its cycle through the western gates, it returns to the eastern gates, bringing its light. It moves constantly, both day and night, traveling along its set path faster than the winds of the sky. Alongside it are spirits, creatures, and angels, each with six wings, who guide its movements.

Seven months of the moon’s cycle are also measured within a larger cycle of nineteen years, ensuring that everything in the sky stays in perfect order.

Chapters XVI.8–XVIII.3

In the middle of the heavens, I saw a vast army of angels, armed and ready to serve the Lord. They played cymbals and organs, and their voices rose in endless songs of praise. The sound was unlike anything I had ever heard—so beautiful and powerful that it stirred my soul with joy.

Then, the men guiding me led me further and took me up to the fifth heaven. There, I saw an enormous crowd, too many to count. These were the Grigori, and while they looked like men, they were much larger, even bigger than giants.

Their faces looked tired and sorrowful, and they were completely silent. The entire place felt heavy and lifeless—there was no worship, no joy, and no service to the Lord. Confused, I turned to the men who brought me there and asked, “Why do these beings look so sad and lifeless? Why are they silent, and why is there no worship here?”

They answered, “These are the Grigori. Long ago, they and their leader, Satanail, turned away from the Lord. Because of their rebellion, they were cast into great darkness in the second heaven. Three of them were sent down from God’s throne to a place called Ermon. There, at Mount Ermon, they saw the daughters of men, found them beautiful, and took them as wives.

By doing this, they disobeyed God and brought corruption to the earth. They abandoned their duties and went against His will. Their children became giants, men of great size and strength, but their existence only brought wickedness and chaos. Sin and lawlessness spread everywhere because of them.

Because of their actions, God passed a severe judgment on them. Now, they mourn for their fallen brothers, knowing they will face punishment on the great and terrible day of the Lord.”

Hearing this, I turned to the Grigori and said, “I have seen what happened to your brothers and the suffering they endure. I prayed for them, but the Lord has decided they must remain trapped under the earth until the heavens and the earth pass away. They will never be set free.”

I continued, “Why are you waiting, my brothers? Why do you not serve before the Lord? Why do you not fulfill your duties and give Him the honor He deserves instead of continuing in your rebellion?”

When I finished speaking, the Grigori listened to my words. They arranged themselves into four groups within the heaven. As I stood with the men who guided me, four trumpets sounded together, filling the air with a deep and powerful sound. Then, the Grigori began to sing as one. Their voices were filled with sorrow, but their song was soft and moving. Their mournful song rose up before the Lord, carrying their regret and longing for redemption.

Chapters XVIII.4–XIX.2

[The taking up of Enoch into the sixth Heaven.]

The men guiding me then took me further and brought me to the sixth heaven. There, I saw seven groups of angels, each one glowing with incredible brightness. Their faces shone even brighter than the sun’s rays, and their beauty was beyond anything I had ever seen. They all looked the same, with no differences in their appearance, expressions, or clothing. They stood together in perfect unity.

These angels were responsible for studying and organizing the movements of the stars, the phases of the moon, and the paths of the sun. They ensured that balance was kept in the world, controlling both good and bad conditions as they had been commanded. They also arranged teachings and instructions and created beautiful songs and melodies filled with praise and glory.

These angels were archangels, the leaders over all the other angels. They had authority over everything, both in heaven and on earth. Some were in charge of keeping track of the changing seasons and the passing of years. Others watched over the rivers and seas, making sure the waters flowed as they should. There were also angels who oversaw the growth of plants and trees, ensuring that all living creatures received the food they needed.

I also saw angels who were responsible for recording the lives and actions of every person on earth. They carefully wrote down everything before the Lord, making sure that no deed—good or bad—was ever forgotten.

In the middle of these angels, I saw seven phoenixes, seven cherubim, and seven other beings with six wings each. Together, they sang in perfect harmony with one voice. Their song was so beautiful and powerful that words could not describe it. It was a joyful offering to the Lord, rising up to His holy throne as a tribute to His greatness and glory.

Chapters XIX.3–XX.3

[Thence Enoch is taken into the Seventh Heaven.]

The men guiding me took me even higher, bringing me to the seventh heaven. There, I saw a breathtaking and brilliant light. Surrounding it were powerful archangels, spirits of great strength, rulers, and other mighty beings. I saw cherubim and seraphim, shining thrones, and countless watchful eyes. In front of me stood ten groups of radiant beings, each more dazzling than the last. The sight was so overwhelming that I trembled in fear, unable to fully comprehend what I was seeing.

Sensing my fear, the men with me held me and reassured me, saying, “Do not be afraid, Enoch. Be at peace.” Their words comforted me, and I was able to stand among them.

Then, they showed me the Lord from a distance, seated on His magnificent and exalted throne. His presence was beyond words—majestic and awe-inspiring. Around Him, all the heavenly beings were gathered, each standing on one of ten steps, perfectly arranged according to their rank. They bowed before the Lord, showing Him deep reverence and honor.

After paying their respects, they returned to their places. With joy and devotion, they stood in the endless light of His presence. In soft and harmonious voices, they sang praises, glorifying the Lord and serving Him with love and honor in the brilliance of His unending glory.

Chapters XX.4–XXII.5

[How the Angels placed Enoch there at the limits of the seventh Heaven and departed from him invisibly.]

They never leave, day or night, but remain before the Lord, carrying out His commands. Surrounding His throne are the cherubim and seraphim, along with six-winged beings who cover His throne with their presence. They sing softly, their voices full of reverence, proclaiming, “Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Hosts! Heaven and earth are filled with Your glory!”

After witnessing these incredible things, the men who had guided me turned to me and said, “Enoch, our task is complete.” Then they departed, leaving me alone. Standing at the edge of heaven, fear overtook me. I fell on my face, trembling, and cried out in distress, “What is happening to me?”

But the Lord, in His mercy, sent one of His great archangels—Gabriel. Gabriel spoke gently to me, saying, “Be at peace, Enoch. Do not be afraid. Stand up and follow me, for you will always remain before the Lord.” Though his words were meant to calm me, I answered, “O Lord, my spirit is overwhelmed with fear. Please send back the men who brought me here. They were my companions, and with them, I would feel safe to approach You.”

Gabriel, however, swiftly lifted me as if I were a leaf carried by the wind. He brought me directly before the Lord. Overcome with awe, I fell on my face and worshiped Him. Then the Lord Himself spoke to me, saying, “Be at peace, Enoch. Do not fear. Stand before Me, for you will remain in My presence forever.”

Then Michael, the chief of the archangels, approached and lifted me up. He presented me before the Lord, and the Lord commanded His heavenly servants, “Let Enoch stand before Me forever.” The glorious beings bowed low before the Lord and answered, “Let it be done according to Your word, O Lord.”

Then the Lord turned to Michael and said, “Remove Enoch’s earthly garments and anoint him with My holy oil. Then clothe him in the robe of My glory.” Michael obeyed. He took away my earthly robe and anointed me with oil that shone brighter than the sun. The oil smelled sweeter than the finest myrrh, felt cool like morning dew, and glowed with brilliant light. Then he dressed me in garments that radiated with divine glory.

As I looked at myself, I saw that I had been transformed. I was now like the glorious beings who serve the Lord, and all fear and trembling left me.

Then the Lord called upon another archangel, Vretil, who was known for his wisdom and for recording all of the Lord’s works. The Lord said to him, “Bring the books from My storehouses and give Enoch a reed to write. Teach him the knowledge contained in these books.”

Vretil obeyed immediately, bringing books that smelled of myrrh and handing me a reed. With patience and wisdom, he prepared to teach me the mysteries written within those sacred texts.

Chapters XXII.6–XXIII.4

[Of the writing of Enoch: how he wrote about his wonderful Goings and the heavenly Visions, and he himself wrote 366 Books.]

He showed me how the heavens, the earth, and the seas work. He explained the movement of their elements, the rumble of thunder, the paths of the sun and moon, and the way the stars travel and change. He described the cycles of the seasons and years, the passage of days and hours, the way the winds move, the countless angels in heaven, and the beautiful songs they sing in perfect harmony.

He also revealed everything about people—their lives, their different languages, the songs they sing, their knowledge, and the lessons they follow. He shared the melodies of their voices and all the wisdom they need to understand.

For thirty days and thirty nights, Vretil taught me without stopping, speaking the entire time. And for those same thirty days and nights, I wrote without resting, recording everything he told me.

Then, when the time came, Vretil said to me, “You have written everything I have taught you. Now, write about the souls of all people—the souls that have not yet been born and the places that have been prepared for them for eternity. Every soul was created to live forever, even before the world was made.”

I obeyed, writing without stopping for another thirty days and nights. By the time I finished, I had written 366 books, carefully recording everything I had seen and learned.

Chapters XXIII.5–XXIV.5

[Of the great Secrets of God, Which God revealed and told to Enoch, and spoke with him Face to Face.]

The Lord called me and said, “Enoch, sit at My left side with Gabriel.” I bowed down in deep respect before Him.

Then the Lord spoke again, saying: Enoch, everything you see—whether still or moving—was created by Me. Now, I will show you how I made everything from nothing and how the visible world came from the unseen.

Even My angels do not know these secrets. I have not told them how creation began, and they do not understand the endless greatness of My works, which I am revealing to you today.

Before anything existed, I alone moved through the unseen, just as the sun moves across the sky from east to west. But unlike the sun, which has a place to rest, I never stopped, for I was constantly creating. I shaped the foundation of everything and began to bring visible things into being.

Then the Lord continued, I commanded the deep abyss so that things could emerge from the invisible. From this unseen realm, Adoil appeared before Me—vast and magnificent, carrying a great light within him.

I said to Adoil, ‘Break open, and let what is inside you be seen.’ He obeyed, and a great light burst forth. I was surrounded by this brilliant light, and from within it, the entire world was revealed, just as I had planned. I saw that it was good.

Then I made a throne for Myself and sat upon it. I commanded the light, ‘Rise high and become the foundation for everything above.’ The light obeyed, ascending to the highest place. As I sat on My throne, I looked at the light and marveled at how great it was.

Chapters XXV.1–XXVII.1

[God again calls from the Depths, and there comes Arkhas, hard, heavy, and very red.]

I called out again into the emptiness and said, “Let something solid and visible come from what cannot be seen.” In response, Arkhas appeared—thick, heavy, and glowing with a deep red color.

I told Arkhas, “Separate, and let what comes from you be seen.” When he split apart, a vast and shadowy world was revealed—huge, dark, and endless—bringing the beginning of everything below.

I saw that this was good. I commanded, “Go down and become the base for all that will be beneath.” And so it happened. Arkhas sank, became firm, and formed the foundation for everything below. Beyond this darkness, there was nothing more.

Chapters XXVII.2–XXIX.3

[How God established the Water, and surrounded it with Light, and established upon it Seven Islands.]

I commanded the light and darkness to be separated and said, “Let there be something thick and solid.” And so it appeared. I spread this new substance out, forming water beneath the light, covering the darkness below.

I made the waters firm, shaping the deep places, and surrounded them with light. Then, I created seven layers, making them clear and strong—both smooth and rough—like glass and ice. I set paths for the waters and other elements, guiding them to move in harmony with the seven stars, each within its own part of the sky. I saw that this was good.

I separated light from darkness and divided the waters above from those below. I told the light, “You will be called day,” and the darkness, “You will be called night.” And so, the first day began with evening and ended with morning.

Next, I made the heavenly layers stronger and gathered the waters below into one place, keeping the waves under control. From these waves, I formed large, solid stones, and from the stones, I shaped dry land, which I named earth. At the center of this land, I created a deep, endless pit.

I brought the sea together in one place and set a boundary for it, saying, “This is where you will stay forever. You will not cross the limits I have set for you.” Then, I made the sky firm and placed it above the waters. This was the end of the first day.

When evening and morning passed, the second day began.

For the heavenly beings, I gave them a nature like fire. I looked at a strong, unbreakable stone, and from the brightness of My eye, I gave lightning its powerful glow. I placed fire within the water and water within the fire, making sure that neither would destroy the other. That is why lightning shines brighter than the sun, and soft water can wear down the hardest stone.

From the stone, I brought forth powerful fire, and from this fire, I created countless spiritual beings—ten thousand angels, each armed with weapons of flame and robes of burning light. I commanded them to take their places and follow the purpose I had set for them.

Chapters XXIX.4–XXX.3

[Here Satanail was hurled from the Heights with his Angels.]

One of the archangels, leading those beneath him, had a thought that could never come true—he wanted to raise his throne above the clouds and have the same power as Me. Because of this, I cast him down from the heights, along with his followers. Now, he wanders endlessly in the air above the abyss.

With that, I finished creating all the heavens, completing the third day. On this day, I commanded the earth to grow tall, fruit-bearing trees, towering mountains, and every kind of plant and seed. I also created Paradise, surrounding it with a protective barrier and placing fiery, armed angels at its entrance to guard it and keep it forever renewed.

When evening passed and morning arrived, it was the fourth day. On this day, I decorated the sky with great lights. In the highest circle, I placed the star Kruno. In the second, I set Aphrodite; in the third, Ares; in the fourth, the Sun; in the fifth, Zeus; in the sixth, Hermes; and in the seventh, the Moon.

I filled the sky below with countless smaller stars, making the Sun shine during the day and the Moon and stars glow at night. I gave the Sun its path through the signs of the Zodiac and set the Moon to follow the same twelve signs. I fixed their names, their purpose, and the timing of their movements—even the sounds of thunder and the precise passing of time.

When evening passed and morning arrived, the fifth day began. On this day, I commanded the sea to be filled with all kinds of fish and winged creatures. I also brought forth crawling creatures, four-legged animals, and everything that moves through the air. Each one was made male and female, given breath and life.

Finally, evening passed and morning arrived, marking the sixth day. On this day, I turned to My Wisdom and directed it to create man, forming him from seven elements.