WHO IS THE HEIR OF DIVINE THINGS (QUIS RERUM DIVINARUM HERES)
ANALYTICAL INTRODUCTION
This treatise, the longest of the whole series and containing many fine passages, is a straightforward commentary with comparatively few digressions on Gen. 15:2–18.
2. And Abram says, Master, what wilt Thou give me? I depart childless. But the son of Masek, the woman born in my household, is this Damascus Eliezer.
3. And Abram said, Since Thou hast given me no seed, the son of my household shall be my heir.
4. And immediately the voice of the Lord came to him, saying, He shall not be thy heir, but he who shall come forth from thee, he shall be thy heir.
5. And He led him forth outside and said to him, Look up indeed into heaven, and count the stars if thou shalt be able to number them, and He said, So shall be thy seed.
6. And Abram believed on God, and it was counted to him for righteousness.
7. And He said to him, I am the God who brought thee from the land of the Chaldeans to give thee this land to inherit.
8. And he said, Master, by what shall I know that I shall inherit it?
9. And He said to him, Take Me a heifer of three years old, and a goat of three years old, and a ram of three years old, and a turtledove and a pigeon.
10. And he took for Him all these, and divided them in the middle, and placed them facing each other; but the birds he did not divide.
11. And the birds came down to the bodies their half pieces, and Abram sat with them.
12. And about sunset a trance (ecstasy) fell upon Abram, and lo, a great dark terror falls upon him.
13. And it was said to Abram, Knowing thou shalt know that thy seed shall be a sojourner in a land not their own, and they shall enslave them and ill-treat them and humble them four hundred years.
14. And the nation which they shall be slaves to I will judge, and after this they shall come forth hither with much substance (stock).
15. But thou shalt depart to thy fathers in peace, nourished in a good old age (or, as Philo, “nourished with peace”).
16. And in the fourth generation they shall turn away hither, for the iniquities of the Amorites are not yet fulfilled until now.
17. And when the sun was at its setting, a flame arose, and lo, a furnace (oven) smoking, and torches of fire, which went in the midst of these half pieces.
18. In that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram saying, To thy seed will I give this land from the river of Egypt to the great river Euphrates.
The first point to which Philo calls attention is Abraham’s boldness of speech, the proper attitude of the faithful servant (1–9). Silence indeed is more fitting in the ignorant, as is expressed in the text, “Be silent and listen” (10), and we should remember that this includes the silence of the soul, which is the opposite of that wandering mind, which so often accompanies mere silence of speech (11–13). But that the wise have a right to boldness of speech is shewn emphatically in the story of Moses, and here Philo quotes several of his pathetic appeals to God and concludes that such appeals are the mark of the “friend of God” (14–21). Yet in Abraham’s words there is a sense of pious awe or caution (εὐλάβεια) as well as boldness. Philo notes the term “Master” connoting a greater degree of fear than “Lord,” and thence passes on into an impassioned meditation expressing the combination of awe and gratitude, which the words “Master what wilt thou give me?” (which he takes in the sense of “what more canst thou give, who hast given all?”) call up in the mind of the devout worshipper (15–22). And in the same way he treats the verse, “Shall I depart childless?” Shall I, that is, be denied the spiritual offspring of higher thought? Shall I have no heir but the son of Masek (34–39).
Thus we are necessarily led to the interpretation of Masek the “homeborn” and her son. The name means “from a kiss” and kiss (φίλημα) differs from love (φιλεῖν) as marking a lower and less genuine kind of affection (40–41). Thus it may stand for the life of sense, which the wise will regard as a servant, but not love (42). Philo then gives two examples where “kiss” (καταφιλεῖν) signifies the kiss of insincerity, while φιλεῖν shews true affection, and then introduces somewhat inappropriately his favourite parable of the Hated and the Beloved Wife (Deut. 21:15–17), the latter of whom he identifies with Masek (45–49) and touches on the analogy between the two wives and Leah and Rachel (50). Masek’s son Damascus represents all of us who honour Sense. The name means “Blood of sackcloth” and thus symbolizes the animal or “blood”-life as opposed to the life of mind and reason (52–57). Damascus is also called Eliezer (God is my help) which signifies the inability of the blood-life to maintain itself without God’s help. And again his inferiority is marked by the absence of any named father (58–62).
Abraham’s question then means “can this blood-life be the heir of higher things?” and the profound inward conviction symbolized by the voice of God answers—No, not that, but he that shall come out of thee shall be thy heir (63–68). These words Philo audaciously understands to mean that the “heir” must come out of, or leave, that is surrender and dedicate to God, not only body, sense and speech, but his whole self (69–74). What the inheritance is is shewn by the next words, “He led him forth outside and said, ‘Look (or ‘See’) up into heaven,’ ” for heaven is another name for the treasure-house of divine blessings, as it is called in Deuteronomy (75–76), and to be able to “see” up to this is the privilege of the true Israel which does not like its unworthy representatives in the wilderness refuse to “look to the Manna,” preferring the onions and fishes of Egypt (76–80). As for the phrase “He led him up out outside,” there is no tautology, for since we may well be called both outside and inside, if our inward feelings are not in accord with our outward actions, so the phrase shews that the Abraham-mind is altogether outside, outside that is of the trammels of sense, speech and body and above all of SELF (81–85).
The next words “count the stars” do not refer to mere number, as is shewn by “so (not “so many”) shall be thy seed,” but to the “star-like” nature of the soul-children, and the stars themselves are not those which we see, but the vastly greater glories of the Ideal Universe, of which these are but the copies (86–89).
The next verse raises the question why Abraham’s believing God should be counted to him for righteousness. How can anyone disbelieve God? Philo replies that while in itself there is nothing marvellous in this belief, yet in view of the proneness of human nature to trust in lower things, it may well be described as a “just” or “righteous” action (90–95).
In verse 7, the words “I am the God who brought thee from the land of the Chaldeans to give thee this land to inherit,” send our thoughts to a fulfilled boon, as well as that which is to come. God had brought the soul out of the land of star-lore, where heaven itself is God, and has led him to the land of “wisdom,” that is of acknowledging the Creator instead of the creature (96–99).
Abraham’s question in verse 8 “How shall I know?” does not imply doubt of the promise, but only the natural desire to know how it will come about, and the immediate answer of God shews that the question is accepted as right (100–102). In the answer (verse 9), we first note the words “take for me,” which indicate first that all we have we do but receive (103), and secondly that we should receive or “take” them for God and not for ourselves. Philo develops this theme in his familiar manner in application to our senses, mind and all other gifts (104–111). An illustration of this from the phrase My first-fruits or “beginnings” leads to some thoughts on the divine origin of the fruits of the earth, as well as of human parentage (112–119). And again if the beginnings are God’s so also are the ends (120–121), and finally we have to remember that God deigns to “take” from us, as He shewed, when He took the Levites as a ransom for the others (123–124).
Proceeding with the same verse, the heifer signifies the soul, the ram speech, and the goat sense-perception. They are all “three years old,” the perfect number signifying beginning, middle and end, while the solitary turtle-dove and the sociable pigeon are respectively divine and human wisdom. The first three are divided, soul into reasoning and unreasoning, speech into true and false, sense-perception into real and illusory, while the two “wisdoms” are incapable of division (125–132). This work of division is one of the functions of the creative Logos and is illustrated from various aspects of creation (133–140). But we must note also that the three creatures divided in the story are divided in the middle, that is equally, and this brings us to the disquisition “about the division into equals and opposites,” which supplies the second half of the traditional title of the treatise and occupies the next sixty-five sections.
Equality which in actual practice cannot be obtained exactly and is therefore an attribute of the divine Division by the Logos (141–143) may be equality in number or magnitude or capacity, and again it may be numerical or proportional (144–145). Philo illustrates all these at somewhat wearisome length. He first gives a catalogue of natural phenomena where we find the numerical balance (146–151), and then examples of proportional equality, concluding with the thought of man as the Microcosm and the Cosmos (152–155), and this leads him on to shew how God deals with small and great on the same principle (156–160). Moses too shews his reverence for equality partly by his praises of justice, the very essence of which is equality, and also in the examples of it scattered throughout the Law. Such are the divisions of day and night, of man and woman, and others mentioned in the early chapters of Genesis (161–165), and in the body of the Law itself, the Divine Presence dividing the Cherubim, that is the two Potencies, on the ark, and the division of the Ten Commandments into two tables of five each (166–169), which gives occasion for stating shortly the meaning of each commandment (169–173). Other examples are the permanent sacrifices (174), the two sets of the shewbread (175), the two jewels on the High Priest’s robe (176), the two mountains of blessing and cursing, and the two goats of Lev. 16 with a short digression on the meaning of the rite (177–181). Two other examples which follow give occasion for longer mystical meditation. The blood which was poured partly on the altar and partly into the mixing-bowls shews how divine wisdom, that is mind in its pure form, is an offering to God, and human wisdom, set by God in the mixing-bowls of the senses, may be purified by the cleansing blood (182–185). So too the offering of the half-shekel indicates the ransoming of the suppliant soul, while the un-offered half stands for the mind which is content with its slavery (186–190). Again we have examples of equal division in the Manna, where he that had much had not too much, and he that had little did not lack (191), and the Passover, where the lamb is to be distributed, so that each may have sufficient (192–193). And after two other briefly mentioned examples there follows a longer allegorical treatment of the ingredients of the incense-offering interpreted as the thanksgiving of the four elements and therefore of the World (191–200), and finally a fine passage in which citing the story of Aaron standing between the living and the dead, and the cloud which divided the host of Egypt from Israel, he describes the work of the Logos as mediating between the creature and the Creator, on the one hand proclaiming the divine mercy, on the other hand standing surety for the ultimate obedience of mankind—a passage which must surely have deeply impressed his Christian readers (201–206).
The words “facing each other” suggest that these divisions are into opposites, and so we find this phenomenon of oppositeness running throughout creation. In a long catalogue which begins with such physical examples as hot and cold and ends with human qualities, Philo brings this out and finally points out in triumph that it is in vain for the Greeks to boast of this philosophy of opposites as due to Heracleitus, since Moses knew and shewed it long before (207–214).
We might now pass on, but there is one example of division which Philo feels needs special attention. As in the story of Genesis three creatures were divided, there were six halves, and therefore the dividing Logos stands in the sacred position of seventh. We have a parallel to this in the great chandelier of the Tabernacle and Philo deals with this in considerable detail, shewing that its general structure is sevenfold, i.e. three of each kind on each side of the main stalk (215–220). He goes on to suggest that it represents the seven planets with the sun in the centre, as well as the three pairs of soul division mentioned above with the Logos as the seventh (221–225). And this gives him opportunity for two other remarks on the chandelier. He notes that while the incense-altar (as mentioned before) represents thanksgiving of the elements, and the table with its loaves thanksgiving of the creatures formed of these elements, the chandelier signifies the thanksgiving of the heavens (226). And so while we are told the dimensions of the first two we hear nothing of the dimensions of the chandelier, in accordance with the truth that heaven has no bounds of which the human mind has ken (227–229).
“The birds he did not divide.” We have already had a brief explanation of this, but it needs filling out. While the unreasoning part of the soul has its seven divisions, the mind (the pigeon of the story) like the sphere of the fixed stars, which is its heavenly analogy, has no divisions, and so too the turtle-dove, the Logos, is indivisible: and yet both though undivided themselves are perpetually dividing and distinguishing everything that comes before them (230–236).
“The birds came down to the bodies, the half pieces.” Here of course “birds” is used in a different sense, as is shewn by their “coming down,” for it is the nature of birds to fly up (237–238). Rather these birds are like the reptiles banned in Leviticus, and have left their natural home of heaven for earth. They are the numberless thoughts which beset the mind and drag it “down” and feast upon the bodily element in us (239–243). And when we read that “Abraham sat down with them” it signifies the wise man’s attitude to these thoughts. He is like the statesman who puts an end to foreign wars, that is to wicked thoughts which attack the soul, and to civil faction, that is to the contention of opposing doctrines (243–246). And here once again Philo catalogues the different theories of the schools on physical and theological problems, and pictures the Sage, who sits down with them, as half-midwife, half-judge, discarding the evil offspring of the soul and saving the good (246–248).
And about sunset an “ecstasy” fell upon Abraham. Philo enumerates four meanings of this word—madness, astonishment, mental tranquillity (or vacancy) and prophetic inspiration (249). He proceeds to give examples of each (250–252), but two examples of the second, viz. that Isaac was in an “ecstasy,” i.e. astonished, when Jacob brought him the savoury meats, and Jacob was in an “ecstasy” i.e. astonished, that Joseph still lived and ruled over Egypt, cause him to break off strangely into the lessons which may be drawn from these two passages (252–256). When he resumes he gives an example of the third meaning, viz. the ecstasy (trance) “which fell upon Adam and he slept” (267), and proceeds to the fourth, which he holds to be the meaning of the word in our text. He shews that either in the sense of predicter or of spokesman Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and above all Moses are prophets (258–262). And the phrase “about sunset,” he thinks, well suits this meaning. For when the “sun” of the mind is in action, we cannot be god-possessed. It is when something higher takes possession of him and plays upon him like the musician on the chords that the prophet becomes the voice of God (263–266).
We turn to the promises given to Abraham in verses 13–16. “Thy seed shall be a sojourner in a land not their own.” The soul-children must dwell a while in that “earth” which stands for bodily things (262–268). They will serve for four hundred years, and with Philo’s usual recklessness about numbers the four hundred years stand for the four passions (who are also the people whom they serve and whom God will judge), and what slavery to the passions means is described briefly (269–271). But when the redemption comes, we shall depart with much substance or stock, to be our supply for the journey. This supply is the fruits of education, beginning with the school learning, which creates the desire for the higher philosophy (272–274).
“But thou shalt depart to thy fathers, nourished with peace, in a good old age.” First we note the contrast here implied between the peace of the Sage and the war and slavery described above (275). Secondly, that he “departs,” not “dies” (276). But who are the “fathers”? Not those whom he left behind in Chaldea, from whom God had called him away (277–279). Some think the heavenly bodies are meant, some the “ideas,” others again the four elements to which our bodies return. And Philo seems ready to accept this, if we add also the “fifth element,” to which the soul returns—at any rate he gives no other (279–283). When the promise adds nourished with peace,” it contrasts the wise man’s lot with the spiritual welfare of ordinary men. In that war our enemies may be the “external things” or the passions and vices within us. And then Philo repeats in a slightly different form the parable of the guards of the soul and body which he has already used in De Ebr. 201 and De Conf. 18 (284–286). That the peace cannot be literally meant is clear when we remember that Abraham’s life was beset by war, exile and even want (286–288). Yet all these, allegorically considered, are blessings—war against wrongdoing, exile from the false star-lore, want of passion (289). And the “good old age” must mean the life of wisdom, for a day well-spent is more than years of folly (290–292).
“And in the fourth generation they shall return here.” The “fourth generation” is interpreted to mean the fourth of the seven-year periods of life. In the first the child knows nothing of good or evil. The second is the time when vice shews itself, partly owing to the natural disposition, partly to mishandled education. In the third comes the healing influence of philosophy, and thus in the fourth the man is in his strength ready to travel to the land of wisdom (293–299).
“For the sins of the Amorites are not yet filled up.” Some read a fatalistic meaning into these words, but Moses is no fatalist (300–301). The name “Amorites” means “talkers” and here they are the deceivers who misuse the gift of speech. It is not till sophistry is convicted, and thus “filled,” that we can fly from the land of lies and seek the wisdom indicated by “here” (302–306).
“When the sun was at its setting a flame arose and behold a smoking furnace.” The flame of virtue often appears late and at the close of life (307), and while we are still in the land of the Amorites it is like the smoke of a furnace. Smoke brings tears to the eyes and so when we see virtue in this obscured form, we weep for its perfected form (308–310). In another way this furnace or oven may be the type of the earnest soul, which contains and “cooks” the nourishment supplied by the virtues (311). As for “the torches of fire which went in the midst of the half-pieces,” they are the judgements of God, passing through and dividing all things (312).
Finally we have the summing up. In that day the Lord made a covenant with Abraham saying, “to thy seed will I give this land from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates.” Here then we have the wise man declared the heir. For we have already seen that the land is wisdom (313–315), and when he adds the words about the rivers we must note that Egypt is put first and Euphrates last. For the process of perfecting begins with Egypt, the body, and the bodily things which are necessary to our existence, and ends with the great river of God’s wisdom with all its joys and blessings (315–316).
In this treatise we once more have, as in the De Sacrificiis, the help of the Papyrus discovered in Upper Egypt in 1889 and stated to be as early as, and probably earlier than, the 6th century, A very cursory examination of Wendland’s Apparatus Criticus, will shew how valuable is this addition to our textual authorities. Particularly interesting is the frequent note “Pap. (Mangey),” shewing how often the acumen of Mangey anticipated the discovery. But like all documents it is not infallible, and while in most cases I thoroughly endorse Wendland’s preference for the readings of the Papyrus against those of the MSS., there are a few in which I think he has been too subservient to it; and there are also many places in which though it supports the MSS. there is evidently or probably some corruption, on which conjecture may exercise its ingenuity.