Philo of Alexandria: Collected Studies 1997-2021 (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism) 9783161618765, 9783161622205, 3161618769

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Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism Edited by

Maren Niehoff (Jerusalem) Annette Y. Reed (Cambridge, MA) Seth Schwartz (New York, NY ) Moulie Vidas (Princeton, NJ)

187

David T. Runia

Philo of Alexandria Collected Studies 1997–2021

Mohr Siebeck

David T. Runia, born 1951; 1976 MA University of Melbourne; 1983 LittD Free University Amsterdam; 2003 DLitt University of Melbourne; Professorial Fellow, University of Melbourne; Honorary Professor, Australian Catholic University; and Professor Extraordinarius, Stellenbosch University, South Africa. orcid.org/0000-0003-4020-5249

ISBN 978-3-16-161876-5 / eISBN 978-3-16-162220-5 DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-162220-5 ISSN 0721-8753 / eISSN 2568-9525 (Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism) The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2023 Mohr Siebeck Tübingen, Germany. www.mohrsiebeck.com This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was typeset by epline in Böblingen using Minion typeface, printed on non-aging paper by Gulde Druck in Tübingen, and bound by Buchbinderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

To my fellow-Philonists past and present, loyal companions in a common quest over a period of more than four decades

Preface The present volume collects together twenty-six studies on the writings and thought of Philo of Alexandria, written over a period of a quarter of a century. It follows on from an earlier collection of studies, Exegesis and Philosophy: Studies on Philo of Alexandria, published in 1990, which covered the period 1981–1989 and were connected, to a greater or lesser extent, with research carried out for my Amsterdam dissertation, Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato first published in a provisional edition in 1983, then in the slightly revised version in 1986. By that time I was well on the way to producing a second monograph, Philo in Early Christian Literature, which saw the light of day in 1993. It in turn gave rise two years later to a second collection of studies, Philo and the Church Fathers: A Collection of Papers, written in the years 1989–1993. By this time the delightful period of my life when I could devote most of my time to research had ended. But the subject matter of the two monographs written early in my career, each initiating a separate though intimately related line of research, has continued to engage and motivate me ever since. The origin of the collection of articles presented in this volume lies in a conversation during a visit to the book exhibit at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature held in New Orleans in November 2009. Dr Henning Ziebritzki of the publishing house of Mohr Siebeck approached me and suggested that I should publish another volume of studies on the great Jewish-Alexandrian thinker. I agreed that it would be a good idea and after returning from the conference put together a proposal, which was readily accepted. The lengthy delay in carrying it out was mainly caused by my involvement in the completion of a large-scale project in the field of ancient philosophy, conducted together with my Utrecht colleague Jaap Mansfeld. The edition and commentary on the Placita of the doxographer Aëtius was published in the middle of the pandemic in 2020 (on this project see further below p. 4 & n. 18). But there was a silver lining. The delay has meant that I could include a number of further studies which make the present volume a more rounded collection than it otherwise would have been. The past decade has been a very fruitful period in the development of Philonic research, and this is reflected in a number of recent articles that I have written.

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In order to limit and focus the present collection, I have excluded all the articles written during the same period that have as their main theme aspects of the reception of Philo. It is of course somewhat artificial to separate Philo himself from his reception, since we can only view and interpret his writings and thought on the basis of evidence that has come down to us, and the survival and the nature of that evidence is heavily dependent on the way it was transmitted to us in the pre-modern period. Nevertheless the exclusion of reception studies ­seemed a relatively clear-cut strategy allowing the present collection to be confined within reasonable bounds. This meant, for example, that I have omitted the article written in honour of my mentor Professor Eric Osborn in 2004, because its primary focus is on Clement of Alexandria, even though it has much to say on the Philonic doctrine of the divine powers and could have fittingly found a place in the present collection. Sincere thanks are due to a number of persons and institutions which have made this volume possible. My greatest debt is to the publishing house of Mohr Siebeck and to its (until recently) Director, Dr Henning Ziebritzki. His role as initiator of the project has already been mentioned. He has been very patient with me and continued to encourage me over a long period of time. More recently Ms Elena Müller and Mr Markus Kirchner have been most helpful in guiding the project to completion. I also wish to thank the publishers of all the books and journals for their permission to reprint the studies contained in this volume. Their names are to be found in the list of where the articles were first published at the end of the volume. Many of the articles had their origin in the Journal devoted to Philonic and Hellenistic-Jewish studies, The Studia Philonica Annual, which I have edited since its inception in 1989. I wish to thank Brown Judaic Studies in the period up to 2005, and since then SBL Press, Atlanta, for the generous support they have given to this publication, which has come to play such a key role in Philonic scholarship. Seven of the studies appeared in publications of Brill, Leiden, the publisher which whom I have had an even longer relationship, dating back to the time that it published my dissertation in 1986. I take the opportunity to thank the firm and its staff for all the assistance given over the years. This volume is dedicated to my fellow Philonists, past and present. Scholarship is a collective and cumulative enterprise. It has been a joy and source of inspiration to work together with older and younger scholars in international disciplinary and inter-disciplinary contexts. As I will explain in the Introduction, many of the essays have their origin in projects and events in which I was asked to participate or in volumes which honoured leading figures in the fields of Philonic and other studies. As often indicated in prefatory and concluding notes to the articles, I owe numerous debts to individual scholars for invitations and other forms of assistance. But I also wish to acknowledge in more general terms the ties of friendship and collegiality that have greatly enriched my life as a scho-



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lar and a person. May this volume be a stimulus to further research on the fascinating and complex figure of Philo of Alexandria and the world in which he lived and wrote. Melbourne, Australia, December 2022

David T. Runia

Contents Preface  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . VII Abbreviations  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XIII Introduction  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

A. Introductory essays 1. Why Philo of Alexandria is an Important Writer and Thinker  . . . . . . . . 16 2. Half a Century of Philonic Research since the Lyon Colloque: Some Evaluatory Reflections  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36

B. Philo and Ancient Philosophy 3. Philo of Alexandria and the Greek Hairesis-Model  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 4. The Beginnings of the End: Philo of Alexandria and Hellenistic Theology  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 5. Plato’s Timaeus, First Principle(s) and Creation in Philo and Early Christian Thought  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 6. The Rehabilitation of the Jackdaw: Philo of Alexandria and Ancient Philosophy  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 7. Philo and Hellenistic Doxography  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135 8. Is Philo Committed to the Doctrine of Reincarnation?  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166 9. The Reception of Plato’s Phaedo in Philo of Alexandria  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182

C. Biblical Interpretation in an Alexandrian Context 10. The Idea and the Reality of the City in the Thought of Philo of Alexandria  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 11. Eudaimonism in Hellenistic-Jewish Literature  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221 12. The Theme of Flight and Exile in the Allegorical Thought-World of Philo of Alexandria  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243

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13. Dogma and doxa in the Allegorical Writings of Philo of Alexandria  . . . 265 14. Philo and the Gentiles  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 280 15. Cosmos, Logos, and Nomos: The Alexandrian Jewish and Christian Appropriation of the Genesis Creation Account  . . . . . . . . . . . 295 16. The Doctrine of Creation in Philo’s Allegorical Commentary  . . . . . . . . . 315

D. Further Theological Themes 17. Theodicy in Philo of Alexandria  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331 18. Philo of Alexandria on the Human Consequences of Divine Power  . . . 354 19. The Virtue of Hope in Philo of Alexandria  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 365

E. Studies on Philonic texts 20. The Reward for Goodness: Philo, De Vita Contemplativa 90  . . . . . . . . . 383 21. The Text of the Platonic Citations in Philo of Alexandria  . . . . . . . . . . . . . 396 22. Philo’s Reading of the Psalms  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 417 23. Philo of Alexandria, Legatio ad Gaium 1–7  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 435 24. Philo, Quaestiones in Genesin 2.62 and the Problem of Deutero-Theology  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 453 25. The Place of De Abrahamo in Philo’s Œuvre  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 463 26. From Stoicism to Platonism: The Difficult Case of Philo of Alexandria’s De Providentia 1  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 479 List of Original Publications  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 497 Bibliography  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 501 Indices Index of References  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 535 Index of Modern Authors  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 543 Index of Subjects  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 547 Index of Greek Terms  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 555

Abbreviations For abbreviations of ancient sources this volume follows those of the Oxford dictionaries of Liddell & Scott, Glare and Lampe, of the SBL Handbook of Style second edition, and of The Studia Philonica Annual. Philonic treatises are always referred to by their traditional Latin titles, with abbreviated titles conforming to the practice of the The Studia Philonica Annual and the SBL Handbook of Style. (a) Editions, Translations and Reference works on Philo of Alexandria PCH  Philo von Alexandria: die Werke in deutscher Übersetzung. Edited by L. Cohn, I. Heinemann et al., 7 vols. (Breslau and Berlin, 1909–1964). PCW  Philonis Alexandrini opera quae supersunt. Edited by L. Cohn, P. Wendland, and S. Reiter, 6 vols. (Berlin, 1896–1915). PLCL/PLCLSup  Philo in Ten Volumes (and Two Supplementary Volumes). English translation by F. H. Colson, G. H. Whitaker (and R. Marcus), 12 vols., Loeb Classical Library (London and Cambridge, MA, 1929–1962). PACS Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series PAPM  L es œuvres de Philon d’A lexandrie. French translation under the general editorship of R. Arnaldez, J. Pouilloux, and C. Mondésert, 36 vols. (Paris, 1961–1992). (b) Other Abbreviations CJHNT Corpus Judaeo-Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti EAJS European Association of Jewish Studies MS/MSS manuscript/manuscripts SAPERE Scripta Antiquitatis Posterioris ad Ethicam REligionemque pertinentia

Introduction Since the two books that I wrote at the beginning of my career as an academic researcher,1 I have not published any more monographs on Philo. The focus has been on commentaries for the Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series initiated by Greg Sterling in 1995.2 But it goes without saying that a strong interest in the many subjects associated with Philo, his situation in Alexandria, his writings and his thought has continued unabated. This has led me to write essays and articles on a broad range of topics, many of which have been included in the present volume. It is important to emphasize the occasional nature of many, if not most, of the articles collected here. Quite a few were written at the request of other scholars for conferences they were organizing or for collections of studies on a particular topic that they were putting together. Others were written to honour distinguished members of our scholarly guild. I  have not wished to conceal the ‘occasionality’ so to speak of the essays. Not only does it give insight into developments in Philonic scholarship, but also it often influenced the choice of topic and the direction taken in its treatment. One should indeed be grateful for such invitations, because they not seldom lead to forays into areas that one might otherwise not have thought of, or at least not taken in hand. It is pleasing to observe however, when casting a retrospective glance over studies produced during quite a long period of time, that a certain coherence does appear to emerge, centred around a number of main themes that are all interrelated. I have accordingly not presented the studies chronologically, but rather divided them into four main parts preceded by two general presentations by way of introduction.3 I will now make some brief comments on these parts and the articles they contain.

1  Runia (1986); (1993a). As mentioned in the Preface, these studies resulted in two earlier collections of essays: (1990); (1995a). 2  Runia (2001a); Geljon–Runia (2013); (2019). I  have also produced three further bibliographical compilations following the initial work done with Roberto Radice, Radice–Runia (1988): Runia (2000a); (2012); (2022). 3  Within the resultant five parts the articles are in chronological order.

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1.  Introductory Essays The first two essays are introductory and a cover a broad area in a rather general and even cursory way. I have included them because they each make an important point. The first study was presented to a gathering of mainly European Philonists in Brussels in 2007.4 Its primary aim was to set out the astonishing breadth of studies to which the Philonic legacy contributes, illustrated by a seven-pointed star. The seven areas of study outlined intersect a number of established disciplines: classics and ancient history, philosophy, biblical studies, Jewish studies, patristics, as well as more specialized subdisciplines such as codicology and Armenian studies. An important consequence is that a study of Philo in the round demands a breadth of knowledge and expertise that is rarely encountered in a single scholar. In my own case, the starting point has been classical studies and philosophy, with broad but less developed interests in other areas. This personal background will be evident in the studies contained in the present volume and in the methodologies used to carry out the research. A further corollary is the obvious value and need for interdisciplinary research. It was an honour for me to be asked in 2017 to give an overview of fifty years of Philonic research in the hallowed halls of the Sorbonne in Paris, commemorating the famous colloque on Philo held at Lyon in 1966.5 This event had taken place only just over a decade before I embarked on the study of Philo in 1977 and at the time I studied the conference volume very carefully. Looking back, I not only realized how much had been achieved in Philonic studies since then, but also how much had changed in our approach to our author. The greatly increased role of inter-disciplinary cross-fertilization played a key role in these developments and is greatly to be welcomed. One could also see that shifts in scholarly interests had exerted considerable influence.6 But it also emerged that in certain areas, notably in textual studies requiring philological expertise, much less progress had been made. I will return to this in section 5 below.7

2.  Philo and Ancient Philosophy Philo has never belonged to what we might call the ‘canon’ of ancient philosophers, and it is not likely that he ever will. He might have thought of himself a philosophos, but it would not have been in the same sense that an Antiochus 4  Runia (2011) = article 1. It was earlier given to audiences in Coimbra and Lisbon, Portugal. 5  Runia (2021a) = article 2. 6  This might have been emphasized more in the article, esp. the rise and importance of women studies and very recently of post-colonial studies as well. 7  See text below at n. 47.

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or a Eudorus or later a Plotinus were thus regarded. He can be more suitably compared with a Cicero or a Plutarch or a Musonius Rufus, but even then his status as a loyal Jew sets him apart. Against this background there are two key questions that recur when Philo’s relation to ancient philosophy is investigated: (1) what information do Philo’s writings provide about developments in ancient philosophy prior to and during his lifetime; and (2) how do insights from ancient philosophy assist us in understanding what he is aiming to achieve in his writings. Both these questions came to the fore in the Kassman lecture that I delivered at the University of London in 2004 at the invitation of Richard Sorabji.8 The term ‘rehabilitation’ in its title was carefully chosen. The great British classicist E. R. Dodds in a seminal article published nearly a century ago was contemptuous of what he regarded as Philo’s eclecticism, comparing him to a loquacious and thievish bird.9 I explain that a more positive appreciation of what Philo can offer by students of ancient philosophy is well under way and illustrate it by discussing the Philonic evidence on the theological question of the unity and transcendence of God which gave rise to Dodds’ comment. Similarly I had been invited some years earlier to contribute a paper to the meeting of the prestigious Symposium Hellenisticum held in Lille in 1999, which focused on questions of Hellenistic theology.10 My starting point was a text on Plato’s theology found in the Placita of Aëtius. I argued that it reflects the confident and direct approach the question of the divine nature that is characteristic of Hellenistic philosophy. Something of this attitude can also be discerned in some Philonic texts, but others that are much less confident and introduce a negative theology that spells the end of Hellenistic theology. Here Philo with his distinctive vantage-point may have been in the vanguard of philosophical developments, even if it is too bold to claim him as the father of negative theology.11 In 2003 Gretchen Reydams-Schils organized a conference at the University of Notre Dame on ‘Plato’s Timaeus as Cultural Icon.’12 It gave me the opportunity to revisit some themes of my dissertation and place them in a wider context of development from Philo to Augustine.13 This article too studies the role of first principles in Philo’s thought and particularly the status of matter, a question that is central to the problem of whether the Alexandrian had any thoughts that come in the vicinity of what subsequently developed into the Christian doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. There are questions here that still remain controversial and 8 

Runia (2007) = article 6. Dodds (1928); see quotation on p. 132, cited in article 6 at n. 4. 10  Runia (2002a) = article 4. 11  Wolfson (1947), discussed in section 7 of the article. 12  Runia (2003a) = article 5. 13  A retrospective look at my dissertation and its scholarly reception had been published in Runia (1993d). It is not included in this collection. 9 

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perhaps will never be fully resolved, not only because the textual evidence is not as clear as we would like, but also – and perhaps more significantly – because the answer one gives very much depends on one’s views on how Philo should be read and interpreted. This is the only essay in the collection in which Philo is placed in a larger diachronic perspective, but I do not raise the question of whether Philo exerted influence on these doctrinal developments, so questions of reception are not broached. But it was not only the conceptuality and doctrines of ancient philosophy that are important for trying to understand what Philo aims to achieve in his writings. Also its organizational features and the methods of philosophizing that were being developed in his day furnish a significant backdrop. In my article on Philo and the Greek hairesis-model14 I build on the work of John Glucker and David Sedley and focus on the notion of hairesis, best translated as ‘school of thought’ and denoting an ‘affiliation’ or ‘allegiance’ that presupposes varying degrees of institutional loyalty and participation.15 Philo’s presentation of Moses as the founder of a hairesis with disciples who are devoted to his thought and the interpretation of his writings has obvious apologetic advantages in his Alexandrian context and certainly glosses over significant differences owing to his Jewish context. Of central importance is the conviction that God has revealed the truth to Moses, which then has to be studied and further articulated by his disciples. Philo is not partial to pluralistic tendencies. At most he believes philosophers may have seen something of the truth if they did not learn it from Moses himself. This will pave the way for later concepts of orthodoxy and heterodoxy.16 Some years later I  was delighted to participate in a volume instigated and edited by Francesca Alesse on Philo and post-Aristotelian philosophy, in which his relation and debts to the new strains of philosophy in the Hellenistic period were investigated.17 My theme was Philo and doxography, a quasi-genre of philosophical writing instigated by Aristotle and Theophrastus in the Peripatos, but then further expanded and developed in the Hellenistic and early Imperial periods. This article linked up beautifully with another field of research on which I  had already embarked during my years as a post-doc researcher. It initially studied doxography as a method and form of ancient philosophical literature, but then – in a long-time collaboration with my Utrecht colleague Jaap Mansfeld  – narrowed to a reconstruction, edition and commentary on the Placita of Aëtius, the most important surviving doxographical work from antiquity.18 14 

Runia (1999a) = article 3. Glucker (1988); Sedley (1999). 16  See further below at n. 26 on Runia (2010) = article 13. 17  Runia (2008a) = article 7. 18  Culminating in the recently published work of Mansfeld–Runia (2020), but preceded by four preparatory volumes, Mansfeld–Runia (1997–2018). See the excellent review of the edition by Inwood (2021), who emphasizes the importance of the Philonic evidence for the understanding of the Placita and of the Placita for our reading of Philo. The article on Philo 15 



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Philo was, it may be concluded, an almost exact contemporary of the otherwise unknown Aëtius. Not only is he a crucial witness for the development of the method and content of the Placita, but this work also sheds crucial light on his own approach to philosophy. Philo was most assuredly not the kind of ancient student of philosophy who relied on second-hand distillations of doxai for his knowledge of philosophical doctrines. But, like his contemporaries, he is not averse to using such compact summaries when it suits his purposes. More importantly he exploits their method and content when he wishes to outline the kinds of answers that are given to key questions in Greek philosophy, either as a phase in the search for the truth, or in opposition to the truth as set out by Moses. Philo well understands that the methods of division (diaeresis) and opposition (diaphonia) are intrinsic to the method of the Placita and it suits him very well, both in his exegetical and in his philosophical works. This article was to have a sequel in which the concept of philosophical doxa in his writings was further investigated.19 In addition to the two key questions on Philo’s relation to ancient philosophy which I outlined at the beginning of this section, there is a third which so far has gone under the radar. What are the deeper effects on Philo’s thought brought about by his manifest attraction to Greek philosophy? How does it affect the way that he understands and interprets Mosaic thought? This question came to the fore when I received an unexpected invitation, to participate in a doctoral examination in Turku, Finland. Under the supervision of Antti Laato, the doctoral researcher Sami Yli-Karjanmaa had prepared an impressive dissertation20 in which he argued that, contrary to the opinion of most recent Philonists including myself, Philo espoused the doctrine of reincarnation and assumes it in his presentations of the journey of the soul, the key component of his allegorical interpretation of scripture. It was no objection, he argues, that this doctrine is mentioned only a handful of times in his entire corpus, and only once in a clear and explicit way. Philo knew that this view would meet with opposition among his Jewish contemporaries, so he downplays it. It is illustrative of the deep subterranean influence of Platonism, which ultimately determines the direction of his thought. Since the publication of his study, many Philonic scholars have been persuaded by his arguments and this view may well become the new orthodoxy. Somewhat stubbornly, perhaps, I have resisted full acceptance of his interpretation, despite my admiration for the thorough and methodologically precise

and doxography was already reprinted in vol. 3, (2011) 271–312. Given its significance in the context of the present volume, I thought it should be reprinted again. 19  See further below at n. 26. 20  Yli-Karjanmaa (2013), provisional edition for the purposes of the doctoral examination; (2015), commercial edition.

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way it was presented. In a review article reprinted here I have put forward the reasons for my hesitation.21 One of the many virtues of Yli-Karjanmaa’s study was that he drew attention to the importance of the Phaedo, Plato’s classic dialogue on the nature and immortality of the soul, for Philo’s thought. He was the first to make a thorough study of this key influence,22 which is hardly less than that other key Platonic work, the Timaeus, that I  studied in my dissertation. So when I  received an invitation to give a lecture at the XIth Symposium Platonicum, held in Brasilia in 2016, which focused on the Phaedo, I decided to build on his work and give an overview of how Philo utilized the dialogue and the influence it had on his thought. Because of space restrictions I did not publish the lecture in the conference proceedings, but was pleased, when she suggested it, to allow Marta Alesso to translate it into Spanish and publish it in an Argentinian journal.23 The original English version now sees the light of day for the first time.

3.  Biblical Interpretation in an Alexandrian Context By far the majority of Philo’s writings have biblical interpretation as their chief focus. Of course this applies in the first instance to his three major biblical commentaries. But also in the philosophical treatises and in a number of the historical-apologetical works the unwavering commitment to Mosaic scripture is never far below the surface. This interpretative activity finds place in the context of Greek-speaking Hellenistic Judaism, and particularly of the Alexandrian community in which Philo grew up and spent most of his life. The next group of essays examine a wide range of topics which have biblical interpretation as the connecting thread. It is appropriate to emphasis the role of Alexandria in them, since my focus has admittedly been more on this city than the other two significant cities in Philo’s life, Jerusalem and Rome. In the concluding chapter of his magisterial monograph on Philo as a commentator on scripture, Valentin Nikiprowetzky posited that a study on Philo had the best chance to be worthwhile if it concentrated on an exegetical theme rather than one that was ‘properly philosophical.’24 A good example of such a study is the essay on flight and exile in Philo’s allegorical thought world, written at the invitation of Christoph Riedweg for a Zürich seminar on the theme of exile in literature.25 There is no evidence to suggest that for Philo living in the diaspora was tantamount to a life in exile. But his Alexandrian situation is relevant to 21 

Runia (2019a) = article 8. See the list of references at (2015) 297. But there is no systematic discussion. 23  Runia (2016). 24  Nikiprowetzky (1977) 238. 25  Runia (2009) = article 12. 22 

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7

the allegorical thought-world that he develops in his exegesis, in which biblical themes from the banishment out of paradise to the exodus out of Egypt are deepened when brought in relation to the history of the soul and the spiritual quest that culminates in a vision of the God of Israel. It is remarkable how this theme can be linked to many of the central themes of Philo’s thought. But even when exegetical themes are at the forefront, the structuring role of Greek philosophical concepts, particularly in Philo’s allegories, remains quite indispensable. The essay on the concepts of dogma and doxa26 in a sense forms a continuation of the research on Philo’s use of the doxographical tradition.27 He often uses these two terms (the difference between them is slight) in relation to philosophical doctrines and to specifically doxographical material. The main focus of the article, however, is their usage in relation to generalized philosophical and religious positions or points of view. In the context of allegorical exegesis these are frequently linked to biblical characters who represent directions of thought, both positive and negative. Compared with Greek allegorical practice, this usage is highly innovative. Spiritual and theological themes predominate, and its influence can be felt centuries later in the two opposed cities in Augustine’s great work, the City of God. The next article on eudaimonism in Philo and Hellenistic-Jewish literature also treats a key Greek philosophical concept that can be said to have a structuring role in Philo’s thought and writings. The term eudaimonia denotes the good life which all human beings should strive for and attain, and so is the ultimate goal or end of human action. As such it plays a key role in Philo’s allegory of the soul and his presentation of Jewish religion and spirituality. The article illustrates this with a survey of apologetic and exegetical themes which show how important this concept in his thought and how he often places it in a climactic position in the structure of his treatises. The article ends with an evaluative discussion that takes us to the heart of the question that motivated James Kugel to organize the conference for which it was written: what does it mean for Philo as a descendent of Shem to live in the tents of Japheth (Gen 9:27)? Is eudaimonia a Greek concept that is given a Jewish content, or does it enter into the marrow of his thought? An answer is provided through the observation that for Philo, unlike the Septuagint that he expounds, God himself can be said to be eudaimôn together with the consequences that can be drawn from that view. When the Australian scholars David Sim and James McLaren commissioned a volume of articles on attitudes to Gentiles and asked me to contribute a chapter on Philo,28 I did not think it would be a difficult or time-consuming task, because I  knew that the expression ta ethnê occurred but rarely in his writings. These occurrences and their predominantly exegetical context were dealt with 26 

Runia (2010) = article 13. See above on article 7 in part B. 28  Runia (2013) = article 14. 27 

8

Introduction

easily enough. But, moving on from there, the topic opens up complex issues on how Philo sees his place as a Jew and a member of the most prominent Jewish community in the diaspora. How do the descriptors Greeks, barbarians, Jews, and Israel, i. e. those ‘who see God,’ relate to each other? And how useful is it to use the term ‘Gentile’ more broadly in this context? In my earlier collection of articles on Philo I included a piece which argued that, when in the opening pages of the De opificio mundi he formulates his famous image of the founding of a city to illustrate the role of the divine Logos in creation, he has his own city of Alexandria in mind.29 A decade later I decided to devote a much broader investigation into Philo’s views on the city as a social and political phenomenon.30 This included not only studying what he tells us about his Alexandrian context in the historical treatises and more incidentally in his other, mainly exegetical, works. The concept of the city also often occurs in the context of his allegorical and other forms of exegesis. Even though Philo is undoubtedly a homo urbanus, he can be very critical of the city and shows a predilection for the life of solitude or as lived in isolated small communities. All in all, Philo shows himself to be ambivalent towards the city, frequently espousing the ideal of the polis as developed in Greco-Roman thought, but also subverting it in light of his own particular situation and his religious and philosophical commitments. The theme of the city, particularly as the locus of order and disorder, returns in an even broader context in a contribution that I prepared for the Entretien (conversation) on ‘Cosmologies and cosmogonies in ancient literature’ organized by Therese Fuhrer and Michael Erler in the delightful ambience of the Fondation Hardt in Vandœuvres, Switzerland.31 The subject was the interrelation of cosmos, logos and nomos in accounts and interpretations of the origin of physical reality, and so I returned once again, after thirty years, to the subject of my dissertation and to Philo’s best known exegetical treatise, the De opificio mundi. But this time I expanded the discussion beyond Philo and introduced a detailed comparison with the thought of the Church father Origen. So the Alexandrian context was of critical importance, as underlined in the title of the contribution. I emphasize how the triad of concepts studied all interconnect with the notion of order, so intensely desired by Philo amid the anarchia he was experiencing and offering a contrast with the salvation that Origen found through his different understanding of nomos and logos. The final essay in this grouping continues further along the same lines. When the Italian scholars Angela Longo and Ludovica de Luca invited me to participate in a conference devoted to images, metaphors and allegories in the same treatise De opificio mundi, I did not want to cover the same ground again 29 

Runia (1989a), reprinted as article III in Runia (1990a). The passage is Opif. 17–18. Runia (2000b) = article 10. The same passage is cited at n. 12a of the reprinted article. 31  Runia (2015a) = article 15. 30 



Introduction

9

and so was grateful when they allowed me to deviate slightly from the main topic and examine the relation between this treatise and the Allegorical Commentary with its different method and audience.32 The article brings into special focus two significant developments in Philonic studies over the period of the last four decades. The first concerns the relationship between Philo’s three main biblical commentaries. In the years after I  wrote my dissertation there was a growing realization, not only that these three grand works each had their own methods and intellectual context – a fact which had long been recognized33 –, but also that this had to be taken into account when utilizing and analysing their contents. Gone are the days when scholars could blithely list and enumerate passages from these commentaries on any given topic without taking those contexts into account.34 The second is related but even more consequential. Very recently valiant attempts have been made, notably by Maren Niehoff in her innovative intellectual biography of Philo,35 to fix the chronological relationship between these works (and also the remainder of his œuvre) and draw far-reaching conclusions from it. In my article I do not weigh in on that discussion because I believe that much remains uncertain and speculative. Instead I investigate the presence of citations and exegesis of the Mosaic creation account in the Allegorical Commentary, which turns out to be both limited and yet of fundamental significance for Philo’s project in that work. In addition, the number of correlations and interaction with themes in the De opificio mundi was surprisingly high. The conclusion that could be drawn is that, even if there might have been a lapse of time between the dates that the works were written, it is possible to discern a pleasing unity in Philo’s thought on essential aspects of the crucial doctrine of the origins of the cosmos and humanity.

4.  Further Theological Themes In light of the often repeated claim of Wilhelm Bousset that Philo was the ‘first theologian,’36 and the dominance of references to God and all the manifestations of the divine throughout the corpus, it is hardly surprising that many of the articles in this volume dwell on questions relating to theology. These include a 32  Runia (2021b) = article 16. The conference topic was inspired by De Luca’s dissertation, (2021), to which I contributed a ‘Prefazione’ in the Italian manner, Runia (2021c). 33  At least since Cohn’s seminal article, (1899). 34  Far-reaching examples of the application of this methological insight are the dissertations of Noack (2000) and Ryu (2015), both on topics of Philonic theology. I myself had taken it into account when preparing my commentary on Opif.; see my remark at Runia (2001a) 4. 35  Niehoff (2018). 36  Also by myself, see Runia (1988a) 69 (= article XI in Runia, 1990), and (2003c) 603 = article 17 in this volume.

10

Introduction

number of articles already introduced above.37 I have grouped together a group of three further articles on theology which are linked by a common theme, namely how human beings experience the divine in the life of the mind and in what might be called the spiritual life. When Antti Laato and Johannes de Moor invited me to contribute a chapter on Philo in a collected volume on theodicy in the world of the Bible, I readily accepted,38 because I  thought it important for Philo to be given a place in a work which covered a time span from Egyptian and Akkadian literature, via the Hebrew Bible, early Jewish writings (where Philo was placed) and the New Testament, and ending with rabbinic Judaism in the Targumim.39 Since the volume in which it appeared, though scholarly, was written at a fairly general and introductory level, there was a need for me to provide more background on Philo and his milieu than in other articles in the present collection. In particular, I urged the editors to allow me to include a section on Greek philosophy, since the contribution of the Greek (and later Roman) philosophers – notably Plato and the Stoics – to reflection on the questions of the origins of evil and God’s responsibility for human suffering was not treated elsewhere.40 In this article, too, I emphasize the differing approaches that Philo takes in the various kinds of writings he wrote, with a prominent place being given to the philosophical treatises On Providence which tackle the theme of theodicy head on. His discussion there with his nephew Alexander may seem quite theoretical, but from his two surviving treatises on the events that occurred in Alexandria and Rome towards the end of his life,41 we may be certain that the theme had direct existential impact on him in light of the contemporary situation of the Jewish community in Alexandria. In 2011 another gathering of Philonists took place in Europe, this time at the Sacred Heart University in Milan. The theme chosen for the conference was formulated as ‘Potere e potenze,’ the combination of verbal infinitive and plural noun neatly capturing the breadth of the theological theme of God’s power(s).42 It was a privilege to be asked to give the opening address and I deliberately chose what I called a ‘bottom-up approach’,43 setting out Philo’s views on what God’s power means for human beings who experience it in all the various aspects of 37  Notably in articles 4–6 in part B and article 11 in part C. See also article 24 below, which could have been placed in this section. Because it focuses on a single text, I have preferred to place it in part E. 38  Though it was written under some pressure as I was preparing to move from Leiden to Melbourne in early 2002. 39  Runia (2003c) = article 17. 40  See Runia (2003c) 580–583 = article 17, section 3. 41  In Flaccum and Legatio ad Gaium. 42  Contributions collected in Calabi et al. (2015), with the parallel French title ‘Pouvoir et puissances.’ 43  Runia (2015b) = article 18; on this approach see esp. p. 246, in this volume text below n. 4 on p. 355.



Introduction

11

their lives, including their thinking, awe, hopes, aspirations and fears. Here again the entrance-way to Philo’s thought must first pass through study and analysis of his interpretations of scripture and the broad range of figures and examples that it contains. But through and behind his exegesis access can also be gained to his own experience, what I call the ‘spiritual dimension’ of his work, in which I discern a marked synergistic element: God acts, and human beings are called to respond. The third and final article in this section, written to honour my long-time friend and collaborator, Greg Sterling, zoomed in on one particular facet of the human response to the divine studied earlier, the theme of hope.44 Remarkably this subject had never received the attention it deserves in English-language scholarship.45 Here again biblical exegesis led the way, for hope is exemplified in Philo’s exegetical thought-world by the figure of Enos, one of the early patriarchs who preceded the better known triad of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Unlike the often pessimistic overtones in Greek thought, hope for Philo is generally a positive state of mind, linked to the expectation of good things from God, as experienced by biblical figures in various contexts and linked with the religious disposition of trust in God and practice of addressing prayer to him. And here too we can move beyond biblical interpretation to Philo’s own experience, as we discern contemporary resonances in the historical writings which describe the fears and hopes of the Jewish community. Remarkably, on a climactic occasion Philo speaks of ‘the indestructible hope in God the saviour’ when he places words in his own mouth.46

5.  Studies on Philonic Texts Finally, in the last section I group together seven essays which in various ways involve the close reading of Philonic texts. There are a number of reasons why his works are not always easy to read or interpret. Problems can occur at the level of whole treatises, for example in understanding their structure or their genre, or at the level of the individual passage, in relation to the precise wording of the text or its syntax or when the original Greek text must be discerned through the veil of a later translation as in the case of Armenian corpus. Over the years I have found it rewarding also to make use of philological skills in the attempt to gain greater insight into Philo’s intentions when composing his works. 44  Runia (2020) = article 19; in a Festschrift published as a special volume of The Studia Philonica Annual. 45  I learned much from an article in Italian by Cristina Termini, (2008), which compares Philo and Paul. 46  Legat. 196, cited in Runia (2020) 272, in this volume article 19, text above n. 50 on p. 378.

12

Introduction

One of the challenges of reading Philo, as already intimated above,47 is that we have to use textual editions that are more than a century old (or in the case of the Armenian texts, two centuries). This is relevant to an essay that I wrote for a Festschrift in honour of a Canadian colleague, the late John Whittaker.48 It is a detailed study of the Platonic citations in Philo, a topic that had gained my attention during the preparation of my dissertation. In a seminal article Whittaker had argued that, when ancient writers appear to cite passages from earlier authors verbatim and the wording of their quotation deviate from the received text, this is not necessarily the result of poor memory or scribal errors, but may occur because, for various reasons, they practised the ‘art of misquotation.’ If so, this might have significant consequences when using the indirect tradition in the process of editing the text of the cited source. Among other findings, the article concludes that Philo is reasonably faithful to the original text, but that he does make some deliberate changes. There are, however, a number of quotations in which Philo’s editors have corrected his text in order to make it conform to the received version of its source. This practice needs to be carefully reassessed in each case.49 For the remaining articles it will be worthwhile to return to the three-fold division of Philo’s scriptural commentaries discussed earlier,50 to which should be added the further division of his remaining writings into historical-apologetic and philosophical treatises.51 To start with the Allegorical Commentary, I have not included in this collection the articles I  wrote on the structure of De agricultura and De plantatione,52 both building on insights developed in earlier work,53 because their content was absorbed into the introductions to the two commentaries that I, together with my colleague Albert Geljon, produced on these treatises for the Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series.54 But, even though it does not only treat the Allegorical Commentary, it is fitting to introduce at this point a contribution that I  made to the Festschrift in honour of my fellow-Philonist and dear friend, the late David Hay.55 This article studies 47 

See above at n. 7. Runia (1997b) = article 21. Sadly he passed away the following year. 49  Interestingly the article, which together with no. 20 is the oldest in the collection, does not ask whether Whittaker’s insight may be of relevance to the vastly greater number of Philonic citations from the Septuagint. This could be pursued, but of course in Philo’s mind the status and authority of the scriptural text is essentially different from the writings of even the greatest of Greek philosophers. Here too there are problems of textual transmission; see now the article of Munnich (2021). 50  See text above at nn. 33–34. 51  Which is not to say that the latter group do not have an apologetic function. 52  Runia (2010a), (2017b). 53  Runia (1984), (1987); reprinted as articles IV & V in the previous collected volume, (1990). 54  Geljon–Runia (2013), (2019). On this series see also below n. 57. 55  Runia (2001b) = article 22, part of a special volume of The Studia Philonica Annual. Sadly David passed away in August 2006. 48 

Introduction



13

the quotations and allusions that Philo makes to the Book of the Psalms, firstly listing them and discussing each one briefly before drawing more general conclusions on their use and interpretation. Apart from the Pentateuch, on which Philo bases his scriptural commentaries, this book is the part of the Septuagint which he cites the most. It emerges that by far the majority of the quotations, but not the allusions and other general references, occur in the Allegorical Commentary. The reason for this has to do with the method used to structure the treatises of the Commentary. Without exception these quotations are secondary biblical lemmata which offer proof or illustrate the allegorical exegesis which Philo is applying to the main biblical text of the treatise. This function is made clear in the explicit way that the quotations are introduced. The procedure in the Exposition of the Law is quite different. There well-known texts from the Psalms are alluded to with the purpose of giving colour to the often lengthy descriptions in the work, but there is no direct verbal link to the biblical texts being expounded. The article also shows how the citations, particularly in the Allegorical Commentary, connect with the hallmarks of Philo’s spirituality, particularly the emphasis on devotion and praise, but in so doing they tend to downplay some of the more dramatic and plaintive features of the Book of Psalms. In 2001 I published a full-length commentary on the opening treatise of the Exposition of the Law, the De opificio mundi.56 One of its main aims was to serve as a pilot volume of Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series (PACS) initiated by Greg Sterling in 1995.57 From the following year onwards it became a practice to devote sessions of the Philo of Alexandria seminar at the annual meetings of the Society of Biblical Literature to a treatise on which a commentary in the series was being prepared.58 Papers presented during these sessions were often later published in special sections of The Studia Philonica Annual.59 This practice was the origin of the article on the place of the De Abrahamo in Philo’s œuvre.60 The treatise follows directly on from the De opificio mundi. In the introductory section of my commentary on that work I had only devoted a brief section to the question of the genre and structure of the treatise, though I did make the important point that Philo himself described it as a suntaxis (ordered composition).61 In the article on its sequel I placed more emphasis on this question and outlined six formal features that mark its composition, among which was its character as a bios (life, biography). The section comparing it with its predecessor is interesting in light of my later essay which was to comment on commonalities between it and the 56 

Runia (2001a). Sterling (1995). Seven volumes have now been published in the series. 58  Listed up to the year 2000 in Sterling (2001b); later sessions can be tracked in the annual News and Notes section of The Studia Philonica Annual. 59  Listed in Sterling (2021a) 48. This was the background of the articles cited above in n. 52. 60  Runia (2008b) = article 25. 61  Runia (2001a) 5. 57 

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Introduction

Allegorical Commentary.62 The final section on the place of the treatise in the Exposition of the Law as a whole contains observations that could be the subject of further research. All in all, although the commentary that the article was designed to assist has now been published,63 it seems worthwhile to republish this piece. When I  was asked in 2003 to contribute to a Festschrift in honour of the distinguished Armenologist Jos Weitenberg, I  readily assented,64 for as noted in the introductory words of my article, Jos had assisted me greatly in understanding important passages for my dissertation which were only preserved in Armenian translation. For the subject of the contribution it seemed appropriate to turn to a text in the Armenian corpus and I chose one of the better known passages in the Quaestiones in Genesin that had long intrigued me.65 Fortunately, as seldom occurs, the original Greek text of the entire chapter is preserved by Eusebius (and also utilized by bishop Ambrose of Milan writing in Latin), so we have a privileged case where original and translation can be compared, a task for which I, lacking familiarity with the Armenian language, was able to receive assistance from other scholars. Here is a clear case where a Philonic text cannot be studied in separation from its reception. I nevertheless chose to include it in this collection because it is my only study wholly focused on the interpretation of a text from the Quaestiones and is published in a work that will not be easily accessible to most Philo scholars. In addition, it relates to issues in Philo’s theology which have been the subject of much discussion and even now are far from being resolved, namely how the relationship of God to his Logos (and his powers) should be conceived in light of the attributes of transcendence and unity.66 There remain three articles which treat passages that fall outside Philo’s biblical commentaries. The first was dedicated to the eminent Philonist, David Winston, and was bold enough to draw some parallels between David’s life devoted to the study of ancient texts and those exemplary Philonic contemplatives, the Therapeutae.67 It is the only example in this collection of an article undertaking the dissection of a single sentence (or period) which happens to be the final section of the work and a good example of Philo’s often complex Greek syntax. It also involves a textual issue where the Armenian translation encouraged 62 

Runia (2021b) = article 16 in the present collection. Birnbaum–Dillon (2021). 64  Runia (2019b) = article 24. See the additional notes on the lengthy delay before publication, which meant that sadly the Festschrift became a memorial volume. 65  In an earlier article on secondary biblical texts in Philo’s Quaestiones, Runia (1991) 47, I called them ‘the Cinderellas of Philonic scholarship,’ and in the three decades since then not all that much has changed. But for some good comparative research on particular exegetical themes see Böhm (2005), Moreau (2017). 66  See for example the questions very recently raised by Scott Mackie, (2022), in a close reading of Sacr. 67  Runia (1997a) = article 20. It was published in a Festschrift in his honour as part of a special volume of The Studia Philonica Annual. Sadly David passed away very recently at an advanced age in December 2022. 63 



Introduction

15

its editor Conybeare to make the right decision contrary to all other editors. Interestingly, important themes brought forward in this closing passage reveal intriguing correspondences with key themes in the Exposition of the Law.68 In the next article, also written in honour of a distinguished Philonist, this time the Norwegian scholar Peder Borgen,69 the text given a close reading derives from one of Philo’s surviving historical writings and on this occasion connections with the Exposition of the Law do receive appropriate emphasis. Very deliberately I  give the passage a contextual reading, first demonstrating the coherence of its train of thought and then linking it to various themes in the remainder of the treatise. At least two features are quite exceptional: it is the only time (§ 4) that Philo mentions Israel outside his biblical commentaries, and it is the only time (§ 6) that he speaks of God having a providential power. But I am able to show how these and other highlighted features are integrated into a coherent vision of what himself experienced as salvific divine intervention during the most dramatic period of his life. The final article in the collection has as its subject an entire treatise, De Providentia I, which probably has the dubious distinction of being the least studied and cited work in the entire Philonic corpus.70 The article had a most interesting genesis. In the northern summer of 2014 the learned and versatile Danish scholar Troels Engberg-Pedersen organized a conference in which scholars were invited to test a hypothesis which he had developed in his study of late Hellenistic and early Imperial philosophy, namely that it was witness to a development from Stoicism to Platonism as the dominant philosophy and that the relation of the two was asymmetrical, i. e. Platonists attacked Stoic positions whereas Stoics were basically untroubled by the rise of Platonism.71 In addition, he wanted to break down barriers between the study of Greco-Roman philosophy and of contemporary Hellenistic-Jewish and early Christian texts. For both aims, of course, Philo’s philosophical treatise was an ideal subject. I found it a valuable exercise to set out Philo’s various arguments in defence of divine providence and then weigh them up in light of Engberg-Pedersen’s hypothesis. My conclusions were surprising. The terminology and argumentative framework are indebted to the Stoa, whereas the main theological arguments have Platonism as their source. Ultimately, however, what drives the entire exercise is Philo’s Judaism and the perilous situation of the Jewish community in Alexandria. It became apparent that the emphasis on the judicial and retributive activity of divine providence 68  See in the article n. 39 and the text thereto. This might support a late dating for the work, as suggested by Niehoff (2018) 86–88, but she does not emphasize a link to the Exposition of the Law. 69  Runia (2003) = article 23, contributing to a Festschrift published to celebrate his 75th birthday. Peder passed away at the age of 95 in April 2023. 70  Runia (2017a) = article 26. 71  Engberg-Pedersen (2017) 10–15, 25–26.

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Introduction

goes far beyond what we can find in Greco-Roman texts and furnishes us with unexpected insights into the nature of Philo’s religion. It is perhaps fitting that this collection of articles should end with an article devoted to the analysis of an incompletely preserved philosophical treatise. It forms a bookend with my very first article devoted to Philo, published now over four decades ago, which had another philosophical treatise as its subject.72 Not that I am intending now to lay down my pen, or rather, in contemporary terms, shut down my computer.73 But it is pleasing, and a reason for gratitude, that one can look back at such a long period of scholarly activity and reflect on the many enjoyable hours spent with an author who never ceases to provide new things to investigate and discover.

6.  Concluding remarks I end this introduction with some words of explanation on formal aspects of the collection of studies. The articles in this volume have been for the most part reprinted as originally published. The layout and scholarly apparatus have in many cases been slightly modified for the sake of uniformity and in order to conform to the stylistic practices of the publisher. In one or two cases sub-divisions have been added or have been provided with numbering absent in the original published version. It will be noted that a majority of essays start with a numbered introductory section, but quite a few do not. This has to do either with preferences of publishers or my own varied practice. It seemed better not to introduce possible confusion by altering the numbering of the sections into which articles were originally subdivided. The articles have not been updated. Instead I  provide additional comments, often indicating research that I or other scholars have done in the period since they were published. These comments are added to footnotes where possible or interspersed as notes added to the main text, in both cases indicated with square brackets.74 All bibliographical references have been converted to the author-date system in order to save space. Full bibliographical details have been collected together and are located in the Bibliography at the end of the volume. Abbreviations, mainly relating to references to Philonic texts and translations, are collected at the beginning of the volume. In the Bibliography abbreviations for journals and series are not used. 72 

Runia (1981) = article VIII in the collected volume, Runia (1990a). In fact I am about to publish in the journal Adamantius an article on the interpretation of Congr. 73–80 which, had it been written earlier, I would have liked to include in the present volume. 74  In order to preserve the original numbering of the footnotes, they have been given the appropriate number supplemented with the letter a, e. g. note 12a. 73 

A.  Introductory Essays

1.  Why Philo of Alexandria is an Important Writer and Thinker* 1.  A Thought Experiment We are all indebted our colleagues here in Brussels for organizing this conference. The title Colloque international reminds us of two important predecessors. The first was the 1995 conference in Paris organized by Prof. Lévy, the second the famous 1966 Colloque, which was a most important event for Philonic studies.1 Of course it would be wrong to claim that these have been the only Philo conferences on this side of the Atlantic. The Scandinavian colleagues have been busy for many years.2 In Italy there was the conference in Bologna in 2003, as well as other meetings.3 In Germany in the same year the important conference on Philo and the New Testament took place in Eisenach and Jena.4 These gatherings form the European counterpart to the North American Philo seminar, which has been held at the annual AAR/SBL meeting since 1985 and have been attended by many European scholars throughout the years.5 All of this is impressive, and it has given rise to excellent cooperation between scholars in the area of Philonic research. [14] Nevertheless it must be said, I believe, that studies on Philo are not in the mainstream of research in the areas of classics and religious studies. I might even go a little further and say that Philonic studies are a somewhat of backwater in present-day scholarship, a place where you can happily reside if you want to do some solid work, but not the place to be if you want to be at the so-called cutting edge of research, that most desirable and glamorous place where most of the research money is to be found, where *  The article was presented as the key note lecture at the International Philo conference held in Brussels on 26–28 June 2007. I would like to warmly thank Baudouin Decharneux and Sabrina Inowlocki for their invitation, and Ellen Birnbaum for her constructive comments. I have preserved some features of the oral presentation. 1  Proceedings published in Lévy (1998); Aa. vv. (1967). 2  See for example Borgen–Giversen (1995). 3  Proceedings published in Mazzanti–Calabi (2004). 4  Deines–Niebuhr (2004); see my review article, (2005). 5  Listed and discussed in Sterling (2001). A seminar on Philo was also held as part of the annual meetings of the Society of New Testament Studies from 1983 to 1994 under the leadership of, among others, Earle Hilgert and David Hay. [The Philo seminar at SNTS meetings has been revived in recent years under the leadership of Per Jarle Bekken and Greg Sterling.]

20

A.  Introductory Essays

publishers flock to catch your attention, and if you are lucky you might even attract the attention of television producers eager to present the latest sensational discoveries. None of this seems to apply to Philonic studies. But one does wonder whether it could have been different. I am reminded of a fascinating thought experiment that Abraham Terian put forward in an article that he wrote a little more than a decade ago. He posed the counterfactual question: ‘what if the works of Philo had been newly discovered?’6 Just imagine if Philo had been one of the many authors from antiquity who was known to us only from a few references in later authors, in his case authors such as Josephus, Clement and Eusebius, and then it happened that all of a sudden all the works by him that we now have were suddenly discovered. This is not entirely fanciful, because such events have taken place a few times in the past. I can think of three famous examples.7 In the eighteenth century the library of the Epicurean philosopher Philodemus was found in Herculaneum. It was hard to decipher, but it provided a huge amount of material that even today has not been not fully investigated. Then soon after each other the Nag Hammadi corpus of Gnostic writings were found in Egypt, and even more sensationally the Dead Sea scrolls emerged from the Judaean desert. I hardly need to emphasize what a revolution these two discoveries have meant for scholarship in the area of biblical and religious studies. They have given rise to an entire industry that, even after hundreds of publications, has not run out of things to do. So let us imagine what would have happened if Philo’s writings had been lost and all of a sudden they were found in a cave or a long-abandoned rubbish dump [15] under the sand. Surely it would have led to a scholarly sensation. Without Philo we would know very little about Alexandrian Judaism in the period following the translation of the Septuagint. Scholars would have been stunned by his brand of Greek-speaking Judaism with its sophisticated use of language and its positive attitude to philosophical ideas. There would have been many more conferences on Philo than the ones I mentioned, and who knows, a report on our proceedings might have been aired on Belgian television.

2.  Aim and Theme of the Essay My aim in this essay is to explain why I regard Philo as an important writer and thinker. Of course there are many ways in which one could try to do this. One 6  Terian (1994). He tells us at the beginning of the article that he got the idea from the dust jacket of the second edition of Goodenough’s introductory work on Philo, (1962), so it might have originally come from that great scholar. 7  One could also add the case of the five works of Didymus the Blind that were found in Toura in Egypt in 1941.

1.  Why Philo of Alexandria is an Important Writer and Thinker 



21

could select a number of central ideas in Philo and show how they are intrinsically important and moreover have been very influential in the development of Western thought. Some fifteen years ago my inaugural lecture in Utrecht made an attempt along these lines.8 What I want to do in the present essay will be a little different. Like Caesar’s Gaul, it will be divided into three parts. I will first show how Philo’s importance impinges on no less than seven areas of scholarly study, but that the state of research in these areas differs quite markedly. In the second place I will focus on one particular theme in Philo’s thought that can be used as an illustration of his importance. The theme that I have chosen is his attitude toward the religion of the cosmos as it developed in the Greco-Roman world, and in particular his views on the divinization and worship of the heavenly bodies. In the final part of the essay I will return to the seven areas of study. I will first show how this theme illustrates the seven areas outlined earlier and then conclude with a few remarks on what I regard to be Philo’s own distinctive voice. [16]

3.  Seven Areas of Study for which Philo is Important I can now introduce you to the following seven-pointed star. Classics Ancient History

Ancient Philosophy Alexandrinus

PHILO Judaism

Judaeus

Patristics

New Testament & Umwelt

Gnosticism

Seven is of course an appropriately Philonic number. Nearly a quarter of his most famous treatise, the De opificio mundi, is devoted to the hebdomad.9 So we can be sure that Philo would have been delighted with this star, even if he may not have been able fully to understand what it all referred to. As can be seen, 8  9 

Runia (1992a); English translation in (1995) 1–24. Opif. 89–128.

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each of the points of the star stands for a separate area of scholarly study, and to each of these Philo has made a substantial contribution.10 These fields are in the most cases very well known. But nevertheless a few comments might be in order. We start at the top left with Ancient History. It is easy to forget what an eminent place Philo and his family occupied in Alexandrian society, and indeed among the ruling elite of the Roman empire. Through his family’s position he had direct connections to the highest [17] circles of power and privilege.11 The so-called historical treatises give fascinating insight into important events that otherwise would be obscure to us, but they are difficult documents to read, because in fact in them historical narrative and apologetic interpretation are inextricably linked. Much sound scholarship has been devoted to this area in recent years, among which Pieter van der Horst’s fine commentary on In Flaccum should be given pride of place.12 It has also been good to see ancient historians such as Eric Gruen take an interest in Philo.13 And we should not overlook the remarkable advances that have taken place in Alexandrian studies in recent years, to which Philonic material has made a sound contribution.14 At the top of the star there is the field of Classics, in recognition of the fact that from a linguistic and literary viewpoint Philo is first and foremost an author writing in Greek. Philonic studies are greatly indebted to the work that classical scholars have done on the texts throughout the centuries, most notably the great critical edition by Cohn and Wendland, which may never be surpassed, and the English translation in the Loeb Classical Library, which so many scholars use, even though it is high time that it be redone or thoroughly revised. In return Philo has been very useful for classicists, for the quotations that he preserves from earlier writers, for the glimpses he gives of contemporary cultural and religious practices, as well as for many other things. But one cannot help thinking that much remains to be done. The most detailed recent work has been done in 10  Ellen Birnbaum points out to me that this division differs in some details from the ones that I used in a previous article, (1989). I readily concede that it contains arbitrary elements, particularly in the areas of religious studies. Moreover many studies concentrate on Philo in and for himself, and so full under more than one heading. The main aim of the division is to give an overview of scholarly practice. [There have been some perceptible shifts in recent years, notably a confluence of Second Temple Judaism and New Testament Studies (since Christian beginnings occurred within the bosom of Judaism), and New Testatment Studies and Patristics joining together in Early Christianity. See further Henze–Werline (2020) and my comments in the Introduction.] 11  An authoritative presentation of all the historical details we know about Philo and his family remains a desideratum. [This lacuna has recently at least partially filled by two articles, Appelbaum (2018) on Philo’s family, and Leonas (2018) on his chronology and social position.] 12  Van der Horst (2003). 13  See, for example, Gruen (2002). 14  See, for example, Harris–Ruffini (2004), and the article by Birnbaum that it contains, (2004).

1.  Why Philo of Alexandria is an Important Writer and Thinker 



23

the area of rhetoric.15 In the areas of grammar and lexicography few advances have been made since the 19th century. Next we come to the domain of Ancient Philosophy. Here scholarly [18] advances have been considerable during the past decades. There is of course much dispute, which may perhaps never be resolved, on whether it is legitimate to call Philo a philosopher or not. Certainly he would have had no qualms in describing himself as such, but much depends on what we take the term philosophos to mean. There can be no doubt, however, that the evidence which he supplies has been quite invaluable. Ever since the pioneering work of Boyancé, Theiler and Dillon, Philo has been a crucial resource for our knowledge of Hellenistic and early Imperial philosophy.16 Many scholars regard him as a Middle Platonist, though I  myself would still resist this move.17 Important studies continue to appear at regular intervals.18 Unfortunately there appear to be limits to what we can know. If only Philo could tell us, for example, what he had learnt from Eudorus. It would help us enormously. The next field is that of Judaism and Jewish studies, and it is surely fitting that it is fourth out of seven, right in the middle. Even though the name of Philo Judaeus has gone out of fashion, there is no doubt that in recent decades he has been effectively reclaimed for Judaism. Philo is recognized as representing a very special direction in Judaism that we would otherwise know very little about, one that is above all marked by its unusual openness towards Hellenism.19 I do wonder sometimes, however, whether suspicion towards Philo remains in some Jewish circles. Those present at the Paris colloque will recall the forthright paper of Benny Lévy.20 It is perhaps telling that there is still [19] relatively little research on Philo being done in Israel at this moment, excepting the contributions of Naomi Cohen and Maren Niehoff, both of whom arrived in Israel from abroad.21 I am convinced that there is still much research to be done on how Philo’s Judaism fits in to the various directions of Judaism that existed in his time. We proceed now to New Testament studies, that field of study that owes its separate existence to the dominance of biblical research in the area of religious studies. Philo was an exact contemporary of Jesus, so it is hardly surprising that researchers doing work both on the New Testament documents and their Umwelt pounce on Philo. A significant proportion of the research on Philo is done by New Testament scholars. The recent conference in Eisenach was a case 15 

See Conley (1987); Manuel Alexandre (1999). See Boyancé (1963); Theiler (1965); repr. (1970) 484–501; Dillon (1977), reprinted with Afterword (1996). 17  See Runia (1986); (1993a). 18  See now, for example, Calabi (2008). 19  As persuasivly argued by Sterling (2001). 20  B. Lévy (1998). 21  Cohen (1995); (2007; Niehoff (2001). 16 

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in point. Most of the contributors were New Testament scholars.22 Another striking case is the Neuer Wettstein Corpus Hellenisticum project at Halle. It is a remarkable fact that, in its compendious collection of Greco-Roman parallels to the New Testament, no other writer is quoted as often as Philo.23 As a bibliographer I have found the research done in this area often rather hard to track down, particularly those useful chapters in books devoted to other exegetical or theological themes. Even if the research is almost always done with a particular exegetical or theological slant, it very often yields useful insights. Two points remain at the bottom of the star. We move on past Philo’s own lifetime to the study of Early Christianity and the Church fathers. The reciprocity is particularly valuable here. Philo’s works would have been lost, if they had not drawn the attention of a small band of philosophically minded Church fathers. But at the same time the use of Philonic material can tell us much about how Patristic exegesis and theology developed. I have been delighted with the [20] research that my studies in this area have stimulated.24 Particular mention should be made of the excellent work being done in Italy by the group under the leadership of Lorenzo Perrone.25 The final point of the star is perhaps controversial, because not everyone is convinced by the view that Gnosticism is a separate field of study that represents a separate form of thinking and is not just an idiosyncratic part of ancient religion and philosophy.26 Philo is far from being a Gnostic, but he can make an important contribution to understanding this novel form of thought with its negative view of the cosmos, as I shall argue later. Another way of looking at this point of the star is to see it as representing the field of History of Religions, the importance of which Baudouin Decharneux has just made plain to us in his opening remarks.27

4.  Philo on the Divinization and Worship of the Heavenly Bodies I would now like to turn to the theme which I  shall use to illustrate the importance of Philo’s thought, his views on the divinization and worship of the heavenly bodies. Starting-point for my choice of this particular theme was an 22 

See above n. 4. et al. (1996–2001). [Continuation in Schnelle (2008–2013).] 24  Runia (1993a); (1995). 25 See the reports in the journal Adamantius published by L. Perrone and the Italian Research Group on ‘Origen and the Alexandrian Tradition’. 26  See Van der Broek (1996). The point made by King (2003), in a recent study entitled What is Gnosticism?, that modern scholarship has been too essentialist in its approach to this phenomenon is well taken, but I would argue that in the practice of their thinking the Gnostics represent a separate approach which some texts in Philo can illumine. 27  Not published in the conference volume, Inowlocki–Decharneux (1998). 23 Strecker

1.  Why Philo of Alexandria is an Important Writer and Thinker 



25

excellent study entitled Jewish Religion in Philo of Alexandria by the young German scholar Jutta Leonhardt.28 In her opening chapter she first defines what she means by worship in the context of her study. There are two main terms that need to be taken into account, λατρεία and θεραπεία. Philo in fact seldom uses the former, whereas the latter in its various forms is exceedingly common [21] in his writings.29 Leonhardt noted that therapeia was the more general term for worship, but she claimed that it was generally used for the more abstract and philosophical veneration of God, and so did not provide a defining scope for specific Jewish worship in the way that latreia with its specifically cultic overtones did. This left me a little dissatisfied. There was clearly more to the study of worship in Philo than was covered in this study. In this essay I  want to take the term worship in a very broad sense. We worship that which inspires us with awe and reverence. We can express our worship by means of ritual and cultic acts. This is best covered by the Greek term λατρεία, even if Philo does not use it often. It can also be done through an attitude of mind. Here the Greek term is θεραπεία. A  particular way of worshipping is through the use of language. We call the object of our worship ‘divine’ (θεῖος), ‘god’ (θεός) or by employing various other honorific epithets. Language can be used both in latreia and in therapeia, but it is the latter case that I am interested in. Language is used for purposes of divinization. It is not an innocuous activity, certainly from the Jewish perspective that comes naturally to Philo. The subject of the worship of the heavenly bodies is of particular interest because of developments that took place in the Greek-speaking world during the Hellenistic period. As the great scholar of ancient religion Walter Burkert has demonstrated, the prime mover was Plato.30 In response to the wide-ranging debates on the nature of divinity and the role of religion in the 5th century BCE, Plato developed a new approach in which divine presence and activity is discerned behind the cosmic order, even if the ultimate origin of that order is sought in a higher transcendent realm. Plato’s philosophical cosmology can be seen as the inspiration for a ‘cosmic religion,’ with his cosmological dialogue, the Timaeus, as its Bible. Its hymnic language is quite deliberate: the cosmos is celebrated as a ‘blessed god’ (34b8) and a ‘sense-perceptible god’ (92c7), while the heavenly bodies are ‘visible and generated gods’ (40d4). The rationality of their movements is the underlying assumption of Plato’s astronomy. It is further emphasized in the Laws: the sun, moon and other planets are not ‘wanderers’ (πλανῆται), in spite of their name, but follow pre-ordained courses precisely because they are living [22] beings endowed with soul and intelligence (821b–c, 28 

Leonhardt (2001). seven instances, plus three for the related verb λατρεύω. θεραπεία and its related verb and other forms occur more than two hundred times. 30  Burkert (1985) 305–337. 29  Only

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967a–c). The Epinomis, written after Plato’s death by Philip of Opus, goes a step further: the first gods are the visible gods and they should be given a cult with honours, festivals and sacrifices (984d, 985d–e). On this foundation cosmic religion thus became an integral part of Hellenistic life and thought, especially for the well-educated, and spread throughout the Greco-Roman world during the Hellenistic period. The notion of a ‘cosmic religion’ is familiar to us from the writings of scholars such as Father Festugière and Jean Pépin.31 One might ask at this point whether the notion of a ‘cosmic religion’ is more than a scholarly construct, based on texts rather than the realia of cultic worship. Certainly it makes extensive use of the imagery of worship, e. g. calling the cosmos a temple or a shrine, in its literary expression. Without being able to survey all the evidence, I remain convinced that such a notion is valuable in order to explain the background of many texts in the Hellenistic and early Imperial period.32 It was at this time that the planets came to receive the names of (some of ) the Olympian deities. At first there was only an association, but in time this turned to identification, giving us the names that we still use today.33 Cosmic religion contributed to the popularity of astrology. Under the influence of the Stoic doctrines of cosmic sympathy and logos determinism, this practice became, in the words of Walter Burkert again, ‘a dominant spiritual force as a new kind of divination with scientific appeal’,34 combining science and religion in a manner that appealed both to the intellectual elite and to more popular circles. We may conclude, therefore, that cosmic religion was a potent force in the main cultural centre that was Alexandria. It would have been well-known to Philo. How would he as both learned intellectual and observant Jew react to it? We might begin by pointing out that Philo accepts the standard [23] Platonic-Aristotelian cosmology which assigns an eminent position to the stars as superior beings. He tells us (Plant. 12) that ‘the stars have been given their place in heaven, and those who practise philosophy state that these are intellectual beings through and through; some of them, the planets, appear to change their positions of their own accord, while others, the fixed stars, do this by being swept along in the movement of the universe.’ The rational movements of the stars thus reflect their superior intellects. They are unaffected by the travails of living on earth. There are also sceptical texts in which Philo emphasizes how little we actually know about heaven and its inhabitants (e. g. Somn. 1.21–24, Spec. 1.37) because of the weakness of our vision. As so often the direction of his comments depends on the context in which he makes them. But there can be no doubt that 31 

See for example Festugière (1949); Pépin (1986). See my remarks in (2001a) 207–209. A survey of all the archaeological and iconographic evidence relevant to the question would be most valuable. 33  Cf. Barton (1994) 111–112. The practice is noted by Philo at Decal. 54. 34  Burkert (1985) 329. 32 

1.  Why Philo of Alexandria is an Important Writer and Thinker 



27

he shares the general Greek perspective that the heavenly bodies should be held in high regard.35 An obvious touchstone for Philo’s views on the heavenly bodies is his exegesis of the biblical creation account in his major work De opificio mundi. The role of the heavenly bodies comes to the fore in the works of the fourth day. Philo emphasizes the role of light. Light had come into being on the first day, but Philo takes that light to be incorporeal light which forms part of intelligible transcendent reality (Opif. 31). Using this as his model, ‘God proceeded to create the sense-perceptible bodies, divine images of exceeding beauty, establishing these in heaven as in a temple made of the purest part of bodily substance’ (Opif. 55). In a parallel text in the following treatise which extols the virtues of sight and contemplation of the world, Philo says that ‘heaven has been fashioned as a cosmos within a cosmos, together with the heavenly beauties and divine images that it contains’ (Abr. 159). Clearly in these texts Philo shows no hesitation in using the language of the Hellenistic cosmic religion. The heavenly bodies are like divine images in a temple. Does this mean, then, that they should be worshipped? But we can go step further and point out that there are other texts in Philo’s works where he not just describes the heavenly bodies as ‘divine,’ but actually calls them ‘gods’.35a An example occurs in the same treatise De opificio mundi, when he explains the opening words of the Bible, ‘in the beginning God created the heaven and the earth,’ and argues that this means ‘God first made the heaven,’ [24] which is a reasonable statement because ‘heaven is the most excellent of the things that have come into existence and is also composed of the purest substance, because it was to be the holiest dwelling place for the gods whose appearance is perceived by the senses (θεοὶ ἐμφανεῖς καὶ αἰσθητοί)’ (Opif. 27).36 There are further similar statements in the group of five treatises which he wrote on purely philosophical subjects. For example, in his dialogue on Providence he argues (Prov. 2.84) that a part of the earth has been made suitable for the use by human beings and a part for use by the ‘sense-perceptible gods’ (this is probably a reference to the Stoic theory that the heavenly beings are nourished by oceanic exhalations). In his work on the eternity of the cosmos he may even have followed Plato and Aristotle in calling the cosmos itself a ‘visible god’ (ὁρατὸς θεός, cf. Aet. 10, 20),37 and there are other texts which speak of the 35 

See the sound discussion at Scott (1991), esp. p. 63–75. [I returned to this subject in a contribution to the Festschrift for Pieter W. van der Horst, Runia (2008), which I have not included in this collection; see esp. pp. 54–57, where I note the importance of the Pentateuchal text Deut 4:19.] 36  All translations of Philonic texts are my own. 37  There is a textual difficulty here. Philo uses the phrase at Aet. 10 when citing Aristotle, but at § 20, when he seems to use it for himself, the word θεόν has actually been introduced into the text by all editors since Bernays. 35a 

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‘sense-perceptible gods’ with reference to the heavenly bodies (Aet. 46–47, 112). Plainly Philo feels quite uninhibited in using this kind of language. Once again, however, context needs to be taken into account when interpreting Philo. All the texts so far are from either the Exposition of the Law or the philosophical treatises. What about in his allegorical works? Does he maintain the same language or does he decide to modify his approach. An interesting clue is given at De congressu 103, where he explains a biblical text in which the priests are commanded always to offer the tenth measure of fine flour (Lev 6:20). This means in allegorical terms that ‘they have learned to rise above the ninth, the sense-perceptible god in appearance (τὸν αἰσθητὸν δοκήσει θεόν), and worship the tenth, the only truly existent Being,’ i. e. God. The addition of the little word δοκήσει makes all the difference. The text suggests that the cosmos is not really a god, even if it is called such in the cosmic religion. But it is high time that we focused more directly on Philo’s role as interpreter of scripture. As has long been recognized, particularly after the seminal studies of the late Valentin Nikiprowetzky,38 the very fact that four-fifths of his writings are concerned with the interpretation of [25] scripture, and in particular the exposition of the Law of Moses, demonstrates that he sees this as his primary task. But at the same time we should perhaps remind ourselves of the complexity of the situation when Philo is engaging in biblical interpretation. There are in fact three layers. There is the Torah in the Hebrew original going back many centuries, which Philo most likely could not read with any confidence. Then there is the Greek translation of the Torah in the Septuagint version, made in Alexandria in the 3rd century BCE. Translation always involves some degree of interpretation, so this text will already bear some influence of the environment in which it was produced. Finally, there is Philo’s own interpretation of the Greek text of scripture, which reflects his situation in Alexandria more than two centuries later. The reason I mention these elementary historical details is because they are relevant to the most important text in the Septuagint on the subject of worshipping the heavenly bodies, Deut 4:19. In the RSV English translation of the Hebrew original we read: And beware lest you lift up your eyes to heaven, and when you see the sun and the moon and the stars, all the host of heaven, you be drawn away and worship them and serve them, things which the Lord your God has allotted to all the peoples under the whole heaven.

This text reflects the struggle by the Hebrew nation to establish a monotheistic religion in the proximity of other religions which did worship the stars,39 and especially the religion of the Chaldeans in nearby Mesopotamia, the land from 38  39 

Nikiprowetzky (1977). F. Lelli, Art. ‘Stars,’ in Van der Toorn–Becking–Van der Horst (1999) 809–815.

1.  Why Philo of Alexandria is an Important Writer and Thinker 



29

which the first Patriarch of the nation, Abraham, emigrated. When we turn to the Septuagint translation, we note that a subtle change in the text. Instead of reading ‘all the host of heaven,’ the Septuagint reads ‘all the κόσμος (i. e. adornment) of heaven.’ I would not hesitate to see the influence of the Hellenistic cosmic religion and perhaps even of the Platonic background in the choice of this terminology.40 I wonder too whether [26] the use of the verb ‘go astray’ (πλανηθείς) instead of ‘be drawn away’ is a play on the word ‘planet’ which in Greek has the same root. There is of course no explicit mention of ‘gods’ in this text. In fact the language of ‘visible’ or ‘sense-perceptible gods’ is wholly foreign to the Septuagint, no doubt because it is too explicitly philosophical. But we should observe that the paraphrase of this text later on at Deut 17:3 does speak of ‘other gods,’ which are specified as the same ‘sun and moon and whole cosmos of heaven.’ And we recall that there are many other Pentateuchal texts which speak without hesitation of ‘gods’ in more general terms, most notably Deut 10:17, ‘for the Lord your God, this is the God of gods and the Lord of lords, the God who is great and strong and fearsome …’ These texts will certainly have encouraged Philo to speak of ‘gods’ in the plural without too much compunction or hesitation. But let us return to the main text Deut 4:19. In his Exposition of the Law Philo gives great prominence to the prohibition against worshipping the heavenly bodies as expressed in this text. Both in his treatment of the Decalogue and of the Special Laws, he links the theme directly with the First commandment. When he says at Decal. 52 that ‘no small delusion (πλάνος) has taken hold of the majority of humankind in deifying the elements,’ the word πλάνος naturally recalls the ‘going astray’ in the biblical text. The various elements are mentioned, but the greatest prominence is given to the celestial bodies, and it is particularly noted how they have been given misleading titles, i. e. names derived from the Olympian gods. Philo concludes that true piety entails not regarding any of the parts of the cosmos as an ‘autonomous god.’ It is even worse if any of these is regarded as the ‘primal god.’ This is like giving honours to the subordinate satraps rather than the Great King of Persia. In Spec. 1.13–20 the worship of the heavenly bodies is focused on even more specifically. Deut 4:19 is explicitly quoted and it is emphasized that people make the mistake of ascribing to them the causation of all events, a clear reference to the practice of astrology. We note that once again Philo does not feel the need to avoid calling the heavenly bodies ‘gods.’ People go astray in thinking that ‘these beings alone [27] are gods’ (§ 16), he writes. So it must not be supposed that ‘the gods that sense-perception espies’ are autonomous (§ 18). What we must do is ‘give honour to the One who is not only God of gods both intelligible and sense-perceptible, but also creator of all 40 

In this limited case I would agree with the hypothesis of philosophical influence on the

LXX translators put forward by Rösel (1994), though he does not discuss this particular text. Remarkably this is one of the texts that the rabbis claim was changed by the LXX translators, although no trace of the change remains in our MSS; cf. E. Tov (1984) 64–89, esp. 82, 84.

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things’ (§ 20). Here the text of Deut 10:17 can be sensed in the background. Philo sees it as complementing the earlier text. It would be a mistake to think that Philo is only interpreting scripture here. He is also engaged in a strong defence of Jewish religion. In other words, exegesis involves apologetics. In both passages discussion of the worship of the heavenly bodies is followed by a fiercer polemic against the makers of idols. Philo argues – significantly – that the error involved in being a worshipper (θεραπευτής) of the heavenly bodies is less than for the idolaters (Decal. 66). Unfortunately he does not give us a reason for this. His main argument against the idolaters is that they worship lifeless images that are the products of human hands, so we may guess that he thinks the worship of the celestial beings at least involves recognition of their superior status.41 This is a lesser mistake than worshipping statues, which of course also took place in Greek religion. Similar thoughts are also found in Philo’s treatise De vita contemplativa on the community of the Therapeutae. As he emphasizes at the outset of the work, the very names Therapeutae and Therapeutrides (interestingly he uses the female form as well) in fact mean ‘worshippers’ (Contempl. 2). But they do not worship ‘bodies made up of the elements, sun, moon, or the other fixed or wandering stars, or indeed the entire heaven and cosmos,’ because they recognize that these did not come into existence of their own accord, but by means of a creator who was perfect in his knowledge (§ 5). They also do not worship idols or crocodiles. Instead they worship and serve God, who is in fact Self-existent Being, superior to anything that can be thought, including the Good and the One (§ 2). This is vintage Philo. He is quite happy to use philosophical language to describe the God of the Jews, but at the same time his apologetic aims are quite transparent. He does three things at the same time: he explains what the essentials of Jewish religion are, he demarcates it [28] from other forms of piety (or impiety as he sees it), and in so doing also demonstrates its superiority. Lest it be thought that I  am neglecting Philo’s allegorical treatises, I  draw attention to another important text at Conf. 173 that expounds the puzzling plural in Gen 11:7, in which God says: ‘let us go down and confuse their tongue down there.’ This does not mean, he writes, that there is plurality in God, but that he is surrounded by powers which form the intelligible cosmos as archetype for the visible cosmos. Some people have been so struck with admiration for these worlds that they have deified them and felt no shame in calling them gods, including their most beautiful parts, the heavenly bodies, but Moses perceived their delusion when he says ‘Lord, Lord, king of the gods’ (Deut 10:17 again). This passage brings us something new, because it strongly hints at a central 41  Compare the rather similar text at Wis 13:1–9, where it is claimed that ‘little blame’ should be attached to the worshippers of the heavenly bodies compared to other idolaters, ‘because they perhaps go astray in their search for God and their desire to find him’ (v. 6). The author seems to suggest in v. 7 that it is the cosmos’ beauty that leads them off course.

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insight which helps him enormously in dealing with our theme, the doctrine of relative admiration for the created world. It is a philosophical doctrine, which has a recognizable background in the Platonic and Aristotelian theme of wonder as the source of philosophy. It affirms the beauty and splendour of the created world which Plato emphasized, but goes a crucial step further in insisting that only the Creator who is the source of that beauty should be worshipped.42 But Philo’s allegories have a greater contribution to make to our theme than has been mentioned so far. Philosophical doctrines and apologetic arguments have their merits, but the allegorical method has a special advantage. It converts exegesis from the past to the present, from explanation of stories that happened long ago to the story of the soul in the here and now. Through this controversial exegetical technique Philo is able to involve the reader in a much more direct way. The central allegorical figure for our theme is, as already mentioned, the Patriarch Abraham who departs from Chaldea, the land of his fathers. The Chaldeans play a very important role in Philo’s allegorical universe. They symbolize the mind which honours and worships the visible world (and especially the heavenly bodies) and attributes to it the ultimate causation of what happens on earth. They thus combine astrology with an erroneous theology.43 Abraham lived [29] at first in Chaldea, and as such he was a ‘man of heaven,’ but he is converted into a ‘man of God’ (Gig. 62–64). The chief vehicle for this conversion is the process of learning (μάθησις). What Abraham chiefly learns from his studies, which in the full allegory involve a detour through an analysis of human nature, is that God is the creator and ruler of both visible and invisible reality. It is this intellectual conviction that enables him not to make the mistake of honouring and worshipping the cosmos and its parts instead of their maker. Abraham thus represents the thinker who gets the doctrine of relative admiration right. But we should note how Philo formulates this lesson. We read at Migr. 194: In this way the mind that gradually changes its location will arrive at the Father of piety and holiness, firstly abandoning the calculation of birth-dates (i. e. astrology), which betrayed it into thinking that the cosmos was the first god, instead of being the created product of the first god, and that the movements and courses of the stars are the cause of bad fortune and its opposite, good fortune, for human beings.

The formulation ‘first god’ is intriguing and characteristic for Philo. The contest between the Creator and cosmos for the title of ‘first god,’ which is also a contest between the Hebrews and the Chaldeans, is the response to the challenge of the Hellenistic cosmic religion. The answer is clear. The cosmos only has the 42 

See also the warning words at Opif. 7–12, directed at the doctrine of Chaldeanism. texts at Migr. 177–181, Her. 97, Congr. 50, Abr. 69, QG 3.1; mention of heavenly bodies at Migr. 179, Abr. 69, Virt. 212. On the doctrine of the Chaldeans that these texts presume see Bos (1998) 68–70; Runia (2001a) 111–112. 43  See

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qualities of beauty and order because it has received them from God the creator. Nevertheless it has to be said that the phrase ‘not the first god’ remains a little surprising, for it does not explicitly exclude the possibility of the cosmos being the ‘second god.’ Once again Philo does not seem to hear any alarm bells. We should also note the specific reference in the text just cited to the doctrines of astrology. In other texts too, including an important passage in the first book On Providence (77–88), Philo reveals that he is strongly opposed to any kind of astral fatalism, i. e. the doctrine that asserts that everything which happens on earth is written in the stars. He does not deny that the stars can exercise power. But they do not do this as autonomous agents. Philo makes his views clear in the [30] important text on the First commandment that we have already discussed earlier (Spec. 1.13–14):44 Moses was of the opinion that the cosmos came into being and that it is in a sense the greatest of cities, having rulers and subjects. The former are all the heavenly beings, both planets and fixed stars, the latter are those natures which live below the moon in the air and on earth. The rulers just mentioned do not have power of their own accord, but are subordinates of the one Father of all things, and it is by imitating the example of his government that they act correctly in their task of administering each of the created beings in accordance with justice and law.

It is most striking that Philo calls the heavenly bodies ‘rulers’ (ἄρχοντες). They exercise power and authority, and this may include power over human beings. But they do so only as agents of God the creator, or, in philosophical terms, as agents of providence. There is no suggestion that they are evil forces, or that they do anything that ultimately will not be of benefit to humankind. I end my discussion of my main theme with one more typically Philonic passage. It takes us back to the exposition of the creation account in De opificio mundi. In explaining the sequence of creation he encounters an exegetical problem: why is the plant world created on the third day, whereas the heavenly bodies, which have a nature that is more divine, are not created until the fourth day? The answer which Philo gives is typical of him and quite creative. God imagined in advance what human beings would be like. They would put faith in appearances rather than the truth, and so would attribute primary causation to the heavenly beings rather than to God himself. Let them remember, then, the lesson that the creation story teaches, namely (Opif. 46): He [God] does not stand in need of his heavenly offspring. He has given them powers, but these certainly do not mean full autonomy. Just like a charioteer who takes hold of the reins or a pilot who grasps the rudder, he guides each process according to law and justice in whichever direction he wishes, not needing anyone’s help. After all, for God all things are possible. [31] 44 Reading

Wendland.

with Heinemann in the German translation πρυτανεύοντας against Cohn-



1.  Why Philo of Alexandria is an Important Writer and Thinker 

33

There will be no temptation to worship the heavenly bodies or to accord them veneration beyond their due if their place in the world order is properly understood. They are God’s creation and they stand closer to him because heaven is a more perfect place than the earth on which we live. For this reason they are to be contemplated and admired. But their main task is to work for and point towards their Creator. In not recognizing this doctrine, both the proponents of cosmic religion and the astrologers have gone astray. They have not obeyed the command that the Torah so clearly gives.

5.  Revisiting the Seven Areas of Study It is time to draw this presentation to a close. But before I do, I would like to return to our starting-point, the importance of Philo as a writer and thinker. Let us revisit the seven-pointed star and see how our example illustrates the kind of insight that Philo provides us with when we study his writings and thought. We start with Ancient History. Our example was of course primarily theoretical, involving people’s thoughts and attitudes. But this is not to say that it does not relate to concrete historical events. It shows us the kind of thinking that set Jews apart in the ancient world and constrained emperors and government officials to be careful in their dealings with them, particularly in relation to the issue of the imperial deification. Caligula failed to exercise such care, with perilous consequences for his Jewish subjects. At the same time Philo’s less than strict attitude to using the term ‘god’ shows how he was able to accommodate his thought and language, and so be accepted as a member of the Alexandrian cultural and intellectual elite. From the viewpoint of Classics the double nature of Philo’s writings comes clearly to the fore. He belongs to an ethnic minority. The scriptural text that founds and informs so much of his writing is alien to the classical mainstream, but Philo does all he can to efface its barbarism. The main interest of our example has been in the area of ancient religion. Philo’s views give us insight into how Hellenistic culture, under influences from the East, combined aspects of the old Olympian religion with elements of star worship and doctrines of science and philosophy into a new amalgam. The next area, Philosophy, is strongly relevant to Philo’s enterprise. Cosmic religion was first developed in reaction to Olympian religion by philosophers. Philo can tell us much about how [32] it was absorbed into Hellenistic culture. His chief response is the doctrine of relative admiration for the cosmos. The cosmos is to be admired for its beauty and rational order, but its Creator, who caused it to come into existence with these characteristics is to be admired even more. This doctrine can already be attributed to Plato, who in Philo’s view may

34

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well have got his inspiration from Moses, but not to Aristotle, who goes astray when he affirms that the cosmos never did have a beginning in creation. Our example shows in the clearest terms how Judaism is the chief determinative factor in his response to cosmic religion and worship of the stars. But at the same time he is the chief representative of a particular kind of Judaism, which is responsive and more open to influences from the prevailing Hellenistic culture than other kinds. Admittedly Philo must have been more of an intellectual than most of his compatriots. But there are plenty of indications in his writings that he is not an isolated figure, but stands at the centre of a rich synagogue and school culture. Philo’s attitude to cosmic religion is also important for scholars when they try to understand how New Testament authors grapple with this aspect of their cultural environment. The best example is Paul, who speaks about ‘the elements of the cosmos’ (Gal 4:19) and the ‘principalities and powers and rulers of this world’ (Eph 6:12), and launches a strong attack on ‘those who have exchanged God’s truth for a lie and have honoured and worshipped the creation rather than the creator’ (Rom 1:25).45 His concerns can be much better understood against the Hellenized background that we know from the writings of Philo. Many of themes that we found in Philo on the worship of the heavenly bodies are continued in the writers of the Early church. Some of this material, for example in the second century Apologists, depends on the shared background of Hellenistic Judaism. Other writers are directly dependent on Philo, such as the great Alexandrian theologians Clement and Origen. They continue Philo’s combination of exegesis, apologetics and the inclusion of philosophical themes with a heavy emphasis on Platonism. The final point of our star, you will recall, was Gnosticism. As we have amply seen, nothing could be further from Philo’s intention than [33] to denigrate the world of created reality. Nevertheless the evidence that Philo yields is vital for understanding the origin of the negative view of the cosmos held by the Gnostics. If the heavenly bodies are our rulers and they exert influence on our lives, it only requires a small switch to make them into despots and tyrants, created by an evil power and ruining our lives until such time as our immaterial souls can be liberated from their influence.

6.  Philo’s Own Voice However, there is one misunderstanding that I still perhaps need to clear away. In emphasizing how valuable Philo is as a source, the last thing I want to do is give the impression that he is not worth reading for himself. Where in all this is 45 

Van Kooten (2003).



1.  Why Philo of Alexandria is an Important Writer and Thinker 

35

the sound of his own particular voice? After studying Philo for three decades, I see two aspects of his thought as defining what makes him distinct and special. Firstly there is his positive attitude towards the Greek heritage. Though his first loyalty is to his own people and their ancestral religion, he is prepared to adopt and adapt the best that Greek philosophy and culture has to offer. Secondly there is the spiritual depth and creativity of his allegories. The stories of the Bible and the doctrines of philosophy used to explain them are not just objects of study. No, they are directly relevant to our lives. If we understand them at the deepest level, they will inform us about the life of the soul, as it wrestles with its passions and evil inclinations and struggles towards the practice of excellence and the good life, culminating in knowledge of God insofar as that is possible for human beings. In conclusion it may be agreed that the contents of this essay well illustrates the theme of the conference. Philo is indeed a thinker at the intersection of Greco-Roman, oriental, Jewish and Christian cultures.

2.  Half a Century of Philonic Research since the Lyon Colloque: Some Evaluatory Reflections This essay has its origin in a request to speak at a conference commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of the celebrated colloque on Philo held in Lyons in September 1966. When reflecting on what I might say, my mind went back to the time that I started doing research on the Alexandrian. In my dissertation, prepared in the early 1980’s, I was bold enough to say that the modern period of the study of Philo was ushered in by the French translation project, the happy progress of which was celebrated during the colloque.1 Thirty five years later I see no reason to change that view. It is most fitting indeed that this commemorative event should take place. But the task of surveying the developments in Philonic research over the past fifty years since the colloque was held is by no means an easy task. I will have to be selective, since there is a strict limit on what one can survey and evaluate within the confines of a brief contribution, and it will be understood that my comments can be no more than a personal view.

1.  Fifty Years of Research An excellent starting-point is provided by the colloque itself. The volume of its proceedings ends with a very brief ‘conclusion générale,’ which in fact does not summarise the findings of the essays, but rather sets out some desiderata for future research.2 It begins with expressing ‘la necessité de la collaboration entre hellénistes et hébraïsants, entre philosophes, historiens et philologues, et d’une façon générale, l’urgence de la recherche interdisciplinaire,’ with the final two words emphatically printed in italics. There can be no doubt that this call was heeded. The past fifty years have seen a remarkable efflorescence of research on Philo. The volume of publications has greatly increased. In our globalised world of today, international collaboration is incomparably greater than it was fifty years ago. Every year there are gatherings in which Philo scholars from different countries can meet each other. This is 1  2 

Runia (1986b) 11. Aa. vv. (1967) 375.



2.  Half a Century of Philonic Research since the Lyon Colloque 

37

not to say, however, that there are no longer differing national and linguistic traditions. We live in an era of specialisation, which [22] means—somewhat paradoxically—that collaboration is all the more necessary, and it might even be argued that there is not as much interdisciplinary exchange as there could be. When one reads these concluding remarks of the scholars assembled in Lyon, the emphasis on the need for instruments of research is quite striking. Since then much has been done in developing these. Indices for gaining access to Philo’s Greek text have been fully developed by Peder Borgen and his team, but are perhaps less essential now that the TLG can be so easily consulted.3 Due to the labours of the International Philo Bibliography Project references to and summaries of recent research are compiled at regular intervals.4 Recently David Lincicum has published an index of all Philo’s non-biblical citations and allusions.5 He modestly calls it ‘preliminary,’ and no doubt it will be added to. But it is very good to have. Scholars such as Françoise Petit, Abraham Terian and Folker Siegert have opened up treatises on the periphery of the Philonic corpus.6 There have been important translation projects, notably those into Italian, Hebrew, and Spanish.7 In related areas, such as for example Septuagint and Patristic studies, valuable instruments of research have also been developed.8 At this point, however, it has to be said that there are important unfulfilled wishes. Father Barthélemy acutely noted the ‘le problème d’une nouvelle édition du text de Philon.’’9 The edition of Cohn and Wendland is a wonderful legacy of the great era of German philology, but it is now more than a hundred years old and showing signs of its age. But it would be a massive project to redo these six volumes of text. And where would the required philological expertise come from? Apart from the splendid work of James Royse,10 almost no textual research is being done on Philo except incidentally. I also believe that there [23] is still a pressing need for commentaries that will make Philo’s writings more accessible. The Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series is a great initiative, but progress 3  Borgen et al. (2000); Skarsten et al. (2005). Philo was the 18th author to be included in the digital project Thesaurus Linguae Graecae, accessible online at https://stephanus.tlg.uci.edu. 4 In three collected volumes, Radice–Runia (1988); Runia (2000a); Runia (2012); and yearly in the pages of The Studia Philonica Annual. [A further volume covering research in the years 2007–2016, was recently published, Runia (2022).] 5  Lincicum (2013). 6  Petit (1973); Terian (1981), (1988), (1992); Siegert (1980), (1988). 7  Radice et al. (1981–1994); Daniel-Nataf et al. (1986–2015); Martín (2009–2016). 8  E. g. La Bible d’Alexandrie Project, commenced with Harl (1986) and now advanced to 19 volumes; Muraoka (2009), (2016); Biblia Patristica, Aa. vv. (1975–2000), currently being updated in the BiblIndex project. 9  Aa. vv. (1967) 375. 10  See Royse (2012), and a whole series of articles on the text of individual treatises. He is now preparing a new edition of the Coptos papyrus held in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris. [On Royse’s contributions to Philonic scholarship, see now the Festschrift in his honour, Farnes et al. (2022).]

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has been slow.11 My final remark about instruments of research is less relevant for a French audience but I will make it nevertheless. The majority of scholars world-wide who wish to have access to Philo’s writings for purposes of reading and publication make use of the edition and translation in the Loeb Classical Library. It will not be all that long and it too will be a century old. While often felicitous in its renderings, it is full of archaisms and errors. A revised, or—even better—a new translation would be very desirable.12

2.  Major Interpretative Developments Next I want to ask the following question: do we now read Philo in the same way as the illustrious band of scholars assembled at Lyon fifty years ago? My answer is: no, we do not. Then Philo was primarily read as a theologian; today it is generally agreed that he is primarily a commentator and interpreter of scripture. It is fair to say that this major paradigm shift in our understanding of Philo was largely the work of the late Valentin Nikiprowetzky,13 although others contributed as well, including Professors Harl and Alexandre. All three scholars presented papers at the colloque. Nikiprowetzky’s thesis has been well formulated by his pupil Jean Riaud: ‘Philon est un lecteur assidu de la Bible, dans sa version grecque; exégète du texte sacré, il n’exprime ses idées qu’en fonction de celui-ci.’14 Greek philosophy is vitally important for Philo’s project because it supplies ‘a language of reason’ that allows the wisdom inherent in scripture to be expressed and explained. It was entirely fitting that a conference was inspired by this vision twenty years ago in the environs of Paris organised by Carlos Lévy.15 We can thus no longer read Philo in the manner of a Goodenough or a Wolfson or a Festugière or even of a Daniélou, to mention four leading Philonic scholars of fifty years ago. But this is not to say that Nikiprowetzky’s thesis of [24] the subordination of philosophy to scripture is straightforward and does not give rise to important questions, as we shall see further below. A second key development regards our approach to the corpus of Philo’s writings. Nikiprowetzky devoted a chapter to this subject entitled ‘Caractère et structure du commentaire Philonien,’ but it is undoubtedly the least satis11 Four volumes so far: Runia (2001a); Van der Horst (2003); Wilson (2011); and Geljon–Runia (2013). There are now a number of volumes ‘in the pipeline.’ [Now published: Geljon–Runia (2019) on Plant.; Birnbaum–Dillon (2021) on Abr.; and Taylor–Hay (2021) on Contempl.] See also Niehoff–Feldmeier (2017) on Migr. 12  Many of the older volumes in the library have been revised in recent years. See Horsley (2011) 50. He notes ibid., that the Philo translation is virtually unique in the library in having two supplementary volumes in translation only, without the original Armenian text. 13  See especially Nikiprowetzky (1977), but also (1973), reprinted in (1996). 14  Riaud (1998) 11. 15  Proceedings published in Lévy (1998).

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39

factory part of his book.16 From today’s perspective one is immediately struck by his use of the word ‘commentaire’ in the singular. During the past two or three decades there has been an increasing awareness of the distinctiveness of Philo’s three great scriptural commentaries (plural!). These works have different aims and were written with different audiences in mind. I would not wish to retract my exhortation written with the confidence of a young scholar in an article on how to read Philo that in ‘pursuing a particular subject in Philo, [one should] always aim at taking all the relevant passages into account.’17 But it has emerged in Philonic research time and time again that it is very important also to take the context within the particular treatise and commentary into account, and to exercise care in harmonising statements from differing works, such as for example in the case of the treatises De opificio mundi and Legum allegoriae which deal in part with the same biblical text.17a A good example of a study in which this division is carried out rather strictly is Christian Noack’s dissertation on ‘Gottesbewußtsein’ (consciousness of God).18 But the question then rises: to what extent is it legitimate to synthesise Philo’s thought?

3.  Filling in the Gaps: Philo in his Social and Intellectual Environment As a generalisation it can be argued that in the past half century there has been an increasing emphasis on the material and socio-political aspects of ancient culture, when compared with studies based on purely literary evidence. One thinks of progress in archaeological excavations (also in Alexandria), the publication and study of new collections of papyri and inscriptions, the attempt to see the ancient world from a less elitist and male-dominated perspective, and so on.19 This has not been without its impact on Philonic studies. [25] To its credit, the Lyon colloque began with two papers on the historical background to Philo’s life and work. Jacques Schwartz daringly gave Philo a Roman name, C. Julius Philo, and presented some facts and many speculations on his life in Alexandria, but at the end he felt the need to apologize for not stilling ‘notre soif ’ (our thirst) for more information about the ‘années obscures’ which preceded the events of 38 CE.20 The state of our knowledge is compactly presented by Jenny Morris in her revision of the section in Schürer’s handbook.21 Dorothy 16 

Nikiprowetzky (1977) 170–235.

17  Runia (1986a) 193. 17a  [On the relation between

Leg. and Opif. see further article 17 in this collection.] Noack (2000). 19  For fine illustrations of this emphasis in the area of Hellenistic Judaism see Barclay (1996) and that of Jewish epigraphy Van der Horst (2015). 20  Schwartz (1967), quotes on p. 11. 21  Morris 1987 (814–819); see also Schwartz (2009). 18 

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Sly made a valiant attempt to paint a portrait of the man and the city, and Joan Taylor tried to match present-day topography with Philo’s description of the location of the Therapeutae.22 I once asked a competent scholar who had written much about Roman-Alexandrian relations to write an article with an update on all the we know about Philo and his family, but he declined, presumably because it was too difficult and unsatisfactory.22a The gaps in our knowledge remain and it would be great if a major discovery took place which would lead to a breakthrough. It remains the case, therefore, that the main evidence for Philo’s life and thought is the very considerable body of writings which were fortunate enough to survive. Here too a historically more aware approach has come into favour. The programme of the Philo Institute, founded in 1971, was to analyse Philo’s writings with the aim of reconstructing the history of Alexandrian Judaism.23 Progress was quite modest, but the emphasis placed on disentangling traditions and tracking down Philo’s references to other exegetes had a stimulating effect on Philonic scholarship.24 It encouraged scholars to search for the distinctiveness of Philo’s thought while taking into account his place within a longer and broader tradition. It was a French work that took this approach to its furthest extent, the monumental study of Richard Goulet, which argued that Philo’s allegorical commentary was much indebted to a school of highly rationalistic Jewish allegorists.25 Although I had to conclude that the method was flawed,26 I want to place on record how much I learnt from some of Goulet’s insights, particularly on the relation between philosophical and religious thought in Philo’s allegories. But what more can we ascertain about the historical and social context of Philo’s literary activity? His treatises appear to offer rather scanty clues, but [26] close examination of his references to other exegetes and to philosophical schools, the division of his treatises into differing kinds of works with differing audiences and further attempts to establish chronological markers have led to advances. In an important article Greg Sterling has argued that the most plausible setting for Philo’s writings is a private school, perhaps in his home or attached to a synagogue.27 This hypothesis fits in well with his references to exegetical traditions and his descriptions of the ‘school of Moses’ in the terms used for Greek schools of thought (αἱρέσεις).28 Although Philo modestly refuses to accept that he is a teacher in the dialogue De animalibus, a school setting is 22  Sly (1996); Taylor (2003) 74–104. 22a  [But see now the articles of Appelbaum

(2018) and Leonas (2018). See Hamerton-Kelly (1972). 24  For example Hay (1979–1980); Tobin (1983). 25  Goulet (1987). 26  Runia (1989b). 27  Sterling (1999). 28  On this subject see Runia (1999a) = article 3 in this volume. 23 

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certainly what is assumed.29 Sterling further argues that Philo must have had a library containing his own works and those of others, to which his pupils would have had access. This is a promising line of research, which he has further developed in two very recent articles.30 But is it possible to go further down this path and develop a more finegrained portrait of Philo’s intellectual development? This has been the aim of Maren Niehoff in the considerable body of scholarly work that she has produced over a period of more than two decades. In an early monograph on Philo’s Jewish identity she emphasised the importance of Roman influence on his life and thought.31 More recently she has made much of Philo’s stay in Rome during the embassy to the emperor, which she thinks may have been quite lengthy and connects with the writing of the Exposition of the Law. Philo was impressed by some of the Stoic ideas that he encountered there and this led him to depart from his dominant Platonic orientation. A key example is the treatise De opificio mundi, in which ideas from the Timaeus are modified in the light of Stoic doctrine.32 She has now just published a culminating study with the ambitious title Philo of Alexandria: an Intellectual Biography.33 Time will tell whether this bold thesis will be persuasive in filling in some of the gaps in our knowledge of Philo’s life and career. [27]

4.  The Two Poles I: Philo’s Hellenism Long ago I used the figure of the ellipse to illustrate the special nature of Philo’s thought, arguing that both his Hellenism and his Judaism always remain connected to the twin poles of Greek and Jewish culture.34 I still believe it is a very useful image. Although Philo’s Hellenism is broader than just his interest in Greek philosophy, there can be no question that it is this part of Greek culture that influenced him most. Research on Philo’s knowledge and use of Greek philosophy during the past half century has been very extensive. Here too the desire to place it in its historical context has been strong. The conclusion of the Lyon colloque volume still speaks of ‘Philon précurseur du néoplatonisme’ as a subject deserving of further study, and no doubt he was such, sometimes in surprising ways.35 But just a year or two after the conference the scholarly world started to speak of ‘Middle Platonism,’ which John Dillon’s important book 29 

Anim. 6–7. [On the interpretation of this text see now Wyss (2019).] See further two recent articles, Sterling (2017a), (2017b). 31  Niehoff (2001). 32  Niehoff (2010), (2013). 33  Niehoff (2018). [The monograph has now also appeared in German, Hebrew and Italian translations, Niehoff (2019), (2021ab).] 34  Runia (1993d) 130. 35  Aa. vv. (1967) 375. 30 

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then put well and truly on the map.36 Together with important contributions by David Winston,37 it inspired detailed research on Philo’s use of central Platonic dialogues by myself and others.38 But Philo’s relation to developments in Alexandria and to figures such as Eudorus and Plutarch has remained elusive for lack of evidence, despite the best efforts of scholars such as Mauro Bonazzi and Rainier Hirsch-Luipold.39 Philo’s knowledge of other philosophical schools has also been the object of study and special mention should be made of the volume edited by Francesca Alesse which looked at all the post-Aristotelian schools, including the Peripatos, the Stoa and various sceptical movements.40 On the last-mentioned Carlos Lévy, following earlier research by Nikiprowetzky and Jaap Mansfeld, argued that Philo, despite his use of Neo-Academic and Neo-Pyrrhonist themes and terminology, is far from being a negative dogmatist or a true sceptic, but rather emphasises the limitations of human knowledge over against God.41 The article of Margaret Graver on the origins of the Stoic ‘pre-emotions’ (προπάθειαι) demonstrates how a close reading of Philonic texts can disclose fresh evidence [28] on Greek philosophical doctrines, in this case regarding the pre-emotional and pre-rational reaction to sudden events.42 It is a fine example of how detailed and extensive Philo’s knowledge of Greek philosophy must have been. In the area of Platonic studies too there is still scope for new research. Very recently the Finnish scholar Sami Yli-Karjanmaa published his dissertation on Philo and the doctrine of reincarnation.43 He argues that, although Philo almost never refers directly to the doctrine, he does endorse it and, if we recognise its role in the background, the result is a much more coherent psychology and eschatology. In the process of making his case Yli-Karjanmaa is also able to show how extensive Philo’s knowledge and use of Plato’s Phaedo is, and this in itself is a major contribution. His study also raises the central question of the relationship between Philo’s role as an exegete and the influence of Hellenism, and in particular, Platonism. He argues that we should not be too hesitant to attribute to Philo a set of coherent philosophical ideas, to be gleaned by gathering together passages from his various writings (but always taking the context into account). Philo’s professions of loyalty to the biblical text are less important than what it 36  Dillon (1977), 2nd edn. (1996), The term goes back at least to Witt (1937), but did not come into vogue until the late 60’s. Earlier there was a preference for ‘Imperial Platonism’ e. g. Theiler (1965). 37  Winston (1981), (1985). 38  Runia (1986b); Tobin (1983); Radice (1989). The important study of Anita Méasson (1986), stood more in the French tradition and makes no reference to Dillon’s study. 39  Bonazzi (2008), (2009); Hirsch-Luipold (2005). 40  Alesse (2008). 41  Lévy (2008); cf. Nikiprowetzky (1977) 183–192; Mansfeld (1988). 42  Graver( 1999), reprinted in Alesse (2008). 43  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015). [See now also article 9 in this collection.]

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finishes up meaning when the exegesis (or perhaps rather ‘eisegesis’) is carried out.44

5.  The Two Poles II: Philo’s Judaism I turn now to the second pole of Philo’s thought, his Judaism. One of the desiderata of the Lyon scholars at the end of their deliberations was further investigation into the problem of the ‘interférences rabbiniques et hélleniques’ in Philo.45 Half a century later we would phrase this subject differently. As the result of the huge volume of research on Second Temple Judaism there has been an increasing awareness of the independent nature of pre-rabbinic Judaism. Antipathy towards Philo’s form of Jewish thought in orthodox circles is now rare,46 which is not to say that he has been fully accepted. An interesting indicator of such acceptance, I believe, is the extent to which research is being done on him in Israel, and it is a happy development that it is on the increase. One such positive development is near-completion after three decades of the translation of all Philo’s works into Modern Hebrew.47 [29] Perhaps a helpful way of looking at Judaism in Philo’s day is to say that there were core elements held in common, such as recognition of the centrality of scripture, observance of the Law, ritual practices, a strong sense of Jewish identity, and so on, but within that common frame there existed a rich variety of individual and community practices and beliefs.48 Even though Philo belonged to a very distinctive community in the Diaspora—and within Alexandria too he must have had a quite special place—,49 it is remarkable how much light his writings can shed on the broad spectrum of the Judaism of his time. An illustration of this is the use of his evidence by Ed Sanders in his work Judaism: Practice and Belief 63 BCE to 66 CE.50 Philo is seldom discussed for himself, but his writings are constantly cited in the notes. More specifically, the question of Philo’s relation to contemporary Palestinian halacha and aggada still requires much further research, but mention should be made of the insightful research of Luz Doering.51 On the other hand, the examination of Philo’s own Jewish ideas against a wider background has been a fruitful avenue of research. Two 44 

See also his recent contribution to a handbook on the reception of Plato, (2018). Aa. vv. (1967) 375. 46  But note the ambivalence of a leading scholar in Feldman (2009) 47  See above at n. 7. 48  See the helpful overview of Birnbaum (2014). 49  Here too the treatment of Barclay is valuable, 1996 (103–180). See now also Niehoff (2018). 50  Sanders (1992). 51  Doering (1999) 315–383; (2017). 45 

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examples are his understanding of worship, investigated by Jutta Leonhardt,52 and discussions on the relation between universalism and particularism, as explored in studies by Ellen Birnbaum and Terence Donaldson.53 The former scholar concludes that—remarkably—for Philo the group of persons that fall under the name of Israel, the ὁρατικοὶ τοῦ θεοῦ, is broader in extent than those who identify themselves as Jews.54 Even within Greek-speaking Alexandrian Judaism this view must have been an outlier. A different though related theme is the relationship between Hellenic and Judaic elements in Philo’s thought. This question is in a sense a corollary of what was discussed earlier, the extent of the influence of Hellenism, and a broad spectrum of views is possible. I mention two important contributions. David Winston has argued that hidden tensions are inevitable in the vast enterprise of conceptual adaptation that Philo undertakes.55 These come to the surface in areas such as the role of repentance, the understanding of the divine nature, the evaluation of Moses’ role as sage and prophet, and place of mysticism. It appears that Philo gives the Jewish side the dominant place in his [30] presentation, but in fact it is undercut by philosophical twists that hint at his concealed position, which accords primacy to a mystical form of Platonism. For a quite different approach I return to the work of Carlos Lévy, who argues that the central motif which drives Philo’s thought is the recognition of human nothingness (οὐδένεια) before the face of God.56 For human beings only God can be the source of reason (λόγος), freedom and consciousness. Philosophical views have their foundation in a conviction that is profoundly Jewish.

6.  Philo’s Reception My last topic is an area of Philonic studies in which considerable advances have been made in the last fifty years, the study of how Philo’s writings and thought were received by subsequent readers, particularly in the Christian tradition. A little was said on the subject during the Lyon colloque,57 but it too was among the subjects that the assembled scholars regarded as needing further research. When I embarked in 1987 on the project which would lead to the monograph on Philo in early Christian literature,58 I found very little to build upon. There were a few contributions on individual authors, among which the detailed 52 

Leonhardt (2001). Birnbaum (1996); Donaldson (2007). 54  Birnbaum (1996) 226. 55  Winston (1990). 56  Lévy (2018). [See now also his seminal article on Philo for the online Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, (2018).] 57  In the essays of the three Pères, Barthélemy, Kannengiesser and Daniélou. 58  Runia (1993a); see also Runia (1995). 53 

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study of Ambrose’s exegetical treatises by Hervé Savon was by far the most impressive.59 The important study of Clement of Alexandria’s use of Philo in the Stromateis by Annewies van den Hoek did not appear until the following year.60 My aim was primarily to map out the terrain, give an overview of what research had so far yielded and offer a stimulus to further research. I was particularly interested in the various phases that the knowledge and use of Philo’s works and ideas passed through. Much research has been done since then, not only on the early Christian period, but also for the centuries that followed, through to the Byzantine period and beyond.61 I am convinced, however, that there remain many further opportunities for new discoveries, sometimes with the help of electronic databases, but most often through patient reading of the source material. There are, for example, still largely uncharted areas outside the narrower Greek and Latin patristic field, such as medieval Judaism and Arabic speaking Christianity.62 I should also mention the later Armenian tradition, [31] on which much important work is being carried out.63 And lastly there is the vexed subject of knowledge of Philo in the Hellenic tradition, which in the absence of direct references requires a subtle treatment of the evidence.64 In many respects Philo’s reception is a subject of research separate from the study of his own thought. Nevertheless its value should not be underestimated. Firstly, the survival and the textual state of Philo’s writings is intimately connected with his reception, as the important essay of Père Barthélemy showed so well fifty years ago.65 Secondly, in a sense Philo’s reception continues right through to the present day. Knowledge of the stages in which it has occurred leads to a deeper understanding of Philonic scholarship, including for example why the Lyon colloque was such an important event. Let me give a plug for an ambitious project on Philo’s reception to be published by Oxford University Press.66 It will cover the entire subject from Josephus to contemporary scholarship. And I should also mention the conference which is being organised for next year by Doctors Marcelescu and Gabriel and will focus on Philo’s reception in the early modern era. How fitting that it will be held in Lyon!67 59 

Savon (1977). Van den Hoek (1988). 61  See esp. the overview of Philo in Byzantine literature in Runia (2016). [See also my article, (2022), on the Philonic treatise De mundo, (2022), a product of a late-Byzantine scholar with an excellent knowledge of at least part of the Philonic corpus.] 62  See the exploratory contributions of Parker–Treiger (2012); E. R. Wolfson (1996), 63  An excellent overview in Mancini Lombardi–Pontani 2011. 64  See for example Sterling (2015) on Numenius and Alekniené (2010) on Plotinus. 65  Barthélemy (1967). [This article has been heavily criticized in a contribution by O. Munnich in the same volume that the present paper was published, (2021).] 66  To be edited by David Lincicum, Courtney Friesen and myself. [It is anticipated that this volume will be published in 2023.] 67  The papers of the conference have not yet been published. 60 

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7. Conclusion At the end of this essay, let me say again how much I have appreciated the opportunity to present these reflections in the company of distinguished Philo scholars assembled here today. By necessity they have only covered a small part of our subject. I am sure that we are all very much look forward to hearing the further discussions that are on the programme, and especially when we hear how Philonic research has advanced in relation to the particular subjects that were discussed in Lyon fifty years ago.

B.  Philo and Ancient Philosophy

3.  Philo of Alexandria and the Greek Hairesis-Model* It appears to be becoming fashionable to portray Philo’s thought in terms of a philosophical school with Moses as its founder. Nearly a decade ago a group of Italian scholars gave their introduction, translation and commentary on De opificio mundi and Legum Allegoriae the title La filosofia Mosaica.1 More recently the memorial volume in honour of Horst Moehring was published as The School of Moses: Studies in Philo and Hellenistic Religion.2 We should note that both titles, attractive and fitting though they may seem, are modern constructs. Philo never speaks expressis verbis of the ‘Mosaic philosophy’ or of the ‘School of Moses’.3 I myself may have contributed, I confess, to this trend. In a discussion panel on Philo and Middle Platonism held in San Francisco in 1992 I broached the question of Philo’s loyalties and made the following claim:4 There are a number of indications that Philo regards ‘Mosaic philosophy’ or groups of its practitioners as a kind of αἵρεσις, even if he does not use the term as freely as Josephus does. A  telling text here is his description of the Therapeutae as having τῆς αἱρέσεως ἀρχηγέται (‘leaders of the school’) who have shown them the way in allegorical exegesis (Contempl. 29). I believe that Philo quite deliberately presents his philosophy of Moses in such a way that it is parallel to Greek ‘schools’ or αἱρέσεις. If this is the case, there can be no question of allegiance to more than one school of thought at a time. As Glucker emphasizes, one is by definition a devotee, but can change one’s affiliation. [118]

In a note I  added that I  hoped to return to the subject at another time. This I wish to do in the present essay. I will examine the way that Philo presents the teachings of Moses and the way he regards his own role as follower and disciple of Moses in relation to the standard presentation of the Greek philosophical *  This essay goes back to a presentation in November 1996 under the title ‘Did Philo of Alexandria use the Greek hairesis-model in his presentation of the philosophy of Moses?,’ which formed part of a panel discussion on the theme ‘Were there Jewish schools of exegesis in Alexandria?’ organized under the auspices of the Philo seminar of the Society of Biblical Literature in New Orleans. It was then presented at the Hebrew University Jerusalem in January 1998. On this occasion I benefited greatly from a discussion of its contents with Dr. Malcolm Lowe, which led me to reformulate some of my conclusions. 1  Kraus Reggiani–Radice–Reale (1987). 2  Kenney (1995). 3  Translations may deceive on this score. Colson’s ‘in the school of Moses’ at Deus 148 (PLCL 3.85) renders παρὰ Μωυσῇ. 4  Runia (1993a) 127. For the reference to Glucker, see text below at n. 11.

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schools that were current in his day. The chief source of evidence will be Philo’s own writings, which will be compared with other literary sources, both Greek and Jewish. The theme of the essay may be summarized as follows: Did Philo of Alexandria use the Greek notion of hairesis in his presentation of the philosophy of Moses, and if so, what does this tell us about his understanding of Judaism, both in relation to Greek philosophy and the development of Christianity after his death?

1.  The Term Hairesis In what I propose to discuss a central place is occupied by the Greek term αἵρεσις. Originally formed as a noun through the addition of the suffix -σις to the verb αἱρεῖν, to take, grasp or seize, the word in the course of more than a thousand years of ancient speech and writing developed a broad range of meanings based on the root meaning of ‘taking.’ One can set out the following general semantic matrix, proceeding from what is closest to the root meaning to more abstract and derivative connotations:5 (a) most concretely, the taking of seizure of something, e. g. a town; (b) the selection or choice of something or somebody, e. g. the election of a magistrate; (c) the choice of a course or action, a decision;6 (d) a disposition or inclination based on the repeated taking of certain choices or decisions; (e) a direction of thought or action, a school of thought in fairly abstract terms; (f ) a group of people, a party or sect marked by common ideas and aims; (g) a party or sect that stands outside established or recognized tradition, a heretical group that propounds false doctrine in the form of a heresy. [119] It is the final development of the term, i. e. (g), in Patristic thought that has drawn the most attention. The present essay, however, will concentrate more on the two prior areas of meaning, i. e. (e) and (f ). During the past twenty years there have been a number of important studies devoted to the term hairesis and various aspects of its usage.7 John Glucker demonstrated that when, from the 2nd century BCE onwards, the term began to be used for philosophical schools, it indicated not schools in the institutional sense, 5 

Cf. analysis and collections of references in LSJ and Lampe s. v., and also TDNT 1.180 f. the title of a work of Epicurus, Περὶ αἱρέσεων καὶ φυγῶν, On choices and aversions, which might be paraphrased ‘on what to do and what not to do’. 7  Apart from the following studies, see also the valuable review of research by Desjardins (1991). The article ‘Häresie’ of N. Brox in RAC (1986) rather one-sidedly approaches the subject from the viewpoint of later Christian heresiography. 6  Cf.

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based on a continuous succession in Athens, but rather ‘schools of thought’.8 Heinrich von Staden reminded us of the fact that medical haireseis were no less prominent than philosophical ones, and that they corresponded to various degrees of organization and continuity.9 In a magisterial study Alain Le Boulluec has argued that Justin Martyr played a crucial role in adapting and transforming the model of Greek heresiography to the situation of the emerging Church.10 This is of particular interest because, as we read at the outset of the Dialogus, Justin was perfectly familiar with the organization and self-presentation of the Greek philosophical schools.

2.  The Greek Hairesis-Model The aim of my essay is rather different from what we find in the studies just cited. I  am not so much interested in the term hairesis or in the methods of heresiography, whether pagan Greco-Roman or Jewish or Christian. My working hypothesis is that a distinct, though relatively unarticulated, model of the hairesis was prevalent in the Greek intellectual scene from the 2nd century BCE to the time of Plotinus and Iamblichus in the 3rd–4th century CE. The period of Philo’s activity, of course, falls right in the middle of this time-span. The theme in its totality has been little researched. I have learnt the most from articles of John Glucker and David Sedley, [120] but even they only dwell on the hairesis-model as a background to important discussions of Cicero and Philodemus respectively (just as I am doing for Philo), without giving an all-round account of the features that went into making a hairesis.11 I would argue that the following seven features of the model are relevant for our study. (1) First and foremost we must recognize that a hairesis is not a philosophical school in the sense of an institution located in a single place or several successive places with a continuous institutional history. With a little charity such a description might be taken to apply for a time to the great Hellenistic schools of the Academy, the Lyceum, the Garden and the Stoa.12 But, as Glucker has decisively proved,13 by Philo’s time this situation belonged to the past. 8 

Glucker (1978) 174–192. Von Staden (1982); see 81, where he argues that the Empiricists appear to have remained a small cohesive group, whereas under the title Rationalists ‘one finds assembled a motley group of individuals and of fiercely independent haireseis, some of whom held sharply conflicting views on key issues …’ 10  Le Boulluec (1985). He concentrates on the contributions of Justin, Clement and Origen. 11  Glücker (1988), with a brief sequel in (1992); Sedley (1989). The excellent dissertation of Hahn (1989) concentrates on the social and political aspects of philosophers and their schools, and not on the theoretical features of the hairesis. 12  Though, note well, the ‘schools’ were never publicly incorporated; see further text at n. 41. 13  Glucker (1978); cf. also Lynch (1972) for the Lyceum. 9 

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It is of vital importance to recognize that haireseis were primarily ‘schools’ or ‘directions’ of thought. The four great Hellenistic schools each became a hairesis, but there were many others, not to speak of various sub-haireseis (formed by break-away movements) within a single larger hairesis tradition (e. g. in the Academic tradition,14 and also in the medical rationalist school descended from Herophilus15). One might summarize the situation as follows: one could identify a group of people sharing common views and say of them, ‘they belong to a particular hairesis,’ but one would not say, ‘they are that particular hairesis.’ One might compare ‘movements’ or ‘directions of thought’ in modern philosophy or theology, such as phenomenologists, positivists, Neo-Kantians, Barthians etc. (2)  The identity (and not seldom the name) of a hairesis is in the first place furnished by a founder figure, who is singled out as the first to formulate its distinctive line of thought. As Justin states at the beginning of the Dialogus, before he recounts his intellectual journey through the schools, each direction of philosophy is named after its πατὴρ τοῦ λόγου.16 We think [121] in the first instance of distinguished philosophers such as Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, Zeno, Epicurus, but in a list of haireseis Diogenes Laertius also lists less well-known figures such as Aristippus of Cyrene and Phaedo of Elis (1.19). In the medical tradition we read about Erasistrateans and Herophileans, whose founding fathers were the great Alexandrian doctors. But in general for the various medical haireseis the awesome figure of Hippocrates was regarded as the founder of each.17 Diogenes also intriguingly mentions a Potamon of Alexandria who introduced an ἐκλεκτικὴ αἵρεσις, which shows that the founder of a hairesis did not necessarily have to be a figure from the distant past.18 As time went on, however, the various directions became increasingly fixed. Galen accuses those who wish to found a newer hairesis of their own as ‘sectarians’ tainted with the vice of ambition.19 (3) Each hairesis had a body of distinctive doctrines, the ἀρέσκοντα or δόγματα, generally attributed directly to the founder rather than to the hairesis as a whole. From the 2nd century BCE onwards these were collected together in the genre called the Περὶ αἱρέσεων literature, no complete example of which 14  On which see Mansfeld (1995), who on p. 242 speaks of ‘sub-sects,’ whose leaders were perhaps called αἱρετίσται. On further divisions among existing haireseis, see Le Boulluec (1985) 51. 15  See above n. 9. 16  Dial. 2.2; the statement has a negative import, because in Justin’s view philosophy was originally single and unified. See further Le Boulluec (1985) 48, who links the text to 35.4, where the same is applied to heretical Christian teachers. 17  Ibid. 80. 18 1.21. Von Staden (1982) 81 notes that Diodorus Siculus complains (2.29.6) that the Greeks are always trying to found new haireseis. 19  De plac. Hipp. et Plat. 2.102.12 De Lacy, cited with other Galenic texts by Mansfeld (1988) 96.



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has, unfortunately, survived.20 The structure of Diogenes Laertius’ Lives of the philosophers is largely determined by this literature. He only gives an exposé of doctrine for those philosophers who founded a direction of thought. Thus, for example, in the case of the Stoa he states (7.38): ‘I have decided to give a general account of all the Stoic doctrines in the Life of Zeno because he was founder of the hairesis.’ In the case of Chrysippus, whose contribution to Stoic doctrine was enormous, he gives an extensive bibliography, but no account of doctrine. At least two haireseis were vulnerable to criticism or even exclusion in this area of doctrine. In the case of the Cynics, Diogenes tells us, some regarded this philosophy not as a hairesis but (merely) as an ἔνστασις βίου, a way of life.21 Both Diogenes and Sextus Empiricus have discussions on whether the sceptics can be called a hairesis despite their consistent anti-dogmatism.22 In the case of the medical haireseis it is not so much a body of knowledge as their method that distinguished [122] them: the Rationalists argued that theoretical knowledge was essential for medical practice, the Empiricists took the opposite view that only experience should be followed, while the Methodists embraced a midway position.23 (4)  The way of doing philosophy in each of the haireseis concentrated more and more, as time went on, on creative exegesis of the founder’s writings.24 This occurred in various different ways, depending on what the founder had left behind and stipulated in his writings. Pythagoreans had little original material available, and so had to fall back on Plato and other venerable traditions.25 For the Stoics Zeno’s role was primarily inspirational, allowing his successors to fill in the gaps and construct a coherent body of doctrine.26 In the Platonic tradition there was a great deal of room for divergence of interpretation, which in the first century BCE led to a temporary split in the hairesis.27 Throughout the centuries an enormous body of commentary literature on Plato’s writings was built up.28 In the Epicurean school the authority of the founder was more constraining than 20  See Mejer (1978) 75–81; Mansfeld (1999) 19–21. [On Potamon see now the monograph of Hatzimichali (2011); on this text 75–76.] 21 6.103. Note the formulation, misread by Hicks in the Loeb translation: αἵρεσιν καὶ ταύτην εἶναι ἐγκρίνοντες τὴν φιλοσοφίαν, οὐ, καθά φασί τινες, ἔνστασιν βίου. 22  Diog. Laert. 1.20, Sext. Emp. Pyrrh. Hyp. 1.17. 23  See esp. Galen’s treatise Περὶ αἱρέσεων τοῖς εἰσαγομένοις, translated by Walzer–Frede (1985), with Frede’s valuable introduction. 24  This point is strongly emphasized in Sedley (1989), concentrating on the praxis of the 1st century BCE Epicurean Philodemus. On the role of exegesis in later ancient philosophy see esp. Hadot (1987), (1995a); in the latter article he emphasizes the creative aspect of the process. 25  As we find in Numenius, who regards himself as a Pythagorean, but in his work On the Good presents mainly Platonic doctrine. 26  As suggested by Sedley (1989) 98. 27  The New Academy broke up into the schools of Philo of Larisa and Antiochus of Ascalon, which in turn gave rise to the Neopyrrhonians under Aenesidemus, who as it were changed ‘founding fathers’ and turned back to Pyrrhon; cf. Mansfeld (1995) 246 ff. 28  Impressively collected and analysed in Dörrie-Baltes (1993).

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elsewhere, but here too philosophical developments were possible via exegesis of and debate on the writings of the founder and his first collaborators.29 In the case of the medical haireseis extensive commentary activities occur on the works of Hippocrates.30 (5)  Each of the haireseis had its own tradition of disciples and followers of the founder, stretching back in succession to the beginning of the movement. Hairesis thus implies and involves a διαδοχή, a passing on of the tradition from the one generation to the next. In the ancient world oral [123] tradition is always more important than written transmission, though naturally in the course of time it is the writings that have to be studied. In a special genre called the Περὶ διαδοχῶν literature the tradition of the various haireseis was set out.31 In the best preserved examples of the genre, Philodemus’ works on the Academy and the Stoa,32 we receive detailed accounts involving numerous names of individual philosophers. Here too we see that hairesis must not be taken as ‘school’ or ‘sect’ in the institutional sense, because many of those mentioned did not profess their teachings in the same place. In the 3rd and 2nd century BCE Athens was the headquarters of philosophical activity, and a number of schools (σχολαί) with their scholarchs could be said to have institutional continuity of a kind (though they were not ‘corporations’). But in the 1st century BCE there was a diaspora, and even after the establishment of Imperial chairs for the four chief haireseis in Athens in the 2nd century CE the geographical spread of the haireseis and their diadochai was considerable.33 (6)  Membership of a hairesis was not just a matter of professing (or teaching) its doctrines. It also involved the aspect of loyalty. John Glucker has selected the term ‘affiliation’ because it signifies ‘a free adoption into a society of a member who is thereafter free to end his membership’ or ‘change his affiliation’.34 This, Glucker argues, occurred in the case of Cicero.35 David Sedley prefers to speak of ‘allegiance’ and ‘commitment,’ possibly because he places more emphasis on a quasi-religious aspect of the hairesis’ organization.36 What is important is that membership of a hairesis involved a public and publicly recognized commitment to a particular school of thought. One might compare a modern psychiatrist who uses the methods of psychoanalysis. It is publicly recognized that professionally 29  Known collectively as οἱ ἄνδρες, translated by Sedley (1989) 106 as ‘the great men.’ Cf. Erler (1994) 210, who speaks of ‘Orthodoxie,’ but emphasizes that this did not prevent a certain amount of doctrinal evolution. 30  See Mansfeld (1994) 131–147. 31  On this tradition see Von Kienle (1961); texts collected in Andria (1989). 32  Edited by Dorandi (1991), (1994). 33  Too little is said about this in the valuable book of Hahn (1989), which in its index for haireseis simply cross-refers to ‘Philosophenschulen’. 34  Glucker (1988) 34. 35  Glucker (1988), (1992); also Steinmetz (1989). 36  Sedley (1989), in his title and on p. 97.



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he is committed to the method and doctrines (however loosely formulated) of Sigmund Freud (the founder of the movement), to whom, perhaps, he is also connected via a diadochê (through his teachers), but not usually in a direct institutional sense. (7)  A final aspect remains, which might have been discussed earlier under (2) and (6), but is perhaps better treated separately. As the timespan between [124] the life and death of the founder and the present situation of the hairesis increased, so did the veneration that he was accorded by his later disciples. By the 1st BCE, in some of the philosophical schools at least, the allegiance to the founder had clear religious overtones.37 The founders were at the least θεῖοι ἄνδρες. In their respective haireseis Plato and Epicurus were regarded as gods.38 In the school of Plotinus, Plato’s birthday was celebrated39 and on this day sacrifices were made. Porphyry does not say to whom, but the speculation is warranted that it was to the genius of the philosopher-founder himself. Here too such traditions should not be regarded as institutional in anything like the modern sense. One thinks at this point of Wilamowitz’ famous theory that the ancient philosophical schools formed a θίασος, a cultic corporate body, which legally owned the school property.40 This view has been thoroughly refuted.41 If philosophers of a particular hairesis formed together a θίασος, they only did so metaphorically.

3.  Philo’s Usage of the Term Hairesis Given Philo’s extensive acquaintance with the philosophical ‘scene’ of his day, he must have known about the Greek haireseis and have read some of the literature devoted to them. In his writings, however, the term occurs surprisingly infrequently. In most cases it is used in the more concrete sense of ‘election’ or with the meaning of ‘choice’ (often coupled with φυγή, avoidance).42 There are in fact only four texts in which the word hairesis or a derivative refers more or less directly to a ‘school of thought’.43 [125] (i) At Plant. 151 Philo, explaining that the word κύων (dog) is homonymous, illustrates this with ‘the philosopher who has taken his cue from the Cynic hairesis, Aristippus and Diogenes and a vast number of other persons who decided 37  Sedley (1989) 97, 119 emphasizes this aspect without working it out in detail. In n. 51 he mentions as a topic requiring further research: ‘Why do the Platonists and Epicureans, but not the Aristotelians and Stoics, develop religious cults of their founders?’ 38  For Epicurus see esp. Lucretius 5.8, Cic. Tusc. 1.48. 39 Porphyry VP 2.40, cf. 15.1; Socrates’ birthday was also celebrated. Epicurus had stipulated in his will that his birthday be celebrated in his school; see Diog. Laert. 10.18. 40  Wilamowitz (1881). 41  See esp. Lynch (1972). 42 Cf. Spec. 4.157, Praem. 54 (election); Cher. 30, Post. 78, Gig. 18, Ebr. 171 etc. (choice). 43  The first three discussed in a single paragraph by Le Boulluec (1985) 37–38.

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to pursue the same way of life.’ This text proves Philo’s familiarity with the Greek concept of the philosophical hairesis. It is quite remarkable that it is the only example in his œuvre. (ii)  In his description of the Therapeutae, Contempl. 29, Philo tells us that they possessed writings containing allegorical interpretation left to them by ancient men (παλαιοὶ ἄνδρες) who were τῆς αἱρέσεως ἀρχηγέται, first leaders (or founders) of the hairesis. Most English translators render αἵρεσις with ‘sect’,44 which is understandable enough, since the Therapeutae formed a closed group and might be thought to resemble a sectarian community. Colson, however, translates ‘the founders of their way of thinking.45 Similarly Karl Bormann gives the following interesting rendering: ‘Männern, welche vor langer Zeit gelebt und diese Weise des Philosophierens begründet haben’.46 He evidently sees a connection with the mention in the previous section of the practice of allegory, by means of which ‘they profess their ancestral philosophy’ (§ 28 φιλοσοφοῦσι τὴν πάτριον φιλοσοφίαν ἀλληγοροῦντες). We shall have to return to this text. (iii)  In the well-known description of Moses’ education in Mos. 1.21–29, Philo states that ‘he uncontentiously transcended quarrelings and sought the truth, since his mind was unable to accept any falsehood, as is the custom of the αἱρεσιόμαχοι, who defend the doctrines that have been put forward, whatever they happen to be, without testing them to see if they ring true’ (§ 24). Colson’s translation ‘sectarians’ is attractive, for it is clear that the term has a negative connotation. The various schools of thought strive against each other in a spirit of contention. We note that Philo accuses them of blind loyalty to their respective bodies of doctrine. (iv)  The fourth text is similar to the previous one, but more elaborate. It is an unidentified fragment from the Quaestiones in Exodum preserved in the Florilegia (no. 4 in Petit’s collection). Because it is so little known I quote it in full:47 [126] 44 Yonge (1854–55), Conybeare (1895), Winston (1981), Corrington (1990), joined by Daumas–Miquel (1963) in the Lyon translation series. Graffigna (1992) 51 translates ‘i capostipiti della loro dottrina,’ but this is not specific enough. Yonge’s rendering ‘who having been the founders of one sect or another have left behind them many memorials …’ is rather puzzling. 45  Colson, PLCL 9.129. 46  PCH, vol. 7 (1964) 54. 47  The text has been available since Mangey and was already translated by Yonge, but has to my knowledge been wholly ignored in studies on the question of hairesis. For a critical edition see Petit (1978) 284, who reads: αἱ φιλοσοφίαι πᾶσαι, κατά τε τὴν Ἑλλάδα καὶ βάρβαρον ἀκμάσασαι, ζητοῦσαι τὰ φύσεως, οὐδὲ τὸ βραχύτατον ἠδυνήθησαν τηλαυγῶς ἰδεῖν. σαφὴς δὲ πίστις, αἱ διαφωνίαι καὶ αἱ διαμάχαι καὶ ἑτεροδοξίαι τῶν ἑκάστης αἱρέσεως ἀνασκευαζόντων καὶ ἀνασκευαζομένων ἐν μέρει. καὶ πᾶσιν ὁρμητήρια πολέμων γεγόνασι αἱ τῶν αἱρεσιομάχων οἰκεῖαι, τυφλοῦσαι τὸν δυνάμενον βλέπειν ἀνθρώπινον νοῦν ταῖς ἀντιλογικαῖς ἐρίσιν, ἀμηχανοῦντα τίνα δεῖ προ⟨σ⟩έσθαι καὶ τίνα διώσασθαι. Marcus PLCL Supp. 2.258 gives the Greek text as part of a much longer text which Petit rightly subdivides (one of the MSS divides our section off from what precedes with the words τοῦ αὐτοῦ).



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All the philosophies that have flourished in Greece and in other lands sought to discover the principles of nature, but were unable to gain a clear perception of even the slightest one. Here is clear proof, namely the disagreements and discords and doctrinal differences of the practitioners of each hairesis who refute each other and are refuted in turn. And for all of them the starting-points of their wars have been the philosophies48 of the haeresiomachoi to which they belong. With their argumentative conflicts they blind the human mind, which is capable of seeing, but is powerless to determine which doctrines it should accept and which it should reject.

There is no reason to suppose this fragment is not authentic, but we know nothing of its context (it could be the same as the previous text). The theme is very obviously the dissensio philosophorum, and finds a rather precise parallel in the well-known passage Her. 246–248,49 where Philo calls the disputants ‘sophists’.50 Just as there, Abraham the maieutic man of good judgment sits in the middle of them and sorts out what is true from what is false, so – we may surmise – the illumination afforded by the philosophy of Moses must have been the solution to the human blindness deplored in the fragment. In his review of the pre-Christian evidence Alain Le Boulluec had concluded that in Philo, although the word αἱρεσιομάχοι was obviously pejorative, the term αἵρεσις itself did not imply a condemnation (as later the word ‘heresy’ would).51 In light of this new evidence such a position is, in our view, difficult to maintain. [127]

4.  Philo’s Way of Writing But we have not yet advanced very far in addressing our main question. Philo’s infrequent use of the term αἵρεσις certainly does not have to mean that he is not influenced by the Greek hairesis-model in his presentation of the philosophy of Moses. What I wish to do now is return to the seven characteristics of this model which I outlined earlier and determine to what extent we can recognize these features in the way that Philo speaks about the ‘school of Moses’ and his own place therein. This attempt, however, will not be without its difficulties. Naturally we have the vast Philonic corpus at our disposal, but are at the same time severly handicapped by Philo’s way of writing. As all readers of Philo will recognize, he 48 I retain the MSS reading and construe it with φιλοσοφίαι (or perhaps δόξαι, cf. ἑτεροδοξίαι) understood. Petit in her translation (but not her text) adopts Harris’ conjecture σκιαί (shadows), adducing Post. 119 and Conf. 190. 49  On this text see esp. Mansfeld (1988) 89–94. The same motif is found at Diodorus Siculus Bibl. 2.29.6, who argues that barbarian philosophy maintain unity, whereas the Greeks are forever disputing among themselves and founding new haireseis. 50  Note that, similarly to what we find in the fragment, their aim is θεωρία τῶν τῆς φύσεως πραγμάτων. 51  Le Boulluec (1985) 1.39–40.

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is wont to write at a level of generality that consistently obscures the nature of intellectual milieu and the social realities in which his activities took place. This applies also when he appears to be writing for relative outsiders, for example in the De vita Moysis. Partly, I believe, this is a matter of personal cast of mind which tends to the abstract and the general, combined with (or exacerbated by) stylistic preferences mediated through Greek rhetoric. Partly it is also due to the fact that Philo stands in the middle of the Alexandrian Jewish community and takes a tremendous amount for granted which we would now desperately like to know. The combination of these two factors means – this should be admited at the outset – that the correspondences and resemblances that we shall outline will not be as exact as we might like.

5.  Philo and the Hairesis-Model (1)  The first feature, that hairesis means ‘school of thought’ and does not imply institutional continuity, involves us in a good deal of speculation, since we are so utterly ignorant about scholastic and exegetical traditions in Jewish Alexandria. When Bousset stated that ‘hinter der Literatur Philos liegt die Arbeit und die Überlieferung einer Schule von einer oder zwei Generationen’ and ‘wie es eine alexandrinische christliche Katechetenschule gab, so gab es eine oder mehrere jüdische Exegetenschulen in Alexandria,’ he left the concept of a ‘school’ wholly undefined and ran the risk of importing modern assumptions of institutional continuity into his subject.52 [128] Alan Culpepper admits that ‘Philo never explicitly refers to a school,’ but nevertheless devotes an entire chapter of his monograph to ‘Philo’s school,’ which he identifies with ‘the synagogue-school in which he worked’.53 In fact, what we can be certain about, as both scholars are well aware of, is that Philo worked within a tradition. Hence his numerous references to other exegetes.54 Philo may have worked primarily alone; he may have worked in a school-like environment with his own disciples.55 It is entirely 52  Bousset (1915) 2. Cf. the conclusion of Van den Broek (1995) 44 on the situation in 2nd century CE Christian Alexandria: ‘But there was no school, in the sense of a Christian academy, with a regular teaching programme.’ This seems to me correct, but does not exclude the notion of a diadoche, as he seems to think (see p. 41). 53  Culpepper (1975) 197–214, quotes on 205, 213. 54  We return to this subject below; see text at 98. 55  The evidence of the Dialogues (Prov., Anim.) suggests he himself felt the need to educate. [Sterling (1999) in the same fascicle of Vigiliae Christianae in which the present article was published argued that Philo would have had his own school. He returns to the subject in (2017a) and (2017b). The latter article has the suggestive title ‘The school of Moses in Alexandria: an attempt to reconstruct the school of Philo.’ In n. 11 he writes: ‘I am using school for Philo in the sense of hairesis,’ referring to the present article. He then continues: ‘The school was thus the school of Moses, but it was operated by Philo in a private home.’ The difficulty here is that ‘school’ is being used to two different senses. One would not speak of ‘the αἵρεσις of Philo,’ but



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improbable, however, that he should have thought the ‘school of Moses’ was confined to his own circle. He will have assumed that Mosaic philosophy was a ‘school of thought’ with a wider distribution. The relation to Judaism as a whole is a subject to which we shall have to return. (2)  All readers of Philo will know that in his writings he quite often uses phrases such as the γνώριμοι (intimi, pupils) or φοιτηταί (‘frequenters,’ disciples) of Moses in order to indicate those who are followers of Moses and are committed to his teachings.56 For example in the following text Philo identifies himself with such discipleship (Det. 86): Let us then as the pupils (γνώριμοι) of Moses not be at a loss as to how man came to have a conception of the invisible God. For he himself learnt this through an oracle and taught it to us. He spoke as follows: the maker did not make a soul for the body capable of seeing the creator of its own accord, but calculating that it would greatly benefit the created thing if it should gain a conception of its creator – for this is the limit of felicity and blessedness – he breathed into it from above of his own divinity (Gen 2:7) …

Philo speaks here of Moses in terms that are for the most part quite appropriate to the founder of a philosophical school who gives his disciples instruction in a philosophical doctrine.57 Another text emphasizes the process of teaching (Spec. 1.59): [129] The most holy Moses clearly preserves the same intention (προαίρεσις) in the case of all other matters, for he is a lover and teacher of the truth, which he desires to engrave and stamp on all his pupils (γνώριμοι), removing false opinions far away from their minds.

He thus banishes soothsayers and like persons from his commonwealth (πολιτεία), for their methods encourage impiety. We note here that the scope is wider than a ‘school,’ embracing a whole nation (cf. the ἐκκλησία κυρίου of Deut 23:2–4). Moses is not the founder of the Jewish nation – that honour is reserved for Abraham –, but as legislator of its laws he is the founder and director of its way of life. In his introductory Life of Moses Philo presents him as king, lawgiver, priest might speak of his σχολή or his διατριβή, but this would be most likely taken to refer to his teaching, i. e. in the meaning of a lecture or a seminar rather than an institution, as argued by Glucker (1978) 160–166.] 56  See for γνώριμοι Μωύσεως Det. 86, Post. 12, Her. 81, Spec. 1.319, 345, Contempl. 63, QG 3.8; for φοιτηταὶ Μωύσεως Congr. 177, Spec. 2.88, 256; a single reference to ὁμιληταὶ Μωύσεως at Spec. 2.88. There are many other texts in which similar phrases are used, but refer to disciples of God (Sacr. 64, 79), of the practiser (Somn. 1.255), of wisdom (Spec. 1.50) etc. At Aet. 16 Aristotle is called the γνώριμος of Plato. For the members of Plotinus’ school as his γνώριμοι see Goulet-Cazé (1982–1992) 1.236. 57  For ‘learning through an oracle,’ cf. the double source of knowledge outlined in Opif. 8. This would not be said of the founder of a Greek hairesis until the 2rd century CE. See also below under (7).

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and prophet, but not as philosopher. It is perfectly clear from Mos. 2.2, however, that he can only carry out these offices because he is a φιλόσοφος, indeed the perfect Sage. As Philo stresses in his account of Moses’ education, he exemplified the doctrines of philosophy in his actions, so that there was a perfect harmony of logos and bios.58 The activity of Moses is thus wider than that of the founder of a philosophical hairesis, but that does not stop Philo from describing him in terms that strongly suggest such a role. Moses is the source of philosophical knowledge and the supreme example for those who wish to follow his way. (3)  The document that Moses left to posterity, the Law, does not in the least resemble a body of philosophical doctrine, such as we might find in the Περὶ αἱρέσεων literature. Moses gives his disciples what they need. For this reason the Law begins with a creation account, which lays a philosophical foundation for the remainder of the legislation. Famously Philo summarizes at the end of the De opificio mundi (170–172) the five essential doctrines that the follower of Moses needs to stamp on his mind if he is to lead a blessed life. Alan Mendelson has seen in these principles a foundation of Jewish orthodoxy, and I have argued that they may be seen as anticipating the patristic notion of correct doctrinal belief.59 Another illuminating example of Philo’s tendency to express Mosaic thought in terms of philosophical doctrine is found at Spec. 1.319–345, where five groups of people that are banished from the congregation of Israel are allegorically interpreted in terms of ways of thinking: the deniers of [130] the ideas, the deniers of God’s existence, the polytheists, the champions of the human mind and of the senses. Philo presents these groups as ‘directions of thought,’ comparable to the Chaldeans, who elsewhere are introduced as espousing a philosophy antithetical to Mosaic thinking.60 They are similar to philosophical haireseis, but presented in more general terms, i. e. as a ‘direction of thought (doxa)’ rather than a ‘school of thought (hairesis)’,61 without a founder or a body of writings etc. But when Philo goes on to contrast the Mosaic way, his formulation is such that we cannot but think of a philosophical school of thought:62 58  Mos. 1.29. In this fascinating text we find a perfect amalgam of Greek philosophical ideas (cf. esp. Cic. Tusc. 5.47, Diog. Laert. 7.10–11) and the biblical theme of Deut 30:11–14 (as pointed out by Cohen [1995] 100). 59  Mendelson (1988) 29; Runia (1995a) 12–13. 60 See Abr. 69–82, Migr. 178–9, Virt. 212, Gig. 62 etc. 61 At Abr. 70 he speaks of Abraham being brought up in ‘this δόξα’; cf. also Migr. 184. [On Philo’s use of doxa as referring to a ‘direction of thought’ or a ‘line of thinking’ see Runia (2010), reprinted as article 13 below.] 62  Spec. 1.345: ἀλλ’ ἡμεῖς γε οἱ φοιτηταὶ καὶ γνώριμοι τοῦ προφήτου Μωυσέως τὴν τοῦ ὄντος ζήτησιν οὐ μεθησόμεθα, τὴν ἐπιστήμην αὐτοῦ τέλος εὐδαιμονίας εἶναι νομίζοντες καὶ ζωὴν μακραίωνα, καθὰ καὶ ὁ νόμος φησὶ τοὺς προσκειμένους τῷ θεῷ ζῆν ἅπαντας, δόγμα τιθεὶς ἀναγκαῖον καὶ φιλόσοφον· ὄντως γὰρ οἱ μὲν ἄθεοι τὰς ψυχὰς τεθνᾶσιν, οἱ δὲ τὴν παρὰ τῷ ὄντι θεῷ τεταγμένοι τάξιν ἀθάνατον βίον ζῶσιν. Note also the very similar passage at Post. 12, citing Deut 30:20.



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But we the disciples and pupils of the prophet Moses shall not cease in our quest for the One-who-is, regarding as the goal of our well-being knowledge of Him and also age-long life, in accordance with the Law which states that those who hold fast to God shall all live (cf. Deut 4:4), laying down a necessary and philosophical doctrine. For truly the godless are dead in their souls, whereas those who have joined the ranks of the God-who-is live a life without death.

One might wish to argue that the tone of this passage is more ‘religious’ than we would find in a philosophical work. But this is to some degree deceptive. For the Platonists, for example, the goal of life is ‘likeness unto God,’ a formulation which Philo uses elsewhere and underlies what he says here.63 We have to take into account the genre of writing. Philo here, as so often in his writings, combines exegesis with an exhortatory, almost homiletic, emphasis. For similar passages among the Greek philosophers we should turn to works such as the Letters of Seneca, the Discourses of Epictetus, the Protrepticus of Iamblichus, not to the summaries of doctrines of the haireseis such as we find in Arius Didymus and Alcinous’ Didaskalikos.64 (4) Since the appearance of Valentin Nikiprowetzky’s monograph it has [131] become widely accepted that Philo sees himself first and foremost as a commentator of Mosaic scripture.65 For this reason the vast majority of his works are commentaries on the writings of Moses, i. e. the Law. οἴκοθεν οὐδέν might be taken as his motto (Opif. 5), ‘nothing from our own store’.66 This is very much parallel to the activity of members of Greek hairesis, whether philosophical or medical. They lay no claim to originality, but endeavour to develop the thought of their founder. The nature of Moses’ writings determines to a large degree the kind of commentaries that can be written on them. In the case of the philosophical haireseis too there was considerable variation in the commentaries they wrote. An intriguing text in this context is found at Her. 81: The statement ‘He led him out outside’ (Gen 15:5) also contributes to the formation of moral character, a statement which some through vulgarity of character are wont to ridicule, saying ‘will anyone be led out inside, or conversely go in outside?’ Yes, my answer would be, you ridiculous and excessively naive people. You have not learned to track down the ways of the soul, but confine your attention to bodies, examining in 63  This doctrine is particularly prominent in the Exposition of the Law; cf. Runia (1986) 341–343, to which can be added Decal. 73, Spec. 4.188, Virt. 168. 64  Though, of course, in the case of Philo it is also necessary to take into account the specific nature of Jewish piety. 65  Nikiprowetzky (1977). For a more recent discussion see Hay (1991b). 66 At Anim. 7 he refuses to teach, but claims to be an interpreter (ἑρμηνεύς), reproducing through memory what he hears from others. In the context of the philosophical dialogue he goes on mainly to reproduce Greek philosophical doctrines and not the views of Moses, so it is not certain that his hermeneutic activity here refers to the role of exegete and commentator. [On the interpretation of this text see now Wyss (2019).]

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their case only movements from place to place. For this reason it seems paradoxical to you if someone should go out inside or go in outside. For the pupils (γνώριμοι) of Moses, however, there is nothing discordant about such phrases …

Philo not only refers to pupils of Moses who are in the habit of giving allegorical exegesis of the Mosaic text, but also mentions other persons who ridicule the text of scripture. We cannot be certain whether they come from inside or outside Judaism, but the former is more probable.67 The implication of the text is that allegorical exegesis is a sine qua non if a deeper understanding of Moses’ thought is to be attained. (5)  But is there anything in the organization of Moses’ philosophical school that remotely resembles the succession of teachers and pupils that are de rigeur in the philosophical and medical haireseis? Joshua is presented as Moses’ disciple and successor (Virt. 55, 66), but this is hardly applicable. It is striking, however, that on at least six occasions in the Allegorical [132] Commentary, when Philo presents extra-Pentateuchal biblical texts, he introduces the writer as a disciple of Moses or an initiate into his mysteries:68 – Cher. 49: ‘I myself was initiated into the greater mysteries by Moses the God-beloved, yet when I  saw the prophet Jeremiah and perceived that he was not only a initiate but also a hierophant, I did not hesitate to become his disciple,’ introducing quote of Jer 3:4. – Agr. 55: ‘An intense and unceasing love of this wealth (which sees the One-who-is) possesses all who are pupils (of this school),’ referring back to the Psalmist who states that ‘the Lord is my shepherd and I shall not lack’ (Ps 22:1, cited in § 50). – Plant. 39: ‘One member of the fellowship (θιασώτης) of Moses, partook of this unmixed draught of joy … and exclaimed in hymnic form,’ introducing quote of Ps 36:4. – Conf. 39: ‘Many are unable to destroy by force the plausible inventions of the sophists because their continual involvment in action has not allowed them sufficient practice in argument, and so have taken refuge in the assistance of the only wise Being and besought Him to become their helper, as in the case of one of the disciples of Moses, who in the Psalms prayed and said,’ introducing Ps 30:19. – Conf. 44: ‘My words are witnessed … by a member of the fellowship (θιασώτης) of the prophetic company, who was possessed by divine inspiration and pronounced,’ introducing Jer 15:10. – Congr. 177: Esau’s slavery, as a man of war, to Jacob is a good thing. ‘For this reason I think one of the disciples of Moses by name of ‘Peace,’ who in our ancestral language is called Solomon, said,’ introducing Prov 3:11–2.

On such texts David Hay has written: ‘Apparently Philo considers the Pentateuch the basic expression of God’s revelation and the rest of scripture (prophets, psalms, and proverbs, especially) as a kind of commentary on it or 67 

Shroyer (1936) 279 argues that they know too much about Judaism to be real outsiders. On the language of the mysteries in relation to Mosaic philosophy see category (7) below. [On Philo and the prophet Jeremiah see now Sterling (2016) and the responses by Bloch (2016) and Tóth (2016).] 68 

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secondary scripture.’69 One might go a step further and argue that Philo regards the writers of these books as representing in some sense the succession of the disciples of Moses going back into the past before the foundation of the Alexandrian Jewish community. Of course we would like to have more explicit statements about exegetes closer to Philo in time. Tantalizingly he speaks about ‘physical philosophers who practise allegory’ (Abr. 99) and ‘inspired men’ whose exegetical writings he had studied (Spec. 1.8, 3.178), but, even though we know that he had predecessors (e. g. Aristobulus), we get very little sense of a continual tradition out of Philo’s [133] descriptions of them.70 In later members of the Alexandrian tradition such as Clement, Origen, Didymus, we often come across references to ‘our predecessors’ (including references to Philo), but this is lacking in Philo himself.71 As I  have argued elsewhere, this contrasts with both the Greek philosophical and the Rabbinic traditions, and remains highly ­puzzling.72 On the other hand, Moses does have ‘false successors,’ later philosophers who have taken over his doctrines without giving him the credit for it. At QG 4.167 he speaks of ‘younger philosophers’ (νεώτεροι) who have received their virtueloving views directly from Moses. In QG 3.16 the doctrine of the three goods ‘is praised by some of the philosophers who came afterward, Aristotle and the Peripatetics’.73 These philosophers have derived the truth of their doctrines from Moses, and by implication from Judaism. (6)  On the question of loyalties we can be brief. As I argued in my previous article,74 Philo’s loyalty to the ancestral traditions of his people and the specific figure of the lawgiver Moses is unconditional. His position is to some extent comparable to membership of and loyalty to a philosophical hairesis, but by no means entirely so. The ethnic and religious aspects of Judaism add a different dimension. Philo was not in a position to ‘swap affiliations,’ as an adherent of a Greek hairesis could do. He could either be a member of the ‘holy congregation of the Lord’ or he could become an apostate, like his nephew Alexander. Unless, perhaps, there were various directions within Judaism itself. This possibility we shall raise below. (7)  The veneration that Philo has for Moses jumps forth from nearly every page of his writings. Nearly twenty times, for example, he calls him the ‘most holy (ἱερώτατος) Moses’.75 Someone who has become a disciple (φοιτητής) of 69 

Hay (1991b) 45. the list of predecessors given by Hay (1979–80) 42–3 and the further analysis of Goulet (1987) 32–45. 71  Cf. Runia (1993b) 161–162. 72  Runia (1986) 505. 73  On Philo’s texts stating the derivation of Greek philosophy from Moses see Pilhofer (1990) 173–192. The most negative text is QG 4.152, which speaks of the ‘theft’ of Heraclitus. 74  Runia (1993a), esp. 126–128. 75  Leg. 3.185, Cher. 39, Det. 135, 140, Spec. 1.59, Virt. 175 etc. 70  See

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Moses has no excuse if he worships lifeless things such as idols or planets, for ‘he has many a time read his words when he solemnly utters those most holy and divine instructions’ (Spec. 2.256).76 In some texts, [134] e. g. Mos. 1.158 and Det. 161–162, Moses is even accorded divine status. Here the text Exod 7:1 exerts its influence (in which he is ‘sent as god to Pharaoh’), which explains why no tension is felt with the demands of the first commandment.77 Just as it is unthinkable that a Platonist would denigrate the ‘divine Plato,’ so this is unthinkable for Philo in the case of Moses. Just as it is unthinkable that a later Epicurean would criticize the writings of the god-like master, so this would be unthinkable for Philo in the case of the Mosaic scriptures. Another theme that is relevant to the religious aspect of the philosophical hairesis is the language of the mysteries. On numerous occasions Moses is called the hierophant of the divine mysteries. Philo claims, for example, that he was initiated into the greater mysteries by the God-beloved Moses and into the lesser mysteries by the prophet Jeremiah.78 At Somn. 1.164 Moses is famously invoked as hierophant who will prompt, preside over and anoint the eyes of the initiate until as mystagogue he has disclosed the hidden splendour of the sacred logoi and revealed their enlocked beauties. Ever since Goodenough, who took the role of Moses as initiator into the mysteries literally, these texts have been controversial in Philonic studies.79 I follow the interpretation of Nikiprowetzky, who, after pointing out that numerous philosophical texts use such metaphorical language, argues that for Philo the only true mystery is the meaning that Moses, as inspired transmitter of the divine oracles, has located at the heart of scripture.80 I have not found texts contemporary with Philo in which the founder of a hairesis is called a hierophant. In later Neoplatonic texts (5th century), however, we find something similar: Proclus calls his master Syrianus the hierophant of Plato, while Marinus in his life of Proclus calls his master the hierophant of the entire cosmos.81 In one text Proclus calls Plato initiator [135] into and hierophant of the true mysteries.82 Moses is hierophant because he has received some of his 76  It

is better to translate ἀκούειν in ἤκουσέ τινος λέγοντος with ‘read’ than ‘listen to’; cf. Schenkeveld (1992). 77  My interpretation of Moses’ divine status in Philo is given in Runia (1988b), with further bibliography. See now Borgen (1996b), who concentrates on the text Mos. 1.158. Mack (1972) emphasizes Moses’ paradigmatic and indeed soteriological role. 78  Cher. 48–9; cf. Post. 173. The ἱεροφάντης transmits the divine mystery, the μύστης receives it. 79  Goodenough (1935); reformulated by Mack (1972). 80  Nikiprowetzky (1977) 6; philosophical parallels at 24–25. 81 Proclus, In Rep. 1.71.24, In Parm. 618.8; Marinus Vita Procli 19; first and third texts cited by Brisson as comments on Porphyry VP 15.5, where we read that Plotinus called his collaborator Porphyry a poet and philosopher and hierophant when he read out his poem ‘The sacred marriage’; see Brisson et al. (1982–1992) 2.267. A  search of the TLG reveals that no ancient author uses the word ἱεροφάντης and its derivatives as much as Philo. 82  Theol. Plat. 1 Pref., 1.6.7 Saffrey–Westerink. Proclus then goes on to name various



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knowledge direct from the divine source. His role as hierophant makes him more awesome, perhaps, but not necessarily an object of worship or a ‘saviour.’ The language of the mysteries is primarily metaphorical.

6.  First Conclusion on Philo and the Greek Hairesis-Model On the basis of these considerations we may conclude, I believe, that the Greek hairesis-model is relevant to Philo’s presentation of the Mosaic philosophy, but that Philo certainly does not take it over lock, stock and barrel. None of the features of that model were not in some respects applicable to Philo’s presentation of Mosaic thought and Judaism, but repeatedly we had to introduce various kinds of qualification in order to do justice to the Philonic material. As was to be expected, these qualifications in every case had to do with Philo’s Jewish context and loyalty to Judaism. There are, therefore, three aspects of our theme that demand explanation and elucidation. Why does Philo use the term hairesis so little? Why is it attractive for him to take over various aspects of the Greek hairesis-model in describing Judaism and the place of Mosaic thought within it? How does his view of Judaism relate to the Greek-hairesis model that was prevalent in his intellectual milieu and how has it influenced him in its use?

7.  Apologetics and the Evidence of Josephus In answering these questions we should first take into account a dimension of Philo’s writings that has so far received little emphasis in our argument. It is well known that Philo’s writings have a strong apologetic element.83 Although they are in all likelihood written primarily for a Jewish public, Philo is at all times aware that he also has a mission to the intellectuals living beyond the confines of the Jewish quarters of Alexandria. His task is to defend Judaism as a religion and a way of life. This apologetic context has encouraged him, I believe, to increase his emphasis on [136] the role of Moses as philosopher and sage, source of all wisdom, at the expense of a more general presentation of the Judaism as a religion of revelation.84 Moses has to be presented in terms that Greek intellectuals would Neoplatonists starting with Plotinus as τῆς Πλατωνικῆς ἐποπτείας ἐξηγητάς, i. e. the diadoche of the hairesis. The entire preface reminds one strongly of aspects of Philo’s presentation of Moses, but it is four centuries later! 83  On the bitter earnestness of the ideological struggle between Jews and Greeks in Philo’s Alexandria see, for example, the analyses of Borgen (1984) 138–154, (1997) 158–193. 84  Runia (1986) 533 ff.; also the cogent remarks of Amir (1983) 77 ff. (but he does not emphasize the apologetic context).

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understand. The same concern applies to the presentation of his followers who are dedicated to the study of his thought and the practice of his laws. At this point it may be useful to take into account some additional evidence. About half a century after Philo the Jewish historian Josephus describes Judaism in three celebrated passages in terms of a number of haireseis: Jewish War 2.119– 162, Antiquities 13.171–173 and 18.11–22 (and cf. Vita 12). These texts have long been the focus of scholarly debate, and have some years ago been extensively and penetratingly examined by Steve Mason in his monograph on the Pharisees in Josephus.85 For our purposes it is sufficient to note the following five points in Josephus’ description. (1)  He regards three φιλοσοφίαι or αἱρέσεις (the terms seem for him virtually synonymous) as distinct groups: the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Essenes. There is also a fourth group, led by Judas the Galilean, a sophist (so not a true philosopher), who started a hairesis of his own (ἰδίας αἱρέσεως, B. J. 2.118), but Josephus does not regard it as having the same legitimacy.86 For two of the groups he indicates the approximate number of members, and also describes them with terms that we might translate with ‘party,’ i. e. μόριον, τάγμα, γένος, σύνταγμα and μοῖρα.87 This does not necessarily mean, however, that Josephus uses the term hairesis merely as a synonym for these terms. Its primary meaning remains ‘school of thought,’ as can be seen from the fact that it is equated with ‘philosophies’.88 [137] (2)  Josephus gives (admittedly very brief ) descriptions of their core doctrines, just as if they were Greek philosophical hairesis. The Pharisees, for example, attribute all things to fate and God, and maintain the immortality of the soul. This is reminiscent of brief accounts of the doctrines of the haireseis such as might be given in Diogenes Laertius and other doxographies dependent on the Περὶ αἱρέσεων literature.89 85 

Mason (1991) passim. There are some discrepancies between the descriptions at B. J. 2.118 and A. J. 18.23. 87  See lists and references at Mason (1991) 127. Note that Philo uses μοῖρα for the Essenes at Prob. 75, γένος for the Therapeutae at Contempl. 11, 21 etc. 88 Mason loc. cit. writes: ‘Josephus’s reservation of αἵρεσις for the Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, and Judas’s faction implies that the word denotes not merely a ‘group’ but a philosophical school with an identifiable membership.’ This seems to me misleading because it suggests a greater degree of organization on the part of the philosophical schools than actually existed. See our remarks above at n. 12 & 13. On the other hand Mason shows how the term αἵρεσις is in close connection with terms such as μόριον, τάγμα and μοῖρα (thought the claim that they are ‘fully interchangable’ goes too far). This suggests that the meaning of the word αἵρεσις is shifting in the direction of ‘group’ or ‘sect,’ i. e. (g) in our semantic matrix given above at n. 5. Cf. the contemporary use of the term αἵρεσις in the Acts of the Apostles (referring to the new group of Christians at 24:5). Glucker (1978) 184 describes the development of the term as coming now to ‘designate a group of people, a philosophical or political faction, united by a shared persuasion of body of doctrine,’ but continues to emphasize that the term has no institutional connotations. 89  On this literature see text above at n. 20. 86 



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(3)  Josephus actually compares the Jewish haireseis with Greek schools: the Pharisees with the Stoics (Vita 12), the Essenes with the Pythagoreans (Ant. 15.371). (4) Josephus does not name a founder of these three Jewish haireseis (certainly Moses is not presented as such90), though in one text he explains the Pharisaic oral law in terms of a ‘succession of fathers’ (νόμιμά τινα παρέδοσαν τῷ δήμῳ οἱ Φαρισαῖοι ἐκ πατέρων διαδοχῆς).91 It is possible to draw the inference that Josephus considers the development of the three haireseis as a symptom of the decline of Judaism from the unique purity of the Mosaic legislation,92 but as far as I know, he never says this in as many words. (5)  Josephus relates these three haireseis to his own experience. In his autobiography (§ 10–12) he says when he was young he tested them out, and then became a disciple of a certain Bannus, who apparently did not belong to any of them and lived in seclusion in the desert. Such a journey through the haireseis and related schools is in fact a topos in ancient literature.93 After three years he went into political life and ‘followed the hairesis of the Pharisees’.94 [138] In conclusion I think we can readily agree with Marcus that ‘Josephus presents the varying religions and social philosophies of the three groups in such a way that they will be more intelligible to Greek readers’.95

8.  Pluralism and Unity in Philo’s Portrait of Judaism It is no coincidence, I believe, that we find no account of Judaism in Philo that is comparable with Josephus’ description of the haireseis. Philo is not interested in giving a clear map of the various directions that existed in the Judaism with which he was familiar. Apologetic accounts are given of two groups within Judaism, the Essenes (one of Josephus’ haireseis), and the Therapeutae. Philo makes various remarks about the doctrines these two groups espouse – for example, in the case of the Essenes, that of the areas of philosophy they are only interested 90 In C. Ap. 2.151–156 he presents him as a legislator superior to the philosophers, in terms not dissimilar to Philo at Opif. 1–3, Mos. 2.45–51, to whom indeed he was probably indebted. 91  A. J. 13.297; cf. Mason (1991) 235. We should note here too a remarkable Rabbinic diadoche of Pharisaic origin given in at the beginning of the Mishnaic treatise Aboth, starting from Moses but soon reaching various historical Rabbis; on this text see Bickerman (1952), Glucker (1978) 356–364, Cohen (1980). 92  Cf. Mason (1991) 374, under conclusion 7c. 93  Cf. Porphyry VP 3.7–13; Justin Dial. 2–8; and the detailed study of the topos in Whittaker (1997). 94  I agree with Mason (1991) 347–353 that πολιτεύεσθαι is best taken is ‘be participate in public affairs,’ but am not convinced that the phrase τῇ Φαρισαίων αἱρέσει κατακολουθῶν does not imply some kind of affiliation (his word) with the Pharisaic hairesis. 95  Marcus (1933) = Josephus LCL 7.310 n. (on A. J. 13.171). But the suggestion that Nicholas of Damascus was his source is now generally discredited.

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in ethics and a limited part of physics (Prob. 80),96 but not in the systematic way attempted by Josephus.97 Moreover their general location within Judaism is not made at all clear. Philo’s motive for describing them is quite different.They are chosen because illustrate the practical and contemplative lives respectively. It may be concluded that Philo is above all interested in presenting Judaism as a unity, an entire people ardently focussed on observance and study of the Law of Moses. There is, however, another side to Philo’s portrait of Judaism. From numerous remarks made throughout his exegetical writings, it is apparent that he does recognizes a number of different groups or directions in Judaism who disagree with each other in their interpretation of scripture. Roughly speaking we may distinguish the following four groups:98 (a) simple literalists, people who live in a small world (μικροπολῖται, Somn. 1.39), taking scripture at face value; [139] (b) ‘malicious literalists’99 who ridicule both the phraseology of scripture and attempts to interpret it non-literally, e. g. when Moses records the changes of name of Abraham and Sarah (Mut. 60–61); (c) allegorical interpreters, who do not reject the literal meaning of scripture, but also seek to uncover its deeper meaning, using the method of allegory which is dear to men of vision (ὁρατικοὶ ἄνδρες, Plant. 36); (d) the extreme allegorists, who go so far in their spiritualization of the Law that they abrogate its literal observance, mentioned only (and in not very concrete terms) in the famous passage at Migr. 86–93. Of these groups only two are legitimate in Philo’s eyes. The first group is too limited in its approach, but their view of scripture can be accepted. The second and fourth deny essential aspects of Judaism. The group or direction that remains is the one where Philo’s own sympathies lie and to which, to judge from scattered first person singulars and plurals in his allegorical treatises,100 he feels a strong affinity. It is the latter-day pupils and disciples of Moses who practice allegorical exegesis who continue the tradition, or even ‘succession,’ of θεσπέσιοι ἄνδρες, inspired men. These are the ‘lovers of soul’ (Deus 55), the ‘men of understanding 96  As Nikiprowetzky (1977) 104 points out, this is precisely what is contained in scripture, which the Essenes interpret allegorically (Prob. 82). 97  Hay (1992) 673, 680 notes that Philo speaks of the dogmata of the Therapeutae (Contempl. 26, 31 etc.), but says almost nothing about them. Moreover he makes it difficult for his readers to distinguish between the ideas of the Therapeutae and his own interpretation of them. 98  For the evidence see Shroyer (1936), Hay (1979–80), (1991a), Goulet (1987) 33–45. The last-named scholar divides the references into eight groups, a more complex classification than required here. 99  Shroyer’s term, (1936) 277; see also above at n. 67. 100  Cf. the texts at Her. 81 and Cher. 49 both cited above in the text below nn. 66 & 68 respectively. Another telling text is Fug. 55, where he says he attends the lectures of a wise woman named Skepsis, a personification of insight gained via the allegorical method.

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and wisdom’ (Mut. 140), who form the spiritual vanguard of Judaism. Whatever their audience may have been, Philo’s allegorizing writings are the concrete products of this movement. This group, we may surmise, forms a kind of ‘inner circle,’ a group of committed intellectuals within the Jewish community. There are, however, absolutely no grounds for supposing that these groups or directions within Judaism are regarded by Philo as equivalent to the haireseis of Josephus or the ‘schools of thought’ of Greek philosophy. When he refers to these groups Philo adopts a perspective internal to Judaism and regards them, almost myopically, from the viewpoint of his own exegetical activities. There does remain one text which still requires further attention. As we saw earlier, when describing the activities of the Therapeutae Philo mentions writings left to them by the ‘founders of the hairesis.’ Scholars have been divided on whether the term hairesis should be rendered as ‘sect’ or as ‘way of thinking/ school of thought’.101 The former translation brings [140] Philo’s text closer to the accounts we found in Josephus. The term hairesis would then be used in the sense that was developing at this time and indicates a concrete group or party of people.102 This is possible, but it should be noted that the Therapeutae form a very small group, apparently able to meet together within the confines of a meeting house. They are hardly to be compared with the Pharisees or Essenes as described by Josephus. My own preference is for the other interpretation, which adheres to the more prevalent meaning of hairesis in Philo’s day. ‘Way of thinking/school of thought’ can interpreted either as referring to their contemplative way of life, or the use of the allegorical method in their scriptural exposition (as implied by Bormann’s translation).103 The two alternatives in fact only differ in their point of reference, for it is via the study of scripture that the members of the community practise the contemplative life.104 Both views place the Therapeutae securely within the range of Philo’s own ideals, but they should not be identified with a ‘school of thought’ within Judaism to which he himself would belong.105 The reason for the use of the term, I would argue, is primarily apologetic and explanatory.106 Philo wants to describe these contemplatives in terms that Greek readers standing outside Judaism would understand. 101 

See text above at n. 43–45. See our remarks above in n. 88. It would be a very early example of this meaning. 103  See above at n. 46. 104 As noted by Nikiprowetzky (1977) 102–103; see also my comments, (1997) 15–16 [= article 20 below.] 105  Hay (1992) has shown that the Therapeutae should not be associated too closely with Philo’s own ideals, because there are subtle differences between what they practise and what he preaches. For a more radical dissociation of Philo from the Therapeutae see Goulet (1987) 527–531. It should be noted that this conclusion entails a revision of my tentative view cited above at n. 4. 106 That Contempl. and its lost sister work derive from a larger apologetic work on behalf of Judaism seems to me very likely. Following a suggestion of Massebieau, Cohn (1899) 420 argued that it originally belonged to the Ἀπολογία ὑπὲρ Ἰουδαίων. The difficulty with this hypothesis 102 

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9.  Further Conclusions on Philo and the Greek Hairesis-Model It may be concluded, therefore, that Philo stresses the unity of Judaism in contrast to the divisions that mark Greek culture, and in particular Greek philosophy. Judaism does not contain any hairesiomachoi who fight for the victory of one party at the expense of others. The only choice in Philo’s view is loyalty or disloyalty leading to apostasy.107 For Judaism [141] as a whole, however, Philo is able to exploit the Greek hairesis-model to a considerable extent. In a rather general sense, as we saw above, the philosophy of Moses is given characteristics belonging to the Greek haireseis. This apologetic move comes to Philo naturally on account of his deep familiarity with the world of Greek philosophy. These characteristics can also be applied to the group of allegorical exegetes to which Philo himself belongs. As we saw, certain aspects, such as the diadoché of inspired interpreters who have been initiated into the mysteries, apply best to such an ‘inner circle.’ Nevertheless it is clear that Philo quite deliberately declines to reserve the description ‘disciples of Moses’ for this group only. It can equally be applied to the whole Jewish nation.108 It has been suggested to me by Malcolm Lowe that, on the basis of these conclusions, we can furnish an answer to the problem why Philo uses the term hairesis so little in his works, even though he is so obviously well-acquainted with the Greek hairesis-model. The term is doubly unsuitable. In the first place it is risky to use it for Judaism as a whole because it might suggest that it occupies one particular place within a pluralistic setting, as was the case for the Greek schools. But Philo’s claim, as we saw earlier,109 is that the Mosaic thought to which Judaism is devoted represents the truth in its naked purity. Greek philosophy is either in its debt, or at most may have reached some of its doctrines through the independent use of the divine gift of reason.110 Secondly, unlike what we saw in Josephus, the term is (with one exception) not used to describe directions within Judaism because it might give the appearance of dividedness, as is the is that Eusebius at PE 8.10.19 quotes an account of the Essenes from the same work (generally regarded as part of the Hypothetica), and it would not have had two accounts of the same group. 107  As in the case of the ‘malicious literalists’ cited above at n. 99. 108  See for example the passage at Deus 146–148 on the royal highway in Num 20:17–20: ‘But it is not just a single man who has learnt the first elements of wisdom from Moses and can make this claim [i. e. about not needing wealth], but it is an entire most populous nation. And here is the evidence: the soul of each of his pupils (γνώριμοι) has taken heart and dared to say to the king of all phenomenal goods, the earthly Edom (for truly all things that are good in appearance only are earthly), ‘I shall now pass by through your land (or earth) (Num 20:17).’ 109  See text above at n. 73. 110  One might also note, as Prof. van Winden reminds me, the tendency in later Greek thought to regard the wisdom of the ancients (Celsus’ Ἀληθὴς λόγος) as the single source of truth, which was later corrupted into various streams. Cf. Van Winden (1970) 206–207, where he adduces the example of Numenius. This idea runs counter to the hairesis-model which was still prevalent in the 2nd century CE. The two views clash in Justin’s Dialogus.



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case for the schools of Greek philosophy and medicine. These considerations seem to me persuasive. They cannot, however, provide a complete answer to the problem mentioned above, because they do not explain why Philo uses the term so infrequently in relation to the Greek ‘schools of thought.’ This, it must be admitted, remains a puzzle. [142]

10.  Philo’s Double Perspective on Greek and Mosaic Philosophy In his most benign and accommodating mood Philo is prepared to place Greek philosophy and Jewish religion on roughly the same level. In one text (Virt. 64–65) he speaks of the Jews as: … not just any nation, but the most populous of all nations everywhere, who profess the greatest of professions, the supplication of He who is, who is creator and father of the universe; for what is gained from the most reputable philosophy by its disciples, this is given to the Jews through their laws and customs, knowledge of the highest and most ancient cause of all things, preventing them from straying into belief in created gods; for nothing that has come into being is God in reality (ἀληθείᾳ), but in people’s opinion (δόξῃ) only, being deprived of that most necessary attribute, eternal being.

Given this positive view, which was no doubt shared by many of Philo’s fellowJews in Alexandria,111 it is no surprise that various general aspects of the Greekhairesis model are put to good use when Philo presents the ‘philosophy of Moses’ to his readers. But his writings contain another view which is quite different. As we saw in the fragment from QE (see text above at n. 47), Philo can be quite harsh when he confronts the dissensions and conflicts of Greek and foreign philosophy. The members of each hairesis do nothing but produce ‘differing views,’ ἑτεροδοξίαι. The implication is, as we saw, that truth has to be accessed in another way, via the oracles of Moses. Unlike the dividedness of Greek philosophy, Judaism as presented in an idealized form by Philo is marked by an admirable unity. As is more often the case, both Philo’s language and his attitudes here look forward – to the Christian fathers – rather than back.112 Before Philo the term ἑτεροδοξία is found only once, at Plato Theaetetus 193d2 in an epistemological context which has nothing to do with Philo’s usage.113 After Philo it is only found in Patristic texts, and there it means not just ‘different thinking’ but ‘wrong thinking,’ [143] 111  Sterling has argued that a positive attitude to Greek culture was part of Alexandrian Judaism’s self-understanding; see (1995). 112  On Philo’s influence on early Patristic literature and thought see Runia (1993b). [See now my article ‘The Aëtian Placita and the Church Fathers: Creative Use of a Distinctive Mode of Ordering Knowledge,’ forthcoming in 2023.] 113  When mistakes are made in the use of memory; Cornford (1935) 124 translates ‘false judgment’.

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heterodoxy.114 Elsewhere Philo uses the hairesis-model of Greek philosophy in rather general terms to present Mosaic philosophy, but more specifically in this text he also points forward to a new kind of thinking in which that model will be eclipsed and superseded.

114  See LSJ ad loc. The TLG ‘D’ disk locates 26 examples in Patristic and Byzantine texts. On Philo’s striking terminological innovations taken over by the Fathers see Runia (1992b). [The online TLG, with its much greater range of texts, now lists 52 examples, all of them Christian (except single texts of Plato and Philo). The earliest is found in Ignatius Magn. 8.1, which is of interest since it is not so likely that he derived it from Philo.]

4.  The Beginnings of the End: Philo of Alexandria and Hellenistic Theology* 1.  Some Doxographical Formulations In the first book of Aëtius’ Placita dealing with the first principles of physical reality, two chapters are devoted to the subject of the gods (or God): I 6 Πόθεν ἔννοιαν ἔσχον θεῶν ἄνθρωποι (From where did humans obtain a conception of the gods), and I  7 Τίς ὁ θεός (Who is God). A  similar division of the subject of theology is found in Sextus Empiricus Adv. Phys. I  48: first the sceptic treats πῶς οἱ πρότερον νόησιν θεῶν ἔσχον ἄνθρωποι (How humans of former times obtained knowledge of the gods), then περὶ τοῦ εἰ εἰσὶ θεοί (On the subject whether gods exist). Sextus points out why the epistemological question precedes the ontological (§ 49). Not everything that is mentally conceived actually exists. The gods that theology deals with may in fact have no real extra-mental existence. The two authors begin their treatment of the second question with a similar diaeresis, Aëtius implicitly with the division between ‘some who deny that the gods exist’ and a long list of philosophers who state positively what God or the divine is, Sextus explicitly with the fuller division of those who assert that God exists, those who assert that he does not, and the third group who say that he exists ‘no more’ than he does not (cf. also Cicero De natura deorum I 2). The doxographer, taking his cue from the scientific method advocated by Aristotle, poses the question εἰ ἐστιν (whether it exists), before proceeding to the question τί ἐστιν (what it is). The sceptic Sextus, by way of contrast, does not get any further than the former question and ends with his customary suspension of judgment.1 In the positive part of his chapter on Τίς ὁ θεός, to judge by the remaining evidence in Ps.Plutarch and Stobaeus,2 Aëtius gives some [282] 24 doxai on the *  The essay has its origins in an invitation to present a paper at the eighth Symposium Hellenisticum held in Lille in August 1998 on Hellenistic traditions of theology. I extend my thanks to the organizers, Dorothea Frede and André Laks for their kind invitation. 1 On the diaereses involved see my detailed analysis on Aëtius’ passage on the atheist position in Plac. 1.7 in Runia (1996), esp. 553. For the Aristotelian background (esp. Anal. Post. B 1, 89b31–35) see 552 and Mansfeld (1990) 3193–3208, (1992a) 70–76, 86–93. 2  Ps.Plutarch 1.7 881D–882A, Stobaeus Ecl. I 1.29b; see the reconstruction made by Diels (1879) 301–307. [Diels’ edition has now been superseded by Mansfeld–Runia (2020); for this text see 1.375. The text published here is as in the original article based on Diels. The new text

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divine nature. It is apparent that he or his source have combined at least two traditions, for in the majority of doxai a single answer is given to the question, indicating the nature of the highest god or God par excellence, but in about six doxai mainly grouped together at the end of the chapter, a more complex theology is given.3 As an illustration we may take the report on Plato’s theology:4 Πλάτων1 δὲ τὸ ἕν, τὸ μονοφυὲς καὶ αὐτοφυές2, τὸ μοναδικόν, τὸ ὄντως ὄν, τἀγαθόν. πάντα δὲ τὰ τοιαῦτα τῶν ὀνομάτων εἰς τὸν νοῦν σπεύδει. νοῦς οὖν ὁ θεός, χωριστὸν εἶδος, τὸ δὲ χωριστὸν ἀκουέσθω τὸ ἀμιγὲς πάσης ὕλης καὶ μηδενὶ τῶν σωματικῶν συμπεπλεγμένον3, μηδὲ τῷ παθητῷ τῆς φύσεως συμπαθές. τούτου δὲ πατρὸς καὶ ποιητοῦ τὰ ἄλλα θεῖα ἔκγονα νοητὰ μέν, ὅ τε νοητὸς λεγόμενος κόσμος4 ⟨καὶ αἱ ἰδέαι5⟩, παραδείγματα δ᾿ ἐστὶ τοῦ ὁρατοῦ κόσμου, πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ἐναιθέριοί τινες δυνάμεις (λόγοι δ᾿ εἰσὶν ἀσώματοι) καὶ ⟨ἔμπυροι καὶ6⟩ ἐναέριοι καὶ ἔνυδροι, αἰσθητὰ δὲ7 τοῦ πρώτου θεοῦ ἔκγονα ἥλιος, σελήνη, ἀστέρες, γῆ καὶ ὁ περιέχων πάντα κόσμος. 1 Σωκράτης καὶ Πλάτων P | 2 καὶ αὐτοφυές om. S | 3 τὸ ἀμιγὲς πάσης ὕλης καὶ μηδενὶ παθητῷ συμπεπλεγμένον contraxit P | 4 τούτου δὲ … κόσμος deficit in P | 5 καὶ αἱ ἰδέαι conj. Usener | 6 ἔμπυροι καὶ conj. Wachsmuth | 7 αἰσθητὰ δὲ emend. Canter, αἰσθητὸς ὁ MSS

Plato affirms that God is the One, the single-natured and the self-natured, the monadic, true Being, the Good. All such names refer to the intellect. God therefore is intellect, a separate form. ‘Separate’ should be understood as meaning what is unmixed with any matter whatsoever and not entwined with anything corporeal, and also not sharing any passivity together with the passive aspect of nature. Of this father and maker the other divine beings are offspring. Some are intelligible, the so-called intelligible cosmos ⟨and the ideas⟩. These are paradigms of the visible cosmos. In addition to these there are etherial powers (these are incorporeal rational principles) and powers which are fiery and airy and watery. The visible offspring of the first God, however, are the sun, moon, stars, earth, and the cosmos which contains all things. [283]

I have cited this text in full not only because it illustrates Aëtius’ method, but also because it shows important resemblances to Philo’s theology in Opif. 7–25 (indicated by the underlined terms). We shall return to it at various stages in the essay. retains the longer name-label Σωκράτης καὶ Πλάτων and declines the two conjectures ⟨καὶ αἱ ἰδέαι⟩ (Usener) and ⟨ἔμπυροι καὶ⟩ (Wachsmuth). For ch. 1.6 and 1.7 see the full analysis and commentary in the above-mentioned edition.] 3  The doxographies of Empedocles, Xenocrates, Plato, Aristotle, Stoa, Epicurus, to which might be added Thales earlier in the chapter. The combination of sources is revealed by the double treatment of the Stoics as individuals and as school. The longer reports more closely resemble the famous theological doxography in Cicero and Philodemus, in which the plurality of gods proposed by various philosophers is exploited for polemical purposes; see Cicero ND 1.25–41, Philodemus PHerc 1428. Diels’ overview at (1879) 531–550 is now badly outdated, but a complete superior text of the papyrus has not yet been published; cf. Henrichs (1972), (1974), Obbink (1996) 80, 88–99. [To these articles can be added Vassallo (2018). But regrettably a complete edited text of PHerc. 1428 that meets modern standards is still not available.] 4  Text based on Stobaeus at Wachmuth (1884) 37, Ps.Plutarch at Lachenaud (1993) 88.



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If Hellenistic philosophy is taken in a chronologically narrow sense (i. e. from Alexander to Actium),5 then both Aëtius and Sextus fall outside its scope.6 Yet to my mind their reports on theology excellently illustrate the characteristic of Hellenistic philosophy on which I wish to concentrate in my essay. Both of them are confident and direct in their approach to the question of the divine nature: either we can state what God is, or we deny his existence, or we conclude that no certainty can be gained on the subject of his existence (and a fortiori of his nature). In Hellenistic philosophy Stoics and Epicureans argue with confidence about the nature of God (or the gods), Academics and sceptics are no less direct in showing the weaknesses of the arguments and the evidence on which their premisses are based.7 It helps that Hellenistic theology is generally materialistic and immanentist (though not literally encosmic in the case of the Epicureans), but this does not seem to me a necessary condition for the abovementioned directness of their theological epistemology. The above-cited Aëtian passage, though of course only a report, may be taken as an illustration. Plato’s highest god, formulated in terms of an identification of the One/Good and the Demiurge from the Timaeus, is presented (with help from Aristotelian theology) as a separate and transcendent form, in no way entwined with matter. But this separateness is not taken to have any consequences for his knowability, as might have been deduced from Plato’s famous statement at Tim. 28c, to which the doxographer alludes with the terms ‘father and maker’.8 [284] Another interesting feature of this text is the polyonomy applied directly to the first god: the first five names, all indicating formal characteristics, are used to describe the highest Nous. Aëtius and Sextus maintain the tradition of Hellenistic theology, not only because the main sources of their material were Hellenistic, but also because they continue the epistemological Anliegen characteristic of that theology.

5  The scope of the brand new Cambridge History of Hellenistic Philosophy is even narrower, from 300 to 100 BCE; see Algra et al. (1999). 6  On the chronology of Aëtius see Mansfeld–Runia (1997) 320–323, who date him, not very dogmatically, to about 50–100 CE. Bremmer (1998) has raised a difficulty with regard to the name, which seems to be virtually unknown until late antiquity. This does not, however, affect the dating of the Aëtian Placita as a document. [On the date and the author’s name see now Mansfeld–Runia (2020) 15–17.] 7  For a valuable overview of Hellenistic theology see Mansfeld (1999), on knowledge of God esp. 469–478, and also specifically in relation to scepticism Long (1990). For the philosophical foundations of Hellenistic theology the study of Schofield (1980) is particularly valuable. 8  Note, however that strictly speaking Plato does not say that he is unknowable per se, but that he is difficult to discover and communicate. See further at n. 96 below. Dörrie (1957) 199 calls Aëtius’ definition ‘ganz ungenügend,’ but does not say why. Is it because there is no reference to the World-soul?

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2.  Enter Philo of Alexandria The studious and well-informed Jewish exegete and philosopher Philo of Alexandria is well acquainted with the above-mentioned doxographical formulations. The first of the five ‘doctrines of piety’ which he presents as a summary at the end of De opificio mundi (§ 170) concerns the existence of God, to be affirmed against atheists who are divided into those who doubt God’s existence and those who deny it altogether.9 This statement presupposes the same diaeresis given by Cicero, Aëtius and Sextus. Among the philosophical questions to which mankind attains through the gift of sight and the contemplation of the cosmos (the topos based on Plato, Tim. 47a–c) are problems of theology.10 The understanding embarks on investigation (σκέψις), and if it determines that the cosmos has come into being, it asks further (De Abrahamo 163): ὑπὸ τίνος γέγονε καὶ τίς ὁ δημιουργὸς κατ᾿ οὐσίαν ἢ ποιότητα καὶ τί διανοηθεὶς ἐποίει καὶ τί νῦν πράττει καὶ τίς αὐτῷ διαγωγὴ καὶ βίος … (who was the cause of its coming into being, and what was the essence or qualified nature of its demiurge, and what were his thoughts in creating it, and what is he doing now, and what is his occupation and way of life …)

This formulation, though assuming the creationism of the Timaeus, fits in well with the confident approach of Hellenistic philosophy postulated above.11 In another text, however, which uses a similar [285] formulation (De posteritate Caini 168), the approach differs. When God says to Moses ‘See, see that I am (Deut 32:39),’ this does not mean ‘see me,’ which is impossible, but rather: see that I  exist. It is sufficient for human reasoning to learn that the cause of the universe exists. To try to advance further and enquire about his οὐσία ἢ ποιότης (essence or qualified nature) is primitive folly. Note that this view is clearly not the same as the sceptical position, because no doubts are expressed concerning God’s existence. In the last text I wish to cite, Philo once again uses the method of diaeresis which is so characteristic of the doxographical method. The trigger this time is the pronouncement of Jacob at Bethel, ‘how dreadful is this place’ (Gen 28:17). Philo cannot resist making a play on words (De somniis 1.184): ὄντως γὰρ τῶν ἐν φυσιολογίᾳ τόπος ἀργαλεώτατος, ἐν ᾧ ζητεῖται, ποῦ καὶ εἰ συνόλως ἔν τινι τὸ ὄν, τῶν μὲν λεγόντων, ὅτι πᾶν τὸ ὑφεστὼς χώραν τινὰ κατείληφε, καὶ ἄλλων ἄλλην ἀπονεμόντων, ἢ ἐντὸς τοῦ κόσμου ἢ ἐκτὸς αὐτοῦ μετακόσμιόν τινα, τῶν δὲ φασκόντων, ὅτι οὐδενὶ τῶν ἐν γενέσει τὸ ἀγένητον ὅμοιον, ἀλλὰ τοῖς 9 

A rather similar formulation is found at Praem. 40; see below § 4(f ). topos is found in many Philonic texts, cf. Runia (1986) 270–276. In some of them Philo uses potted summaries of main questions that can be related to the doxographical tradition. [On these texts see now Runia (2008a) sections 4(a), (d) & (e) = article 7 in this volume.] 11  On similar formulations in Cicero, see below section 4(e). 10  The



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ὅλοις ὑπερβάλλον, ὡς καὶ τὴν ὠκυδρομωτάτην διάνοιαν ὑστερίζουσαν μακρῷ τῆς καταλήψεως ὁμολογεῖν ἡττᾶσθαι. For truly of the subjects of natural philosophy this is the most difficult, when investigation is made as to where the Existent Being is and whether It is located in anything at all. Some assert that everything that subsists has occupied a place and assign differing locations to It, either within the cosmos or in some metacosmic place outside it. Others affirm that the Uncreated is unlike any of the beings subject to becoming, but rather totally transcends them, so that even the swiftest understanding falls well short of obtaining knowledge of It and acknowledges its failure.

The question is: where is God is located, if indeed he is located anywhere?12 Either he occupies a place in physical reality, whether immanently in the cosmos (Stoics) or in between the cosmoi (Epicureans), or he transcends it, so that the mind, portrayed hellenistically as zipping through the universe with the utmost speed,13 fails in its quest for knowledge. The term for God here, it may be noted, is τὸ [286] ὄν, which of course is Platonic, but is frequently used by Philo, together with the personalized alternative ὁ ὤν, for the God of the Bible.

3.  Philo’s Theology: Subject and Method of this Essay Like Aëtius and Sextus, Philo too has to fall outside the scope of Hellenistic philosophy if taken in the narrow chronological sense. It is very unlikely that he was already alive when Augustus victoriously entered the cowed city of Alexandria in 30 BCE, accompanied by his friend, the Stoic philosopher Arius.14 We make this distinction because we are convinced that there was a distinct difference between philosophy in the hellenistic and in the imperial age. Various criteria are used for purposes of demarcation. One could mention the fates of the schools in Athens, the revival of Platonism and Aristotelianism, the rise of eclecticism, the turn to exegesis of classical authors and texts, and so on. These are all primarily formal criteria. But one might also wish to consider questions of philosophical substance, and here I am going to argue that Philo’s evidence in the area of theology has a definite contribution to make. I am delighted, therefore, that he has been given another chance to show what he can contribute to our understanding of Hellenistic philosophy,15 even if on this occasion the focus has to be on the first intimations of its demise. 12  This question is not found as such in the Aëtian doxography, but is very much consistent with its method. As Mansfeld has shown, (1992a) 92–93, frequent use is made of the Aristotelian categories in outlining the doxography’s subject (essence or nature, size, shape, disposition, location etc.). The method is especially prominent in Book 2 on the heavens. 13  Cf. Cicero’s Somnium Scipionis, in contrast to the Phaedrus myth, in which mind proceeds beyond the confines of the cosmos and contemplates the ideas or God. 14  Philo is best dated from ± 15 BCE to 50 CE (he lived at least until the reign of Claudius). 15  Cf. the contribution of Carlos Lévy in the Proceedings of an earlier Symposium Hellenisticum, (1992).

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The difficulties of using Philonic evidence for the history of philosophy are well-known. He is the only extant source of any consequence for the period between Cicero on the one hand and Seneca and Plutarch on the other.16 But Philo is not a Greek philosopher in the ordinary sense. He is a Jew loyal to the traditions of his people, who spends most of his creative energy commenting on the holy books of Moses. This specific religious background cannot but exert its influence, certainly in the area of theology. Every historian of philosophy who wishes to exploit Philo’s evidence thus needs to cope with what we might call ‘the problem of the double unknown.’ When you assess a Philonic doctrine, you have to determine not only its [287] relation to contemporary philosophical views, but also the extent to which it reveals Jewish traits that go beyond the literal startingpoint in the biblical text. But in both cases there is a dearth of comparative evidence. On the Greek side we have only the tiniest scraps, while in Jewish studies too Philo is virtually sui generis.17 It would be like trying to tease Middle Platonism out of Clement and Origen and Neoplatonism out of Augustine if all the writings of 2nd and 3rd century Platonism, including Plotinus, were unavailable. Roberto Radice once pointed out that Philo is used by scholars as his own source. Ideas are located in his works, attributed to others and thus taken to demonstrate his own non-originality.18 Now I do not think that Radice has been able to prove his case beyond all doubt that Philo acted as a catalyst in the development of the Platonist tradition. But his remark does shed light on the problem of the double unknown that scholars have to face in practice, and of which they are not seldom insufficiently aware. But there are further difficulties involved in using Philo’s evidence. There is the sheer quantity of material (some 2700 pages in all), and also the notorious fact that Philo’s statements on a given subject are not always, on the surface at least, consistent with each other. I  have made my own position on the latter problem clear enough in earlier publications. I  believe that Philo has a clear rationale for what he is doing.19 In his commentaries he takes the scriptural text as starting-point, to which he as commentator is subordinate. The exegetical context thus determines the perspective from which he employs philosophical doctrines.20 If grand attempts are made to make a synthesis of all these passages, the perspective from which they are written soon becomes lost, and the results cannot fail to be unsatisfactory.21 16  Dillon (1996) 438 staunchly defends his decision to devote a chapter to Philo in an account of Middle Platonism. 17  The only solid material is the much earlier Aristobulus, and the Wisdom of Solomon, both of whom differ from Philo quite considerably. 18  Radice (1991) 128; cf. (1989). 19  See esp. the method of my dissertation, (1986); also the remarks at (1988a) 70–72. 20  This certainly need not preclude a measure of coherence, but not it is not Philo’s first aim. See the Dillon’s sound remarks, (1995) 110. 21  The tremendous intellectual challenge of Wolfson’s remarkable study, (1947), was to



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But perhaps this rationale is still not enough to account for the démarche of Philo’s writings and the déconfiture of his interpreters. It is worth pointing out that scholars have succeeded in determining the [288] internal organization of the corpus Philonicum, plainly centred around three independent series of commentaries, but that they have not been able to determine the relative chronology of these works.22 For this reason any kind of application of a genetic approach, which has had some (admittedly limited) success in the case of other large ancient corpora such as those of Plato, Aristotle and Plotinus, is doomed to failure. Nevertheless I  am becoming more and more convinced that we should take this situation into account when analysing Philo’s writings, i. e. that it is sound methodology first to work within the framework of the separate commentaries before mixing together results from all three (and the remaining treatises as well). It is reasonable to expect that the internal doctrinal consistency of these large-scale works will be greater than that of the corpus as a whole. If Philo even then apparently cannot achieve a measure of coherence, then either we still do not understand him, or he is a lost cause. In this essay, therefore, I  will limit the main body of my evidence to three texts in Philo’s grand commentary usually known as the Exposition of the Law. The aim of this series of ten writings is to explain the divine Law in all its manifestations, from the creation of the cosmos to its embodiment in the Mosaic legislation.23 The law has [289] a divine origin, and it conducts humankind to bring the whole of Philo into complete consistency. The method and the results convinced no one. 22  The organization of the Philonic corpus was definitively established by the chief editor of the great critical edition, L. Cohn (1899). The best modern account is given in Morris (1987). On the problems of chronology see Nikiprowetzky (1977) 192–202. The scholar who is most confident about the possibility of establishing a chronology for Philo’s works is A. Terian; see his remarks at (1984) 292–294, also (1997) 32–36. [Since I wrote this article scholars have become much more confident about reconstructing a chronology of his works. It is fundamental, for example, to Niehoff (2018), an intellectual biography of Philo which relies on a chronological framework. See further Introduction § 3.] 23  The treatises are (Roman numbers in brackets indicate the location in the LCL edition of Colson and Whitaker): Opif. (I), Abr., Ios. (VI), Decal., Spec. 1, 2, 3 (VII), Spec. 4, Virt., Praem. (VIII). They are interconnected with each other by means of transitional passages. From Abr. 1 it is clear that Opif. belongs to this work, and not to the Allegorical Commentary. From the beginning of De Iosepho it may be deduced that the lives of the patriarchs Isaac and Jacob have been lost. There is also a substantial lacuna in the final treatise. If the famous passage at the beginning of Spec. 3 refers to the troubles of 37–40 CE, then the work will be belong to the later period of Philo’s life. There can be no doubt that the contents of the series is less esoteric than that of the Allegorical Commentary. The amount of allegorization is limited. Nevertheless it is a mistake to think that the intended audience was exclusively gentile, as argued by Goodenough and others. Philo addressed an educated public of both Jews and pagans, as befits his situation in Alexandria. On this work in its entirety see now Borgen (1996c), (1997) 63–79. This special focus on the Exposition of the Law means that I will not be referring very much to Aet. and Prov., Philo’s most Hellenistic works. Though containing a good deal of theology, they are for the most part not so interesting for the specific themes I am investigating in this article; on this material cf. further Mansfeld (1999) 466–468.

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a life in accordance with the divine will and nature (we recognize the theme of becoming like God, ὁμοίωσις θεῷ, as the telos). Plainly the Exposition of the Law is not a series of philosophical writings in the Greek tradition. Moreover, philosophical theology is by no means the main theme of the series. But at three points theology does assume centre stage, in the doctrine of creation (esp. Opif. 7–25): in the exposition of the first two commandments of the Decalogue (esp. Spec. 1.32–50), and in the visio Dei given as reward to the patriarch Israel (Praem. 36–46). These are the passages we shall be concentrating on. My aim in this essay is to analyse the above-mentioned passages with a view to establishing the thesis that they inform us about a new direction in philosophical theology, in which the confident and direct epistemology of Hellenistic theology is seen to giving way to a different approach which is less confident and more complex. After reaching a number of conclusions on the basis of an analysis of these passages, I shall turn my attention briefly to some non-Philonic texts for purposes of comparison. At the end of the essay I shall return to the difficult theme of the relation between Jewish and Greek thought in Philo and the repercussions for our subject.

4.  Some Philonic Theological Themes (a)  The Basic Division of Reality Philo begins his exposition of the Mosaic creation account with a kind of brief philosophical prolegomenon (Opif. 7–12). Because it starts with an attack against those thinkers who regard the cosmos as ‘ungenerated and eternal,’ it has generally been interpreted as an attack against Aristotle and Aristotelianizing Platonists who affirm the eternity of the cosmos.24 In a recent discussion with Abraham Bos, however, I have come to the conclusion that this interpretation is both unnecessary and unlikely.25 Not the createdness or eternity of the cosmos is the fundamental issue here, but the relation between God and the cosmos. Philo is at pains to outline, in a quite straightforward way, the basic components of reality (cf. § 8 ἐν τοῖς οὖσι). [290] These can be reduced to two, God as active Nous and passive matter as the substrate of physical reality (though the term for matter, ὕλη, is not used). The position that he opposes is reminiscent of what he elsewhere in allegorical terms calls Chaldeanism.26 It is a philosophy which regards the cosmos as the prime reality or ‘first god’.27 Since it denies a higher extrinsic cause, Philo regards it as atheistic. It would be wrong to equate this doc24 

E. g. Dillon (1996) 157, and also myself in (1986) 100. See Bos (1998). 26  I. e. what Abraham left behind when he recognized the true God; cf. esp. Abr. 60–88. 27 See Migr. 178–179, Her. 97, Congr. 49, Abr. 68–69, Mut. 16, Somn. 1.53, QG 3.1. 25 

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trine with one particular philosophical school (e. g. Stoicism). Its chief feature is clearly a denial of anything that transcends physical reality and is purely intelligible (cf. Abr. 69, ‘they … had no conception of what was invisible and intelligible’). In other words, the Chaldeans accept the cosmos as an ordered (and divine) whole, without attributing its existence to a higher cause. It is not the same as a Stoic immanentist theology, because there is not even a single logos pervading and ordering all things. The cosmos and the internal sympathies of its parts are regarded as a law unto themselves. Divine providence is absent, and in some texts Chaldeanism comes close to be equated with a kind of astrological fatalism.28 Despite appearances to the contrary Philo does not present a doctrine of two principles in §§ 8–9. Although the distinction between active and passive recalls both Stoic and Aristotelian doctrine, it would be a mistake to read it in these terms.29 A Platonist perspective comes closer to what Philo intends. Two early interpretations of the Timaeus  – Theophrastus fr. 230 FHS&G = Simpl. in Arist. phys. 26.7–13, and Diog. Laert. 3.69, 76 – speak of God and matter as the two archai, but they do not highlight the aspects of activity and passivity as Philo does so emphatically (this does occur more clearly in the Aëtian passage on Platonic theology cited above).30 Philo’s text in § 8 can be read in two different ways, either as ‘the activating cause and the passive cause’ or as ‘the activating cause and the passive object’ (the word αἴτιον is not repeated). If we read it in the first way, there must be two principles. If we take the second reading, then there is only one true principle. I  am convinced that the formulation is deliberate, and that Philo by not calling matter a cause wishes to deny [291] it any kind of autonomy of its own.31 There is nothing else to compete with the one God (cf. § 171). Unfortunately this leaves the status of unformed matter rather up in the air. No answers to the question of the origin of matter are forthcoming in Opif. or in other treatises in the Exposition of the Law.32 A second feature of Philo’s formulation is a strong emphasis on the transcendence of the first cause. Although the phrases ‘among the things that exist’ (§ 8 ἐν τοῖς οὖσι) and ‘the mind of the universe’ (ὁ τῶν ὅλων νοῦς) might suggest a form of immanence à la Stoa, any such impression is immediately countered. God does not possess excellence or knowledge (as would be gained by contemplating 28 

Notably in Migr. 178, 194, Her. 97, and cf. also Her. 300–301 (the Amorites). Here I disagree with Bos (1998) 71, who regards it as primarily Aristotelian in emphasis. 30  For texts affirming a Platonic doctrine of two principles see Baltes (1996a) 152–173 and commentary; also David Sedley’s essay elsewhere in this volume, (2002). 31  See Runia (1986) 104. Note that some Platonists denied that ὕλη was a principle. See texts cited by Baltes (1996a) 198–201 (but Clement stands closer to Philo). 32 See Prov. 2.47–50. But I agree with May (1994) 9–21 that Philo does not confront the full philosophical implications of the position that God created the cosmos ex nihilo. His position may be described as a ‘monarchic dualism’; cf. Runia (1986) 454, Reydams-Schils (1999) 155. [See now further Runia (2003a) = article 5.] 29 

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the ideas), but is even superior to the ideas of the Good and the Beautiful (note the contrast with the Aëtian passage where the highest god is the Good). Philo’s statement here can be compared with other passages in which God’s absolute transcendence is affirmed. The most striking is at Praem. 40 (our third passage), in which God is described as ἀγαθοῦ κρεῖττον καὶ μονάδος πρεσβύτερον καὶ ἑνὸς εἰλικρινέστατον (superior to the Good and more ancient than the Monad and more absolute than the One).33 It is striking that in the Opif. passage the question of God’s relation to the One and the monad is omitted, in spite of the fact that it was a hot topic in the Pythagoreanizing Platonism of his day.34 The reason for this is context-immanent. There can be no doubt that God also transcends the monad (associated with the noetic world and thus the Logos in § 15). At the same time, however, the unicity of God is a standard apologetic theme of Judaism which Philo wants to retain as one of the five chief lessons of the treatise (§ 171). But not all the emphasis falls on God’s transcendence. We note too that the doctrine of providence plays a crucial part in Philo’s argument (§ 9–11). The Chaldean position amounts to a denial of providence, since the cosmos in their perspective is autonomous. A  [292] very similar argument is found later in Atticus, directed at the Aristotelian position.35 Philo thus establishes in his philosophical prolegomenon a kind of dialectic of separation from and involvement with the world. The affirmation of transcendence indicates a strict separation of God from everything connected with physical reality, yet at the same time he is its creator and maintainer. Philo’s interpretation of ‘day one’ of creation will have to elucidate the nature of this separateness further. (b)  The Noetic Cosmos and the Extended Image God, when wishing to create this visible cosmos, first struck out the noetic cosmos, so that he could use it as a model and so make the corporeal cosmos as fine a product as possible (Opif. 16). This preliminary creational event takes place on ‘day one,’ a day that differs from all the others (§ 15). Philo’s exegesis is radical because he subsumes the intelligible world under the heading of genesis, even if it is a genesis of a different kind than that which pertains to the visible world.36 I take it that Philo knows what he is doing. Other ways of interpreting first five verses of Genesis were within easy reach. Analysis of the extended image used 33 

Cf. also Contempl. 3, Legat. 5 (but these contexts are less philosophical). Note esp. the controversial position of Eudorus, on which see Theiler (1965) 207, Dillon (1977) 126–129, Baltes (1996a) 174 (and commentary), and the strong emphasis on God’s monadic status in the Aëtian passage on Plato’s theology cited above in section 1. 35  Fr. 4.2 Des Places; cf. Theiler (1971) 27–28, Runia (1986) 100–101. 36  An indication of the radical nature of Philo’s position is the fact that of all the Church fathers only Clement is prepared to follow him; cf. Str. 5.93–94. 34 



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in § 17–18 shows that Philo at the very least wished to affirm the ontological dependency of the noetic cosmos, and perhaps also its contingency (but this is a matter of speculation).37 Philo’s passage is famous because it provides us with the first securely datable text that exploits the term and concept of the intelligible world (κόσμος νοητός). It is probable, however, that the two references in Aëtius and the mention of an ἰδανικὸς κόσμος in Timaeus Locrus are contemporary and may go back to sources anterior to Philo.38 The addition of the word λεγόμενος in the Aëtian perhaps indicates a recognition that the term was an innovation, not [293]to be found in Plato’s writings. The evidence in Aëtius is particularly interesting because he clearly subordinates the noetic cosmos to the transcendent first god. It is one of his divine offspring, whereby the term ἔκγονα implies some kind of genesis just as in Philo. But how this occurs and the location of the model are left entirely obscure. Just as in Philo, the subordination of the ideas to God seems more radical than than in later Middle Platonist documents, in which the ideas are presented primarily as objects, and not as products, of divine thought.39 In a separate piece of research I  recently had occasion to trace the history of the term κόσμος νοητός.40 I was quite surprised to find how sporadically it occurs in Middle Platonist documents. Philo and Plotinus use it frequently, but in between examples are scarce. The references in doxographical documents are valuable because they show that it was already in common currency in the 1st century CE, if not earlier. Analysis of the various passages show that it has a three-fold origin in Platonic thought. Most often the term is used in the context of cosmic genesis, equated with the model used in the process of demiurgic creation, as established in the Timaeus. But there is also an epistemological usage in which the noetic world indicates the objects of the mind’s thought (derived from the divided line, Rep. 509d, cf. Philo Somn. 1.186–188, Alcinous Did. 4.8). Thirdly there are quite a few passages in which its usage is primarily ontological and inspired by the ascent of the gods and souls in the Phaedrus myth: the noetic cosmos represents that reality which is beyond the physical cosmos (cf. Philo Opif. 71, Praem. 37, Clement Str. 4.159.2), but which  – in Philo’s perspective at least  – is made and ruled by God. This three-fold origin is relevant to the 37  Wolfson is right to suggest that the noetic cosmos does not exhaust God’s thought; cf. (1947) 1.210. But it is questionable whether this should be interpreted in terms of ‘patterns of an infinite variety of possible worlds’ (ibid.). Philo will surely have been attracted to the Platonic idea that there is but one best cosmos, and God will not think what is less than best. 38  Aëtius 1.7 (text cited above at n. 4), 2.6, Timaeus Locrus 30. On the latter text cf. Baltes (1972) 105–106. He argues (p. 22) that this document shows affinities to what we know about Eudorus. 39  Cf. the doxography on Plato’s doctrine of principles at I 3.21. Here the idea is described as οὐσία ἀσώματος ἐν τοῖς νοήμασι καὶ ταῖς φαντασίαις τοῦ θεοῦ. Baltes (1996a) 393–394 argues, perhaps rightly, that the formulation implies that God here is the World-soul. 40  Runia (1999b).

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question of the contents of the noetic cosmos. Does it contain all the ideas, or is it rather a limited Planwelt containing only those ideas which are archetypes for cosmic entities?41 In light of the above findings I believe the former view is to be preferred. Otherwise Philo would have to posit two different noetic worlds, one for creation and one for intellectual contemplation, which seems otiose.42 [294] Against this background Philo’s famous extended image in Opif. 17–18 can be read in two quite different ways. In a minimalist reading it serves only to give an answer to the question concerning the location of the noetic cosmos: this world it has no physical place, and is also not found outside the cosmos, as in the Phaedrus myth, but has its location in the divine Logos. In a maximalist reading attention is also paid to the hierarchy of participants, the king, the architect and the builder. The image thus additionally offers a philosophical analysis of levels of divine activity. I  am convinced that the latter reading corresponds to what Philo intended. The image is almost certainly inspired by accounts of the founding of his own city Alexandria.43 On this famous event there were two traditions from which he could choose: either Alexander himself was pivotally involved in the city’s planning, or he used the services of Dinocrates of Rhodes and other architects for that purpose. The image appears to have very deliberately chosen for the second tradition. If the minimalist reading was his intention, why did he not follow the simpler option of following the first view?44 The most remarkable aspect of the passage is the apparent discrepancy between the image and its application. In the former the persons of the king and the architect and the roles of the king, architect and builder are very clearly distinguished. In the application, however, they appear to be coalesced together and all the roles are applied to God. The explanation for this move lies in Philo’s use of the word θεός. God’s most authentic name is Being, ὁ ὤν or τὸ ὄν.45 The divine name θεός denotes God exclusively in his creative role. Being as He really is transcends all thought, because thought must take its cue either from the physical world (cf. Somn. 1.186–188) or be engaged in contemplating the noetic world, both of which are created by God as θεός.46 [295] 41 

The latter was the suggestion of Horovitz (1900) 84–87. language also supports this interpretation, e. g. the phrase τὸν δ᾿ ἐκ τῶν ἰδεῶν συνεστῶτα κόσμον at Opif. 17. 43  The arguments in support of this view are set out at length in Runia (1989a); on the image see further Runia (1986) 165–169. [An entire monograph has now been devoted to this image, De Luca (2021).] 44  As in the presentation of the demiurgic creator as παμβασιλεὺς καὶ ἀριστοτέχνης in Atticus fr. 4.12. 45  This is rather esoteric doctrine, mainly set out in Allegorical Commentary (esp. Mut. 10–17); closest text in the Exposition of the Law is found in Abr. 51. A strong affirmation is found in the fragment De Deo 4, which was probably part of the Allegorical Commentary; see now Siegert (1998) 5 and commentary, based on Siegert (1988). 46  Praem. 46 might appear to offer an exception to this rigour, but this is in fact not the case, as we shall see below in section 4(f ). 42  Philo’s

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If this interpretation is correct, then the dialectic of separation and involvement noted earlier is taken a step further. The king is not only transcendent, but also remote. He supplies the necessary conditions for the foundation of the city, but is not directly involved. One might be tempted to translate this result in terms of a dialectic of contemplation and action, such as we find in Aristotle (and as is appropriated in Middle Platonism): the Nous is remote, engaged in his own concerns, the Logos carries out the labour. But this cannot be what Philo intends. The Nous is depicted in § 8 as God the creator. The Logos is depicted in §§ 20 & 24 as the location of the noetic cosmos presumably thought out by God as Nous. For this reason I speculated in my dissertation that Philo, by means of this image, aims to convey that God’s creatorship does not exhaust the fulness of his Being, i. e. that his Being is transcendent and remains beyond the grasp of theoretical circumscription.47 Remoteness, therefore, does not entail dissociation, except in conceptual analysis, which divides what cannot be divided. (c)  The Logos There is no need, in the present context, to plunge headlong into the problematics of Philo’s doctrine of the Logos. Just two brief observations should be made. Firstly, in cosmological terms the prime difficulty is that Philo tries to develop a basically Platonist view of creation without allowing any room for a Worldsoul.48 Despite his great versatility, it would have been awkward to impose this doctrine on the text of Genesis. In his account of Philo’s thought John Dillon suggests the following interpretation. Through the influence of the Logos the Ideas become logoi spermatikoi and serve as models and creative principles of the physical cosmos. The Logos is only the sum-total of the Ideas in activity, as the intelligible cosmos was their sum-total at rest.49 This interpretation is reached by conflating the account in Opif. with other Philonic texts.50 The interpretation of the ideas as spermatic principles would introduce a pronounced Stoicizing element into Philo’s thought which I [296] do not find convincing. In Opif. itself the transferrence of the paradeigmatic aspect of the ideas to matter is clearly the task of the divine powers (see next sub-section). I am persuaded that both the Logos as the divine thinking and the noetic cosmos as paradigm must be regarded as transcending the physical world (hence the ‘creation’ of the noetic world precedes that of the corporeal cosmos). 47 

Runia (1986) 167–168. Also lacking in the Aëtian doxography in 1.7 cited above (but present in 2.6). 49  Dillon (1996) 159–160; cf. also Reydams-Schils (1995). 50  Dillon admits that the ideas are never called spermatikoi logoi (Legat. 55 is not to the point). He in fact overlooks the best text for his thesis, QE 2.68, where the Logos is called σπερματικὴ οὐσία. [This text, part of the only section of the Quaestiones to be preserved in a MSS tradition and not as an excerpt, has been edited in Royse (2012) 36.] 48 

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Secondly, it should be noted that the Logos is Philo’s most general concept for that aspect of the divine that stands in relation to created reality. As a term it is more comprehensive than the divine powers and the divine names.51 It straddles the distinction between divine transcendence and divine immanence. In Opif. the former application prevails, while the immanent role of the Logos is reserved for the powers. Elsewhere this can differ, for example in the famous case of the Logos-cutter (Her. 133–236). Philo may well have been not discontented with the variability of his various theological schemes, which often depend on the exegetical context. In the case of the Logos the epistemological aspect is clearly more important than the cosmological. Humankind is related to God and can know Him through the Logos-side of his activity. This is inherent in the way humans have been created, for, as we read in § 25, humankind is an εἰκών of the Logos as God’s εἰκών. The Logos is God’s image, not because he is an inferior entity separate from God,52 but because he does not represent God in his fulness.53 (d)  The Reception of the Divine Powers The introduction of the doctrine of the divine powers for the first time at Opif. 20 is rather abrupt.54 Philo has just declared that the [297] Logos is the place of the noetic cosmos, when he adds that no other place would be sufficient to receive and contain even one of God’s powers in an unmixed state, and then goes to focus on the role of the creative power (§ 21). It appears that he is assuming familiarity with the doctrine of the powers that is frequently developed elsewhere in his writings, and especially with the association of the divine name θεός with the creative power that gives expression to God’s goodness in creating the cosmos.55 After discussing the theme of divine goodness with obvious reference to Plato’s Timaeus in § 21–22, he then explains in § 23 how physical reality would collapse if the force of the divine goodness was not tempered by means of a process of 51 

Cf. esp. the sevenfold theological scheme set out in QE 2.68. As can be the case, notoriously at Conf. 146 (cf. 63), which was greatly exploited by later Christian theologians. Philo also speaks about angels as logoi (which is reminiscent of the daimones called as such in the Aëtian doxography cited in section 1). 53  It is therefore quite misguided to postulate, as Wolfson (1947) 1.231 does, a higher level of transcendent Logos which is equivalent to God’s mind, containing the ideas as objects of His thinking and thus identical with the essence of God. God’s thinking can only be known as it is directed towards the world, and that is precisely what the Logos represents. Wolfson’s superLogos is just a figment of systematization. It has to be admitted, on the other hand, that the relation between the Nous in § 8 and the Logos in § 20 and 24 is made insufficiently clear. God as Nous only reappears at § 69, where an equivalence with the Logos appears to be assumed. 54  Philo does mention the ‘powers’ of God as maker and father at Opif. 7, but I do not think this is an allusion to the doctrine of the powers. 55  On the doctrine of the powers see e. g. Wolfson (1947) 1.235–239 (with reference to numerous texts), Dillon (1996) 161–163. [See now Termini (2000) and article 8 below.] 52 



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measurement and adjustment (the task of the Logos whom Philo elsewhere calls the ‘measurer’).56 It seems to me that this passage is theologically and metaphysically of great interest. The difference between the active principle and the passive recipient as postulated in § 8 is not just a matter of separation (bridged by God’s creative activity), but also of power. Power involves two aspects. In the first place it is the capacity to bring about an effect, i. e. in the case of a rational being, to carry out what it has decided to do (βούλησις). But power is also indicative of ontological superiority, whereby the active cause has to accommodate the application of its power to the nature of what it affects. A surfeit of unaccommodated power cannot be contained or absorbed by the recipient and would lead to inevitable collapse. Do we have precedents for this perspective on dynamis in philosophy prior to Philo? Willy Theiler was undoubtedly justified in saying that for Plato and Aristotle Gestalt (i. e. purposeful structure) and not power was foremost in their thinking.57 But various texts in Plato do emphasize the power of the working of the ideas (Soph. 247e4, Tim. 28a8)58 and of the demiurge (Tim. 41c5, cf. Soph. 265b9). [298] Above all the idea of the Good is dazzling in its power (Rep. 509b9), just like the sun, but in the end the philosopher can see it (517c1). The importance of the role that the divine dynamis plays in Stoic theology is well known, but it is clearly power that is adjusted to its ordering task in material reality, as seen in the various levels at which it operates.59 In many respects the most intriguing text is found in the Ps.Aristotelian De mundo, in which a distinction is made between the supreme god’s οὐσία (being or essence) and his δύναμις (§ 6, 397b19–398a2). God does not act directly on physical reality himself, but effectuates his sovereignty via his power, which is experienced most by what is closest to him, and much less by what is further away. The idea of adaptation is perhaps implicitly present here, but not in such a way that there is threat of an overdose. Everything seems wonderfully well adapted as things are (there is no doctrine of creation). We shall return to this important text later on.60 After Philo we have to make a jump to Neoplatonist authors. For Plotinus the One is an ἄπειρος δύναμις that flows over to the hypostases that proceed 56  On the Logos and the ideas in relation to measurement see texts cited in Runia (1986) 138. The ideas are called εἴδη καὶ μέτρα at Opif. 130. It should also be noted that there is a double use of the term dynamis in § 23. It also indicates the ability to absorb what is inflicted on it by someone or something else. 57  Theiler (1957) 75: ‘Für Platon und Aristoteles steht zweckhafte Gestalt, nicht Kraft in der Vordergrund.’ 58  Also implicit in the chaotic movement of the unformed receptacle which is probably the result of undergoing the dynameis of the ideas; cf. Scheffer (1976) 27, 102 (with reference to Tim. 28a8, 52e2). 59  E. g. Diog. Laert. 7.147, Sext. Emp. Adv. Phys. 1.75, and the fourfold working of δύναμις and πνεῦμα at Philo Leg. 2.22, Deus 35–49 (= SVF 2.458). 60  Where the controversial issues of authorship and dating will be discussed; see below § 6.

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from it.61 The realm of intelligible being too is universal and infinite δύναμις.62 In more general terms Proclus posits (El. theol. 150) that ‘any processive term in the divine orders is incapable of receiving all the potencies of its producer …; the prior principles possess certain powers which transcend their inferiors and are incomprehensible to those that follow them’.63 An important parallel text in the Allegorical Commentary, Deus 77–81, shows that Philo has above all two analogies or images in mind when he explores the theme of the adjustment or measurement of divine power, the mixing of wine with water (with a subtle exegesis of Ps. 74:9) and the tempering of light through the atmosphere (with reference to Plato’s theory of vision in Tim. 45). In both cases dilution and diminution allow the force of the respective power to be withstood. And, as we shall see directly, such tempering occurs not only in the context of creation, as in the text above, but it [299] is no less required in anthropological and epistemological contexts, when humankind goes in quest of knowledge of the First cause.64 (e)  Existence and Essence In the passage Opif. 7–25 the theme of knowledge is touched on only tangentially and indirectly, though it is certainly present. This alters in a later treatise of the Exposition when Philo gives an exposition of the first commandment. Strictly speaking the subject is God’s sovereignty (Spec. 1.12), but Philo allows himself a digression on how knowledge of God is to be gained (§ 32–50), for knowledge of Him-who-IS is considered to be the goal of well-being (εὐδαιμονία, § 345, the final words of the treatise). Philo starts off rather coyly. The ‘father and leader of all’ is hard to guess at (δυστόπαστος) and hard to comprehend (δυσκατάληπτος) (§ 32). This statement cannot but remind the attentive reader of Plato’s famous statement about the demiurge at Tim. 28c4.65 Then a distinction is made between knowledge of God’s existence (ὕπαρξις answering the question εἰ ἔστι ὁ θεός) and knowledge of God’s being or essence (οὐσία answering the question τί ἐστι ὁ θεὸς κατὰ τὴν οὐσίαν). The first question is easy to solve via natural theology. The second is not only difficult (χαλεπόν) but perhaps impossible (ἀδύνατον, § 32). Such is in fact the case, for it was not even granted to the great Moses when he explicitly implored God to give him an answer on the mountain (Exod 33, cf. § 41–50). Characteristically Philo does not explain exactly what he understands by οὐσία 61 

Enn. VI 9.5.36 and 6.10. Enn. V 8.9.23–38; cf. Proclus El. theol. 84–86. 63  Translation Dodds (modified). This text is appositely cited by Winston–Dillon (1983) 317 in a comment on Deus 78. 64  Parallel texts involving measurement and adjustment are found at Somn. 1.143, Virt. 203. 65  Cf. Früchtel (1968) 156; Runia (1986) 112. 62 



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here, but we may confidently take him to mean God (who is Being par excellence) as he really is, i. e. as he is known to himself. This knowledge is inaccessible to humankind. It is apparent that the two questions that Philo concentrates on in this and other similar passages66 are indirectly related to the doxographical passages which we discussed at the outset. The diaeresis between sceptics and positive theologians runs parallel to the [300] procedure of first asking whether God exists, and in the case of a positive answer, then posing the question of his nature. In at least four well-known Ciceronian texts a kind of short cut is taken. The first question scarcely needs to be posed. ND 1.65: concedo [Cotta] esse deos; doce me igitur unde sint, ubi sint, quales sint corpore animo vita. (I concede that the gods exist; teach me, then, where they come from, where they are, of what nature they are in body, mind and way of life.) ND 2.3: omnino dividunt nostri [Stoici] totam istam de dis inmortalibus quaestionem in partes quattuor; primum docent esse deos, deinde quales sint … (In general terms our school divides the entire topic of the immortal gods in four parts; first they teach that the gods exist, then what their nature is …) ND 2.12–13: itaque inter omnes omnium gentium summa constat; omnibus enim innatum est et in animo quasi insculptum esse deos. quales sint varium est, esse nemo negat. (And so among all the people of all nations there is agreement on the chief issue; for in all people there is an innate conviction and it is as it were engraved on their minds that the gods exist. As their nature there is disagreement, but no one denies their existence.) Tusc. Disp. 1.36: sed ut deos esse natura opinamur quales sint ratione cognoscimus, sic … (But just as it is by nature that we believe that the gods exist and by reason that we know what their nature is, so …)

The details on how Cicero and his sources think that knowledge of God is obtained does not concern us here. What is important is the similarities to and differences from Philo. As in Philo, the question of God’s existence is primary and obtains virtually universal consent. The question of God’s nature (not essence) comes second, and in no case does Cicero express doubt on the possibility of gaining that knowledge. In many cases there is a variety of views on the subject. This is grist for the sceptics’ mill, of course, but of a quite different order to Philo’s denial that God’s ousia and its metaphysical underpinnings can be known. Why is clear knowledge – we note that the characteristic terms of hellenistic epistemology are prominent: ἐναργὴς φαντασία § 40, κατάληψις § 44 – of God’s essence inaccessible to humankind? It is striking that the words placed in God’s 66  Cf. esp. Leg. 3.97–100, Post. 13, 168, Praem. 40–46, and see the list at Theiler (1964) 395– 396. Festugière (1954) 6–17 gives an analysis of the distinction between existence and essence and concludes that it is a ‘thème philosophique banal.’ I disagree. Given the central importance of the distinction in later philosophy the thesis is a priori unlikely; cf. Aertsen (1988) 20–33.

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mouth in order to explain this rather precisely echo the theme of measured appropriation in Opif. 23: I graciously bestow what is appropriate to the recipient. For not all that I can easily give is within the power of human beings to receive. For this reason I extend to him who is worthy of grace all the gifts that he is able to receive. But comprehension of me is not such that the nature of human beings [301] or even the entire heaven and cosmos will be able to contain (χωρῆσαι). Know yourself, then … (Spec. 1.43–44).’67

The problem is that full knowledge of who God is cannot be received by the powers of human intellect. It would be overwhelmed, as happens to those highflyers who ascend to the heavens and find their eyesight darkened by the brightness of the celestial light (§ 37).68 Human beings thus have to know themselves.69 This means: know that they are different to God, that God and humans are on different sides of the basic division of reality set out in Opif. 8. The epistemological assumption is that like is known to like. But God and human beings are unlike. God acts and bestows, humans receive and react. In the case of their creation too, God’s power had to be measured out. Philo adapts both basic anthropological texts in the creation account to this purpose. For example in Virt. 203, Gen 2:7 is made to say that ‘God inbreathed as much of his own power as mortal nature was able to receive.’ Alluding to Gen 1:26–27 he states that ‘the invisible deity’ stamped on the invisible soul its own markings (τύποι), so that not even the earthly region should be deprived of an image of God (Det. 86), achieved through the mediation of the Logos, according to whose image the human being has been created.70 But Philo takes two further steps in our passage. Not only God himself, but also his powers are unknowable in their essence (ἀκατάληπτοι κατὰ τὴν οὐσίαν, Spec. 1.46). This might seem surprising. If the Logos and the powers represent ‘the face of God turned towards creation’,71 why should they too remain beyond human reach. The answer emerges clearly from a parallel passage on mixture at Deus 77. God’s powers are unmixed with respect to himself, but have to be tempered, so that created mortal nature can accommodate them. [302] Because 67  Here too there are many parallel texts: e. g. Post. 143; Deus 80; Her. 33; Mut. 218, 231; Abr. 203; Praem. 39 etc. Note also that the term χωρῆσαι is exactly the same as in Opif. 23. 68  The use of the term μαρμαρυγαί for blinding light is taken from Plato Rep. 515c9, 518a8. Clearly those texts have suggested an interpretation of the images of the sun and the cave in terms of the unknowability of the Good equated with the highest Deity. This is not to say that that was Plato’s own intention. Obviously the viewer is overwhelmed, but in the end the Good can be seen, if with difficulty (μόγις ὁρᾶσθαι, 517c1). See further below n. 93. 69  On the extensive appropriation of the Delphic oracle in Philo see Courcelle (1974–1975) 1.39–47. 70 On Philo’s anthropology and the relation between God and human beings see my analysis in Runia (1988b), and also Sellin (1992), who, however, in my view goes too far in allowing the human nous to become the Logos of God, cf. esp. 32). 71  The lovely formulation of Winston (1985) 50; cf. also Runia (1995d).



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of the need for this tempering they too cannot be contemplated in the fulness of their power. But Philo adds a complication by equating the divine powers to the ideas (§ 47–48), which acting in the manner of seals, bring form to created reality.72 The consequence that the ideas too are unknowable in their essence undermines the philosophical coherence of the concept of the intelligible world as object of contemplation, for being the object of knowledge is the very raison d’être of the ideal world. We must suspect that, as the comparison with our inadequate knowledge of the nature of the heavenly bodies in § 39 suggests, Philo is giving in to a sceptical strain in his thought which here appears also to be applied to the intelligible realm.73 It thus cuts across the Platonist division between intelligible and sense-perceptible things. Philo wishes to emphasize, we may surmise, that there are limits to the extent that a human being can peer into the mind of God in his creative labour. ( f )  A Superior Path to Knowledge Finally a few brief words on a later passage in the Exposition, in which Jacob receives as reward for his goodness the name Israel, which Philo (dubiously) takes to mean ‘he who sees God’ (Praem. 36–46). Philo sets out here a superior path to ‘clear comprehension of God’s existence’ (§ 45). The knowledge that God exists is not inferred from the effects of his activity in physical reality, but is gained ‘through himself alone.’ Philo gives a few analogies to suggest how this might occur (especially by means of light), but does not make exactly clear how this knowledge is gained. David Winston has suggested that it takes place through an ‘inner intuitive illumination constituting a rational process of the analytical type’.74 We cannot pursue this question further now. What I want to draw attention to is that Philo in § 41–44 sets out a diaeresis on the question of knowledge of God which is in fact an elaboration of the standard division [303] which we discussed earlier in § 1. The atheists and agnostics come first, then those who accept God’s existence out of habit rather than as the result of thought. Fourth are those who advance from the cosmos to God, and fifth those who follow the higher path outlined above. But even this last highly privileged category does not advance beyond knowledge of God’s existence, namely ὅτι ἔστιν (§ 44). The question of God’s essential nature (οἷός ἐστιν ὁ θεός) remains 72  Bormann (1955) 38 criticizes Philo for separating the Forms from the thoughts of God. I think the argument can be rescued if it is borne in mind that the ideas are the formal aspect and the powers the dynamic aspect of God’s working. The ideas can be compared to seals because they do not change. They do not in fact enter into matter and become immanent. 73  See esp. Nikiprowetzky (1977) 183–192. Philo’s position should be reexamined in the light of Opsomer’s research into the continuation of the Academic tradition in Middle Platonism; see (1998). [Research on Philo’s scepticism has been continued by Carlos Lévy in a series of articles; see esp. (2008), (2016).] 74  Winston (1981) 28, comparing it with the later ontological proofs for God’s existence.

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out of reach (ibid.). A little earlier Philo had used the familiar image of bedazzling light and he repeats the theme that we already observed earlier in Opif. 23 and Spec. 1.44: God in his goodness grants to humankind, in this case Israel, what it is possible for created and mortal nature to receive and contain. The key term again is χωρῆσαι, indicating what it is possible to accommodate and absorb without suffering an overdose.

5.  Provisional Conclusion We have seen that Philo, in presenting the theme of human knowledge of God, takes his cue from the standard questions of Hellenistic theology as formulated in the diaereses preserved in doxographical texts. In Hellenistic theology this led to positive or negative theology in a direct sense, positive when God’s existence was affirmed and statements were made about his nature, negative when God’s existence was denied or doubts were cast on it (in which case his nature was hors de question). In Philo this confident and direct theology has undergone alteration. Philo is both positive about the question of God’s existence (only a fool or a wicked person would wish to deny it) and negative about the possibility that knowledge can be gained of his true nature. This alteration, I  submit, is symptomatic of the end of Hellenistic theology. In the analysis of key Philonic texts the philosophical reasons behind Philo’s altered approach emerged. Between God the creator as active cause and material reality as recipient there is an ontological divide. Creatorship does not exhaust the fulness of the divine Being. God is remote (the distant king in the image), but at the same time committed to the world through his Logos. Because of the overwhelming superiority of his Powers, God’s beneficence has to be tempered in accordance with the capacity of the recipient. This also applies to the area of human knowledge. It is not possible for human beings to [304] see God as he really is. He is incomprehensible (ἀκατάληπτος), unnameable (ἀκατονόμαστος), unspeakable (ἄρρητος). This is negative theology in the sense that it is affirmed that God transcends human knowledge, denomination and description.75 If humans should nevertheless make the search and the object of their quest were granted, they would collapse from an overdose of Being, for their nature is unable to receive and contain its full force. This is the philosophical basis of what may be called Philo’s mystical theology, which centres not on union with or direct apprehension of God, but on the unending quest to reach him.76 75  Philo’s negative theology is not systematically developed, but it is certainly more than a method of getting rid of standard anthropomorphisms, as suggested by Mortley (1986) 155. An definitive account is still a desideratum, in spite of the study of Montes-Peral (1987). On Philo’s doctrine of God’s unnameability see Runia (1988a). 76  Philo shows clear mystical tendencies, but I hesitate to describe him as a mystic in the



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It will be apparent that in the previous two paragraphs the notion of negative theology is used in two quite different ways. In the case of Hellenistic theology, negative theology involves resolute denial. In the case of Philo it does not mean that God’s existence is denied, but that its essential nature can be cognitively attained. The difference between the two is crucial to my argument.

6.  Some Parallel Views Before I reach some conclusions on Philo’s value as a witness for the history of philosophical theology, I should perhaps elucidate what I take its scope to be. By ‘the end of Hellenistic theology’ I do not mean to say that Philo’s evidence marks off the end of an epoch. That is far from being the case. As we already seen77 and will soon see again, Hellenistic theology continues well after Philo’s lifetime. All I  wish to argue is that the intimations of its demise are visible in Philo, and that for this reason he is an interesting witness in the history of ideas. Very briefly in this section I shall illustrate my thesis with some parallels in other document prior and posterior to Philo. It goes without saying that these cannot be presented in any detail. I can only sketch some details that might encourage a more comprehensive examination. [305] The document of Hellenistic theology that is the most important test-case for our thesis, in my view, is the Ps.Aristotelian De mundo already mentioned above in connection with the Philonic doctrine of the powers. Both authorship and dating have given rise to much controversy.78 My own position is that it is certainly inauthentic, but may well be earlier than generally thought, perhaps as early as 200 BCE.79 Both questions are not vital to my thesis. I would argue that this work, despite the similarities to Philo mentioned earlier,80 remains an example of Hellenistic theology. The author wishes to theologize (θεολογῶμεν, full sense, as Winston (1985) 43–55 is inclined to do (though hedging his bets on whether he records personal experience). Philo’s approach is taken further by Gregory of Nyssa. 77  In the examples of Aëtius and Sextus Empiricus discussed in section 1. 78  Until quite recently there was a general consensus that the work was pseudonymous, but this has in recent years been untiringly contested by G. Reale and A. P. Bos; see now their collaborative work (1995). [The latest collaborative work on the treatise continues to regard it as pseudonymous; see Thom (2014).] 79  Arguments for this view can be derived from linguistic evidence (cf. Schenkeveld [1991]) and certain resemblances to Theophrastean theology and cosmology. 80  See above section 4(d). Long ago Bernays (1885) suggested that the Alexander to which the work is addressed was Philo’s nephew, and Pohlenz (1940) 480 also showed some sympathy for the view that its Sitz im Leben was Hellenistic Judaism. It cannot be doubted that there are some affinities between this work and Philo’s doctrine of the powers (and its antecedents in Hellenistic-Judaism); see the monograph of Radice (1994a) and the critique of Winston (1996). It do not think it can be proven that Philo knew the work, but it is not unlikely. See also Riedweg (1993) 90 and n. 272, who emphasizes the parallelism with Aristobulus.

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391b4) in presenting his survey of the cosmos. As David Furley has pointed out, following the lead of Festugière, this is very typical of his approach.81 He is not attempting to give a scientific account of the universe, but works his way towards an explanation of its features in theological terms. The author recognizes his limitations. His theologizing is qualified with the words καθ᾿ ὄσον ἐφικτόν (to the extent attainable, i. e. for a human person). But we should look first and foremost at how he speaks about the highest god. There can be doubt that he places a strong emphasis on his transcendence. He is established on the the loftiest crest and is invisible, just like the Great King of Persia. Nevertheless I would argue that there is not a trace of epistemological doubt in speaking about his nature. The distinction between God’s power and his being or essence in chapter 6 (397b19) is in no way connected with epistemological doubts or limitations (and thus despite superficial resemblances is quite different to Philo’s distinction between existence and essence). The kingship of the supreme god is much more directly focussed on the cosmos than is the case in Philo.82 The final chapter too supports [306] our reading. A long list of names for God is given in the best tradition of Hellenistic theology (compare the lists in the Stoic doxography at Diog. Laert. VII 136, 147). To be sure, these describe his effects (401a13), but it is nowhere implied, let alone stated, that he is nameless in his essence. Even if the work were to be given a very late date, i. e. contemporary or later than Philo,83 I would still argue that it is a representative of Hellenistic theology. Most Hellenistic theology, of course, is convinced that divinity in its various forms is material and immanently present in the cosmos (or, in the case of the Epicureans between the cosmoi). The conviction that divinity can be known in its essential nature continues to be held during the Imperial period by later thinkers belonging to the haireseis which are a continuation of the Hellenistic schools. For example, in a diatribe on the Good, the Stoic Epictetus asks (II 8.1): ‘what is the true nature (οὐσία) of God. It is not flesh or land or reputation, but mind, knowledge right reason.’ This is not a profound text, but its matter-of-fact approach is indicative. A particularly interesting case is Seneca, the Roman contemporary of Philo. In most respects Seneca remains attached to a relatively orthodox Stoicism. The incursion of platonist ideas in his writings has been much exaggerated.84 There is, however, an interesting text that we might be taken to 81 

Furley (1955) 334. this reason Festugière was quite right to discuss this work under the sub-title ‘Le Dieu cosmique’; cf. (1949) 460–518. The decision to place Philo in the same volume is less happy (520–585). Partly the account actually falls under the theme of the later volume (1954), ‘Le Dieu inconnu et la gnose.’ Festugière’s interpretation of Philo has been harshly criticized; see Nikiprowetzky (1977) 7, 237. 83  A very late date argued for by Donini (1982) 215, who assumes Platonist influence. Cf. also Mansfeld (1992b) 399, who argues (n. 61), that the reference to Plato in the final lines is reminiscent of late Hellenistic philo-Platonist tendencies. 84  For example by Donini (1979), who speaks ‘l’eclettismo impossibile,’ and to a lesser 82  For



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illustrate our thesis. In diverse passages of his Naturales Quaestiones Seneca appears to breathe the optimism of Stoic theology. For example, in the Preface to Book I we read that he is grateful to nature when he has penetrated its mysteries and learns what the materia of the universe is, who its originator and custodian is, what God is, and so on (Praef. 3). Having contemplated the heavens, the human mind begins to know God. What is God? The mind of the universe, all that you see and do not see, entirely reason (§ 13–14). There is, however, at least one passage that is rather more pessimistic. Book VII deals with the subject of comets. The knowledge we can gain of these is more obscure than the case of the five planets (§ 25). [307] Seneca answers that there are many things which we concede to exist, but of whose nature we are ignorant (the same distinction the doxographers and Philo make). The example he gives is the nature of the human mind, a much used doxographical and sceptical example.85 In the case of God it must be conceded that he can be seen by thought only (§ 30.3). Many things related to him are obscure. Seneca then goes a step further (§ 30.4): quid sit hoc sine quo nihil est scire non possumus, et miramur si quos igniculos parum novimus, cum maxima pars mundi, deus, lateat! (What this [highest divinity] is, without which nothing exists, we cannot know, and we are surprised if we have too little knowledge of little bits of fire [i. e. comets], when the greatest part of the cosmos, God, remains hidden.)

As so often, the precise import of the passage is a bit elusive. As the following words reveal, Seneca does believe in the progress of knowledge. Much will be revealed, if we focus our attention on philosophy. But will such progress reveal all? The final words of the Book are not so hopeful.86 The truth lies hidden at a great depth. A fortiori this applies to the case of the highest god. The point made here is perhaps not merely rhetorical.87 For a third document I  turn to the text-book of Middle Platonism par excellence, the Didaskalikos of Alcinous. Much has been written on the extent to which negative theology is present in this work. How close is this Platonist to what we found earlier in Philo? The crucial passages are found in Chapter 10. It begins with an adaptation of Tim. 28c in which God as principle is said to be ‘all but ineffable’ (§ 10.1). As John Dillon remarks,88 this must not be taken as extent Gersh (1986) 155–180 (who concentrates mainly on the two platonist letters). I  am indebted on the subject of Seneca’s theology to an excellent honours thesis prepared by my student ms. F. Limburg. 85  Cf. Philo Somn. 1.30–32 and the exhaustive analysis of this theme in Mansfeld (1990); this particular passage is discussed on p. 3140. 86  Although this passage comes at the end of the entire work, as published in most editions and translations until recently, the original order was probably different. See Hine (1996), Inwood (2002). As F. Limburg has pointed out to me, in the new order the pessimistic Book VII is followed by the optimistic preface to Book I! 87  But see further the discussion of the passage in Inwood (2002) 143–147. 88  Dillon (1993) 101.

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saying that God is ‘ineffable tout court.’ But what then is the relation between the positive statements that are made in § 10.2–3 and the negative theology in § 10.4. Dillon interprets as follows:89 ‘To this extent, none of the previous epithets constitutes a definition of God’s [308]nature; they are simply labels, indicating at the most his powers, or his relations with the world, but otherwise just serving to ‘name’ or identify him ….’ Such an interpretation brings Alcinous in striking proximity to Philo, but it may not be correct. Pierluigi Donini had earlier drawn attention to the fact that Alcinous explicitly states that God is ineffable (ἄρρητος) and graspable by the intellect only (νῷ μόνῳ ληπτός).90 The three ways of gaining knowledge all lead to an intuitive knowledge (νόησις) of God’s being, which, however, cannot be articulated in human language. Moreover, a number of the epithets applied to God are not causal in nature and so do not denote his relations with the world. Here we thus have positive and negative theology, similar to what we found in Philo, but not quite the same. Alcinous is more optimistic: the intellect can gain an intuition of what God is, and apparently is not overwhelmed. But he is still, I would argue, far removed from the confidence and directness of Hellenistic theology. Alcinous does not reveal the anthropological basis of this high intuition. Later in the treatise, when discussing the Platonist goal of ‘assimilation to God,’ he states that God must be taken to refer to the god in the heavens, not the god beyond them (§ 28.3). The first god is remote, as in Philo, but not quite as unattainable.

7.  Philo, Witness or Innovator? The argument in this essay has been that Philonic texts present us with evidence pointing to the end of Hellenistic theology. The confidence of Hellenistic philosophers that, if we know that the gods exist, it is also possible to describe their nature and give them their rightful place in a philosophical system becomes undermined by the conviction that God (or the highest god) to which we aspire in our search for knowledge of the ultimate principle is beyond easy access, possessing an essence of being that cannot be fully expressed in language and may well be beyond human knowledge. This conclusion is based primarily on Philonic texts. Earlier in this essay (§ 3) it was argued that Philo is a difficult source to use. He is a vital witness for developments in the history of philosophy that took place in his vicinity, but at the same time he himself is not a Greek philosopher in the usual sense. What does this mean for the value of [309] our conclusion in historical terms. The dilemma can be simply stated: is Philo a witness or an innovator? 89  90 

Ibid. 107–108. Donini (1988), esp. 118–121.



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It may be argued that the basic philosophical position that Philo reads into the Mosaic text is Platonist (though not Platonic).91 There are good grounds for thinking that in the generation before Philo a Pythagorean/Platonist revival got underway, associated especially with the figure of Eudorus of Alexandria.92 Philo, therefore, is a witness to current developments. Although we have no explicit testimony to negative theology in the case of Eudorus, it might be presumed as a consequence of the postulation of a supreme god (ὁ ὑπεράνω θεός) beyond the Monad and the Dyad (cf. perhaps Philo Praem. 40).93 But is there any hard evidence? Festugière rightly pointed to the fact that in the little doxography at Somn. 1.184 cited above (§ 2) the position that God is transcendent and defies human comprehension is attributed to anonymous thinkers, presumably adepts of Greek philosophy comparable to the Stoics and Epicureans alluded to for the opposite opinion.94 Of course we cannot be sure that the last consecutive clause was not added by Philo himself. Another clue might be found in the fact that Philo at Spec. 1.32 (discussed above in § 4[e]) makes a clear allusion to Tim. 28c, which, as we know, was a decisive prooftext in the entire discussion about the nature and knowability of God.95 But Philo does not refer to other thinkers here, and so could have made the connection between Moses and Plato himself. Long ago Henry Chadwick pointed out that this text appears to be interpreted in terms of negative theology in Cicero ND 1.30:96 Iam de Platonis inconstantia longum est dicere, qui in Timaeo patrem huius mundi nominari neget posse, in Legum autem libris quid sit omnino deus anquiri oportere non censeat. [310] (At this point one can speak at length about Platon’s inconsistency. In the Timaeus he says that the father of this world cannot be named, but in the books of the Laws he does not think one should inquire about God’s nature at all.)

This is more than half a century before Philo. But to my mind the passage must be considered suspect. The Epicurean spokesman is trying to convict Plato of contradictory statements. It is more likely that he is giving tendentious inter-

91  There is no true negative theology in the Platonist sense in Plato, though it can easily be read into his writings. This even applies to the images of the sun and the cave in the Republic. The person who leaves the cave is able to study the sun and contemplate its nature (οἷός ἐστιν). On the Good, often identified later with Plato’s highest god (e. g. in Aëtius, cited above in section 1) as not beyond being, see the conclusive arguments of Baltes (1997). 92  Cf. Theiler (1965), (1971), Dillon (1996) 115–135. 93  Dillon (1996) 127–128; Tobin (1983) 14–15. 94  In his appendix to (1954) 307, in response to Wolfson’s claim that Philo was the originator of the doctrine of the unknowability of God. 95  See Runia (1986) 111. 96  Chadwick (1948); cf. nn. 94 and 98.

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pretations of two Platonic texts than that he is recording views held by contemporary Platonists.97 On the other hand there is the view of Wolfson – which has found little favour among scholars  – that the doctrine of the unknowability of God was derived by Philo from the Bible and through his influence passed into later Greek philosophy.98 In support of this position it may be noted that negative theology in its strongest form, i. e. statements unequivocally affirming the unknowability of God, are rare in the period before Plotinus. They are in fact largely confined to Christian and Gnostic authors.99 The first clear case in Greek philosophy that I  know of is found in Numenius.100 It would indeed be difficult to deny that biblical theology exerted influence on Philo’s thought in this area. The text of Exodus 33, which forms the basis for the negative theology of Spec. 1.32–50 and other passages, is no doubt one of the strongest texts. The fact that a human being cannot see God’s face and remain alive (v. 20) can be taken to entail the unknowability of God’s true being. When this is combined with the depiction of God’s splendour (δόξα, kavod in the Rabbinic tradition) which Moses can only see from the rear, it strongly suggests the conception of divine power that must be accommodated in order to be received by humankind. We might compare a contemporary document from Hellenistic Judaism, a fragment from the (Jewish) Sibylline Oracles:101 God is one, who alone rules, immense, uncreated, Almighty invisible, alone himself seeing all, Himself yet not viewed by any mortal flesh. For what flesh can see with eyes the heavenly And true immortal God, who dwells in heaven? Not even against the sun’s rays Can men stand, born to be mortal, Men who dwell in bones and are veins and flesh. [311]

But what strikes us with full force here is precisely the philosophical naiveté of the passage. It requires a philosophical mind to convert the topos of divine invis97  The allusion to the Laws is made to say the exact opposite to what Plato intended; cf. 821a and the comments of Pease ad loc. 98  Wolfson (1947) 2.110–126. We may also compare the earlier conclusion of Theiler (1930) 142 that the denial of the possibility of knowledge of God was ‘selbstverständlich eigentümlich philonisch.’ But Theiler want to dissociate Philo from the Greek philosophical tradition, not have him play a decisive role in its development. 99  The evidence is collected in Lilla (1971) 212–226, but the analysis is unsatisfactory, since it fails to discriminate between Platonic texts and their reception. 100  Fr. 17 Des Places: τὸν πρῶτον νοῦν … παντάπασιν ἀγνούμενον (the first Nous is completely unknown). I pass over the famous passage attributed to Moderatus in which the One is beyond being and essence because the negative theology is not explicit; cf. Dodds (1928), Dillon (1996) 347. 101  Text in Theophilus Ad Aut. 2.36; see Grant (1970) 88, whose translation I quote. Cited by Winston and Dillon (1983) 317 ad Deus 78.



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ibility into negative theology.102 Philo was fully capable of this and in the context of Jewish thought he may well have been an innovator.103 Philo converts the motif of divine majesty and power into a doctrine in which the passive recipient (whether cosmic or human) will collapse if it tries to contain or receive a higher metaphysical power which has not been properly adjusted and measured out. As we saw above,104 this doctrine appears to anticipates the notion of dynamis in later Platonism, where a not entirely dissimilar amalgam of philosophical and religious conceptions is encountered. What is distinctive in Philo’s presentation, as far as I can tell, is the counterfactual threat of collapse. This may well have a Jewish background. The difficulty, as always, is that there is no direct unequivocal evidence that Philo’s work entered the mainstream of Greek philosophical discussion. It is true that Numenius may well have been acquainted with his works, but the historical plausibility that the strong doctrine of God’s unknowability entered Greek philosophy exclusively via Philo and Numenius cannot be considered very great.105 I would prefer the following solution to our dilemma. Philo stands at the interface of Hellenistic and later Greek philosophy, looking (from our perspective) both back and forward. He has the status of an outsider. The inspiration that he found in biblical thought made him sensitive to changes that were in the air, e. g. in the case of [312] negative theology. As I have argued elsewhere,106 the texts in which Philo points forward to later developments are the ones that are most interesting.

102  This is my objection to the passages in Xenophon (Mem. 4.13.4) and Ps.Xenophon (ap. Stob. Ecl. 1.15.5 Wachsmuth) to which Festugière (1954) 12–16 attaches so much importance. They are philosophically naive. 103  Though it should not never be forgotten that Philo is working within a kind of scholastic context in Alexandrian Judaism. The text at Josephus C. Ap. 2.167, in which God is stated to be knowable in his power but unknown in his essence, is probably derived from Philo, with whom Josephus was well-acquainted. 104  See above section 4(d). 105  I examined this question in my article, (1991), concentrating on the conception of God as standing in Numenius and Plotinus. 106  In Runia (1999b) and (2000b).

5. Plato’s Timaeus, First Principle(s) and Creation in Philo and Early Christian Thought* The theme of this article is fairly well covered by the title. I wish to examine the role that Plato’s Timaeus and the tradition of its interpretation played in the questions of first principles and the relation between God and creation as these were treated in Philo and early Christian thought. I will be arguing that its influence was strong, and that, although some of these thinkers did manage to emancipate themselves from its dominant influence, they found it by no means easy to do so, especially when philosophical issues were involved. A pleasant aspect of this theme is that it takes me back at least in part to the subject of my first book, Philo of Alexandria and the Timaeus of Plato,1 which dealt quite extensively with the theme of first principles in the context of Philonic thought. There I could not avoid the related and highly contentious issue of whether creation should or should not be understood as taking place ex nihilo. This question will also have to be broached in the present article.

1.  The Background: the Timaeus and the Bible We begin our discussion with a historical paradox. There cannot be the slightest doubt that the Timaeus played a fundamental role in the development of the doctrine of principles in later antiquity. To take one of the best known examples of this application, in the Middle Platonist handbook of Alcinous, the process of creation is described in the following terms (12.1–2):2 [134] Since of natural individual objects of sense-perception there must exist certain definite models, i. e. the forms, … it is necessary that the most beautiful of constructions, the cosmos, should have been fashioned by God (θεός) looking to a form (ἰδέα) of the cosmos, that being the model (παράδειγμα) of this cosmos, which is only copied from it, and it is by assimilation to it that it is fashioned by the Demiurge, who proceeds *  The volume in which the article appeared was dedicated to Prof. Matthias Baltes, who passed away in the year that it was published. It was originally presented to a conference on ‘Plato’s Timaeus as a Cultural Icon,’ held in March 2000 at the University of Notre Dame, South Bend, U. S. A., organized by Gretchen Reydams-Schils, who is warmly thanked for her kind invitation. 1  Runia (1986). 2  Translation Dillon (1993) 20–21 (slightly modified).



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through a most admirable providence … to create the cosmos, because he was good. He created it, then, out of the totality of matter (ὕλη). This, as it moved without order and randomly … he took in hand and brought from disorder into the best order …

We recognize not only the basic scheme of the Timaeus, but also how the author has integrated his three fundamental principles – God, model, matter (indicated in capital letters)  – into the summary. Noteworthy too is how the account uses prepositions (italic type) to indicate the role that is played by the various principles in the explanation of how the cosmos came to be what it is. This use of prepositions goes back to the Timaeus itself. As is well known, it was further developed by Aristotle, and then integrated into a system of so-called prepositional metaphysics which occupies quite a prominent place in Middle Platonist thought.3 At the same time, however, – and this is what I want to draw attention to when I speak of a historical paradox –, in the Timaeus itself Plato very explicitly states that he will not discuss the subject of first principles. At 48c4–d2, just before introducing the receptacle, we read: On the archê or archai or however one thinks of them we should not speak, for no other reason than that it is difficult to make our opinion clear along the present line of discussion.

This position is repeated at 53d4–7 when the elementary triangles first appear. Since the dialogue is a late one, it seems to me likely that these passages refer to the doctrine of the two ultimate principles, the One and the unlimited Dyad, from which the whole of reality is further derived. Plato declines to discuss the doctrine because Timaeus’ monologue is a cosmological account which remains on the level of an eikôs mythos. A  little anachronistically we might say that the doctrine of principles is a matter for metaphysics and not cosmology. This stricture is of course ignored by Alcinous and many other interpreters who did use the Timaeus in order to develop a clear and convenient doctrine of the ultimate principles of physical reality. We need to know just a little more about this background before we can proceed. At this point good use can be made of valuable research carried out recently by the German scholar Matthias Baltes. Baltes has made a thorough examination of all the schemes of first principles that are to be found in the Platonist tradition, whether espoused by Platonists themselves or attributed to Plato by other schools. His results can be set out as follows. By dividing them into two groups for the purpose of this article, I am systematizing them just a little differently than he did in his account.4 [135] 3  See the good surveys of the material and scholarly literature in Baltes (1996a) Baustein 110.0; Sterling (1997). 4  Baltes (1996a) Bausteine 111–122, where all the most important texts can be found.

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A. Group One = based on Plato’s Timaeus A1 Three principles A: God–model–matter (Varro/Antiochus, Aëtius, Alcinous) A2 Three principles B: God–evil soul–matter (Plutarch) A3 Four principles: substrate–form/instrument–mover–end (Aristotle, Philo, Plutarch) A4 Five principles: matter–maker–model–immanent form–end (Seneca Ep. 65 on Plato) A5 Six principles: matter–maker–model–immanent form–instrument–end (Porphyry) A6 Two principles A: God–matter (Theophrastus on Plato, Diogenes Laertius doxography) A7 Two principles B: Divine soul–irrational soul (Plutarch) B. Group Two = not based on Plato’s Timaeus B1 Two principles: One–unlimited dyad (Aristotle on Plato, Plutarch) B2 Single principle: the One (Eudorus, Moderatus) The various schemes are divided into two groups, the former of which contains those which are influenced by Timaeus. We begin with the standard scheme of three principles which we already saw set out in Alcinous above. An example of this scheme is found as early as the 1st century BCE (Varro). But there are plenty of alternatives. In Plutarch we find a different set of three, in other texts schemes with more principles, reaching a maximum of six. But there are also schemes which simplify matters and reduce the number of principles to two. This goes back at least to Theophrastus, who in a fragment preserved by Simplicius gives a paraphrase of Timaeus in these terms.5 The second group is not directly influenced by the Timaeus. Here scheme of the two ultimate principles One and unlimited Dyad is dominant. In the case of the Neopythagoreans Eudorus and Moderatus we have a monistic interpretation of Platonic philosophy. The division into two principles, the Monad and its opposite is a deuteros logos, and occurs at the level below the highest level, at which there is only the One.6 At this point I do not want to enter into more detail on the question of first principles. Naturally these schemes give rise to all manner of questions, both in general and of a more detailed kind. We will be returning to these various doctrines of first principles as we proceed. But at this point we should pose one general question. Why did the Timaeus play such an important role in the formulation of these doctrines of first principles, despite Plato’s own warning? The 5  Theophrastus at Simplicius In Arist. Phys. 26.7–13 Diels = fr. 230 Fortenbaugh–Huby– Sharples–Gutas. 6  Eudorus fr. 3–5 Mazzarelli = Simpl. In Arist. Phys. 181.7–30 Diels, translated and commented on at Baltes (1996a) Baustein 122.1. Although Eudorus is reporting the doctrine of Pythagoras, there are no grounds for thinking it is not his own view.

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reason seems to me fairly obvious. The philosophical tendency of this doctrine still seems fundamentally cosmological, that is to say it starts with the world of experiential reality and tries to determine which ultimate factors are required to explain why it is as it is. The influence of Hellenistic philosophy (and not just the Stoa) is still rather strong. It will take some time before intellectual fashions change and this approach is superseded. [136] But before we proceed any further we should emphasize that our subject today is not Greek philosophy, but Philo and the early Church fathers, so it would be very wrong to look at the Timaeus only. There is a second archetypal book that needs to be taken into account, a much more polymorph collection than than the Timaeus or even the Platonic corpus. For Philo and the Church fathers the Bible is authoritative and inspired, and it needs to be interpreted in a neverending labour of exegesis. Of fundamental importance is the account of creation at the beginning of the Bible, and especially its opening words, Gen 1:1–2a: ‘In the beginning God made the heaven and the earth. But the earth was invisible and unstructured.’ I have deliberatly quoted these verses in the version of the Septuagint, the authoritative text of scripture for all the thinkers we are dealing with. As Augustine demonstrated so memorably in Book XII of the Confessions, these verses are polyvalent, i. e. they can be interpreted in various ways. In fact one could go a step further and claim that these verses do not in themselves spell out a clear doctrine of creation at all. On this issue we encounter a fascinating divide between biblical scholars and systematic theologians. The former invariably point out that the Hebrew bible on many occasions, and doubtless also in the Genesis account, appears to assume that in the act of creation God confronted and structured a primeval chaos, the origin of which is quite unexplained, and that the New Testament does not correct or systematize this presentation in any clear way.7 Systematic theologians in the Christian tradition and their equivalent in Judaism, on the other hand, equally invariably assume that there is such as thing as biblical thought as a totality (i. e. not just a sum total of all ideas scattered throughout the different biblical books), and that for the question of creation that thought is best expressed through the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, even if the doctrine is not explicitly found in the Bible itself.8 I myself am not willing to abandon the idea that one doctrine may correspond better to the thought of the Bible taken as a canonical whole than another. But at the same time it has to be recognized that such a doctrine is a systematic construction, not already present in the form of biblical proof-texts that put the issue beyond all discussion. It may have taken time 7 

See for example the well-known commentary on Genesis of Westermann (1984) 19–47. See for example the penetrating discussion of the issue by the German theologian W. Pannenberg (1959). It is important to note that the author of the most recent monograph on the development of the doctrine of creation ex nihilo issue in early Christian thought assumes this: May (1994) 24. 8 

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for a doctrine to be developed, and it is even possible that one day it might be abandoned again. Having made these preliminary observations it is time for us to turn to our main theme, and especially to the thinkers and texts we will be discussing. This I am going to do this by arranging them in three groups of three.

2.  Philo, Justin, Clement (and Hermogenes) We start with Philo, the first surviving thinker in the Judaeo-Christian tradition who had patently received a solid training in Greek philosophy. In his vast corpus there are many texts on the theme of creation, and quite a few on first principles. The clearest are to be found in his treatise De opificio mundi, [137] specifically devoted to the explanation of the creation account, especially in the first pages. Before he can start giving exegesis, Philo writes, he needs to make a preliminary comment. Some people admire the cosmos too much at the expense of its creator, thinking that it has always been there and did not have an origin. But Moses knows better, because he has been well trained in philosophy and has also received divine inspiration (Opif. 8). He recognized that it is absolutely necessary that in reality there is an activating cause, but also the passive object, and that the activating cause is the absolutely pure and unadulterated mind of the universe, superior to excellence and superior to knowledge and even superior to the good and the beautiful itself. But the passive object, which of itself was without soul and change, was changed and formed and ensouled by the mind, who transformed it into the most perfect piece of work, this cosmos.

We seem to be introduced to two principles, but only one of them is called a cause. The other is wholly passive; its only role is to offer itself up as a kind of substratum for the divine creative act. But its role is not without significance, since we have to assume that it is at least partly on account of its passive role that the cosmos as divine product does not deserve the unqualified admiration that must be reserved for God the creator only. The Timaeus is present in this passage, but less overtly than later in the exegesis of ‘day one’ of creation (§§ 16–35), in which matter is less purely passive and possesses a greater disorder (note esp. §§ 21–22). We are reminded of the texts which posit two fundamental principles in the various schemata analysed by Baltes, and especially the text of Theophrastus already mentioned. There can be no doubt that the Stoic doctrine of two principles has also been influential. In my interpretation I already pointed out that Philo – deliberately it would seem – does not call passive matter a principle or a cause.9 In her discussion of the same text Gretchen Reydams-Schils very pertinently pointed out that Stoics too refused to call the second principle a 9 

Runia (1986) 144.

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cause, as we see very clearly in Seneca’s famous discussion of first principles in Epistulae 65.10 Clearly Philo’s theology plays a role in this issue. Philo emphasizes during the work that God as creator is one and that he alone creates (see § 23; note that God’s Logos does not count as a second creator). But we should also ask whether philosophical considerations also have made a contribution as well. At this point we should note that not everyone interprets Philo’s doctrine of principles in this way. Alternative interpretations have been offered by two American scholars. Strikingly both based their views at least in part on the same work, and both thought that Philo was achieving his reinterpretation by means of a rereading of the Timaeus. But they came to opposite conclusions. H. A. Wolfson examined the contents of ‘day one’ of creation as set out in § 29–32 and concluded that from them it could be deduced that matter was created directly by God, i. e. creatio ex nihilo. He was followed in this view by G. Reale (and more cautiously by R. Sorabji).11 D. Winston, depending on the same passage, says we should read [138] it no less subtly in terms of a creatio aeterna, which means that matter has always existed but is indirectly created by God ab aeterno as by-product of his thinking the forms. In this view he has been followed by G. E. Sterling.12 Winston’s interpretation is opposed to both Wolfson’s and my own, not only because it holds that the cosmos is eternal in a particular sense, but also because it is monistic and derivationist. Historically this interpretation is certainly not impossible. It is in fact rather similar to the doctrine of principles put forward a generation before Philo by Eudorus, who, as we have already seen, argued that there was a single first principle, the One or ‘the transcendent God’ (ὁ ὑπεράνω θεός), from which was derived the secondary principles the Monad and the Unlimited Dyad, as well as matter and all beings.13 There are of course other Philonic texts that can be taken into account. The difficulty is that those which look most promising from the philosophical point of view are found in the so-called philosophical treatises and these have all been imperfectly preserved. I  mention two of these briefly, both from the treatise De Providentia. In 1.20–22 Philo cites the Timaeus in support of his views on providence. The cosmos is created and Plato even seems to contemplate the possibility that it might be destroyed if God did not look after it.14 Citing Plato, Philo states that God and matter are the first causes of the cosmos’ coming into being. This seems to be the same interpretation of the Timaeus in terms of two causes that we saw above. Philo goes on to state – if we understand the Armenian 10 

Reydams-Schils (1999) 154, with a reference to Duhot (1989). (1947) 302–310, Reale (1979), Sorabji (1983) 203–209 (based largely on Prov. 1.6–8). 12  Winston (1981) 10–17, Sterling (1992). [Sterling has returned to the subject and further developed his views in (2017).] 13  See above n. 6. The phrase ὁ ὑπεράνω θεός is found in Philo at Leg. 3.175, Congr. 105. 14  This is derived from Tim. 38b, cited at Prov. 1.20; see further Runia (1986) 219. 11 Wolfson

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properly – that Plato’s principle of matter is derived from the Mosaic creation account which speaks of water, darkness and the abyss being present before the cosmos was created, i. e. in Gen 1:2. We note, however, that he does not state that these represent the material cause for Moses. They are also not said to be directly derived from God. A second text is found in 2.50–51. Here Philo touches on the question of the amount of matter required for creation. In the Timaeus God had used all the available bodily substance, leaving none outside as a danger for the cosmos.15 In this argument Philo goes a step further. God estimates exactly the right amount, because it would be absurd to conclude that human craftsmen can order the right amount for their work whereas God would not be able to do so. Both Reale and Sorabji conclude that Philo must have at least contemplated the idea of creatio ex nihilo here.16 I doubt whether they are right, at least if they mean the doctrine in its full metaphysical and theological rigour. The context is simply too banal. The analogy is the same one that appears in a number of passages on the doctrine of first principles (e. g. Seneca Ep. 65.3). But matter here, it seems to me, is nothing like the passive object in Opif. 8 or the principle as described for example in Alcinous. It is more like the right amount of bronze to pour into the mould, or the logs and bricks needed to build a house or city (cf. the image in Opif. 18) In fact if we look at the wider context (2.45–51) we see that Philo’s procedure here is dialectical, almost in the manner of a Carneades.17 [139] It makes no difference whether the cosmos is uncreated or created, in each case the doctrine of providence is indispensable. In the case of this text (50–51) we are lucky that the Greek original was cited by Eusebius in a little dossier in his Praeparatio Evangelica on the Jewish and biblical doctrine that matter is not uncreated (7.20), to which we will be returning below. It is not difficult to demonstrate how the Armenian translation lightly but irredeemably obscures the line of the philosophical argument.18 In my dissertation I exercised great caution in drawing fundamental conclusions from passages such as this one.19 I still believe that was a wise move. 15 

Tim. 33a (but note that this refers to body, not matter); cf. Philo Opif. 171. Reale (1979) 281, Sorabji (1983) 207. 17  The New Academy is seen by Wendland (1892) as a chief source of arguments in Prov. 18  I give two examples, citing the Greek and Aucher’s Latin (which reflects the Armenian accurately): (1) Eusebius περὶ δὲ τοῦ ποσοῦ τῆς οὐσίας, εἰ δὴ γέγονεν ὄντως, ἐκεῖνο λεκτέον (on the quantity of matter, if the cosmos did indeed come into existence, the following should be said); Armenian De quantitate autem materiae specialiter factae, id profecto dicendum est (but on the quantity of matter which was specially created, this should be said forthwith). (2) Eusebius ὁ δὲ βουλόμενος ἄλλως ὑθλεῖν οὐκ ἂν φθάνοι καὶ τὰ πάντων ἔργα τῶν τεχνιτῶν ἀντία τιθέμενος (He who vainly wishes to talk nonsense will not fail to use as counter example how in all the works of craftsmen …); Armenian qui vero velit aliter nugari, nunquam finem faciet, en cunctorum opera artificum accusabit (he who vainly wishes to talk nonsense will never make an end and will accuse the works of all craftsmen …). 19  See for example my conclusion at Runia (1986) 155. 16 

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Turning now to our earliest Christian author with a philosophical education, the second-century apologist Justin Martyr, we encounter a similar situation to Philo. On the one hand we find statements in which the basic scheme of the Timaeus is assumed. Matter is regarded as an unproblematic given in the process of creation. God creates all things ‘out of unformed matter’ (Apologia 1.10.2), the creator ‘converts matter when in an unformed state and made the cosmos’ (1.59.1–4). The second text reminds us quite strongly of Philo’s text in De providentia. Moses had anticipated Plato in his doctrine of unformed matter. On the other hand, in Dialogus cum Tryphone 5.4–6 Justin presents a somewhat obscure argument which is meant to demonstrate that only God is unbegotten, and if he were not, one would end up with an infinite regress. This can be translated into an argument for a single first principle.20 But how does matter relate to this argument? It can hardly be thought coeternal with God, yet its origin is not explained. There seems no alternative but to conclude with Eric Osborn that ‘the significance of creatio ex nihilo is not seen by Justin’.21 More interesting is a text found in the Stromateis of Clement of Alexandria.22 The context is apologetic, just like in the case of the last Justinian text. Clement’s opponents claim that the philosophers are not dependent on the scriptures, precisely because they postulate more than a single principle, the implication being that the Bible and Christianity do affirm a single principle only. But Clement points out that the second principle of the philosophers hardly deserves to be called such. In fact Plato himself hints that matter is not really a principle by calling it ‘non-being.’ Clement then most interestingly appeals to the very text from Tim. 48c–d which we cited at the outset, obviously interpreting the single archê that it mentions as an option as being what Plato actually thinks. Matter is not really a principle. It is closer to non-being than being. But it is required for the exposition of how God created the cosmos.23 In my dissertation, tucked away in a footnote, I coined the term ‘monarchic dualism’ for the kind of thinking on principles and creation that we have seen in our three authors.24 Gretchen Reydams-Schils was kind enough to pick up this hint and even promoted the term to the main text of her monograph.25 The term wishes to convey that there is an absolute conviction, both religious and philosophical, that God is the sole creator and ruler and first principle of reality, but 20 

On this text see Van Winden (1971) 97. Osborn (1973) 47. On the following pages he argues that Justin can hardly be interpreted as a dualist. 22 Clement Str. 5.89.5–90.1 = Baltes (1996a) Baustein 124.3. 23 Cf. the accusation of Photius Bibliotheca 109 that Clement in his lost Hypotyposeis affirmed the existence of pre-creation matter; see further Lilla (1971) 193–196, May (1994) 147. [On Photius’s critique of Clement and the connections with Philonic thought see now the monograph of Ashwin-Siejkowski (2010).] 24  Runia (1986) 454 n. 264. 25  Reydams-Schils (1999) 155. 21 

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that for giving a philosophical account of created reality something [140] else beside God is required, something that may be called ‘matter’ or ‘passive object’ or ‘non-being,’ but is not a principle or a cause. The first question that we might ask about this is the extent to which the Greek philosophical tradition gave a vital impulse in the development of this position. As we noted above, the Stoa postulate two principles, but only one of these is regarded as a cause. In his extensive survey Baltes could only find a single preneoplatonic text in which doubts are cast on matter having the status of an archê. It is found in John Philoponus and attributes to the Middle Platonist Calvenus Taurus the view that matter should not properly (kuriôs) be called an archê.26 Baltes, because of its unique status, wonders whether it might be a Neoplatonist insertion.27 My inclination is to conclude that Philo’s and Clement’s emphasis on a single principle (in the case of Philo implicit, in that of Clement explicit), is above all indicative of their debt to biblical thinking which asserts the absolute sovereignty of God over his creation. As the formulation itself indicates, ‘monarchic dualism,’ is from the philosophical point of view a precarious, scarcely coherent position. Why, then, did these thinkers not take the further step and dispense with the notion of a preexistent matter that is somehow independent of God altogether? A first answer must lie in the fact that the context of their writing is very often apologetic. They are more interested in pointing out the similarities between Mosaic thought and that of the philosophers than in blowing up the differences. It induces them to look kindly on the basic schema of the Timaeus, and to modify it rather than reject it entirely. Later in the Patristic period this approach would come under strong attack. But this answer is too superficial to really satisfy. The attraction towards Platonism and the polyarchic interpretations of the Timaeus lies deeper. I would not wish to argue that their thought is still fundamentally cosmological, as we postulated for most of the schemes of first principles in Middle Platonism. It is true that the doctrine of creation is very prominent, above all in Philo. But it does not form the starting point, which has to be theological.28 God is to be admired above all, as creator and as more than creator, and certainly not the cosmos (cf. Opif. 7). But the question is how to clarify the difference between the two. The attraction to Platonism is great enough that use is made of the philosophical tools it offers in order to clarify the difference between creator and creature. For this they have been criticized by some scholars.29 But there are also very clear limits as to how far they wish to proceed in this direction. As Gerard May has pointed out, Justin never connects the origin of 26 

Cited at Philoponus Aet. 147.19–21 Rabe = Baltes (1996a) Baustein 124.2. Baltes (1996a) 526. 28  See my discussion in Runia (2002a) = article 4 in this volume. 29  Wolters (1994), Bos (1996) 122–140. 27 

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evil with matter,30 and the same applies to Clement. Philo too in the treatise on creation does not do so, though elsewhere he is less careful.31 These views stand in contrast to the most reckless dualist in early Christianity, Hermogenes, who was so sharply attacked by Tertullian in the treatise that bears his name. According to Tertullian (Adversus Hermogenem 2.1–4) Hermogenes put forward a trilemma: God made the cosmos either out of himself, or out of nothing, or out of something else. The first horn is impossible for various reasons, for example, [141] that the cosmos would have been a part of God himself, but God is without parts. The second horn is impossible, because God only makes things that are very good, which is not the case for the cosmos. Therefore only the third horn is left, which means that the cosmos is made out of something, and that something is pre-existent matter. As Waszink has made quite clear, Hermogenes’ radical interpretation of creation is strongly indebted to interpretations of the Timaeus.32 The example of Hermogenes shows up an ambiguity in the label ‘monarchic dualism.’ Dualism can be taken to mean not only a metaphysical system consisting of two principles, but also involving a fundamental dichotomy between good and evil. This must not be taken to apply to the three thinkers whom we have just discussed.

3.  Tatian, Theophilus, Irenaeus We turn now to a second triad of thinkers, who are this time exclusively Christian: Tatian, Theophilus, Irenaeus. Here the definite turn to a unambiguous doctrine of creatio ex nihilo takes place. But how are the philosophical issues involved tackled? Tatian was a pupil of Justin, but his attitude to pagan learning and philosophy was less accommodating. At the beginning of his Oratio ad Graecos he devotes a brief passage to his understanding of the creation of the cosmos (§ 5). There are three participants in the process: God, the Logos and matter. God was alone in the beginning, but the beginning (according to Gen 1:1 and John 1:1) was the power of the Logos who leaped forth from him. The Logos undertakes the demiurgic work of creating the cosmos out of matter. But where does the matter come from? Tatian seems to be quite explicit (§ 5.7): For the matter is not without a beginning (ἄναρχος) like God is, nor is it through having no beginning equal in power (ἰσοδύναμος) to God, but it is originated (γενετή) and came into being (γεγονυῖα) by no one else, but was cast forth by the demiurge of the universe only (μόνου δὲ ὑπὸ τοῦ πάντων δημιουργοῦ προβεβλημένη). 30 

May (1994) 125. Runia (1986) 455 I  pointed to texts such as Plant. 53, Prov. 2.82, but they are not strong; cf. also Hager (1987) 113–114. 32  Waszink (1955) 131–135; (1956) 9; see now also Greschat (2000) 173–195. 31  At

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Tatian wants to make it quite clear that matter is not a principle next to God, though the terminology is at first sight perhaps a bit confusing because of the intrusion of the biblical texts: only that which is anarchos is truly the archê. There is perhaps an allusion to an argument against two principles, but it is not worked out philosophically. Matter is definitely not an archê, it has come into being. When, however, Tatian tries to explain how that has happened he uses a rather unexpected expression: it has been ‘cast forth’ or ‘projected’ by God the demiurge. In his study May dogmatically asserts that it is inconceivable that Tatian could mean by this a process of emanation from God.33 Certainly the double use of the preposition ‘by’ (ὑπό), which in the system of prepositional metaphysics indicates the efficient cause,34 suggests that God is the source of matter. Nevertheless the choice of verb is odd. Only a few lines earlier (§ 5.5), [142] in illustrating the procession of the Logos, he had used precisely the same verb (προβάλλω) to describe how speech comes forth from himself when he is addressing his audience and he does not become empty. Moreover exactly the related noun προβολή had been used by the Valentinians in their emanationist theory of creation.35 It would seem that Tatian had sound theological instincts, but still has difficulty expressing his doctrine in an adequate way. Why does he not simply say that God ‘made’ or ‘established’ matter? Presumably because matter, like a kind of ‘secondary principle,’ has an origin separate from the act of creation itself. Perhaps its ‘being cast forth’ happened ‘before’ the events of creation, so that it was lying ready in Gen 1:2. We can only speculate. Things become clearer in Theophilus of Antioch. When writing his treatise against Hermogenes (unfortunately lost) he must have thought through the entire problematics of creation, monism and dualism. His views are made plain in a section of the work Ad Autolycum dealing with pagan philosophical theology (2.4.4–9). Plato and his followers profess that God is ungenerated and the father and maker of the universe, but they postulate that matter too is ungenerated beside God,36 making it coeval with him. Clearly Theophilus has the doctrine of two (or perhaps three) ultimate principles in mind. But this would mean that God is not the maker of the universe (i. e. in an absolute sense) and his sovereignty (monarchia) cannot be affirmed. For theological reasons and using impeccable logic, Theophilus thus rejects and demolishes the position of monarchic dualism. This view is theologically unacceptable. But what should then take its place? Theophilus goes on immediately to attack the Timaean conception of creation of the cosmos from a pre-existent matter. Even a human artisan can do that, but God’s power is much greater, even being able to create life (which 33 

May (1994) 150. See above n. 3. 35  As noted by May (1994) 94. 36  Accepting the conjecture of Marcovich (1995) 42: εἶτα ὑποτίθενται ⟨παρὰ⟩ θεὸν καὶ ὑλην ἀγένητον (but the further addition of ⟨ἀγένητον⟩ qualifying θεόν is unnecessary). 34 

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an artist cannot do). God has the power to make what exists out of what did not exist as he wishes and how he wishes. This emphasis on divine power and absolute freedom is the correlate of the dialectical argument against more than one principle. Such freedom cannot be present if anything exists alongside God. Moreover, unlike Tatian apparently, Theophilus has no qualms about saying that God made something ‘out of what does not exist’ (ἐξ οὐκ ὄντων, a quote from 2 Macc. 7:28). A little further on, Theophilus returns to the subject of the origin of matter when expounding the Genesis account (2.10.10):37 These things are what the divine scripture teaches at the outset [i. e. in Gen 1:1–2], indicating that matter was in some way originate, having come into being by God (ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ γεγονυῖαν), from which (ἀφ᾿ ἧς) God made and fashioned the cosmos.

Theophilus uses two different prepositions here, for the creation of matter ‘by’ (ὑπό), as in Tatian, for the creation of the cosmos from that matter ‘from’ (ἀπό). The basic model of demiurgic creation as found in the Timaean model is thus not rejected wholesale, but adapted to a new theological position. The words ‘in some way’ remain puzzling. It is more likely, I believe, that they reflect exegetical concerns rather than that they give expression to reservations of a philosophical nature. [143] When we turn now to Irenaeus, we are dealing with a thinker of a quite different stature, one of the great theologians of the early Church. Irenaeus has often been regarded as a theologian pur sang, and it is true that he does not directly concern himself with overtly philosophical issues. But he does have some acquaintance with school philosophy,38 and, as Eric Osborn has shown in a recent book,39 he is very much preoccupied with the role of reason in the divine economy. This is motivated by his fierce struggle against Gnostic opponents, who in his view demote reason to a secondary level in their bizarre mixture of mythology and theology. At the beginning of Book 2 of his Adversus Haereses Irenaeus very strongly affirms that sovereignty of God against both the Gnostics and Marcion: there is nothing above him or after him, but he is alone Lord and creator (2.1.4). The argument is one of infinite regress and infinite proliferation.40 Once you have another principle or power above him, then God no longer contains all, but you need another God, and so on. As far as I know, Irenaeus does not use this argument in the case of matter as co-principle (but it will be very commonly used in this way from the third century onwards).41 It is not incoherent, he claims to 37 

Adding to the text ἀναφαίνουσα or δηλοῦσα, as conjectured by Marcovich (1995) 54. Cf. Schoedel (1959); Grant (1967) 158–167. 39  Osborn (2001). 40  I owe these terms to Eric Osborn. 41  Cf. Dionysius and Methodius in Eusebius’ dossier at PE 7.19–22. 38 

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attribute the substance of created things to the power and will of God, because God is superior to the human artist: as the Gospel says, ‘what is impossible for humans is possible for God’ (Luke 18:27). God can produce what he needs for his work. There is absolutely no need to claim as the Gnostics do that matter is brought forth from the thought of an errant Aeon (2.10.4). Further questions are in fact otiose, since scripture does not tell us from where or how God brought it forth (2.28.7). In his polemics, however, Irenaeus does have to return to the subject and some of his formulations are rather intriguing. In one text he states that God makes all things freely from himself and the substance of all things is his will (2.30.9). In another text, after citing Gen 1:26 he concludes that God took from himself the substance of his creatures and the model of the things made and the form of the things that have been ordered (4.20.1). It is highly unfortunate that the Greek original has been lost, so that we need to speculate on the original terms. But surely substance (ousia), model (paradeigma) and form (morphê) must remind us of the schemes of first principles derived from the Timaeus, the latter two terms perhaps indicating the distinction between transcendent and immanent form that we find in Seneca and Porphyry.42 Irenaeus may have obtained these terms via the Gnostic writings which he had read). Recently J. Fantino has argued that the preposition here is deliberately apo and not ek.43 Matter, model and form come from God, have God as their origin. They are created, however, out of his will and power, i. e. not from his divine substance. I am not persuaded that Irenaeus introduces this distinction in order to give a philosophical clarification of the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. In the first place we cannot be sure about the actual terms used. But even if they are correct, the problem is not overcome, since the term apo, though not regularly used in the scholastic distinctions that are part of Middle Platonist [144] prepositional metaphysics, can be used to indicate derivation from in an emanationist sense, e. g. by Eudorus in his monist system and by Plutarch when describing the procession from the two highest Platonic principles, the One and the unlimited Dyad.44 In other words, when describing the origin of matter Irenaeus confronts the same problems that we found in the case of Tatian. In rejecting the basic scheme of the Timaeus, he finds it difficult to avoid using philosophical language which is derivationist. We might ask him whether the matter of creation proceeds from God differently than the model and form of the cosmos, which are immaterial. But when pressed, he would no doubt fall back on the position mentioned earlier, that the Bible does not tell us the how or the where of creation. Moreover, in 42 Seneca

Ep. 65.7–8 and Porphyry fr. 120 Smith = Baltes (1996a) Bausteine 116.1–117. Fantino (1996) 600, referring further to (1994) 309–312. 44 Plutarch An. procr. 24, 1024D and Eudorus fr. 3–5 Mazzarelli = Baltes (1996a) Bausteine 120.4, 122.1 (note, however, that in the case of Eudorus the expression is only found in the paraphrase of Simplicius, not in the words quoted from Eudorus himself ). 43 



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marked contrast to Theophilus, he breaks completely with the Timaeus schema at least to this extent, namely that he adopts the view that unformed matter is not required for creation at all.45 As Fantino has rightly emphasized, the entire question of creation is for Irenaeus a theological issue. He places all the weight of his theology on the absolute and unconditional freedom of the creator. No Christian theologian since Irenaeus has ever reneged on this fundamental insight, which brings the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo with it in its train. But it did not have to mean that the influence of the Timaeus was wholly spent.

4.  Some Later Views The historical reconstruction of Gerhard May that the Christian apologists and theologians of the 2nd century developed the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo on the basis of certain fundamental biblical insights and in response to the challenge of Gnostic systems of thought is to my mind largely persuasive.46 He has a sharp eye for signs of philosophical competence and on the whole does not rate these thinkers highly in this area. I  agree that the basic motivation was theological. But I would argue that at the very least a penetrating critique of the model of creation supplied by the Timaeus was undertaken, no doubt prompted at least in part by the use that the Gnostics and Marcion made of the same model. The most radical position was that of Irenaeus. The basic philosophical difficulty that was encountered was to avoid the move to a derivationist model, in which the distinction between creator and creature ran the risk of being obscured. This would have been out of frying pan and into the fire. The early Christian thinkers were lacking the tools to make the basic difference clear. In my brief assessment here, we start with Origen. For the great Alexandrian theologian, rather differently to his predecessor Clement, there is no possible alternative to the doctrine of creation from nothing. He states this quite clearly in his chief work De Principiis, which takes as its starting point a theological credo. To think that matter is unoriginate is both impious and incoherent because it means it has to be taken as co-eternal with God (2.1.4). [145] A fuller and more interesting text is found in the dossier devoted to the question in Eusebius which we mentioned earlier.47 It comes from the lost Genesis commentary, and indeed from the section devoted to the interpretation of Gen 1:2!48 Just like in 45  But note that he retains the notions of model and form, which are also inherent in the Timaean model and entail the conception of a creation process involving thought and reason. 46  May (1994). My only objection would be that he presents the development too much as if it were inevitable. 47  PE 7.20.1–9. 48  See the note in Schroeder–Des Places (1975) 271. [This text is now fr. D 3 in the new edition of Metzler (2010), pp. 62–67.]

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the case of Philo,49 Origen’s procedure is markedly dialectical. In whatever way you look at the question, you have to conclude that matter must have been made by God. In a sense Origen does not advance that much beyond Theophilus. The analogy with the craftsman, which forms the basis of the Timaean model, is sharply rejected. But he does not want to do without the idea of a primal matter altogether. Something has to be created to form the initial substrate of the corporeal qualities (Princ. 2.1.3).50 What strikes me is Origen’s caution. Nowhere do I find him using phrases, prepositional or otherwise, which could be taken as implying some kind of derivation of matter from God himself. I take this as a sign of Origen’s undoubted philosophical competence. It is, however, a conclusion from silence. Secondly a brief word on Gregory of Nyssa. We are now advanced more than a century in time. I want to draw attention to one particularly striking passage in our context, taken from his Dialogus De Anima et Resurrectione, in which his sister Macrina takes the leading role (PG 46.121B–124D). The starting-point is Hebrews 11:3. The apostle would not have written the way he did if the ‘how’ of creation was accessible to human reasoning. The whole question seems insuperably difficult. How can movement come from rest, complexity from simplicity, and so on. Yet reason cannot accept anything like a second principle outside the divine nature. We attain a dreadful dilemma: either creation comes straight out of the divine Being, or the universe owes its being to some being other than God, i. e. matter as second principle. Though Gregory appears to encourage his reader to leave aside the ‘how’ of creation, he himself does not leave it a that. There is a possible solution, namely that God’s will can be realized in creation at any moment. Gregory then goes on briefly to outline his remarkable conception of body being formed by the running together of intelligible qualities as thought out by God, which Richard Sorabji has famously interpreted as a kind of ancient idealism.51 The scheme of demiurgic creation is here dispensed with altogether, but unlike in the case of Irenaeus, Gregory has an eye for the philosophical problems that this raises. Finally, with whom else should we end than Augustine, who tackled the issue of creatio ex nihilo so lucidly in Book XII of the Confessions? I have long thought his solution was so brilliant precisely because it manages to combine both the derivationist and the creationist view in one encompassing formula (12.7.7): Lord God almighty, in the principium which is from you (de te), in your Wisdom which is born from your substance (de tua substantia), you made something and indeed from nothing (de nihilo). For you made heaven and earth not from you (de te), for it would have been equal to your only begotten [146] and through this also to you, and in no way would it have been right that what was not from you (de te) would be equal to 49 

See above at n. 18. Princ. 2.1.3. 51  Sorabji (1983) 290–294. 50 



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you … And so from nothing (de nihilo) you made heaven and earth, something big and something little …

Unlike Origen Augustine does use the prepositional metaphysics of the doctrine of principles.52 What is from God is derived from him, and that can only be the persons of the Trinity. Creation is not from God, but from nothing. But on riper reflection even this solution has its drawbacks. Is the prepositional metaphysics up to the task? Is it not risky to use the same preposition for two different forms of origination? Can we not sense an unmistakeable tendency to reify the ‘nothing’ from which matter arises?53 Matter itself, identified with the earth of Gen 1:1 is a prope nihil, a ‘nearly nothing.’ It seems that even Augustine, in contrast to Irenaeus and Gregory, can in the end not dispense with the demiurgic model of the Timaeus altogether, though of course it has been very substantially modified.

5. Conclusions By way of conclusion I would like to raise a final issue. In a recent collection of essays Polymnia Athanassiadi and Michael Frede have stated with some force the view that later Greek philosophical theology is fundamentally monotheistic. Frede concludes his article with the claim:54 One conclusion which suggests itself is that the pagan philosophers we have been considering, in particular the Platonists, were monotheists in precisely the sense [that] the Christians were.

This claim is, I think, stronger than I would wish to defend, but we may hope that it will place the issue on the agenda for future discussion. The question that it encourages me to raise is the following. Is it a coincidence that both Platonism and Christian thought give up the basic creational model of the Timaeus at about the same time – if not entirely, then at least with regard to its positing of matter as a principle next to God or as a factor indispensable for expounding the doctrine of creation? The Platonists turn to a rigorous derivationist monism. Matter is not an independent principle, but is produced as ultimate outflow of the power of the One.55 Christian thinkers turn to the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo with 52  A few lines earlier Augustine uses another preposition: ‘A nd from where would it [matter] be in a certain fashion, except from you (abs te), from whom (a quo) all things are, to the extent that they are.’ The prepositions here are inspired by Rom 11:36 (also referred to at 1.2.2, 12.19.28 etc.), a quite different form of prepositional metaphysics than the one inspired by the Timaeus. See further Sterling (1997) 219–220. Augustine’s choice of the prepositions a (or abs) and de in this chapter is intriguing. It is possible that he deliberately avoids using ex, which in philosophy is usually reserved for matter, but which scripture also uses for God as first cause (as recognized by Basil in De spiritu sancto 4). 53  As suggested by Bos (1996) 144. 54  Frede (1999a) 67. 55  As convincingly argued by O’Brien (1993), (1996) in the case of Plotinus.

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varying degrees of radicalism. If May was right and the Christian development was primarily a reaction against Gnostic views, then this synchronism would be a coincidence. But this seems to me unlikely. Further reflections on this theme will have to postponed to another occasion. Christian thinkers faced a dilemma. Like the Neoplatonists (cf. Plotinus 2.4.2.9 f.) they firmly rejected any doctrine of multiple principles, whether two or more. But for their purposes derivational monism was quite unsuitable. To start with, this kind of talk should be reserved for the relations within the Trinity. Moreover it obscured the divide between creator and creature which they were trying to articulate in the light of biblical thought. Philosophical argument involving the doctrine of principles had its uses, but these were for the most part negative, [147] showing what one had to reject. It was unable to make a positive formulation. The reason for this was, as Gregory of Nyssa, the greatest of the Greek Patristic philosophers saw, that creatio ex nihilo is a profoundly un-philosophical doctrine, at least if thought through within the conceptual boundaries of Greek philosophy, in which the model of the Timaeus had played such dominant role.

6.  The Rehabilitation of the Jackdaw: Philo of Alexandria and Ancient Philosophy* 1.  Introduction: Dodds on Philo In the field of ancient philosophy there are not many articles which after more than three-quarters of a century are still regarded as seminal and are cited with respect and approbation. Such a fate is usually reserved for more substantial monographs and even they are not large in number. One such rare item was the lead article published in The Classical Quarterly in 1928 entitled ‘The Parmenides of Plato and the Origin of the Neoplatonic One.’ It author was a young classicist named E. R. Dodds (1893–1979).1 Dodds, who had been Professor of Greek at the University of Birmingham since 1924, was starting to build up a reputation for himself in the deeply unfashionable area of Neoplatonic studies. Four years later he would publish his celebrated edition of Proclus’ Elements of Theology, still regarded today as a masterpiece of textual, historical, and philosophical analysis.2 The article has become famous for its assertion that the Neoplatonic interpretation of Plato’s Parmenides in terms of three hypostases in fact precedes the founder of Neoplatonism, Plotinus, and can already be found in second century Neopythagoreanism, more specifically in the writings of Moderatus as reported by Simplicius. But a careful reading of the article shows that this argument is subordinate to its main purpose, which is an elaborate and rhetorically skilful vindication of the Hellenic nature of Plotinian thought. Plotinus is not an exponent of a philosophy heavily influenced by religion and orientalism (an obviously pejorative term), but he stands firmly in ‘the great tradition of Greek rationalism.’3 Indeed he is its last great exponent. The evidence against this viewpoint is his mysticism which seeks to achieve unity with the unknowable One. Here [484] the evidence linking him to the Neopythagorean interpretation of the Parmenides in terms of the monad as the highest and ultimate One is invaluable, because it is a precise and concrete illustration of how he stands in the tradition *  This essay was originally presented as the Sheila Kassman Memorial Lecture at the University of London in July 2004. My sincere thanks to Richard Sorabji for his generous invitation. 1  On Dodds see the biographical notice by Todd (2005), with further references. 2  Dodds (1932). 3  Dodds (1928) 142.

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of ancient philosophy. Plato may not have intended his dialogue to be interpreted in this way, but later interpreters did do so. We can understand, therefore, how the idea of indescribability focused on the One or the Monad could lead to Plotinian mysticism, which is meant to be the crown of the Greek intellectualist path and not its radical subversion. At various points of his argument Dodds mentions the figure of Philo, the Jewish author writing in Greek who lived in Alexandria about two centuries before Plotinus came to study there. Previous scholars had supposed that Philo might have been Plotinus’ source for the Neopythagorean doctrine of the One. Dodds concedes that the doctrine is present in Philo, but is not at all attracted to the idea that Plotinus might be indebted to him. This leads to the following extensive footnote, which I need to quote in full:4 The Neopythagorean identification of God with the supreme Monad is mentioned by Philo only to be amended: ‘God has been ranked in accordance with the One and the Monad, but rather (we should say that) the Monad has been ranked in accordance with the one God. For every number is younger that the cosmos, as is time also, but God is older than the cosmos and he is its creator (Legum allegoriae 2.3). So also Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus 1.8 tells us that God is ‘One’ (not the One) and beyond the One and beyond the Monad itself.’ Both Philo and Clement were of course deeply influenced by Neopythagorean speculation, of which Alexandria had long been a centre; but in this matter they were determined to go one better than the heathen. Philo’s god [note: small letter g] must be similarly ‘superior to the Good itself ’ (De opificio mundi 8), although in the same breath he is identified with Nous; and Being (to on) must be ‘superior to the Good and purer than the One and more primal than the Monad’ (De vita contemplativa 2; cf. De praemiis 40). Any attempt to extract a coherent system from Philo seems to me foredoomed to failure; his eclecticism is that of the jackdaw rather than the philosopher.

It is obvious that Dodds’ final remark is not meant as a compliment. The comparison would seem quite deliberately chosen. According to the Oxford English Dictionary the jackdaw is a bird noted for its ‘loquacity and thievish propensities.’ Philo of course must be regarded as ‘loquacious’ because there is so much of him, at least twelve Loeb volumes worth. And he is ‘thievish’ because he selects from Greek philosophy what suits his idiosyncratic, nonphilosophical purposes. In the final lines of the article Dodds returns to Philo. ‘If anyone doubts that Plotinus was a man of genius,’ he writes, ‘let him study the efforts of his nearest predecessors and followers. Let him soak for a while in the theosophical maunderings of Philo and the Hermetists …’5 Maundering is another pejorative word, meaning ‘rambling or drivelling talk’ according to the OED. Such pugnacious [485] writing can be enjoyable. Nevertheless one 4  Dodds (1928) 132, n.1. I  have translated the texts which Dodds quotes in the original Greek. 5  Dodds (1928) 142.



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wonders whether such strong polemic was required for the point that Dodds wished to make. We find ourselves here at the University of London more than seventy-five years after Dodds wrote those severe words. I have been asked to give the Kassman memorial lecture specifically on Philo of Alexandria as part of a conference on ancient philosophy from 100 BC to 200 AD. This should give pause for thought. Why should an author whom Dodds called a jackdaw, i. e. resembling a loquacious bird with thievish propensities, be the subject of a closing lecture at a conference on ancient philosophy? I have called my lecture the rehabilitation of the jackdaw. My aim is to take a general look at Philo in the context of studies on ancient philosophy and ask why he today is deemed a thinker and writer worth paying attention to. It will not escape your notice that I do not call him a philosopher. Partly that is because I do not want to prejudge the issue of what he is trying to do. But at the same time I do want to emphasize that our context today is ancient philosophy. Philo is such a seminal figure in studies of the ancient world because he contributes to at least seven sub-disciplines, if we may call them such: classics, ancient history, ancient philosophy, second temple Judaism, studies of New Testament and its Umwelt, Patristics and Gnostic studies.5a Our subject today is his contribution to just one of these disciplines, the field of ancient philosophy. My plan will be first to look at four developments in the study of both ancient philosophy and Philo himself which may help to explain his come-back. In the concluding part of the lecture I  will then return to the subject that provoked Dodds’ remark, Philo’s pronouncements in the area of first principles and theology.

2.  Philo as a Source The first development I wish to examine is the use of Philo as a source, or perhaps we might better say, a resource for the study of the philosophy of his time. Now if I were to state that Philo is currently more appreciated as a source than he was at the time that Dodds wrote his remark, my claim might well be contested. Take for example the situation in the study of Stoicism. Tony Long and David Sedley in their magnificent source-book for Hellenistic philosophy – the description is inadequate, I recognize, but certainly one of its roles is to serve as a source-book – include ten texts from Philo in their treatment of Stoicism.6 If this is compared to the presence of Philo in Von Arnim’s collection on the Stoa, then the harvest is pretty meagre. According to Adler’s index no less than 194 [486] 5a  [On these seven sub-disciplines see above article 1.] 6  Long–Sedley (1987); see the list of Philonic passages

at 1.497.

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Philonic texts are included in the three volumes of SVF.7 This is a huge number. But the method used by Von Arnim in fact resembles that of the vacuum cleaner. His collection indiscriminately sucks up everything in sight. Doubtless all the texts included have to do with Stoicism in some form or other. But there is no attempt at a close analysis of the kind of evidence that Philo is giving. It must be suspected that, although some of the material Philo records may go back to the Early Stoa, much of it will reflect the developments that took place in the time between Chrysippus and Philo himself. For example, in his work De aeternitate mundi Philo gives us information on this period which we have from nowhere else, for example the information that Boethus of Sidon, Panaetius and Diogenes of Babylon in his youth abandoned the doctrine of the conflagration.8 A collection of the fragments of the early Stoa would be much more selective if published today. Most of Von Arnim’s excerpts from Philo would be deleted. So how can less become more? When now more than twenty years ago I was writing my dissertation on Philo and his interpretation of Plato’s Timaeus,9 my attention was drawn to an unusual book entitled Greek Athletics and the Jews written by H. A. Harris, a Classics lecturer teaching in Wales. In the introduction he states that to his great surprise he discovered that ‘there is no other writer in Greek who so often and so vividly conjures up before his reader’s eyes a picture of what went on in a sports stadium at the beginning of the Christian era.’10 According to Harris, Philo must have been a particularly sharp observer, who knew how to convey what he had seen in accurate prose. It is not hard to imagine an analogous process occurring in the realm of philosophy. A fine example of close observation of philosophical doctrine was given recently in an article by our Parisian colleague Carlos Lévy.11 The subject is the Epicurean doctrine of affinity (oikeiôsis). At De opificio mundi 161 Philo writes:12 Certainly the first intercourse of the male with the female has pleasure as its guide. Impregnation and birth take place through its agency. The offspring naturally first feel an affinity to nothing else but it, rejoicing in pleasure and disliking its opposite, pain. For this reason babies cry when they are born, feeling pain, it would seem, because of the chill around them. After spending a long time in the [487] extremely warm and fiery location of the womb, they all of a sudden emerge into the air, a chilly and unaccustomed place. It gives them a fright and their cries are the clearest evidence of their distress and the fact that they dislike pain. Every living being, they say, strives 7  Von Arnim (1903–05); vol. 4, Index by M. Adler (Leipzig 1924, repr. Stuttgart 1978). See the list of Philonic passages in the Index volume, Adler (1924), 205–207. 8  Aet. 76–77. Included at SVF 3.215, 265. For Panaetius this passage is fr. 65 Van Straaten, fr. 131 Alesse. 9  Runia (1983), revised edition (1986). 10  Harris (1976) 13; cf. Runia (1986) 35 n. 19. 11  Lévy (2000) 122–136, esp. 127–130. 12  Translation from Runia (2001a) 90.

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after pleasure as its most necessary and essential goal, but this applies especially to the human being.

This is of course the famous Hellenistic cradle argument put forward from an Epicurean viewpoint. Lévy in his discussion makes two points. Firstly the passage is parallel to a text in Sextus Empiricus, Adversos Ethicos 96, but gives details about the transition from the warm womb into the cold air which are not found elsewhere. Secondly Philo’s evidence helps us reconstruct the Epicurean argument as it developed in the context of Hellenistic discussion with Sceptics and Stoics. We should note, however, that the context of Philo’s remarks might seem quite unpromising, namely exegesis of the snake’s temptation of Eve in the garden of Eden. No wonder that students of Epicureanism had overlooked this text. But let us reflect a little further on Philo’s actual situation in Alexandria. We must imagine him being born about fifteen to twenty years before the common era.13 A scion of one of the wealthiest families in the Empire, he had every opportunity to pursue his love of learning at an advanced level. Philo’s own descriptions of his education are too vague and stylized to give us a real idea of how he learnt his philosophy. It is very likely that he had private tutors, just like he portrays Moses as having when he receives his education at the court of Pharaoh (Mos. 1.21–24). We must assume that it was at Alexandria that he has had his training. Although we know that later in his life he travelled to Jerusalem and to Rome, there is no indication that he might have studied abroad. By this time the rather desolate picture that Cicero paints of philosophy at Athens at De finibus 5.1–4 was some time in the past. Yet it does seem as if that the diaspora of teachers of philosophy from Athens had continued since then and it is likely that a number of them settled in the wealthy eastern metropolis. We know some names: Eudorus the Neopythagorean; Ariston the Peripatetic; Arius the Stoic13a who reportedly saved the city from destruction; Potamon the eclectic. But we would like to know a lot more. Philo is one of the very few sources we have for this vital period in the intellectual development of Alexandria. In my view a fruitful line of research was initiated some time ago by Pierre Boyancé and Willy Theiler. They examined the evidence to be in found in Philo on the interpretation of Platonic doctrine, particularly as it appears in exegesis of Plato’s better known dialogues at this time, the Republic, the Phaedrus and especially the Timaeus.14 [488] Convergences with Eudorus were found by Matthias Baltes in his commentary on the Neopythagorean pseudepigrapher 13 

For a general account of Philo in his Alexandrian context see Sly (1996). [In the original publication I stated that Arius the Stoic (of Alexandria) was ‘most likely not to be identified with Arius Didymus.’ This assertion was excessively dogmatic. See now the judicious remarks of Algra (2018) 70–74 who concludes (in agreement with Mansfeld–Runia [1997] 241) that the identification can neither be proven nor disproven.] 14  Boyancé (1963); Theiler (1965), (1971). 13a 

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Timaeus Locrus.15 I continued this line of research in my aforementioned dissertation on Philo’s reading and interpretation of the Timaeus.16 The picture that emerges is of a body of doctrine moving towards the systematizations of Middle Platonism and Neopythagoreanism, but still rather diffuse in its treatment of the first principles of Platonic philosophy. The somewhat paradoxical outcome is that Philo can give us valuable information in telling us about specific doctrines, but he never allows us to translate that into a kind of road-map of Alexandrian philosophy. It is hard work reading Philo in this way,17 yet I believe it will prove worthwhile. We should read him as an informant on the state of philosophy in all its breadth at his time in the specific context of Alexandria. As such he is proving to be an invaluable source.

3.  A Broader Vision of Ancient Philosophy A second reason why there is a greater interest in Philo, and indeed a greater sympathy for his achievement, has to do with a gradual broadening of interest in the study of ancient philosophy. In this regard we might hark back to the example of E. R. Dodds. I already mentioned above his celebrated edition of Proclus, published in 1932. It is quite staggering to read the opening words of his Introduction:18 He who presents the world with an elaborate edition of a book dating from the last age of Graeco-Roman decadence labours prima facie under the suspicion of contributing to that most extensive of all sciences, the Wissenschaft des Nichtwissenswerthen (the science of what is not worth knowing).

The essential background here is the overwhelming emphasis on the study of Plato and Aristotle that was prevalent in Anglo-Saxon classical studies and the study of the history of philosophy at that time. Even the study of the later Platonist tradition had to be justified. And in his later career Dodds himself became a victim of this narrow-mindedness. During the more than 25 years of his Regius Professorship of Greek in Oxford he did not continue to pursue his studies in late ancient philosophy and religion, but concentrated on Plato and the thought of the classical age.19 [489] Fortunately things have greatly changed. The remarkable efflorescence of studies in Hellenistic philosophy which commenced in the seventies has reached 15 

Baltes (1972), esp. 22–23. See above n. 9; also Runia (1986) 85–104. 17  The slowness of progress can be gauged from John Dillon’s two treatments of Philo in the Middle Platonist context, in Dillon (1977) 114–183 and his ‘Afterword’ in the 2nd edn. (1996) 436–441. 18  Dodds (1932), ix. 19  See the observations of R. B. Todd on Dodd’s autobiography, BMCR 2000.08.29. 16 



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full flower. It has now been followed by an increased interest in Imperial philosophy, as indeed witnessed by this conference. And Richard Sorabji’s Greek Commentators project is now extending right into the furthest cobwebbed reaches of late ancient philosophy, making it more accessible than it has ever been before.20 But these developments, positive though they are, will only help Philo to a certain extent. As a Jew, even though a profoundly Hellenized one, he was always going to be an outsider to some degree, just as the Jews of his own community in Alexandria never achieved the status of full citizens of their city. Here too, however, developments have been favourable. It has been recognized that by the late Hellenistic and early Imperial period of Greek culture, of which philosophy was a highly reputable component, was interacting in fascinating ways with a number of different cultures, including Judaism. In this context a very honourable mention should be made of one of the most learned scholars ever to hold a chair at the University of London, Arnaldo Momigliano. His Trevelyan lectures entitled Alien Wisdom is but a slender volume, but it is replete with dazzling insights on the relation between Hellenic and other ethnic cultures in the Hellenistic period, just before Philo.21 He concentrates on Romans, Celts, Jews and Persians, to which he might have added Egyptians if he had had another lecture to fill. Momigliano was focusing on historiography and ethnography rather than philosophy. But the broadening of perspective which he propagated has, I believe, had its influence on the study of the history of philosophy as well. Greek philosophy is seen more and more as not only an intellectual, but also a cultural practice in a particular context, in which it relates to and competes with other forms of thought. Studies on the philosopher as a social phenomenon and on philosophy as a cultural phenomenon have increased in recent years,22 although I believe that there is still much research to be done in this area. All of this has made historians of philosophy more sympathetic to non-mainline figures such as Philo and also for example to later Christian theologians who followed the same general approach.

4.  Changes in Methodology The next point that I want to make in response to Dodds’ disparaging remarks on Philo is that there has been a significant change in the methodology of studying ancient philosophers since his time. I think all of us come to realize this when we consult earlier works of scholarship. We recognize the competence and sometimes the brilliance of our [490] predecessors. Often they do things we would be 20  See now the magnificent distillation of results achieved so far in the three volumes edited by Sorabji (2004). 21  Momigliano (1975). 22  See for example Hahn (1989); Griffin–Barnes (1989–1997).

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incapable of. But we would not do things in their way. One of the reasons, among many others, was the practice of approaching the work of major philosophers as monolithic bodies of systematic thought. An important paradigm was the unitarian approach to Plato, which argued that all the dialogues can be reduced to a single coherent body of Platonic doctrine. The same method was applied to Aristotle, where the task was easier because of the more systematic nature of his treatises. For Philo the paradigmatic studies using this methodology are by Drummond and Wolfson.23 Both are brilliant pieces of work, but they give what is now regarded as a quite misleading view of Philonic thought. Dissatisfaction with this systematizing methodology led to the rise of the genetic or developmental approach, used with verve for both Plato and Aristotle, but now in retreat. Even in the case of Plato, where a fair measure of development is in my view quite undeniable, there are calls to leave it behind. This method is quite impossible to use for Philo because we know next to nothing about the chronology of his writings.24 I do not want to be misunderstood here. Scholarship in the history of philosophy still aims to discover and explore the coherence of the thought of the ancient practitioners of the craft. The guiding principle of Greek philosophy is logos in all the ramifications of that term, including a commitment to both argument and reason. During this conference we have seen countless examples of how philosophers in the Imperial period pursue these ideals, even though they are for the most part working in a framework of thought determined by the school tradition they inherited. Two developments in particular, I would argue, have been influential in changing the methodology which we use to approach ancient authors. Firstly there is the recognition that it is problems rather than systems which provide the primary impulse for philosophy. It is in most cases more profitable to look for the problem that a philosopher is pursuing than to ask what kind of doctrine is he trying to establish. It is this problem-based approach that has led to a greater rapprochement between ancient and contemporary philosophy, because problems have a way of undergoing less change than the doctrinal solutions that are developed in response to them. Secondly there is a recognition that in dealing with the pronouncements of any philosopher one has to take the intellectual context into account. Assertions cannot just be severed from their locus of origin, whether that be a dialogue or a school discussion or a written work, and combined or confronted with statements made in quite a different context. The reason is not because philosophers want to contradict or repeat themselves, [491] but because what is said is always determined to a greater or lesser degree by the context in which it is said. This 23 

Drummond (1888); Wolfson (1947). The efforts of some scholars, e. g. Terian (1997), esp. 30–36, to establish a chronology of Philo’s writings based on changes of literary style and method, remain in my view speculative. 24 

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applies very strongly to writers such as Philo or Plutarch, who have written very different kinds of works probably over considerable periods of time. It even applies to a philosopher like Plotinus, whose thought is admirably systematic and whose context seems to be unvaryingly the philosophical school. Even he expresses his thought in a differentiated way depending on the context. A striking example is his celebrated polemic against the Gnostics.25

5.  Understanding Philo Better My final point is the most important of the four I wish to make. I think we understand Philo better than was the case in Dodds’ day. This might sound rather whiggish, or even self-congratulatory, but I am convinced it is true. In order to demonstrate this point I propose to make a slight detour. I want to examine a text in Clement of Alexandria, one of the very few (four in all) in which he mentions Philo by name.26 After appropriating huge slabs of text from Philo’s treatise On the virtues without any form of attribution (we would now call this plagiarism), Clement was perhaps feeling a bit guilty. So, immediately after ceasing to quote Philo (Str. 2.78–100), when he starts on a new subject, the telos or end of life for human beings, he refers to him in parenthesis. Here is the text (Str. 2.100.3): Plato the philosopher, positing eudaimonia as the telos, says that this is ‘becoming like God to the extent possible,’ either because he somehow concurred with the doctrine of the Law (for great natures who are denuded of passions somehow hit the mark when it comes to the truth, as the Pythagorean Philo says when expounding the works of Moses), or because he was instructed by some of the inspired utterances then available, thirsting as he always was for learning.

The reference to Philo in this text gives rise to at least two interesting problems. Firstly, the actual words attributed to him are not found as such in his extant writings.27 The solution argued for by Clement’s editors is that he is making a vague illusion to a text in Philo’s De vita Moysis 1.22, in which he describes the gifted nature of Moses as it came to light when he received his education at Pharaoh’s court. This means they take the words τὰ Μωυσέως ἐξηγούμενος to mean ‘when expounding the life of Moses.’ But Philo’s actual words in that text are: ‘For great natures make many innovations that contribute to knowledge.’28 [492] The only common elements of the two texts are the conjunction γάρ (for) 25 

Enn. 2.9 [33], part of the larger work consisting of 3.8 [30], 5.8 [31] and 5.5 [32]. Clement’s extensive use of the Philonic corpus see Van den Hoek (1988); Runia (1993a) 132–156. 27  These words are: αἱ γὰρ μεγάλαι φύσεις καὶ γυμναὶ παθῶν εὐστοχοῦσί πως περὶ τὴν ἀλήθειαν. 28  Mos. 1.22: πολλὰ γὰρ αἱ μεγάλαι φύσεις καινοτομοῦσι τῶν εἰς ἐπιστήμην. 26  On

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and the phrase αἱ μεγάλαι φύσεις (great natures). Is this enough to justify the cross-reference? I am less confident than I once was that this is the case.29 There is a distinct possibility that Clement is referring to a Philonic text we no longer have. Even though the amount of Philo that we have is massive, it seems that the original corpus was at least half as much again. The second problem is why Clement calls Philo ‘the Pythagorean.’ Some years back I devoted an article to this question, arguing that epithet must be taken to refer not to membership of a school, but to an affinity in thought.30 Two plausible explanations can be given. It could refer to the high incidence of number symbolism in Philo or it could refer to his general Platonist and Neopythagorean sympathies, as noted by Dodds in the footnote being discussed in this lecture. I concluded that the second alternative was more likely than the first. Whatever solution we give to these two problems, there is no doubt in my mind that this Clementine passage presents a view that is thoroughly Philonic. The truth (needless to say, in the singular) is what great natures that thirst for learning and knowledge aim for. Freedom from passions and any kind of sensuality is a necessary, though clearly not a sufficient condition. There is no hesitation in counting Plato among those who have a ‘great nature.’ The words ‘becoming like God to the extent possible’ refer to Theaetetus 176b. This text – one of the most commonly cited Platonic texts in the Platonist tradition  – is cited at greater length by Philo in his treatise De fuga et inventione 63, where Plato is described as ‘a reputable man belonging to those who are admired for their wisdom.’ There are two ways that the truth can be attained. It is achievable through a native intuition, which allows one to gain insight into the truths of the Torah. The hidden assumption here is the working of the divine Logos, shared by all humanity. It is also possible to be instructed more directly by divine oracles written down in texts. This is the theme of the theft of the philosophers, shared by both authors, but more prominent in Clement than in Philo.31 A different formulation, but in the end amounting to much the same, is found in one of the Philonic texts cited by Dodds, De opificio mundi 8, where Philo describes how Moses came to be pre-eminent in knowledge: he … ‘had not only reached the very summit of philosophy, but had also been instructed in the many and most essential doctrines of nature by means of oracles.’ Philosophy here stands for the sum total of human efforts to reach the truth. Moses is one of the ‘great natures’ who could rise to great heights in this field. But he also received 29  Runia (1995c). I take the opportunity here to correct an unfortunate mistake. In n. 19 I state that the verb εὐστοχέω is not found in our extant Philo. In fact it does occur in a Greek fragment of QE 2.24; see Petit PAPM 33.259. But this passage bears no resemblance to the text in Clement. 30 See the previous note. [For a different interpretation of Clement’s epithet see Otto (2013).] 31  Ridings (1995). More attention could have been paid to the Philonic background in this study.



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a more direct form of instruction through divine revelation. This for Philo does not mean he was a passive recipient with knowledge poured into him [493] as if into a vessel. It involved the use of his intellectual powers, but allowed him to gain knowledge that could not be attained by human reason alone. The crucial question is whether Philo considered himself to be one of the ‘great natures’ that could attain to knowledge in the way described in these two texts. The answer is I think quite plainly no. Philo sees himself first and foremost as an exegete or an interpreter, primarily of the books of Moses, but also, it seems, of other wisdom handed down in the tradition. In one of his dialogues with his nephew Alexander, who later severed his ties with the Jewish community, he says (Anim. 7):32 I shall begin but not with teaching, for I am an interpreter, not a teacher. Those who teach initiate others in their own skills, whereas those who interpret convey what they have heard from others through accurate use of memory’.

Philo is surely being excessively modest in this statement. Interpretation such as he practises involves more than recollection or regurgitation. But certainly it is interpretation or exegesis that is his basic manner of working. It is this insight, that Philo is first and foremost an exegete of scripture, which has gained almost universal acceptance in Philonic studies during the past three decades or so, creating a gulf which separates recent scholarship from the time of Dodds, or even of Wolfson, Bréhier and Daniélou. This paradigm shift can be attributed above all to the penetrating and meticulous scholarship of the late Valentin Nikiprowetzky, as distilled in his landmark study Le commentaire de l’Écriture chez Philon d’Alexandrie.33 In presenting himself as the interpreter of a great mind Philo agrees with a strong tendency in imperial philosophy that has been noted by scholars such as David Sedley and Michael Frede, namely that of practising philosophy through the interpretation of the great philosophers of the past.34 Moses the archetypal sage replaces Pythagoras or Plato or Epicurus or Pyrrho. Presbyteron kreitton, what is more ancient is superior, whether this goes back to the foundation of one’s school or even further back.35 Despite this affinity, however, I do not think that Philo should be regarded as a philosopher in the same way that Antiochus or Eudorus or even Plutarch is, let alone a Plotinus. What is lacking is the [494] desire to work towards a body of coherent thought. Primacy is given at all times to 32  The treatise is transmitted only in an Armenian translation, cited here in the English translation of Terian (1981) 69. As it happens the second sentence is preserved in one of the very few Greek fragments; see Terian PAPM 36.217. It should be observed that the words ‘accurate use’ render εὐστοχία, the same term used for hitting the mark of truth in the Clementine passage attributed to Philo. 33  Nikiprowetzky (1977). 34  See Sedley (1989); Frede (1999b) 771–797. 35  I allude here to the well-chosen title of the study by Pilhofer (1990).

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the thought of Moses as encapsulated in scripture. Apart from a few exceptional passages, notably his so-called ‘credo’ at the end of De opificio mundi (170–172), Philo is content to comment on scripture or collect philosophical material in a non-systematic way. Others may disagree, but in my view he is primarily an exegete who uses philosophy as ‘the language of reason’ to expound the wisdom hidden in the sacred books of the Judaic tradition.36 In short we might call him a ‘philosophically orientated exegete.’ This seems to me to be the best brief description of what he is aiming to be. If this is on the right track, then it follows that the literary context is going to be more important when reading him than it is for a main-line philosopher, even when the latter is engaged in explaining an authoritative text. The reason is Philo’s modesty in confronting the sacred text. His words in the introduction to De opificio mundi (§ 5) are programmatic: On behalf of the God-beloved (author) we must dare to speak, even if this goes beyond our ability, presenting nothing from our own supply and stating only a few things instead of many, namely those to which the human mind can reasonably attain when it is possessed by a love and desire for wisdom.

The degree to which this studied self-effacement of the exegete still allows coherent philosophical viewpoints to be developed is a controversial topic in Philonic studies, with John Dillon on more than one occasion affirming that in his view Philo does manage to do this.37 The point that I want to make has to do with the accusation that Philo is a jackdaw, that is, an eclectic with ‘thievish propensities,’ building a nest with bits and pieces taken from here, there and everywhere. It cannot be denied that when he is trying to explain the words of Mosaic scripture, Philo picks and chooses precisely those doctrines or insights from the fund of Greek philosophy which suit his exposition.38 He is not married to the doctrines of one particular school, even if he has his preferences. The primary stimulus is provided by the text. It is not his own body of thought that he is trying to build up. Without wishing to take this line of argument too far, one might even conclude that the [495] shoe is on the other foot. It is the modern reader of Philo, 36  Nikiprowetzky had argued that for Philo philosophy functioned as a language of reason in the service of scriptural exegesis. In my dissertation I argued against him that philosophy for Philo is the language of reason., i. e. he takes over the assumption of Greek philosophy that truth is single and irrefragible (and for Philo located in the books of Moses). But I agree with Nikiprowetzky that the commentary is primary. 37  See, for example, his remarks at (1990) 177: ‘Philo, as an exponent of the philosophy of Moses, feels able to put them [the Greeks] right on occasion, while borrowing back a good deal from them at the same time – at least from the respectable line of succession running from Pythagoras to Plato, Aristotle, and the Stoics (including the sceptical Academic tradition for some purposes). This attitude sets him at a slight angle to the universe of Greek philosophy, no doubt, but it does not mean that he is only ‘using philosophy,’ or that he is not himself a systematic philosopher.’ In my view the final phrase goes a step too far. 38  On Philo’s ‘eclecticism’ see esp. Mansfeld (1988).

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emphatically including Dodds, who wishes to explore his thought on a particular issue and as a result takes on the role of the jackdaw. He or she picks and chooses his passages from Philo and builds them into ‘chapters of thought,’ for example Philo on the ideas, Philo on the Logos, Philo on the role of language, and so on and so forth. For Philo, however, these themes are subordinate to the problems raised by Mosaic scripture which he attempts to elucidate in his commentaries.

6.  Back to Dodds: Neopythagoreanism and Philonic Theology One such particular issue in Philo’s thought is the subject raised by Dodds in his footnote, Philo’s relation to Neopythagoreanism. There can be no doubt that Philo’s voluminous works can supply us with some valuable evidence on how this rather elusive strand of philosophical thought was developing during his time. Scholars such as Pierre Boyancé, Willy Theiler and John Dillon have used Philo’s evidence to try to determine how philosophers in Alexandria, and in particular the rather shadowy figure of Eudorus, may have used analysis of and speculations about numbers as part of their theology and metaphysics.39 It is clear that Philo had a strong interest in numbers. We know from various references and a single fragment that he wrote a book called On numbers. Most likely this work was a collection of arithmological material which he could use for exegetical purposes when it suited him.40 Other such collections have come down to us from antiquity, e. g. the works attributed to Anatolius and Iamblichus. This material is not directly philosophical, but assumes and sheds light on philosophical doctrine. From it we can deduce that metaphysical speculation by means of numbers was practised in his time, but the information is never very precise. An interesting example is tucked away in the Armenian Philo (Quaestiones in Genesim 4.110), where in response to a text about the unit of the drachma a distinction is made between the monad and the one (note that we only have this text through the filter of an imprecise translation, except the first sentence, which has been preserved by John Lydus – a good example of the philological complications that one can have when studying Philo):41 And the monad differs from one as an archetype surpasses and differs from the copy, for the monad is the archetype while the one is a likeness of the monad. Why? Because the one can admit the completion of many as in the case of a herd or chorus or family or nation or army or city, for each of these is one. But the monad does not come from 39 

See above nn. 14 and 17. On this lost work (only one fragment has survived) and the role of arithmology in Philo’s work see Runia (2001a) 25–29. 41  Translation Marcus (slightly modified); for the Greek fragment in Lydus see Petit PAPM 33.179. 40 

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many, for it is unsharing and has no association and is without complexity because of its aloneness, as its very name shows. [496]

The text recalls to mind Plotinus’ argument from the differing degrees of unity with which he commences his treatise On the Good or the One.42 Of the five examples used by Plotinus, three occur in Philo (herd, chorus, army).43 The origins of the argument may well be Stoic,44 but Philo shows that it is used in a context in which it is combined with the terminology of Platonist transcendentalism. A  well-known Eudoran text on first principles makes a different distinction, placing the One as highest principle, which he calls the ὑπεράνω θεός (the transcendent God), above the monad (or second One) at a secondary level.45 This shows that the argument of levels of unity involving transcendence was already entrenched. So Dodds was certainly justified in appealing to Philo for evidence of Neopythagorean thought.46 The direct pretext for mentioning Philo was, we recall, the fact that certain scholars had claimed him as a source for Plotinus’ distinctive doctrine of the transcendent One. Once again he was certainly justified in rejecting this claim. That is a gross simplification of a complex background, in which Philo can hardly play any more than a minor role, namely that of witness. But is there any justification for his further negative remarks? Let us return to the Philonic texts that he cites and see whether it is possible to understand the problematics that motivated Philo to make these pronouncements. The first text is from the Legum allegoriae, in which exegesis is given of Genesis 2 and 3. The text that prompts the remark (2.3) focuses on ‘aloneness,’ namely the famous biblical words ‘it is not a fine thing for the human being to be alone’ (Gen 2:18). Using binary logic Philo argues from ‘it is fine for the alone to be alone’ to ‘it is not fine for the not-alone to be alone.’ Of course everything but God, emphatically including human beings, belongs to the category of the not-alone. God is not complex but simple and unmixed. This is the background to the statement cited by Dodds that ‘God has been ranked in accordance with the One and the Monad.’ But the very formulation of this statement, with its use of the passive voice, is bound to raise a voice of protest. God cannot be aligned in terms of number, even if the Bible implies (in Philo’s reading) that he is one and alone. Hence the correction that the monad is ranked in relation to God. As Theiler notes,47 the argument that Philo uses to establish this is somewhat simplistic. Number, like time, is anterior to the cosmos, but God is the creator of the cosmos and therefore also of number. We recognize here in the background the 42 

Enn. 6.9 [9] 1.4–7. It will be four if ‘family’ = ‘household,’ οἰκία. 44 Cf. SVF 2.366–368, 1013. 45  Fr. 5 Mazzarelli; on this text see Dillon (1996) 126. 46  See the quotation above at n. 4. 47  Theiler (1965) 492. 43 



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doctrines of Timaeus 39b and 47b that the cosmos teaches us number and also Aristotle’s view of time as the number of motion. It is simplistic because it leaves to one side the question which no Platonist sympathizer can overlook: what is the non-physical origin of number? [497] If we turn to the De opificio mundi, Philo’s treatise specially dedicated to exegesis of the full creation account, i. e. including Genesis 1,48 we find that here too he does not tackle this question head on. Although he states at the end that God’s unicity is one of the lessons that the creation account teaches (De opificio mundi 171), in actual fact it is only indirectly stated in §§ 23, 100 and 151. On the other hand, he does associate the intelligible cosmos with the number one, both because of the symbolism of ‘day one’ of the creation account, which he interprets to be the ‘creation’ of the intelligible cosmos as model, but also because of the same link we saw above between one, monad and ‘aloneness’ (μόνωσις).49 But this link, which we also find in Theon of Smyrna,50 is strictly speaking arithmological rather than metaphysical, since it relates to the fact that the number one is separate from all other numbers, not that it is their foundation, as was found in Eudorus.51 Dodds’ second Philonic text is taken from the same treatise on creation (Opif. 8). Philo claims that God is ‘superior to the good itself.’ In fact if we take the entire quote he says that God as activating cause is ‘the absolutely pure and unadulterated intellect of the universe, superior to excellence and superior to knowledge and even superior to the good and the beautiful itself.’ The context here is a preliminary section in which he argues against those who claim that the cosmos is everlasting and briefly enunciates the doctrine that God is the first cause of reality, with beside him an unformed passive object to be identified with matter.52 This text is one of a number in which Philo emphasizes very strongly the transcendence of God. The other four Philonic texts of this type are: De vita contemplativa 2: ‘the One who is (τὸ ὄν), superior to the good and purer than the one (a unit) and more primal than a monad.’ De praemiis. 40: ‘superior to the good, more venerable than a monad, and purer than a unit (the one).’ Legatio ad Gaium 5: ‘the primal Good and Beautiful and Felicitous and Blessed, indeed if the truth be told, that which is superior to the good, more beautiful than the beautiful, more blessed than blessedness, more felicitous than well-being itself and whatever is more perfect than what has been mentioned.’ [498] 48  Legum allegoriae, the first part of the Allegorical Commentary, for reasons that are not entirely clear, starts at Genesis 2. It is now generally recognized that Opif. is the opening work of the Exposition of Law. The order of the works in both Cohn-Wendland’s critical edition and the Loeb Classicial Library is therefore incorrect. 49  Opif. 35. 50  Expos. 19.12 Hiller. 51  See above n. 45. 52  Runia (2002a), esp. 289–292 (= article 4 in this collection), and now Pavone (2004).

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Quaestiones in Genesim 2.44: ‘He is beyond blessedness itself and well-being and whatever is more excellent and better than these.’

The Clementine text that Dodds cites from the Paedagogus (Paed. 1.8.71) is rather similar. It is quite likely that Clement is at least partly indebted to Philo for his formulation, although he uses the authentic Platonic term ἐπέκεινα, which somewhat surprisingly is never used in Philo’s extant writings. Dodds thus refers to three of these six texts and concludes that ‘in this matter,’ i. e. in the matter of theological speculation, ‘they [Philo and Clement] were determined to go one better than the heathen.’ The formulation is rather pugnacious, as befits an Irishman, but there is truth in what he says. The contexts of two of the quotations from De vita contemplativa and Legatio ad Gaium are in fact neither philosophical nor exegetical. They are unashamedly apologetic in the spirit of religious one-upmanship. There is more than a dash of rhetoric in the way that the transcendence of the God of Israel is emphasized. But the content of the rhetoric is philosophical. Does it make sense as philosophy, or is Dodds justified in pronouncing the negative comment with which he ends his note? If we look at what God is said to transcend, we see that the various abstractions can be divided into three groups. (1) A number of them refer to activities that might be said to characterize God, such as excellence (aretê), well-being (eudaimonia) and blessedness (makariotês). Knowledge (epistêmê) would fit in this category as well. (2) Two of them refer to well-known Platonic ideas, the good and the beautiful. In a Hellenic perspective their possession is prerequisite for the activities mentioned just above. The good is prominent in all but one of the texts. Philo of course would have been well aware of the prominence of the Good in Plato’s metaphysics. He is making a point. (3) The final two are the ones most relevant to the subject of Dodd’s article, the one and the monad. When the rhetoric and the apologetics are stripped away, the main thrust of what Philo is trying to achieve can easily be seen. Transcendence involves superiority but also some kind of teflon coat. Things don’t stick. If we use predicates when we speak about God, how do they actually apply to him? The fullest answer is given in the context of the quote at De praemiis 40. The Patriarch Jacob is named Israel after his struggle with the angel, the etymology of which Philo interprets as ‘he who sees God.’ Jacob is the great athlete. In trying to see God his sight was flooded by light, yet he managed to retain his concentration. I now quote Philo’s words: The Father and Saviour, seeing his genuine longing and desire, felt pity, and giving strength to the penetration of his sight did not grudge him a vision of himself, to the extent that it was possible for a created an mortal nature to contain it. Yet it was not a vision showing what he is, but only that he is. For that one (ἐκεῖνο, referring to God as Being), which is superior to the good, more venerable than a monad, and purer than a unit, cannot be observed by anything else, for it is permissible (themis) for it alone to be apprehended by itself.

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The solution lies in a radical negative theology which concentrates on what God is not rather than what he is, prefiguring various themes that were to be further developed and become fully mainstream in imperial Platonism. [499] But before we write off Philo as just a purveyor of theological platitudes, I want to compare one other text, which I am convinced is fairly much contemporary with Philo.53 It is a text that scholars attribute to the obscure doxographer Aëtius and is found in his chapter asking the question ‘who is God.’ Quite a long section (at least for a doxographer) is devoted to Plato’s views formulated as follows:53a Plato affirms that God is the One, the single-natured and the self-natured, the monadic, true Being, the Good. All such names refer to the intellect. God therefore is intellect, a separate form … Of this father and maker the other divine beings are offspring. Some are intelligible, the so-called intelligible cosmos ⟨and the ideas⟩. These are paradigms of the visible cosmos. In addition to these …

In a paper presented to the Symposium Hellenisticum held in Lille in 1998 I argued that there were strong resemblances between this report and the Mosaic theology presented by Philo in De opificio mundi.54 What I want to point out in this context is that in one crucial respect Philo takes a different course. Whereas for the doxographer Plato identifies God with a considerable array of epithets, including the one and the monad, Philo quite deliberately, I believe, declines to do so. Although God is one – no monotheistic Jew would ever think of denying that – oneness, however it is taken, does not characterize God in the essence of his being. Philo does retain the description of God as nous and this appears to worry Dodds, either because it differs from the later Neoplatonic solution, or because he thinks it is incoherent. But surely it is not. A few pages later in his image of the King and the architect Philo makes it quite clear that in his view God’s role as creator of both the intelligible and the sense-perceptible worlds does not exhaust the fullness of his being, and of course this precisely the task in respect of which he is called Nous.54a God is not intellect in his essence. Such a claim would be incoherent. This is a mistake that Philo did not make. I noted earlier in my lecture that Philo lives in a time and place that we, as historians of philosophy, would like to know a lot more about. The evidence that we have about this period is too slight to be able to trace the origins of negative theology in the post-hellenistic period with any accuracy.55 On the other hand I think it is very clear that Philo’s doctrine on the transcendence of 53  On the dating of Aëtius see Mansfeld–Runia (1997) 320–323. 53a  [The text is Plac. 1.7.22 in the new edition of Mansfeld–Runia

(2020).] See Runia (2002a) 282–303 (= article 4 in this collection). 54a  [On the interpretation of the image in Opif. 17–18 see my (2003a) article (not included in this collection).] 55  See my comments in Runia (2002a) 308–312. The study of Festugière (1954), could serve as a fine starting-point for a renewed examination of the subject. 54 

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God is not motivated by philosophical concerns only. There are strong religious motivations that permeate his thought. God is both being (to on) and the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The light that floods the vision of Jacob the athlete is both the dazzle of Plato’s image of the sun and the glory of God that caused Moses’ countenance to shine. [500] I hope that I have been able to persuade you that, even though Philo is not a true-blood Hellenist, he is nevertheless worth your attention. I recognize that there is a lot of him to read and not all of it is relevant to your concerns. So, as I said before, if anyone is to be a jackdaw, let it be the present-day historian of ancient philosophy, picking and choosing in Philo’s voluminous writings what can contribute to the search for developments in the history of thought, but basing the interpretation on a sound appreciation of Philo’s aims and methods.

7.  Philo and Hellenistic Doxography* 1.  Introducing the Subject If we were in a position to ask our protagonist, Philo the learned Jew from Alex­andria, what his views were on the subject of the present chapter, he might at first be somewhat puzzled. He would want to know more about what this term hellenistikê doxographia might represent. We would have to explain that both parts of the term are based on neologisms coined in the 19th century of our era by German scholars – ‘Hellenistic’ from J. G. Droysen’s ‘Hellenismus’,1 ‘doxography’ from H. Diels’ Doxographi. But it would surely not take him long to understand what we were talking about, and there would be much that we could learn from him. Sadly, however, we have no choice but to base our investigation on his writings, but these at least are copious and full of interesting information. The aim of this article will be firstly to investigate what Philo can teach us about Hellenistic doxography, and secondly to determine how he was able to use this form of ancient philosophical literature for his own purposes. It will fall into four parts. First we will have to look more closely at the work and legacy of Hermann Diels in order to determine more exactly what doxography is. Next we shall attempt to outline a brief history of doxographical literature from its first beginnings in the 5th century BCE until the early imperial period in which Philo himself lived. In the longest part of the article we shall examine the chief texts in which Philo bears witness to and makes use of doxographical material. In the final part we shall draw some conclusions on [14] what Philo can tell us about doxography and why it was important for him in fulfilling the aims he set himself as a thinker and writer.

*  I would like to thank Francesca Alesse most warmly for inviting me to write this contribution to her volume, and to my collaborator in the area of doxography, Jaap Mansfeld (Utrecht), for commenting on a draft version. [This study was the opening article in a important collection edited by Francesca Alesse on Philo and post-Aristotelian philosophy, containing articles on all the main Hellenistic schools that he was acquainted with. See also article 13, which is a kind of companion piece for this article and focuses more on the exegetical aspects of the topic. The article was also reprinted in Mansfeld–Runia (2010) 271–312.] 1  On Droysen’s ‘particularly lucky’ find see Pfeiffer (1976) 189.

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2.  Hermann Diels and the Concept of Doxography It was the massive collection of ancient texts entitled Doxographi Graeci published in 1879 by the young German scholar Hermann Diels (1848–1922) that put the concept of doxography on the scholarly map, where it has remained ever since.2 Inspired by this teacher H. Usener and a large number of scholarly predecessors going back to the Renaissance, Diels investigated the tradition of a number of ancient writers recording in various forms the opinions (doxai) of Greek philosophers.3 In the manner of the 19th century philologist he presented a body of texts, ranging from Theophrastus in the 4th century BCE to late compilations in Epiphanius and Ps.Galen Historia philosopha. The central work was the collection of doxai or placita (lit. ‘what it pleases one [to think]’) attributed to the obscure author Aëtius (ca. 50–100 CE) and partially preserved in three later authors, Ps.Plutarch, Johannes Stobaeus and Theodoret of Cyrrhus. Diels was convinced that this work preserved older material. In fact his prime interest was not in the doxographical authors themselves, but rather in what they could tell us about earlier sources from which they derived their material. The motto of the work was a quote from Cicero: tardi ingeni est rivulos consectari, fontes rerum non videre.4 In the vast and labyrinthine prolegomena to his collection of texts, Diels first analyses the works and then attempts to trace their sources. He concludes that the core of the doxographical tradition goes back to Theophrastus and the early Peripatetic school, and in particular to his work Physikôn doxai (The opinions of the natural philosophers). This analysis was a cornerstone of his monumental collection of the fragments of the Presocratic philosophers, first published in 1903, which is an important textual basis for research on early Greek philosophy today. [15] Remarkably Diels begins his prolegomena by discussing a Philonic text. His opening words are:5 The first to have been in contact with the Epitome On the Placita that goes under the name of Plutarch appears to have been Philo the Jew, if indeed we believe that the following text in the first book On Providence has been written by him.

Diels then places the two texts (Prov. 1.22, Ps.Plut. Epit. 1.3) side by side and concludes that the parallels cannot be coincidental. But Philo is about 120 years earlier than the next witness and the chronological consequences for Diels’ reconstruction are unacceptable. As hinted at in the above quote, he concludes 2 

Diels (1879), abbreviated as DG. On Diels and the earlier scholarly tradition that he built on see Mansfeld–Runia (1997). 4  ‘It is evidence of a slow mind when one pursues the little streams, and fails to see the sources of things,’ De orat. 2.117. 5 Diels DG 1: ‘Plutarchi quae fertur de Placitis epitomen primus attigisse videtur Philo Iudaeus, si modo hunc locum libri primi de providentia ab eo scriptum esse credimus.’ 3 

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that these words could not have been written by Philo. Later in his prolegomena he devotes a number of pages to the well-known Theophrastean passage on the eternity of the cosmos in Aet. 117–149. But perhaps the most important Philonic passage for his purposes was overlooked, as he later realized. We shall return to these texts later on in our article.6 Diels invented the term ‘doxography’ and it soon passed into general scholarly currency. But the term has never been adequately defined and continues to be used in a number of different ways. The following four meanings, going from narrow to broad, are indicative of the diversity of current usage:7 (1) The tradition of Placita-literature and related writings as collected by Diels; (2) The broader tradition of discussion and summary of ancient philosophical doctrines; (3) All reportage of ancient philosophical doctrine not recorded in the philosophers’ original works; (4) The practice of doing the history of philosophy by discussing philosophers’ doctrines (and not the problems they are tackling). [16] In the present article it is the second meaning that covers our subject best. As we just saw, Diels does discuss Philo in the context of the Placita, but much of this literature (though not its sources) post-dates him. On the other hand if we took the third and fourth of the meanings above, then the contents of the entire volume on Philo and Hellenistic philosophy could be subsumed under our subject. The scope of ancient doxography in the context of Philo’s writings will become clearer as we give a brief outline of its development from the earliest beginnings up to the time of Philo. This history will not amount to a summary of Diels’ work. For the first hundred years after the publication of Doxographi Graeci, most scholars were happy to accept his reconstruction. However, recent research, primarily carried out by the Dutch scholar Jaap Mansfeld, with some contributions from myself and others as well, has yielded greater insight into the nature of purpose of the doxographical tradition.8 It will form the basis of the following section. 6 

See below Section 4(f ), (e), & (b) respectively. See the more detailed discussion on terminology in Runia (1999c) 33–35. The difference between the first and second meaning corresponds to the distinction between broad and narrow doxography made by J. Mansfeld in the Encyclopedia article cited in the next note, § 6. 8  The best recent overview of the results of this research is given in Mansfeld (2020) (most recent version in the online Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. See also the survey in Mejer (2000), esp. 23–33. Mansfeld and I are undertaking a large scale examination of the tradition of the Placita. The study cited above in n. 3 is the first of in a series of projected volumes. [This project has now been completed; see Mansfeld–Runia (2020). The edition and commentary on Aëtius’ Placita contains numerous references to Philo, partially indexed at 4.2314.] See further the review article on the project by Frede (1999c), who praises the basic approach, but encourages its authors to look more closely at the evidence that Theodoret supplies. [The issues raised by Frede have been resolved; see Mansfeld (2018).] 7 

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3.  A Brief Outline of the Origin and Development of Doxography When philosophers first started to write down their thoughts, it did not take long before they made reference to the views of their predecessors and contemporaries. But it took some time before this was done in any systematic kind of way. In Plato’s dialogues there are already some traces of this process, for example when in the Theaetetus he contrast the views of Heraclitus and Parmenides, or when Sophist he speaks of a ‘battle of giants’ in which materialist thinkers are opposed to ‘friends of the forms,’ or when in the Phaedo he identifies various physical topics relating to the cosmos and the soul, on which thinkers such as Anaxagoras and Socrates are supposed to have views.9 It is [17] likely that in such passages he is drawing on earlier work done by sophists such as Hippias and Gorgias. A decisive contribution was made by Aristotle.10 It is a regular feature of his method of philosophizing (often called his dialectical method) that when he treats a philosophical topic, he first examines the ‘reputable opinions’ (ἔνδοξα) held by previous thinkers, both organizing and evaluating them prior to the establishment of his own views. A fine example is found at the beginning of De anima (1.2, 403b20–25): For our study of soul it is necessary, when formulating the problems of which in our further advance we are to find the solutions, to summon forth the opinions of our predecessors, so that we may profit by whatever is sound in their suggestions and avoid their errors. The starting-point of our inquiry is to put forward those features which have been thought to belong to it in its very nature.

The question on the nature or essence of the soul (οὐσία) which is announced here later finds its way into doxographical collections, e. g. at Aëtius 4.2 (in Diels’ reconstruction). In his Topics Aristotle gives instructions on how problems should be treated through the elucidation of tenets or opinions (δόξαι). Such problems are divided into three domains, ethics, logic and physics. An example is given for each domain, e. g. for physics the question whether the cosmos is everlasting or not.11 The mass of material needs to be organized and a variety of instruments are available for the purpose, e. g. the method of division (διαίρεσις) or opposition (διαφωνία), the use of enumeration, the making of lists, and so on. Another contribution that Aristotle made lay in the study and summarization of earlier philosophical writings. From surviving lists of his writings we know that 9 Cf. Tht. 152e, 180e, Soph. 246a–c, Phd. 96b–c, 97d–e, 98a etc. On the last two texts see Mansfeld (2000b). 10  On the Aristotelian background, which Diels largely overlooked, see Mansfeld’s seminal article, (1992) and esp. 70–82. 11  Top. 1.14, 105b19–25. This topic is treated in Aët. Plac. 2.4. The example for ethics is whether one should obey one’s parents or the laws, for logic whether there is the same knowledge of contraries or not.

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he wrote a number of treatises on earlier thinkers such as Archytas, Democritus and other Presocratics, as well as an Epitome of Plato’s Timaeus.12 [18] Aristotle’s work was continued by his pupils. It appears that Theophrastus distilled much of the work on early philosophical doctrines in the area of natural philosophy is the 18 books of his compendious Physical doctrines.13 His surviving brief treatise De sensibus may well have originally formed part of this work. It certainly appears to illustrate the method used very well.14 Views on the role and working of the senses are divided into a small number of oppositions, e. g. between those who think knowledge is obtained through similarity and those who think it comes from difference. Notable philosophers such as Empedocles, Plato and Democritus are associated with these views and their doctrines are evaluated and criticized in accordance with Peripatetic doctrine. Diels was most likely correct in arguing that much of the collection of doxai that we find in later doxographical writings was first done in the Peripatos, but the arguments for the leading role he assigned to Theophrastus are not as strong as he assumed. The contribution of Eudemus may also have been significant.15 Diels also underestimated, however, the amount of adaptation and development that took place in the Hellenistic period. Unfortunately the loss of almost all philosophical writings in the Hellenistic period makes it very difficult to follow the further development and use of the doxographical methods initiated by Aristotle and Theophrastus. The evidence of Epicurus’ Letters and other fragmentary texts suggest that he made extensive use of the organization and some of the arguments of Theophrastus’ treatises in the presentation of his views on physics, especially when suggesting multiple possible causes of celestial and meteorological phenomena.16 Half a century later Chrysippus exploits doxographical material in discussing the seat [19] of the ruling part (ἡγεμονικόν) of the soul in his treatise On the soul. The striking parallels with later texts have been studied by J. Mansfeld.17 He points out that Chrysippus emphasizes the disagreement (ἀντιλογία) prevalent in views on the subject. This suggests that by this time the earlier Peripatetic collections of material have been reworked by the Sceptical Academy instituted by Arcesilaus in the 3rd century BCE in order to support their view that one should suspend judgment on all philosophical questions whether theoretical or practical. Dif12 

The three main lists are printed in Gigon (1987) 1–44. thought the title of the work was Φυσικῶν δόξαι; cf. DG 102–118, 473–495. J. Mansfeld has demonstrated, however, that it was most likely Φυσικαὶ δόξαι; see (1992) 64. The crucial difference is that the latter title places the emphasis on the systematic nature of the collection rather than on the philosophers whose views are being discussed. 14  See Mansfeld (1996); Baltussen (2000). 15  Mansfeld (2000b) 200–201. 16 Mansfeld (1994); Runia (1997c) 98–99. See also Sedley (1998a). [On the subject of Epicurus’ use of an early version of the Placita see now Runia (2018).] 17  Mansfeld (1989); (1990), esp. 3167–3179. 13 Diels

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ference of opinion, as recorded by Aristotle and Theophrastus, is converted into disagreement or dissension (διαφωνία). The difference is well brought out by Cicero when he writes:18 ‘Aristotle the founder [of the Peripatos] instituted the practice of speaking both for and against on every topic, not in order to speak against every position as Arcesilaus did, but to set out the possible arguments on either side on every subject.’ The sceptical and controversialist method was continued by the 2nd century Academic philosophers Carneades and Clitomachus. The final body of significant evidence before Philo is found in the writings of Cicero. In his youthful manual of rhetoric, De inventione, Cicero informs us about the method of the thesis or quaestio infinita, which discusses general topics such as ‘are the senses true,’ ‘what is the shape of the cosmos,’ ‘what is the size of the sun.’ It is no coincidence that all three questions recur in the doxographical manual of Aëtius.19 Much of Cicero’s philosophical writing is structured around the discussion of such topics, e. g. De natura deorum on whether gods exist and, if they do, what is their nature, De finibus on what is the goal of the good life, and so on. In these discussions he likes to give opposed views (pro et contra dicere, as attributed to Aristotle in the quote above), with his own preferred view often a third compromise position. In addition these writings contain many overviews of the opinions of leading philosophers on the subjects in question. The best known example is the long doxography on theological views in Nat. Deor. 1.25–41, which is paralleled by the papyrus PHerc. 1428 (most likely the work of Philodemus), [20] and bears a significant resemblance to the chapter in Aëtius on the nature of divinity, 1.7.20 Perhaps the most interesting text of all is found in Cicero’s Academica 2.112–146, in which he presents the sceptical view that all the dogmatic philosophers are in fatal discord with each other.21 Many of the examples, especially in the area of physics, are closely related to texts in the Placita literature and led Diels to postulate that there was a older collection of views (the so-called Vetusta Placita) which served as a source for both Cicero and Aëtius.22 Situated chronologically between these two authors, of course, we find Philo of Alexandria. But before we move to Philo’s evidence, two further comments need to be made. The first pertains to the kind of philosophical topics that are dealt with in doxographical literature. As we saw above, Aristotle indicates that his dialectical method can handle subjects in the areas of physics, ethics and logic, and he gives an example for each. However, it appears that only in the area of physics (in18 

Fin. 5.10; text cited by Mansfeld (1990) 3173. De inv. 8; cf. Mansfeld (1992a) 79. The chapters in Aëtius are 4.9, 2.2, 2.21. 20  Already included by Diels in DG 531–550. The new edition of this part of the papyrus by D. Obbink is eagerly awaited. [See now n. 3 on article 4 above.] 21  On this passage and its antecedent sources see Mansfeld (1989). 22  Cf. esp. Acad. 2.122–123, on which see Mansfeld (1992a) 98–108, who emphasizes the further link back to Aristotle De caelo B 13. 19 



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cluding first principles, psychology and related epistemology) do we have a body of doxai that are organized on a large scale, i. e. the tradition of the Placita investigated by Diels. M. Giusta made a valiant attempt to show that there was a parallel body of ethical doxai, but it has been generally agreed that no such work ever existed.23 This does not mean that there was not a significant number of ethical doxographies, as seen for example in Cicero’s De finibus.24 but there was no systematically organized corpus. The same applies for topics in the area of logic. The second comment pertains to the way in which doxographical material was presented. This happened in many different forms.25 In the Placita the various doxai are mostly presented in an extremely compact [21] form, often merely stating the view without any accompanying argument. In other texts views can be set out at greater length with argumentation and illustratory material, as for example in the Ciceronian texts cited above or in Seneca’s Naturales quaestiones. Sometimes the doxai belonging to a single philosopher are collected together in a doctrinal compendium, as found for example in many biographies in Diogenes Laertius. A different form of Hellenistic doxography is found in the ‘On the sects’ literature, which dealt with the doctrines of αἱρέσεις or ‘schools of thought.’ The best known extant example is by Arius Didymus on Peripatetic and Stoic physics and ethics.26 It was long thought that Arius was the Alexandrian Stoic who was an older contemporary of Philo, but recently some doubts have been cast on this identification.27 Another genre was the ‘Successions’ literature, which emphasized how philosophical ideas were handed down from teacher to pupil in various successions (Διαδοχαί) from Thales to the Hellenistic schools.28 Together these various works constitute well-known philosophy manuals of Philo’s time. We may surmise that the learned Jew was very familiar with them. But it is now time to turn to his evidence and see the extent of his acquaintance.

4.  Some Important Philonic Texts There are a very considerable number of texts scattered throughout Philo’s extensive corpus that can be called upon to illustrate his knowledge and use of the 23  Giusta (1964–67). Copious use is made of the evidence furnished by Philo; see the index of passages at 2.584–585. 24  See also the overview of ethical disagreement in Acad. 2.129–141. A fine example in a later author is on the telos (end or goal of life) in Clement of Alexandria, Str. 2.127–132. 25  A brief overview is given in Runia (1999b) 40–45; see also the two studies of Mejer (1978), (2000). 26  The physical fragments were collected in Diels DG 445–472. See further Runia (1996). Two long passages on Stoic and Peripatetic ethics are preserved in Stobaeus; see Fortenbaugh (1983); Pomeroy (1999). 27  As argued by Göransson (1995). [See further n. 13a in article 6.] 28  See the surviving examples on the Academy and Stoa attributed to Philodemus’ Σύνταξις τῶν φιλοσόφων and edited in Dorandi (1991); (1994).

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Greek doxographical tradition. The following series of texts have been selected because of their importance or because they illustrate particular kinds of usage or adaptation. They should not, however, be regarded as exhaustive. It will not be practical to quote [22] all the texts in their entirety. The reader is asked to consult editions and translations of Philo’s works in order to gain acquaintance with full details.29 (a)  The Gift of Sight and the Origin of Philosophy In a number of texts scattered throughout his works Philo gives encomia of the human faculty of sight. The theme is a topos that has been developed from the famous passage in Plato Tim. 47a–d, where it is argued that sight is the ultimate origin of philosophy.30 As part of his expansion of Plato’s themes Philo adds examples of philosophical problems that the mind, responding to the data of sight, investigates. At Opif. 54, prompted by exegesis of the creation of the heavenly bodies on the fourth day of creation, he explains what contemplation of the heavens allows the soul to do:31 It started to busy itself with further enquiries: (1) what is the substance (ousia) of these objects of sight? (2) are they by nature uncreated or did they obtain a beginning of genesis? (3) what is the manner of their movement, and (4) what are the causes by means of which each thing is administered? From enquiry into these matters the pursuit of philosophy arose.

The examples that Philo gives are taken from the realm of physics. He moves from three questions on the nature of visible phenomena to a final question on their causes. A similar but more expansive text is found at Abr. 162–163, where he gives a rather far-fetched symbolic explanation why one of the five cities was exempted from destruction in Gen 19:15–29: The understanding … taking from sight the starting-points of its ability to observe the things of the mind, proceeded to investigate whether (1) these phenomena are ungenerated or have obtained a beginning of genesis, (2) whether they are infinite or limited, (3) whether there is a single cosmos or a plurality, and (4) whether the four elements form the substance of all things, or whether the heaven and its contents have been allotted a special nature and share in a substance that is more divine and differing from the others. Moreover, if indeed the cosmos has come [23] into being (cf. question 1), (5) by whom did this occur, and (6) who is the creator (dêmiourgos) in terms of substance or quality, and (7) what did he have in mind in creating it, and (8) what is he doing now and what is his occupation and manner of life, and all the other questions

29 

In what follows Philonic texts are quoted in my own translation. On these texts and their background see Runia (1986) 270–276. 31  See also the parallel text at Spec. 3.190, which asks a further question of the causes, namely whether they are material or immaterial. 30 



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that a keen intellect with wisdom as its companion is inclined to examine. These and similar questions are what philosophizing is concerned with.

Here we first have four questions on the nature of visible phenomena. In each case Philo presents alternative answers, and in all but the last these form a diaeresis consisting of contradictories (e. g. the phenomena are either generated or ungenerated, there is no third possibility). Then, instead of asking about their causes in a general way, as in the previous text, Philo takes one of the alternatives, that the cosmos is generated, and asks four further questions about its cause in the form of a creator. The examples in these two texts show how it is envisaged that the subjectmatter of philosophy is organized in terms of questions. Moreover, the way that these questions are presented is relevant in a number of respects to doxographical texts. Firstly it clearly privileges questions in the area of cosmology and first principles, which is precisely the subject matter of Books I  and II of Aëtius’ Placita. Indeed the specific questions asked correspond in a rather inexact way with various chapters in that work, e. g. 2.1 on whether the cosmos is single or infinite, 2.2a on the cosmos’ motion,32 2.4 on whether the cosmos is generated or ungenerated,33 2.11 on the substance of heaven, 1.3 on first principles, 1.7 who is God, 1.11 on causes, 1.12 on bodies etc. Doxography is thus used as a tool to give structure to the domain of philosophy. In addition, the way Philo gives alternative answers is reminiscent of the method of the thesis or quaestio infinita initiated by Aristotle and commonly found in Cicero.34 We note, finally, that Philo is not neutral in the way he formulates the questions. The second example plainly tends in the direction of the cosmology of the Timaeus, which he sees as corresponding in large part to the Mosaic creation account in the book of Genesis. The [24] Placita in Aëtius also show signs of Platonist influence, for example in the lemma on Plato’s theology in 1.7.35

32  As I will show in my forthcoming reconstruction of Placita Book II, analysis of the evidence shows that originally there must have been a chapter entitled Περὶ κίνησεως κόσμου which was deleted by the epitomiser Ps.Plutarch. [See Mansfeld–Runia (2009) 331–336. In the final reconstruction and edition the chapter was not included on grounds that its contents were too speculative; see Mansfeld–Runia (2020) 2.777–779. But there can hardly be any doubt that a chapter of this kind must have been included.] 33  To judge by Ps.Plutarch’s epitome, the title of this chapter in Aëtius appears to have been εἰ ἄφθαρτος ὁ κόσμος, but its contents clearly also cover the wider question of whether the cosmos came into being or is ungenerated. The question goes back to Plato Tim. 27c5. [See further the commentary in Mansfeld–Runia (2020) 800–803.] 34  See the discussions above in the previous section. 35  Fullest text at Stobaeus Ecl. 1.1.29b, cf. Diels DG 306–307. [Now edited in Mansfeld– Runia (2020) 375.] I have examined the parallelism between Philo and the Placita in my article (2002) = article 6 in this collection.

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(b)  Inscrutability of the Heavens and the Mind In De somniis 1, towards the end of Philo’s great Allegorical Commentary on Genesis, an elaborate exegesis is given of Jacob’s famous dream in Genesis 28. It is noted (§ 4) that the dream occurs as he makes a journey from the well of the Oath (v. 10 LXX; Beersheba in the Hebrew original). In allegorical terms the well should be seen as a symbol of knowledge (§ 6). But why is this well the fourth of those dug by Abraham and Isaac? Philo’s solution is to suggest that both in the cosmos and in us human beings there are four constituents, of which three are knowable and one beyond our knowledge. The idea is elaborated in two parallel arguments as follows: § 14 § 15 § 16 §§ 17–20 §§ 21–24 § 25 §§ 27–29 §§ 30–33

biblical problem suggested solution four constituents of the cosmos three of these, earth–water–air, are knowable fourth, heaven, is essentially unknowable four constituents of human beings three of these, body–perception–speech, are knowable fourth, intellect, is essentially unknowable

The procedure is typically Philonic. Greek philosophical doctrines are used to convey a deeper understanding of scripture. It is often while explaining the doctrines adduced that the exegete can supply us with valuable information about Greek philosophy, even though that is not his primary goal. We have a striking case here. In order to demonstrate the unknowability of both heaven and the human intellect Philo’s strategy is to set out the diversity of opinion that exists on these two topics. For his material he draws on a doxographical manual which is no longer extant but bears a close resemblance to the Placita of Aëtius. Diels missed out on this vital text when he wrote his Prolegomena, but it was discovered by Paul Wendland, the co-editor of the great critical edition of Philo’s works. He was encouraged by [25] Diels to present his find to the Berlin Academy.36 I draw on his analysis in what follows, as well as on the important discussion by Jaap Mansfeld in his magisterial article on the Placita concerned with the soul and the intellect.37 After positing that the heaven has an incomprehensible nature (φύσις ἀκατάληπτος), Philo proceeds by asking a series of questions involving doxai that correspond to the contents of various chapters in Aëtius. A  summary of these correspondences can be given as follows:38 § 21 heaven: what is its nature? cf. Aëtius 2.11 On heaven, what is its substance (ousia) 36 

Wendland (1897). Mansfeld (1990) 3117–3122. 38  I give the titles of the chapters as preserved in the epitome of Ps.Plutarch. 37 



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§ 21 heaven: is it three- or two-dimensional?, cf. Aëtius 2.15 On the order of the stars § 22 stars: what is their nature? cf. Aëtius 2.13 What is the substance of the stars? § 22 the stars: are they living or lifeless? (no chapter in Aëtius, but cf. 2.3 Whether the cosmos is ensouled and administered by providence) § 23 the moon: is its light its own or from the sun? cf. Aëtius 2.28 On the illuminations of the moon.

The same procedure is followed to illustrate the incomprehensible nature of the dominant mind (ὁ ἡγεμὼν νοῦς): § 30 what is it as regards its substance? cf. Aët. 4.2 On the soul; 4.3 Whether the soul is body and what is its substance? § 31 does it have an external origin or does it arise organically with the substance of the soul? no direct equivalent in Aëtius, but cf. two doxai at Stobaeus Ecl. 1.48.739 § 31 is it destructible or indestructible? cf. Aët. 4.7 On the indestructibility of the soul § 32 where is it located? cf. Aët. 4.5 What is the dominant element of the soul and in which part is it located?

For this material there are not only parallels in Aëtius, but also in Cicero Tusc. Disp. 1.18–24. Acad. 2.124, Lucretius Book III, and in later texts such as Tertullian and Macrobius.40 In addition, as Wendland noted, [26] Philo appears to use the same source material a little further on in his treatise, when he illustrates the activity of the Chaldean astronomers, which Abraham leaves behind when he emigrates to Haran (Somn. 1.52–55). Here the presentation is much more compact, with just one or two doxai used as illustrations or only the topic indicated. The topics are similar to those used in the earlier passage, but interestingly Philo adds the subject of the size of the sun, whether just a foot in diameter (the doxa associated with Heraclitus) or much larger than the earth. This topic was a favourite illustration of a thesis or quaestio infinita in rhetorical literature,41 but was also compactly treated in a chapter in Aëtius, 2.21 On the size of the sun. It is also worth noting that when Philo indicates what the human being should investigate, namely his own nature, he outlines a number of topics related primarily to sense-perception which correspond closely to chapters in Book IV of Aëtius’ compendium.42 Wendland was right to conclude that the parallels between these texts are such that they cannot be fully independent of each other. But they can also not be reduced to each other. At least two topics are included in Philo’s summary that are not covered in the remains of Aëtius as we have them and various 39  These are derived from a missing chapter in Aëtius, as the parallel in Theodoret Cur. 5.28 shows; see Mansfeld (1990) 3092 n. 138. 40  Analysed in depth by Mansfeld (1990). On the important Ciceronian texts see 3122–37. Through these parallels Mansfeld can show that Philo has applied the doxography on the soul in general to the dominant part, i. e. the intellect, alone. 41  Cf. Hermagoras at Cicero De inv. 1.6.8; De orat. 2.66; Quintilian Inst. or. 3.6.42, 7.2.6, 7.4.1. 42  E. g. § 55 τί ὅρασις … τί τὸ ὁρᾶν καὶ πῶς ὁρᾷς, cf. Aët. 4.13, Περὶ ὁράσεως, πῶς ὁρῶμεν.

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individual doxai are not exactly paralleled. Naturally we have to allow for the considerable freedom that Philo permits himself in using philosophical material. A  good example of such latitude is Philo’s suggestion that according to some the substance of the stars consists of hollows and glens and fiery clumps (of metal). The doxa is paralleled in Aëtius, but there it is said of the moon which in the view of Anaxagoras and Democritus is a fiery solid which has in it plains and mountains and ravines. Two of Aëtius’ three nouns are also found in the doxographical report of Hippolytus on Anaxagoras.43 So it is likely that Philo has [27] altered the language of his source in order to accentuate the bizarre nature of the views that are held on the nature of the heaven. At the same time he plainly understands well the method and purpose of his source. This emerges in at least three respects. Firstly, as already noted, he strongly emphasizes the role of questions, which form the backbone of doxography. Secondly, in giving sketchy and generalized answers to the questions, he frequently uses the method of diaeresis, which allows the answers to be grouped and opposed to each other. Thirdly, he gives a considerable number of doxai in abbreviated form as examples, but leaves out the names of the philosophers holding the views. This is consistent with the method of the Placita, where the emphasis falls on the view rather than the person holding it. From where, then, did Philo derive this doxographical material? Wendland argued that Philo’s source must have been the Vetusta Placita postulated by Diels as available to Cicero and to be dated to the middle of the first century BCE., i. e. more than a century prior to Aëtius. Mansfeld has looked at the epistemology of Philo’s extracts more thoroughly and argues that it may well have a sceptical or an academic source. The continual use of the term ἀκατάληπτος (cf. Somn. 1.21, 25, 33) points more to the latter. He concludes:44 Two options are open: Philo … either used an Academic source which was based on the Plac. (and such a source would have to be earlier than the 1st century BCE date assigned by Diels to the Vet. Plac.), or he used – among other sources – a version of the Plac. which was older that the Vet. Plac. postulated by Diels.

43  Compare Philo § 22, οἱ ἀστέρες πότερον γῆς εἰσιν ὄγκοι πυρὸς πλήρεις – ἄγκεα γὰρ καὶ νάπας καὶ μύδρους διαπύρους εἶπον αὐτοὺς εἶναί τινες; Aëtius Plac. 2.25.10, Ἀναξαγόρας Δημόκριτος στερέωμα διάπυρον, ἔχον ἐν ἑαυτῷ πεδία καὶ ὄρη καὶ φάραγγας; Hippolytus Adv. haer. 1.8.10 (Anaxagoras), ἔφη δὲ γηίνην εἶναι τὴν σελήνην ἔχειν τε ἐν αὑτῇ πεδία καὶ φάραγγας (perhaps καὶ ὄρη has fallen out here, as suggested by Marcovich); Diog. Laert. 2.8 (Anaxagoras), τὴν δὲ σελήνην οἰκήσεις ἔχειν, ἀλλὰ καὶ λόφους καὶ φάραγγας. According to Diels DG 138 the convergence of the last three sources ultimately goes back to Theophrastus. The differing terms in Philo ἄγκεα καὶ νάπας are not likely the result of Philonic intervention, since he does not use them elsewhere (νάπαι in Mos. 1.289 taken from LXX Deut 24:16). Cf. also the mistaken reference to Xenophanes at Cic. Acad. 2.123 (the moon inhabited and the location of many cities and mountains). 44  Mansfeld (1990) 3121.



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It is, however, difficult to pursue Quellenforschung of this kind with any degree of precision and perhaps more fruitful to concentrate on how the material is used.45 Elsewhere in his writings Philo makes extensive use of both sceptical and academic terminology (we will be discussing further texts below). I would hesitate to conclude with Mansfeld that [28] the usage in the De Somniis texts has been taken over from a particular source. Philo goes his own way, adapting material that he has at his disposal to his exegetical aims. Certainly we can easily see that his position on the unknowability of the heaven and the intellect is qualified. There are views that he knows are unacceptable, even if he does not know what the exact truth is on the subject in question. Whatever the substance of the heaven may be, the heavenly bodies are not fiery clumps of metal. The holders of such views (i. e. Anaxagoras) should be put in prison where such materials are used to punish the impious (§ 22, cf. Aet. 47). Whatever the intellect is, it is not body, but must be declared incorporeal (§ 30). But the question of its location in the head or the heart (§ 32) is one that continually recurs in Philo.46 At Post. 137 we read that it is an issue to be left to the experts. But at Sacr. 136 and Spec. 1.213 (both exegesis of Lev 3:3) he affirms that even the lawgiver Moses leaves the question undecided. These texts are – perhaps unexpectedly – consistent with the position held in Somn. If this is indeed a question beyond the range of human knowledge, then Moses – taking up the role of the philosopher, not the prophet, here – will not supply the answer either. Finally we briefly note a number of other doxographical texts in De somniis and the preceding treatise De mutatione nominum. (1) Mut. 10: the incomprehensibility of God is compared to that of the mind and the soul; the reference to the ‘countless conflicts of sophists who introduce opinions (γνῶμαι) opposed to each other or even wholly contradictory’ no doubt presupposes the kind of doxography set out more fully in Somn. 1.30–32.47 (2) Mut. 67: in explaining the etymology of Abram as ‘uplifted (μετέωρος) father,’ Philo briefly indicates the scope of astronomy, alluding to various chapter titles from the Placita, but without sceptical intent. 45  In a personal communication Jaap Mansfeld indicates that he is more and more reluctant to use terms such as Vetusta or Vetustissima Placita for layers of postulated sources, at least until more definitive research has been carried out. Moreover it is better to speak of traditions than sources. [In fact in our joint edition of the Placita, we speak of a more general ‘proximate tradition’ or traditio proxima rather than a lost Vetusta Placita; see Mansfeld–Runia (2020) 1.69–78.] 46  On this question in the Philonic corpus see further Nikiprowetzky (1977) 190; Runia (1986) 267. 47  Note also a similar text at Spec. 1.38–39, in which the unattainability of knowledge of God’s essence is compared with the search for ‘what each of the stars is with regard to its substance’.

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(3) Somn. 1.145: the comparison of the moon with the other heavenly bodies as part of the allegorical interpretation of Jacob’s ladder is [29] probably indebted to the same doxographical source used in §§ 21–23 (cf. Aët. 2.25, 2.30); here too there is no trace of scepticism. (4) Somn. 1.184: a somewhat playful explanation of Gen 28:17, ‘how fearful is this place,’ ‘place’ (τόπος) being taken to refer to the question in the study of natural philosophy of the location of God as being, which then involves the concept of space again; Philo gives a neat diaeresis of three views, which may be indebted to a doxographical source, but differs from Aëtius 1.18–20 in its theological emphasis. The cluster of doxographical texts in these two treatises is certainly striking and suggests that Philo may have made a special study of doxographical texts at the time of writing these works.48 (c)  The Tropes of Aenesidemus Philo is our earliest surviving witness to the celebrated tropes of Aenesidemus, a systematic attempt to demonstrate the unattainability of true and secure knowledge in the spirit of Academic and Neopyrrhonist philosophy.49 The context is a remarkable allegory of the drunkenness of Lot, symbolizing the insensible and ignorant intellect, who consorts with his daughters, symbolizing deliberation (βουλή) and assent (συναίνεσις), as recorded in Gen 19:33–35. The entire passage, Ebr. 166–205, continues to fascinate scholars because it is such a remarkable example of how Philo can press into service for his exegesis philosophical material which seems quite antithetical to his own philosophical sympathies.50 [30] In his presentation Philo devotes the most attention to the final trope (§§ 193– 202), which is equivalent to the tenth and final trope in the more systematic account preserved in Sextus Empiricus (PH 1.145–163) and is also recorded as the fifth in Diogenes Laertius (9.83–84).51 According to Sextus it focused on divergences in lifestyles, customs, laws, mythical beliefs and doctrinal suppositions. 48  These are the final treatises of the Allegorical Commentary. If he wrote the Exposition of the Law directly afterwards (which is by no means certain), then it is worth noting that its first two works are Opif. and Abr., from which the texts studied above in section 4(a) are taken (and cf. also Opif. 171 cited below in section 4(g). 49  Philo’s source usage was discovered by Von Arnim in an early study, (1888). It is very likely that Aenesidemus started as an Academic philosopher and proceeded to start his own Neopyrrhonist school, but the details are disputed; see Mansfeld (1995), in response to Decleva Caizzi (1992). Aenesidemus’ exact dates are unknown, but there are good grounds for dating his floruit to the mid 1st century BCE. 50  See esp. the discussions in Janáček (1982); Lévy (2005). 51  Philo does not number the tropes and only records eight of the ten in Sextus. It is not wholly certain that they all go back to Aenesidemus, but certainly the tenth must do so.



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Philo reserves the final divergence for the climax of his account (§§ 198–202). He is not surprised that the confused crowd of ordinary people should assent to the customs in which they have been indoctrinated, but he does wonder that the multitude of the so-called philosophers who pretend to hunt down what is clear and not false in things, are divided into platoons and companies and posit doctrines that are discordant and often also contrary to each other not just on a single point that crops up, but on virtually all subjects great and small with which their investigations are concerned’ (§ 198).

In the following section Philo then gives examples of how the philosophers disagree in the areas of physics and ethics (in § 203 he also mentions logic, but gives no examples):52 (1) Physics (§ 199) (a) whether the universe is finite or infinite (cf. Aët. 2.1); (b) whether it is generated or ungenerated (cf. Aët. 2.4); (c) whether it is directed by providence or by chance (cf. Aët. 2.3); (2) Ethics (§§ 200–202)53 (a) whether the good is single and connected to the soul only, or triple and also including bodily and external goods; (b) issues relating to ways of life (βίοι) and ends (τέλη). These examples make use of standard doxographical material. The parallel sources use slightly different examples, the only subject found in all three being – interestingly enough – the question of divine providence [31] (Sextus § 151, Diogenes § 84).54 In themselves they are not enough for us to conclude that Philo was indebted to the Placita. He knows this material well and adapts it to his own needs.55 It is important to note that throughout the entire passage the emphasis falls on the disagreement of the philosophers rather than just their doctrines. The reason for this lies in the original allegorical context. The tropes are illustrating that it is plausible for scripture to introduce the mind as floundering in the absence of secure knowledge (§ 203). Philo concludes the entire passage by saying that ‘it is the safest course to suspend judgement (ἐπέχειν)’ (§ 205). But can a disciple of Moses really rest content with such a thoroughly sceptical conclusion? 52  Note that this procedure is parallel to the greatly expanded example of the disagreement of the dogmatists given by Cicero in propria persona in Acad. 2.112–131 (physics starts at § 116, ethics at § 129). 53  On these subjects see further below section 4(h). 54  A compact summary of all the examples is given by Mansfeld (1990) 3166–3167. 55  But Mansfeld loc. cit. concludes that Aenesidemus most likely ‘made creative use of disagreements listed in the Vet. Plac.’ (but on this postulated source see above n. 45). For the relation to the doxographical material in Cicero’s Academica see his remarks in (1989) 134–135.

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(d)  The Wise Person Sits in Judgement Another allegorical passage can shed further light on the question we have just raised. In Her. 243–248 Philo gives another fascinating allegorical exegesis, this time of Abraham sitting in the midst of the birds (i. e. vultures) who descended upon the slain animals that he was about to sacrifice (Gen 15:11). The birds symbolize enemies of the soul, but it is also possible that there might be friends. Remarkably Philo sees potential friends in a group of people whom he usually portrays rather negatively, sophists engaging in doctrinal strife (§ 246): inasmuch as they incline toward a single goal, the investigation of the realities of nature, they could be said to be friends, but inasmuch as they are not of one mind in their treatment of individual problems, they can be said to be involved in civil strife.

Once again Philo gives a set of doxographical examples with philosophers propounding views in opposition to each other (§ 246): (1) those who say the universe is uncreated versus those who introduce its genesis; (2) those who affirm that the universe is destructible versus those who maintain that it will remain indestructible because held together by its creator’s will (i. e. divine providence); [32] (3) those who confess that nothing is but all is becoming versus the opposite view;56 (4) those who expound that the human being is the measure of all things (Protagoreans or Epicureans) versus those who impute confusion to the faculties of sense-perception and understanding (e. g. Pyrrhonists); (5) and, in general, those who affirm that everything is beyond comprehension (i. e. Academics and sceptics) to those who regard many things are knowable (e. g. Stoics). The first three examples from the domain of physics are standard and familiar. The last two are epistemological and more surprising. Cleverly Philo points out that the very meta-question of whether reality is knowable is in dispute, so that the sceptics who habitually use the disputes of the dogmatists as evidence for their own position of suspending judgment (cf. Ebr. 205 discussed above) themselves are reduced to being parties in a very fundamental disagreement.57 Philo goes on to say (§ 247), moving from the fundamental questions to more detailed themes, that the whole of physical reality has given rise to strife and contention for those who investigate the questions of substance, quality, alteration, 56  This example, which opposes the metaphysics of Heraclitus to that of Parmenides goes right back to the beginnings of doxography in Plato and Aristotle; cf. Plato Tht. 179e–181b; Aristotle Cael. 3.1 298b14–299a1. It is found at Aët. 1.23–24, but the two doxai are not clearly opposed. No doubt this has to be with the vagaries of transmission and adaptation. 57  This point is well made by Mansfeld (1988) 91.



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genesis and destruction, particularly in relation to the heavens. Once again the standard questions of the Placita can be discerned, and in the background the same sceptical position can be discerned as Philo puts forward in the texts in De somniis analysed above. Philo uses a very distinctive terminology with terms such as διαφωνία, στάσις, ἔρις, φιλονεικία, ἑτεροδοξία, ἀντιλογία, αἱρεσιόμαχος etc. in order to convey the disagreements of the philosophers and their schools in their quest for truth.58 It may be surmised that these terms have their origin as technical terms in both Academic and Neopyrrhonist [33] philosophy).59 The epistemological terminology which opposes truth to conjecture and what is convincing but not true (§ 248, ὁ στοχαστικὸς καὶ πιθανὸς νοῦς) derives from the same background.60 But there is a significant difference compared to the previous texts we have discussed. Philo does not regard this sceptical position as having the last word. Taking his cue from the allegory he presents an alternative. The sophists in their researches remain in conflict ‘until such time as the man who is both mid-wife and judge at the same time, takes his place in their midst, examines the products of each soul, rejects those which do not deserve to be nurtured, and preserves those that are suitable and which he thinks deserving of the appropriate care’ (§ 247). The reference to the mid-wife of course recalls Socrates, who brings forth and tests the thoughts of philosophic souls (cf. Plato Tht. 150a–151b). But central to what Philo has in mind here is the role of the wise person and prophet who is divinely enlightened and inspired (cf. Her. 258–259, exeg. Gen 15:12). In the final analysis Philo is by no means a sceptic. The prophet and lawgiver Moses, who at the court of Pharaoh was trained Egyptian, Chaldean and Greek (!) lore (Mos. 1.23–24),61 furnishes insight into fundamental philosophical issues, including the question of what the limits of human knowledge are. I expect that, if we could ask Philo, he would affirm that the five questions listed above on which the sophists wrangle can in principle be answered with reference to scripture. The role of doxography is to help clarify the scope of philosophy and the main issues, and so contributes to the apologetic aim of showing that philosophy based on scripture can compete at the same level as Greek philosophy. This will become clearer as now turn to more detailed treatment of specific questions that have been prominent in the doxographies studied so far. [34] 58  See not only Her. 247–248, but also the fascinating fragment preserved in the Florilegia, QE fr. 5 (text at Petit PAPM 33.284). Both texts use the distinctive term διαφωνία (see next note). 59  The earliest example of the key term διαφωνία is in fact in Philo; see the discussion by Mansfeld (1988) 181–207, esp. 184. 60  This terminology is very common in Philo; cf. Runia (2001a) 189, 239. 61  As Mansfeld, (1988) 96, points out, this text uses the same terminology of scepticism to describe the state of philosophical disagreement which the gifted young Moses is able to surmount.

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(e)  The Treatise De aeternitate mundi So far the texts we have discussed have all been located in the exegetical works which form the bulk of the Philonic corpus. But doxography also plays an important role in the so-called philosophical treatises which focus on problems in Greek philosophy with almost no reference to the Bible at all. There is no need to think that these works might be inauthentic or youthful exercises. It is evident that their themes are related to the rest of Philo’s œuvre, but the method they use is different. Three of the works in fact use the method of the thesis: De aeternitate mundi on whether the cosmos is indestructible or not, De Providentia 2 on whether Providence exists or not, De animalibus on whether animals possess logos or not.62 In the case of the first work this is done in the form of a treatise, in the latter two in the form of literary dialogues which are unique in Philo’s œuvre but rather reminiscent of the works of Cicero. As noted above (section 3), there is a close connection between this rhetorical method and the practice of doxography. So not surprisingly, the first two treatises, each in its own way, yield highly important evidence for our subject.63 It is of course no coincidence that there themes have repeatedly been used as examples of doxographical questions in the various texts discussed so far (notably in Opif. 54, Abr. 162–163,64 Ebr. 199, Her. 246). The treatise De aeternitate mundi is well structured and its contents perfectly clear, yet the interpretation of the work as a whole have given rise to considerable controversy.65 As it stands the work can be divided into three parts. In the Introductory part (§§ 1–20) Philo first introduces its [35] theme (§§ 1–2), defines the essential terms κόσμος and φθορά (destruction) (§§ 3–6), and then gives a detailed doxographical overview of opinions on the subject (§§ 7–19). In the main body of the work Philo then gives a long sequence of arguments demonstrating the view that the cosmos is ungenerated and indestructible (§§ 20–149). The final sentence forms the transition to the third part, in which Philo promises to clarify ‘the oppositions to each point’66 (§ 150). Unfortunately nothing remains of this final part of the treatise. We do not even know whether it was ever written. 62 

On Philo’s dialogues see Terian (1984a). the exception of a brief reference to the Pythagorean philosophy at § 62, Anim. makes no direct reference to philosophical schools, though it would not have been difficult to do so. 64  In this text the question of providence is raised by implication when the problem is raised concerning the way of life of the Deity, i. e. whether he is concerned with the cosmos in any way or not. 65  For an overview and solution to the problems see Runia (1981). Recently doubts have again surfaced on the authenticity of Aet., inspired by the unpublished PhD thesis of R. Skarsten (1981); cf. Fuglseth (2006). In my view this position is not convincing and has not countered the arguments in my article cited above. See also the response of M. Niehoff in the same volume, (2006), esp. 53–55. 66  Or ‘to each argument’; the Greek reads τὰς πρὸς ἕκαστον ἐναντιώσεις. 63  With

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The doxography in §§ 7–19 is unique in Philo and deserves careful study.67 It commences by setting out the three positions taken on the subject (§ 7):68 Three opinions have emerged on the subject being investigated. There are some who affirm that the cosmos is everlasting, i. e. both ungenerated and indestructible. There are others who from the opposite viewpoint state that it is generated and destructible. Then there are some who draw from each position, from the latter that it is generated, from the former that it is indestructible. They have left behind a mixed opinion, considering it to be generated and indestructible.

This opening statement is highly methodical. It takes the two positions on the beginning and the end of the cosmos respectively and uses them to make a grid: I ungenerated indestructible II generated destructible III generated indestructible

The first two positions are directly opposed to each other in a strong diaeresis. The third is explicitly called a mixed, i. e. a compromise view. A  fourth possible view, that the cosmos is ungenerated and destructible is not mentioned, presumably because no thinker has ever seriously entertained it. [36] Philo then proceeds to illustrate the three doxai and connect them with the doctrines of individual philosophers and schools, starting not with position I but with position II. This can be summarized as follows: IIa IIb Ia Ib IIIa IIIb IIIc IIId

Democritus & Epicurus: multiple kosmoi (§ 8) The Stoa: single cosmos everlastingly destructible (§ 9) opposed by Aristotle who accuses them of atheism (§ 10–11) perhaps Pythagoreans preceded Aristotle (§ 12) Plato’s view in Timaeus 41a (quoted) (§ 13) but not to be interpreted as I according to Aristotle (§ 14–16) perhaps Hesiod is the father of Platonic doctrine (§ 18) much earlier this view was affirmed by Moses (§ 19).

Philo shows the links and contrasts between the various positions. By connecting them with the thought of individual philosophers he is able to refine the second and third position and show how they can be held in different ways. He also gives some reasons why philosophers choose for a particular position, e. g. Aristotle’s view that to hold the view that the cosmos will come to an end shows an impious attitude towards the cosmos as ‘visible god’ (ὁρατὸς θεός).69 It is important to observe that the sequence of doxai and philosophers is systematic 67 

For what follows see esp. Runia (1981): also extensive discussion in Runia (1986). δὲ περὶ τοῦ ζητουμένου γεγόνασι δόξαι, τῶν μὲν ἀίδιον τὸν κόσμον φαμένων, ἀγένητόν τε καὶ ἀνώλεθρον, τῶν δὲ ἐξ ἐναντίας γενητόν τε καὶ φθαρτόν· εἰσὶ δ’ οἳ παρ’ ἑκατέρων ἐκλαβόντες, τὸ μὲν γενητὸν παρὰ τῶν ὑστέρων παρὰ δὲ τῶν προτέρων τὸ ἄφθαρτον, μικτὴν δόξαν ἀπέλιπον, γενητὸν καὶ ἄφθαρτον οἰηθέντες αὐτὸν εἶναι. 69  This statement is not found in Aristotle’s extant writings and has been attributed to the lost De philosophia (fr. 18 Ross). For his position on the subject see De caelo 1.10–12. 68  τριτταὶ

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rather than chronological. Aristotle is said to oppose a view held by thinkers who in some cases (Epicurus, Stoics) lived later than he did. Yet chronology does play a subordinate role, since in the case of views I and III Philo mentions proponents who lived earlier than the main philosophers associated with them. And it is quite plain that Philo is not a neutral doxographer. The doxography is organized in a sequence of ascending acceptability. The Stoic view is better than that of the godless atomists. Aristotle’s view is superior to that of the Stoics. Plato’s view improves on that of Aristotle (and should not be interpreted in an Aristotelianizing way). But, most importantly, the Platonic view is seen as anticipated by the lawgiver Moses and is illustrated by two texts from Genesis (1:1, 8:22). From Philo’s pen this is the ultimate imprimatur. The final paragraph § 19 is the climax of the entire doxography and provides the key to the interpretation of the treatise as a whole. It is impossible that the long sequence of arguments in §§ 20–149, which defend position I, should represent Philo’s final word on this question. In order to preserve consistency [37] with the doxography in §§ 7–19, the ‘arguments in opposition,’ introduced in § 150 but no longer extant, must have set out position III, not position I, unless we were to put forward the most unlikely supposition that the entire treatise at no stage articulates the arguments for the Mosaic position which Philo regards as his own. As we have already seen, the question of whether the cosmos came into being or has always existed was a stock example of a dialectical question70 and from the outset was well represented in doxographical literature. The question is posed and discussed by Plato, Aristotle, Theophrastus, and the Stoa.71 Closer to Philo’s time an imperfectly preserved report from a lost work of Varro shows some similarities with the text in Aet., as does the doxography preserved by Cicero at Acad. 2.118–119. In both cases the Platonic doxa is recorded, and in Cicero Aristotle is dramatically introduced in order to refute the Stoa, just as occurs in Philo.72 The corresponding chapter in Aëtius is 2.4 On whether the cosmos is indestructible, exactly the same formulation as at Aet. 3. The chapter contains 13 doxai and in terms of names and positions taken (but not argument) is much more complex than the Philonic schema. Detailed analysis shows that the various doxai present in Philo can all be located in Aëtius’ scheme, but with a different overall structure and with some different name-labels.73 Philo’s grid-like scheme with the four possible positions reappears in a sceptical text in Augustine’s Contra academicos, 70 

See the text in Aristotle cited above at n. 11. Plato Tim. 27c4–5; Aristotle Cael. 1.10 279b4; Theophrastus Phys. dox. 6, 8 Diels; Stoa ap. Diog. Laert. 7.132. 72  This text has also traditionally been attributed to Aristotle’s lost De philosophia, fr. 20 Ross, but the attribution is very loose at best. Of course Aristotle could not have attacked the Stoa, but the passage here is systematic rather than historical. 73  See my analysis at (2005). An extensive list of parallels is given at 20–21. [The chapter is now incorporated in the new edition and commentary, Mansfeld–Runia (2020) 794–815.] 71  See



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with even the fourth option missing in Philo included.74 Philo’s three positions are repeated by Ambrose in the doxography at the beginning of his Exameron, including the name-labels Aristotle and Plato.75 [38] Philo’s text at Aet. 7–19 can thus be placed against a rich background of doxographical activity, to which he was certainly indebted. Two features of his presentation stand out. Firstly, the text is an excellent and rather exceptional example of a doxographie raisonnée. The doxai are not just baldly stated, but are explained and inter-linked with a systematic rather than a historical purpose. Philo is not afraid to make evaluative comments. A similar approach is found in Cicero, but from a different, academic or sceptical perspective.76 As we saw earlier it ultimately goes back to the origins of the doxographical method in the Peripatos.77 Secondly, Philo integrates another method into his doxography which is more apologetic than philosophical. It is explictly stated that according to some Hesiod is the father of the Platonic doctrine and that ‘at a much earlier time’ the Jewish lawgiver put forward this view. Implicit here is the socalled presbyteron–kreitton motif, i. e. the earlier a view is put forward, the more authority it has.78 One is reminded of those works, roughly contemporary with Philo, which defend Homer as a philosopher or as the origin of philosophical doctrines.79 The inclusion of Moses as the most ancient representative of the view that Philo deems correct demonstrates that this treatise, even though its contents are primarily philosophical, cannot be seen as separate from his predominantly exegetical works. The long sequence of arguments in Aet. 20–149 should not be called doxographical except in the broadest sense of the term. An exception might be made for the passage at §§ 76–77 which describes how some of the later members of the Stoic school abandoned the doctrine of cosmic conflagration and ‘deserted to the more pious doctrine of the indestructibility of the entire cosmos.’ This statement clearly links up with the view of Aristotle against the Stoic position in § 10. Special mention should be made of the final section of the treatise in which Philo records four arguments against the indestructibility of the cosmos set out by Theophrastus and then refuted by him (§§ 117–149). A huge [39] amount of scholarly ink has been devoted to this text.80 Diels followed Usener in regarding 74  C. Acad. 3.23, scio mundum istum nostrum … (1) aut semper fuisse et fore, (2) aut coepisse esse minime desiturum; (3) aut ortum ex tempore non habere, sed habiturum esse finem; (4) aut et manere coepisse et non perpetuo esse mansurum; cf. also Civ. 18.41 CCL 48.636.50. 75  Exam. 1.1.3–4; on this text see Pépin (1964) 79–100. 76  Cf. the comments of Mansfeld (1988) 77–81, who refers to Görler’s postulation of a regular pattern of levels in Cicero’s doxographical presentations, i. e. a low view, followed by a high view, and ending with a compromise middle view; cf. (1974). 77  See section 3 above. 78  See Pilhofer (1990), on this text 185–186. 79  E. g. ps.Plut. De Homero 2.93: Homer precedes Thales and Xenophanes on the ἀρχή and γένεσις of the universe. 80  See the excellent overview in Sharples (1998) 130–136.

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it as a fragment of the Physikôn doxai (fr. 12). The attribution has been disputed, but has found a recent defender in David Sedley, who suggests that the original context might have been examination of Plato’s position in the Timaeus.81 There is no way of determining whether Philo used this or any other source directly. The various arguments in Aet. most likely have a disparate origin. Philo’s doxography makes use of existing source material, but its innovative structure is his own contribution. ( f )  The Works De Providentia I & II As we have seen, a theme that Philo mentions almost every time he lists important philosophical questions is whether or not divine providence exists. The subject is close to his heart because as a philosopher he is sympathetic to the Platonic view that a divine Creator not only creates the cosmos but also maintains it through his providential activity.82 Moreover, as a practising Jew he is convinced that there is a special providential relationship between God and his chosen people, as it witnessed even in what befell the Jews in Alexandria and their opponents.83 The theme was also commonly used as the subject of a thesis.84 This background is important for understanding De Providentia II. It is presented as a dialogue between Philo and his nephew Alexander, who later apostasized from Judaism and became Governor of Egypt. He begins by asking (§ 3): ‘Do you say that providence exists despite [40] the fact that things are so tumultuous and confused?’ In the discussion that follows, which at times is quite lively, Alexander argues against the existence of providence and Philo undertakes to refute the arguments one by one. Towards the end (§ 85) Alexander states that the dispute is no longer in the manner of opposed schools of thought (i. e. haireseis) because he is inclining towards his uncle’s point of view, and by the end he is fully won over, or at least so we are led to believe. The reference to haireseis is telling, because analysis of the arguments used show that Alexander’s arguments are largely dependent on the New Academy, while Philo’s takes much of his material from the Stoic school.85

81  Sedley (1998b). Sedley argues that Epicurus, and in his wake Lucretius, made extensive use of Theophrastus’ arguments. 82  See Frick (1999), and more specifically on Prov. 1–2 Runia (1986) 396–399. 83  For this reason the theme is crucial to Philo’s historical treatises Flacc. and Legat.; see Van der Horst (2003) 16–17. 84  For example Theon Rhetor in his Progymnasmata § 11 gives as an example of a thesis ἔστω δ᾿ οὖν ἡμᾶς ζητεῖν, εἰ προνοοῦσι θεοὶ τοῦ κόσμου, followed by two pages of sample arguments; cf. also Quintilian Inst. Or. 7.2.2 ut in generalibus ‘an atomorum concursu mundus sit effectus, an providentia regatur …’; Marcus Aurelius 6.10, 9.28, 12.14. 85  As demonstrated by Hadas-Lebel PAPM 35.59–67. But a more detailed analysis remains a desideratum.

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The role of doxography in the dialogue is modest and occurs mainly in the central part of the dialogue which focuses on cosmological issues. In § 45 Alexander argues that either the cosmos is created (i. e. involving divine providence) or it is the result of spontaneous generation.86 In his response Philo cites (§ 48) ‘the doctrine of highly regarded philosophers, as maintained by Parmenides, Empedocles, Zeno, Cleanthes and other divine men,’ namely that the universe is ungenerated and everlasting. The name-labels here are somewhat unexpected. They seem to combine the view that the universe is truly uncreated and indestructible (Parmenides) with the view that it is everlasting through a never-ending cyclical process of destruction and rebirth (Empedocles and the Stoics). The name of Aristotle, who represents the eternalist position in Aet. is missing. A glance at the Placita may aid us here. The chapter in Aëtius ‘On whether the cosmos is destructible’ (2.4), to which we referred above in relation to Aet.,87 deals very compactly with the all the various alternatives on the question of the cosmos’ origin and end, both temporally and causally. The two options on the eternity of the cosmos are placed in the middle of the chapter, in between those doxai that represent it as generated and those that portray it as destructible:88 5. Xenophanes and Parmenides and Melissus say that the cosmos is ungenerated and everlasting and indestructible. 6. But there are those who say that its ordering is eternal, yet alsos say that there are periodic times in accordance with which [41] all things comes into being in exactly the same way and preserve the same disposition and ordering of the cosmos.

We note that, just as in Prov. 2.48 Presocratics are used to represent the true eternalist position, but that the cyclicists only receive an anonymous label. In Aëtius the Stoics are associated with the view ‘that the cosmos is destructible, but only in the conflagration,’ just as we read at Aet. 9. It is possible that Philo is using an alternative version of the Placita, or that he is simply rearranging his material, with which of course he is thoroughly acquainted. Other chapters in this section of Prov. 2 which recall the Placita are 2.56 (the shape of the cosmos, cf. Aëtius 2.2), 2.59–60 (the order of the cosmos, 2.9), 2.70 (the light of the moon, 2.28), 2.71 (the eclipse of the sun and moon, 2.24, 2.29), 2.73 (the order of the fixed stars, 2.15), 2.74 (the movement of the heavenly bodies, 2.16), 2.76 (the substance and illuminations of the moon, 2.25, 2.28). The parallels are limited because Philo is not interested in giving long lists of views, but only views that illustrate the absence or presence of providence. The use of name-labels is also quite limited.89 86 

Cf. the text in Quintilian cited in n. 84. See above at n. 73. 88  Translation based on the text as reconstructed in my article cited in n. 73. [Updated in accordance with the new edition, Mansfeld–Runia (2020) 2091.] 89  In addition to § 48 cited above, cf. also Plato in § 56, Empedocles in § 70 (with quote), 87 

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But the most interesting text is found in the section (§§ 86–97) in which Alexander lists a large number of natural phenomena which are either useless or actually harmful to human beings. An example of the former is the Milky way. Alexander’s description refers anonymously to several doxai (§ 89):90 As to the Milky Way, what is its purpose? The experts in meteorology contend with each other so that they can have differing views on it. (1) Some consider it to be a reflection of light from shining stars, (2) others that it is the seam of the entire heaven where the hemispheres are joined together, (3) others that it is the ancient original path of the sun, (4) others that it is the path of the cattle of Geryon as they were led by Heracles, (5) yet others that it comes from the milk-bearing breasts of Hera, which was the view of Eratosthenes … Leaving aside those fabrications which are not persuasive and only brought forward in the heat of debate, it is fitting to say (6) that it is formation of fire caused by ether through natural necessity and not providence.

Although only two of these opinions (nos. 3 and 6) are found in the chapter in Aëtius on the subject (3.1, eight doxai), all except one can be [42] found in other sources related to the Placita.91 There can be no doubt that Philo has used a doxographical source, either in the Placita tradition or closely related to it.92 Alexander’s comment at the end of the passage is important, because he indicates that the reason he puts forward the various doxai is not because they have any plausibility (they are ‘fabrications’), but for the purposes of debate, i. e. doxography has a dialectical or disputatious purpose (though he does himself choose one option). Given his emphasis on disagreement in this passage, it may have come to him via an academic or sceptical route, but this is by no means necessary. Philo’s own response in § 101 is rather weak. He argues that the Milky way shares the same substance as the other stars and that, as in the case of the Chrysippus and Cleanthes in § 74. 90  My translation, based on Aucher’s Latin and with reference to the German translation of Früchtel and the French translation of Hadas-Lebel. 91 For (1) cf. the doxa of Anaxagoras at Diog. Laert. 2.9, Hippolytus Adv. haer. 1.8.10 (Aëtius’ doxa in 3.1.7 is a garbled version of the same view, as proven by Aristotle Meteor. 1.8, 345a26–31; for (2) cf. Theophrastus at Macrobius in Somn. Scip. 1.15.4, anonymi at Achilles Isagoge 24, 55.17 Maass, cf. Manilius Astronomica 1.718–728; for (3) Aëtius 3.1.3 (the Pythagoreans), Achilles Isag. 24, 55.18 (Oenipides of Chios; note that Philo does not include the detail about the sun changing its course in response to Thyestian banquets); for (4) no parallels are available, but it seems related to the next doxa, cf. the mention of Heracles at Achilles Isag. 24, 55.12; for (5) cf. Achilles Isag. 24, 55.9–17, Manilius 1.750–754; for (6) cf. Aëtius 3.1.10, Macrobius in Somn. Scip. 1.15.7 (Posidonius). 92  On the doxographical complex represented by texts in Aëtius, Achilles, Manilius and Macrobius, see Diels DG 229–230; Kidd (1972–99), Commentary on F129–130, vol. 2(i) 488. Neither scholar mentions Philo, who is the oldest witness. There seems no strong reason to think that this doxography originated with Posidonius except that he is the last philosopher named. Note that Macrobius specifically notes that the doxography has a mixture of mythical and philosophical views, which is unusual for the Placita tradition, but which Philo obviously enjoys exploiting. Ultimately this goes back to the first treatment in Aristotle Meteor. 1.8; see further Mansfeld (2005), esp. 28–29.



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heavenly bodies, its nature is difficult to determine (cf. the passages in Somn. discussed in section b), but nevertheless, as in the case of the sun and moon, there is not the slightest need to doubt that they exist through providence. Here too Philo shows himself to be anything but a true sceptic. The other work On Providence I is not a dialogue, but a treatise with a first brief section presenting arguments based on logic and with a much longer part based on observation of the sense-perceptible world (cf. § 5) which refutes a number of erroneous positions.92a The first of these is once again the view that the cosmos is everlasting or created from all eternity.93 Philo only appeals to doxographical material in §§ 20–22. [43] Using a procedure parallel to what we found in Aet., he cites a number of Platonic texts from the Timaeus and then concludes (§ 22):94 Plato recognized that these things (i. e. parts of the cosmos) are constructed by God, and that unadorned matter has been turned into the cosmos with its adornment. For these were the first causes, from which also the cosmos came into being. Since also the lawgiver of the Jews, Moses, described water, darkness and the abyss as being present before the cosmos came into being (cf. Gen 1:1–2).

The antiquity of Moses and his prior claim to truth are not spelled out here, but they are surely implicit. In the current state of our text a purely doxographical passage now follows. It begins as follows: ‘Plato, however, matter, Thales of Miletus water, Anaximander of Miletus the infinite (i. e. apeiron) …’ In all there are ten doxai, of which all but one are the same as in the chapter on the archai (1.3) in the Pseudo-Plutarchean Placita. It would seem that the mention of water in the reference to Mosaic scripture has triggered a series of doxai starting with Thales,95 who famously argued that water was the first principle of all things. As noted earlier,96 Diels argued that the passage was interpolated into the Philonic text at a later date (the Epitome of the Placita is to be dated to 150–200 CE). A detailed examination of the passage shows that this hypothesis is very likely to be correct.97 The bald listing of namelabels together with places of origin and patronymics is entirely foreign to Philo’s usual style in this work and elsewhere. The second Empedoclean doxa is taken from a different chapter (1.5 On whether the universe is unique) and is likely

92a [On Prov. 1 see now Runia (2017a) = article 26 in this collection.] 93  Prov. 1.6–8 is very difficult because the Armenian translators could

not cope with the technicalities of the philosophical discussion. It has given rise to much dispute; see Runia (1986) 148–155 (with further references); Sterling (1992) 38–39. 94  Translation from Runia (1986) 119, discussion at 156. 95  As noted by Mansfeld (2000a) 189. 96  See text above at n. 5. 97  See the discussion, which includes a translation of the text, at Mansfeld–Runia (1997) 161–163.

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to be a secondary interpolation. This text, though of historical and philological interest, should thus be set aside when studying Philo’s use of doxography. [44] (g)  Doxography in De opificio mundi and Other Exegetical Works The philosophical treatises that we have just examined are properly dialectical or disputatious.98 They are arguing a case – whether it be the indestructibility of the cosmos or the reality of divine providence –, and for this purpose Philo makes use of the resources of doxography, which itself has strong roots in dialectic going back at least to Aristotle. The method of the far more numerous exegetical treatises differs because their task is to expound the contents of scripture. This can be done in many different ways, whether by means of narrative exposition, allegorical symbolic interpretation, question and answer, and so on. The role of doxography in the exegetical process is necessarily limited, but in addition to the themes that we have already examined above in sections (a)–(d), there are a number of links between exegesis and doxography that are worth pointing out. De opificio mundi has a special place in Philo’s œuvre because it is the opening treatise of a long exegetical series, The Exposition of the Law, and it explicitly sets out to provide a philosophical foundation for what follows.99 At the very outset, before expounding the opening creation account in Genesis, Philo makes a preliminary comment that has the formal features of doxography (§§ 7–8): There are some people who, having more admiration for the cosmos than for its maker, declared the former both ungenerated and everlasting, while falsely and impurely attributing to God much idleness. What they should have done was the opposite, namely be astounded at God’s powers as Maker and Father, and not show more reverence for the cosmos than is its due. Moses, however, had not only reached the very summit of philosophy, but had also been instructed in the many and most essential doctrines of nature by means of oracles. He recognized that it is absolutely necessary that among existing things there is an activating cause on the one hand and a passive object on the other …

The opening words of course recall the doxography in Aet. and most scholars have concluded that Philo has Aristotle in mind, or perhaps also Platonists such as Speusippus and Xenocrates, because they are associated with this position in Aet. 10 and 14. There is reason [45] to believe that he may be thinking of other opponents,100 but for us the main point is that the method here is doxographical, with Moses representing the view that Philo supports. 98  It also applies to the two remaining treatises, De animalibus and Quod omnis probus, but they make little use of the doxographical method. 99  On the treatise in general see Runia (2001a). 100  Bos (1998) has argued that Philo has a kind of thinking symbolized by the Chaldeans (on which see further below) in mind; see also my comments at (2001a) 121–123.

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In a justly famous passage at the end of the treatise, Philo summarizes the main themes in a series of ‘five lessons’ that Moses teaches the reader (§§ 170–171): The first … is that the divinity is and exists, on account of the godless, some of whom are in doubt and incline in two directions concerning his existence, while others are more reckless and brazenly assert that he does not exist at all, but is only said to exist by people who overshadow the truth with mythical fictions. The second lesson is that God is one, on account of those who introduce the polytheistic opinion, feeling no shame when they transfer the worst of political systems, rule by the mob, from earth to heaven. The third lesson is, as has already been said, that the cosmos has come into existence, on account of those who think it is ungenerated and eternal, attributing no superiority to God. The fourth lesson is that the cosmos too is one, since the creator is one as well … For there are those who suppose there to be multiple kosmoi, and there are others who think their number is boundless, whereas they themselves are the ones who are really boundlessly ignorant of what it is fine to know. The fifth lesson is that God also takes thought for the cosmos, for that the maker always takes care of what has come into existence is a necessity by the laws and ordinances of nature, in accordance with which parents too take care of their children.

The five lessons recall the philosophical questions that Philo recites in the texts cited above in sections (a)–(d) above and are clearly orientated towards questions that are commonly discussed in doxographical texts, i. e. Lesson 1, on the nature of God, whether he exists or not – cf. Aët. 1.7; Lesson 2, on the nature of God, whether he is one or many – cf. Aët. 1.7; Lesson 3, on the cosmos, whether it is created or not – cf. Aët. 2.4; Lesson 4, on the cosmos, whether it is single or multiple or infinite in number – cf. Aët. 2.1; Lesson 5, on providence, whether it exists or not – cf. Aët. 2.3.

Philo attributes to Moses a definite position (no scepticism here), but in each case except the last he also takes care to outline the position [46] of his opponents who take a different point of view. No name-labels are used and Philo states the views in very general terms, but it would not be hard to find representative philosophers for these positions, e. g. the atomists who thought there were infinite kosmoi, but no creating or providential deities. Although the link with doxography is definitely present, Philo as usual adapts it to his own aims. For example, there is a discussion in Aëtius on whether God exists or not, but not whether there is a unique God or multiple deities. Here Philo’s own monotheistic concerns come to the fore. The entire passage is strikingly dogmatic. At its conclusion (§ 172) Philo claims that the person who learns these lesson and imprints them on his soul will lead a blessed life. Some commentators have seen here the beginnings of orthodoxy or credal theology.101 101 

See Mendelson (1988) 29–50, and also my comments at Runia (2001a) 394.

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There is a marked tendency in Philo’s exegesis, which should be investigated more thoroughly than it is possible to do in this context, to identify scriptural characters or groups of people with ways or kinds of thinking.101a We note in the passage quoted above that he speaks of ‘the polytheistic opinion’ (ἡ πολύθεος δόξα). Elsewhere this is the way of thinking that Abraham leaves behind when he emigrates from his native country (Virt. 214), while the representative of the atheistic opinion (ἡ ἄθεος δόξα) is the Pharaoh of Egypt, who states in Exod 5:2 that he knows not the Lord (cf. Leg. 3.12–13). Another example is his interpretation of the biblical figures of Cain and Abel. The former represents the doxa that ascribes all things to the mind or the self, the other to God.102 When Cain challenges Abel to proceed to the plain, they go out to ‘make investigation concerning opposed and conflicting doxai’ (Det. 32). Another prominent group are the Chaldeans. They represent a mistaken theological view, namely that the visible cosmos or its soul is the ‘first god’ (Migr. 181), which in doxographical shorthand is called ‘the Chaldean doxa’ (Migr. 184).103 A final quite fascinating example is Philo’s exegesis of the various groups of people such as eunuchs and prostitutes who are banished from the holy assembly in Deut 23. A number of texts interpret these as opinions or doctrines with which Philo as a pious but also philosophically orientated Jew strongly disagrees, [47] such as atheism, polytheism, deniers of the ideas or forms, champions of the mind (i. e. human autonomy) and of the senses.104 These opinions are all presented quite anonymously and it is pointless to identify them too closely with Greek philosophers or schools. The doxographical method is here adapted to the purposes of religious doctrine linked to the allegorical method of interpreting scripture. (h)  Ethical Doxography It will be recalled that in the examples that Philo gives of the dissensio philosophorum as part of the trope of Aenesidemus, he includes the domain of ethics.105 An extended example is given on the good, with some thinkers regarding the good as only what is (morally) fine and stored up in the soul, while others also include in it bodily and external goods (Ebr. 200–201). Philo adds that also in relation to ways of life (βίοι) and ends (τέλη) there are many questions on which no agreement has been reached (§ 201). 101a  [Article 13 below, which is a kind of sequel to the present article, discusses this phenomenon at length.] 102 Cf. Sacr. 2, Det. 32, Post. 39–42. There seems to be no distinction between the terms δόγμα and δόξα in these texts. [See Runia (2010) 114–118 = article 13 in this collection.] 103  Cf. also Gig. 62, Migr. 187, Her. 289, Abr. 70, 77, Virt. 214. 104  See esp. Spec. 1.327–345, but also Leg. 3.7–8 (where the γονορρυής is linked with the Heraclitean doxa of universal flux), Ebr. 213, Migr. 69, Mut. 204–205. 105  See above section 4 (c).



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It is clear that in his writings Philo makes periodic use of the substantial amount of ethical doxography that was circulating in his day. An illuminating example is found in Somn. 2.8–9, where he returns to the question of the nature of the good and presents the same opposition between the more austere thinkers who associate the good only with reason, while those who have a softer, more effeminate way of life associate it with bodily and external things as well. The evaluative adjectives are of course Philo’s own addition and the reason for them becomes immediately apparent when the different opinions are associated with the patriarchs Isaac and Joseph respectively (§§ 10–16). Joseph receives a very mixed press in Philo’s allegories.106 His position is not the one that Philo himself appears to favour. But in another text which gives exegesis of Gen 15:18 Philo interprets the ‘land from the river of Egypt to the great river Euphrates’ as symbolizing the perfection that arises from the three categories of spiritual, corporeal and external goods, a doctrine which is attributed to ‘Aristotle and the [48] Peripatetics,’ but also to the ‘legislation of Pythagoras’ (QG 3.16). In another text in the Quaestiones Philo interprets the princes of Gen 27:29 as those who ‘preside over certain doxai’ connected with the body and external goods (QG 4.217).107 It would appear that Philo is well acquainted with a body of ethical doxography, which he occasionally refers to as such in his work, but which he mainly adapts for use in his exegesis, so that the various allegorised biblical characters represent the contrasted points of view. Numerous examples can be given. I will give just one, Fug. 147–148. Pharaoh seeks to destroy Moses after he flees his court (Exod 2:15), because he has heard that Moses has undertaken to destroy the hegemony of the body in two attacks (cf. Exod 2:12–13). The first man whom Moses kills and covers with sand is an Egyptian. He represents the two doctrines (δόγματα) that ‘the first and greatest good is pleasure,’ and that ‘atoms are the first principles of the universe,’ the tertium comparationis in the latter case being the scattered nature of sand. The connection of course lies in the fact that both doctrines are Epicurean.108 The second is a Hebrew, symbolizing the person who splits up the nature of the good and assigns to the soul, the body and external things, whereas Moses wishes to retain the good as a whole and assign it to the understanding alone. Philo can thus exploit some very common doxographical themes in order to establish a hierarchy of three doctrines which correlates neatly with the details of the biblical passage. The notion of the greatest good referred to in the above passage refers to the doctrine of chief ends of human life and action, which was the central ques106  A similar text at Det. 7. On Philo’s interpretation of the Joseph figure see Goulet (1987) 341–350; Niehoff (1992) 54–83. 107  The Old Latin translation helps us understand the Armenian text here and makes it likely that Philo used the term δόξαι; cf. Petit (1973) 2.131. 108  The same connection is made at Leg. 3.38, Conf. 144.

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tion dealt with in Hellenistic ethical doxographies.109 As Carlos Lévy has noted, Philo  – perhaps surprisingly  – does not make use of the celebrated divisiones on this subject associated with the names of Chrysippus and Carneades which are so prominent in the works of Cicero.110 For Philo, of course, the question of whether the telos should be pleasure or virtue is hardly controversial, but as we have seen, he is [49] able to include it in the interplay of biblical characters in his exegesis. The relation between doxographical schemata in the area of ethics and biblical exposition in Philo is a promising subject for further research, but we cannot explore it further in the present context.

5. Conclusion The results of our research into the subject of Philo and Hellenistic doxography can be summarized from a double perspective. Philo’s writings provide us with valuable evidence on the prevalence and function of doxography at the end of the Hellenistic period. Various passages indicate that he had access to collections of placita which were very similar to those we find in Aëtius, but are not the same and probably go back to common traditions for which we also find evidence in Cicero and others. In certain cases the context is more or less descriptive, e. g. setting out the questions that are discussed in philosophy. But more often it is dialectical or disputative, i. e. referring to disputes between rival views and the schools that maintained them. It is striking how many of the texts that make use of doxographical material have a sceptical colouring, both in terminology and in content. This certainly reflects the developed usage of the material in the New Academy and Pyrrhonist tradition. Especially noteworthy was the evidence that Philo presents as earliest witness to the use of doxographical material by Aenesidemus on his ten tropes. But there are also texts, primarily in Philo’s philosophical treatises, where there is little or no trace of sceptical attitudes, and doxography is used to organize and evaluate diverse corpora of doctrine and argument. Philo’s own usage of doxographical material cannot be divorced from the philosophical background just sketched, but as always he is very much his own man. Directly or indirectly, doxography is used in service of the exposition and defence of scripture and the author who received divine inspiration to write it down, the great Moses. On the whole he is not very interested in recording the names of philosophers and schools. The majority of his doxographical references are anonymous. Essentially this coheres with the spirit of doxography, because the doxai are always more important than the name-labels. Philo goes 109  See the vast collection of material in Giusta (1964–67) 1.217–429, but with the proviso stated above at n. 23. 110  Lévy (2005) 100–101; on these ethical divisiones in Cicero see further Algra (1997).



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further in withholding names than, say, Cicero or Plutarch because he is not very interested in the subtleties of school successions or traditions. The broad outlines are mostly sufficient for his purposes. [50] At the simplest level doxography can supply topoi which allow Philo to indicate the kind of questions involved in philosophy and the search for wisdom. It is striking, however, how many of these texts have a sceptical tinge, with emphasis on the disagreements that preclude an easy path to knowledge. Philo is acutely aware of the limits of human knowledge, but he is far from being a true sceptic. The wise man sits in judgment and delivers his verdict on the really important questions. For Philo this certainly does not mean any kind of autonomy of thought, but a deference to scripture written by the wise man par excellence with the aid of divine inspiration. The dialectical and disputatious background of ancient doxography appears at many points in the Philonic evidence. It is no surprise that doxography is prominent in the philosophical treatises which discuss contentious philosophical issues relevant to Jewish thought. But doxographical material also shines through more than we might expect in the exegetical works. It occurs prominently when Philo is defending Mosaic doctrine, for example in the famous passage at the end of Opif. Moreover, in his allegorical readings of scripture he also uses it to explicate many views that he supports or opposes located within the narrative itself, for example in the case of characters such as Cain and Abel, Abraham, Joseph, and also within the prescriptions of the Mosaic law, as in the case of the various groups that are banished from the holy assembly. Jewish religion for Philo is not just about devotion to God and obedience to the divine law expressed in right action. It is also about right thinking. In Philo’s case it is not coincidental that orthodoxy and doxography share the common root of the doxa. In various ways, both negatively and positively, doxography aids him in elucidating both what right thinking is and how and where it is to be obtained. Doxography is pressed into service for the hairesis of Moses, which in matters philosophical commands Philo’s ultimate allegiance.111

111  On Philo and the hairesis of Moses see my article, (1999) = article 3 in the present volume. [I have not included in this reprint the Appendix which presented my translations of key texts in two treatises relating to doxographical material: Somn. 1.14–16, 21–24, 25, 30–34, 52–56; Mut. 67.]

8.  Is Philo Committed to the Doctrine of Reincarnation?* 1.  A Highly Significant Study When I  was asked a few years ago to examine the dissertation of a Finnish scholar, I very soon realized that this was a highly significant study, arguably the most innovative piece of research to be carried out on Philo’s thought in recent years.1 Sami Yli-Karjanmaa’s study is the first ever to specifically address the question of whether the theme of reincarnation is present in Philo’s writings and whether the Alexandrian accepts the doctrine. It is characteristic of his careful method that he defines the term ‘accepts’ (or its alternatives ‘adopts,’ ‘approves,’ ‘endorses’), taking it to mean ‘receive with favour’ or ‘receive as valid’ (p. 4). The conclusion of his investigation is that Philo indeed accepts the doctrine. A survey of previous scholarship shows that this was the view of the majority of nineteenth century scholars but lost favour in the twentieth century (pp. 13–29). For the most part, however, scholars have just made brief comments on the question, not regarding it as of very great importance. Yli-Karjanmaa takes a different approach, studying it in meticulous and fascinating detail. A laudable feature of the study’s method is that it wishes to take all the available evidence into account regardless of which answer to the main question of the work it tends to support (p. 7). The evidence is divided into two categories, indirect and direct, and the two resultant treatments from [108] the main parts of the study. The third and final part, entitled Synthesis, applies the results of the earlier parts and attempts to show that they present a feasible reconstruction of Philo’s thought. In the first main part Yli-Karjanmaa sets out the indirect evidence for the doctrine of reincarnation and this necessitates a wide-ranging examination of themes in Philo’s psychology and eschatology. Naturally there is a strong focus on the texts of the Allegorical Commentary, which is wholly focused on the lifejourney of the soul, but numerous texts in the Quaestiones are also adduced, *  This article is the revised text of a paper presented to the Philo of Alexandria Seminar at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature held in San Antonio in November 2016. My thanks go to Dr Sami Yli-Karjanmaa for his thought-provoking comments on the text. 1  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015); page numbers in the main body of the text refer to this study. See also his further article, (2016).



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as well as some important passages in the Exposition of the Law. The startingpoint has to be the dualistic make-up of the human being, consisting of soul and body (p. 30). Following a fundamental tenet of Platonic philosophy, Philo is committed to the view that the soul exists before it enters the body and, being immortal, will outlive its association with the body (p. 32). But the human being is more complex than just consisting of soul and body. The soul itself has a complex structure involving parts or faculties that interact with the body. There are on the one hand the senses and the lower parts of the soul, which experience passions and pleasures. There is also the higher part of the soul, its rational part or mind, which must guide the human being so that he or she can lead a life of piety and virtue (pp. 36–37). In order to conceptualize the process which the soul undergoes, Yli-Karjanmaa introduces two key terms for his argument. The former refers to the process of salvation whereby the soul shakes off the influence of the body and becomes purely rational, i. e. a mind (νοῦς). This process he calls ‘monadization,’ defined as ‘the salvific phenomenon whereby the soul’s (sic) becoming pure mind through dismissal of its other constituent parts’ (p. 41). The term is based on the description of Moses’s death in Mos. 2.288. When the mind is in such a state it is able, as in the case of Jacob–Israel, to ‘see God,’ that is to know him and to reside with him. This is the ultimate stage of the soul’s life and represents the climactic stage of Philo’s eschatology. The second key term focuses more directly on the soul’s experience of the body once it is incarnated. Yli-Karjanmaa speaks of the ‘corporealization of the mind,’ which is ‘the phenomenon whereby the mind (or soul) orientates towards, and desires to experience, the world of matter in general and a physical body in particular’ (p. 70). Philo uses it to explain the transgression and fall of the first human being Adam, but it also characterizes the life of any human being, bringing about that, when death takes place, it may happen that the soul does not rise to heaven and God, but has to submit to the process of reincarnation. A key text here is Leg. 1.105 (exeg. Gen 2:17), where Philo says that death is of two kinds: for the [109] human being it is the separation of body and soul (cf. Plato, Phd. 64c, 67d), but for the soul it is the destruction of virtue and the taking up of wickedness. The death of the soul is a punishment (Leg. 1.107), and by implication it involves the process of reincarnation (pp. 57–70), perhaps not just once but as many times as needed until the soul is purified and reaches its goal in residing with God. Examination of a large number of passages, mainly in Leg. and QG (esp. 1.51 on Gen 3:19), leads Yli-Karjanmaa to arrive at a compact schema of Philo’s conception of the journey of the soul involving six stages (p. 73):

(1) incorporeal existence with God; (2) incarnation;

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(3) (4) (5) (6)

corporealization and transgression; reincarnation until the prerequisites of salvation are met; liberation from the life in the body; and eternal incorporeal existence with God.

He emphasizes that such a schema runs the risk of simplification and over-systematization.2 Nevertheless it has the virtue of clarity, showing in the clearest possible way how reincarnation can be fitted in to a journey of the soul that extends far beyond the confines of the single life of the human being. In the final section of the presentation of the indirect evidence Yli-Karjanmaa approaches his subject from a different angle. He sets out in impressive and fascinating detail Philo’s use of Platonic reincarnational terminology and imagery in Philo’s writings. Primarily drawn from three dialogues, the Phaedo, the Timaeus, and the Phaedrus, it is focused on themes such as being bound to a mortal body, being plunged in a river, paying back the borrowed elements of which the body consists at fixed periods, the body as a grave or a prison, changing to animal form, practising death, and being weighed down by earthiness (pp. 111–27). Such extensive use of literary means is typical of Philo’s use of Plato. For Philo, Moses provides the basic (and faultless) framework, but Plato (and also the Stoics) allows him to flesh out that framework. Philo takes over major ways of thinking from the Athenian philosopher, but it is done in bits and pieces through the exegetical process (p. 112). In the second main part of the study Yli-Karjanmaa examines the direct evidence on reincarnation in Philo’s writings. This is confined to four texts. The first is the locus classicus for the presence of the doctrine in the Philonic [110] corpus, Somn. 1.137–139 (cited on p. 131). In explaining the meaning of the ladder (κλῖμαξ) in Jacob’s dream at Gen 28:12, it describes the descent and ascent of the discarnate souls, making use of a good deal of Platonist terminology and explicitly stating that some souls ‘hurry back again’ (παλινδρομοῦσιν αὖθις) to the life in the body. The second text is found at Cher. 114 (cited on pp. 153–54), part of a long allegorical reflection on God’s sovereignty and the fact that we human beings are God’s possession (and not our own, as impiously thought by Cain, whose name means ‘possession,’ Cher. 52). What, Philo asks, really belongs to us? He asks a number of questions about our make-up. In the case of soul, do we possess it as our own? What about after death takes place? But then we shall exist no longer, but ‘hasten to a regeneration’ (εἰς παλιγγενεσίαν ὁρμήσομεν).3 The third text is found at QE 2.40 and is preserved in full in the Armenian translation and partly in a Greek fragment (cited at pp. 169–70). YliKarjanmaa argues that when the text speaks of the souls ‘being dragged down to Tartarus,’ it is an explicit reference to a new reincarnation. The final text is 2  3 

The schema is repeated in Karjanmaa (2016) 261. The passage is difficult to summarize accurately and needs to be consulted in the original.

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even more difficult. It is one of the texts from Byzantine florilegia collected by J. Rendel Harris and is located in a section entitled ‘Fragments from the lost fourth book of the Allegories of the Sacred Laws’ as fr. 7.3 (cited on p. 187). The text is only six lines long in Harris’s collection. In an impressive display of philological expertise Yli-Karjanmaa demonstrates that it is very likely to be authentic and argues that the comparison of sleeping and awakening with the salvific rebirth after death points to the process of reincarnation. He concludes (p. 212) that in all four texts Philo speaks of the idea of reincarnation with approval. The final part of Yli-Karjanmaa’s study is entitled Synthesis. He emphasizes that in his view it can be assumed that ‘when Philo uses similar vocabulary in simlar contexts in different texts, he is speaking of the same things, and that therefore we are entitled to read these texts together. This means assuming that the texts form a whole, and that what is said in one text is, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, implied in the others’ (p. 215). The task for the scholar is to ‘explain Philo by Philo,’ i. e. do what Philo fails to do and build up a description of his views (cf. p. 244). This method allows a synthesis of reincarnational passages to be put together which also gives us an understanding of Philo’s individual eschatology. The fate of the soul is intimately tied to what it determines to be the object of its love, whether that be God or earthly things which are primarily associated with the body and its desires (p. 220). There are four reasons [111] why the soul fails to leave the bodily realm and keeps on returning to it: ignorance, unwillingness, inability and a lack of God’s grace. The first three are obstacles for the soul as it makes progress towards perfection. Philo’s soteriology is synergistic: ‘the soul needs to make progress on its own but recognize its dependence on God’s grace in order to be saved’ (p. 243). Ultimately it is God who determines whether the soul has to return to the earth and to the body. A final question that remains to be answered is why Philo is so reticent about speaking in explicit terms about reincarnation. After all, he never makes any clear pronouncements on the subject and even when the theme is mentioned explicitly in the four passages it is only done so in passing. Nevertheless, YliKarjanmaa argues, he did wish to communicate his view that souls transmigrate and his vagueness is not impenetrable. A good explanation for this approach is Winston’s view that Philo was reluctant ‘to give undue prominence to a Platonic conception that was essentially alien to Jewish tradition’ (p. 246),4 with the proviso that we do not know a lot about what Jewish tradition is in the case of Alexandrian Judaism. Given that the theory of reincarnation is closely linked to the allegorical tradition, which met with opposition in the Alexandrian community, it is probable that ‘reincarnation was for Philo an esoteric tradition’ (p. 247), only to be disclosed to those who had the required level of understanding of the hidden meaning of scripture. 4 

Yli-Karjanmaa cites here Winston (1985) 42.

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2.  Three Significant Advances in our Understanding of Philo There can be no doubt, therefore, that this monograph has made a highly significant contribution to Philonic studies. It has placed the subject of the place of the doctrine of reincarnation in Philo’s mental universe firmly on the map. No study of his views on psychology and anthropology will want to set it aside. Among the many advances that it makes in our understanding of Philo, there are three aspects which I would like to emphasise in particular. Firstly Yli-Karjanmaa introduces a clear distinction between two kinds of allegory, protological and universal.5 The former, protological allegory, [112] is related primarily to the creation account in Gen 1–3, so refers to events in illo tempore, to use Mircea Eliade’s famous phrase. These happened at the beginning of time and in the early history of humankind, but still have a direct significance for human life through the recognition that the cosmos and the human beings in it owe their existence to God’s creative activity and that human life is most often not conducted on earth in a way that corresponds to what God wishes it to be. The latter, universal allegory, denotes explanations of the biblical text in terms of how life is in hoc tempore, as human beings live and conduct their lives, whether on earth or potentially beyond it. This distinction is particularly relevant to the jump from the limited allegory at the end of Opif. and the commencement of full-blown allegory in Leg. Of course, as is now generally recognised, most of our editions and translations err in suggesting a continuity between these two works.6 This involves crossing over from the Exposition of the Law to the Allegorical Commentary, which have long been recognised as being different, if sometimes overlapping, commentary series. It does not help that we appear to be missing an allegorical commentary on the first chapter of Genesis.7 Leg. 1 certainly does seem to start in medias res, without any kind of introductory section. I vividly recall how disconcerting I  found the first book of Leg. when I  first started to read Philo. Yli-Karjanmaa’s analyses do much to clarify the train of thought of the early books of the Allegorical commentary, where Philo regularly elaborates on foundational matters pertaining to the human make-up, but not from a protological viewpoint, even though he is commenting on the creation account. Secondly Yli-Karjanmaa’s research has improved our understanding of Philo’s appropriation of the dialogues of Plato. The main relevant dialogues for his subject are the Phaedo, the Phaedrus, and the Timaeus. He rightly points out deficiencies in my treatment of the passages describing reincarnation in the Timaeus. For example, my treatment focused too much on the subject of the 5  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 4–5, 35; cf. also (2016) 255. In the former study at 5 n.10 he states that it is related to the distinction made between history and actualization in Runia (2001a) 333–34. 6  See Terian (1997), 19–36; Royse (2009), 46–47. 7  As argued by Tobin (2009) 29–43; Sterling (2012) 63–64.

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transmigration of human souls into animals.8 For the [113] Phaedrus he usefully augments the research of Anita Méasson.9 But for the Phaedo he is the first scholar to show in detail how extensive the use is that Philo makes of this seminal dialogue, far surpassing the unsatisfactory treatment in the dissertation of Billings published nearly a century ago.10 For Philo the dialogue is fundamental in supplying language, imagery and thematics that describe the relation between the body and the soul, the journey of the soul, the nature of the philosophical life and the meaning of death for the soul.11 Yli-Karjanmaa is right when he says that the relative importance of Plato’s dialogues for Philo depends on the subject matter at hand. It might be fair to say, using the distinction between protological and universal accounts introduced above, that the Timaeus is the key dialogue for his explanation of the creation account and what happened in illo tempore, but that the Phaedo leads the way when Philo explores the life and journey of the soul once it has been created and resides in the material realm. When reading Philo’s allegories in the Allegorical Commentary and in the Quaestiones, the presence of the Phaedo in the background must be constantly borne in mind. The third advance that Yli-Karjanmaa’s study makes to our knowledge flows on directly from the second. His research clearly demonstrates that Philo makes very considerable use of the language and conceptuality of the reincarnation of the soul in his allegory of the soul. This has never been previously shown in anything like the kind of detail that we find in his study. It appears in his use of technical terms such as παλιγγενησία and παλινδρομέω,12 in the frequent language of descent, in the descriptions of the soul being bound to, imprisoned in or tainted by the body, in the imagery of immersion and drowning, in the conception of the death of the soul while in the body, and so on. This language and conceptuality describes a fundamental experience of the soul, i. e. what happens to it when it is corrupted by the association with the body, its sense-organs and its passions. To use Yli-Karjanmaa’s terminology, it expresses the process of corporealization of the soul. It is also relevant to the life of the soul when it [114] leaves the body behind or departs from the body, when it undergoes a process of purification, and when it ascends to the heavens or ultimately to God. These notions too are integral to Philo’s allegory of the soul. They might be summarised under the term ‘decorporealization’ of the soul, even if Yli-Karjanmaa does not express it in this way. In analysing Philo’s use of the language and conceptuality of reincarnation he goes far beyond anything that has been achieved in Philonic 8 

Runia (1986) 260–266, 346–351; see Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 20–25 and passim. Méasson (1986). 10  Billings (1919). 11  See now also Runia (2016); English version not yet published. [Now published as article 9 in this collection.] 12  For παλιγγενησία see Cher. 114, Post. 124, Legat. 325, discussed at Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 163–166; παλινδρομέω Post. 156, Somn. 1.139, QE 2.40 etc., discussed at Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 140, 252–254. 9 

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research on this topic previously. It will prove indispensable for anyone working on Philo’s allegorical system in the future.

3.  Is Reincarnation a Fundamental Part of Philo’s Views on the Soul? The question before us now is whether we can follow Yli-Karjanmaa when he takes the decisive further step and claims that the doctrine of reincarnation, ‘was a fundamental part of Philo’s views on the soul.’13 The doctrine can be formulated as follows. Originally the soul was created by God, placed in a body and endowed with mind to form the human being. There then took place an initial transgression in illo tempore caused by the corporeal environment that the human being found himself in.14 As a consequence humanity enters a process which follows the six stages of the schema outlined above15 involving incorporeal existence with God, incarnation, transgression, reincarnation, liberation and return to existence with God. Utilizing the distinction between protology and universal experience,16 one can say that, when Philo speaks of God as creator in relation to humanity, he will sometimes be thinking of the original creation of Adam and Eve as the beginning of humanity, but his allegories most of the time are working with a history of the soul involving pre-existence, life in the body, post-existence and reincarnation in an unspecified number of iterations, before ending for some souls at least in an eschatological future with God. This cosmic history of the soul is seldom alluded to, but can be discerned in the background by the reader who knows his or her Plato and has been initiated into this esoteric knowledge in Philo’s school. It will be agreed that the renewed focus on this neglected area of Philo’s psychology [115] and anthropology, if Yli-Karjanmaa’s thesis is accepted, has important consequences. It considerably strengthens the influence of Platonic philosophy on his thought, but aligns him with a minority of thinkers in the Jewish tradition. It separates him from Patristic authors that followed him, but perhaps not entirely in the case of the early Alexandrians Clement and Origen.17 I would wish to put forward an alternative interpretation, which recognizes the three important advances in our understanding of Philo that were outlined above, but takes them in a less radical direction. It is possible to argue, I submit, that Philo is not committed to the Pythagorean-Platonic doctrine of metem13 

Yli-Karjanmaa (2016) 259, summarizing the main argument of his dissertation. rightly argues (2016, 260) that love of the body cannot be the original cause of the soul’s incarnation. It must have been God’s creative act. 15  See above section 2. 16 A legitimate extension of the earlier distinction between protological and universal allegory. See above section 2. 17  See Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 249, the final lines of the book. 14  Yli-Karjanmaa



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psychosis. By ‘committed’ here I  mean that for Philo it would be an essential component of how scripture should be interpreted on the fate of the soul after (and also before) death. I  would argue instead that he uses its language and conceptuality to illustrate the journey and fate of the soul while it is joined with the body in the συναμφότερον that is the human being. The allegory of the soul focuses on the universal experience of the life of the soul in the body and its struggle to shake off the influences of the body which prevent it from living the good life and ascending to the divine. The decisive notion on which the allegory turns is that of orientation. The soul can orientate itself towards heaven and God or it can do so towards earth and the corporeal. Philo illustrates the former with descriptions of the ascent of the soul to the heavens, using imagery from the Phaedrus. The earth and the body are left behind and can even be gazed upon from above, but this experience need not take place only after physical death. It can take place while in the body but only after removing all traces of its negative influence. This is the kind of language that Philo uses of his own experience in the rare autobiographical passage Spec. 3.1–6.18 In contrast the soul can also be dragged down to the earthly and corporeal realm by giving into the desires and passions associated with the body. This is the death of the soul while joined with the body,19 dying to the life of virtue and suffering the penalty associated with the life of wickedness (equivalent to death in allegorical terms). This process can be [116] interpreted as occurring during human life in the physical sense of living on earth, but the language of entombment of the soul in the body as if in a grave, which in the Pythagorean-Platonic tradition refer to the trajectory of reincarnation, is used to illustrate it. It is a particularly vivid way of expressing the descent of the soul into a life of bodily passion and wickedness, in which the progression to a better life is thwarted. We might compare how in modern parlance, for example, we speak of people being caught in a downward spiral of drug addiction or crime. The language of ascent and descent uses a vertical metaphor, whereas the language of migration stays on a horizontal plane of journeying away from or turning back.20 These are rich metaphors and the complex way that Philo weaves them into the tapestry of his allegorical exegesis is, to our knowledge at least, unmatched in antiquity. It is an incontrovertible fact that in Philo’s extant writings, he never makes an explicit pronouncement on the truth and validity of the doctrine of metempsychosis. It would not have been difficult for him to do so. As far as we know he never wrote anything like a systematic work of theology. At most one can point 18  On such experiences see now Sterling (2018b). He does not, however, dwell on the conditions that allow such experiences to occur. 19  Leg. 1.105–108, where at § 106 Yli-Karjanmaa rightly interprets σύνοδος as ‘union,’ (2015) 57. 20  Of course they can be combined when there is emigration to heaven and God and migration back to or down to the corporeal or to Egypt.

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to a list of key doctrines at Opif. 170–172, but it is in fact quite limited, being confined to theology and cosmology and making no reference to mind or soul. Particularly valuable are corrective statements that he makes through an appeal to Mosaic scripture, as he does in the case of the Stoic doctrines of ἐκπύρωσις at Her. 228 or πνεῦμα as moving air at Det. 83. Of course we have to bear in mind that we may be missing such comments in works that are no longer extant, for example the lost books of the Legum allegoriae.21 Given the centrality of scriptural exegesis in Philo’s understanding of his task as thinker and teacher, it can be pointed out that not only does he not tell us whether the doctrine of reincarnation is scriptural or not, but also that there were undoubted opportunities to base the doctrine on scriptural texts. A case in point is the text at Gen 3:19 when God is reported as saying to Adam ‘by the sweat of your brow you will eat your bread until returning to the earth from which you were taken, for you are earth and to earth you will turn back.’22 Of course a literal protological interpretation of the verse would not have been difficult. The words ἐξ ἧς ἐλήμφης can be taken to refer to the creation of the human body in Gen 2:7 [117] and the return to earth as the dissolving of the corpse into the elements, as appears to be indicated in Leg. 3.253 and QG 2.61. But in both the former passage and in QG 1.51, Philo also appears to give a universal interpretation about the corrupted man who undergoes ‘spiritual death’ (QG 1.51, Marcus’s translation) or the foolish mind which turns away from the right principle (Leg. 3.252), so that beginning and end are one. Yli-Karjanmaa argues that both texts point to the six-stage model of the soul’s fall and rise, and he thinks that the change to the future indicative in his paraphrase at Leg. 3.253 to μεχρὶ ἀποστρέψεις εἰς τὴν γῆν points to a translation ‘for as long as you return to earth’ rather than ‘until’ as in all existing translations, thereby hinting at the doctrine of reincarnation.23 My point here is that the text could easily furnish Mosaic authority for the doctrine, but Philo does not take the opportunity to make this at all clear. Similarly the ladder in Jacob’s dream could be used for the same purpose and maybe Philo does make this clear, depending on how we read the passage at Somn. 1.133–156, to which I will return shortly. Yli-Karjanmaa’s explanation is that Philo is being deliberately reticent and writes for the discerning initiated reader. In my view a simpler reading is possible, whereby the text is taken in universal terms to refer to the foolish mind who devotes itself wholly to the earth, i. e. the body and its bodily concerns.

21  There appear to be two books (or long sections of a book) missing, covering the texts Gen 3:1b–8a and 3:20–23. 22  NETS translation (modified). The LXX text is: ἐν ἱδρῶτι τοῦ προσώπου σου φάγῃ τὸν ἄρτον σου ἕως τοῦ ἀποστρέψαι σε εἰς τὴν γῆν, ἐξ ἧς ἐλήμφης· ὅτι γῆ εἶ καὶ εἰς γῆν ἀπελεύσῃ. 23  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 76–78.

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When I was rereading Yli-Karjanmaa’s monograph for the purposes of this essay, there was a passage that struck me forcibly. It commences a section on ‘Afterlife and Salvation’:24 Explicit speculation on the hereafter is not one of Philo’s main concerns. Termini’s statement that Philo ‘spiritualizes the very notions of life and death, and minimizes the importance of physical death’ is valid. In my view the background for this minimization lies in the view that the details of afterlife do not in themselves determine the way in which the life on earth should be lived. In his thought the orientation must in any case be away from the corporeal and towards the divine; this brings happiness, its opposite misery. This is sufficient for Philo to be able to justify his ethical standards.   This is not, however, the entire picture, for the above does not mean that Philo had no concept of the after-life; nor does it follow that he had no view of what the misery resulting from body-oriented life leads to post mortem, nor that he was uninterested in these issues. But for some reason, when he expresses his thought of what follows the death of a ‘wicked’ person, he usually does so quite sparingly and inexactly. [118]

I would argue that in his universal allegory, Philo indeed does not show any great interest in eschatological issues. The main focus is on the orientation of the soul while in the body, whether towards the corporeal and spiritual death or towards the incorporeal and spiritual life. Punishment (and perhaps even damnation) can occur in this life through what human beings do to themselves. Salvation similarly can start to occur during one’s life through an orientation towards the divine. The language and conceptuality of metempsychosis taken over from the Pythagorean-Platonic tradition are powerful literary instruments in depicting these processes, but for Philo the doctrine itself is not essential. It is to be agreed that it would be going too far if we were to conclude that he had no views on the eschatological process. The question is how can we determine what they are if he is so vague about them.

4.  A Closer Look at Two Key Passages It will not be possible in the present context to examine all the magnificently explored detail of Yli-Karjanmaa’s examination of allegorical passages. Particularly in his exposition of texts in the Quaestiones he breaks much new ground. Every scholar who makes a serious study of Philo’s writings and thought must read his book. At this point I  want to zoom in on two passages in the Allegorical Commentary which are important for his thesis and on which I have made pronouncements in the past. The first is at Agr. 89, taken together with § 169 and § 174, located in a treatise on which Albert Geljon and I have written a commentary.25 It is not one of the 24 

Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 81–82. The reference is to Termini (2009) 108. (2013). It is the first commentary on an allegorical treatise published in the Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series. 25  Geljon–Runia

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four passages in which Yli-Karjanmaa sees a direct reference to reincarnation. But when summarizing his treatment of those passages he claims that when read together with some other passages ‘we have all the reason to consider especially the Agr. passage as an allusion to reincarnation.’26 The passage is part of the exegesis of a secondary lemma Deut 17:15b–16a in which Israel is told that it will not be able to establish a foreign ruler over itself ‘for the reason that he will not multiply for himself cavalry, nor will he return the people back to Egypt.’ We note that the verb translated [119] ‘return’ here is ἀποστρέφω, the same verb used in the text on Adam in Gen 3:19 discussed above.27 The text reads as follows:28 (§ 88) … (the passage) is concerned … with the irrational, uncontrolled and disobedient motion in the soul, which it will be advantageous to restrain, lest ‘it return all its people back to Egypt,’ the region of the body, and by force make it a lover of pleasure and passion rather than a lover of excellence and of God. For, as Moses himself has said, the one who has acquired a multitude of horses must necessarily make his way to Egypt. (§ 89) For whenever the soul, like a boat, is buffeted and slung, now to the one side of the intellect and now to the other side of sense-perception, by the violence of the passions and the evil deeds that blow over it and it is overwhelmed by the looming wave, then as is likely the intellect becomes waterlogged and drowns. The depths [βυθός] into which it sinks and drowns is the body that is likened to Egypt.

The text in Deuteronomy does not speak of being drowned in the depths, and as Yakir Paz already pointed out in a review of our commentary,29 there is probably an allusion to Exod 15:5 which we missed, where the Egyptian horse and rider ‘sank to the depths like a stone,’ incidentally the only time in the Pentateuch that the word βυθός occurs.30 Philo had given an exposition of this incident just before the present passage in §§ 79–83. A further mention of the ἔσχατος βυθός is found at § 169 with reference to those had reached perfection but had believed that their improvement was due their own efforts and so disappeared into the ‘deepest abyss,’ while in § 174 the metaphor of the boat is continued but there is no mention of sinking, only of not reaching the harbour. In a note Yli-Karjanmaa draws attention to the fact that in our commentary on § 89, we ‘do not comment on the issue of returning to the body.’31 Most certainly, if we were writing our commentary now, we would mention the possibility that 26 

Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 213. link is, I  think, not mentioned by Yli-Karjanmaa. The verb is common in the Pentateuch and Philo’s treatment deserves further examination. 28  My translation at Geljon–Runia (2013) 60–61. Yli-Karjanmaa offers a partly different translation at (2015) 182, but there are no essential divergences between the two, except perhaps that he translates βυθός with ‘bottom.’ The NETS translation reads ‘into the deep.’ 29  Paz (2013). 30  It also occurs only once in Plato’s works in a literary expression (‘abyss of nonsense’) at Parm. 130d7. 31  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 183 n. 587. 27 This



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in the final words of this passage Philo is hinting at the process of reincarnation, as proposed in his study. We might, however, still hesitate to take the passage as evidence that Philo himself was committed to the doctrine. In the context of the allegory the passage can be [120] taken to refer to a severe setback that the soul experiences when overwhelmed by the force of passion, interpreted as sinking back into the body’s sphere of influence. One might compare the exegesis of the ‘return to Egypt’ in Num 14:4 at Leg. 3.175 (where the return is to ‘passion’) and especially at Post. 156, where the return is to ‘the shelter of a dissolute and licentious life’ and this might have happened if the saviour had not thrown into the soul a ‘sweetening tree’ (cf. Exod 15:25) which produced a love of hard work (φιλοπονία) rather than a hatred of it. Yli-Karjanmaa argues that the reference to βυθός in § 89 (and also § 169) becomes clearer as a reference to reincarnation in the body when read together with texts such as QG 4.234 and QE 2.40.32 One may legitimately ask whether the reader of the treatise is meant to make this link. Is this the way that Philo’s allegorical method works? If the Quaestiones are to be regarded as preliminary notes for composing exegetical treatises or a repository of exegetical themes,33 does this mean that the readers of the allegorical commentary are assumed to have the contents of that work at the back of their minds? Or should one appeal to teaching that Philo might have carried out in a school setting?34 On the other hand, I believe that Yli-Karjanmaa’s interpretation of the three passages in Agr. that they indicate progress on the part of the soul is illuminating and gives us insight into Philo’s intentions when composing the allegorical structure.35 § 89 is located in the first part of the treatise, in which there is an antithesis between Noah the cultivator who is on the path to being a sage and workers of the earth focused on the body and its passions. The other two texts, §§ 167 and 174, are located in the treatise’s second part, in which Noah is interpreted as a beginner who makes progress on the path of perfection. It is to be agreed that the two later passages are meant to be linked up with the earlier one. Philo uses language and imagery that in other contexts could be taken to refer to the soul departing from and returning to the body, but can equally be taken as imagery [121] illustrating the death of the soul to virtue or a setback on the path to the ultimate goal. In our commentary on § 89 Geljon and I drew attention to the possible background of the allegorization of the nautical adventures of Odysseus in Homer’s Odyssey in terms of the quest of the soul for virtue and perfection. Unfortunately 32  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 69, 83, 181. Note that the main discussion of Agr. 89 is part of his interpretation of QE 2.40 and its reference to Tartarus as direct evidence of Philo’s endorsement of the doctrine. 33  Cf. Runia (1986) 381; Sterling (1991) 122. 34  See Sterling (2017a) 123–142. 35  Geljon–Runia (2013) 10–16.

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references to such allegorical themes are scattered, both in Philo and elsewhere, and they have to my knowledge never been systematically collected.36 The only extant example of the allegorization of a substantial piece of the text of the Odyssey is Porphyry’s essay De antro nympharum, based at least in part on earlier interpretation by Numenius. Reincarnation figures prominently in the exegesis. Porphyry outlines (§ 11) various kinds of souls, including those who drag a body with them and become embodied through an attraction to moisture. The nymphs in Od. 13.104 for whom the cave is a sacred place are then identified as ‘souls proceeding to becoming’ (αἱ εἰς τὴν γένεσιν ἰοῦσαι ψυχαί, § 12). Both Porphyry and Numenius are much later than Philo, but there are already references to allegorization of themes from Odysseus’s travels in Cicero, as pointed out by Boyancé,37 so the method in fact precedes Philo. It is thus possible though as yet unproven that the covert references to reincarnation that Yli-Karjanmaa discovers in the texts in Agr. make use of language and themes used in this Greek allegorical tradition. I turn now to the second passage at Somn. 1.137–139. As Yli-Karjanmaa states, this text is the locus classicus for the view that Philo espoused the doctrine of reincarnation. It is part of a long section of text interpreting the ladder in Jacob’s dream in Gen 28:12. In giving a typology of souls which ascend and descend in the air, Philo includes a category which, ‘longing for the familiar and accustomed ways of mortal life, hurry back again’38 and by implication return to the body. Philo uses the verb παλινδρομέω here. As was noted earlier,39 it appears to be a technical term for the process of moving back from the higher to the lower and from the incorporeal to the [122] corporeal.40 In my dissertation I  noted this text and stated that Philo appeared not to have ‘fully integrated’ the doctrine it alludes to in his thought. Yli-Karjanmaa is rightly critical of my treatment of the question, which was indeed superficial and apodictic to a fault.41 Nevertheless I would persist in saying that there are puzzling aspects to this text, not in what it says, but in how it is used. The passage in Somn. is one of four in which Philo sets out a cosmological interpretation of the angels which play such a prominent role in the Pentateuch.42 36  In addition to the references given at Geljon–Runia (2013) 182, see also Boyancé (1963) 67–79; Lamberton (1992) 115–133. [Roskam (2017) 19 downplays the influence of such allegorization of the Homeric poems in Philo.] 37  Boyancé (1963) 73. Note also the interpretation of the transformation of Odysseus’s men into swine at Od. 10.239–240 in terms of reincarnation at Plutarch fr. 200 Sandbach (probably erroneously attributed to Porphyry by Stobaeus). 38  Yli-Karjanmaa’s translation at (2015) 131. 39  See above at n. 12. 40  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 140, 251–54; noted earlier by Mansfeld (1985) 144. 41  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 144, referring to Runia (1986) 348. 42  See the useful table at Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 145, which does not however contain all the common elements. As he notes in n. 460, a passage in QG 4.188 also refers to the interpretation of ‘angels’ without all the cosmological details. On these texts see also Runia (1986) 228–229.



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In each case there is reference to incorporeal souls which range through the air (and heaven in Conf. 176). Only in Somn. is there an explicit reference to reincarnation. There seem to me to be two difficulties. Firstly it is difficult to give a reason why the return of the souls to bodies is mentioned in only one of the passages and not in the others. Secondly, no exegetical application is made of the detail of the return of the souls who are lovers of the body (φιλοσώματοι).43 In each of these passages Philo is focused on explaining the references to angels in the biblical texts in terms of incorporeal souls and by comparing them with the role of δαίμονες in Greek philosophy. Yli-Karjanmaa persuasively suggests this might be a theme that was ‘part of a Hellenistic Jewish tradition.’44 After quoting the biblical text in Gen 28:12 Philo gives no less than four explanations of what the ‘ladder’ symbolises (§§ 134–156). The first of these (§§ 134–145) is cosmological and identified with the air. Philo explains how the air is full of souls and how these ascend and descend. The verbs in § 138 κατίασαν and ἀνέρχονται are patently inspired by the biblical text which speaks of the angels who ascend and descend (ἀνέβαινον καὶ κατέβαινον), though the order has been reversed). When Philo applies the explanation in § 142 he cites these words again and explains how they apply to the angels as messengers of God. The ladder is then also taken to symbolise the soul (§§ 146–149), the life of the practiser (§§ 150–152) and the affairs of human beings (§§ 153–156). As Anne Boiché has recently shown,45 this is an example of how Philo [123] sometimes piles up multiple explanations of the same text, the one not excluding the other but rather enriching the understanding of the text. In the first explanation there is certainly a reference to the reincarnation of certain souls (not explicitly identified), but exegetically nothing is done with this detail. It is not applied to human life, since the biblical text is speaking about angels. Human beings come into the picture in relation to the angels’ role as messengers from and to God. Yli-Karjanmaa argues that ‘with regard to Somn. 1.134–151 and its parallels, I think that simply copying but not really digesting what he had copied would not fit well the kind of thinker Philo was, one who paid so much attention to textual detail in the Bible.’46 Most certainly Philo is a careful reader of the biblical text. The references to the verbs in Gen 28:12 that we just noted is a small case in point. But his exegeses generally focus on specific and detailed aspects of the text or questions raised by it, once again as in the case just discussed. In addition, it is also a feature of Philo’s exegesis that he sometimes cites extensive slabs of [On these passages see the further discussion Yli-Karjanmaa (2017), where he argues that the theme of ‘airy souls’ is part of a larger scheme of the soul’s journey which lies at the heart of Philo’s allegories of the soul.] 43  A Platonic term, used uniquely in his corpus at Phd. 68c1. 44  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 145 n. 461 (his emphasis). 45  Boiché (2018) 273. 46  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 144.

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philosophical material in order to illustrate or give background for biblical exposition. Two very striking cases are found at Opif. 89–128 (the long exposition of arithmological material on the hebdomad) and Ebr. 167–202 (the sceptical tropes), but there are many others.47 This means that some aspects of this illustratory material are more relevant to Philo’s purpose than others. This is how I took the undoubted reference to the process of reincarnation in this particular passage.

5.  Concluding Remarks There is much that we cannot be certain about when we have to determine Philo’s views on the Greek religious and philosophical doctrine of reincarnation and decide whether he regarded it as a fundamental part of Mosaic thought. We do not have all the texts that Philo wrote. He may have indicated more clearly his views on reincarnation, whether positively or negatively in a treatise now lost.48 A single critical remark like the one about ἐκπύρωσις in Her. 228 or a positive application linked to a biblical text would have put the matter beyond doubt. As already noted,49 we do not [124] really know enough about Alexandrian Judaism to be able to determine whether it had groups of thinkers who were an exception to the general rule that the doctrine of reincarnation was ‘essentially alien to Jewish tradition.’50 It would also be helpful to know a lot more about the role that reincarnation played in Greek philosophical allegories, for example of the wanderings of Odysseus.51 Above all, it is difficult to determine which doctrines are regarded as essential for an understanding of the deeper meaning of scripture which the allegorical method of interpretation laid bare. Philo never wrote a work comparable to the Περὶ ἀρχῶν of Origen, which aims to present the ‘rule of faith’ containing the key doctrines handed down from the apostles, among which is the resurrection of the body, but not the reincarnation of the soul.52 But we have to work with the texts that we have. These reveal, in my view, that Philo was not committed to the doctrine of reincarnation, the reason being that it was not essential for what he was trying to achieve in his allegorical interpre47 

For example the copious explanation of the function of division in Agr. 131–145. The fragment that Yli-Karjanmaa analyses in depth at (2015) 186–212 is most likely from the lost Book 4 of Leg. Given the lack of context, a full interpretation of the fragment’s seemingly positive reference to reincarnation is not possible. 49  See above n. 44 and text thereto. 50 Winston’s phrase cited by Yli-Karjanmaa as noted above in n. 4. The most striking exception is the use of the doctrine in the Kabbalistic tradition, where it is invoked as a punishment for sin. 51  See above n. 36 and text thereto. 52  An expansion of the δόγματα εὐσεβείας καὶ ὁσιότητος set out in Opif. 170–172 would have been a good start. Origen accepts the ἐνσωμάτωσις of pre-existent intellects, but not the μετενσωμάτωσις of human souls. 48 



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tations. At most its language might illustrate the process whereby the incarnate soul becomes ‘corporealized’ – to use Yli-Karjanmaa’s very useful term – when it comes under the baleful influence of the body, its senses and its passions. Philo had many opportunities to be more explicit about this doctrine if he was committed to it in his role as exegete, but he did not make use of them. It is of course possible that he was being deliberately secretive, as Yli-Karjanmaa argues,53 but I am (as yet) not convinced. In the end the answer we give to the question posed by the title of this essay turns on how we think we should read Philo. Do we need to connect some of the dots that he leaves scattered throughout his writings, bearing in mind that we do not have them all (though what we do have is quite copious)?54 This is certainly the way that he himself reads Mosaic scripture, which he regards as forming a coherent whole, but one that is not immediately accessible in all the riches of its meaning. Yli-Karjanmaa argues that Philo must have regarded the Bible as a ‘model for his lack of [125] explicitness.’55 In a sense his method is a return to a more dogmatic reading of Philo, though done with a much greater sensitivity to genre and context. The alternative is that we adhere to the view that Philo regards himself as an interpreter and even a servant of scripture, unfolding its hidden meaning to the best of his ability and especially as it relates to the moral and spiritual life of his readers. For this purpose the doctrines of Greek philosophy give valuable assistance, but ultimately they are only acceptable if they derive their authority from scripture, taking into account how it can and should be interpreted. Philo’s method entails that his thought will always remain to some degree obscured and enigmatic. The discussions on how we should read him will long continue. Sami Yli-Karjanmaa has made a very substantial contribution to these discussions and all Philonists should be very grateful to him.

53  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 247 concludes: ‘These considerations favor the possibility that reincarnation was for Philo an esoteric teaching.’ 54  As argued by Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) xi. 55  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 246.

9.  The Reception of Plato’s Phaedo in Philo of Alexandria* Last year three Belgian scholars published an excellent volume on the ancient reception of the dialogue that is the focus of our attention during this conference. Aptly entitled Ancient Readings of Plato’s Phaedo, it starts with his pupil Aristotle during his own lifetime and extends right through to Simplicius at the end of antiquity.1 Interestingly it treats the dialogue’s reception in three other schools (the Peripatetics, the Stoics and the Sceptics) before turning to a philosopher who consciously stood in Plato’s own tradition. The first Platonist to get a chapter is Plutarch. By his time well over four centuries had passed since Plato founded the Academy and the period that we now call Middle Platonism was well under way. But the evidence for Academic and early Platonist readings of the Phaedo is disappointingly limited. So it is very welcome that we have a witness right at the beginning of our era who has left behind a very considerable body of writings and of whom we can be certain that he was an avid reader of the dialogue. I am speaking of course about the Hellenistic-Jewish writer Philo. It is an additional attraction that Philo spent almost all his life in Alexandria, the great eastern intellectual centre who played an important role in the development of the history of Platonism that we would like to know a lot more about.2 My aim in this essay is to set out the evidence for Philo’s use and knowledge of the Phaedo, and reach some conclusions on how important it was for him and what he might be able to tell us about its interpretation at that time.

1.  Philo and Plato’s legacy The affinity that exists between Plato’s and Philo’s writings and thought was already recognised in the ancient world. The Church father Jerome writes (Vir. ill. *  This article was written for the XIth Symposium Platonicum held in Brasilia in July 2016 and devoted to the study of Plato’s Phaedo. It was not published in the proceedings of the conference because of restrictions placed on its length. Prof. Marta Alesso (Santa Rosa, Argentina) kindly offered to translate it into Spanish and it was published in the journal Circe, de clásicos et modernos 20 (2016) 91–112. The original English version is here published for the first time. 1  Delcominette–d’Hoine–Gavray (2015). 2 See now the magnificant volumes Méla–Möri (2014) and esp. the article by Brisson (2014).



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11.7): ‘Concerning this man [Philo] it is commonly said among the Greeks [he probably means Christian scholars or theologians] ἢ Πλάτων φιλωνίζει ἢ Φίλων πλατωνίζει – either Plato philonises or Philo platonises –, so great is the similarity in doctrines and style.’ Byzantine scholars recognised the patent exaggeration involved in this bon mot. No doubt it was the neatness of the formulation that made it attractive. But they continued to discuss whether the affinity was mainly a matter of style and language, or whether there were doctrinal similarities as well.3 The saying can be regarded as simply silly. How can you say that Plato adopts the way of doing things practised by someone who lived many centuries after him? But perhaps at another level it is telling us something interesting. It is not saying that Philo was a Platonist who derived much of his thinking from his master Plato. Rather, they are two thinkers who can be compared. They have produced bodies of writings that are similar in size. In these writings they are doing their own thing, but there is a strong affinity between them. Such a view is not wholly dissimilar to how I  read Philo. He is not a philosopher in the way that Plato was, and he is also not a follower of Plato in the manner of a Plutarch or a Plotinus. The merest glance at his writings will confirm the truth of this view. Philo as a loyal Jew regards himself as a disciple of the great Jewish lawgiver Moses and devotes nearly all his energy to expounding the text of Mosaic scripture and uncovering the depths of the wisdom that it contains. For this purpose he adopts, to use a phrase of the French scholar Valentin Nikiprowetzky, ‘the language of reason’ so impressively developed by the Greek philosophers, prime among whom was the ‘most sweet-voiced Plato’ (Prob. 13).4 There is no loyalty to Plato in particular. That is reserved for Moses. But there is a deep understanding of his thought and a far-reaching appropriation of key ideas and motifs in that thought for the purpose of interpreting scripture.

2.  Previous research on our subject Let us first take a brief look at previous research on the subject. Scholarly work on Philo is exceedingly copious and the discussions on his relation to and use of Plato are plentiful. But it has to be said that the amount of systematic research done on our theme is quite limited. The dissertation of Billings is now nearly a century old. Its comparison of two doctrinal bodies of thought – his teacher was the great proponent of the unitarian Plato, Paul Shorey – is quite outdated and now perhaps most useful in its listing of the Platonic phraseology that Philo takes 3  On this saying in Patristic and Byzantine writers see Runia (1993a) 4, 313. A less literal translation would be ‘either Plato is a follower of Philo or Philo is a follower of Plato.’ 4  See Nikiprowetzky (1977), Lévy (1998). At Prob. 13 the text should be read (with the majority of the MSS) as κατὰ τὸν λιγυρώτατον Πλάτωνα (v. l. ἱερώτατον).

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over.5 In the 60’s and 70’s of the last century a more historical approach was developed by scholars such as Boyancé, Dörrie, Theiler and Dillon, placing Philo’s reading and use of Plato in the context of the development of Middle Platonism.6 The first comprehensive examination of Philo’s use of a particular Platonic dialogue was my own dissertation first published in 1983, which focused on the Timaeus.7 The method I used was to go through the entire work and examine all the evidence in Philo relating to the use and interpretation of texts and themes from that dialogue. The resultant material, which was copious in its extent, provided the basis for a synthesis of Philo’s debt to this work. The choice of the Timaeus was by no means accidental. It is universally recognised that this dialogue was the most influential of Plato’s writings in Philo’s time. In the same year the French scholar Anita Méasson published an in depth study of Philo’s reading of the Phaedrus, and in particular its myth of the ascent of the winged soul.8 Because of the nature of the subject matter, more attention was paid to the Phaedo than in my work, but the research done was far from systematic or complete. Since the 80’s Philonic research has not stood still. A significant development has been the further work done on the Philonic corpus itself and the recognition that it is crucial to take into account the kinds of commentaries and other writings that it contains. The treatises in the Allegorical Commentary, the Exposition of the Law and the Questions and Answers (these last-named are for the most part only available in an Armenian translation) have different but sometimes overlapping aims and methods, and those of the so-called philosophical treatises are different again. Most recently Maren Niehoff has attempted to interpret this differences in terms of a chronological and intellectual development, in which Philo’s sojourn in Rome towards the end of his life plays a key role.9 I must now make mention of a recent monograph which, because of the nature of its main subject, contains more research on Philo’s use of the Phaedo than any previous study. The Finnish scholar Sami Yli-Karjanmaa has devoted an immensely thorough and impressive study to the question of whether Philo espoused the doctrine of reincarnation which figures prominently in the Phaedo, which he answers firmly in the positive.10 In the course of his investigations he makes numerous references to Philo’s use of themes from the dialogue and I wish to place on public record my debt to his research in writing the present essay. I should at this point mention a distinction that Yli-Karjanmaa has made perhaps more clearly than any previous scholar. When discussing the origin and 5 

Billings (1919); for a complete index of Platonic passages cited see Geljon–Runia (1995). Boyancé (1963), Dörrie (1976), Theiler (1965), Dillon (1996, first edition 1977). 7  Runia (1986, first edition 1983). 8  Méasson (1986). 9  Niehoff (2018), building on earlier work in (2001),(2011). 10  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015); on this study see further my review article, (2019) = article 23 in this collection. 6 

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nature of the soul, he distinguishes – in his terminology – between protological and universal accounts.11 In the former we find descriptions of the creation and first beginnings of the cosmos and human life. In Philo’s reading, the Timaeus is above all a protological account of creation, as becomes clear in the treatise that uses it most, the commentary on the Mosaic creation account which is the opening treatise of the Exposition of the Law, the De opificio mundi. In universal accounts, it is not the origin but the present and future existence of the human being in the world and beyond it that is the point of focus, and in Philo’s treatment this most often involves the use of allegory. Another way to formulate the distinction is to say that protological accounts focus on creation, whereas universal accounts are primarily concerned with salvation. In terms of this distinction the Phaedo gives accounts of the soul that are quite universal in their application to human life, in contrast to the Timaeus, which presents an account of the origins of the soul and its place in the cosmos.

3.  The method used in the present essay How then should be proceed in tackling our topic? Ideally it might be worthwhile to adopt the same method that I used in my study on Philo and the Timaeus. This would mean first going through the dialogue page by page and analysing all the different kinds of use that Philo makes of its features, including language, imagery, themes, argumentation, and so on, taking into account the contexts where this usage occurred. On this basis a judgment could be made on the importance of the dialogue for his thought. But this method might prove not only laborious but also quite difficult to carry out. The Phaedo is not so easily divided into discrete topics and Philo’s usage is quite diffuse. More helpful in the present context might be Gert Roskam’s excellent recent article on Plutarch’s reception of the dialogue. He starts with quotations, references and reminiscences, then moves on to more general allusions and general correspondences, before ending with the dialogue as a narrative and argumentative model.12 Our method, then, will be to proceed in five steps, commencing with the more direct ways of using the dialogue’s contents and moving from there to more general thematic comparisons. On this basis we will be in a position to evaluate the impact of the Phaedo on Philo’s writings and thought. In the limited time at our disposal it will not possible to be exhaustive in any way whatsoever, nor will it be easy to do justice to the context of all the Philonic texts that we cite, but we should bear it in mind to the extent possible. And given the central importance of Philo’s mission as exegete of Mosaic scripture outlined above, we should not overlook the exegetical foundation of so many of his texts. 11  12 

See Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 4–5, 35. Roskam (2015).

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4.  Five kinds of reception (a)  Quotations and Recognisable Allusions In all his works Philo never makes any direct reference to the Phaedo. The closest we get is the text at De ebrietate 8 where we read that, as the παλαιὸς λόγος states,13 God has attached pleasure and pain to single head. The allusion to 60b9–c4 is clear, with the phrase εἰς μίαν κορυφὴν συνάψας ὁ θεός conflating words from Plato’s two sentences. The reference to the ‘ancient account’ indicates that Philo wants to make sure that the allusion is recognised, but he does not feel the need in this exegetical treatise to specify its author. It is possible that there is a reference to the same passage at Quaestiones in Genesim 4.159 where we read ‘for desire for pleasure and pains are from the same root, as the poet says, (and) whatever things are divided and separated from the head are both divided at the extremities.’14 Here there seems to be an allusion to the phrase ἐκ μιᾶς κορυφῆς at least, but it seems quite doubtful that the word ποιητής can refer to Plato.15 The lack of any references to Plato’s name or work may seem surprising, but we can compare the avowed Platonist Plutarch, who in all his writings never refers to the Phaedo by that title, only once refers to the alternative title Περὶ ψυχῆς, and only refers to Plato himself in connection with the dialogue four times.16 More often Philo alludes to well-known phrases of the dialogue without drawing attention to the fact. It is up to the well-educated reader to recognise them. A subtle and hitherto unnoticed example is found in the proœmium of one of the philosophical treatises, Quod omnis probus liber sit. After citing the Pythagorean saying ‘not to walk on the highways’ he states that that those who genuinely espouse philosophy (cf. Phd. 66b2) will ‘uncover ideas (Colson in the Loeb translates this in Platonic terms as ‘ideal forms’) which it is not legitimate for anyone who is impure to touch’ (Prob. 3). The allusion to the famous dictum at 67b that it is not permitted for the impure to touch what is pure is unmistakeable. Philo then goes on to make a reference to Plato’s image of the cave in the Republic. The entire passage is a cento of Pythagorean and Platonic references which the learned reader will understand and enjoy. A clearer example of a recognisable allusion to the dialogue is the description of philosophy as ‘practising to die’ or a ‘practice for death’ (64a6, 67e4, 81a1). The combination of the words μελετή and ἀποθνῃσκειν or θάνατος must amount to an allusion to Plato’s work. We find this four times in Philo (Det. 34, Gig. 14, 13 

Plato himself uses this expression at Phd. 70c5. Marcus’s translation from the Armenian in PLCLSup, slightly modified. 15  The phrase ἐκ μιᾶς ῥίζης is common in Greek literature, but I have not found it attributed to a particular poet. 16  Roskam (2015) 116. 14 



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QG 4.173, fr. 7.3 Harris).17 In addition, the phrase τῶν ἀνόθως φιλοσοφησάντων at Gig. 14 must be a reminiscence of the very similar οἱ ὀρθῶς φιλοσοφοῦντες at 67e4. Oddly in the third of these passages the saying is used to explain the words of Esau at Gen 25:32, when he says that since he is going to die, what use is his birthright to him. This is the life of the fool rather than of the wise person as found in Plato.18 Following ancient practice Philo plays around with the learned allusion and the reader is expected to follow and appreciate what he is doing. (b) Language It is perhaps not so widely known that Philo is an important witness to the development of the Greek language and particularly of a certain kind of terminology involving compound words. Much research was done of this phenomenon in the 19th century and about two decades ago, when investigating Philonic heritage in the Patristic period I published some research which drew attention to it and even coined the phrase verba Philonica for such terms which is now often used in the learned literature.19 There are important antecedents for this kind of terminology in Plato and a particularly fertile passage is found at Phaedo 68c, just after he talks about the philosopher practising to die. ‘Is this not ample evidence of such a man that any man whom see complaining when about to die is not a φιλόσοφος but a φιλοσώματος, and the same person is also a φιλοχρήματος or a φιλότιμος, either singly or both.’ A little earlier Plato had also used the term φιλομαθής for the philosopher and he repeats it four times in 82c–83e. Finally we might note the word φιλοποσία to describe what is indulged in by persons deserving to reincarnate in animals like donkeys (81e5). All these terms except the last recur frequently in Philo’s allegories. For example φιλοσώματος is used of Er (Gen 38:7), meaning ‘leathern’ and symbolising the body (Leg. 3.72, 74). It is also used of souls who descend and are bound in mortal bodies, as part of Philo’s exposition of Jacob’s ladder (Gen 28) in Somn. 1.138. Abraham, on the other hand, is the φιλομαθής par excellence (Migr. 216, Her. 63 etc.), symbolising the mind that is eager to learn on its journey from Chaldea to the vision of God and his powers (he is also the φιλοθεάμων, Migr. 76). But Philo goes further in using (and perhaps even coining) φιλο- words not found in Plato. We have characters who symbolise the mind that is φιλοπαθής, notably the Egyptian ‘riders’ who drown in the sea (Leg. 2.103, Agr. 83 etc.). The ambivalent character represented by Joseph is called φιλότυφος (Somn. 2.98), a hapax legomenon in extant Greek literature up to 1000 C. E. By way of con17  On the last-named passage see the lengthy analysis by Yli-Karjanmaa (2019) 186–212, who demonstrates that the text is in all likelihood genuinely Philonic. 18  On the similar reinterpretation of practising to die in Somn. 1.151, where the phrase ἀποθνῄσκειν ἐπιτετηδευκότες recalls 64a6, see below § 5d(3). 19  Runia (1992b). For earlier research see especially Siegfried (1875) 31–132.

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trast Philo rejoices in those intellects that are not only φιλοθεάμονες but also φιλόθεοι in their quest for God (Abraham at Her. 82, Moses in Post. 15 etc.), using on numerous occasions,20 a term not found in Plato with only a single pre-Philonic instance to be found in Aristotle’s Rhetorica (2.17 1391b2). Further evidence of Philo’s use of language that has its origin in the Phaedo is found when he uses a striking term that will immediately remind the well-educated reader of the original Platonic context. An example is the word φλυαρία meaning ‘silliness’ or ‘nonsense.’ Philo uses it only seven times, but the instance that interests us is at Somn. 1.139, when in expounding Jacob’s ladder in Gen 28 he describes those souls which wish to leave life in the body behind as ‘recognising the πολλὴ φλυαρία of mortal life,’ The term φλυαρία is quite common in Plato (14 instances), but we may be sure that Philo is thinking here of the usage at Phd. 66c3 because of the combination with the adjective and also because the context, which is full of imagery and references to the Phaedo and other dialogues.21 In the same passage Philo says the soul escapes from the body as if it was a εἱρκτή (enclosure). The word is surely inspired by Plato’s use of εἱργμός in 82e3–5, the only time he ever uses it in the singular. The relatively rare Platonic word is replaced by a very similar and more common equivalent,22 but given the context the origin of the usage is clear enough. (c) Imagery Philo’s use of imagery and metaphor is a very large subject, which has never been systematically explored. Given his predilection for using images and the vast extent of his corpus, it may be impossible to do this in any thorough and exhaustive way.23 What is clear is that this huge collection of examples combines three sources: firstly, classical literature, which from Homer onwards contains uses images widely and creatively; secondly, the narrative sections (and to a lesser extent the legal prescriptions) of the books of Moses, which provide images that Philo can weave into his exegesis; and thirdly, his own observations living in Alexandria, which provided him with a rich palette of images from the life of the city and its people.24 The Phaedo as a work of literature is particularly rich in imagery. I will focus my discussion on four examples, all of which are related the central theme of the relationship of the soul to the body. 20 

48 times according to the Philo Index of Borgen et al. (2000). Plato the phrase πολλὴ φλυαρία is also found at Apol. 19c4, but the context is quite different (Aristophanes’ depiction of Socrates). 22  In the TLG we find 32 instances of εἱργμός, 1062 of εἱρκτή. 23  For what follows I am indebted to Billings (1919) 88–103, Yli-Karjanmaa (2019) 31 and passim. There is extensive analysis of Philo’s use of imagery in the Timaeus in Runia (1986), and in the Phaedrus in Méasson (1986). 24  A particulary striking example is Philo’ use of images from athletics; see Harris (1976). 21  In

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(1) The image of the prison is central to the Phaedo and cannot be missed by any perceptive reader. Socrates’ imprisonment and imminent departure from this life are linked to the fate of the human presence on earth (62b4 ἔν τινι φρουρᾷ) or the soul’s presence in the body (εἰργμός 82e3, 5; δεσμωτήριον 114c1). There are at least ten passages in Philo, all found in the Allegorical Commentary, in which he uses this image of the intellect or the soul, often combined with the injunction to leave the prison of the body behind and depart from it.25 There is an obvious link that Philo can make to a biblical personage who finishes up in jail. Joseph is an ambivalent figure in Philo. In Ebr. 111 he symbolises the intellect which is φιλοσώματος and φιλοπαθής (two terms already discussed above) and is cast into the prison of the passions (Gen 39:1). Philo is happy to twist the biblical narrative (Joseph in fact actually receives divine favour in jail) so that it fits into a pattern of imagery inspired by the Phaedo. (2) A second image is the body as a garment or a cloak for the soul, which Plato invokes to illustrate that it might be possible for the soul to wear out several bodies and yet still not be immortal (87b–e). Philo is not interested in the argument and a possible verbal allusion to the term ὕφασμα occurs only once when the human being is called a ‘weave of body and soul’ (Ebr. 101). But the image of the soul being clothed with a (dead) body is very common, especially in the further image of the soul stripping or undressing and thus leaving the body behind.26 For an indirect biblical impetus here we might note the ‘tunics of leather’ that God makes for the first human beings in Gen 3:21, which Philo interprets as the body in a positive sense in the only surviving passage where this text is discussed.27 (3) Another cluster of images concerns the bondage that the soul must endure through its association with the body. The freedom that God promises the nation in Gen 15:4 is interpreted in Her. 273–274 not only as departure from prison, but also as a release from the bondage of the mind (i. e. the rational soul) when it descended from heaven and was bound in the constraints of the body. Here Philo adds to the image of the prison already discussed an allusion to release from the bonds of the body at 67d1 and the expression ‘to be bound to the body’ introduced by Plato at 81e2 and 92a1, both in the context of the theory of reincarnation. As Yli-Karjanmaa has noted, the latter expression is often used by Philo throughout his writings.28 (4) The final image that I wish to draw attention to is that of the ἀποδημία, the ‘journey abroad’ (61e2, 67c1). Socrates is ready to make that journey to another place ‘with good hope’ (67c1). The image links up with the pervasive imagery of 25 

Leg. 3.21, 42; Deus 111; Ebr. 101; Migr. 9; Her. 68, 85, 109, 273; Mut. 173; Somn. 1.139. Leg. 2.22, Fug. 110 (of the high priest), QG 4.78 etc. 27  QG 1.53; cf. also 4.1. Most regrettably the part of the Allegorical Commentary that expounded this text is lost. 28  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 114, referring to Leg. 2.22, Leg. 3.151,Conf. 92, 106, 177, Mut. 36, Somn. 1.138, Ios. 264, Spec. 4.188, Virt. 74. 26 See

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‘sojourning’ which Philo derives from the biblical accounts of Abraham and the people of Israel in the Pentateuch and for which he often uses biblical terminology wholly foreign to Plato ((πάροικος/παροικεῖν, cf. Gen 12:10, 15·13, 23:2 etc.). Commenting on Abraham’s departure to his fathers with peace in a good old age (Gen 15:15) Philo says that it is doctrinally sound to say that the good person departs rather than dies, for the highly purified soul is immortal and engaged in the ἀποδημία fr0m here to the heavens, not subject to the dissolution and destruction of death (Her. 276). The additional reference to the theme of purity makes it probable that Philo has Plato’s passage in 67c at the back of his mind.29 The theme of migration or μετανάστασις pervades the entire treatment of the story of Abraham’s journey from Chaldea via Haran to the promised land.30 The ultimate goal is the vision of God. But the image of the ‘journey abroad’ is double-edged. It can also be a journey in the other direction, towards the body and its passions. The soul can descend to earth and into the body, a bad experience from which it must escape.31 The pre-eminent symbol of a foreign land is Egypt, the land of the body and the passions with Pharaoh as its king, which Moses and the children of Israel leave behind.32 (d)  Other Themes Philo’s exploitation of the Phaedo is certainly not confined to allusions, terminology and images. Other themes in the dialogue have also exerted their influence. Indeed they are too numerous to be discussed in full detail. Once again we have to be selective. (1) Philo’s allusions to the Platonic theme of philosophy as a practice for death have already been noted above. In the same context Plato describes death as the release (ἀπαλλαγή) of the soul from the body (64c4) and a little later its freeing (λύσις) and separation (χωρισμός, 67d4). Philo cites this description on four occasions.33 Resembling Plato the most is the passage in the Life of Abraham, where we read that the patriarch, after grieving a little (cf. Gen 23:2), recalled the teaching of wisdom that death is not extinction of the soul but its separation and unyoking from the body and return to whence it came, which as revealed in the Mosaic creation account is from God (Abr. 258).34 29  In addition of course to many other motifs in early Greek philosophy; see for example Empedocles fr. B115 DK discussed by Mansfeld (2015) 75. 30  According to Nikiprowetzky (1977) 239 the Platonically inspired theme of migration is the key to Philo’s thought. 31  See for example Cher. 120, Agr. 64–65, Conf. 77–78 and other texts cited by Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 31. 32  See the monograph of Pearce (2007). 33  In addition to the texts discussed there is also an allusion at Plant. 147. 34  Note that the phrase παρὰ θεοῦ is a quote from the exegetical context, Gen 23:6. The link with the creation account is stated very loosely.



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In expounding the reference to death in Gen 2:17, Philo uses Plato’s description less literally. Death, he states (Leg. 1.106), is of two kinds. For a human being it is the separation of the soul from the body, but for the soul it is the destruction of virtue and the assumption of wickedness. This latter death occurs when the soul is entombed in passions and all kinds of evil. On the next page we read (§ 108) that when we die (i. e. a physical death), the soul then lives its own proper life and is released (ἀπηλλαγμένης, cf. 64c5) from the evil corpse of the body to which it is tied.35 In the next treatise a similar statement is made (Leg. 2.77) in relation to the effect of pleasure. Death is not the separation of the soul from the body, but it occurs when the unruly (i. e. irrational) part of the soul longs for the dwellings of Egypt, that is the corporeal mass (cf. Num 21:5–6). In these two texts Philo offers a fascinating reinterpretation of Plato’s classic treatment of death. Despite the proofs of the soul’s immortality, it too can suffer death, but it is of a different kind, not physical but moral. We shall return to the first of these passages a little later on. (2) The next theme is in many respects a continuation of the previous one. It is an explication of what is involved in the liberation of the soul from the body for those who genuinely practise philosophy (66b), namely a purification from the desires and the folly that beset the soul through its association with the body (66b–67b). Indeed it is this association with the body that ‘contaminates’ the soul and weighs it down (66b, 81b–c). It also requires a recognition that the senses which the body provide are more of a hindrance than a help for the soul that aspires to attain the truth (65a–e). All of these motifs are pervasive in Philo’s allegory of the soul.36 The usage is largely general, however, and not drawing on specific features of the Phaedo account. Yli-Karjanmaa has perceptively suggested that the mention of souls who have not yet had the irrational component stripped away from them and still drag in to themselves the crowd of the senses (ἐφελκέμεναι, Migr. 200) is an allusion to 66a where the philosopher uses the mind alone in hunting for being and does not drag in (έφέλκων) any of the senses to accompany reason.37 We have already seen that the following treatise Quis heres appears to contain many passages which show the influence of the 35  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 64 argues that there are three ‘events of dying’ in Leg. 1.105–108, (1) physical death, (2) the moral death of the soul, and (3) the death to the corporal life allowing the soul to live. The first two are introduced in § 105, the third by the phrase εἰ δὲ ἀποθάνοιμεν in § 108. It seems to me not necessary to read the passage in this way. It is more natural to take the first person plural in § 108 as referring to the human being introduced in § 105. This is the way the passage is read by Saudelli (2012) 256. But the complexities of the passage, which includes a paraphrased quote of Heraclitus’ famous aphorism B115, are too great to be dealt with in the present context. 36  See the summary at Billings (1919) 64–70. 37  This interpretation is strengthened by two other passages where the verb is used: Leg. 3.11, Det 27. I interpret the participle ἐφελκέμεναι in the Philonic text as in the middle voice. The latter text, which speaks of ‘not dragging in any of the bodily defects’ may also be a general reminiscence of the Platonic text.

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Phaedo. So we might note further that its emphasis on the purification of the soul which is destined for heaven from the senses and the passions might be another example.38 And we might return briefly to the passage in Ebr. 101,39 where in an exegesis of Moses going out of the city in Exod 9:29 the νοῦς εἱλικρινέστατος καὶ καθαρώτατος after being imprisoned in the city of the body and mortal life departs in freedom and leaves behind the clamour of the passions and the cries of pleasure. (3) The destination of the soul after death is a key topic in the Phaedo, both in Socrates’ discussions with his friends and in the final myth. The souls descend to Hades (69c, 70c, 108a) or to Tartarus (112a) and from there the righteous can go on to their own region and dwell with the gods (69c, 108c, 114c). The references to Hades and Tartarus in Philo are scarce but telling. Because of their prominence in the Phaedo,40 it is justified to discern the influence of that work. Hades is the abode that is allotted to the bad, who from the beginning to the end have been practising to die (Somn. 1.151), another example of Philo going his own way in using the Platonic phrase. Indeed, we read elsewhere (Congr. 57), Hades should not be thought of as the mythical place for the impious (as in the Phaedo), but rather it is the life of the immoral person. Two not so well-known passages in the Quaestiones refer to Tartarus, both discussed at length by Yli-Karjanmaa. The former (QG 4.234), an allegorical explanation of the references to earth and heaven in Gen 27:39, describes the mind according to the Armenian translation41 as descending into an earthy body and ‘being burned by the necessities and flames of desire, for these are a true Tartarus,’ before spreading its wings and gaining a sight of heaven. However, the Old Latin version reads ‘in the Acheron and Puriphlegethon of desires,’ which must represent the original text. The allusion may in the first instance be to Homer Odyssey 10.513,42 but these two rivers are also prominent in the Phaedo myth (112e–113c). The second passage is QE 2.40 on God’s words to Moses in Exod 24:12a, ‘come up to me to the mountain and be there.’ Here the ‘ultimate regions of Tartarus’ are described as the destination for those in whom the desire for God is fickle and only fly upwards for a short time before being drawn downwards.43 In both texts the reference to Tartarus, at least partially inspired by the myth of Phaedo, is combined with the flight of the soul on wings drawn from the myth of the Phaedrus (of which there is no mention in the earlier dialogue). 38 

Her. 64, 184–185, 239, 276; see the valuable observations of Harl PAPM 15.110. See above § 5c(2) on the term ὕφασμα. 40  Of the ten references to Tartarus in the genuine works of Plato, seven are in this dialogue. 41  Cited in the translation of Marcus in PLCLSup. 42  As noted by Petit (1973) in her commentary ad loc. 43  I am paraphrasing the text, which in the present context cannot be adequately discussed; see the lengthy analysis of Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 169–186 with additional philological comments in 260–264. 39 



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(4) The two passages just discussed describe the descent of the soul into the body in terms that appear to evoke the process of metempsychosis or reincarnation. This theory, formally introduced as a παλαιὸς λόγος at 70c5, is highly prominent in the Phaedo, being invoked on no less than four occasions (70c–d, 73a–75e, 81d–83e, 113a). The first three are the only non-mythical passages which refer to the doctrine (also at Tim. 42b–c, 90e–91d, Rep. 618a–620b, Phdr. 248b–249c). The place of reincarnation in Philo’s thought is controversial.44 In his monograph Yli-Karjanmaa has demonstrated beyond all that Philo uses the concept and the language of metempyschosis in his allegories of the soul. He marshalls a great deal of indirect evidence, before discussing four passages where he claims that Philo speaks of the idea of reincarnation with approval (p. 212). In three of these we have seen allusions to the Phaedo.45 Certainly Philo has no place for the notion that humans reincarnate into animals, as described in 82a–c, thereby anticipating the views of later Platonists and Church fathers.46 Such a view is contrary to his conviction, following the Stoa, that there is an essential divide between human beings with the rational soul and lower beings which are irrational. In fact Philo never makes an outright pronouncement for or against this doctrine, which as far as we know is foreign to ancient Judaism and seldom found in later traditions.47 The notions of descent into the body, ascent from the body and return to the body are clearly present in Philo’s allegories and must be seen integral to his presentation of the fate of soul. How this should be interpreted and whether we should agree with Yli-Karjanmaa’s thesis that he ‘accepted’ and ‘approved’ the tenet of reincarnation requires a more detailed discussion than can be given in the present context.48 (5) Lastly there is in the Phaedo a cluster of motifs with a theological focus that we should not allow to go unnoticed. Early on in the discussion Socrates argues against suicide by saying that there are gods that look after us and that human beings are one of the possessions of the gods (62b7–8). Philo would heartily agree with both propositions and there are numerous passages where he expresses these views. The second of them is particularly relevant for the 44  Yli-Karjanmaa 20–25 is right to argue against my superficial treatment of the subject in PATP, which focused on the theme as it occurs in the Timaeus. 45  Somn. 1.138–139 (§ 5b, 5c(1, 3); QE 2.40 (§ 5c(3); fr. 7.3 Harris (§ 5a). For the fourth, Cher. 114, Yli-Karjanmaa sees Philo’s use of the term παλιγγενεσία as reflecting Plato’s usage at 70c–d, 72a and 113a and points to a whole list of passages indicating the ‘subtle but clear presence of the dialogue’ in Cher. I have found none of these sufficiently clear to include so far, but see the next sub-section on all things being God’s possessions. 46  For an overview of the views on the various positions associated with the doctrine of metempsychosis see Dörrie–Baltes (2002) §§ 178–180. 47  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 246 is right to say, in commenting on Winston’s statement (42) that it is ‘essentially alien to Jewish tradition,’ that we lack evidence on what Hellenistic-Jewish authors apart from Philo thought on the subject. 48  See Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 150, 243. See further my article published in 2019 = article 8.

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exegesis of the birth of the twins Cain and Abel, for not only does Adam exclaim (Gen 4:1) ‘I have acquired (ἐκτησάμην) a man through God,’ but the etymologies of the two boys’ names are also reminiscent of the theme, Cain meaning ‘possession (κτῆσις)’ and Abel ‘he who refers (all things) to God.’ Integral to the two treatises De Cherubim and De sacrificiis is an allegorical dialectic between the mind which regards all things as its own possession and the one which acknowledges them and himself ) as belonging to God.49 The goal of the philosophical soul which has been practising death is to depart into the divine invisible world which it resembles and be εὐδαίμων, freed from human ills and dwelling with the gods for the rest of time (81a). In the myth this εὐδαιμονία is described as communion with the divine beings and seeing the heavenly bodies as they really are (111b–c). Such eschatological ideas mesh well with Philo’s conception of the goal of human life and his depictions of the ascent of the soul, whether it joins the dances of the stars or passes beyond the confines of the universe to the intelligible realm where it strains to see God.50 The influence of the Phaedrus myth is much stronger than that of the less developed Phaedo. But when Socrates, about to go on this journey, says that ‘noble is the prize and great the hope’ (114c8), this will have resonated strongly with Philo, for whom the notion of prize or reward (ἆθλον) is a key motif in his presentation of God’s relation with Israel, whether that be the nation or the soul.51 A likely allusion to these words is found at De mutatione nominum 82 where we read: ‘What garland richer in flowers and more fitting for the victorious soul can be woven together than through it is able to see the Existent with clear vision? Surely this is the noble prize (καλὸν ἆθλον) that is set before the athletic soul, that it should be equipped with eyes to gain far-sighted knowledge of the one who is alone worthy of contemplation.’ (e)  Passages with Clustered Themes The final kind of reception that remains to discussed occurs when a number of themes, not just from the Phaedo but also from other Platonic and non-Platonic sources, are clustered together. We already saw two examples of how allusions to the Phaedrus myth were combined with references to Tartarus.52 Now we will briefly look at four passages, each of which has already mentioned in our discussions so far, in which this phenomenon occurs more extensively. (1) Leg. 1.105–108. As we noted above (§ 5c(2)), Philo ends the first book of his allegorical commentary on the Paradise story with a striking passage on the death of the soul, in which he offers a rich reinterpretation of Plato’s 49 See

Cher. 65–130, Sacr. 2–3, 71, 97. See for example Det. 87–89, QE 2.40, Spec. 1.37–40, 3.1–2 (his own experience) etc. 51  Cf. esp. Praem. 3–56 and Contempl. 90, on which see my article (1997). 52  See above § 5d(3). 50 

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classic account of death in the Phaedo. The soul can actually die while it is still attached to the body, namely by dying to the life of virtue. Philo combines this reference to our dialogue with no less than four other themes: the PythagoreanPlatonic theme of the body as a tomb (σῶμα–σῆμα, cf. Crat. 400c, Gorg. 493a); the Pythagorean-Orphic theme of the penalty-death (ὁ ἐπὶ τιμωρία θάνατος, cf. Crat. 400c, Clement Str. 3.17.1 citing Philolaus); a paraphrase of Heraclitan fragment on living and dying (ζῶμεν τὸν ἐκείνων θάνατον, τεθνήκαμεν δὲ τὸν ἐκείνων βίον, cf. fr. 22B62 DK); and the Aristotelian theme of the body as a corpse to which the soul is tied (νεκρός, cf. Protr. fr. 10b Ross53). On the basis of later parallels Mansfeld, following Burkert, has argued that what we have here is a ‘Middle-Platonist cento,’ i. e. a piece of early Alexandrian Platonist exegesis in which themes from mainly earlier philosophers have been woven in.54 The hypothesis of a written source that Philo drew on has been contested by Zeller with some justification,55 but the deliberate clustering of themes on the basis of Platonic doctrine can hardly be doubted, especially when other Philonic parallels are adduced.56 (2) Gig. 13–15. In expounding the ‘angels of God’ in Gen 6:2 according to the Septuagint text before him, Philo identifies them with the δαίμονες of philosophers, which are the souls that fly through the air. Of these some never join up with any parts of the earth, but others descend into the body as if into a river. Of this group some can rise to the surface and fly upwards. These are ‘the souls of those who have been genuinely devoted to philosophy and from beginning to end have practised dying to the life with bodies and participate in the incorporeal and immortal life in the presence of Him that is uncreated and immortal’ (§ 14). But the others have focused on things that are related to ‘the corpse that we are born with, the body’ (§ 15). Aside from the mention of the body-corpse, a weak allusion to the Aristotelian theme cited above, all the references here are to Platonic texts, namely the Timaeus (43a), the Phaedrus myth (cf. 249d) and the Phaedo (67e etc.). We should note that this passage shows significant parallels with three other Philonic texts,57 one of which we will discuss next. (3) Somn. 1.138–139. This text also discusses the incorporeal souls which inhabit the air, this time in connection with Jacob’s ladder (Gen 28:12). Philo writes as follows: Of these souls some which are closest to the earth and lovers of the body (φιλοσώματοι) descend to be bound to mortal bodies, while others ascend, after having been sep53 

See also the expansion of this theme when discussing the death of Er at Leg. 3.69–72. Mansfeld (1985); Burkert (1975). 55  Zeller (1995) 45–46. 56  See – aside from Leg. 3.69–74 – also Somn. 1.139, QG 1.70, 4.152, Spec. 4.188. 57  Plant. 14, Conf. 174–177, Somn. 1.138–141. See discussions at Runia (1986) 228–230, Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 143–148. I  have not been able to consult Eisele (2003) referred to by Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 132. 54 

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arated again in accordance with the numbers and times determined by nature. (§ 139) Of these last (souls) some, longing for the familiar and customary ways of mortal life, take a return course back again. But others, condemning that life as much nonsense, have called the body a prison and a tomb and, escaping as if from an enclosure or a grave and having been lifted upwards with light wings towards the ether, take up their abode in the higher regions forever.

We have already seen that there are five clear allusions to the Phaedo in this brief passage (lover of the body, being bound to the body, much nonsense, body as a prison and as an enclosure). In addition the description of the process of reincarnation in § 139 clearly shows the influence of 81c–82b (note especially 81e1–2 ἐπιθυμίᾳ πάλιν ἐνδεθῶσιν εἰς σῶμα), although the key term παλινδρομέω is post-Platonic58). This text is Yli-Karjanmaa’s chief witness for Philo’s espousal of the doctrine of reincarnation, and it certainly cannot be denied that it is present in this depiction of the fate of certain souls. We note that here, when the ascent of the souls is described, there are even clearer references to the Phaedrus myth (κούφοις πτεροῖς cf. 248c1, μετεωροπολοῦσι cf. 246c1). It seems to me very likely that this and the previous text, together with the two others, reflect a systematising of Plato’s psychology in a cosmological context that occurred prior to Philo, whether in early Middle Platonism or even earlier.59 Whether it goes back to a single written source cannot be proven. (iv) Her. 267–276. The final passage differs from the first three and other passages might have been selected in its place. We have already cited it with reference to the themes of the bondage of the body, its role as prison or enclosure and the migration from here to heaven (§ 5c(3–4)). Philo is giving exegesis of Gen 15:3, where it is said that Abraham’s descendants will be sojourners as if in a foreign land, referring to the four hundred years that the people of Israel would live in Egypt after Joseph – Egypt as we saw being his main allegorical symbol for the body.60 In fact the entire passage can be seen as an allegorical adapation of the main themes of the Phaedo and especially the passage 64c–69e in which the soul must escape the incessant demands of the body and the accompanying passions such as desire and fear. Even Philo’s strong emphasis on the liberating and redemptive role of God is anticipated in the Platonic dialogue when Socrates says that we should keep ourselves pure from the body’s influence ‘until God himself releases us’ (67a6). We note too that part of the equipment (ἀποσκευή, cf. the LXX text) that the mind takes with it in its journey back to its fatherland (i. e. heaven) are the virtues of self-mastery and perseverance (§ 274), variations 58  Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 251–254, following Mansfeld, argues that it is a terminus technicus for reincarnation. 59  As noted by Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 133 citing Xenocrates fr. 236–237 Isnardi Parente. On the combination with the Phaedrus, see Méasson (1986) 268–300. There are also parallels in Plutarch’s demonology; see Dillon (1996) 216–219. 60  See above n. 32.

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on the virtues of courage and self-control that Plato emphasises (68c–d). As we already saw,61 the entire treatise is perfused with the influence of Plato’s account, notably also the passage at Her. 68–74.62

5.  Some Conclusions on Philo’s Reception on the Phaedo (1) In his excellent analysis of Plutarch’s reception of the Phaedo, Geert Roskam reaches the following conclusion:63 The above discussion has shown that the Phaedo exerted a significant influence on Plutarch’s thinking and writing. In a few cases, this influence appears from explicit verbatim quotations, though usually it is much less tangible. However, the most explicit and clearest references do not necessary imply the deepest and most fundamental influence. We saw that the Platonic dialogue is actually used in the most different contexts and for the most different purposes, and that it was a source of inspiration for philosophical arguments and doctrines, specific phrases, narratological composition, argumentative strategies, and so on.

Roskam’s remarks provide an excellent point of comparison for our own conclusions in relation to Philo’s usage. The first half applies perfectly to Philo. We saw that Philo (in contrast to Plutarch) never names the dialogue and that explicit quotations are quite rare in his works. Recognisable allusions are more common, yet even they do not by any means exhaustively represent the fundamental influence of the work. However, the second half of the conclusion does not apply at all exactly. Philo’s interest in the dialogue focuses on a quite narrowly defined set of themes. He is not interested in much of its narrative structure and certainly not in its philosophical arguments and argumentative strategies. (2) The importance of the Phaedo for Philo lies in its presentation of the relation between the body and the soul, the nature of the philosophical life, and what this means for the future of the soul, particularly in and after death. It provides him with powerful images which pervade his allegorical writings. Life in the body on earth is a journey for the soul, a process of migration through learning and virtue. God liberates the soul from its confinement in the body so that it can ascend to the heavens and even reach the ultimate bliss of contemplation of Himself. The Phaedo also offers the language of reincarnation which Philo uses to indicate the placement of the soul in the body (though not its creation as such). (3) Because of this narrow focus, the parts of the Philonic corpus in which the influence of the Phaedo occurs is largely confined to the Allegorical Com61 

See above § 5d(2). is not to exclude the influence of other dialogues such as the Phaedrus and the Timaeus; see the splendid synthesis of Harl PAPM 15.103–129. 63  Roskam (2015) 133. 62  This

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mentary, throughout its full length but especially in the sections on the Paradise story and on Abraham, and also in the allegorical passages in the Quaestiones.64 Outside these writings its influence is much less marked. Because of the way that Philo uses the Phaedo, the extent of its influence is virtually impossible to quantify. As a result of of the narrow focus, it is clearly less than that of the Timaeus. But it is certainly comparable to that of the Phaedrus, which also focuses almost exclusively on the fate of the soul. Recalling Yli-Karjanmaa’s distinction between protological and universal accounts that we mentioned at the outset, we could say that for the latter the Phaedo has led the way in determining the philosophical language that Philo chooses for the life and journey of the soul once it has been created and resides in the material realm. (4) What then can we regard as particularly Philonic in his reading of the Platonic text. I would wish to bring forward above all his method of appropriation. The Phaedo for Philo is not in the first instance a literary text, nor does it really function as a philosophical text. It is a text that can assist in gaining access to ancient wisdom through its use in the exegesis of scripture. In a sense Philo’s use of the work can be compared to Plato’s own espousal of the παλαιὸς λόγος of Pythagoreans (70c), though there is nothing in Plato comparable to the complexities of Philo’s allegorical system. Furthermore Philo’s Jewish theocentrism is a notable point of differentiation. The Phaedo is certainly a deeply religious text, and and as we saw, it speaks of divine liberation. But Philo’s identification of the biblical Deity with intelligible being as the ultimate goal of contemplation introduces a decisive new element.

6.  What can students of Platonism learn from Philo We return, finally, to a question posed at the outset. Is there anything that can be learnt about the interpretation of the Phaedo in Philo’s own time? Given his quite idiosyncratic use of the Platonic legacy, we might be tempted to reply: not a great deal. But that would be mistaken on at least two accounts. Firstly, we have seen that there are clear indications that a number of the Phaedo’s main themes have been incorporated in a systematising complex of doctrine that draws not only on other key dialogues, but also on Presocratic and other traditions. Although Philo certainly knew the Platonic corpus and the anterior philosophical tradition well enough to make connections between doctrines and themes, it is highly probable, given the parallels between quite separate passages, that he is drawing on features of Platonic interpretation that had developed, whether at Alexandria or elsewhere, in the period before he wrote his treatises. 64 

These passages are often difficult to read with precision, since the original Greek is obscured by the Armenian translation. Yli-Karjanmaa has done excellent work on these texts.



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Secondly, there are Philo’s extended allegories of the history and life of the soul (or intellect). These give rise to some intriguing conundrums. Although we may be certain that Jewish allegory drew inspiration from Greek models, to what extent is this the case for the Platonising history of the soul as we find it in Philo? There are various indications in Philo and elsewhere that by his time the story of Odysseus’ wanderings had been interpreted in this way.65 After Philo’s time allegorical interpretations of the history of the soul or intellect become a feature of later Platonism, notably in Numenius and the Neoplatonists who knew his works, Plotinus and Porphyry. So perhaps, as occurs more often, Philo may give a glimpse into the future. The figure of Numenius is particularly intriguing, however, because we know that he was interested in the sacred writings of the Jews.66 Was he also acquainted with Philo? If so, then Philo’s allegories might have exerted some influence on the Platonist tradition. Scholars agree that the evidence for Numenius’ acquaintance with Philo’s thought is equivocal.67 Harold Tarrant has just written an excellent article on his allegorical interpretation of the Phaedo, in which he notes fragments that speak of pleasure as a φρουρά (prison, 62b)) and of the migration of souls into animal bodies (81e–82b).68 The former theme can be linked to Philonic ideas, the latter cannot. It is time to bring my essay to a close. Possible links between the traditions of Philonic and Platonist allegory will have to be the subject of further research.

65  See Boyancé (1963) 71–79, (1967) 169–173. The subject of Philo’s use of the philosophical allegorisation of Homer is not treated in Niehoff (2011a). 66  Fr. 1abc Des Places = Eusebius PE 9.7.1, Origen c.Cels. 1.15, 4.51. 67  See now the judicious article by Sterling (2015), who pushes the evidence as far as it will go. 68  Tarrant (2015), esp. 144–150.

C.  Biblical Interpretation in an Alexandrian Context

10.  The Idea and the Reality of the City in the Thought of Philo of Alexandria* The theme of this essay is the conception of the city as a social and cultural phenomenon held by the Jewish exegete and philosopher Philo of Alexandria (15 BCE to 50 CE). There can be no doubt that the city occupied a central position in his own life. As an inhabitant of Alexandria he was thoroughly immersed in a highly urbanized form of life. From a more theoretical angle the city has an important place in his thought on account of what it represents: of all physical products of human activity the city is the largest and most complex (here there is in fact little difference between Philo and us, although there is an obvious difference in scale). It is not part of my aim to examine Philo’s political philosophy, i. e. his views on how the city should be governed, and also not his views on the actual political administration of the Roman Empire in his time. These subjects have already been treated with sufficient competence by others.1 I will argue that, though as an Alexandrian Philo was very much a homo urbanus, he nevertheless reveals a significant ambivalence towards the city. This attitude is related to his dual ideological background (Jewish and Greek), and interestingly anticipates developments in later antiquity. As always in the case of Philo, it is necessary to reflect on the methodology that should be used to reach our aim. True to his usual method Philo nowhere examines the nature of the city in a sustained way. It is necessary to cull statements from many different places in his various works. For his views on living in the city of Alexandria we can examine his historical treatises. A more theoretical perspective is gained from his exegetical and philosophical works. But these too are not wholly devoid of topical remarks, such as the famous text when [362] he complains that he has had to exchange the contemplative life for immersion in the maelstrom of Alexandrian political life (Spec. 3.1–6).

*  This essay is based on a presentation to the conference on Theology, Scientific Knowledge and Society held at the Center of Theological Inquiry, Princeton, in November 1993, and to the Philo Seminar at the conference of the Society of New Testament Studies held in Edinburgh in August 1994. I  would like to thank scholars at both conferences for their constructive comments, and especially David Hay, Pieter van der Horst, David Satran, Greg Sterling, and Nikolaus Walter. 1  See Barraclough (1984), which supersedes the earlier study of Goodenough (1938).

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In the analysis of the numerous texts in which Philo speaks of the city, it would be a mistake to try to compartmentalize his thought too much, i. e. to make a sharp distinction between historical-apologetic and exegetical-philosophical modes of thinking. It is true that Philo devotes the greatest part of his œuvre to giving exegesis of the Law of Moses. But for him this is far from a merely antiquarian exercise. Philo is convinced of the universal relevance of the Pentateuch for both Jew and Gentile, including those who live in a complex urban environment utterly different from the circumstances of tent-dwelling Patriarchs or itinerant Israelites. The Law, it is assumed, represents the constitution of a Mosaic politeia deserving of universal admiration. So when Philo speaks of the city in his exegesis of Mosaic texts, his remarks may well be relevant to our theme. This applies also to allegorical forms of interpretation. The method of allegory enables him to bring forward the more theoretical and ‘philosophical’ aspects of the theme. It remains a problem that our material consists of a large number of scattered and episodic remarks. These can be assembled together into the shape of a plausible and informative picture, but the aspect of a scholarly construct cannot be entirely avoided. There are compensations in Philo’s case through the sheer volume of the material he has left behind. This lessens the chance that we should attribute too much significance to what may be no more than casual remarks. We should, however, have no illusions about the extent to which we can penetrate behind the facade of his works. These were not written with the motive of disclosing his personal views on a wide scale of issues. The ‘personality’ of Philo the Alexandrian Jew remains largely hidden from view.

1.  Philo as Citizen of Alexandria In his descriptions of the traumatic events that befell the Jewish inhabitants of Alexandria in the late 30’s, Philo on a number of occasions dwells on the relationship between the city and various political protagonists. Flaccus, the deposed Governor of Egypt, bewails his fate in the maddening isolation of the island Andros, throwing himself on the ground and moaning (Flacc. 163:2 I am Flaccus, who just a short time ago was governor of Alexandria the mega-city (μεγαλόπολις) or rather the multi-city (πολύπολις) … When every day I  went out of doors, I was escorted by a multitude of followers. Was this all a dream and not the truth?

The man who brought him low, the Emperor Gaius, had a love affair with the city. His household slave Helicon had excited in [363] him the vision that he would travel there and, in the presence of delegations from other cities, ‘would 2 

Translations from the Greek are my own unless otherwise indicated.

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be feted by the greatest and most glorious city of them all’ (Legat. 173, cf. 338). With heavy rhetorical display Philo contrasts the loathsome Caligula with his illustrious predecessor Augustus. Most deservedly the latter had been honoured throughout the oikoumenê, and ‘particularly in our Alexandria’ (Legat. 149). The vast temple complex called the Sebasteum constructed in his honour was quite unmatched elsewhere. Philo describes it in glowing terms (Legat. 151). These passages give an indication of the pride that Philo must have felt for his native city. As far as we know, he was born in Alexandria and lived there all his life, except on those occasions when he was called elsewhere for duties of a political or religious kind (we know that he travelled to Rome and Jerusalem). As the metropolis of the Eastern Mediterranean Alexandria was in every way the match of Rome, except that it was not the centre of power. Its population has been estimated to have been half a million.3 The various pieces of information on the sophistications and perils of urban life that Philo scatters through his writings – festivals, theatres, statues, an ingenious bronze clock, exotic animals in wealthy homes, fires running out of control, burdensome taxes – are based on his own experiences in Alexandria.4 From time to time he also mentions personal participation in the amenities of city life, such as dinner-parties, theatre performances, racing contests, and so on.5 Such participation was to be expected from one who was a member of the privileged elite of the city. There can be no doubt, in short, that Philo was a homo urbanus, accustomed to living in the hubbub of the large city. Philo, we may be sure, was a citizen of Alexandria with all the rights which such citizenship entitled him to.6 At the same time, however, he was a leading member of the Jewish politeuma, the community which had received the right to administer itself within the larger framework of the city. Philo tells us that the Jews occupied significant parts of two of the five quarters of the city (Flacc. 55). It has been estimated that their number may have been as high as 30 percent of the population.7 During Philo’s life-time the position of the Jewish community within Alexandria became increasingly precarious, until violence [364] broke out in the pogrom of 38 CE. Philo’s efforts on behalf of the endangered Jewish community were considerable. These concerns were responsible for the ‘ocean of political anxieties’ which threatened to overwhelm him, and made it increasingly difficult for him to concentrate on his studies.8 We do not know to what extent 3 

See Delia (1988). Agr. 113; Post. 104; Abr. 267; Prov. 1.42; Anim. 13, Fug. 74; Spec. 4.27; Spec. 1.142, 2.92, 3.159–162. 5  Leg. 3.156; Prob. 141, Prov. 2.103. Further details listed by Borgen (1987) 277–279; Sly (1996) passim. 6  As conceded by the most sceptical analyst of Jewish access to Alexandrian citizenship, Kasher (1985) 88. 7  Delia (1988) 288. 8 See Spec. 3.1–6 referred to below n. 1. 4 

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these events alienated Philo from his own comfortable position in Alexandrian society. There is no indication in the writings that his socio-economic position was jeopardized. Very likely the huge wealth of his family made him immune to such pressures.9 It is important to note that this wealth will not have been confined to the city itself. Evidence suggests that Philo’s family had considerable interests in rural Egypt.10 It is likely that they would have had one or more country retreats. Philo the homo urbanus could get away from the city, if he wished to. Despite all these troubles Philo belonged to the establishment of the Alexandrian metropolis, and this will have coloured his view of what a city should be. His attitude towards the pax Romana, which had made its presence so strongly felt in his own city, has been a source of dispute. Barraclough’s conclusion is sound:11 Granted that Philo wrote too extravagantly of the peaceful state of the Roman empire before Gaius’ madness, I cannot agree with Goodenough that Philo did not appreciate the benefits of Roman rule. His emphasis on peace, law and harmony in describing the Roman order was in accord with the conditions he considered most desirable in a state.

And Dorothy Sly is no doubt right in speculating that Philo was ‘not entirely displeased with the outcome,’ when the newly elevated emperor Claudius intervened in the turbulent Alexandrian affairs.12 It will emerge that the notion of order and sound organization of the complexities of social and political life is precisely what Philo appreciated in the city.

2.  The City as Symbol of Order Philo’s most famous general description of a city is located in his treatise devoted to the explanation of the Mosaic creation account in Genesis 1 (Opif. 17–18):12a [365] When a city is founded, in accordance with the soaring ambition of a king or general who has laid claim to supreme power and, in the magnificence of his conception, adds additional adornment to his good fortune, it may happen that a trained architect comes forward, who, having observed the favourable climate and location of the site, first designs in his mind a plan of almost all the parts of the city to be produced  – temples, gymnasia, public offices, market-places, harbours, shipyards, constructions of walls, structures of private and public buildings. Receiving the imprints of each object in his soul as in wax, he carries around the noetic city as an image in his head. 9 

On the socio-economic and political status of Philo’s family, see Morris (1987) 815. Cf. Fuks (1951). 11  Barraclough (1984) 452, referring to Legat. 8–22, 140–158. 12  Sly (1996) 180, referring to Claudius’ Letter to the Alexandrians (P. Lond. 1912). 12a  [Much subsequent research has been carried out this celebrated image; see my commentary in the PACS series, Runia (2001a); also (2003); and now the monograph specifically dedicated to it by Ludovica de Luca (2020).] 10 

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Then … like a good craftsman he begins to construct the city out of stones and timber, looking to the model and ensuring that the corporeal material corresponds to each of the incorporeal ideas. The conception we have concerning God should be similar to this, namely that when he decided to found the great city of the cosmos, he first conceived its outlines …13

As has been demonstrated elsewhere, this description is inspired by accounts of the founding of his own city Alexandria by Alexander the Great and his architect Dinocrates of Rhodes.14 Philo has adapted the details to suit the purpose of his exegesis, which wishes to show how the intelligible plan or structure of the cosmos is located in the divine Logos. This well-known text is by no means the only one in which Philo uses the analogy of the city in order to explain some aspect of his cosmological and theological thought. Now it is not Alexandria which is the μεγαλόπολις, as in the ravings of Flaccus quoted above, but the universe as a whole. We note the following themes: (1) the image of the city illustrates the order and divine administration of the cosmos (Opif. 17, Spec. 1.13, Praem. 33); (2) the city is used the key example in the cosmological argument, arguing from the order of the universe to the existence of a creator (Leg. 3.98, Spec. 1.33–34, 3.189, Praem. 41); (3) the cosmos as μεγαλόπολις is ruled by the law of nature (Opif. 3, 142), which can also be described as the Logos (Ios. 29); (4) the ordered state of the μεγαλόπολις also points to an intelligible cosmos which is the Logos of God in the act of creation (Opif. 24, and the passage cited above); [366] (5) as in a city there must be a single ruler (Conf. 170), for nothing is worse than anarchy (Opif. 11); (6) the role of a city administrator illustrates God’s providential administration of the cosmos (Prov. 2.49, 99); (7) comparison with a city (and its walls) also indicates the confinement of the cosmos  – it is not possible to move outside it (Post. 7, cf. Ebr. 101, Spec. 3.189). Philo’s exploitation of the themes of the cosmos as μεγαλόπολις and man as (κοσμοπολίτης) citizen of the world), is all the more striking when we consider that the terms he uses scarcely occur outside his works.15 Traditionally it has been held that Philo is adapting Stoic ideas, such as are found elsewhere in au13 

Similar catalogue of urban features at Post. 50. Runia (1989a). 15  Outside Philo and the Patristic tradition dependent on him κοσμοπολίτης is found only twice (esp. the anecdote of Diogenes at Diog. Laert. 6.63) and μεγαλόπολις not at all. On Philo’s terminological influence on the Fathers see my remarks, (1992) 314–317. 14 

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thors like Cicero, Plutarch, Seneca, Dio Chrysostom and Epictetus. The precise development of this complex of ideas is still far from clear. Recently Malcolm Schofield has argued that it is possible to distinguish an early Stoic (Zenonian and Chrysippean) tradition, in which the analogy is limited to the cosmos as location of a community (πολιτεία) of gods and sages, from a later development when the analogy focuses on the rational organization of the cosmos under the leadership of a supreme deity.16 In the case of the latter theme it is to be agreed that Platonic influence is strong. Plato’s simple image of the divine craftsman has been upgraded to a more complex metaphor involving a king and an architect.17 Aristotle’s reduction of all cosmic motion to a single transcendent cause has also played a role, as is clear from various texts in which the image of a city (or a palace or a household) occurs.18 The philosophical origins and developments of the cosmos as city is not our first concern. In fact the direction of our argument is the reverse of what is usually the case. We want to know what Philo’s use of the philosophical analogy of the cosmic city tells about his views on the city, not the other way around. What it tells us is that he wishes to emphasize the rational organization and administration of the city, ideally by a single beneficent ruler. Philo reveals a positive attitude towards the classical Greek conception of the polis as the ideal and ‘natural’ structure for human living, constructed and organized in a such a way as to ensure the well-being and concord of its citizens. The philosophical emphasis on single rule (μοναρχία) coincides well with the political structure of the Roman Empire as a whole, with the Emperor at the apex and his powerful representatives in command in individual cities such as Alexandria. [367] This ideal of the harmonious and well-governed city is not without its tricky aspect when set along the realities of civic life in Philo’s own metropolis. As he learnt to his cost, the various communities that made up the city were not always able to live together in harmony. He is very critical of the Prefect of Egypt for favouring one group above another and not giving the Jews a fair hearing (Flacc. 24). In his political theory, therefore, he adds a second ideal, δημοκρατία. This state occurs when justice and proportional equality are prevalent in a city.19 The city can only prosper and its inhabitants live well if the ruler recognizes the rights of its various communities. The ideal of the well-organized and well-governed city or community also informs Philo’s presentation of the Mosaic politeia, which is distinguished from all others through the excellence of its laws handed down from its founder. The laws of Moses are an accurate reflection of the divine Law or Logos that rules the 16 

Schofield (1991), esp. ch. 3, ‘The cosmic city’. Further discussion of the metaphor of the city in Runia (1986) 168. 18 Cf. Met. Λ 10 1075a11–20, De motu anim. 10 703a28–b2, and also ps.Arist. De mundo 396b1, 398a14, 400b7. 19  See the discussion of Barraclough (1984) 520–523. 17 



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universe, but codified at a level that corresponds to human living (Mos. 2.49–51). Only envy, and the fact that the Jewish nation has been under a cloud, has caused cities and nations to neglect this legislation and give preference to the laws of Greek lawgivers such as Lycurgus and Plato (Mos. 1.2, 2.43–44, cf. Opif. 1–3). Observance of the Law of Moses will bring about the peace and harmony that should characterize political life (Virt. 119–120): This is above all what the most holy prophet wishes to bring about by means of his entire legislation, concord, a sense of community, unanimity of mind and feeling, a blend of characters, as a result of which households and cities and nations and lands and the entire human race might advance to the highest well-being. But up to the present time these are no more than prayers. They will become the truest reality – that at least is my conviction – if God grants abundance to our virtues …

Philo is realistic: there is a large gap between the ideal of a Mosaic politeia and the situation that he and fellow-Jews found themselves in Alexandria and elsewhere. It is not yet clear, however, how he envisages that politeia. Does it imply a community and a way of life that approximates the conception of the classical Greek polis in the changed circumstances of the early Roman empire? Or does he have something quite different in mind?

3.  The City As Exegetical Theme and Allegorical Symbol A further source of material on the city is found in Philo’s vast exegetical output. Cities of various kinds assume some prominence in the pages of the Mosaic Pentateuch which Philo sets out to expound, for example the city founded [368] by Cain (Gen 4:17), the city of Babel with its megalomaniac tower (Gen 11), the doomed cities of Sodom and Gomorrah (Gen 18), the cities of Egypt which the Israelites had to help build (Exod 1), the cities of Canaan (Num 13), the cities of Refuge (Num 35), and so on. As we noted earlier, the allegorical method allows Philo to make these texts relevant to his own situation, and so also of direct relevance to our theme. Let us begin with the most striking example of Philo’s allegorization of the city. Cain builds a city. In the literal sense this is absurd, for there was no one else to live in it but himself. The text, properly understood, speaks of a ‘dogma’ or a ‘way of thinking,’ espoused by the mind that is full of arrogance and self-love (φιλαυτία), impiety and every kind of wickedness. This mind gives the credit for its achievements to itself, and not to God (Post. 49–52, cf. Spec. 1.334῟336). Quite reasonably Philo sees a connection with the story of the tower of Babel (Post. 53, Conf. 122). The wicked person, whom this city symbolizes, raises a tower of evil action and godlessness in his soul (Conf. 83, 196). Babel means confusion, and that is precisely what reigns in the soul (Conf. 84), for it thinks that pleasure and harlotry should be its goal (Conf. 144). A further parallel can be seen in the cities

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that the Pharaoh builds. The king of Egypt, symbolizing the mind dominated by the passions of the body, forces the Israelites who represent the race that sees God20 to make bricks for these strong cities of wickedness (Conf. 91, cf. Post. 54, Somn. 1.77–78). Philo’s treatise De confusione linguarum, which has as its main subject the exegesis of the incident of the tower of Babel, is dominated by the contrast between harmony and confusion, as the final paragraphs show. God plants nobility and virtue in the politeia of the cosmos, but the city of vice and godlessness, inhabited by the fool, he scatters to the wind (Conf. 196–198, cf. Gen 11:8). Not all cities receive a negative explanation. As we have seen, Philo likes to work with contrasts. The city of Sodom was destroyed by its overwhelming wickedness (Sacr. 121).21 Even the sage Abraham could not rescue it. Yet those who are less far advanced down the path to destruction may still be rescued. Philo continues (Sacr. 124–126): For my part, when I see a good man living in a house or city, I deem that house or city blessed and believe that the enjoyment of their present blessings will be secure, and that their hopes for those as yet lacking will be fulfilled … I know indeed that they cannot escape old age, but I [369] pray that their years may be prolonged to the utmost. For I believe that, as long as they may live, it will be well with the community …22

Philo then gives a further exegetical example, namely the cities of the Levites, which are ‘ransomed forever’ (Lev 25:32) because the worshipper of God (θεραπευτής) has harvested everlasting freedom (Sacr. 128). But why are these cities open to fugitives as places of refuge. This is appropriate because the Levites too are in a sense exiles, because they have abandoned children, parents, all their loved ones, in order to obtain an immortal inheritance from the ruler of all. The excellence of the wise man is thus of inestimable benefit to the city and its institutions (Ebr. 91–92, Mut. 149). In another passage, however, Philo is pessimistic. Although the law states that every day should be a festival for households and cities alike, in fact the number of virtuous people left in the cities is small indeed (Spec. 2.47).23 A number of texts use the image of the ruler exercising control over the city in order to illustrate the dominance that should be exerted by the rational soul over the desires and vagaries of the body (Leg. 3.191, 224, Sacr. 49). No less often, however, the image is used to describe a less irenic situation. Just as civil strife and factional dispute can rage in the city, so war can rage in the soul (Post. 183–184, Gig. 51, Conf. 46). There are some men who for almost all life have not known this internal warfare. They were filled with a deep peace which is the 20 

Based on the (false) etymology of Israel as ‘he who sees God’. On this theme in Philo see further Loader (1990) 86–96. 22  Based on Colson’s PLCL translation. 23  A Stoicizing topos; see also Mut. 35–37, Abr. 17 ff., Prob. 63. 21 



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archetype of the peace that is enjoyed by cities, and were regarded as truly fortunate. But in the very sunset of their life they foundered on the rock of hitherto unsuspected desire. So we should earnestly beseech God that he grant us this deep peace in all its purity (Somn. 2.147–149). A final text brings together most of themes discussed in this section. We return to his treatise on the tower of Babel. The proposal of the tower-builders that they build for themselves ‘a city and a tower whose head shall be unto heaven’ suggests to Philo the following exegesis (Conf. 107–108):24 The lawgiver thinks that besides those cities which are built by men’s hands upon the earth, of which the materials are stone and timber, there are others which men carry about established in their souls. Naturally these last are models or archetypes, for the workmanship bestowed on them is of a more divine kind, while the former are copies composed of [370] perishing material. Of the soul-city there are two kinds, one better, the other worse. The better adopts as its constitution democracy, which honours equality and has law and justice for its rulers – such a city is extolled in the Psalms as the ‘city of God.’ The worse, which corrupts and adulterates the better, as the false counterfeit coin corrupts the currency, is mob-rule (ὀχλοκρατία), which takes inequality for its ideal, and in it injustice and lawlessness rule supreme.

The concepts of democracy and ochlocracy are derived from political theory. But Philo clearly gives them an idiosyncratic meaning in this context. The basic antithesis is between the soul and the city of virtue, equality and justice (which can be called the city of God) and the soul and the city of vice, inequality and injustice, symbolized above all by the tower-builders of Babel. As we shall see,24a this contrast is later picked up by Augustine. Once again in our discussion we are distorting somewhat the direction of Philo’s thought. For him, in the allegorical context, the city above all illustrates the inner workings of the soul, whereas we are interested in what these passages tell us about his views on the city. As there are two kinds of soul, there are two kinds of city, the one marked by order and virtue, the other by disorder and vice. These allegorical passages suggest that Philo had well-acquainted with both kinds.

4.  Criticisms of the City We turn now to those passages where Philo overtly criticizes the city and the way of life that is lived there. The city is the place where sexual licence and slander flourish (Det. 99, 174, cf. Spec. 3.37). It is inhabited by the impious and godless, who have rejected the values of their upbringing. These people are the chief pests that ruin private and public life in their cities (Ebr. 78–79). The contrast between 24  Based on Colson’s PLCL translation (and his excellent emendation of the text). On Jerusalem as the ‘city of God’ see below at n. 51. 24a  Below at n. 51.

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the worthless and the upright man is illuminating: the former restlessly haunts the public institutions of the city, ever full of curiosity and ready to meddle; the latter rejects such activities, not because he is a misanthrope but because he reviles the evil that the crowd loves, and so stays home, or even prefers to leave the city altogether and spend his days in isolation out in the country, where he has the company of books recording the excellence of those who lived in the past (Abr. 20–23). Those who practise wisdom avoid the gatherings of men and devote themselves to contemplation (Spec. 2.44–45). How seriously, we may ask, are we to take passages such as these? The exhortatory purpose that underlies them can easily be recognized. They have [371] often been regarded as drawing on the tradition of the diatribe, a popularizing form of philosophical discourse, in which the reader is encouraged to abandon the depravities and superficialities of his present way of life and turn to a truly worthwhile form of living.25 Moreover the description of the large city or metropolis as a hotbed of evil and danger which one should flee if at all possible is a frequent topos in imperial literature, best known from Juvenal’s brilliant Third satire on life in the Imperial capital.26 In this respect there will no doubt have been little to chose between Rome and Alexandria, its sister-metropolis in the East. Should we not regard these remarks as no more than ‘gelegentlicher Anflüge von Zivilisationsmüdigkeit,’ to use Klauck’s compact phrase?27 There are, however, other passages to be taken into account, in which Philo goes a step further and praises the antithesis of the city, the desert where no civilization is possible. The most striking passage is found in his answer to the exegetical quaestio why Moses chooses to lay down his laws in the desert (Decal. 2–17). Cities, Philo replies, are full of evils, and especially pride, which brings humankind to honour falsehood and treat the divine with utter contempt. Moreover the person who is about to receive the laws must first cleanse and purify his soul from the deep stains that it has received from contact with the promiscuous crowds of the city. Similarly the translators of the divine laws need to leave the confusion and disease of the city in order to do their work, and so retire to the solitude of the island of Pharos, each alone with his own soul (Mos. 2.34–36).28 In Philo’s time this event is celebrated with a picnic on the same spot, and his description suggests conviviality rather than solitude (2.41). The true desert, however, is a place of purification. There are of course plenty of other biblical exempla that Philo can exploit. Moses leaves Egypt and becomes a shepherd for Jethro, leading his thoughts away from the pursuits of the politeia into the desert so that he will not commit injustice (Sacr. 50). The long journey of the people 25 

For Philo see Wendland (1895). On the genre cf. Stowers (1981). But this is not just a topos. See Hughes (1994) 149–168. 27  Klauck (1986) 129. 28  Especially interesting here is the mention of disease. The unhealthy nature of the city is another topos; cf. Celsus, De medicina 1.1–2. 26 

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of Israel through the desert is equated with the way of philosophy devoid of passions and acts of injustice (Somn. 2.170).29 But the archetypal biblical ‘city-abandoner’ has not yet been mentioned. In his account of the life of Abraham, Philo praises him for being an emigrant who leaves his fatherland and family behind and ventures forth where the divine command leads him, first from Chaldea to Haran, then from there to the solitude of [372] the desert (Abr. 60–88, exeg. Gen 12:1–9). Who would not have felt it a burden, Philo rhetorically asks, to be separated from his native land, but also to be driven out of every city into a trackless waste where the traveller only with difficulty can find his way (86)? But Abraham rejected such sentiments, recognizing that solitude is dear to God and to the soul in search of him (87). Without difficulty we recognize here the theme of the ‘sojourner’ or alien (πάροικος), i. e. the wise man who abandons the familiarities of familial and civic life in search of a higher realm, or – another possibility – participates in ‘ordinary life’ to the extent necessary, but has his heart elsewhere.30 Only in this passage, however, does Philo expound Abraham’s emigration in anything like literal terms. Elsewhere he spiritualizes in terms of the soul’s emigration out of the body or her departure from an earthly to a heavenly fatherland. There two other well-known texts, however, in which Philo undercuts this picture of criticism of the city and praise of solitude, whether in the country or in the desert. Giving exegesis of Deut 8:15 in which Moses says that God led Israel through the great and terrible wilderness, Philo speaks unexpectedly of his own experience (Leg. 2.85):31 For I have often myself left kinsmen, friends, and country to come into the wilderness to reflect on something worthy of contemplation and gained nothing from it, but my mind scattered or bitten by passion withdrew to matters of a contrary sort. There are times, however, when I am unmoved amidst a huge crowd, God has routed the mob thronging my soul and has taught me that it is not differences of place that effect good and bad dispositions, but God who moves and leads the vehicle of the soul whichever way he pleases.

The second text is even more famous. In Migr. 89–93 Philo mounts a strong attack on those interpreters of the Mosaic law who abolish all obligation to literal observance. It is as if they live all on their own in the desert, or as if they had become disembodied souls, knowing neither city nor village nor household nor any company of human beings at all, exploring the truth in its nakedness (89). The same terms that are used so positively of Abraham the sojourner here receive a negative twist. Humans are social beings, with obligations to the community in which they live, whether in the city or in the countryside. This aspect of the community emerges in our following theme. [373] 29 

See Nikiprowetzky (1996). See Bitter (1982). 31  Translation Winston (1981), 78 (exegesis of Deut 8:15). 30 

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5.  Two Idealized Extra-Urban Communities In an apologetic work consisting of a number of book-length sections, the original extent of which we do not know,32 Philo undertook to describe two Jewish communities which he admired and which he took to be exemplary examples of the practical and the contemplative life respectively. His extensive description of the community of the Essenes in Palestine is lost, but we can substitute a shorter treatment given in Prob. 75–91. Philo begins (76) by saying that these people inhabit villages in the countryside, avoiding the cities because of the lawlessness which is endemic among city inhabitants and which could attack their souls like the disease caused by a pestilential atmosphere (we recall the criticism of the city as a place of disease). Philo emphasizes (77) – once again speaking from the viewpoint of the homo urbanus – that their lack of wealth is a matter of choice, not the result of a lack of good fortune. In this they form a great exception, as also in the fact that they have no weapons and no slaves (78–79). Their way of life is characterized by both love of God and love of humankind. The latter is above all shown in the fact that they live a communal life without private property (85–87). Elsewhere a second description of this community is given.33 Two differences should be noted. Firstly Philo now says that the Essenes live in many Judean cities as well as villages, and no criticism of city life is given.34 Moreover he now claims that they reject marriage (i. e. any form of contact with women) as being the principal threat to their communal life.35 Philo’s description of a second community is more famous. An entire book is devoted to Therapeutae and the Therapeutrides (both names explicitly at Contempl. 2, 88). It is entitled De vita contemplativa because this community exemplifies the contemplative life, which in Philo’s view is the most excellent way of life to which humans can aspire. Wishing to explain the name of these devotees at the outset, he is uncertain and gives two alternatives. Either it means ‘healers’ because they cure the evils of the soul (presumably their own) better than doctors practising in the cities who heal only the body, or it means ‘worshippers’ of God as highest Being (2). Philo does not confine this kind of person to one group. They are found in many places (21), wherever people leave family, property, possessions behind in search of the blessed and immortal life (13). In leaving their fatherland behind, Philo continues (19–20):36 [374] … they do not emigrate to another city like unfortunate or worthless slaves who demand to be sold by their owners, thus obtaining for themselves a change of masters but not freedom. For every city, even the best governed, teems with tumult and indescribable 32 

See Morris (1987) 856. Hypoth. 11.1, in a fragment preserved by Eusebius; PLCL 9.437–443. 34  The contradiction is noted by Schürer et al. (1973–87), 2.562. 35  Similar information in Josephus and Pliny; cf. ibid. 2.570. 36  Translation Winston (1981) 45. 33 



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disturbances that no one could abide after having been once guided by wisdom. Instead they spend their time outside the walls pursuing solitude in gardens or solitary places, not from having cultivated a cruel hatred of men, but because they know that intercourse with persons of dissimilar character is unprofitable and injurious.

Again the paradigm of the emigrant, Abraham, may be recognized behind this description. Philo is above all interested in one community of such contemplatives, found in Egypt on a hill beside Lake Mareotis. The location must be taken to be just outside Alexandria, almost in its ‘suburbs,’ certainly in the countryside rather than in the desert.37 The climate and situation of the community are described in idyllic terms. The dwellings are very simple and austere. They are not so near to each other that the desired solitude cannot be achieved, as is the case in towns, but they are also not so far apart that its members cannot function together as a community and offer each help in the case of attack (§ 24). Philo then goes on to describe the way of life of the Therapeutae as practised six days of the week in individual isolation and on the sabbath communally. All their activities are directed towards the pursuit of wisdom, as derived from study of the sacred books and meditation, for such is the aim of the contemplative life (§ 35, 75–78, 89–90). Philo’s description of the Therapeutae is notoriously difficult to interpret, and has given rise to much speculation. Did they really live in the way he described? Had he himself visited them or even been a member of the community?38 The difficulty is that we lack other accounts (or archaeological evidence) in order to check what he tells us. It is plain that Philo idealizes the community, because they represent for him the embodiment of a spiritual ideal. But how does this ideal relate to his own thinking and his own way of life? In an thought-provoking recent contribution David Hay argues that Philo idealizes the community, but at the same time only partly shares the ideals that he portrays.39 Hay gives a long list of issues on which the Therapeutae appear to differ from what he himself espouses or practices. For us the interesting case is the question of the relation between city and countryside. [375] Philo, Hay affirms, ‘is a creature of the city, not evidently sharing the feelings of those who find urban life spiritually intolerable. Much of his writing seems aimed at showing how Jews living in a Gentile-dominated environment can preserve their spiritual identity’.40 In my view this presentation is one-sided. Philo does choose to continue to reside in the city and may even be called a homo 37  On the location see Conybeare (1895), 274; Daumas (1963), 35 (who argues that it was not in the desert). Recently Richardson (1993) 346 has suggested a location further from Alexandria, to the SE of the Lake near Nitria. [On the location of the community see now the important research in Taylor (2003) 74–104 (with illustrations).] 38  As was already speculated by Epiphanius, Panarion 1.29.5. 39  Hay (1992). 40  Ibid., 676.

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urbanus, but at the same time he is, as we have seen, decidedly ambivalent about the city and the way it interferes with the possibility of achieving the ideal of study and the search for wisdom. To this extent he can unreservedly, it seems to me, praise the choice that the Therapeutae have made, even if his own circumstances make it difficult to follow their example fully. A long section of Philo’s treatise is devoted to a somewhat unexpected and certainly rather vehement attack on Greek symposia, including the one described by Plato and Xenophon, as compared with the sober feast enjoyed by his own heroes and heroines (40–63). One detail is interesting for our theme. Philo strongly attacks the practice of pederasty. One of his arguments is a stock one: since barrenness and childlessness would ensue, it would lead to the desolation of cities.41 As Hay rightly observes,42 Philo’s position seems inconsistent, for in the treatise he assumes that the community is celibate (34) and praises the virginity of its female members (68). Perhaps, however, the women are called such because they are beyond child-bearing age.43 Issues that Philo raises in this intriguing treatise were to have a long future.44 As Peter Brown has emphasized, the conflict between a sexuality-denying asceticism and the desirability of continuing civic life (no easy matter in the ancient world) becomes a critical issue in the relations between pagan and Christian culture.45 Eusebius, as is well known, identifies the Therapeutae as proto-Christians. The explicit connection with monasticism is first made by Epiphanius, and later Philo’s ‘monks’ become a standard theme in accounts of the origin of the monastic movement.46 [376]

6.  Jerusalem, the Ideal City? For Philo the Jew there is another city has to have a special place in his thought. In his article on Philo’s views on Jerusalem Klauck reaches the following conclusions:47 (i) Philo regards Jerusalem from the outside, as it were, but nevertheless considers it to be the holy city par excellence, investing in his view of it consid41 

The same argument is used by Plato himself, Laws 839a. (1992) 674 n. 6. 43  As suggested by Kraemer (1989) 352; Sly (1990) 209. 44  Because Philo’s account seemed to anticipate later developments so accurately, it was long suspected to be a Christian forgery. See the account in Conybeare (1895) 258–358, who proved once and for all that the work was authentic. Further details on the controversy in Runia (1993a) 32. 45  Brown (1988) 31–32 and passim. 46  See further Runia (1993a) 227–231. 47  Klauck (1986) 147; see also Borgen (1987) 273–275. 42 Hay

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erable emotional and religious capital; the reason for this is firmly grounded in his Jewish identity and loyalties. (ii) He speaks about Jerusalem most frequently when he is concerned with concrete issues, esp. in his Legatio ad Gaium. (iii) The relation between Jerusalem and the Jewish communities in the diaspora is described by Philo in terms of the relation between a ‘mother-city’ (mêtropolis) and its colonies, borrowing and adapting a conception from earlier Greek history. Not all aspects of this rich theme can be fully explored. I would argue, however, building on these results, that for Philo Jerusalem is not a city like other cities. Physically and geographically his vision is dominated by the conception of Jerusalem as the great religious centre for all Jews, as symbolized above all by the Temple. In a well-known passage (Spec. 1.68–69), with total disregard for history, he describes how the lawgiver Moses envisages the temple as a place of pilgrimage: He does not consent to those who wish to perform the rites in their houses, but bids them rise up from the ends of the earth and come to this temple. In this way he also applies the severest test to their dispositions. For one who is not going to sacrifice in a religious spirit would never bring himself to leave his country and friends and family and spend time in a strange land, but clearly it must be the stronger attraction of piety which leads him to endure separation from his most familiar and dearest friends … And we have the surest proof of this in what actually happens. Countless multitudes from countless cities come, some over land, others over sea, from east and west and north and south at every feast. They take the Temple for their port as a general haven and safe refuge from the bustles and great turmoil of life, and there they seek to find calm weather … (translation Colson LCL)

Here again the exemplum of Abraham is recognizable, but this time it is of dubious relevance.48 The pilgrimage to Jerusalem, in which Philo himself participated (Prov. 2.107), is read in terms of a temporary release from the cares of ordinary life (perhaps as experienced in the metropolis of Alexandria). Jerusalem is thus not so much an ideal city as the concrete embodiment of [377] a religious ideal. There are two temples of God, the cosmos itself, and the temple made by hands, located in Jerusalem.49 There is, however, one famous passage in Philo where Jerusalem is explicitly called ‘the city of God’ with reference to Ps. 45:5, ‘the rushing of the river makes glad the city of God’ (Somn. 2.245–254, see also Conf. 108 cited above at n. 24). Klauck is right to emphasize that Philo in general is rather reticent in spiritualizing Jerusalem and its temple. Here, however, he does so very deliberately, 48 

As noted by Amir (1983) 58. We should note also the eschatological passage (unique in his œuvre) at Praem. 165–168, where Philo envisages that all scattered Jews will come together in ‘the one appointed place’ (left unspecified). Philo here gives exegesis of Deut 30:3–5. 49 

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justifying his move by pointing out that there are no rivers near Jerusalem. The city of God is not only the cosmos, but also the soul of the wise man. Its name Jerusalem means ‘vision of peace.’ This city should not be sought in the regions of the earth, for it is not made of wood and stone, but rather in the soul which sets for itself the goal of the life of peace and contemplation (249).50 No one can read this passage without thinking of the much more famous and elaborate treatment of the ‘City of God’ in Augustine. I agree with Johannes van Oort when he argues that Philo cannot be regarded as the sole progenitor of the Augustinian conception.51 Far too much is missing, most notably the contrast between Jerusalem and Babel. Philo tends to espouse precisely that hierarchical (and Platonizing) contrast between a higher and lower existence (e. g. heaven and earth) that Augustine wishes to avoid. On the other hand we should neglect the exegetical background of the Augustinian motif. The contrast between the two cities ultimately goes back to a Philonic antithesis between the city of Cain and the city of Abel–Seth.52 Though Philo does not explicitly contrast the peace of city of God with the turmoil and confusion of the city founded by Cain and continued by the tower-builders, the antithesis is clearly implied (see Conf. 41–43). The contrast is between peace and war, unity and disorderly multiplicity, goodness and vice. It brings us back to the use of the city as an exegetical and allegorical theme which we discussed earlier.

7.  Some Conclusions on a Complex Theme The theme of this essay has proved rich but complex. As is so often in the case of Philo, the problem is not too little evidence (except in the case of autobiographical matters), but rather too much. Philo’s written remains are so copious [378] that it is easy to make him say whatever one wants. My endeavour has been to do justice to both the evidence and the breadth of my theme. On the basis of the analysis presented a number of conclusions can be reached. There can be no doubt that Philo is ambivalent towards the city. This attitude is more than just the weariness of the big-city dweller, comparable with the disgust that even the most dedicated New Yorkers or Amsterdammers feel from time to time towards the things that go on in their chosen place of domicile. It has deeper roots, connected with aspects of Philo’s thought as well as his experience. The material we have assembled points to three contrasts or antitheses that shape his thinking. 50  Cf. also Conf. 77–78, where the image of a mother-city and its colonists is for souls returning to heaven, but there is no mention of Jerusalem). 51  Van Oort (1991), esp. 250–252. 52  See Martín (1991) 286–290.



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Firstly Philo contrasts the ideal and the reality of the city. The city is a potent symbol of order, not only on account of its planned and purposeful design and construction (in the tradition of rational Greek town-planning), but also on the basis of its civic life, provided of course that it is well governed and administered. But the reality of life in the city often belies such an ideal. The caprices of rulers and the vagaries of the crowd produce turmoil and strife rather than peace and prosperity, as the Jews found to their cost in Alexandria and elsewhere. Moreover, the normalities of urban lifestyles often fail to measure up to Philo’s exacting spiritual and moral standards. The second contrast in effect restates the first at a more theoretical level, namely the contrast between the good and the bad city. In the former piety, virtue and humanity reign; in the latter godlessness, wickedness and illiberality make life miserable for everyone (and especially for the perpetrators). The two kinds of city are evidently related to two states of soul in its citizens. Hence the prevalence of this contrast in Philo’s psychologizing allegories. On the whole Philo is pessimistic about which kind of city one is more likely to encounter. True sages are rare, and the Jewish nation, whose laws if followed might bring about radical change, is not in a position to bring about real improvement. Thirdly Philo frequently juxtaposes city life and solitude, represented by the countryside outside the city’s walls, or more radically, by the very antithesis to the city, the desert. Abandoning the city means that one can be purged of its evils and diseases as one gains spiritual and physical refreshment. Paradeigmatic here are the Therapeutae, who are depicted as leading an ideal life outside the city in a community which combines solitude with a minimum of social life focused on study and worship. Another model to follow is Abraham the sojourner, who symbolizes an even more radical attitude to all forms of earthly life, aspiring only to heavenly wisdom. Concentrating now only the last two, more theoretical, contrasts, we find a mixture of both classical (i. e. Greek and philosophical) and Judaic cultural input. It is the latter, I submit, that furnishes the interesting new impulses. The good city is not only well-administered and populated by a community of sages. It is also directed towards worship of the One God, as practised by the Jewish [379] politeia within its walls. The books of Moses can be read as enjoining civic life in the idealized Mosaic polity. But much of what they describe relates to life outside the polis. The desert is a not unequivocal symbol, clearly enough, but it is certainly prominent – much more so than in Greco-Roman literature – and Philo turns it to his advantage in his spiritualizing allegory.53 To some degree, therefore, Philo anticipates the change in attitude towards the city that would commence with the Christian movement in the 2nd century, as summarized 53  Idealization of the countryside, as noted above, is found frequently in classical literature, but mostly in the form of the ‘retreat to the country.’ Greco-Roman culture remains resolutely city-centred.

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in the famous words of the Epistle to Diognetus (5.5), ‘they dwell in their own native cities, but as sojourners (πάροικοι).’ The Jewish politeia would have a successor within the walls of the ancient city whose power and influence was to become immeasurably greater. But the link should not be overemphasized. Philo’s ambivalence towards the city is not the result of disillusionment with the social situation of himself and his fellow-Jews, such as may be postulated for the early Christians.54 His own superior social status precluded this. In conclusion, Philo’s conception of the city looks both backwards and – from our later perspective – forwards. He looks back to the ideal of the polis as developed in classical philosophy and continued in the changed circumstances of the Roman world. In a sense his exercise in imaginative contemporary exposition of Mosaic thought looks back as well, bridging the gap between a distant past and the present. More interestingly, however, his double contrast between city-life and solitude, and between the good city (or community) and the bad city looks forward to later developments, occurring centuries after he wrote, in the period that civic life was under grave threats such as Philo could hardly imagine, when – paradoxically – it was the desert that was to become like a city.55 No doubt this anticipation contributed to his later popularity among Christian thinkers when, though a Jew, he was adopted as a Church father honoris causa.56

54 

See the analysis in Plümacher (1987). For the social background Meeks (1983). Cf. the title of Chitty’s account of the monastic movement (1966), derived from Athanasius, Vita Antonii 14 (where the city, note well, is the ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς πολιτεία). 56  See the account of Philo’s reception by the Church Fathers as told in Runia (1993). 55 

11.  Eudaimonism in Hellenistic-Jewish Literature* The title of the volume in which this article was first published, and of the conference for which it was written, is a play on the biblical injunction, pronounced by Noah on waking up from his drinking bout, that Japheth should dwell in the tents of Shem (Gen 9:27). A tradition of nearly two millenia is thus being continued, namely that this biblical text be explained or exploited in terms of the relation between Greek and Semitic or Jewish culture. For myself, coming from the far North, the biblical version is more appropriate. I regard myself as a descendent of Japheth who is privileged to pay a visit to one of the strongholds of Shem. For my subject, however, the reversal of the motif by the organizer of the conference is particularly appropriate. Hellenistic Jews, such as Philo resident in the Greek stronghold of Alexandria, were truly sons of Shem living in the tents of Japheth. They were strongly reliant on the translation of the Torah into Greek, which according to the interpretation of Rabbi Judah,1 this biblical verse allowed. The Septuagint translation will play an important role in the argument of this essay, albeit mainly in a negative sense. But first I shall introduce what its theme will be. My intention is to take the reader on an excursion through the terrain of the history of ideas, focusing in particular on the relation between Greek ideas and Jewish ideas. When today I speak about Greek ideas, I mean in the first place those ideas that were developed in the splendid tradition of Greek philosophy. We should not forget, however, that in ancient Greek culture ideas were certainly not confined to philosophy only. Writers such as the tragedians, rhetoricians and historians also made important contributions. In some respects these contributions may have been more influential, [132] because one should never forget that philosophy was a rather elitist and high-brow activity in the ancient world. In the case of Jewish ideas, we of course first think of the biblical record, in which a great number of potent ideas are to be found. Beyond the Tenach there are the further rich traditions of Judaism, in which Greek speaking Judaism has a *  In 1998–1999 Prof James Kugel (Harvard and Bar Ilan Universities) organised two conferences with the title ‘Shem in the Tents of Japhet.’ This article was written for the first, held at Bar Ilan University in Israel. For the second conference held at Harvard I wrote another essay, ‘One of Us or One of Them? Christian Reception of Philo the Jew in Egypt,’ which, because it concerns Philo’s reception, is not included in the present volume. 1  Midrash Rabbah 36.8.

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modest place. Here too ideas make their presence felt. In the case of Hellenistic Judaism, however, there is special complicating factor. The medium of discourse had become the Greek language, and that meant that ideas were expressed by means of the same Greek terms that were developed in the Greek culture mentioned above. Japheth had thus truly made his presence felt in the tents of Shem. Our subject is one very Greek idea and the way it percolates through into Hellenistic Jewish culture. I  call this idea eudaimonism. The term is derived from the Greek word εὐδαιμονία, which is usually translated as ‘happiness,’ but which, for reasons that will become clear during this essay, I  prefer to render ‘well-being.’ The idea has to do with the evaluation of a human life. If a life measures up to certain criteria, such as goodness, success, prosperity etc., it (or its possessor) may be called εὐδαίμων, which we might translate as ‘fortunate’ or ‘flourishing’ (again it is better to avoid the term ‘happy’). Together with aretê (virtue or excellence), eudaimonia is the key term in Greek philosophical ethics. In the Bible, however, it is totally absent. We could not, therefore, find a clearer case of a theme where Japhet and Shem have followed quite separate paths. If therefore we should find that eudaimonism has gained a place in Hellenistic Jewish thought, as is in fact the case, then we have hit upon with a very significant example of Japheth finding his way into the tents of Shem. This penetration is the theme of this article. More concretely, my programme will be as follows. First I  shall explain in more detail what eudaimonism involves and why it has obtained a central place in Greek thought. Then various Hellenistic Jewish writers – notably Philo and Josephus – will be examined in order to determine to what extent and how they make use of the theme. The task in the final part of the essay will then be to evaluate this usage and to ascertain how much these authors have been influenced in their thinking by Greek modes of thought. [133]

1.  Eudaimonia and Eudaimonism in Greek Thought It is necessary to begin with the word eudaimonia itself. It is a rather unusual term, absent in Homer and Hesiod, but coming into prominence in the 6th and 5th centuries BCE. The first clue to its significance is given by the etymology of the word.2 It consists of three components. The first is the word εὖ meaning 2  For the etymology of εὐδαιμονία see further Holte (1981). I do not know of a thorough philological and historical study of the term. [The term, because it is a compound, is not taken up in the new Eytmological Dictionary of Beekes (2010). Consultation of this magisterial work has led me to modify my original text. There are two verbs δαίω, the one meaning ‘burn,’ the other ‘divide.’ The latter verb, however, is not found in this active form (although the variant δαίνυμι does occur), but only in the middle form, which I have accordingly incorporated in the text.]

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‘well,’ the adverb linked to the adjective agathos, ‘good.’ The second component is δαίμων, from which the English word ‘demon’ is derived. This noun is most likely derived from the root verb δαίομαι, meaning ‘distribute,’ and so means something like ‘distributor’ or ‘divider.’ The daimôn is the super-human power who exerts a decisive influence on the course of a person’s life. Under the influence of later developments we are inclined to see the relation between gods and demons as hierarchical, i. e. demons occupying a position between gods and men.3 But in order to understand the etymology of eudaimonia this view is quite misleading. Gods (theoi) and daimones both refer to forces beyond the human sphere. In our context it is best to take them as largely synonymous. The third component is the suffix ‘ia,’ which converts the adjective eudaimôn into the noun eudaimonia. So a literal translation of the term might be something like ‘well-god-ness.’ What meaning does this unusual term wish to communicate? It is well-known that archaic Greek thought combined a deep religiosity with a rather pessimistic or even fatalistic perspective on human existence. Men and women in no way in control of their own destiny. Their fate or lot is determined by how the gods are disposed towards them. If this disposition is positive, then they are eudaimones, i. e. the deity is well-disposed. The opposite, kakodaimonia, is experienced when the deity is ill-disposed, for whatever reason. Then disaster strikes. Let me give two examples from Greek tragedy. During the Antigone of Sophocles it becomes clear that Antigone’s resolve to bury her brother will lead to her death. The response of the chorus is: Fortunate (εὐδαίμονες) are they whose life has no taste of evils. For those whose house is shaken by the gods escape no kind of doom that creeps over more than a single generation. (Ant. 583–585) [1334]

The royal house of Thebes is struck by kakodaimonia, which brings about a concatenation of disasters. The reverse may also happen: the gods may grant eudaimonia. This would create a happy ending, and so predictably happens less often in tragedy.4 But it does occur. At the end of Euripides’ Electra the divine Dioscuri address the play’s heroine: You, betake yourself to the Isthmus’ narrow neck of land and go to the fortunate (εὐδαίμων) rock of Cecrops. For when you have fulfilled the fated doom of a murderer, you will flourish (εὐδαιμονήσεις), released from these evils. (El. 1288–1291)

What is essential in early Greek thought is the conviction that what happens to a person in his or her life life, whether for good or for ill, is not determined by 3 Plato’s

Symposium was particularly influential in this development; cf. 202d–203a. the role of εὐδαιμονία and κακοδαιμονία in Aristotle’s famous theory on tragedy see Poetica 6, 1450a17 (I reject the athetêsis of the Oxford Classical Text) and cf. 18, 1455b28 (εὐτυχία, ἀτυχία). 4  For

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that person. In the quotes above I have deliberately translated eudaimon with ‘fortunate.’ This rendering seems to indicate rather nicely that one’s life is determined by the fate or luck that one receives at the hands of the gods. Now it is precisely at this point that Greek philosophy, when it starts to develop out of archaic Greek thought, raises a strong and highly successful voice of protest. It cannot be the case, the philosophers claim, that the fate of human beings is dependent on the whims and caprices of a deity. As a living beings endowed with logos (reason), humans have to have at least a measure of control over their own destiny. The philosophers come up with a radical solution. The daimôn that is responsible for distributing the good life is to a large extent internalized with the human person himself. No one states this solution more compactly than the philosopher Heraclitus. In a famous fragment he states: man’s ethos (his character or his way of thinking and doing) is his daimôn.5 Plato develops this line of thinking further. At the end of his celebrated cosmological dialogue, the Timaeus, he indicates how human life should be. This is an extremely significant passage in Greek philosophy and of vital importance for our topic, so it should be quoted at some length:6 With regard to the most sovereign kind of soul within us we should think as follows: that the god has given it to each person as a daimôn [135] [usually translated as ‘guardian’ or ‘guiding spirit’] … If a man is preoccupied with his desires or his ambitions and spends all his time engaged in such pursuits, he will necessarily think mortal thoughts and become mortal himself … If on the other hand he occupies himself with love of learning and true thoughts and so grasps the truth and thinks immortal and divine things, it is wholly necessary that he will obtain immortality to the extent that human nature can participate in it. By constantly attending to his divine part and keeping the daimôn that dwells within him well ordered, he will be supremely eudaimon … When he has brought his thoughts in conformity with the harmonies and revolutions of the heavens, he will reach the goal (τέλος) of the best life (ἄριστος βίος) offered to men by the gods, both now and for the future.

The reference to the etymology of eudaimôn and the play on words could not be made more clearly. The cultivation of the mind that Plato advocates occurs through philosophy of course, but we should note how Plato expresses this. He envisages a process whereby the mind conforms to the motions of the heavens, because there the divine is more strongly present than in humans themselves, whose head may (or may not) be inclined to the heavens, but whose feet for the time being are firmly rooted to the ground. Elsewhere, in a formulation that summarizes the above thesis in a single phrase, Plato affirms that man’s goal in life should be ‘becoming similar to god (ὁμοίωσις θεῷ) to the extent possible’.7 5 

Fr. B119 D-K. Tim. 90a–c (slightly abbreviated and adapted). 7  Tht. 176b1–2; the phrase will become the standard Platonist formulation of the goal of human existence. 6 



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Against this background I  now want to outline briefly what are the six essential features of Greek eudaimonism are which in my view we need to take into consideration for our theme today.8 Firstly we note that the good state that the term eudaimonia conveys is intrinsically linked to the notion of a human life. This was quite evident in the passages from Sophocles and Plato cited above. A life is judged to be eudaimôn on the basis of certain criteria which are a matter of discussion and dispute, such as excellence, success, achievement, prosperity and so on. These criteria, it is important to note, have an element of objectivity. Eudaimonia is not a matter of [136] how one feels at the moment or at the present time. This is why one should on principle avoid the rendering ‘happiness’ and the corresponding adjective ‘happy,’ because these terms are in modern usage irreparably subjective, and usually (though not always) also indicate a transient state.9 A better rendering is ‘well-being,’ even though it obviously misses the religious connotations present in the original term as conveyed by the etymology.10 Secondly the life that eudaimonia describes is the good life, and this means that it is the life that is to be striven for. Goodness in Greek thought is above all associated with finality, the end result of a process or an action. This notion of a goal that we should strive for in our lives is expressed in Greek by means of the technical term τέλος (goal or end-point). The term is related to τέλειος, meaning perfect or complete. The best life is a life that is complete in a meaningful sense. Such completeness, it should be noted, can also involve a temporal aspect. We recall the famous words of the early Greek sage and lawgiver Solon: ‘count no one fortunate and blessed until he is dead.’ The Greeks knew that the turns and changes of life are many and varied. We may think we are doing well, but the disasters that hanging over us may be so great that, when they have taken place, it will have to be concluded that our life is and will remain ruined, kakodaimôn.11 Thirdly, so far eudaimonia merely gives a framework of reference. It has to be filled in, and this is where the Greek philosophers disagree with each other. Each philosopher (and each philosophical school) defines for himself what the telos of human life is. Various lines of opinion can be discerned. The hedonists seek the end in pleasure. The more rigorously inclined stress the importance of virtue or excellence, both with regard to character and intellectual achievement. Two other favourites are peacefulness (or freedom from [137] disturbance) and 8  There is no definitive monograph on Greek eudaimonism. The study of Heinze (1883) is limited and out-dated. An competent overview with reference to many texts is given by Ritter (1974). For more extended treatments of specific authors (esp. Aristotle) see Kenny (1992); Annas (1993); and on the Stoa, Long (1989). 9  I am not convinced by the attempt of Kraut (1989) to rescue the standard rendering ‘happiness’. 10  As argued by Williams (1985) 34, who defends the rendering ‘well-being,’ ‘since it is a matter of the shape of one’s whole life’. 11  Herodotus 1.32. The issue is discussed, with explicit reference to Solon, by Aristotle NE 1.9–10, 1100a5 ff.

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self-sufficiency. These can be combined with the two earlier options in different ways. Fourthly, each Greek ethical system of thought, almost without exception, has a theological component. Divine bliss represents the ideal, to which humans should aspire, even if it is never wholly within their reach. It is agreed that humankind can never fully attain the blissful immortality of the gods. But the way to reach the goal is to become as similar to the gods as one can, precisely the Platonic formulation we noted just before. Fifthly, Greek eudaimonism undeniably has an individualistic element. The good life that one strives to attain is one’s own. Certainly one should not take this too narrowly. Families, communities, cities can also flourish, be eudaimôn. Moreover personal well-being is never a matter merely of a person’s own situation, but involves others around him or her, such as a spouse, children, friends etc. Even so, there can be no doubt that eudaimonism focusses more on the self than on the other. Sixthly and finally, we must observe that the good life that Greek philosophy holds out to its followers is not just a matter of theory. It has to be striven for and achieved. A major issue in Greek ethics is whether the good life is in fact at all times achievable for the good person. Stoics are adamant that it is; followers of Aristotle are more pessimistic (or realistic, depending on one’s view). In order to reach the goal one needs to engage in philosophical discussion and carry out spiritual exercises.12 As a striking example let me quote a example from an unlikely source, the hedonist and materialist philosopher Epicurus. In his letter on ethics he concludes with the following words: Exercise yourself in these and related precepts day and night both by yourself and with your friend. Then you will never be disturbed [the famous Epicurean goal of ataraxia] while awake or while dreaming, but you will live as a god among men. For a man who lives amid immortal good things does not resemble a mortal being in any way. (Letter to Menoecus, Diogenes Laertius 10.135)

Many of the features of what I mean by Greek eudaimonism can be illustrated by this text, even though the term eudaimonia in fact [138] does not occur in it. The theological component is particularly striking when one considers Epicurus’ (not wholly deserved) reputation for atheism.13 Before we turn to our Jewish authors there is one complicating factor which has to be dealt with. As we noted above, Greek thought is profoundly aware of the difference between the divine and the human realm. From Homer onwards it was conventional to use another term for the existence of the gods. They are μάκαρες, ‘blissful’ or ‘supremely blessed.’ From this word a more common adjec12  This has been strongly emphasized in recent years by the French scholar Pierre Hadot; see (1995b), esp. 81–125. 13  His name gave rise to the Rabbinic term for the impious and godless person, the apikoros.



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tive is developed, μακάριος, usually translated in English as ‘blessed.’ In earlier Greek thought there is often a difference in usage between makarios, which is applied to the gods and humans living like god, and eudaimôn, which relates to human beings in all their human vulnerability.14 As time goes on, however, the distinction appears to fade, and the two terms are often joined together as synonyms. I am stuck with two problems. Firstly there is the prominent use of makarios in so-called macarisms or beatitudes, pronouncements of the form ‘makarios is he or she who …’ Such statements are very common, both in Greek literature, and in the Bible (Jewish and Christian).15 I am afraid that I will have set aside this aspect of my theme. Obviously there is some connection between the practice of pronouncing beatitudes and the theme of ‘well-being’ and the good life, but I cannot dwell on this in my lecture. My second problem is one of translation. I am unsure how best to translate makarios. English does not have a distinction between ‘selig’ and ‘gesegnete’ in German, ‘zalig’ and ‘gezegend’ in Dutch. One has little alternative but to use the conventional translation ‘blessed,’ but, as will emerge later on, I would prefer to reserve this term for another Greek word. Let this then be sufficient in order to explain what I mean by Greek eudaimonism. We shall now see whether this potent philosophical idea proved attractive to Jews who spoke and thought in Greek. [139]

2.  Eudaimonia in the Writings of Philo Proceeding now to Hellenistic-Jewish authors, we commence with the most hellenized of them all, the great exegete and philosopher Philo of Alexandria. In dealing with his evidence I am going to have to be highly selective, because his writings are copious, and the theme of eudaimonia is very common. The lexical evidence makes this clear: eudaimôn and related terms occur about 200 times, kakodaimôn etc. nearly 50 times, makarios etc. about 60 times.16 We shall focus on some texts that are both striking and central to his concerns, taking into account the various kinds of works that make up the Philonic corpus.17 The first two texts come from apologetic works. Philo wishes to present two Jewish groups as the living embodiment of two ideal ways of life. The mysterious sect of the Therapeutae who live just outside Alexandria pursue the life of con14  Aristotle makes this distinction in his Nicomachean Ethics, 1.10, 1101a14–21, as interpreted by Kenny (1992) 34. 15  Ample material collected by F. Hauck in TDNT s. v. μακάριος, IV 362–370. 16  Now easily accessible in the Philo Index of Borgen–Fuglseth-Skarsten (2000) 152, 184, 210. 17  Excellent overview of the Philonic corpus in Morris (1987) 826–868.

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templation. After giving a long description of their way of life, Philo concludes as follows:18 Let this account suffice for the Therapeutae, who have embraced the contemplation (θεωρία) of nature and what it contains, and have lived a life of the soul alone, citizens of heaven and the cosmos, truly commended to the father and maker of the universe by their excellence (ἀρέτη), which has procured for them his friendship and set it before them as the most fitting reward for their goodness (καλοκαγαθία), a gift superior to all prosperity and attaining to the very summit of felicity (εὐδαιμονία). (Contempl. 90)

These men and women, by being engaged in contemplation, develop such aretê (excellence) that God rewards them with his friendship and they thereby attain eudaimonia. This term is the final word of the treatise. Philo could not have emphasized it more. Unfortunately the companion treatise on the active life is lost, but we do have a summary of its argument elsewhere.19 The group who represent the ideal [140] of the active life are the Essenes in Palestine. Here too the final words of the passage are noteworthy. These athletes of excellence show spiritual freedom to a high degree. Proof is that none of cruel tyrants of the land – no doubt Herod is meant – could do them harm: Defeated by the goodness (καλοκαγαθία) of these men, these tyrants all treated them as self-governing and free by nature, praising their common meals and their fellowship (κοινωνία) which is superior to every description, regarding it as the clearest indication of a perfect and highly felicitous life (βίος εὐδαίμων). (Prob. 91)

Here too the idea of eudaimonia is used as a climax.19a It can hardly be doubted that it is a crucial concept for Philo in presenting his two groups of Jewish heroes. The second Philonic example is his major exegetical work which is today generally known as the Exposition of the Law.20 The basic schema of the twelve20a connected treatises of this work is significantly related to his presentation of the two idealized groups examined above. Philo argues that devotion to God and his 18  For

the interpretation of this difficult text and a defence of the translation see Runia (1997a) 3–18 (= article 20 in this volume). 19  As part of Philo’s philosophical treatise Prob. (75–91). On the basis of terminological and thematic parallels with Contempl. I would argue that the Prob. passage is a summary of the lost companion piece, but this must remain somewhat speculative. 19a  [The climactic use of the theme of eudaimonia in works of literature from Plato to Augustine and emphatically including Philo was the subject of my Leiden inaugural lecture, Runia (1993c). See also Runia (1997a) 15 n. 37 = article 20.] 20  On the general structure of the work see Borgen (1996c). But Borgen does not elaborate sufficiently on the overall thematic structure of the work. I am drawing here on unpublished work presented at the EAJS conference in Toledo, Spain, in July 1998. [My paper at this conference entitled ‘Philo’s Grand Design for his Exposition of the Law and its Philosophical Underpinnings’ remains unpublished. On this subject see now Birnbaum–Dillon (2020) 1–12.] 20a  [Ten treatises are extant. The biographies of Isaac and Jacob are lost (in the original version I wrongly counted eleven). See now further Royse (2009) 47–50.]



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Law results in the excellences of piety (eusebeia) and justice (dikaiosuné), which in turn are rewarded by the life of well-being (eudaimonia), as exemplified in the blessings and promises accorded the patriarchs and the people of Israel. Philo is giving exegesis of Pentateuch, but for him this is far from being an academic exercise. If families and cities and lands and the entire human race should follow the lead of Moses, supreme felicity (eudaimonia) would be the result (Virt. 119). So far this scenario is no more than the subject of prayer, as Philo has to admit in the context of the turbulent anti-Jewish atmosphere of Alexandria, but he is convinced that one day it will become a living reality.21 We turn now to a few passages from this long work, each of which involve the theme of eudaimonia. It begins with a commentary on [141] the creation account of Genesis 1–3, which gives the Law its philosophical foundation. The first man Adam is presented as reaching the limit of well-being before being plunged into kakodaimonia when he succumbs to the temptations of desire (Opif. 150–156). In the final paragraph Philo sums up his findings: He that has learnt these things … and has engraved their wonderful and priceless forms on his soul, namely (1) that God exists and subsists, (2) that as true Being He is one, (3) that he has made the cosmos and (4) has made it unique … conforming it to Himself in accordance with his uniqueness, and (5) that he always exercises providence over that which has come into being, will lead a blessed (μάκαριος) and fortunate (εὐδαίμων) life, for he has been marked by the doctrines of piety and holiness. (Opif. 172)

Philo next shows how the three Patriarchs through their exemplary lives were ‘living laws’ before the Law was handed down to Moses. This trinity gave birth to the nation of Israel whose name means ‘he that sees God’.22 It should be recognized, Philo continues (Abr. 58): that he to whom it is given not only to obtain knowledge of all the other aspects of nature, but also to see the Father and Maker of the universe, will advance to the very peak of felicity (εὐδαιμονία). For nothing is higher than God, and he that has extended the eye of his soul to reach him should pray that he remain and stand firm in Him.

After this Philo turns to the Law itself, first expounding the Decalogue and then explaining the further injunctions that fall under the ten chief headings. From the flood of material and the frequent references to the theme of eudaimonia I concentrate on his treatment of the first two commandments, which he tends to take together. How it is possible that people can make and worship graven images? The best of prayers and the goal of well-being is to become similar to God. This means that you idolators should pray to become like your images, so that you will gather supreme felicity with eyes that do not see and ears that 21 Cf. also Mos. 2.44 (though this work is a general introductory portrait of the great lawgiver Moses, not part of the Exposition of the Law). 22  On Philo’s etymology for Israel see now the study of Birnbaum (1996), esp. 61–90. [See also my comments in Runia (2003d) 362 = article 23.]

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do not hear (Decal. 73). Philo is of course being deeply sarcastic. Not that God needs to be worshipped, for He is in need of nothing. But he wished to guide the human race so that they should find the best goal of life, knowledge of Him who truly [142] is, the first and most perfect Good (Decal. 81). In the first of the treatises On the Special Laws Philo returns to this theme. Moses banishes from his congregation all those who deny God’s existence or deify other things such as human reason. Philo then ends the treatise with a magnificent passage. But we, the intimates and disciples of Moses, shall not give up our search for the One who IS, regarding the knowledge of Him as the goal of well-being (εὐδαιμονία) and also as age-long life, just as the Law too says that all those ‘who ‘cleave to God shall live’ (Deut 4:4), laying down a compelling and philosophical doctrine. For truly those who deny God are dead in their souls, whereas those who have taken service in the ranks of the God who is live an immortal life. (Spec. 1.345)

After the Special Laws have been explained, Philo turns to a treatment of a number of excellences (or virtues) which the Law enjoins, but cannot be placed under the individual commandments because they are common to them all. The aretai that he discusses are justice, courage, humanity, repentance and true nobility of birth.23 In each case Philo argues that the practice of excellence will result in the life of eudaimonia. I cite one passage from the section on repentance, in which Philo paraphrases the well-known text Deut 30:11–14: He says that this thing [they seek] is neither over-heavy nor at a great distance … so that it is impossible to take, but is very near, located in three parts of our own constitution, mouth and heart and hands, by which is symbolized words and intentions and actions; for the mouth is the symbol of speech, the heart of intentions and the hands of actions, and in these three lies well-being (τὸ εὐδαιμονεῖν). For whenever word is in agreement with judgment, and intention with practice, life is praiseworthy and perfect, but whenever they are at strife with each other, life is imperfect and blameworthy. If a person does not forget this harmony, he will be pleasing to God, thus becoming God-loving and God-beloved at the same time. (Virt. 183–185)

Just as in the case of the Therapeutae, devotion to God as shown in true excellence results in divine friendship and the realization of a good life. In the final treatise Philo describes the rewards and blessings that are held out to those who obey and carry out the commandments [143] of the Law, both at the individual and the collective level, together with the punishments and curses that follow when these are ignored. Once again the themes of eudaimonia and kakodaimonia play an essential role in the argument. Abraham, the man of trust in God (pistis) becomes truly eudaimon and thrice makarios because he accepts God as his sole support (Praem. 30). The people triumph over their enemies because they have chosen for God (Deut 26:17) and eudaimonia prevails, con23 

Perhaps piety (εὐσέβεια) was also included, but this depends on how the textual tradition of Virt. is interpreted.



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sisting both of theoretical wisdom in the service of God and practical wisdom in the regulation of human affairs (Praem. 81). Commentators have often been struck by the eschatological and even messianic promises related in the final part, which seem out of keeping with Philo’s more spiritual emphasis elsewhere in his writings.24 Partly the explanation is that he is giving exegesis of texts in Leviticus and Deuteronomy. But why does he choose to do this? The reason is that these promises are one kind of prize or reward for the life of excellence and devotion to God and his Law. These are counterbalanced, however, by the prizes given to individuals such as the patriarchs, which represent spiritual gifts. For example Abraham, the man of trust in God (pistis) becomes truly eudaimôn and thrice makarios because he accepts God as his sole support (Praem. 30). Finally we briefly turn our attention to Philo’s most extensive and famous work, the Allegorical Commentary. The stories about the early history of humankind and the patriarchs in Genesis are converted into an elaborate allegory of the soul, in which it is revealed how the soul has to choose between life and death, between good and evil, between virtue and wickedness, between serving God or loving oneself and one’s own desires. Time and time again eudaimonia sums up the positive side of this disjunction. Take for example the contrast between Abel and Cain. Commenting on Gen 4: 8 Philo writes: [Cain] the soul that has removed from itself the principles of love of excellence and love of God has died to the life of excellence. So that Abel, highly paradoxical though it may seem, both has been killed and lives. He is removed from the mind of the fool, but he lives the life of well-being in God (εὐδαίμων βίος). (Det. 48) [144]

For a final text we return to the theme of peace and war. This can also be related to the state of the soul. Why does Moses sit ‘far from the camp’ (Exod 33:7)? The reason, we read, is that Scripture wishes to intimate that the wise man is a sojourner who migrates from war to peace and from the camp of mortality and confusion to the divine life of peace and devoid of war which is the possession of souls who are rational and fortunate (εὐδαίμονες). (Ebr. 100)

Two texts from the twenty-one books of the Allegorical Commentary represent merely a sample. Examples could be multiplied ad libitum,25 but it is time to move on.

24  For two differing interpretations of Philo’s limited messianic eschatology see Winston (1985) 55–57; Borgen (1997a) 260–281. 25  Note for example the reference to eudaimonia in the final words of three treatises, Post. 185, De ebrietate 224, De somniis 1.256.

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3.  Other Hellenistic-Jewish Texts It is necessary also to look at other Hellenistic-Jewish writers. After all, it is quite possible that Philo is not typical of Hellenistic Judaism in general, even if he is certainly its most famous representative. A first, rather startling result of research in this area is that, with the exception of Josephus, the term eudaimonia and related words do not occur in these writers at all. There is not a single case!26 If we relax our standards somewhat and include the use of the term makarios as indicating some form of eudaimonism, then we do have some examples, but even here occurrences are rather rare if, as proposed earlier, we exclude macarisms. I briefly mention three texts. (a) In Joseph and Aseneth the heavenly messanger addresses Aseneth and calls her blessed because the ineffable mysteries have been revealed to her (16:7). Blessed too are all those who like her attach themselves to God in repentance, for they will partake of the marvellous honeycomb. The theme of repentance links this text to the Philonic passage we cited earlier.27 (b) In the Sybilline oracles there are about ten references to blessed people and a blessed time.28 Most of these are eschatological, set in a time when prophecies will come to pass and the Jews will be vindicated against their enemies. [145] (c) In 4 Maccabbees the author, a profoundly hellenized Jew, interprets obedience to the Law in terms of the philosophical doctrine of reason’s mastery of the passions. Blessedness is stated to be the reward of the defiant priest Eleazar, his wife and seven sons. It too is thought of in future terms: it is the prospect of an immortal life to be lived beyond death, i. e. beyond the dreadful and fatal torture which they underwent on account of their loyalty to the Law and the traditions of their people. The final author to be considered is Josephus, whom I  wish to include as a Hellenistic-Jewish writer, although his background is obviously very different to that of Philo and the author of 4 Maccabees. Just as in the case of Philo, both the term and concept of eudaimonia are frequently encountered in his two major works (εὐδαίμων etc. 154 times, κακοδαίμων 4 times, μακάριος etc. 35 times). Admittedly in a large number of cases the term hardly means more than prosperity or faring well, and is of no philosophical significance. But this is not the case for all texts. I shall concentrate on the opening passage of the Antiquities, in which Josephus outlines the guiding ideas of his account. History, in his view, has to have a lesson (1.14),29 26  Excluding rare cases where eudaimonia means ‘prosperity,’ e. g. Testament of Job 35:4, 41:4, Artapanus at Eusebius PE 9.18.1. 27  Virt. 183–185 cited earllier below n. 23. 28  2.179, 3.1, 371, 770, 4.192, 5.71, 107, 249, 414. 29  Translations are based on the LCL translation of Thackeray (first published in 1930).



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namely that men who conform to the will of God, and do not venture to transgress laws that have been excellently laid down, prosper in all things beyond belief, and for their reward are offered felicity (εὐδαιμονία) from God. (A. J. 1.14)

The same idea is ascribed to the lawgiver Moses. In justifying the fact that he devotes so much space to natural philosophy (for example in his paraphrase of the creation account), Josephus explains (1.19–20): [Moses] thought it above all necessary for one who would order his own life aright and also legislate for others, first to study the nature of God, and then, having become a student of his works with the mind, to imitate to the extent possible the very best model of all and try to follow it … [He must be] taught that God … grants those who follow him a felicitous life (εὐδαίμων βίος), but involves those who step outside the path of excellence in great disasters. (A. J. 1.19–20)

A few lines later Josephus gives another explanation of the rationale behind reward and punishment. [146] Our legislator, having shown that God possesses the very perfection of excellence (aretê), thought that men should try to participate in it, and inexorably punished those who did not agree with or believe these injunctions. (A. J. 1.23)

The similarity of these ideas to what we found in Philo’s Exposition of the Law is very striking. Josephus has clearly made a study of Philo’s De opificio mundi, and probably the Exposition of the Law in its entirety.30 It would seem that the idea of eudaimonia was one of Philo’s themes that appealed to him, so that he gave it a place of prominence right at the beginning of his long work. These texts give full support to Steve Mason’s assertion:31 Josephus presents Judaism as a philosophy that offers a definite response to the human quest for εὐδαιμονία. Happiness is granted by God to those who observe his laws.

4.  The Results so far against the Biblical Background We can summarize the results of our investigation into Hellenistic-Jewish literature so far. In the case of Philo and Josephus a form of eudaimonism is clearly present and plays a prominent role in their thought. Outside these two authors the idea seems to be scarcely present at all. We only found it in a handful of documents, all of which are strongly influenced, in one way or another, by the imperialism of Greek culture. Why is it so rare? 30  Rightly pointed out by Thackeray in his notes to the Loeb translation. These texts are surprisingly not commented on by Franxman (1979), despite his keenness to adduce parallels between Philo and Josephus. [Sterling (2013) 112 concludes that Josephus not only read but drew on Opif. and Mos. and may have read some of the other treatises in the Exposition of the Law, especially Virt.] 31  Mason (1991) 186.

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The answer to this question is, I believe, not far to seek. The foundation of Jewish thought and culture in this period was the Tenach, the Hebrew Bible. Greek-speaking Jews read the Bible in the Septuagint translation. The term eudaimonia is entirely absent from this version, while the term makarios is confined to macarisms. More importantly, the Greek idea of eudaimonism, as I outlined it earlier, is wholly missing. I would argue that it is foreign to biblical thought, if I may use this rather general phrase to cover the wide spectrum of writings in the Tenach. Fundamental to the Hebrew Bible is the [147] covenantal relationship that God undertakes with his chosen people. God makes his conditions known through the Law and prophets. Israel has undertaken to obey, for it has chosen life and not death. Its reward is formulated in terms of promises and blessings, in short shalom, peace. Disobedience to God and his Law is a breaking of the agreement, in short sin. The central idea, which stands in contrast to the idea of eudaimonism, needs a label, and I would suggest the term eulogism, by which I mean the idea of a human life that is good because humans receive blessings from God and gives praise to Him in return. I derive the term from the Greek εὐλογία, ‘speaking well of, blessing,’ the term that is so central to the Pentateuch, from the creation account at the outset to the blessing of Moses at its conclusion. Perhaps we might better speak of barakism, for the basic idea is Jewish and biblical, expressed in the Hebrew word barak. But eudaimonism and eulogism make a neater contrast. After all, we are speaking mainly Greek today in the tents of Japheth. The majority of Hellenistic-Jewish writings remain contentedly within the confines of this biblical thought which I have outlined. For this reason eudaimonia and eudaimonism are wholly absent. Only a very restricted number of authors do make use of it, and it is no accident that these are the writers who are most profoundly influenced by Hellenism, or have strong apologetic motives for making use of Hellenistic ideas. Foremost among these is Philo, the Hellenized Jew par excellence. It is on Philo that I will chiefly concentrate.

5.  The Problem of Terminology and Content The term eudaimonia and the idea of eudaimonism, we argued above, plays a central role in Philo’s writings, in his apologetic presentation of the Therapeutae and the Essenes, in the grand scheme of his Exposition of the Law, in the detailed allegorical interpretation of the Genesis narrative. This is unmistakeably a sign of Hellenistic influence. But how significant is it? It is possible to give a counter-argument. It might be argued that the presentation so far has been too preoccupied with terminology. Of course Philo talks about eudaimonia almost on every page. But what does he mean by it? Has the philosopher Wittgenstein not taught us that meaning lies in the use of a

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word, not in the word itself ? Have we not learnt from the penetrating criticisms mounted against [148] works such as the monumental Theological Dictionary of the New Testament edited by Kittel and Friedrich, which treated terms as quasimetaphysical items and paid insufficient attention to the contexts in which they were used.32 Is it not possible that a preoccupation with etymologies and parallel usage in authors belonging to a quite different tradition may in fact put us on the wrong track? Recently Naomi Cohen has published an important book on Philo, in which she undertakes to introduce us to his ‘universe of discourse.’ Her study explores the nature of Philo’s Jewish commitment as it emerges from his idiosyncratic synthesis of Jewish and Greek frames of reference. Its thesis is that the basic parameters of Philo’s thought stand much closer to that of the 1st century Rabbis (if we may use the term) than is generally thought. One of the key moves in her argument is the claim that we have to decode Philo’s use of terminology. Key Greek terms that he uses over and over again can have a Jewish ‘meta-meaning.’ Sophia, wisdom, for example, may mean Torah or Torah lore; dikaiosunê, usually translated ‘justice,’ may mean ‘observance of the Law’; logoi, which in Greek can mean any number of things, can refer simply to the commandments, and so on.33 It is certainly to my mind a plausible idea that certain Greek terms in Philo may have special Jewish undertones, but this topic cannot be pursued now. What we need to do is determine whether it is relevant to our subject. Could it be the case that eudaimonia has special Jewish connotations? Is it not possible that Philo might wish to indicate by means of it the promise held out by God to the people of Israel, namely that, if they obey the commandments, ‘it may go well with them and they may live long in the land which the Lord God gives them’ (Deut 5:16, cf. 5:33, 6:3 etc.). To put the matter very boldly: is it not possible that by eudaimonia Philo may mean something like the biblical shalom? If this were the case, then we really should not speak of eudaimonism in his thought at all. It is really eulogism under a different label, no doubt used for apologetic purposes. This line of enquiry meshes well with an earlier approach to our theme which we find in two eminent German interpreters from the [149] first half of this century. Walter Völker ends his monograph on religious and moral progress and perfection in Philo with a section on eudaimonia. After analysing the various passages in which Philo uses the term he concludes:34 32 

Most famously in Barr (1961). (1995), esp. 178–224; see also her article published in the same volume as the present one (2002). [In that article, on p. 61, Cohen appeals to the conclusion of article 20 in this collection to prove her point. But this is based on a misunderstanding. When Philo uses terms such as ‘felicity’ (i. e. εὐδαιμονία) to refer to the Therapeutae who are engaging in scriptural study, this does not mean that the term itself connotes such activity.] 34  Völker (1938) 344–345. 33  Cohen

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Thus in the end eudaimonia flows together with immortality, and it is identical with standing steadfast, with joy, with peace, with repose. These are all merely descriptions for the attitude of the pious person who dedicates himself wholly to God. This has nothing more to do with the Greek conception of eudaimonia … It is the Jewish outlook which emerges loud and clear, the pious person who serves God and fulfils his commandments … Around its nucleus are grouped a whole range of theories, conceptions, terms derived from philosophy. They make the conception of eudaimonia rather fluctuating and hard to pin down …

Earlier the eminent classicist Eduard Schwartz was even more severe. Philo is portrayed as a superficial soul who converts majestic biblical themes into psychological trivialities. The presentation of Greek philosophical ethics is full of contradictions, which can easily and simply be resolved if one views them from Jewish perspective, as in the case of eudaimonia, which has to be read in terms of Deut 30:20, cleaving unto God and choosing for life instead of death.35

6. The Eudaimonia of God What this line of thinking amounts to is the following: the language is evidently the language of Japheth, but if its meaning is taken into account, it emerges that Philo remains safely within the tents of Shem. This view entails that Hellenism does not penetrate to the core of his thought, and that the idea of eudaimonism is not significantly present. Can this approach be accepted? The argument I have put forward is by no means easy to respond to. What it amounts to is this: Philo says A but really means B. How can we prove that when he say A, he really means A? What we need is evidence that eudaimonism actually has penetrated to the core of his thinking. I am convinced that such evidence is available. [150] In his exploitation of the Greek idea of eudaimonia Philo makes a further move which I have so far not mentioned. This step is decisive proof, in my view, that Greek thought has entered into the marrow of his bones. There are at least fifteen passages, scattered throughout both the Exposition of the Law and the Allegorical Commentary, in which Philo states in the clearest terms that God himself is eudaimôn. In the most famous of these texts this idea is presented as a most necessary principle (dogma) for the practitioners of philosophy: God alone truly holds a festival. He alone is joyous and glad and rejoices. He alone enjoys peace unmixed with war. He is without grief and fear and without share in evil, without weakness or pain, full of unmixed felicity (εὐδαιμονία). His nature is completely perfect. Or rather God is the summit and end (τέλος) and limit of felicity, participating in nothing outside Himself for improvement, but sharing what belongs to Him to individuals from the fountain of beauty, Himself. (Cher. 86) 35 

Schwartz (1908) 497–560, esp. 541–542.



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In explaining the essence of Jewish piety in his account of the Embassy to Gaius, his wording is even more hyperbolic: Israel has been taught to look beyond what is created and see what is uncreated and divine, the first Good and Beautiful and Felicitous (eudaimôn) and Blessed (makarion), and, if I am to speak the truth, what is Superior to the good, more Beautiful than beauty, more Felicitous than felicity, more Blessed than blessedness, and if there be any Perfection still greater than these. (Legat. 5)

Lots of capitals seem appropriate here. Philo is doing his utmost to accentuate the absolute transcendence of God, using what in later scholastic philosophy is called the via eminentiae: one takes characteristics of the physical and the intelligible realms of reality and affirms that God possesses these in even greater, or perhaps better, in absolute measure.36 Why is this particular argument so important? It is not just that such a conception of divine felicity is totally absent from the Hebrew Bible.37 There is also a philosophical point at stake. If eudaimonia is defined as the attitude of the pious person, consisting of fearing and obeying and serving and pleasing and cleaving to God, then it is quite illogical to state that God himself is eudaimon. This would mean [151] that He would have to fear and obey and serve himself etc.38 The only way out would be to say that there are two wholly different kinds of eudaimonia, for God and for humankind. But this is emphatically not the direction in which Philo wishes to go. As was noted earlier in the article, the Greek gods were traditionally regarded as makares, blessed. The eudaimonia of the individual was dependent on the extent to which the deity – whoever it happened to be in Greek polytheism – was well-disposed towards him. This may remind us of the blessings of eulogism, with the vital difference that in the biblical way of seeing things humankind praises God for his goodness, but does not declare Him blessed in the absolute sense of being makarios or eudaimon himself. By emphasizing God’s eudaimonia, Philo joins the ranks of Greek philosophers who regard the divine as representing the ideal or model to which humankind should aspire in conscious imitation. Humankind attains the goal of human felicity by becoming as similar to God as can be achieved, i. e. the Platonic doctrine of homoiôsis theôi, assimilation to the divine.39 For this reason I think it is important that Philo in the Exposition of the Law twice, when expounding the first and second commandments, emphasizes that 36  Cf. the similar text at Opif. 8. For the via eminentiae outlined in a Platonist handbook almost contemporary with Philo, see Alcinous Did. 10.6. 37  This also applies to the New Testament, with two minor exceptions: 1 Tim. 1:11, 6:15. 38  Philo puts forward a similar argument at Leg. 3.205 ff. to support the view that God cannot swear oaths, only to reject it. 39  Philo quotes Plato’s celebrated passage Tht. 176b at Fug. 63. See further Runia (1986) 341–343.

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the goal of our life should be knowledge of Him who IS. To be sure, this is in the first place meant to be antithetic to those who deny God’s existence. Humankind can know that God is, but cannot know God’s essence. To reach that level would mean that humankind was not similar to God, but identical with Him, an impossible doctrine. But between existence and essence lies a fertile ground for reflection on God’s attributes. The task and goal is to serve God and become His friend, by modelling oneself on what God is and on His wonderful attributes. For example the injunction to be steadfast in God means that the wise person should aim to emulate God’s immutability and total reliability. Then he will become a theios anêr, a divine man, just like Philo’s great hero Moses. To my knowledge Philo never speaks of a theia gunê, a divine woman,39a but it is clear that women can follow the example of Sarah, wisdom personified.40 [152] It is interesting to observe that Josephus, our other Hellenized author, does not part company with Philo on this point, but, being a much less philosophical soul, he scarcely develops it properly. As noted above, in his preface Josephus states that an eudaimôn bios accrues to those who follow God as model through excellence (ἀρετή). How is this done? By participating, we read a few lines later, in God’s perfect excellence. Surely we may conclude that God himself possesses complete eudaimonia, even if this is not said in as many words. We note too that the Jewish adaptor of the third Sibylline oracle also calls God ‘blessed’ in the opening line of his poem.41 After this invocation the opening lines ask why humankind, in possession of the divine form as God’s image, does not follow the right path, which involves always remembering its immortal creator. The reference to Gen 1:26 is unmistakeable. For Philo too this text is the biblical basis for the homoiôsis doctrine. We have here perhaps a clue that the document should be located within Alexandrian Judaism, roughly contemporary with Philo.42 39a  [But it is worth mentioning that he has a gendered term for those members of the Mareotic community engaging in contemplative activity who are women, Therapeutrides.] 40  As Naomi Cohen has pointed out in her recent monograph, (1995) 214, and also discussed with me in private conversation, the concept of imitatio Dei is also present in the rabbinic tradition. She cites BT Shabbat 133b: ʿAbba Saul interpreted, ‘And I will be like him’ (Ex. 15:2): be thou like Him: just as He is gracious and compassionate, so be thou gracious and compassionate.’ This is still far removed from Greek eudaimonism. Closer, perhaps, is another text in the BT, Sotah 14a, where on the basis of Deut 13:5 humans are exhorted ‘to walk after the Shekhinah, i. e. the attributes of the Holy One, blessed is He …’ Even so, however, there can be no question of humans attaining, or even aspiring, to the divine state. The remainder of the text speaks about clothing the naked, visiting the sick, and so on. 41  The opening lines 3.1–12 reveal a remarkable synthesis of Jewish and Hellenistic epithets for God. 42  See Collins (1983) 355: ‘There can be no doubt that Sybilline Oracles 3 was written in Egypt … Within Egypt the work has usually been located in Alexandrian Judaism. However, there is reason to believe that it was written in the circles associated with the priest Onias, founder of the temple at Leontopolis.’ Earlier Nikiprowetzky had concluded on the basis of a thorough study (1970, x) that this book showed affinities with the religious tendencies of the Therapeutae as described by Philo in his De vita contemplativa.

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7.  Why Does Philo Accept Eudaimonism in his Thought? Philo possessed an unconditional loyalty to Judaism and was a dedicated expositor of Scripture. As we have seen, in the grand scheme [153] of his Exposition of the Law, he follows the main contours of biblical thought. Devotion and obedience to the Law will bring as its prize peace and prosperity, despite current appearances to the contrary. Why, then, does he interpose the themes of excellence and well-being, those chief features of Greek eudaimonism, in the tradition he wishes to follow? Two answers are too superficial to really satisfy. A first reason is Philo’s great love for Greek philosophy. It exerted such an attraction on him that it proved irresistible. He was seduced by its doctrines of logos and physis, rationality and nature. A variation of this approach credits him with a conversion to Judaism. In his youth he devoted himself to the study of the liberal arts and consorted long with lady philosophy herself. But at a certain stage he became convinced that the true mistress, wisdom, was to be located in the traditions of his own people, in the books of the lawgiver Moses.43 This meant that he had found his life’s work. But philosophy’s influence by that time was ineradicable, and it shows. A second reason can be located in the social and cultural situation in which Philo found himself. He was an intellectual leader in a community under threat. His writings always have an apologetic motive. He wished to show that Jewish thought is respectable, or even more than that. It can match Greek thought on its own ground. In order to conquer his ideological adversaries he found it necessary to borrow some of their instrumentaria, the conceptuality of philosophical thought. Philosophy supplies him with a language of reason in order to demonstrate the inherent superiority of the wisdom lying concealed in the Law of Moses.44 Both answers contain important kernels of truth, but the historian of ideas remains unsatisfied. Such answers are too general. We need to know more specifically what the attraction of Greek eudaimonism for Philo was. My answer would proceed along the following lines. As was noted above, Philo accepts the general contours of the Jewish view of the life devoted to the service of God, resulting in a long and good life. [154] He is also able to expound the meaning of the commandments that are to be obeyed in order to receive God’s promise. But Philo is left with a problem: there still remains a gap between what he encounters in the Law and what he regards as required for his own situation in the intellectual environment of Alexandria. He wants to know in particular what kind of person he has to be in order to obey the Law and realize the good life for himself and those around him. His answer to this further 43  44 

This scenario is suggested by Dillon (1996) 141. For Philo’s use of philosophy as a ‘language of reason’ see Nikiprowetzky (1977) 181–192.

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question is given with the aid of Greek conceptuality: he has to be a person in possession of aretê, of virtue or excellence, of sound moral insight. Moral excellence in Greek thought is a disposition to do the right thing at the right time. This is possible because man’s character has been schooled by logos, by insight into what one is and what one should do. To some extent Philo orientates his treatment of the excellences towards his Jewish traditions: piety (eusebeia) and humanity (philanthropia) are given a more central place than they receive in Greek philosophy.45 Other features of eudaimonism are less easily reconciled to biblical thought, but Philo nevertheless feels the need to make use of them. Three such features are central. Firstly Philo accepts and works with an analysis of human nature. Humans are made up of a combination of soul and body, each with its own needs. These needs cause conflict and it costs much effort to achieve the harmony required for the good life. Philo emphasizes time and time again the tension that exists between the demands of reason and the demands of the passions. Obedience to the commands of reason and the Law are essential if the good life is to be attained. The anthropological analysis makes clear, however, why such obedience is often so difficult to carry into practice. Secondly the role of the logos is crucial. This is the most fundamental and complex concept of all in Greek philosophy, and in Philo it is further complicated by the association of logos with God and the Law. Logos basically means that there is order and structure in the world, that the world is the kind of place that can be understood and lived in with the aid of reason. It is on this account, [155] according to Philo (and Josephus concurs with him on this), that the Mosaic Law commences with the creation account.46 Humankind possesses logos; it enables people to achieve a harmony of body, soul and mind. It is primarily through the logos, Philo is convinced, that humankind is akin to the divine, for it is created according to the image of God, which (or who) is the Logos. Because of the Logos something of God’s felicity is achievable by humans. It is by means of logos that excellence is developed, and so the good life is achieved. Our actions should be actions based on logos. Yet there is also a correspondence with the logoi, the commands of the Law. Undeniably we feel a tension here which is inherent in Philo’s thought, and which every interpreter stumbles across. The logoi are given, they are to be obeyed. But at the same time they are rooted in the universal logos which pervades all of God’s creation. This means there is a reason for them. Philo feels a needs to understand this logos, this rationale. Here, surely, he really does feel the enticements of Greek philosophy. 45  As Dillon (1996) 150 notes, there is a canon of two virtues in Greek philosophy. But Nikiprowetzky (1977) 186 is right to note their connection in Philo’s mind with the two tables of the Law. See further Wolfson (1947) 213–215. 46  Cf. Philo, Opif. 3 (where logos is expressed in terms of the law of nature, νόμος φύσεως), Josephus A. J. 1.21–24.



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Thirdly, something of the individualistic emphasis of Greek eudaimonism comes through in Philo’s thinking. Israel represents both God’s people and the individual person who emulates the patriarch in ‘seeing God’.47 The good life is achieved through the excellence that one develops in response to the logos and the commands of the Law. The Allegorical Commentary concentrates above all on the journey of the soul in quest of God, for to know God is the ultimate quest and the source of well-being. One senses that this is the epicentre of Philo’s spirituality,48 a powerful idea which was to be further developed in later Alexandrian Christian thought. These three elements, the analysis of human nature, the role of the logos, and the emphasis on the quest for God in the life of the [156] individual, are all components of Greek eudaimonism. For Philo they serve the crucial function of helping him to fill the gap between his loyalty to Judaism and his situation as an intellectual in the Alexandrian metropolis. There is such a thing as the good life. It consists of serving and emulating God. It can be attained through excellence of character and through the study both of scripture and of the world in which we live. This formulation of the good life could not have been achieved without a significant contribution of Greek philosophy and its fundamental idea of eudaimonia.

8.  Shem in the Tents of Japheth Let us return, finally and very briefly, to our opening theme of the relationship between Shem and Japheth. It was noted then how powerful and influential ideas can be. Eudaimonism is clearly such an idea. Only a few surviving HellenisticJewish authors felt attracted to it, chief among whom was Philo. The challenge of this conference is make some kind of judgment about the desirability and value of the kind of appropriation of Greek ideas that Hellenistic Jews such as Philo made. It would not be opportune to give a definitive verdict on such a huge and complex issue. But two final comments, one in a critical vein, the other more positive, may be considered appropriate. A crucial part was played in our argument by Philo’s willingness to speak about the eudaimonia, the felicity of God. This is a topic that should give us pause for thought. I myself am inclined to follow biblical eulogism rather than Greek eudaimonism on this point. God is the living God in the sense that He gives life. He himself does not have a life in a sense that we can understand in a 47  In her excellent study already cited above (n. 22) Birnbaum (1996) examines the question of Philo and Israel above all from the perspective of the universalist/particularist dilemma. A similar inquiry could be done on the relation between the individual and the collective entity in his thought. Suggestive remarks are found in Amir (1983) 21–22. 48  See further Winston’s fine portrait of Philo’s spirituality, (1988) 198–230.

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meaningful way. Philo’s eudaimonism is better off without this super-structure, but it would involve some rethinking on his part, since the idea of ‘becoming similar to God’ is central to the Greek tradition of eudaimonism to which he is attracted. On this point Philo did not, I believe, adopt a sufficiently critical stance towards received ideas in Greek philosophy.49 [157] What about the role of philosophy, probably the most characteristic of all the discoveries and inventions of Japheth, in all this? Philosophy involves reflection on the structure of reality, on the world and the place of human beings in it. Eudaimonism is a typical product of such reflection. I  think reflection of this kind should be encouraged. In using and practising philosophy we can learn from others, even those who do not share our religious convictions. Philo may have gone too far in some respects, but the aim was laudable. The Rabbis were too critical of him and his writings, a judgment which led to a profound and long-lasting neglect of his contribution to Judaism. It will give me much joy if the conference at this university contributes to the further rehabilitation of a great Jewish thinker.49a

49  Of course one has to take into account the ‘theology of Exodus,’ as furnished at Exod 3:14 by the LXX translation of God’s self-revelation in terms of Being. Philo is very much aware of the transcendence of Being, but nevertheless at least partially follows Greek philosophy in trying to fill in what Being entails. See further my Utrecht inaugural address, Runia (1992a), (1995b). 49a  [See the starred note at the beginning of the article. Bar Ilan University is a public institution, but with a strong focus on the study of Jewish heritage and values (website www1.biu. ac.il/homepage/about Bar Ilan, viewed 3 December 2020).]

12.  The Theme of Flight and Exile in the Allegorical Thought-World of Philo of Alexandria* 1. A Thought-Experiment Let us begin this essay on the theme of flight and exile in Philo with a thoughtexperiment. We are to imagine that in the second century of our era a wellschooled reader came across a book-roll with the following title on the outside of the roll: ΦΙΛΩΝΟΣ ΠΕΡΙ ΦΥΓΗΣ ΚΑΙ ΕΥΡΕΣΕΩΣ (Of Philo On flight/exile and discovery) What conclusions would he or she be likely to reach? The first thought that would cross the reader’s mind, I suspect, was that he had come across a treatise on the subject of φυγή, exile. He would be well aware, of course, that quite a few philosophers and other writers had written books or speeches with the title Περὶ φυγῆς, for example Plutarch of Chaeronea, Dio of Prusa, Favorinus of Arles, in earlier times Teles of Megara.1 The name Philo was one of the most common, and he could by no means be sure which Philo was meant.2 What might be puzzling for him was the combination of [2] themes, exile and discovery. What could περὶ εὑρέσεως mean in this title? Surely not, as one might suspect if it were a title on its own, the subject of invention of arguments as part of rhetoric.3 *  This article was written at the request of Prof. Christoph Riedweg (Zurich) for a collo­ qium on the subject of ‘Exil in der Literatur’ which he and his colleague Prof. Elisabeth Bronfen organized at the University of Zurich in the summer of 1999. It was also presented at the École Normale Supérieure, Paris, in 2000, at the University of British Columbia, Vancouver, in 2002, and at the University of Stellenbosch, South Africa, in 2009. I would like to thank all my hosts for their hospitality and my audiences for their constructive responses to the lecture. My thanks too to Ellen Birnbaum for encouraging me to publish it. 1  Plutarch, extant at Mor. 599A–607F; Dio Chrysostom, extant as Or. 13; Favorinus, partly preserved as Vatic. Pap. 11 (see DPhA 3.422); Teles, long excerpt at Stobaeus Flor. 3.40.8. 2  It is possible that Philo’s name could have been qualified with Ἑβραίου or Ἰουδαίου, but this was by no means necessarily the case. The Coptos papyrus, which contains the complete text of two of Philo’s allegorical treatises, simply gives as title ΦΙΛΩΝΟΣ ΠΕΡΙ …; cf. PCW 1.xlii. 3  Cf. the extant treatise of the rhetor Hermogenes and the subdivision of rhetoric in the Stoic doxography in D. L. 7.43.

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What could be the connection with exile? The two subjects do not appear to go together at all. If our reader proceeded to unfold the scroll, the mystery might well not be immediately cleared up. He would read the following:4 καὶ ἐκάκωσεν αὐτὴν Σάρα, καὶ ἀπέδρα ἀπὸ προσώπου αὐτῆς. εὗρε δὲ αὐτὴν ἄγγελος κυρίου ἐπὶ τῆς πηγῆς τοῦ ὕδατος ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ, ἐπὶ τῆς πηγῆς ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ Σούρ. καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῇ ὁ ἄγγελος κυρίου· παιδίσκη Σάρας, πόθεν ἔρχῃ, καὶ ποῦ πορεύῃ; καὶ εἶπεν· ἀπὸ προσώπου Σάρας τῆς κυρίας μου ἐγὼ ἀποδιδράσκω. εἶπε δὲ αὐτῇ ὁ ἄγγελος κυρίου· ἀποστράφηθι πρὸς τὴν κυρίαν σου καὶ ταπεινώθητι ὑπὸ τὰς χεῖρας αὐτῆς. (And Sarah treated her harshly, and she ran away from her face. But Lord’s messenger found her at the spring of water in the desert, at the spring on the road to Sur. And Lord’s messenger said to her: slave-girl of Sarah, where do you come from and where are you going to? And she said: I am running away from the face of Sarah my mistress. But Lord’s messenger said to her: return to your mistress and be humbled under her hands.) (Gen 16:6b–9)

Our imaginary reader would have to be very widely read  – someone like the author of the treatise On the Sublime5 – to recognize that these words were drawn from the sacred scriptures of the Jewish people. He would of course immediately understand that the title of the work coheres with the opening words of the cited text, the flight of the slave-girl and her discovery by ‘Lord’s messenger’ (which by the way he would have found a slightly curious phrase because the word κύριος lacks the article). And if he read on, he would discover that the first half of the treatise deals in broad terms with the theme of flight and exiles (§§ 1–119), while the second half treats the theme of finding, which the author has combined with the theme of seeking that precedes finding (§§ 119–213). No matter how learned our reader was, he would have found the treatise very heavy going, even if he did come across a couple of familiar quotations from Plato’s Theaetetus on the way (§ 63, § 82). I imagine his reaction would have been something like this: ‘What on earth have I got hold of here? This is quite unusual material.’ And he would have been quite right. It is esoteric material. In [3] order to understand what he had in his hands, our reader would have needed an introduction into the allegorical thought-world of the treatise’s author, a learned Jew from Alexandria called Philo.

2.  Our Subject This is precisely the aim of my article, to introduce the allegorical thought-world of Philo of Alexandria, specifically in relation to the theme of flight and exile. It is a fascinating theme, occupying a central place in Philo’s thought, and yet so 4  I have given a rather literal translation of the Septuagintal text in order to try to convey the impression its language would have made on an educated Greek reader. 5  Acquainted with the book of Genesis; see Subl. 9.9 and Stern (1974–86) 1.361–365.



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far little researched.6 But it is also a theme that could not be more relevant to our own time, when political and economic exigencies are forcing millions of people to leave their homes and seek to live in exile, often in the most desperate and heart-breaking circumstances. As we shall see, Philo’s allegorical treatment of the theme of flight and exile converts it into a spiritual theme, rather than a direct reflection on his own personal situation and the political circumstances of his own time. But it would be wrong to make too sharp a distinction between the two spheres of theory and practice. I will begin, therefore, by examining the theme of flight and exile in Jewish thought and how it relates to Philo’s own situation. After this I  will first proceed to introduce the method and chief features of Philo’s allegorical thought-world. The main part of the lecture will then examine the manner in which our theme is worked out in Philo’s allegorical exegesis of the biblical text.7 This will be followed by a briefer analysis of how the theme works in Philo’s thinking in relation to his intellectual background in both Greek and Jewish thought. Finally we will return to Philo’s own situation, with which we began.

3.  Flight and Exile in Judaism and Philo’s Situation in the Diaspora It can safely be said that the theme of exile (galuth) occupies a larger place in Jewish than it does in Greek thought.8 As almost always, the foundations [4] are laid in the Hebrew Bible, which records two periods of exile, the descent of Jacob and his children into Egypt and, much later, the period of Babylonian captivity. To these a third and much longer period of exile was added. In later Jewish tradition the entire period after the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the temple in 70 CE up to modern times was conceived as galuth. Whether this period came to an end with the founding of the state of Israel in 1948 depends on one’s political and religious convictions. There is at any rate a clear difference with the conception of exile as experienced in the Greco-Roman world. It is not just the experience of an individual or a small group. It involves the fate of an entire people. The meanings that can be attached to the experience of exile on this scale are enormous, involving separation and alienation, not only from the 6  I know of no study in Philonic scholarship that deals with this specific theme. There is a valuable overview of ‘spiritual itineraries’ in the introduction to the commentary on Fug. by Starobinski-Safran, PAPM 17 (1970) 53–77. [See now the article by Peter van Nuffelen, (2017), on Philo’s treatise Migr. and ancient literature on exile. He rightly notes (p. 205, n. 9) that in my article I do not discuss the influence of this literature on Philo’s writings. But note the text below at § 6(4) on the distinction between an exile and an emigrant.] 7  This means that most of the texts we will be citing will be from his grand Allegorical Commentary, which survives in 21 books. But allegorical material from the other two commentaries is not excluded; see further n. 25 below. 8  See Scott (1997) and the brief but excellent article in ODJ 243–244.

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homeland, but possibly also from God, which brings along with it the themes of punishment, redemption and the hope of a future conceived in eschatological terms. As it happens, the main character of our account today was a Jew who lived in one of the periods when Israel was not in exile. He himself, however, did not live in the Jewish homeland but in Alexandria, as a leading member of the largest Jewish community of the so-called Diaspora. Philo knows full well what exile meant in the Greco-Roman context of his day. He gives one of the more vivid descriptions of an individual undergoing exile when he describes the fate of the Egyptian governor Flaccus, who after his involvement in the anti-Jewish riots of 38 CE in Alexandria, fell out of favour with the Emperor Gaius and was banished to the notorious Aegean island of Andros, only to be executed there as a result of an imperial whim.9 He will also have known of the Jewish period of exile in Babylonia and the subsequent restoration under Ezra and Nehemiah. But there is no evidence to suggest that he regarded living in the Diaspora as a kind of exile from the Jewish homeland. Indeed he never makes use of this term in the technical sense.10 Instead he exploits the Greek imagery of a mother-city establishing colonies outside its border to describe the spread of Jewish communities throughout the Greco-Roman world.11 We know [5] from an incidental remark that he visited Jerusalem to join in religious observances in the Temple.12 It is quite likely that he maintained social and political connections with fellow Jews in Jerusalem.13

4.  Philo’s ‘A llegorical Thought-World’ But even if Philo and other members of the Jewish community in Alexandria did not regard themselves as living in exile, they were certainly aware that they had the status of a minority group in a society that had long been governed 9 

Flacc. 146–191. Note especially his description of the wider Jewish world at Flacc. 45–46. See further the analysis of Van Unnik (1993) 127–37. 11  Philo here adapts a long-standing apologetic theme in the Hellenistic world that formed part of the competitive culture wards. Hecataeus of Abdera had argued that Egypt sent out colonies all over the world as a way to claim that Egypt was the fount of civilization. (I owe this point to Greg Sterling). 12  Prov. 2.107. 13  In one text Philo interprets the prophecy of Moses in Deut 30:3–5 known as the ‘ingathering of the exiles’ as involving the future return of οἱ σπόραδες – those scattered throughout Greece and the barbarian world – back to their homeland (Praem. 165–166). This text with its undeniable eschatological overtones has been the subject of much discussion in recent years (including the study of Van Unnik cited above in n. 10). I agree with the careful analysis of the Israeli scholar Yehoshua Amir, who argues that, though this text represents a position that Philo can accept and as such should most definitely not be ignored, it is not representative of his usual understanding of the situation of the Jews in the Diaspora; see Amir (1983) 31–37. 10 

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and dominated by a Hellenized political and cultural elite. In the three centuries before Philo’s birth the Jews of Alexandria had adapted themselves well to this situation. It can be convincingly argued that openness to Hellenic culture was one of the defining characteristics of Alexandrian Judaism.14 These Jews spoke and wrote Greek, and to a considerable degree they also thought in Greek. The entire Hebrew Bible had been translated into the Greek language. A  body of literature had developed in which Jewish history and Jewish ideas had been remodelled in Hellenic terms. Philo’s extensive allegorical commentaries belong to this movement of cultural adaptation. He himself arrived relatively late on the scene, and could profit from a strong intellectual tradition – both exegetical and literary  – that is now almost entirely lost to us. During his lifetime this modus vivendi came increasingly under threat, as Roman imperial dominance destroyed the delicate political balance that existed between the city’s three main groups, Greeks, Jews and native Egyptians.15 Soon after Philo’s death the world of Hellenized Judaism in Alexandria was to disappear, just [6] like the cosmopolitan world of Alexandrian life evoked in the poems of Cavafy and the novels of Lawrence Durrell has disappeared in our lifetime. Because of the theme we have chosen, we will be concentrating on the allegorical treatises of Philo which comprise nearly half his writings. They form an intriguing but enormously sophisticated and complex whole. It is a ‘world of thought’ that one cannot plunge into without some form of introduction. I would like to introduce it by emphasizing the following four points. (1) Allegory in Philo is in the first place a form of textual hermeneutics. Its basis lies in the authoritative text of the Pentateuch of Five books of Moses (i. e. Philo’s Torah). The starting point is always the actual words of the text, whether these are names or concepts or numbers or whatever the case may be. Such words are related to or explained by means of other concepts or conceptual frameworks (ἀλληγορία literally means ‘other-speaking’). Such frameworks, it is claimed, reveal the deeper or underlying meaning of the text (ὑπόνοια). But even here, in Philo’s practice, the meaning can usually only be teased out by relating the words to other texts in which they also occur. The entire Pentateuch thus forms a complex network of meaning. When we examine the theme of flight and exile, we shall thus need to start with the exegesis of those biblical texts in which these notions occur. (2) Allegory, as we just saw, involved the relation and application of biblical words to other conceptual frameworks which are not immediately recognizable on the surface of the text. Such frameworks can be of various kinds. Philo is not very systematic in this area. Later divisions into the three-fold or four-fold meaning of the text are not found in his writings. He distinguishes between the 14  15 

As well stated by Sterling (1995). Well emphasized by Schwartz (2009) 19–31.

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literal and the figurative meaning of the text, and the latter is sometimes described as speaking φυσικῶς (‘naturally’ in the sense of ‘in conformity with the deeper underlying nature concealed within the text’) or ἠθικῶς (‘ethically’ in the sense of ‘pertaining to the character or behaviour of the human person or soul’). Although there is some physical or cosmological allegory in Philo, by far the majority of his allegorical explanations involve the nature and fate of the soul. We can subdivide these further into psychological, ethical and anagogic or mystical allegory, but we would then be more specific than Philo himself. The focus is fairly and squarely on the soul, its nature and its progress through life and beyond. Our theme thus centres on flight and exile as it pertains to the life of the soul. (3) Philo’s allegorical exegeses are not interpretations of single texts taken on their own. The thematics of a single text are situated within larger networks of allegorical interpretations which form complete allegorical [7] systems in their own right. Such systems, I would argue, exhibit a large measure of coherence, without being consistently applied in all details. What I mean by this is that the various details of the interpretations are rooted in larger conceptual frameworks. These are assumed rather than explicitly spelled out, chiefly because the starting point is always the concrete text being explained. In the working out of the details of the individual exegesis, the aim is never to achieve any kind of far-reaching consistency. This too is because the individual text (and other texts which it is connected with) is the focus of attention. When speaking of allegorical systems and conceptual frameworks, I  use the plural on purpose. We have to do here with one of the more controversial aspects of Philonic studies. It is plain that differing frameworks of interpretation which are often not fully consistent with each other lie behind Philo’s various allegorical interpretations. Why does he reveal such diversity? The most likely answer is that Philo is an inclusive thinker working within an established tradition. He builds on the results of previous allegorists and develops them further. What I would wish to emphasize is that Philo’s allegorical interpretations and the conceptual frameworks that they presume, together form what I would like to call an ‘allegorical thought-world,’ the term I have used in the title of this article. It is a like an autonomous world of its own that we can enter by reading and studying Philo’s allegorical treatises. In the same way that the trees in paradise as described in Gen 2, when allegorized, are not trees at all, but rather virtues, so the biblical characters in Philo’s thoughtworld are not primarily people, but souls and concepts. But before we can enter this fascinating ‘thought-world,’ there is one further aspect we should take into account. (4) In order to make my point, I want to draw an analogy that you may at first sight find a bit odd. My sons used to spend far too much time playing computer games. I  never played them myself, but from time to time I  did spend some fascinating hours watching them play. In such games the players are introduced

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into a virtual world, for example, the mysterious island called Myst.16 This world is created by the software designer, and is basically fixed, though always with an impressive number of features, for example mountains, caves, harbours, beaches. Within that world you can move around, discover things, confront dangers, eliminate enemies and so on. It is when you are doing this that you are playing a so-called ‘game’ (you can save such a game and continue where you left off after a quick break to do some homework, for example). One can thus make a distinction [8] between the artificial world in which the game is played and the game itself. It is a distinction between an established environment and a single performance. It seems to me that something similar goes on in Philo’s allegorical writings. An individual treatise, which gives exegesis of a particular biblical passage – it can sometime be a number of verses  – is rather like a performance. It works within the established conceptual frameworks of Philo’s allegorical thoughtworld. He identifies a number of themes to which the biblical text gives rise and then develops these through the course of the treatise. In so doing he draws the reader through those aspects of the allegorical thought-world that he considers necessary for the deeper understanding of the text. For example, in the treatise De fuga et inventione Philo starts, as we have already seen, by quoting the biblical text. He then states that the text discusses the subject of fugitives, and informs the reader that Moses speaks about such people on several occasions. There are three reasons for flight, hatred, fear, and shame. Examples of the first two can be found in the case of Jacob, who fled from his father-in-law Laban out of hatred and from his brother Esau out of fear. These examples are working out at great length in §§ 7–52 of the treatise. Much more is said about Jacob than the subject of the text to be given exegesis, the slave-girl Hagar. This is the performance that Philo chooses to give when he sets out explaining this text. We are thus led through the various connotations of the theme of flight which in actual fact extend well beyond the cited text. These aspects are illustrated by drawing on other features of Philo’s allegorical thought-world. This ‘performance aspect’ of Philo’s treatises, which the reader experiences by reading or listening to them, is one of the reasons that scholars compare them to sermons, even though formally they are presented as biblical commentaries. I should add that this feature of Philo’s allegorical writings confronted me with a dilemma when I was preparing this essay. From the point of view of method it is surely best to follow Philo on his own paths, i. e. to analyse various treatises or passages within them which focus on the theme of flight. The treatise with flight in its title is an obvious candidate for such analysis. Nevertheless I have chosen not to do this because it does not lend itself to presentation within the 16 

A prominent game in the late nineties when I prepared this article; for more information on the game see the extensive article ‘Myst’ in Wikipedia.

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confines of a scholarly essay. Instead I will give a broad systematically organized depiction of the theme of flight and exile as this is related to the allegorized biblical characters that inhabit Philo’s allegorical thought-world. In the process only a limited number of texts can be referred to. Many more could be adduced. If you want to gain acquaintance with Philo’s treatment in all its detail, there is no alternative [9] but to read his treatises, i. e. his allegorical performances, for yourself. This is something that is done far too little. I recommend it.

5.  Some Final Lexical and Semantic Preliminaries It has taken quite some time, but we now have almost all we need to tackle our subject. As has become clear from the previous remarks, our starting-point must be the same as Philo’s, the biblical text. The chief term for flight and exile in Greek, as we have already seen, is the noun φυγή, connected to the verb φεύγειν, ‘to flee,’ ‘run away from,’ ‘avoid.’ As it happens, the term φυγή is not found in the Pentateuch at all (although the later translator Aquila does use it in his version of the Hagar episode).17 The nouns φυγάς (‘exiled person’) and φυγαδευτήριον (‘place of refuge’) are used in connection with the cities of refuge in Exodus and Numbers.18 The verb is more common, with about twenty-five instances in the books of Moses. Philo can also connect the theme of flight and exile to other verbs such as ἐκβάλλειν (‘to expel’) and ἀποδιδράσκειν (‘to run away’). The latter verb is found in the Hagar story quoted at the outset of the essay (Gen 16:6). The relation to further terms such as ἀποδημία (‘journey abroad’ or ‘migration’) is more problematic, as we shall see directly. It is clear from this brief inventory that Philo has a basis in the biblical text which allows him to exploit the theme of flight and exile for allegorical purposes. Whether in so doing he gives it an importance that goes beyond what the biblical text warrants is something that will have to become clear in the course of our investigation. But before we begin, we cannot avoid taking a closer look at the term φυγή itself. It needs to be subjected to a brief semantic analysis. φυγή, as we saw, means in the first instance ‘flight.’ Essential to use of the term (let us be Wittgenstinians in our methodology) is the notion of fleeing from something. This can be meant in quite a weak sense. φυγή can simply mean ‘avoidance,’ as in the standard phrase of αἵρεσις καὶ φυγή, ‘choice and avoidance.’19 But such a weak usage of the term is not what we are discussing in this article. Flight generally involves an element of urgency or pressure. Even if flight is voluntary, in the sense that 17 

Hatch–Redpath (1897) 1440. Exod 23:27, Num 35:6–32; see Hatch–Redpath (1897) 1440. 19  Numerous examples in Philo; the two terms are used in conjunction at Cher. 30, Plant. 45, Mut. 153, Spec. 1.340, 4.108. 18 

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you flee from something [10] because you don’t like it or you think it is bad for you, there is still something that is driving you to take this action. Far more often flight is involuntary. It can be dictated by circumstances, such as when refugees have to flee from a war-zone. It can be the consequence of a deliberate act imposed upon a person, as in the case of banishment or expulsion. In the last case the result of the flight is exile, the second major meaning of φυγή. Someone who has suffered this fate is a φυγάς, an exile. There is, however, a further aspect of φυγή that is particularly relevant for Philo’s usage. Although φυγή always means ‘flight from,’ it can also entail ‘flight to’ something or someone. A famous example is the final words of the Enneads of Plotinus: the life of the gods and divine men is a φυγὴ μόνου πρὸς μόνον, a flight of the alone to the alone.20 The person who makes this flight is himself or herself a πρόσφυξ, a ‘refugee.’21 The word φυγή can on its own mean where one flees to, i. e. place of refuge, but examples are very rare.22 Compound words are better suited to this meaning, and especially the noun καταφυγή, ‘refuge.’ In German and Dutch the same effect is achieved with the words Zuflucht and toevlucht. If one is engaged in καταφεύγειν, one makes a successful flight, one reaches a place of refuge, a καταφυγή or a φυγαδευτήριον.23 This usage is fairly common in the LXX. The best example in the Pentateuch is the altar that Moses erects after defeating Amalek, which he gives the name Κύριός μου καταφυγή (the Lord is my place of refuge, Exod 17:15). Surprisingly Philo only refers to this text once and rather superficially at that (Mos. 1.219). But it fits in perfectly with an important aspect of his views on flight and exile, as we shall soon see.

6.  Flight and Exile as Exegetical Theme Let us now, then, review the biblical motifs which are relevant for the theme of flight and exile in Philo’s allegories. There will be ten in all. [11] (1) In the beginning. We must begin at the very beginning, when the cosmos was created and the first man was formed from the earth. Adam is created the perfect exemplar of manhood and virtue. He is a κοσμοπολίτης, a citizen of the world, that is to say, the cosmos is his polis city and patris fatherland (Opif. 142). Paradise should not be read literally, but interpreted as the garden of virtues (ἀρεταί) in the soul, with the tree of life symbolizing εὐσέβεια (piety) and the 20 

Enn. 6.9.11.51. word is rare, but Philo patently uses it in this sense, e. g. Plant. 63 and Her. 124, where it is used of the Levites and conjoined with ἱκέτις/ἱκέτης. It is not found in LXX. 22  See LSJ s. v. I 3. I have found no examples in Philo. 23  The second word is only found in the LXX and the tradition depending on it. Philo uses it with reference to Num 35:12 in Fug. 100 and Spec. 3.123 (this reference is missing in Borgen–Fuglseth–Skarsten [2000] 356). Remarkably he puts the word in Flaccus’ mouth when he bewails his place of banishment in Flacc. 159. 21  The

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tree of good and evil φρόνησις (practical wisdom) (§ 155). But when the creator saw the soul inclining to evil rather than good, it was banished from the garden with no hope of return (§ 156). In allegorical terms the incident of Adam, Eve, and the snake is explained in terms of the entrapment of the mind in the snares of pleasure, with a most distressing result:24 Nous (intellect) becomes a subject instead of a ruler, a slave instead of a master, an exile instead of a citizen, mortal instead of immortal. (Opif. 165)

This is a brief summary of the account of the banishment of Adam and Eve from paradise as given in Philo’s exegesis of the creation story in the De opificio mundi, a treatise in which allegorical interpretation is rather restricted.25 The dominant scheme is the presence of goodness or evil in the soul, goodness meaning here the exercise of virtue, with much emphasis placed on the specific virtue of piety. In the Legum allegoriae the story of Adam and Eve is told in much more detail. At the beginning of Book 3, Gen 3:8 is expounded: ‘And Adam and his wife hid themselves from the face of the Lord God in the middle of the wood of the paradise.’ Philo explains this text as follows: Moses introduces a doctrine teaching that the evil man is an exile. For if the city native to wise men is virtue, the person who is unable to partake of this virtue is driven away from the city of which he cannot partake. Therefore the bad person only has been driven away and exiled. But the exile from virtue has by being such immediately hidden himself from God. For if wise persons are revealed to God’s sight, because they are his friends, it is apparent that all bad persons hide away and disappear, as one would expect with those who are hostile and bear ill-will to right reason (ὀρθὸς λόγος). (Leg. 3.1)

The soul is here already an exile before the banishment from paradise takes place because the alienation from virtue has already occurred. But how can bad people be said to ‘hide themselves’ from God who is everywhere? The explanation can only be that the bad person has a wrong conception of [12] God, i. e. he thinks that God is in a place (§ 6). Where then does he try to hide? According to the text it is in the middle of the wood of the garden, that is in the centre of the intellect. This means that the person who runs away from God takes refuge (καταφεύγει) in himself, whereas he who flees (φεύγει) from his own mind, takes refuge in God, the divine mind (§ 29). (2) After the banishment from paradise. There is, therefore, an alternative for fleeing from virtue and from God. One can also flee back to him. But is this still possible for human beings who have been banished from paradise? We can compare two texts on this issue. At the beginning of De cherubim Philo 24 

Translations of Philonic texts are my own. If should be noted that formally this treatise falls outside the Allegorical Commentary. It does, however, give an allegorical interpretation of the story of Adam and Eve. 25 

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cites Gen 3:24, ‘And he [God] banished Adam and settled him over against the pleasure-garden …’ He then immediately goes on to say: Now he says ‘banished’ (ἐξέβαλε), whereas earlier (v. 23) he said ‘sent away’ (ἐξαπέστειλεν), not setting down words casually, but knowing their precise and appropriate application to the matters at hand. He who is sent away is not prevented from obtaining a return, but he who is banished by God endures exile forever. For him who is not yet firmly in the grip of evil it is given to repent and return to his fatherland virtue, from which he was thrown out. But the person who is oppressed and overwhelmed by that violent and incurable disease is thrown out into the place of the impious and must endure undying horrors for the rest of time … (Cher. 2)

We encounter here an allegorical sleight of hand.26 The text of course talks about the same person, but Philo, by focusing on exact expressions, can make a distinction which gives a ray of hope. One does not have to be banished forever from paradise. There may be a way back. A similar promise is held out in a later text, but here the two persons are distinct. At the beginning of De posteritate Caini the biblical text has moved on to Gen 4:16, ‘And Cain went out from the face of God and he settled in the land of Naid over against Eden.’ Philo comments: So Adam God drives out, whereas Cain goes out voluntarily. Moses is showing us the two kinds of moral failure, that which is voluntary and that which is involuntary. The involuntary act, because it is not the result of our own deliberate judgment, will later obtain the healing that can be achieved, ‘for God will raise up another seed instead of Abel, whom Cain killed (Gen 4:25),’ a masculine offspring for the soul whose failure did not come from itself, Seth … But the voluntary act, because it occurred with deliberation and forethought, will obtain everlasting and incurable doom. (Post. 10)

Strictly speaking, of course, this interpretation contradicts the previous one, because there banishment was permanent. But this is no problem for the flexible allegorist. Once again it is the distinction that counts. The fall of the [13] soul (or of all humankind) is not absolute. Through the birth of Seth there is hope of return from exile for the banished soul. Seth, we should note, is the distant ancestor of the Hebrews. (3) For a time evil prevails. But we should not move too fast. From the time of Cain until the Babel-builders it is evil that prevails. A righteous man in the eyes of the Lord such as Noah (Gen 6:8) is the exception. As we just saw, Cain goes out from the face of God. No greater punishment than this can be thought of, to be exiled from the ruler of the universe (Post. 9). Cain is the most potent symbol in Philo’s thought-world of the irremediably corrupt and wicked mind which asserts itself against God. In his footsteps follow the giants in Gen 6. Among them is Nimrod, whose name means ‘desertion,’ ‘going over to the enemy.’ Just as the wicked man (φαῦλος) is an exile without a home or city, so he is also a 26 

The same technique is used at Leg. 1.54.

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deserter (Gig. 67). The actions of the Babel-builders reveal that they stand in the lineage of Cain, succumbing to passions and wicked deeds (Conf. 21 ff.), exalting the human mind and exhibiting self-love (φιλαυτία, § 128). Their fate is to be ‘scattered’ (διέσπειρεν, Gen 11:8), that is to say: God puts them to flight, makes them invisible … As planter he wishes to sow goodness (καλοκἀγαθία) in the universe, but to disperse and drive out from the community of the cosmos the impiety that he loathes, so that the characters who hate virtue will cease building the city of wickedness and the tower of godlessness. (Conf. 196)

(4)  The first Patriarch. In Gen 12 the first of the Patriarchs of the Jewish people makes his appearance. Like Cain, Abraham also ‘goes out,’ but it is in the opposite direction. God commands him to go out from his land and his kinship and his father’s house to the land which He will show him (Gen 12:1). Philo’s initial interpretation in De migratione Abrahami is radical and appears at first to link up with our theme quite well: ‘land’ means ‘body,’ ‘kinship’ means ‘sense-perception,’ ‘father’s house’ means ‘spoken word’ (§ 7). These he must leave behind. The language used for the body is very strong: Depart, you here, from the earthly matter that surrounds you, escaping (ἐκφυγών) from that foulest prison, the body, and from its pleasures and desires that are like jailers with all your might and strength. (Migr. 9)

But here we confront a difficulty. Flight and exile are not the main themes that are used to describe Abraham’s journeyings. Abraham is the emigrant (μετανάστης) and sojourner or temporary resident (πάροικος) par excellence. He migrates from Chaldea to Haran and from Haran to the promised land. In the classic exegesis presented in Migr. 176–197 this is interpreted as leaving behind the doctrine of cosmic autonomy symbolized by the Chaldeans, [14] then examining the characteristics of the human self symbolized by Haran, and from there moving on to knowledge of God as the universal father and first cause. In one text Abraham as emigrant and exile are brought close together: Am I  not an emigrant (μετανάστης) from my fatherland? And am I  not an outcast from my kinship? Am I not alienated from my father’s house? Do not all people call me an excommunicate and exile, deserted and disenfranchised? But you, master, are my fatherland, you are my kinship, you my paternal hearth … (Her. 26)

In general, however, I believe it is better to separate these themes. An emigrant may feel separated from his native land. Perhaps he did not even wish to leave it behind. But there was a goal which he wished to reach by departing, and this goal lies before him, gives him a perspective. In the case of Abraham it was the promise that God set out before him. In one particular text (Cher. 121, not connected with Abraham) Philo distinguishes between three categories: (1) the true citizen, (2) the resident alien, and (3) the outcast or exile. The citizen in the true sense is God. All created beings have the status of resident aliens. The wise

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person is happy to claim this status, when compared with God. The exile is the fool, for him there is no place in the city of God. In the case of Hagar, Abraham’s concubine, sojourning and flight both play a role. Hagar’s name in fact means ‘sojourning’ (Congr. 20), and this is entirely apposite, for she stays temporarily with the married couple. But there is no doubt that she also flees, as we already saw at the beginning of the essay. In fact she flees twice. The first time, in Gen 16, she returns to her mistress. The second time she is banished for good (Gen 21:10). Philo explains this as follows (Cher. 4–10).27 Hagar symbolizes preliminary education (the ἐγκύκλιος παιδεία). In the case of her first stay, Abram and Saraï were not yet fully developed as mind and wisdom respectively. This meant that preliminary education could stay with them and even be of use to them (cf. also Congr. 22–24). But later, when they have become Abraham and Sarah, and they have reached perfection, there is no room for inferior learning. Hagar and her son Ishmael, symbolizing sophistry, are expelled for good. (5)  Isaac and Jacob. The second patriarch Isaac is never associated with migration or flight. In the Bible this does not happen, and in the allegory he represents spiritual perfection. Perfection of course never flees. It is exactly where it wants to be. Not so in the case of the third patriarch. Jacob is in [15] many respects the archetypal ‘man of flight.’ But in his case fleeing becomes a somewhat more positive activity, even though he is still ‘fleeing from’ more than ‘fleeing to.’ This is hardly surprising because Jacob is the ἀσκητής (practiser), symbolizing the soul progressing to perfection through practice and spiritual exercise. As we saw earlier, he flees twice, once from his brother Esau and later from his father-in-law Laban. In Fug. they are discussed at length in reverse order. Jacob flees from Laban because he detests what the latter represents, namely a materialistic world-view  – elsewhere associated with Egypt  – which fails to recognize the form and order imposed on creation by God (§§ 7–22). Because he is not yet Israel (he that sees God), he is unable to vanquish this view and so flees away from it (cf. Leg. 3.15). The flight from Esau, on the other hand, is on account of fear (§§ 23–52). Once again this is because he is en route, at the stage of the βίος πρακτικός (life of action) on his way to the more excellent state of the βίος θεωρητικός (the contemplative life). Even at this stage Esau, the wild man without a city, is a threat (cf. Fug. 39, Leg. 3.2). But ultimately Jacob will wrestle with the angel, obtains the name Israel because he does see God, and return to his fatherland. The final words of Book 1 of De somniis (in which Jacob’s dreams are interpreted) offers a lesson to the reader:28

27  28 

I simplify the complexities of the allegory here somewhat. Accepting Colson’s emendation to ἄλην.

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Why, then, you soul, do not become a pupil of the practiser … You too will be able also to return to your father’s house, fleeing away from that long and endless wandering in a foreign land. (Somn. 1.255–256)

(6) Joseph. For various reasons Jacob’s son, Joseph, is an ambivalent character in Philo’s allegories. Some things he does are admirable, such as fleeing away from passion in the form of Potiphar’s wife.29 He descends into Egypt, which in Philo’s allegories is always a negative symbol, representing the body. Joseph can thus be seen as the champion of bodily power. If he had reached perfection, he would have fled from Egypt, but this he did not do (Sobr. 13). (7) The exodus out of Egypt. Through the intervention of Joseph, as we all know, the children of Israel emigrate to Egypt and stay there for four hundred years. Philo does not, however, dwell on this connection. Rather, just like in the Pentateuch, he takes the book of Exodus as a kind of new beginning, a second round of exile and liberation. Philo’s allegorizing of the Exodus story is less systematic than his allegorization of Genesis. But here too the theme of flight and exile is prominent. I shall again indicate the main features, this time a little more compactly. [16] As in the case of Abraham, the Exodus could be seen as an emigration or departure than a flight in the strict sense. The Israelites had once taken refuge as suppliants in the land. They are strangers (ξένοι) who should be free to leave.30 But the Pharaoh, the mind that lords it over the realm of the body, has enslaved them against their will. Philo certainly regards the Exodus as a flight. For example Moses calls his second son Eliezer, which means ‘God is my helper.’ He then quotes Exod 18:4, ‘for the God of my father is my helper and delivered me from the hand of Pharaoh’ and then adds: But those who are still companions of the life of blood and sense-perception are attacked by the character who scatters all thoughts of piety, whose name is Pharaoh. It is impossible to flee from (ἐκφυγεῖν) his tyranny full of lawlessness and savagery, unless Eliezer is begotten in the soul and looks in hope to the help that only God the saviour can give. (Her. 60)

The crossing of the Red Sea is precisely the flight from the passions symbolized by the rush of the water (Leg. 3.172). The Israelites succeed, since for them the water freezes solid. The Egyptians, however, do not flee from the water, but, in the words of Exod 14:27, they flee ‘under the water,’ that is, they sink under the stream of passions and are submerged, throwing away the stability of virtue in exchange for the confusion of vice (Conf. 70). My final text on the Exodus is the most significant. Philo links the final words of the Song of Moses sung in celebration of the victory over Pharaoh and his hosts with theme of the trees in paradise: 29 

Leg. 3.240, with reference to Gen 39:12. Mos. 1.34, but without an allegorical perspective.

30 Cf.



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Moses, lamenting over those who had become emigrants from the garden of the virtues, prays to both the absolute power of God and his gracious and gentle powers that the people endowed with spiritual vision may be planted in the spot from where Adam the earthly mind was banished. For he says: ‘Lead them in and plant them on the mountain of your inheritance.’ (Exod 15:17).’ (Plant. 46)

The children of Israel and their leader Moses, in their flight from Egypt and their flight to God, are the antithesis of Adam, who had been banished from the garden of Eden. Through the grace of God the exile of humankind has been revoked.31 [17] (8) The election of the Levites. Of all the incidents in the account of the wandering of the Israelites through the desert, by far the most important for our theme is the election of the Levites as the tribe specially devoted to the service of God. The Levites represent those who leave family and possessions behind and become suppliants of God, taking refuge in him. To take one text out of many as an example: why are the Levites appointed as a ransom for Israel’s first-born (cf. Num 3:12–13)? Reason (λόγος) who has taken refuge with God (ὁ καταπεφευγὼς ἐπὶ θεόν) and become his suppliant, is named Levite. This reason God has taken from the middlemost and most sovereign part of the soul, that is to say claiming it and allotting it to himself, and adjudged it worthy of the part of the chief inheritance … Just as Jacob is found to be the inheritor of Esau’s birthright, so Reuben must yield to Levi, who achieves perfect virtue. The clearest proof of such perfection is that he has become a refuge-seeker (πρόσφυγα) with God, abandoning all dealings with created reality. (Sacr. 119–120)

Virtually every text that mentions the Levites emphasizes that they take refuge in God. There is in fact no direct warrant for this in the biblical text, where they are described as receiving an inheritance from God (esp. Deut 10:9). Philo is making an extrapolation from a special role that the Levites have in the Mosaic legislation, as we shall now see in the next theme. (9) The cities of refuge. In Fug. the theme of flight causes Philo to dwell at length on the theme of the six Levitic cities which are designated as ‘places of refuge’ (φευγαδευτήρια).32 The person who has committed involuntary homicide and is pursued by those bent on revenge can take refuge in these six cities until he obtains amnesty at the death of the high priest (cf. Num 36). This piece of legislation is fitting because the Levites themselves were homicides in their religious zeal during the incident of the Golden calf (cf. Sacr. 130). Philo’s allegorization of this theme is complex, but one aspect is particularly striking, the association of flight with life.33 The entire passage Fug. 53–86 plays with this 31  Note that ‘the people endowed with spiritual vision’ are not necessarily confined to the Jewish nation. On Philo’s characteristic blend of universalism and devotion to Jewish tradition see Birnbaum (1996), (2003). 32  On this term see above n. 23. 33  On the theme of the life and death of the soul in Philo see Zeller (1995).

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theme, as is only natural because the involuntary homicides first take life, but are themselves rescued from death by means of the refuge they find, whereas those who commit murder deliberately must themselves be put to death. In his allegorical explanation Philo links up the theme with the commitment of Israel to God in Deut 4:4: [18] ‘You that have attached yourselves to the Lord God, all of you are alive today.’ For only those who have taken refuge in God (πρόσφυγας again) and have become his suppliants does Moses recognize as living, regarding the others as corpses. To the former, as it appears, he testifies to their immortality through his addition of the words ‘you shall live today,’ ‘today’ representing the unlimited and endless entirety of time (αἰών) … (Fug. 56) And in another text he says (Deut 19:5), ‘Whoever flees there, shall also live.’ But is not life eternal taking refuge with Him who IS, whereas death is to flee away from him. (Fug. 78)

Refuge in God, the characteristic act of Levitic spirituality, thus brings not only life, but eternal life to the soul. (10) Expulsion from the Mosaic polity. I end with one final, less positive theme. It is part of Philo’s interpretation of the Mosaic legislation. In the Law certain groups of people are removed from membership of the holy congregation, the Mosaic πολιτεία, people such as eunuchs and prostitutes and soothsayers. This in fact amounts to more than exile or banishment. It is complete expulsion, for there is no way back. Allegorically Philo converts the theme into the banishment of various kinds of wrong thinking, as seen especially in the extensive treatment in Spec. 1.319–345. Let us end our lengthy overview with a text – the final words of the treatise De ebrietate – in which he subtly links this theme with that of paradise. The soul does not wish to grow the vine of Sodom (cf. Deut 32:32), which is barren of virtue and gladness, but rather,34 let us pray to the all-merciful God that he destroy this wild vine and decree everlasting banishment (φυγή) to the Eunuchs and all those who do not produce virtue, and that he instead of these plant in our souls the trees of right instruction and grant us noble and truly masculine fruits and reasonings that are capable of sowing fine actions and also of increasing our virtues, and are sufficient to hold together and preserve all that has affinity to a life of well-being (εὐδαιμονία) forever. (Ebr. 224)

Human well-being or felicity, which amounts to a return to paradise, will be achieved through good deeds and good thoughts, and, as we now recognize, this will take place when the soul returns to God and takes refuge in him.

34 

Final words paraphrased.



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7.  Analysis of a Complex Theme Although our survey of Philo’s exegetical use of the theme of exile and flight has been necessarily selective, we have been able to demonstrate that [19] it is a prominent and complex theme. It has also given us a good insight into the breadth and versatility of his allegorical thought-world. The various aspects we have studied show us how he uses a number of recurrent techniques – notably diaeresis, antithesis, and verbal and conceptual association – that allow him to construct complex structures of thinking. Further analysis shows that there are three main lines of thought. The first is exile from the city (or garden) of virtue. It is apparent, when Philo speaks of the fallen Adam or Cain as exile, that he is exploiting the Stoic theme that the sage is the true citizen, and that the bad man is an exile. In his philosophical treatise Quod omnis probus Philo makes much of this paradox, for which he – together with Cicero – is our chief source.35 The antithesis between the good person and the bad person is absolute. The former possesses all the virtues in his soul and carries out good deeds, the latter succumbs to pleasure, the passions and vice. The fall into wickedness is what constitutes exile from the city, or, in more biblical terms, banishment from the garden of virtues which is paradise. The philosophical metaphor of the cosmos as city, prominent in Philo’s interpretation of the creation account,36 is combined with the plant imagery which occurs so frequently in the Bible, in the story of the garden of Eden, for example, but also in the Song of Moses and in the Psalms.37 It is a stark antithesis, too stark to be exegetically valuable for very long. As soon as there is spiritual progress, as in the case of the προκόπτων (the ‘advancer’ in Stoic ethics), the antithesis is undermined and there is a chance that the exile may recover his citizenship. The theme of the city is also relevant to Philo’s conception of the Mosaic politeia,38 from which certain classes of wrong thinking are expelled. The city of true thinking and virtuous living is Israel in the spiritual sense, the ὁρατικοί, the visionary people who are orientated towards God. The second line of thought is more complicated. It can be given the title flight from here to the higher realm. As soon as we can speak of spiritual [20] progress, the notion of flight becomes double-sided: flight from and flight to. The very formulation that I  have used for this line of thought betrays the influence of Platonic philosophy. As we saw earlier, in Fug. Philo quotes verbatim the famous words from the Theatetus: 35 Esp. Prob. 6–8; cf. SVF 3.677–681 (chiefly Philonic texts), Cicero Parad. 18, 27–32, Tusc. 5.105–109. 36  On the image and its source in Greek philosophy see Runia (1986) 168. 37  On these motifs see especially Harl (1962); see also the comments of Monique Alexandre in her note at PAPM 16 (1967) 239. 38  On the theme of the Mosaic politeia in Philo see now Carlier (2008).

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Therefore we should flee from here to there as fast as we can. This flight is becoming like unto God to the extent possible. (176a8–b1)

The soul must flee from its rootedness in earthly existence and its attachment to the body, and seek to flee to the higher realm of the heavens and the mind. In its purest Platonic form we find this conception in the following text: Other souls, recognizing that mortal life is a lot of nonsense, call the body a jail and a tomb and, fleeing as though from a prison or a grave, they are lifted up on light wings towards the ether and circulate there on high for ever. (Somn. 1.139)

But this text is somewhat deceptive. It is taken from an account of the transmigration of souls which is no doubt based on a Middle Platonist handbook, and cannot be considered representative for Philonic thought.38a Flight from the body certainly is strongly present in the allegories. Egypt symbolizes the body, and it is out of Egypt that the Exodus takes place. The theme should not be understood only in cosmological terms. Jacob’s flight from Laban is a flight from materialistic thinking. The quest for virtue and perfection can also be cast in terms of flight from the passions caused by interaction with the body, as in the case of the wildness of Esau that Jacob flees from. The problem lies more in what the soul flees to. In the Platonic schema it is the divine heavenly realm where privileged souls dwell, as in the final chapter of Plutarch’s treatise on exile (Mor. 607E). Metaphorically speaking, these souls can be located in the incorporeal realm, since that is the object of their contemplation. For Philo, however, heaven is only divine at most in a derivative sense.39 As we have seen, the soul flees – almost always – beyond the heavens to God. God can be described as the creator or the ruler of the universe (cf. Post. 9 cited above), or as Being (τὸ ὄν). At the same time, however, he is unquestionably the God of Israel. The paradigm for ascending beyond the heavens and the universe to God is Abraham. The first patriarch, as we saw, is the archetypal emigrant [21] and sojourner (πάροικος). The great Philonic scholar Valentin Nikiprowetzky convincingly argued that the theme of migration was the central theme in Philo’s thought:40 Migration is the spiritual itinerary which is followed by the soul of the wise individual or by the consecrated people in its entirety, from the flesh to the spirit, from the material world with its darkness and passions, to the light of the intelligible world, from slavery in Egypt to freedom in Canaan, land of virtue or city of God.

As I indicated earlier, I am hesitant to identify migration and flight completely. It seems to me that flight involves greater urgency, a stronger pressure of circum38a  [The discussion of this text must be revisited in light of the research on the theme of reincarnation in Philo by S. Yli-Karjanmaa. See article 8 in this collection.] 39  See now my analysis in Runia (2011) 13–33, esp. 20–31 = article 17 in this collection. 40  Nikiprowetzky (1977) 239 (my translation). In Nikiprowetzky’s view the theme is inspired by Plato’s text in Tht. 176a–b (ibid.).



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stances. The separation and alienation that it assumes is more profound. This is particularly the case when flight and exile are the result of explusion. The problem of the relation between migration and flight does not become any easier if the context in the history of ideas is taken into account. Philo’s use of the theme of migration is certainly indebted to allegorical interpretations of Homer’s Odyssey in terms of Platonic philosophy. Odysseus the wanderer is buffeted by the storms and tribulations of earthly and bodily reality until he finds his way to his fatherland, the heavenly and spiritual realm. We do not have an explicit reference to such an allegory until much later (Numenius, as reported by Porphyry). But Philo gives unambiguous evidence that it already existed earlier, when he tells his reader that he should41 steer clear ‘of smoke and wave’ (Od. 12.219) and run away from the ridiculous pursuits of mortal life as from that terrifying Charybdis, not touching it even with the tip of your toe. (Somn. 2.70)

Here we see Homeric allegory combined with the Platonic theme of flight. The question that remains is whether there was any use of the theme of flight as exile in the tradition of Homeric interpretation that was at all similar to the theme of expulsion from paradise in the tradition of biblical interpretation. This may rightly be doubted. After all, Odysseus is not forced to leave Ithaca but departs voluntarily. [22] One central line of thought remains, but it will hardly come as a surprise. It may be entitled flight as taking refuge in God. Ultimately flight in Philo’s allegories is not just negative, but also – and perhaps primarily – positive. The final goal of the soul is to take or find refuge in God. Here the dominant conception is biblical and Jewish. For the soul, flight has its pendant not just in a return, that is return to paradise from which it was banished, but also in a finding. This, we recall, was the double title of Philo’s treatise, which, as we suggested at the beginning of our article, a non-Jewish reader might have found hard to decipher. Philo is in fact advocating a Levitic spirituality.42 The Levites have been chosen by God and they respond by dedicating themselves to him entirely. How is such refuge in God attained? Not just through virtue and good living, though that is certainly a requisite. Also not just through piety in the primarily religious sense of loving and worshipping the Lord. It is characteristic for Philo that there is an extra, philosophical dimension. Piety also involves right thinking about the relation between human beings and God. Humanity must understand its own 41  On this text and the link to Numenius fr. 60 (= Porphyry De antro 6) see Lamberton (1986) 53. [For Philo’s use of quotations from Homer see now Roskam (2017), but he says little on this specific text except that it is an example of ‘general phrases that had taken on a proverbial character’ (p. 21).] 42  See the magnificent treatment of this theme by Harl in her Introduction to PAPM 15 on Quis Heres, (1966) 130–150.

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nothingness (οὐδένεια) over against its creator.42a The Levites recognize this gulf between creator and creature and have chosen to dedicate themselves entirely to God. It is a matter of life and death, as Philo can show by making the link to the theme of the Levitic cities of refuge. Taking refuge in God means salvation, flight from him means separation, alienation, death. This is an authentically biblical and Jewish voice.

8.  Philo, Jew and Hellene I end with some concluding words. The first and easiest conclusion is that the exploration of the theme of flight in Philo’s allegorical thought-world leads the reader into the very centre of his thought. But it would seem that that the theme is no less complex than the thought-world in which it is located. We may be tempted to conclude that, in the final analysis, Judaism triumphs over Hellenism in Philo’s thought. The Levitic spirituality that I have just outlined is genuinely Jewish: it belongs to the biblical tradition as it is worked out in both Jewish and Christian thought. Philo’s ideal is perhaps best seen in the community of the Therapeutae, a group of Jewish ascetics living just outside ­A lexandria, who spend their days engaged in [23] spiritual contemplation. Their name, from the verb θεραπεύειν, indicates that they are both worshippers of God and healers of the soul (Contempl. 2). Nevertheless, if this certainly is Judaism, it is Judaism of a particular kind, differing from other Judaisms, contemporary and subsequent. Israel for Philo – in his standard, though dubious etymology – is ‘he who sees God.’43 This seems to be about the individual, but it can also be taken in a wider sense. As stressed by Nikiprowetzky in the passage I  quoted earlier,44 at its widest it represents the collective body that is the Jewish nation. There are moments when Philo is not without a form of eschatological hope. There may come a day when Israel leads the way to peace and felicity in the world. There may even come a day on which the ‘ingathering of the exiles’ takes place, when Jews scattered throughout the world will return to their homeland.45 But I would argue with some insistence that this is not the main thrust of Philo’s thought, and certainly not of his allegories. We should note here a peculiar and somewhat paradoxical characteristic of the allegorical process of interpretation. The whole idea of allegory is to make the text directly relevant to the reader. It is not primarily about those ancient 42a  [The theme of ‘nothingness’ (οὐδένεια) has been strongly emphasized by C. Lévy in recent articles; see (2016), (2018).] 43  See above n. 31. 44  See text above to n. 40. 45  See n. 13 on exegesis Deut 30:3–5.

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patriarchs, it bears directly on the soul of someone living in contemporary Alexandria. But what happens is that, because the interpretation has become profoundly ahistorical, it also causes the text to become less concrete for the actual situation of Jews in Alexandria. The prime thrust of allegory lies in the area of character and thought. Eschatology gives way to spirituality. If the allegorical interpretation yields the deeper significance, as is Philo’s conviction, then this is the level that counts most. To conclude, in Philo’s Judaism obedience to the Law and eschatology (the fate of the Jewish nation) are not the determinative components, but rather a contemplative spirituality which aims at ultimately gaining knowledge of God. God is conceived as belonging to the intelligible realm, or at least to be approached via that realm (ultimately, Philo emphasizes, God’s essence is beyond human knowledge). Exile and separation from God can be undone through flight from evil and flight to God. The terms in which this itinerary are cast, with the emphasis on the soul, the role of virtue and contemplation, belong – as we have seen – to Hellenic thought and are inspired by philosophy, particularly by Platonism. My position can be stated as follows. There are two poles in Philo’s thought, his Judaism and his Hellenism. In the final analysis it is impossible to privilege one of them at the expense of the other. Allow me to use once [24] again the image of the ellipse to illustrate this as seen in the following diagram:46 C A

HELLENISM JUDAISM

B

We see how the path of Philo’s thought that can be traced out is always connected to the two main poles of Hellenism and Judaism. The diagram illustrates various situations. Even when you are far away from Hellenism on the Jewish side (as is the case in A), the connection with Hellenism is still there. The same also applies in the case of Judaism when you are on the side of Hellenism (as in C). And very often the two poles contribute in roughly equal measure (as in B). I would argue that it is precisely this double aspect of Philo’s thought – his Judaism in the biblical tradition and his Hellenism in the tradition of Greek philosophy  – that makes him such a fascinating object of study. It has been 46 

Reproduced from Runia (1993b) 130.

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well illustrated in the specific case of the theme of flight and exile, both in his allegorical thought-world, and also in the broader context of his situation as a Jew in a world in which Hellenism was the dominant cultural force.

13.  Dogma and Doxa in the Allegorical Writings of Philo of Alexandria 1. Introduction Two years ago I published an article on Philo’s knowledge and use of the Greek doxographical tradition in the excellent collection of studies on Philo and postAristotelian philosophy edited by Francesca Alesse.1 In that article I  showed that the learned Alexandrian presents us with important evidence on the development of the tradition during the first centuries before and after the common era and that he makes extensive and creative use of it in his various kinds of writings. The present article represents a further examination of some themes related to this area of research.2 In the first part I shall look a little more closely at the terminology Philo uses, and in particular at the two terms dogma and doxa which he uses most often to refer not only to specifically doxographical material but also to philosophical and religious positions in general. I  then look more closely at the creative way that he makes use of this terminology in his exegesis, and particularly in his allegorical interpretation of biblical figures. In the next section I reach some conclusions on what Philo is doing in these texts and how his approach differs significantly from what Greek authors do in comparable texts. Finally I note that Philo’s innovations are not without interest for the history of ideas.3 [114]

2.  Dogma and Doxa The two terms δόγμα and δόξα occur frequently in Philo’s writings. In the Philo Index of Borgen, Fuglseth and Skarsten the former is recorded 161 times and the latter 256 times.4 For the term dogma this represents a much greater frequency 1  Runia (2008a) = article 7, also reprinted earlier in Mansfeld–Runia (2010). See the introductory note to that article above. 2  In particular it develops ideas briefly adumbrated in (2008a) 46–47. 3  To my knowledge the use of the terms dogma and doxa in Philo’s allegorical exegesis has not been researched. Note, however, the discussion of Philo’s understanding of the ‘mixed doxa’ associated with Joseph in Lévy (1992) 275–283. Some brief remarks on Philo’s use of dogma as a prelude to Origen are given in O’Cleirigh (1980) 208. 4  Borgen–Fuglseth–Skarsten (2000) 94–95.

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of usage that we find in earlier Greek philosophical authors such as Plato and Aristotle.5 Doxa of course is a central term in Greek philosophy from the fifth century BCE onwards and is extremely common in most philosophical authors. The terms are not easy to distinguish in meaning. Both nouns are linked to the verb δοκ-εῖν, to appear or seem (to someone).6 Etymologically δόγμα is the easier to explain. It has received the suffix -μα added to the root, indicating ‘the result of the action’,7 i. e. ‘the result of it seeming to a person or a body of people,’ thus ‘belief,’ but also ‘decision’ and, when made publicly binding, ‘decree’.8 The word δόξα with its unusual –ᾰ suffix is more of a puzzle for philologists and in his recently published Greek etymological dictionary Beekes even suggests that ‘the word could be Pre-Greek’.9 But the connection with the root δοκ- is clear and the original nominal formation would seem to have the meaning ‘(something) seeming or appearing (to someone),’ i. e. ‘view,’ ‘belief,’ ‘opinion’.10 In Plato and Aristotle there are texts which show that the two terms can be used as complete synonyms with the meaning ‘belief ’ or ‘view’; see Rep. 412e6–8, Top. 1.2 101a32– 33. But other uses of the terms diverge. For example dogma is not usually used in contrast to ‘truth’ or ‘being’ in the manner initiated for doxa by Parmenides.11 As a generalization one can say that dogma, in emphasizing result rather than the action itself, has a firmer connotation than doxa, i. e. ‘belief ’ heading towards ‘conviction.’ The public use of dogma as ‘decree’ or ‘ordinance’ is not found for doxa, but the latter has meanings derived from appearance, such as ‘reputation’ and ‘glory,’ that are missing in the former. When beliefs become firm and are recognized as such, the meaning goes [115] in the direction of ‘doctrine’,12 but we should certainly avoid translating dogma as ‘dogma,’ which – as we shall see – results from later developments that the term will undergo. The difficulty when we try to render both terms in English is that, as the etymology shows, they relate primarily to the action of the verb as experienced by the subject so that 5 

It occurs 33 times in Plato and only 7 times in the authentic works of Aristotle. of the link is very clear, in the case of δόξα, in the following texts: Euripides Orestes, 235–236, μάλιστα· δόξαν γὰρ τόδ᾿ ὑγιείας ἔχει. κρεῖσσον δὲ τὸ δοκεῖν, κἂν ἀληθείας ἀπῇ; Bacchae 311, μηδ᾿, ἢν δοκῇς μέν, ἡ δὲ δόξα σου νοσῇ (I owe these texts to Jaap Mansfeld). For the link in the case of δόγμα, cf. Plato Rep. 413c and numerous texts in Sextus Empiricus. 7  ‘Das Ergebnis der Handlung’ according to Kühner–Blass (1890–1904) 1.2.272 in discussing this category of Greek nouns. 8  See LSJ s. v.; Kittel in Kittel–Bromiley (1964–76) 2.230–232; Fascher (1959) 1. 9  Beekes (2009) 348. In Chantraine (1968–80) 1.291 it is stated that the noun’s origin is ‘obscure’ (though of course clearly related to δοκέω) and suggested that there is formally a relation to nouns such as πεῖσα, κνῖσα and δίψα. But the role of the sigma remains unclear. 10  See LSJ s. v.; Kittel in Kittel–Bromiley (1964–76) 2.233–237. 11  See esp. fr. B1.30, 8.51 D.‑K.; but note also the use of the verb δοκέω in Xenophanes B14.1, Heraclitus B27. The term δόγμα is not found in any preserved texts of the Presocratics. 12  Derived of course from the Latin doctrina>doceo, which though etymologically related to δοκέω has the meaning of ‘teaching’ and so strictly speaking is equivalent to δίδαγμα rather than δόγμα. Philo uses the two terms together at Leg. 3.194, μαθὼν παρὰ Μωυσέως δίδαγμα καὶ δόγμα ἀναγκαῖον. 6  Awareness

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the cognitive aspect is only secondary. In addition the root δοκ- itself derives from the primary δεκ- as in δέχομαι, ‘to receive’,13 which further accentuates the passive element. Yet it is virtually impossible to avoid using cognitive terms when translating them. Returning to Philo, we should first emphasize that the two terms are used in an enormous variety of contexts and that their exact meaning is generally determined by the context in which they occur.14 So, for example, in the philosophical treatise De aeternitate mundi both terms are used to indicate philosophical views or opinions: doxa at Aet. 7, 12, dogma at 17, 55, 76–77. Quite different is the use of dogma (not doxa) in the Exposition of the Law to indicate the teachings and ordinances of the Torah: Spec. 1.345, 2.63, 4.140, 149, Virt. 99.15 In what follows our focus will be on how the two terms are used to indicate philosophical or religious beliefs or doctrines. Other aspects of their use that are not in some way related to this meaning will have to be set aside. First we note a number of texts, mainly from the Allegorical Commentary, where it would appear that, following the example of Plato and Aristotle noted above, Philo is using the two terms virtually as synonyms.16 (1) Leg. 3.20: ‘Why did you run away secretly’ (Gen 31:26), but did not remain in the enjoyment of the body and the dogma that gives a positive evaluation to bodily and external goods? But in addition to fleeing from this doxa, you also carried off my thinking as booty … (2) Sacr. 3: Now both these doxai are carried in the same womb. But when they are brought to birth, they must necessarily be separated, for it is impossible [116] for enemies to live together right to the end. So as long as the soul had not given birth to the God-loving dogma Abel, the self-loving dogma Cain continued to reside in her … (3) Sacr. 5: So when God added the good dogma Abel, he removed the absurd doxa Cain. (4) Det. 6–7: He has made use of a dogma woven together from differing elements, very multi-coloured and convoluted. For this reason the lawgiver says (Gen 37:3) that a coat of many colours was made for him, indicating that he is the introducer of a doxa that is labyrinthine and difficult to disentangle … 13 

See Beekes (2009) 345. As emphasized by Fascher (1959) 4–6, who gives a broad but far from complete survey of texts in which Philo uses the term dogma; see also Leisegang (1926–30) 197–198 (no analysis). For Philo’s use of doxa see the brief words of Kittel in Kittel–Bromiley (1964–76) 2.234 and the detailed listing in Leisegang (1926–30) 199–200 analysed under the headings I opinio, II gloria, III potentia et splendida majestas divina. 15  See the discussion on this use of dogma in Cohen (1995) 191–195; but in her treatment she underestimates the connotation of ‘belief ’ or ‘doctrine’ in Philo’s use of the term, particularly when she argues that the Christian conceptualization (compared with Philo) underwent a transformation ‘from a directive respecting ‘doing’ to one respecting ‘believing’’ (195). 16  All translations from the Greek are my own unless otherwise indicated. Note also the texts in Aet. cited above, where both terms mean ‘philosophical opinion.’ The allegorical context is not given, because it is not relevant to the point being made. Some of these texts will be further discussed below. 14 

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(5) Det. 32: We should now answer the question as to which subjects they were investigating when they went forward. Surely it is clear that they are investigating opposite and conflicting doxai. For Abel who refers all things to God is a God-loving dogma, but Cain who refers all things to himself is a self-loving dogma. (6) Post. 38: You must pay attention to Cain both for other reasons and especially because he demonstrated the power of his dogma with clear actions, when he defeated the introducer of the opposing doxa Abel and destroyed both him and his doxa utterly. (7) Migr. 152: This mixed lot, if the truth is to be said, is the beast-like and irrational dogmata of the soul. Most excellently and appropriately he [Moses] calls the soul of the bad person a mixed lot, for it is gathered and brought together and is truly a medley composed of multiple and conflicting doxai … (8) Congr. 54: The bad persons also admit doxai and dogmata in the form of servant girls. (9) Prob. 3: All true devotees of philosophy have risen above the doxai of the herd and opened up another path of logoi and dogmata that is closed to ordinary people …

In texts 1, 2, 4, 5, 7 and 8 the two terms must be used synonymously. In the case of the remaining three one might be tempted to distinguish between dogma as ‘approved doctrine’ and doxa as ‘wayward opinion’,17 but then it makes little sense that in (3) and (5) the positions of Abel and Cain are reversed. We conclude that in many cases in Philo’s writings both terms have basically the same meaning, i. e. ‘opinion,’ ‘belief,’ ‘line of thinking.’ [117] Nevertheless, analysis of a great number of Philonic texts shows that there are subtle differences in usage. In general dogma has a more positive resonance. Texts in which it is qualified by a negative term are rare,18 whereas there are numerous cases when it is qualified by positive adjectives such as ἅγιος (Sacr. 77), ἀληθής (Leg. 3.229), ἀίδιος (Spec. 4.141) and so on. In the plural it is often conjoined with terms such as θεωρήματα and λόγοι referring to philosophical or scriptural doctrines.19 A clue to this positive use, in which ‘belief ’ tends towards ‘accepted belief,’ ‘conviction’ or even ‘doctrine,’ is furnished by the sceptical philosopher Sextus Empiricus. In the introductory part of his Outlines of Pyrrhonism he has a section entitled ‘Does the sceptic hold beliefs (δογματίζει),’ in which he writes (1.13):20 17  Cf. Fascher (1959) 5: ‘Den Unterschied von verbindlichem Lehrsatz (δόγμα) und persönlicher Ansicht (δόξα) erweist Kains Sieg über Abel (post. Caini 38).’ This interpretation is not convincing. 18  Βut note ἀπεριμάχητον καὶ ἀνωφελὲς Opif. 11, ἔκφυλον Deus 60, ἀδόκιμα Conf. 34, ἀνόσια Conf. 35, νόθα Congr. 36. 19  With δόγματα at Det. 66; Post. 130; Plant. 52; Abr. 220; Spec. 4.75 etc.; with λόγοι at Plant. 62; Abr. 101; Spec. 3.1; QG 2.41; but note that at Mos. 2.212 the reference is negative, the δόγματα καὶ λόγοι being used by λογοθῆραι and σοφισταί who ‘do not blush to use philosophy against philosophy’. 20  Philo himself exploits this sceptical terminology in Ebr. 198, a text based on the ten sceptical modes of Aenesidemus. On the gradual shift of meaning of the term dogma from a



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When we say that the sceptic does not hold beliefs (δογματίζειν), we do not take ‘belief ’ (δόγμα) in the sense that some say, quite generally, that belief is acquiescing in something … Rather, we say that he does not hold beliefs in the sense in which some say that belief is assent to some objects of investigation in the sciences that are unclear.21

The reference to other philosophers is rather vague (they are not necessarily Stoics or Platonists), but the text does show how the term dogma was being used to indicate accepted or recognized views in the domain of science and of knowledge in general.22 Philo’s use of the term doxa, in contrast, is more often negatively marked. Many texts, often in a theological context, make use of the Platonic distinction between (true) being and (less true or false) doxa. Exod 3:14 indicates, we read in Det. 160, that only God exists, and that all others that come after him exist in doxa (semblance or opinion) only. See also Det. 6–7, Migr. 183, Somn. 1.73, Abr.123, Praem. 28–29 etc. Only rarely does Philo, again following Plato, speak of ‘true opinion’: Leg. 3.7 (ἡ ἀληθὴς περὶ θεοῦ δόξα), Sobr. 67, Fug. 19,23 [118] Spec. 1.313, Aet. 47.24 Much more often he speaks of ‘false doxa’ or the ‘doxa of the masses’ contrasted with the truth: Post. 52, Gig. 15, Ebr. 163, Her. 71, Mos. 1.62, Spec. 1.28, Virt. 215 etc. In addition Philo is very fond of the phrase and the concept of ‘empty opinion’ or ‘vainglory’ (κενὴ δόξα), using it more than forty times in his extant writings: Agr. 56, Ebr. 36, 39, Migr. 19, Somn. 2.48–62, Spec. 1.27, Virt. 7, Prob. 66 etc. A phrase apparently introduced by Epicurus to portray misguided opinions on superfluous and unnecessary luxuries,25 Philo takes it over and also uses it in a broader sense as characteristic of the attitude of mind that is puffed up with pride and self-importance and aspires to a lifestyle of ostentation and excess. Its use is unremittingly negative and forms a link with neutral sense (belief ) to a more positive sense (firm conviction) by the second century CE see Tarrant (1985) 25–29, Opsomer (1998) 12. 21  Translation Annas–Barnes (1994) 6 (modified). 22 Elze (1972) 277 suggests the Stoa may have been responsible for this development, but the evidence is slight. The text in Clem. Alex. Str. 8.16.2 (= SVF 2.121) which he adduces does not mention the Stoa specifically. But dogma is commonly used by Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius to refer to firmly held philosophical views, e. g. on theology and ethics. These texts suggest increased usage in the first and second centuries CE, i. e. from the time of Philo. 23  The LCL translation of Whitaker translates ‘real glory,’ but the phrase ‘not to be distinguished from knowledge’ surely indicates that the mean here is ‘true opinion’. 24  QE 2.107, giving exegesis of Exod 28:2 (εἰς δόξαν καὶ τιμήν) states: ‘But doxa, as the statement of the ancients declares, is false cognition (ψευδὴς ὑπόληψις) and insecure appearance (δόκησις ἀβέβαιος). But if doxa is mixed with truth, it becomes true cognition, being converted to dignity.’ Only the first sentence is preserved in Greek. In the second sentence a retranslation to ἀληθὴς ὑπόληψις should be preferred above ἀληθὴς δόξα (Marcus in his note to the Loeb translation gives both as possibilities). 25  See esp. Somn. 2.47–48, where the reference to ‘barley cake and spring water’ is clearly Epicurean, as Wendland notes ad loc. in the editio maior, referring to Usener (1887) fr. 602. See also Ep. Pyth. 90, Sent. 15, 29, and the comment at Winston–Dillon (1983) 254.

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the many texts in which doxa means ‘reputation’ or ‘glory,’ which in Philo’s view should never be given a higher priority than the pursuit of excellence (ἀρετή) or the quest to draw near to God.26

3.  Dogma and Doxa as Directions of Thought in Philo’s Allegories Against the terminological background that has just been sketched, I shall now examine how Philo closely links these two terms doxa and dogma to biblical characters who thus come to represent or be identified with directions of thought in his allegorical exegesis. Most of the texts that we shall examine are located in his great Allegorical Commentary on Genesis, which also makes frequent reference to figures from the other four books of the Pentateuch, but some are also found in those passages of the Exposition of the Law which give a symbolical or allegorical interpretation of the Patriarchs and the injunctions of the Torah.27 In the following discussion I will regard doxa and dogma as functionally equivalent, wherever possible translating the former as ‘belief ’ and the latter as ‘conviction.’ The exegetical figures and themes will be dealt with in the order that they occur in the Bible. (1) Cain and Abel. When the first woman Eve is recorded as giving birth first to Cain and then to Abel (Gen 4:1–2), the text means that a single soul has two beliefs in her womb, beliefs that are opposed and hostile to each other. Abel represents the [119] God-loving conviction (τὸ φιλόθεον δόγμα) which recognizes God as the cause of reality and goodness, Cain the conviction that loves itself (τὸ φίλαυτον) and looks to the human mind as cause (Sacr. 2–3, 5). So when Cain says to Abel, ‘let us make our way to the plain’ (Gen 4:8), this refers to a contest between the two conflicting beliefs (Det. 32). When Cain appears to destroy the conviction most dear to God, he is in fact destroying himself (Det. 50), whereas the God-loving belief lives with God (Det. 78). Cain and his progeny are in fact a symbol for an impious and atheistic belief (Post. 42). And the wife that he is said to know (Gen 4:17) is the belief (doxa as a feminine noun) of an impious reasoning, which can be identified with the belief that the human mind is the measure of all things. Indeed the ancient sophist called Protagoras can be reckoned to be an offspring of Cain’s folly (Post. 34–35) because he held this view. This is the only time that Philo mentions Protagoras in his extant writings, but interestingly his view is repeated in a complex doxography recording the 26 Cf. Det. 33, 136, Gig. 36–37, Ebr. 75, Migr. 172, Abr. 264 etc. In Leg. 2.107 it is associated with hedonism. At Leg. 3.86 he adopts a milder approach, stating that ‘good reputation’ (doxa) can be regarded catachrestically as a good. 27  On the organization of Philo’s exegetical writings see now Royse (2009).



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‘dogmatic wranglings’ of sophists (in this text a pejorative appellation for philosophers) (Her. 246).28 (2) Cain’s city and the Tower of Babel. When Cain is recorded as building a city (Gen 4:17), this might seem absurd if taken literally. It is better to allegorize this text as meaning that Cain resolved to establish his own conviction or belief (Post. 51, 65). The city’s buildings are demonstrative arguments, which he uses to repel the attacks of his adversaries. Its inhabitants are companions of false belief, seeming to be wise but actually ignorant of true wisdom, propagating impiety, atheism, love of the self and arrogance. Of such a city every impious person is an architect. Indeed the impious build not just a city but a tower reaching to heaven (Gen 11:4), until God throws their sophistic techniques into confusion (Post. 52–53). Piling their dialectical proofs one upon another,29 they construct their disreputable conviction (δόγμα ἀδόκιμον) upwards like a tower, declaring that only what is visible exists, that it is ungenerated and indestructible, and that it is lacking any supervisor, skipper or governor (Somn. 2.283–284). Philo’s summary of their position is that it is essentially materialistic and atheistic. It is closest perhaps to the philosophy of Epicureanism, but clearly there is no attempt to give an exact doxography. (3) The Chaldeans and the emigrant Abraham. The Patriarch Abraham grew up in the land of the Chaldeans, but emigrated from there to the promised land (Gen 12). Philo consistently portrays this move as a migration from the Chaldean belief or conviction to the one that recognizes God as the one true God and creator of the universe: see Gig. 62, Migr. 178–184, Her. 289, Mut. 16, Abr. 70, 77, 82, Virt. 214. In his longest description, found in the text in Migr., Philo emphasizes their skill in astrology and the casting of nativities. They have established a harmony between heaven and earth, imagining that the phenomenal cosmos is either god itself or contains an immanent god in the form of its soul. He also adds that they have divinized fate and necessity, which entails that there is no transcendent cause outside phenomenal reality. In the summary at Abr. [120] 69 there is an additional comment on the influence of numbers and numerical proportions on events in the cosmos. In Virt. 214 he associates the Chaldeans with ‘the polytheistic belief,’ presumably because the divinity of the cosmos (or its soul) implies the divinity of other beings such as stars and demons. It is noteworthy that when Philo evaluates the Chaldean doxa, he concludes that it is only in partial opposition to the teachings of Moses. The lawgiver basically agrees with the view of cosmic sympathy because it coheres with his views on the unity and createdness of the cosmos. It is with their belief in the area of theology that he disagrees (Migr. 180). If this evaluation is compared with 28  On this important text (the first recorded use, together with QE fr. 5 Petit, of the sceptical term διαφωνία) see Mansfeld (1988) 91; Runia (2008a) 32. 29  The term here is ἐπιχείρηματα, which means ‘building enterprises’ (as in the Loeb translation), but also means ‘dialectical proofs’; cf. LSJ ad loc. citing Arist. Top. 8.11 162a15.

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the famous five ‘convictions of piety and holiness’ that are stated with so much force at the end of De opificio mundi (170–172), we can see that Philo recognizes agreement in the domain of cosmology (third and fourth lesson), but not in theology (first, second and fifth lesson).30 It has often rightly been noted that there is a vague resemblance between the Chaldeans and the Stoics (and perhaps especially Posidonius),31 but Philo is far from giving a doxography of Stoic views. Philo has adapted some known views of the Chaldeans32 to the requirements of his own interpretation of the Abraham story which centres on the conversion from an immanentist to a transcendent theology.33 (4) Laban, Jethro. The biblical characters Laban and Jethro, opponents of Jacob and Moses respectively,34 are not described as a dogma or doxa, but are regularly associated with a particular ideology which is opposed to true piety. Laban belongs to a kind (γένος) who fashion their god out of formless matter and do not recognize the moving Cause (Fug. 8–9). ‘Knowing yourself ’ means examining and rejecting what is peculiar to Laban, the triumphs of vain belief/ glory (Fug. 47). Elsewhere Laban is a friend of the senses and represents the conviction focused on the body and external goods, a belief from which one should flee (Leg. 3.20). Jethro typifies the mentality that yields to the beliefs of the crowd, ever-changing like the Egyptian Proteus, corresponding to a city peopled by a promiscuous horde who swing to and fro with their vain beliefs (Ebr. 36). Moses recognizes that his ignorance of the one true God has brought about his polytheistic belief (Ebr. 45, cf. also Sacr. 50).35 [121] (5) Joseph and Benjamin. Joseph is a notoriously complex character in Philo, who finds reason to portray him much less positively than in the original Genesis account.36 His coat of many colours is a clue. It symbolizes that he introduces ‘a labyrinthine belief that is difficult to disentangle’ (Det. 6). His philosophy is focused on politics rather than on the truth, giving priority to the body and external goods (Det. 7). When he visits his brothers and is found ‘wandering on the 30  There seems no reason why the Chaldeans should believe that the cosmos was generated (γενητός, Migr. 180). See the doxography in Diodorus Siculus 2.30.1 which states that for them the cosmos is everlasting and ordered by a divine providence. In Platonic terms, however, they certainly subscribe to the view that it was subject to becoming (τὸ γενόμενον, Abr. 69). Philo is primarily concerned with their theology. 31  Wolfson (1947) 2.176–177; Winston–Dillon (1983) 270; Dillon (1996) 138. 32  See especially the account of their views in Diod. Sic. 2.29–31. Occasional references are made to the Chaldeans in doxographical texts (though not in the Placita, where they become μαθηματικοί): see Stobaeus Ecl. 1.28.1b; Achilles Isag. 1, 18, 40; Censorinus De die nat. 7.6, 8.1. 33  See further the chapter in Decharneux (1994) 67–78 entitled ‘Le chaldéanisme et la limite de la piété cosmologique’. 34  They are both fathers-in-law, but vainly try to divert their sons-in-law from the path of virtue and piety. 35  Philo’s interpretations are encouraged by etymologies of the two names and biblical incidents; see the summary at Earp (1962) 349–350, 360–362. 36  On Philo’s interpretation of Joseph see Niehoff (1992) 54–83; Cazeaux (1995).



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plain’ (Gen 37:15), a contest of arguments (λόγοι) between different ideologies ensues (Det. 28, cf. 9–12). The first half of De somniis 2 is devoted to the interpretation of Joseph’s dreams in Gen 37. Isaac and Joseph are leaders of two bands (2.10), the one self-taught in virtue, the other drawn to the body as well and thus the image of ‘a composite and mixed belief ’ (2.15). The contents of his dream are expounded in a long diatribe against κενὴ δόξα, a predictable interpretation for a character who dreams that he will lord it over his brothers and is to become the viceroy of Egypt. His brother Benjamin, born from the same mother, is given a similar interpretation (Mut. 92–96). In his case ‘vainglory’ is connected with being swept along by ‘empty beliefs’ (94), nicely illustrating how these two meanings of doxa (glory and belief ) are linked together. (6) Egypt and its ruler Pharaoh. Although Philo spent all his life living in the gateway to Egypt, Alexandria, in his writings Egypt is consistently portrayed as a most potent symbol of devotion to the body and the passions and to atheism.37 When Moses smites the Egyptian and covers him with sand, he is fighting against two convictions, that pleasure is the first and greatest good, and that atoms are the first principles of the universe (Fug. 148). Pharaoh, the ruler of Egypt, is the godless belief that the passions follow as their leader,38 from whom Moses withdraws to Midian (Leg. 3.13). Pharaoh is plagued by frogs, who symbolize ‘beliefs without soul’ (Sacr. 69), while he as the ‘scatterer’ disperses all beliefs that focus on what is noble (Det. 95). When the children of Israel first leave Egypt they are described as a motley crowd (Exod 12:38) symbolizing a multitude of confused and mixed beliefs (Migr. 152–154). They are mixed, in allegorical terms, because, although they have started on the path to ‘seeing God’ as their name Israel indicates, they are still under the influence of Egypt and all that it stands for. For Philo the land of Egypt, its ruler and its inhabitants represent an amalgam of materialism, devotion to the body and its pleasures, and atheism. It is clearly reminiscent of the philosophy of Epicureanism. In one text ‘the Epicurean impiety’ and ‘the Egyptian godlessness’ are placed side by side (Post. 2).39 (7) Groups excluded from the Lord’s congregation. The final group of biblical characters we shall examine comes to the fore in a most intriguing exegesis of Deut 23:1–3. ‘This is a topic, Philo writes, that lends itself particularly well [122] to allegory and is full of philosophical theory, for the way of thinking (τρόπος) of the impious and the unholy is not single, but multiple and different (Spec. 37  See now the fine monograph by Pearce (2007), which examines every aspect of Philo’s attitude towards Egypt and what is stands for. 38  Philo writes of Moses that ἀναχωρεῖ μὲν δὴ ἀπὸ τῆς ἀθέου καὶ ἡγεμονίδος τῶν παθῶν δόξης Φαραώ. This should not be translated ‘from the godless opinion of Pharaoh’ (as in the Loeb translation) but as ‘from Pharaoh the godless opinion …’. 39 See further Pearce (2007) 155, who rightly observes: ‘The language of philosophy supplies much of the terminology and many of the concepts that Philo defines as atheist. But his approach is ultimately rooted in Jewish tradition …’

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1.327).’40 From the five groups mentioned in this text he distills five kinds of thinking expressed in partly philosophical and partly religious terms. The man with crushed testicles41 represents the belief that does away with the ideas, causing everything to revert to its shapeless elemental existence, for it does not recognize the role that the archetypal model plays in God’s creative act. (§§ 328–329). The class who have had their testicles cut off not only deny the forms, but also deny the existence of God himself and so practice atheism. The third group introduce the opposite belief42 and introduce the concept (λόγος) of multiple sovereignty (πολυαρχία) and so are suitably described as the offspring of a prostitute (§ 332). The fourth and fifth groups – Ammonites and Moabites in the biblical text – are associated with the besetting vice that, as we saw above, typified the ideology of Cain, love of the self (φιλαυτία) instead of love for God. With considerable creativity Philo converts them into champions of the mind and of the senses respectively.43 The surprisingly positive description that he gives of the accomplishments of these human powers shows that he understands the attractiveness of these directions of thought – in modern terms we might regard them as humanistic in tenor –, but nevertheless firmly rejects them. It is to be agreed with Colson that in delineating these groups Philo does not have specific philosophers or philosophical schools in mind but general ways of thinking.44 The doctrines that are espoused or rejected could easily be attributed to various individuals or groups of thought, but that for Philo is beside the point. His purpose is otherwise.

4.  Some Conclusions and Comparisons The above analysis of texts dealing with the allegorical interpretation of biblical characters is deliberately partial and incomplete. I  have cited only those passages where they are identified with or strongly aligned to directions of thought as indicated through the use of the terms dogma and doxa and have not dwelt on the many other texts which explain what these characters stand for in [123] 40  Philo uses the term τρόπος here in a rather loose way. The safest translation might be ‘character’ (cf. LSJ s. v. III.2), but in this context ‘way of thinking’ is certainly possible. We should note in passing that he frequently uses the term in relation to biblical figures in his allegories. Indeed most of the figures discussed in this article are also referred to as a τρόπος: Leg. 2.103 Egyptian; Leg. 3.12 Pharaoh; Leg. 3.81 Ammonites and Moabites; Post. 10 Adam and Cain (reading with the MSS τρόπου); Sobr. 14 Joseph; Conf. 196 the Babel-builders; Mut. 21 Abraham etc. This usage deserves further study. 41  The two rare terms used in the LXX, θλαδίας and ἀποκεκομμένος, allow Philo to attribute different doctrines to the two groups. 42  The word δόξαν should be understood with τὴν ἐναντίαν in § 331. 43  For the etymologies of the two names that lie at the basis of the allegory see Colson’s note to the Loeb translation of § 333. 44  PLCL 7.622–623.



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further and greater detail.45 Nevertheless the listing is valuable, because it gives us a privileged insight into how Philo makes his own idiosyncratic adaptations of Greek philosophical material for the purpose of explaining and defending biblical thought. A first observation is that most of the doxai associated with the biblical characters have a negative bias. Cain’s self-loving belief is opposed to Abel’s belief which places God at the centre. Cain goes on to found a city which propagates the doctrines of impiety and atheism and culminates in the folly of the tower of Babel. Abraham, symbol of the soul that loves to learn the truth, is called to emigrate from the land of the Chaldeans with its defective theology and cosmology. Not all of what they stand for is wrong – they recognize the structured nature of created reality but fail to understand that structure’s causative origin. Similarly Joseph is a mixed character. His political insights have value, but he is prone to vainglory and empty beliefs, unable to place political power and prestige in the right perspective. All the other characters – Laban and Jethro, Pharaoh and the Egyptians, and those banished from the Lord’s congregation – stand for negative beliefs, intently focused on the body and its pleasures, denying God’s existence or providence, or perversely introducing a multitude of deities. We have already had occasion to mention the important passage at Opif. 170–172, which has long been regarded as one of the key texts in his writings.46 It is striking how Philo recalls many of the wrong and false beliefs outlined above in this passage. For each of the five ‘lessons’ that the creation account teaches except the last, Philo mentions the groups who hold the opposed view, although they are not explicitly named. They are atheists, agnostics or polytheists, deniers of the cosmos’ createdness or believers in a multitude or infinity of worlds, deniers of divine providence. Philo concludes most pointedly that these positive convictions that he outlines will lead to a blessed and fortunate life.47 The implication not spelled out is that those who hold the opposed (and in his perspective negative) views are condemning themselves to misery. As I have argued elsewhere,48 the ‘lessons’ represent the fundamental convictions that one must have before embarking on a deeper understanding of the divine law. Scripture reinforces these lessons by introducing a whole series of characters who symbolize what happens when these convictions are rejected and opposed. Philo was perfectly capable of supplying famous names from the history of Greek philosophy who espoused views that he regards as true or partly true 45  The best listing is still by Earp (1962) in PLCL vol. 10. See also the useful but less detailed ‘Indice dei personaggi biblici’ in Radice (1994b). 46  See above § 3(3). 47  Opif. 172, ‘He who learns these things not with his hearing but with his understanding and imprints their marvellous and priceless forms on his own soul … this person will lead a blessed and fortunate life, marked as he is by the convictions of piety and holiness.’ These are the final words of the treatise. 48  Runia (2001a) 394.

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and partly false or wholly wrong and detestable. The philosophical treatise De aeternitate mundi is an exercise along these lines, making excellent use of [124] doxographical material.49 Occasionally for purposes of illustration he lets fall a name-label, as in the cases of Protagoras and Epicurus noted above.50 But what we almost always get is Greek doxography adapted to his own exegetical and religious purposes. Name-labels are mostly set aside, or rather the views they are associated with are transferred to biblical figures in a fairly inexact way. There is no need for exactness, because the main purpose that Philo has is religious and apologetic. His aim is to propagate and defend what he regards as the content of Abel’s ‘God-loving conviction,’ that is to believe in God’s existence and acknowledge him as the cause of all created reality (cf. Sacr. 1–3). Because he also believes that the Bible is a document relevant to the lives of his contemporaries, he projects these key convictions back on biblical characters by means of the allegorical method which had been developed for this particular purpose. It is hardly surprising that we look in vain in contemporary Greek philosophical literature for exact parallels for the kind of method that we have seen Philo use in the texts set out above. Of course we may accept that he and his Alexandrian predecessors were inspired by Greek models in developing their allegorical method of exegesis. Moreover it is a commonplace in writings such as On Homer by Ps.Plutarch and Homeric problems by Heraclitus the Allegorist to argue that Homer was the source and inspiration for a large number of central philosophical doctrines. For example, according to the anonymous author Homer is acquainted with the true doxa of the four elements, which he mentions in many places, but at the same time both Thales and Xenophanes were inspired by him to develop their doctrines that water and water–earth are respectively the origin of the universe (De Hom. 93). Where else than from Homer’s verses does the Stoic dogma derive on providence, the unicity of the cosmos and that gods and righteous men should work together in administering the world (ibid. 118–119)?51 Heraclitus directs his polemic against the philosophers Plato and Epicurus, who were notoriously critical of the Greek poet. But it is ironical, he claims, that both thinkers found the origin of their dogmata in Homer and thus ungratefully show themselves to be impious towards the one from whom they derive most of their knowledge (Hom. probl. 4.4).52 There is only one antidote for the impiety shown by Plato, namely to show that the myth of Zeus’ liberation from near-enchainment is meant allegorically. In fact Homer here gives a theo49  This treatise, which is erroneously regarded by some scholars as not authentically Philonic, is unfortunately incomplete. In my interpretation Philo would have presented the Mosaic view on its subject in the missing second half, but using philosophical arguments; see Runia (1981). 50  See above section 3(1) on Post. 34–35; (6) on Post. 2. 51  Other references to Homer as the source of doxai or dogmata at De Hom. 120.1 (fate), 122.1 (immortality of the soul), 125.1 (Pythagorean transmigration), 133.1, 136.4, 144.1 (virtue). 52  See now the new edition and translation, with useful notes, by Russell–Konstan (2005).



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logical account of the origin of things, and when Thales declares that water is the most causative of the four elements, his doxa in fact comes from Homer, as witnessed by the verse on Oceanus the genesis for all things (ibid. 22.1–6, citing Il. 14.246).53 [125] Against this Greek background, we can see that Philo’s practice in his allegories differs in at least three respects. In the first place, whereas in the texts above Homer is regarded as the source of a later doctrine through the character (e. g. the god Zeus) that he portrays, Philo actually identifies that doctrine with that character, as we see most clearly in the case of Cain and Abel, or very strongly associates a character with a particular ideology, as in the case of Joseph or Pharaoh. The simple allegory that Heraclitus gives of the two cities, one of peace and one of war, on the Shield of Achilles in Iliad XVIII, from which he claims that Empedocles’ doctrine of love and strife is derived (Hom. probl. 49.1), does not compare with Philo’s treatment of the allegories of the city of Cain and the tower of Babel in treatises such as Quod deterius and De posteritate Caini. Secondly, the narrative element in Philo’s allegories is much stronger than we find in our extant Greek sources. Philo’s sharp and detailed focus on the stories of Genesis and Exodus in the Pentateuch allow him to construct a complex allegorical system in which the role of key ideological positions can be creatively elaborated at length. Admittedly to some degree this conclusion is an argument from silence. The story of Odysseus’ long nautical wanderings and his return to his fatherland Ithaca and his wife Penelope lends itself very well to a spiritualized allegorical interpretation and there is scattered evidence that such allegories were developed in the Platonist and Neopythagorean tradition. But there is no evidence of anything that remotely resembles the complex edifice that Philo has constructed.54 Thirdly, even though much of the Homeric allegorization is explicitly theological in nature, there is not the same normative weight placed on the doctrinal positions that we find in Philo. The atheism of which Plato and 53  The same verse is quoted by the doxographer Ps.Plutarch in presenting Thales’ opinion on the archê, Plac. 1.3.1, Mor. 875F. [The quotation of the Homeric verse in Ps.Plutarch can be attributed to the Placita of Aëtius, of which his work is an epitome. See now the edition of Mansfeld–Runia (2020), where it can be found at Plac. 1.3.1[12], with comments at 1.250–251.] Other texts in Heraclitus which refer to Homer as the source of doxai or dogmata at 17.4 (Plato’s psychology), 49.2 (Empedocles’ strife and love, discussed below), 69.8 (Empedocles again), 79.10 (Epicurean pleasure). 54  The classic studies of Buffière (1956), Pépin (1958) and Lamberton (1986) do not answer the question of how far this allegory was developed and perhaps the question cannot be answered in the current state of the evidence (but it could be presented more systematically). The remarks of Boyancé (1963) 67–79 remain valuable. By focusing on a text such as Cicero Fin. 5.49 he shows that some kind of allegorical understanding of Odysseus’ wanderings predates Philo. The emphasis of Dawson (1992) 39–40 on narrative coherence in Heraclitus’ allegories is exaggerated. [Since this was written, much work has been done on Philo’s use of Homer, including comments on the relation of allegorical Homeric interpretation to Philo’s allegories: see Koskienniemi (2010); Berthelot (2011b), (2012); Niehoff (2011a), (2012); Roskam (2017), who downplays the influence of allegorical readings of Homer on Philo’s exegesis (esp. p. 21).]

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Epicurus are accused in Heraclitus does not have the severity of the accusations levelled at Cain, the Babel-builders and the Pharaoh of Egypt. This comes down to a difference between Greek and Jewish religion.55

5.  Later Trajectories Finally we might point out that Philo’s use of terms dogma and doxa are also not without interest in the longer trajectory of the history of ideas. José Pablo Martín has convincingly shown that the germ of Augustine’s enormously influential ideas of the two cities, the city of men and the city of God, can be [126] localized in Philo’s systematic use of conceptual pairs in his allegorization of the Genesis narrative.56 When Augustine writes (Civ. Dei 14.28) ‘that the two cities were created by two kinds of love: the earthly city was created by self-love reaching the point of contempt for God, the heavenly city by the love of God carried as far as contempt of self ’,57 the antithesis between Cain’s φίλαυτον δόγμα and Abel’s φιλόθεον δόγμα, as identified by Philo, can be clearly heard, with Augustine characteristically highlighting the role of amor more than Philo did. Augustine notes that Cain founded a city whereas Abel finds his domicile with the saints in heaven (Civ. Dei 15.1). Augustine thus appears to take the notion of a city more literally than Philo does, who in the manner of the allegorist asks how he could do this when there were only three people alive (Post. 49). But earlier the Church father had argued that to reach the goal of a life of felicity it is necessary to lead a right life, to live according to the spirit and not according to the flesh. The earthly city, however, is the society of the ungodly, which ‘consists of those who live by the standards not of God but of man …, of those who follow the doctrines of men or demons in their worship of false divinity and their contempt for the true Godhead’ (Civ. Dei 14.9). The emphasis on right living on the one hand and the association of the earthly city – to which Cain belongs – with impious doctrines on the other is perfectly congruent with the thrust of Philo’s allegories. In my Utrecht inaugural lecture held nearly twenty years ago I devoted some remarks to the question of whether Philo could be regarded as the father of Christian dogmatism.58 I concluded that the seeds were there, even if it would not be correct to regard Philo as a dogmatician in the manner of Church fathers such as Origen, Athanasius or Basil. In the present contribution we have seen that it 55  For an allegory with a strong normative element that in some ways reminds us of Philo see Plato’s description of the battle between the gods and the giants in Soph. 245–249. But the point at issue is philosophical (the nature of true being) rather than religious. 56  Martín (1991), esp. 285–290. He is also right to argue at 293 that Van Oort (1991) in his major study on the origin of Augustine’s doctrine of the two cities should have paid more attention to Philo’s exegetical writings. 57  I cite the translation of Bettenson (1972). 58  Runia (1995b) 12–13, English translation of the original Dutch, Runia (1992a).



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would not be right to read dogmatism into Philo’s use of the terms dogma and doxa, because they do not yet have the meaning of firm or faith-based doctrine. Indeed the terms ὀρθοδοξία or ὀρθὴ δόξα (right belief ) are not yet to be found in Philo, although there are expressions that come fairly close.59 Nevertheless, the normative weight that he places on right and wrong kinds of thinking, as represented by biblical characters in his allegorical exegesis, certainly contributed to the development of religious and ideological thought patterns that are still with us today.60

59 Cf. Agr. 130 doxai on God discriminated by orthos logos; Spec. 4.92 philosophical doctrines on the soul as ortha dogmata. The terms ὀρθοδοξία and ὀρθόδοξος are not developed until after Philo, though the verb ὀρθοδοξέω is found in an isolated case in Arist. NE 7.8 1151a19. 60  I would like to express my thanks to Francisco Lisi for inviting me to contribute this article, and also to Jaap Mansfeld and two anonymous referees for reading it through and making valuable comments and suggestions.

14.  Philo and the Gentiles* 1.  Introduction: Philo in his Context Philo, the learned and devout Jew from Alexandria, was a slightly older contemporary of Jesus and lived at the same time as the events described in the Gospels. He is thus a valuable witness to the world of Second Temple Judaism and his writings were already used as such by Josephus. This of course is the same epoch out of which the Christian religion grew, so Philo’s evidence is also useful for understanding that process. The first church historian Eusebius made a detailed study of the extensive collection of Philo’s writings that was available to him in the Episcopal Library of Caesarea. During the past two centuries modern scholars have continued the study of Philo’s writings for the understanding of both Judaism and the New Testament, although it can be argued that he is often taken for granted and is not used nearly enough.1 It is thus fitting that a collection of essays on the notion of the Gentiles in Second Temple Judaism and Early Christianity should contain a study that focuses on what Philo can contribute to its subject. For an understanding of Philo’s writings and thought it is crucial to recognise that, apart from a significant stay in Rome during his later years, he lived and worked all his life in the multi-ethnic and multi-cultural society of Alexandria, the great metropolis of the eastern [29] Mediterranean seaboard. Growing up in an immensely wealthy and influential Jewish family, Philo held a leading position in the Jewish community of the city. During the Ptolemaic period the Jewish community had grown in size and influence and been granted the right to run their own affairs. Together with the Greek citizen body and the native Egyptian populace they formed the three main ethnic groups of the city. With the advent of Roman rule in the decade before Philo’s birth, the political situation in the city underwent significant change. The Jews lost their protection and during Philo’s lifetime tensions mounted between the three ethnic groups, reaching a climax in *  I wish to express my thanks to David Sim and James McLaren for inviting me to contribute this essay, and in particular to Ellen Birnbaum for invaluable and sage advice on how to tackle the subject. Translations of Philonic texts are my own, but with some debts to those in the Loeb Classical Library edition of Philo’s works. For Septuagint texts I have made use of the New English Translation of the Septuagint, Pietersma–Wright (2007) (NETS). 1  As argued by Terian (1994); Sterling (2003).



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the riots of 38 CE, which have been called the first anti-Jewish pogrom in history and which led to the Jewish embassy to the Emperor Gaius in Rome that dominated the final period of Philo’s life. Philo was an immensely learned man, with a prodigious knowledge of Greek literature and philosophy. But he placed that learning in the service of his people and his religion. He saw it as his life’s task to explain and expound the Jewish scriptures, which for him were primarily the Pentateuch, the first part of the Septuagint translation produced in Alexandria more than two centuries earlier. His goal was to plumb the depths of the wisdom contained in scripture and in carrying it out he was certainly influenced by the dominant Hellenised culture of the city in which he lived. But at the same time it is important to recognise the strong apologetic motive that underlay all of Philo’s intellectual activities. He wished to explain and defend the traditions of his people, showing that if properly understood they were in fact superior to the cultures of the other ethnic groups in the city, including Greeks and Romans.

2.  Subject and Aim of the Essay Philo’s profound knowledge of the contents of scripture will have meant that the notion of ‘the Gentiles’ (τὰ ἔθνη in Greek), the nations other than Israel or the Jews and often standing in opposition to them, cannot possibly have escaped his notice. He would have also been aware that many Jewish speakers and writers took over the term from its scriptural use and employed it in a general way to refer to people not belonging to the Jewish race or nation. So the usage found in the New Testament, for example in the sayings attributed to Jesus in the Gospels (e. g. Matt 6:32) or in the Pauline epistles (e. g. Rom 3:29, 11:13), would not have been a surprise to him. But was this a way of thinking and speaking that he [30] himself practised, or did he prefer to approach the question of the relationship between Israel and the Jews on the one hand, and the other nations and peoples on the other, in another way? It is crucial to our subject to observe that, when we speak of Israel and the Gentiles (or nations) or the Jews and the Gentiles, we are using sets of terms that stand opposed each other in a binary relationship. One either belongs to Israel or to the Gentiles; one is either Jew or a Gentile. This opposition has strong biblical roots in the opposition ‘am/goyim, or in the opposition between ‘people’ (λάος) and ‘nations,’ well illustrated by the words of Moses in Exod 33:16 ‘and we shall be glorified, I and your people above all the nations (ὁ λάος σου παρὰ πάντα τὰ ἔθνη) that are on the earth.’ The binary nature of these oppositions will be important as we try to understand Philo’s conception of how Israel and the Jews relate to other ethnic groups.

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The aim of this brief contribution, therefore, is to examine what use Philo made of the notion of the Gentiles and its concomitant terminology. Does it occur in his writings and is it useful when analysing his thought? In the main body of the article I shall present the evidence on how Philo uses the term and its relation to other terminology used in ethnic contexts. The final part of the essay will contain some limited remarks on how Philo expresses the relationship between Israel and the Jews on the one hand and other nations and ethnic groups on the other. But a full examination of this broader and highly complex theme will be beyond the scope of my article. At the end I  shall make some last remarks on the question of how useful the concept and terminology of ‘the Gentiles’ are for understanding and expressing Philo’s thought.2 The term ‘Gentile’ came into the English language via the Latin word gentes, commonly used in the Vulgate, and was greatly popularised in the King James Version, where in the New Testament it is even used to translate ‘Greeks’ (e. g. Rom 3:9). It is primarily used to render the term goyim in the Hebrew Bible, which is translated τὰ ἔθνη in the Septuagint. It is thus on the term ἔθνος and particularly its use in the plural that we [31] need to concentrate. The literal meaning of the term is ‘nation,’ a band or group of people possessing common cultural, religious and linguistic features, and when used in the plural ‘the nations.’ It is this more neutral rendering that we will use in the body of the article, returning to the term ‘Gentiles’ at the end of our essay. The term occurs very frequently in Philo’s works. It is about twice as common in the singular (195 examples) as it is in the plural (92 examples).3 In the singular it most often refers to the Jewish nation. In the plural it is frequently used in general references involving cities, peoples and lands, which are of little interest for our subject. A full lexical analysis of Philo’s use of the term is not going to help us very much.4 What we need to do is examine passages where Philo uses the singular to refer to Israel and the Jews and the plural to refer to nations or peoples other than Israel or the Jews. In studying Philo’s very large body of writings, it is important not to regard them as a single unified block. A century of scholarship has determined that they must be divided into five distinct groups.5 Of these the first three, which make 2  The only scholarly article that directly addresses the question of the ‘Gentiles’ in Philo’s work is Umemoto (1994). This research formed part of a planned larger study that has so far not been published. After some pertinent remarks on terminology, Umemoto adopts a broader approach to the question than in the present article. For other publications that touch on the question of ‘nation’ and ‘nations’ in Philo see below Section 4. 3 Besides ἔθνος Philo also uses the biblical term λαός, but less frequently than ἔθνος. It occurs 90 times in his work, most often in biblical quotations and set phrases such as the Homeric ποιμένες λαῶν. He almost never distinguishes between the two terms. An exception is as QG 4.157, as noted by Birnbaum (1996, 56 n. 90. See also our comments on Mos. 1.290–291 in Section 3 below. [See now Pearce (2016), who examines Philo’ use of the terms ἔθνος and λαός. She does not refer to the present article.] 4  For some statistics see Umemoto (1994) 23. 5  On Philo’s writings and their division into groups see Royse (2009) 32–64.



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up the bulk of his writings, are series of commentaries on scripture. The first is the celebrated Allegorical Commentary, in which the first 18 chapters of Genesis are interpreted in terms of the history of the soul. The second is the Exposition of the Law, a presentation of the contents of the Pentateuch. It includes the lives of Patriarchs and a detailed examination of the Mosaic Law in the form of both the Decalogue and the Special Commandments organised under the headings of the Decalogue. The third is the Questions and Answers on Genesis and Exodus, a kind of repository of scriptural exegesis presented as in the form of questions on the text. Unfortunately it has been preserved for the most part only in an Armenian translation. The remaining treatises do not focus directly on scripture, but consist of a number of apologetic treatises that discuss contemporary issues such as [32] the pogrom in Alexandrian and the embassy to Rome, and a number of purely philosophical treatises focusing on subjects of interest to Jewish thinkers.

3.  Some Philonic Passages We begin with the biblical commentary that always stands first in editions and translations of the Philonic corpus, the great Allegorical Commentary on Genesis, commencing at Gen 2:4.6 Although in the main biblical text that he is commenting on there is no substantial reference to ‘nation’ or ‘nations’ until Gen 12,7 Philo, following his usual method, introduces other biblical texts in his commentary. So at Post. 89–93 he cites the key text Deut 32:7–9: ‘A sk your father and he will inform you, your elders and they will tell you. When the Most High was apportioning nations, as he scattered Adam’s sons, he fixed boundaries of nations according to the number of God’s angels. And his people Jacob became the Lord’s portion, Israel a measured part of his inheritance.’ Philo does not think the literal meaning makes a lot of sense. What can our fathers tell us about how God scattered or settled the nations? It is best to allegorise: the father of our soul is right reason and the elders are its associates. They together fixed the boundaries of virtue and to them we must go for learning and teaching. God has dispersed the nations of the soul8 and banished the sons of the earth (i. e. Adam),9 but he fixed the boundaries of the offspring of virtue and made them equal in number to the angels, who are identified with the words of God. The 6  It should be noted that Opif., which stands at the beginning of almost all texts and translations, in actual fact belongs to another commentary, the Exposition of the Law. 7  The only earlier references are in Gen 10:5, 20 and 31. Though Philo quotes the first of these texts in QG 2.80, he ignores its mention of the ‘nations’. 8  The reference here in Post. 91 is to the scattering of the nations in the Tower of Babel episode in Gen 11, which Philo also allegorises in Conf. and elsewhere. 9 In Congr. 58 only this part of the text is cited and the sons of Adam are allegorised in terms of earthly ways of thinking (tropoi).

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second mention of ‘nations’ in the biblical text is explicitly identified with ‘species of virtue.’ These particular virtues become the portion of the angels, but the portion of God the leader is the chosen race (τὸ ἔκλεκτον γένος) of Israel, allegorised as the genus of virtue. The passage is complex, but it is clear that the contrast between the nations and Israel is given a deeper meaning in terms of philosophical allegory involving [33] the life of the soul, in effect completely altering the biblical notion of a ‘chosen race’.10 In Plant. 58–60 the same biblical passage is again allegorised. The ‘selected portion’ (ἐξαίρετος κλῆρος) of God the universal Ruler is bestowed on the band of souls who possess the sharpest vision, a clear reference to Philo’s usual etymology of Israel as ‘he who sees God.’ In contrast the ‘sons of Adam’ are the children of the earth, a mob who are unable to follow the guidance of right reason. Here too the contrast between Israel and the nations is wholly subsumed under the allegory of the soul. The first mention of a special ethnos occurs in Gen 12:2, when God promises Abraham that He will make him into a ‘great nation.’ Philo reaches this text in his commentary at Migr. 53–61. The gift described in the text is interpreted as progress in the principles of virtue, with ‘nation’ indicating a large number and ‘great’ their improvement in quality. But Philo does not just have some kind of philosophical ethics in mind (§ 56): ‘The greatness and multitude of what is good and noble11 has as its beginning and end the continual recollection of God and the summoning of assistance from him to oppose the native and confused and never-ending warfare of life.’ Philo then quotes Deut 4:6–7, in which ‘this great nation’ is called ‘a wise and knowledgeable people’ because it has God drawing near to it. But who are those worthy to receive these gifts? The text makes it clear that it is all lovers of wisdom and knowledge. Then, in a move that seems to contradict the original main text, Philo states that what is good and noble is in fact a rare commodity and he quotes another scriptural text, Deut 7:7–8: ‘It was not because you are more numerous than all the nations that the Lord chose and selected you – for you are very few in comparison with all the nations, but rather because the Lord loved you.’ This text too is applied allegorically to the soul (§ 60). The nations represent the crowd of passions and wickedness in the soul, as opposed to the one well-ordered rank, led by right reason. In the judgement of human beings the unjust multitude is preferred to the single just person, but in God’s judgement the scarce good is preferred to the myriad unjust. Here again we see that Philo cites a key Pentateuchal text on the election of Israel over against the nations. He retains the binary contrast, but it is made between two ethical and religious categories, not between ethnic groups, whether in the past or in the present.

10  11 

On this important passage see further Birnbaum (1996) 137–138. I follow the LCL in translating τὰ καλά in this broad ethical sense.



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It is worth pointing out that in the entire Allegorical Commentary consisting of 21 treatises there is not a single reference to the Jewish nation. It is Israel that holds centre stage, interpreted as the [34] person or the collective body of those ‘who see God.’ There can hardly be any doubt that there is a close link with contemporary Jews, for it is they who study the scriptures and it is surely for wellinformed members of the Jewish community that Philo is writing his allegories. Yet, as the text in Migr. makes clear, it is by no means clear that it is only the Jews who belong to the spiritual entity that is Israel. This is the conclusion reached by Ellen Birnbaum in her important monograph in which she carefully examines all the texts in which Philo speaks of Israel.12 The next major Commentary that I wish to discuss, the Questions and Answers on Genesis and Exodus, differs in its form quite markedly from the Allegorical Commentary, but in terms of its contents there is considerable overlap. In posing questions raised by the biblical passages in sequence, Philo almost always cites the text either in part or as a whole, and then proceeds to give both a literal and an allegorical interpretation. In at least seven chapters of the work Philo cites texts that speak of ‘nations’ and then generally gives an allegorical interpretation,13 each differing from the other, whether it be in terms of ‘inclinations’ or ‘evils’ or ‘senses and passions’ or ‘opinions’ or ‘encyclical studies’.14 Two passages that have been taken to refer to ‘Gentiles’ deserve closer examination. In QG 3.60, while interpreting Gen 17:21, ‘and my covenant I shall establish with Isaac, whom Sarah shall bear at this season in the other year,’ Philo comments on the second part of the text: ‘Most wisely … it is said that ‘in the other year’ she will bear Isaac, for that birth is not one of the life of the present time, but of another great, holy, sacred and divine one, which has an abundant fullness and is not like that of the nations.’ The parallel text at Mut. 267 indicates that Philo is alluding to an interpretation in terms of the concept of αἰών, usually but probably erroneously translated ‘eternity’.15 Marcus, who translates [35] the final phrase ‘not like that of the gentiles’ indicates that the Greek is τῶν ἐθνῶν and comments: ‘Philo does not often use ἔθνη in the biblical sense of “gentiles”.’16 But is the translation appropriate in this case? It would seem that the mention of τὰ ἔθνη is prompted by the ‘twelve nations’ in the previous verse. Implicitly Philo is asking why Isaac’s time of birth is specified, but that of the twelve nations is not. To invoke a biblical notion of ‘gentiles,’ as Marcus does, is misleading. The use of the term is quite specific to the specific exegetical context. 12  Birnbaum (1996) 61–159 and her conclusions at 221–224. On p. 222 she notes that Philo generally refers to Israel as a ‘kind’ (γένος) rather than a nation. 13  QG 2.80 (Gen 10:2–5); QG 3.17 (Gen 15:19–21); QG 3.42 (Gen 17:3–4); QG 3.44 (Gen 17:6); QG 3.59 (Gen 17:20); QG 4.183 (Gen 26:4); QE 2.22 (Exod 23:27b). 14  QG 3.42, 3.17, 4.183, 3.44, 3.59 respectively. 15  On the concept of aiôn in Philo see Keizer (1999). She argues that the term is best translated ‘the entirety of time’. 16  PLCLSup 1.263.

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In the second text, QE 2.22, Philo asks the meaning of the words in Exod 23:27b, ‘I will confound all the nations into which you will come.’ The entire passage of vv. 22–29 emphasises how, if the people (of Israel) serve the Lord and do not serve other gods God will drive out the various nations that are referred to by name in the text. It is quite striking how in the entire section dealing with this passage, QE 2.16–25 Philo at no stage draws attention to the promised special status of Israel (v. 22, ‘a people special above all nations,’ ‘a royal priesthood and a holy nation’).17 The passage discussed in 2.22 is the only one that speaks of the ‘nations’ in general. As part of his literal explanation Philo answers that God ‘seems to bear testimony to the surpassing virtue of the nation in that it would convert not only its own members but also its enemies; and by “enemies” I mean not only those who commit acts of war but also those who are 0heterodox.’ The term ἑτερόδοξοι is unusual in Philo, but here seems to combine both religious/ethnic and philosophical connotations.18 But then Philo adds – in Marcus’ translation – a ‘deeper meaning’: ‘when there comes into the soul, as into a land, the prudence of a keen-eyed and seeing nature [i. e. Israel], all the Gentile laws which are in it become mad and rage and turn aside from worthy thoughts, for evil things are unable to dwell and live together with good ones.’ The interpretation of the ‘nations’ in terms of evil thoughts coheres with Philo’s usual allegorical schemes. But the reference to ‘all the ethnic laws’ (πάντες οἱ ἐθνικοί νόμοι, to judge by the Armenian) is unusual.19 It may be prompted by the emphasis in the biblical passage on serving the [36] God of Israel rather than the gods of the nations, which Philo translates into doctrines of piety or impiety (cf. 2.26). Here too Marcus’s rendering with ‘Gentile’ instead of ‘ethnic’ seems unjustified. The contrast is between Israel and the other nations. As we also saw in the Allegorical Commentary, there is no attempt to specify the explanation in terms of contemporary relations between Jews and other nations. The only reference to the Jews in this work, it would seem,20 is at QG 3.48, where Philo notes that not only the Jews practice circumcision, but also the Egyptians, Arabs and Ethiopians and all those who live near the torrid zone. Philo’s remaining great commentary on scripture, traditionally known as the Exposition of the Law, is a very different work from the two previous ones. It is generally recognised that when compiling it Philo had a different audience in mind. In the case of the two other commentaries their readers would have needed to be initiated into the complexities of the allegorical interpretation of scripture 17  This passage is only found in the LXX, not in the Masoretic texts (it is a doublet of Exod 19.5–6). Philo cites the latter phrase in Sobr. 66 and could have derived it from either location. 18 Cf. QE 2.47 but there it is part of the allegorical explanation. 19  The adjective ἐθνικός is found only in Mos. 1.69 and 188, both with reference to the Hebrew nation. 20  Marcus notes that the Armenian term renders ‘Hebrews,’ but it is likely that the original had ‘Jews’.

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in order to benefit from them. They are works for ‘insiders.’ The Exposition of the Law employs a more didactic method, taking care to explain key concepts of the Jewish religion as it goes along. Philo has ‘outsiders’ in mind as at least part of the readership of the work, whether these be non-Jews unfamiliar with the Jewish sacred writings or members of the Jewish community who wished to be better informed about their religious heritage. A key indicator for the difference in purpose and audience is the terminology he uses for his references to Jews and non-Jews.21 The first reference to ‘nation’ or ‘nations’ in the Exposition is at Abr. 56–57. Summarizing the history of humanity so far, Philo states that Noah was the father of a new race (γένος) of humans, but that the three Patriarchs Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were the parents of a species of that race, which is called ‘a royal priesthood and a holy nation’ (Exod 19:6).22 He adds that the special status of this nation is shown by its name Israel, explained as ‘he who sees God.’ Apart from a reference to Jacob being named Israel at Praem. 44, this is the only time that Philo speaks about Israel in the entire work. The Exposition is much more ethnocentric in its terminology than the two other commentaries. There are countless references to ‘the nation’ and quite a few to ‘the nation of the Jews’.23 In this work Philo assumes a direct continuity between the nation [37] described in the Pentateuch and the contemporary nation of the Jews. The key to this continuity is the Jewish observance of the Law revealed to Moses. That nation has a special status. ‘Of nations,’ Philo writes, ‘it is the one dearest to God (ἐθνῶν τὸ θεοφιλέστατον), which in my view has received the gift of priesthood and prophecy on behalf of the entire human race (Abr. 98).’ But apart from very general references such as the one just cited, there are only a few that mention ‘nations’ in the plural. In telling the story of the Aqedah, the attempted sacrifice of Isaac, Philo responds to critics who say there was nothing remarkable about Abraham’s intended action. Greeks and barbarian nations, including the Indian gymnosophists, have done the same (Abr. 180–181). We have here the familiar categories of Hellenistic ethnography, to which we shall return. In a subsequent passage at Spec. 3.110–111 he discusses the practice found ‘in many other nations’ of exposing infants. This is condemned as being against the Mosaic Law. At Spec. 4.176–181, as part of a special section devoted to justice Philo is proud to say that God reserves for himself the dispensation of judgement to the guest, the orphan and the widow (Deut 10:18). Indeed the whole Jewish nation might be regarded as having the position of an orphan when compared to all the other nations. In their case, if disasters strike, they may receive assistance through their international networks (διά τὰς ἐν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν ἐπιμιξίας). But because the Jews live under exceptional laws, they lack help, and so the Ruler of 21 

As argued by Birnbaum (1996) 25–29, 221–222. See the discussion above at n. 17. 23  Decal. 97, Spec. 2.163, 166, 4.179, 224, Virt. 212, 226. 22 

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the universe took pity on its orphaned state and made it his portion. There is an echo here of Deut 32:7–9, the same text which Philo used on in the Allegorical Commentary.24 It is applied directly to the Jewish nation. In De praemiis, the book that concludes the Exposition, Philo gives an account of the rewards and blessings that the nation will receive from God if they fulfil the Law, as well as the punishments if they do not. One of the blessings will be the absence of war, or if it does occur, the enemy will be destroyed to a man. Philo cites from the prophecy of the seer Balaam that ‘there will come forth a man’ (Num 24:7) who will subdue great and populous nations with God’s aid. The passage presents biblical exposition and no link is made to the Jews’ contemporary situation.25 [38] The same theme and text also occur in De vita Moysis, Philo’s biography of the Jewish lawgiver. The majority of scholars agree that the biography of Moses is not an integral part of the Exposition of Law, but is meant as a general introduction either to all the exegetical works or more specifically to the Exposition.26 Like the Exposition, this treatise is very ethnocentric. Philo generally refers to the people of Israel as ‘the Hebrews’ (never Israel) and explicit connections are made with the situation of contemporary Jews in Alexandria. In the long section devoted to the Balaam episode, the prophet is said to declare (1.278): ‘I would not be able to harm the people (λαόν) who live on their own and are not counted with other nations (ἑτέροις ἔθνεσιν), not through a difference of location or a severance of land, but in virtue of the peculiar nature of their separate customs.’ He then (1.290–291) paraphrases Num 24:7: a man will come forth who will exert power over many nations (ἔθνη); this people (λαός) has had God as its guide and ‘it will devour the many nations (ἔθνη) of its enemies’ (quotation of Num 24:8). We have here a clear opposition between the Hebrews and the other nations and unusually Philo appears to use the terminological distinction between the terms ‘people’ and ‘nations’ to express it.27 In the second book Philo talks at some length about the Mosaic Law. Not only the Jews but almost all other people admire it. Throughout the world of Greeks and barbarians virtually every city and nation reject foreign institutions, but they are attracted to the Jewish laws (2.17–20, 25). A few pages later, however, Philo has to admit – somewhat contradictorily – that at present his own nation is not flourishing. But if their fortunes took a turn for the better, he claims, then others would abandon their own ancestral customs and honour the Jewish laws alone (2.43–44). 24 

See above on Post. 89–91, Plant. 58–60. account of rewards and punishments in Praem. (and the text in Mos. 1.278–291 about to be discussed) is the closest that Philo gets to what might be called an eschatology. It is based on Pentateuchal texts and remains rather vague. See further Borgen (1992). 26  According to Royse (2009) 51, it belongs to the apologetic and historical works, though differing because it treats the distant past. Its exegetical basis brings it closer to the exegetical works. [For contrasting views see Geljon (2002) 13–46; Sterling (2018c).] 27  It is remarkable that Philo never cites classic texts in Exodus in which this distinction is made, 19:5, 23:22a and 33:16. 25  This

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Finally we should say a few words about Philo’s non-exegetical works. For the most part these are apologetic in intent, presenting and defending various aspects of Jewish life and thought. The best known are the two which describe the events that befell the Jews in Alexandria in 38–40 CE, In Flaccum and Legatio ad Gaium. It is very likely that these treatises were written at about the same time as the Exposition of the Law.28 Like that work they are very ethnocentric, but instead of focusing on the Law in a fairly abstract way, they vividly describe current events [39] and the anguish of the Jewish people and their leaders (of whom Philo was one). In both works the doctrine of divine Providence is central. At the beginning of the Legatio, in a famous passage (§§ 1–7), Philo introduces Israel as the race that the Father and king of the universe has taken for his portion. The reference to Israel is unique in Philo’s apologetic words and recalls the single passage in the Exposition at Abr. 56–57. Elsewhere he speaks frequently of the Jews and also of the Jewish nation (e. g. at Flacc. 170, Legat. 210). Particularly telling are the final words of both treatises. At Flacc. 191 he concludes that the Egyptian governor’s grim fate was ‘indubitable proof that the Jewish nation was not deprived of the assistance that God can give.’ In Legat. 373 he states that ‘a summary account has been given of the cause of the hatred that Gaius had towards the entire nation of the Jews’. In a few passages in Legatio ad Gaium Philo also speaks of other nations. The emperor despised the Jews, because they alone opposed him on principle when he wished to receive the honours due to the gods. All other men, women, cities, nations, countries, regions of the earth, although they groaned at what was happening, nevertheless flattered him and worshipped him beyond what was appropriate. Only the nation of the Jews stood apart, for they were prepared to accept death rather than submit to destroying any of their ancestral traditions (§§ 115–117). What a contrast Gaius’ behaviour formed with that of with the emperor Augustus, who ‘brought civilisation and harmony to all unsociable and beastlike nations, enlarged Greece with many a new Greece and Hellenised the barbarian world in its most essential regions’ (§ 147). In this generalizing context, without specific reference to the Jews, Philo again uses the conventional classical antithesis between Greece and the barbarian nations. Alarmed by the violation of the temple proposed by Gaius, the body of Jewish elders speed to the Governor of Syria, Petronius, and supplicate him to allow them to send an embassy to the emperor (§ 240): ‘Perhaps … we will persuade him … not to treat us worse than all the other nations – even those in the most distant parts – who have preserved their ancestral customs.’ The argument is that Jews should be set alongside the other nations who also have their own laws and they beg to receive the same treatment. 28 

As indicated by the famous autobiographical passage at Spec. 3.1–6, i. e. midway through writing the Exposition.

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4.  How Philo Speaks about Nations and Ethnic Groups The selection of Philonic passages we have discussed is sufficient to allow us to draw some conclusions on how Philo speaks about the various ethnic groups in his world, his own Jewish people on the one [40] hand and the broad spectrum of nations both in scripture and in the Greco-Roman world on the other. It has emerged that there is a clear division that runs through the entire corpus of Philo’s writings. When he is expounding scripture for an internal audience of readers with a deep knowledge of scriptural and Jewish traditions, Philo focuses on the concept of Israel, the spiritual entity of those ‘who see God,’ who have an understanding of the one true God and of the religious and ethical way of life that flows on from that knowledge. As Ellen Birnbaum has shown in detail in her monograph on the subject, Israel cannot simply be equated with the Jewish people. It is a broader concept. Because its ‘membership requirement’ is the ability to see God, it appears to include not only Jews but also, it seems, non-Jews, such Persian Magi and other unnamed sages from Greek and foreign lands.29 Philo at all times remains quite vague about who can be reckoned to belong to this group. It is thus significant that in his more ‘esoteric’ writings Philo never speaks about the ‘Jewish nation’ and never addresses the question of the relation between Israel and the Jews. On the other hand, in his writings for ‘outsiders,’ whether less well-informed Jews or non-Jewish readers, Philo (with the two exceptions noted above30) does not speak of Israel. Instead both in his Exposition of the Law and in his more overtly apologetic treatises he very frequently refers to the ‘Jews’ and quite often to the ‘Jewish nation.’ The reader of these works is left in no doubt that there is a direct connection between being a Jew (or a proselyte who has been welcomed into the Jewish fold) and following the ancestral customs of the nation as enshrined in the Mosaic law of scripture. In the more ‘esoteric’ writings Philo regularly cites texts which make reference to Israel and ‘the (other) nations.’ We saw that in many, if not most, cases they are allegorised in terms of the history of the soul (or the sage) who makes progress towards virtue and the knowledge of God. The chosen ‘nation’ is the noble soul, the ‘nations’ represent various allegorical figures or entities. Some of these are troublesome and have to be overcome, such as evil inclinations or passions or the diverting senses; others are more neutral, such as opinions and encyclical studies that the soul meets on its path. In the case of an exegesis of Deut 32:7–9) the ‘nations’ are even allegorised as ‘species of virtue,’ as opposed to Israel as the generic form. Philo’s allegories certainly very often have a binary structure, opposing the good and noble soul (or person) again the evil [41] soul (or person) and this structure can sometimes be sensed in his treatment of the ‘nation’ 29  30 

Birnbaum (1996) 224. Abr. 56, Legat. 4.



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versus the ‘nations’ as they appear in scripture, without there ever being a direct equivalence between them. It is thus primarily in the more exoteric and explicitly apologetic works that we find copious references to the Jewish nation and the other nations that constituted the ethnic map of Philo’s world. It is quite striking that when wishing to speak of humanity in the very general terms,31 Philo most often uses the conventional Hellenising categorization of ‘Greek and barbarians,’ and so also ‘Greek and barbarian nations’ (Cher. 91, Plant. 67, cf. Abr. 191, Legat. 147). Very recently Katell Berthelot has analysed Philo’s use of this conventional categorization in a fine article.32 She concludes that, contrary to what we might expect, Philo never includes the Jews among the barbarian nations, even though their original language is non-Greek.33 Jews are to be placed on the Greek side of the equation. No doubt Philo is encouraged to do this because his own social group of upper-class Jews in Alexandria spoke Greek and in some cases even possessed Alexandrian citizenship. Indeed, as Berthelot points out, Philo even claims that the Jews are older than the Greeks, and that the latter are indebted to Moses for some of their key philosophical doctrines.34 The other group that falls outside the categorization are the Romans, who just before Philo’s birth became absolute rulers of Egypt. As Maren Niehoff has pointed out,35 Philo sees important affinities between the Jews and the Romans. But it is to be agreed with Berthelot that, in Philo’s eyes, the two nations are competing for the same space, albeit [42] from very different vantage-points.36 Both claim a very special status, with universalist pretensions. The Romans dominate the world politically. The Jews would dominate the world culturally and religiously, if the uniqueness of their God and the superiority of their laws and customs were finally to be recognised. All these apologetic considerations belong to what Koen Goudriaan has most aptly called Philo’s ‘ethnical strategies’.37 He is writing in an environment in which there are considerable tensions between the three main ethnic groups in Alexandria, Greeks, Jews and Egyptians, with the Romans exercising absolute power from above.38 As we just saw, when speaking in the most general terms Philo uses the conventional Greek method of ethnical categorization. But Gou31  These also include some general references in Allegorical Commentary and the Quaestiones. 32  Berthelot (2011b) 47–61. 33  Ellen Birnbaum points to a possible exception at Mos. 2.27 (part of the passage discussed in section 3), where he remarks that the translation of the Jewish laws was undertaken so as not to restrict the laws only to the barbarian or non-Greek part of the world; see (2001) 37–58, at 47. 34  Berthelot (2011b) 52. 35  Niehoff (2001), esp. 6–13, 111–136. 36  Berthelot (2011b) 53. 37  Goudriaan (1992) 74–99, esp. 79–86. 38  On the important role of the Egyptians, both in Philo’s exegesis and in his contemporary situation, see Pearce (2007).

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driaan rightly emphasises that this does not mean in the least that Philo does not see an opposition between Jews and all other nations or peoples. It is in fact allpervasive, certainly in the half of his writings that have a more overt apologetic intent.39 The Jews are set apart from all other nations in two respects, the one religious, the other cultural. The unique God whom the Jews worship (but who is also recognised by the practitioners of the most reputable philosophy40) has chosen them as his portion and appointed them the suppliant race on behalf of all humankind. Their laws and customs are truly superior, although this is not (yet) universally recognised. Philo feels a strong obligation to expound the Law to both Jews and outsiders who are unaware or need to be persuaded of its superiority. He also addresses the current situation of the Jews in Alexandria, attempting to show how contemporary events confirm the special status of the Jews through the workings of divine Providence. We may conclude, therefore, that Philo, when speaking about the ‘nation’ and the ‘nations,’ works with three separate pairs of binary opposites: Israel versus the ‘nations,’ Greeks versus barbarians, and Jews versus all other nations. The first is almost always used in exegetical and philosophical contexts. Israel is a spiritual category with some universalist features. [43] It appears not to be confined the Jewish nation, but may include thinkers who are able to contemplate God. The second is a very general and non-controversial way of categorizing ethnic groups, leaving the special status of Jews and Romans unstated. As Guardian remarks, Philo avoids a direct opposition between Jews and Greeks.41 The third opposition is crucial to Philo’s apologetic strategy and dominates his thinking when he looks at the place of the Jewish nation in its contemporary situation. There are a number of scattered texts in which Philo expresses an opposition between Jews and others and between the Jewish nation and other nations. We have cited some of these in the key passages discussed above. But in spite of the importance of the binary categories of Jews and non-Jews for his thinking, Philo in fact does not have anything like a fixed terminology for this opposition. As we just saw, it is not captured by the formulas opposing either Greeks and barbarians or Jews and Greeks. There is no equivalent in his writings for the opposition âm/goyim in the Hebrew Bible or the opposition Jew/Gentile in the New Testament. The remarkable conclusion which the evidence constrains us to reach is that, although the binary opposition of Jew and non-Jew is certainly central to his thinking in the religious, political and cultural domains, he has not developed a clear and constant terminology to express it. 39  Although Goudriaan’s analysis is excellent, he fails to take sufficient account of the different kinds of exegetical works in Philo’s œuvre. 40  See esp. the well-known text at Virt. 64–65. 41  Goudrian (1992) 85.

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This absence is surprising and even counter-intuitive. If we should look for reasons for it, I would argue that these will have been both theoretical and strategic. It is clear that Philo has been impressed – seduced if you will – by the cosmopolitan strain that runs through Greek philosophy, and that it leads to tensions within his work. As we saw, Philo does not confine knowledge of the one God to the Jewish religion, in spite of the special status that he, following scripture, accords to the Jewish nation. He keeps the contours of the spiritual category of Israel, which encompasses those people who are able to see the God who IS, deliberately vague, but it appears to be larger than the Jewish people and thus may also include non-Jews. To illustrate this, we can cite a striking text from an overtly apologetic treatise, De vita contemplativa. Its main aim is to describe the community of the Therapeutae who live outside Alexandria. But Philo first speaks about the group of contemplatives in a rather general way, using the examples of the Greek philosophers Anaxagoras and Democritus to illustrate those who abandon their properties, but then overtrumping the philosophers with the example of those who form a community of contemplatives (§§ 14–20). He then adds (§§ 21–22): ‘This kind (γένος) exists [44] all over the inhabited world – for it is necessary that both Greece and the barbarian land share in perfect goodness  –, but it abounds in Egypt in each of the nomes as they are called, and especially in the vicinity of Alexandria. The best of these contemplatives journey from everywhere to make their colony in a certain most suitable location …’ The reader surely knows that these people are Jews, but they are nowhere called as such in the treatise. Instead he uses the conventional antithesis of the Greeks and barbarians to denote a broader category to which they belong. True to his apologetic purpose Philo calls them the ‘best,’ but he rejects exclusivism. We might compare Philo’s strategy with that of a younger Jewish contemporary. The apostle Paul writes that in the sight of the Lord ‘there is no distinction between Jew and Greek’ (Rom 10:12). Both theologians wish to transcend the twin ethnic categories, but their aims are very different. Paul wants to move beyond the distinction to identify a new group of believers. Philo admits that a larger and higher group of people exist, a multi-ethnic category of ‘those who see and know the one God.’ But his real interest is in the one imperilled group of Jews. He understands that in his Alexandrian situation, with enemies such as Isidorus and Lampo,42 there will be no value in a direct confrontation between the categories of Jew and Greek. In the power play between the two groups, the trump cards would always be in the hands of the Greeks, as events indeed confirmed when the new emperor Claudius ascended to the throne.

42 

Flacc. 20, Legat. 355. On these enemies of the Jews see A. Kerkeslager (2005) 49–94; Van der Horst (2006) 49–55.

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5.  Philo and the ‘Gentiles’: a not very Useful Formulation On the basis of the evidence presented in this article, our final conclusion can now be drawn. There is little to be gained by using the biblical term ‘Gentiles’ in relation to Philo’s thought and writings. There were plenty of opportunities for Philo to use and develop the antithesis between âm and goyim, Jews and Gentiles, but he declined to do so. Instead he often allegorises Pentateuchal texts that discriminate between Israel and the ‘nations.’ The handful of texts in the Quaestiones where translators from the Armenian are tempted to translate ‘Gentiles’ in English are isolated and dubious. In the case of the apologetic writings Philo [45] speaks only vaguely about ‘Jews’ and ‘others’ and avoids the direct antithesis of Jews and Greeks. There can be little doubt that his apologetic mission encouraged a binary thinking in terms of Jews versus the rest. There were, however, theoretical and above all strategic reasons for avoiding a clear binary terminology. Quite rightly, therefore, most Philonic scholars avoid the terminological pairing of Jew and Gentile when discussing Philo’s thought and prefer to speak of Jews and non-Jews. Two American scholars have taken a different path, the one in a classic study that gave rise to considerable controversy two generations ago, the other in a recent important monograph. The opposition Jew and Gentile was so central to the main thesis of Erwin Goodenough in his famous study By Light, Light that he entitled a key chapter ‘Moses as presented to the Gentile inquirer’.43 ‘Gentile’ stands for the non-Jewish reader whom Philo addresses in his nonallegorical writings. Such readers are invited to enter in the Hellenising mystery religion which Philo, in Goodenough’s interpretation had made out of Judaism. The term ‘Gentiles’ is built into the very title of Terence Donaldson’s monograph Judaism and the Gentiles: Jewish Patterns of Universalism (to 135 CE).44 Its aim is to show that the conventional antithesis between Judaism as a particularistic and Christianity as a universalist religion is simplistic and flawed as especially illustrated by the practice of proselytism. A lengthy chapter is devoted to Philo as a key witness for a particular kind of Judaism. The opposition between Jew and Gentile is the key terminology for the entire study, including the chapter on Philo. On the basis of the evidence put forward in this essay, we may conclude that both studies are using terminology that is not taken from Philo’s own usage, but rather would seem to be inspired by a paradigm with a different source, which is none other than that most influential of all books written in Greek, the New Testament. 43 

Goodenough (1935) 180–198. T. L. Donaldson, Judaism and the Gentiles: Jewish Patterns of Universalism (to 135 CE) (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2007); for his chapter on Philo (217–278) see the judicious review of E. Birnbaum in SPhiloA 20 (2008) 213–221. 44 

15.  Cosmos, Logos and Nomos: The Alexandrian Jewish and Christian Appropriation of the Genesis Creation Account* 1. Introduction The description of the creation of the heavens and the earth and the early history of humankind in the biblical book of Genesis has been the most influential of all the cosmogonic accounts that have come down to us from antiquity. The original version, written in Hebrew, was heavily indebted to Near-eastern cosmogonies. Themes from these earlier account were included within a specific framework of Israelite theological ideas and cultic practice. There was, however, no input whatsoever from cosmogonies developed in the Hellenic world, whether mythic or later more literary and philosophical. These were in effect separate traditions that were later destined to interact and to some degree merge in a process that never ceases to fascinate. Rémi Brague has written learnedly and illuminatingly on this process of interaction and appropriation in his study La sagesse du monde.1 In presenting four cosmological models from antiquity he first outlines two opposed Greek models, the one initiated by Socrates and developed by Plato in his Timaeus, the other put forward as a challenge to it by the atomists Democritus [180] and Epicurus. The opposition is persuasive. A  similar approach, though in more detail and with somewhat different emphases, was adopted by David Sedley in his Sather Classical Lectures entitled Creationism and Its Critics in Antiquity.2 Unlike Sedley, however, Brague goes on to present two more models, the one called ‘other than Greece’ and derived from the Scriptures in the Judaeo-Christian-Islamic tradition, the other called ‘the other other’ and describing the anti-cosmic thought developed in Gnosticism. It was above all the former of these that took *  The essay was written for the Entretien sur l’antiquité classique 61 entitled ‘Cosmologies et cosmogonies dans la littérature antique’ held at the famed Fondation Hardt in Vandœuvres, Switzerland in August 2015. My warmest thanks are extended to the convenors Therese Fuhrer and Michael Erler, and to Pierre Ducrey and the staff of the Fondation for their peerless hospitality. I  have not included the text of the discussion, which was also published in the proceedings.] 1  Brague (1999); I utilise the English translation, Brague (2003). 2  Sedley (2007).

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its starting-point in the creation account of the book Genesis, although the latter also studied and exploited that account as well. In his analysis of the scriptural model Brague surveys the major texts of the Old Testament, the New Testament and the Koran. The main common elements he observes allow him to formulate what he calls an ‘Abrahamic model’ in the following terms:3 The world is created by a good God, who affirms at every stage of creation that what he has just freely brought into being is ‘good,’ indeed in his ordered edifice ‘very good’ (Genesis 1). But the phenomena that seem most sublime within the physical world are not those of the highest level. They are in fact of lesser value compared with man, whom they serve. Man therefore is not meant to govern himself according to the phenomena of the world but must seek elsewhere for a model of behavior. In the final analysis, that model is God himself. God manifests himself less through his creation than through a more direct intervention: He can either give the world his law, as in Judaism and Islam, or he can indeed enter into that world through incarnation, as in Christianity.

The greater part of this summary is based on the first chapters of Genesis and the tradition that developed from it. Its main ideas seem to me to be persuasive, certainly as far as the Hebrew Bible is concerned, and can serve as a background to the present study. [181] The purpose of my contribution to our discussions is to add an extra dimension to Brague’s analysis. Following the conventional schema he aligns the first two models with ‘Athens’ and the third with ‘Jerusalem’ (Gnosticism is not tied down to a symbolic place).4 It seems to me important to add a third city that in the course of Western thought has also developed a mythic status, albeit not quite as prominently as the other two. I  refer of course to the city of Alexandria. I will argue that through the Septuagint translation of the Torah, the Jewish thought of Philo and the Christian thought of Origen this city contributed a crucial new element to ancient cosmogonic and cosmological thinking. Indeed one might even argue that it contributed just as much to subsequent Patristic and medieval articulations as did Athens and Jerusalem before it. After some brief words on the Septuagint translation, I  will first offer an analysis of the main features of Philo’s understanding of the creation account, before turning to Origen and the way that he treats the same material. In line with the aims of the Entretiens my approach will be broad, undertaking to treat the theme from three viewpoints, the literary, the societal-political and the ideological: what literary form did these authors use to present their interpretation of the biblical creation account, what was the societal and political context of their reading, and what are the most significant ideas that their views bring forward. A comparison between the two authors will allow us to study how biblical 3  4 

Brague (2003) 60–61. See Brague (2003) 44.

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and Hellenic ideas interacted and merged under the influence of two related but different religions, resulting in a distinctive and influential tradition of thought.

2.  The Septuagint Translation Foundational for both Philo and Origen is the text of the Greek translation of the Septuagint. Both write commentaries [182] on the Genesis account, using comparable but somewhat different methods. Origen is much more of a philologist than Philo, but both pay close attention to the wording and terminology of the text. The features of that text are thus important for our enquiry. Scholars remain divided as to whether the initiative for the translation was undertaken at the instigation of an official command, as related in the famous accounts of the Letter of Aristeas, Aristobulus and Philo, or in response to the needs of the Jewish community in Egypt.5 Certainly it is likely that the translator of the first book was located in the cultural milieu of Alexandria rather than brought in from Palestine, as suggested by the ancient accounts. The syntax stays rather close to the original Hebrew.6 Our authors accept its oddities as seen from their own viewpoint of normal Atticising Greek and on occasion use them to their advantage.7 It is above all the lexical and terminological features of the text that are significant, because, although in many regards idiosyncratic from a Greek point of view, they provide a sufficient basis for theological and philosophical interpretation. They include key cosmological and anthropological terms,8 but also the language of demiurgic creation, of image and likeness, and of moral judgment.9 Just as would be the case for the New Testament three centuries later, it is difficult to overestimate the importance of these linguistic features. It formed a natural bridge to a Hellenising and philosophical interpretation. [183] Without it the Philonic and Origenian projects would have not been possible. Some years ago Martin Rösel subjected this text to a thorough scrutiny and reached the conclusion that it breathed the spirit of an early hellenistic Judaism which was not afraid to formulate the creation account in terms that drew on and argued with contemporary theories and accounts, including Plato’s Timaeus.10 5 

See the judicious account of Dorival in Harl-Dorival-Munnich (1988) 39–82. See the close analysis by Alexandre (1988) in her brilliant account of the text and exegesis of the first five chapters of Genesis in the LXX version. 7  For example by Philo at Opif. 15 on ‘day one’ in Gen 1:5. For the corpus Philonicum I use the standard abbreviations of The Studia Philonica Annual. 8  See ἀρχή, οὐρανός, γῆ, θεός (1:1); πνεῦμα (1:2); φῶς (1:3); βοτάνη, σπέρμα (1:11); σημεῖα (1:14); ἀστέρες (1:16, but not ἥλιος and σελήνη); ψυχή (1:24); ἄνθρωπος (1:26); ἄρσεν καὶ θῆλυ (1:27); πνοή (2:7); γυνή, σάρξ (2:21–24). 9  See (i) ποιέω (1:1 etc.), πλάζω (2:7), οἰκοδομέω (2:22); (ii) εἰκών, ὁμοίωσις (1:26–27); (iii) καλός (1:4 etc.), γινώσκειν καλὸν καὶ πονηρόν (2:17). 10  Rösel (1994) 25–99. 6 

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He even went a step further and speculated that it was evidence of a intellectual climate that existed in Alexandria in circles connected with the Museum and the Library and that it was the product of an incipient scholastic climate (Schulwesen) within Judaism that would later lead to figures such as Philo.11 Rösel’s observations are not always convincing in their details.12 But I would not wish to dismiss out of hand his observations that the vocabulary of the Timaeus and other Greek philosophical works had infiltrated into the language of the Septuagint Genesis creation account. Such interaction is in significant contrast to the original Hebrew, which as we noted earlier was untouched by contact with the world of Hellenism.

3.  Philo: Cosmos, Logos and Nomos amid the Threat of Disorder We move forward two centuries and meet with the great representative of Greekspeaking Alexandrian Judaism, Philo. His copious writings leave no doubt that he stood in a rich tradition of biblical exegesis, which mainly took the form of commentaries and was strongly influenced by Alexandrian scholarship.13 A second-century predecessor had been Aristobulus, whose work [184] purported to answer questions on the Pentateuch posed by King Ptolemy. The longest surviving fragment connects the creation of the cosmos with the institution of the sabbath through God’s rest on the seventh day, a theme that Philo will later develop at considerable length.14 Philo’s context is the cultured life of the wealthy city-dweller. His family was situated at the apex of the Jewish community. Recent scholarship has plausibly argued that like his predecessors his literary activity is best seen in a scholastic setting.15 We can imagine him at the centre of a circle of disciples who would have been in awe of his immense learning. His literary activity cannot, however, have only been directed to an audience internal to the Jewish community. The one fact of his life that is certain is that he headed the delegation of Jews to the Emperor after 38 CE.16 It may have involved a stay in the capital of two years or more. We have to imagine Philo as not only busy in his study, but also (albeit reluctantly) prominent in the forum of public life. The importance of the creation account for Philo is well illustrated by the prominence he gives it on two occasions when explaining the contents of the books of Moses. The first of these is in the Life of Moses, a work which is best 11 

Rösel (1994) 254–257. For example the claim (36) that the term στερέωμα is indebted to the notion of solidity conveyed by the adjective στερεός in the Timaeus (its use at 31b does not relate specifically to heaven or the heavenly bodies, but to the cosmos as a whole). 13  See now the monograph by Niehoff (2011a). 14  Fr. 5 cited by Clement and Eusebius; Philo Opif. 89–128. 15  Sterling (1999). 16  Reported at length in Legat. and confirmed by Josephus Ant. 18.257–260. 12 

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understood as an introduction to the entire series of treatises generally known in modern scholarship as the Exposition of the Law, and indeed perhaps to all his commentaries.17 When discussing the great leader’s role as lawgiver, he introduces his ‘most sacred books,’ dividing these into two parts, the historical part and the part dealing with commands and prohibitions, i. e. the laws proper. The former is divided in two again, one section describing the genesis of the cosmos, the other entitled ‘genealogy.’ i. e. the generations of human beings.18 Philo returns to this scheme towards the end [185] of the Exposition. He modifies it slightly by now speaking of three parts. The first of these is the creation account, followed by the historical part and the legislative part.19 For the creation account he uses the word κοσμοποιία, a term which is first used in extant Greek literature by Aristotle to describe Presocratic cosmogonies,20 but after Philo becomes a technical term for the biblical account.21 He also gives a fuller description of what the creation account contains, stating that ‘it begins with the genesis of heaven and ends with the construction of the human being, for the former is the most perfect of what is indestructible, the latter the best of what is mortal.’22 As I noted in my dissertation, he uses here a formula from Plato’s Timaeus adapted to the contents of the biblical account.23 The unbalanced nature of the tripartition of the Pentateuch that Philo presents in this text is an indication of the importance that he attaches to the Mosaic cosmogony. This part occupies only a few pages at the beginning of the Pentateuch, yet it is seen as foundational for all that follows. As he states in the account in the Life of Moses, the lawgiver wanted to demonstrate two essential doctrines, first that the Father and Maker of the cosmos (another Platonic phrase, Tim. 28c3) was also its true lawgiver, and second that the person who observes the laws will live in accordance with the ordering of the universe, so that there will be a profound harmony between his words and his deeds.24 These themes return at the beginning of the treatise On the creation of the world according to Moses, which opens his grand commentary on the Pentateuch.25 In recognition of the [186] central place of the Mosaic creation account in Philo’s thought, this treatise has always been placed first in all editions and translations of his works. This is a defensible move, but it is completely mistaken to follow it with the Allegorical 17 

See the analysis in Geljon (2002) 7–46. Mos. 2.46–47. 19  Praem. 1. 20  Phys. 2.3 196a22 (Empedocles); Met. A 4 985a19 (Anaxagoras). 21  Note its use by the pagan author Celsus in reference to Moses at C.Cels. 6.27. In the context of the theme of the Entretiens it is worth noting that Philo in all his works never uses the term κοσμογονία, and of course there is no direct ancient equivalent of the modern term ‘cosmology.’ 22  Praem. 1, reading ὁ δὲ θνητῶν ἄριστος, as suggested at Runia (1986) 118. 23  Runia (1986) 86–87 with reference to Tim. 27a and 90e. 24  Mos. 2.48. 25  In what follows I draw on my commentary on this work, Runia (2001a). 18 

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Commentary, as occurs in almost all the editions and translations of Philo’s works.26 The treatise belongs to the series the Exposition of the Law and must in the first instance be read in the context of the thought of that larger work. I already briefly touched on questions of chronology above. If we are to place Philo’s works in their Alexandrian context, it is highly desirable that we gain some sense of the circumstances in which they were written. From his own historical writings we know that Philo had a sense of living in times that had moved from peace and order to tumult and disorder.27 Unfortunately there are only two solid facts to work with. His stay in Rome has already been mentioned. It occurs towards the end of his life.28 At the beginning of the ninth treatise of the Exposition of the Law (the seventh extant) he famously complains that he has been swept away into the ‘mighty ocean of civil cares’ and finds it almost impossible to get his head above water and focus on his studies.29 Although it is impossible to prove beyond all doubt that the Exposition was written towards the end of Philo’s life, when the political troubles besetting the Alexandrian Jewish community became severe, it seems to me highly likely.30 There are subtle hints at the beginning of Philo’s commentary on the Mosaic creation account that point in this direction. The urban setting of Philo’s literary activity is hinted at by the [187] famous image of the founding and design of a city that is used to illustrate the role of the intelligible cosmos and the Logos in containing the contents of ‘day one’ of creation (Opif. 17–18). To be sure, the comparison between the cosmos and a city may not have been very original, but the details of Philo’s image point to the celebrated founding of his own city.31 Another hint is the emphasis on providential care in the introductory section at Opif. 9–11. If the creator does not look after what he has made, a power-vacuum (ἀναρχία) will ensue in the cosmos, just like what happens in a city which does not have a ruler or a magistrate to administer and regulate its affairs in accordance with the law. The theme of order and its opposite disorder pervades the whole of Philo’s œuvre. It can claim strong antecedents in Greek philosophy, but certainly no less firmly rooted in his own existential situation in Alexandria. We turn now to the main body of the commentary on the creation account and examine a selection of its main themes. 26  The only exceptions are the German translation initiated by L. Cohn 1909–1964, and the Hebrew translation still in progress. For over a century it has been generally accepted that Philo wrote three separate biblical commentaries; see Royse (2009). 27  Note especially his description of the halcyon days under the emperor Augustus at Legat. 147. 28  As he himself indicates in the opening words of Legat. 29  Spec. 3.1–6. 30  The strongest advocate for a late date for the Exposition is M. Niehoff; see (2011) 177. Royse (2009) 61 is more circumspect. [This dating is central to Niehoff ’s more recent intellectual biography of Philo, (2018).] 31  As demonstrated in Runia (1989a).



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(1) The first is the nexus between law (νόμος), cosmos (κόσμος) and logos (λόγος). At the outset, in a key statement, Philo states that there is a harmony between the law and the cosmos, and that the person who observes the law is a citizen of the cosmos (κοσμοπολίτης). As the context reveals, by ‘law’ he primarily means the Law of Moses, but it is plain that he is being deliberately equivocal and also has the law of nature in mind ‘according to which the entire cosmos is administered.’32 The assumptions he makes here are momentous when seen in the light of the biblical text that he is expounding. The opening words of Genesis that speak of ‘the heaven and the earth’ are read in terms of a cosmology that is taken over from Greek philosophy and in particular the Platonic Timaeus and its tradition of interpretation. The further assertion of a law of nature assumes [188] a rational structure of the cosmos to which the actions of human beings can conform. But famously, when Philo explains what is created on ‘day one.’ the various elements are regarded as constituent parts of an intelligible cosmos (κόσμος νοητός) located in the divine Logos which serves as the model for the creation of the physical cosmos. It is not until the second day that the heaven is created as the firmament. This daring exegesis of Gen 1:1–5 allows him to postulate the origin of an ordered rational cosmology within the very mind of God the creator. (2) In his preliminary remarks Philo also makes clear that there can only be a single principle for the whole of existent reality, namely God as activating cause. This cause as universal intellect converts the passive object of his activity into the most perfect cosmos.33 But Philo does not dwell on the queston where this object, which has the function of primal matter in Platonist philosophy, has its origin. His view of the underlying principles of the biblical account can be called ‘monarchic dualism,’34 and it is emphatically linked to the view that there was a real creative event, not a beginning in time (which is philosophically impossible) but a beginning of time.35 God’s creative act is directly linked to the doctrine of divine providence. The maker would not exercise forethought for what he did not make.36 (3) Not only, as we have seen, are the contents of ‘day one’ compared to the rational plan of a great city, but also the scheme of the six days is interpreted as expressing the planned structure of the cosmos, though not in an entirely predictable fashion (it would have been expected that the fourth day would pre32  Opif. 3. That Philo invented the concept of the ‘law of nature,’ as argued by Koester (1968), cannot be sustained, but the phrase is certainly very prominent in his works. 33  Opif. 8. 34  See Runia (2003a) 136–141 (= article 5 in this collection). The question of whether any kind of creatio ex nihilo can be attributed to Philo remains highly controversial. He certainly does not make the doctrine explicit in a way that recognises its significant deviation from the doctrines of Greek philosophy. 35  Opif. 7–12, 26–28. 36  Opif. 9–11.

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cede the third).37 Into this world the human being is placed as climax of [189] creation on the sixth day. The cosmos will turn out to be the playing-field on which the struggle between good and evil, virtue and vice will be played out.38 (4) In his interpretation of the creation of the heavenly bodies on the fourth day Philo stays quite close to the biblical text. This means he does not entirely avoid the anthropocentrism of the ‘Abrahamic model’ as postulated by Rémi Brague in the passage quoted earlier in this article.39 But when wishing to give a philosophical basis for this anthropocentric approach, he finds an ally in Plato. Because he does not take over Plato’s theory of the World-soul, the parallel drawn by Plato between the perfect motions of the heavens and the rational actions to which humans should aspire is not utilised. But he is attracted to another Platonic theme, namely that contemplation of the ordered heavens gives rise to the gift of philosophy.40 The emphasis is placed on the role of light rather than of sight (as in Plato) because of the different structures of the two accounts.41 There can be little doubt that Philo, following the majority view in Greek philosophy, regards the heavenly bodies as ontologically superior to human beings. Through their ordered movements established by God they contribute to the preservation of the whole.42 The emphasis falls, for reasons that we shall discuss further below,43 on their subordination to the divine command. God has given them powers, but they are not autonomous.44 (5) In interpreting the anthropology of the biblical account, Philo does not find it easy to grapple with the double creation of human beings, and some aspects of his views remain difficult [190] to interpret.45 What is beyond doubt is that he interprets the relation between God and human beings – whether the latter are described as created in God’s image (Gen 1:26) or inbreathed by his Spirit (Gen 2:7) –, in terms of the human mind or rational soul, that part of the human make-up that makes possible a life of excellence and reason or a life of vice and passion. (6) And so the dénoument of the cosmogony occurs once the first human being and his partner have been created. Its description takes up the final part of the treatise. Philo emphasises that the first human was perfect in body and soul and was given every opportunity to lead the good life. Indeed, prior 37 

Opif. 45–46. Opif. 77–81 anticipates the events in paradise described in Opif. 151–170. 39  Above at n. 3. 40  Opif. 53–54. 41  Plato does not mention light in Tim. 47a–c, but does do so earlier in 45b and 46b when discussing the mechanism of sight. 42  Opif. 61. 43  See above n. 65 and text thereto. 44  Opif. 46. 45  Particular in relation to his exegesis of the second creation of the human being in Gen 2:7, as expounded in Opif. 134; see Runia (2001a) 322–324 and now Loader (2011) 13. 38 

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to the fashioning of woman he attained the very limit of human well-being (εὐδαιμονία).46 Fall into misery and death occurs once the woman arrives on the scene. Philo’s reading of this crucial episode has often been misunderstood.47 It is not sexual desire in itself that beings about the fall. It is the inordinate desire for bodily pleasure that led the first man and woman astray, causing them to exchange the life of immortality and well-being for that of mortality and misfortune (κακοδαιμονία).48 The events in paradise thus culminate in the penalty that occurs when God’s commands are transgressed, and were it not that God is a God of mercy, the human race would have been wiped out.49 (7) Philo concludes his treatise with a famous epilogue.50 The Mosaic κοσμοποιία teaches five most beautiful lessons  – that God exists and is One, that the cosmos came into being and is one, and that God exercises providence over what he has made. Strictly speaking none of these lessons can be derived [191] directly from the Genesis account. All of them in fact involve some degree of interposition on the part of doctrines from Greek philosophy.51 Most of all this is seen in the final exhortation with which the work ends. The person who understands these lessons, i. e. the theological and cosmological underpinnings of the Law, will lead a blessed life of well-being, marked by the doctrines of piety and holiness.52 The motif of religious and moral exhortation is unmistakeable. The disastrous events that occurred in paradise can be undone. We recall the climactic moment of Plato’s Timaeus when the philosopher is exhorted to lead a life of reason and excellence, and so become εὐδαίμων.53 It might seem that Philo follows Plato in speaking only of the individual.54 But in the context of how the Exposition of the Law will unfold as a whole, this is surely deceptive. In addition to the individual there is also a community. The reference to God’s providential care for the cosmos, compared with that of parents towards their children, recalls the text at the beginning of the treatise, where Philo fears lawlessness in the cosmos just as in a city. In the treatises on the events in Alexandria and Rome in 38–40 CE the salvific action of divine providence is a central theme.55 As noted above, the Exposition of the Law in all likelihood was written before and during 46 

Opif. 150. Opif. 151–152 and my commentary, (2001a) 354–361. 48  Opif. 152. 49  Opif. 169. 50  Opif. 170–172. 51  It is particularly evident in the fourth ‘lesson’ that the cosmos is unique, a doctrine that is nowhere in evidence in Genesis (which of course does not speak of ‘the cosmos’ at all) and is also not anticipated in the main body of the treatise. 52  Opif. 172. 53  Tim. 90a–d. 54  But note that, in the context of the trilogy as originally planned, Plato would have also emphasised communal aspects, for example in the struggle between Athens and Atlantis. 55  See esp. Flacc. 191 and Legat. 3. It is also an essential background for the philosophical treatises Prov. 1–2. 47 See

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those events. The conviction that God cares for the cosmos is ultimately also an expression of hope for the Jews in Alexandria. Philo wrote two other extensive biblical commentaries, the Allegorical Commentary and the Quaestiones in Genesin et Exodum. [192] They were quite likely written earlier than the Exposition of the Law, but may have been at least partly written at the same time.56 It is generally agreed that these works will have had a more limited circulation and reading public. The complexity of the Allegorical Commentary meant that it was written for insiders, most likely for a group of disciples in a school setting.57 The Quaestiones, with their detailed and often multiple exegesis, also suggests scholastic use.58 In both cases there is no commentary on the Hexaemeron itself. The Allegorical Commentary commences at Gen 2:1, the Quaestiones at Gen 2:4. Both commentaries make extensive use of the allegorical method, the former almost exclusively, the latter in a systematic parallel treatment of the literal and the symbolic meaning. Why, then, is the first chapter of Genesis excluded from these works? The question has given rise to much discussion.59 There are indications which suggest that Philo wrote an opening treatise of the Allegorical Commentary that has been lost. The opening words of Leg. 1.1, which cite Gen 2:1, baldly state that Moses ‘having already stated the coming into being of mind (νοῦς) and sense-perception (αἴσθησις), now presents the completion of both.’ This appears to assume an identification of mind with heaven and sense-perception with earth that has been introduced earlier, most likely in relation to Gen 1:1. There is also a hint at Leg. 2.19 of an earlier interpretation of the animals created on the fifth day in terms of the (genera of the) human passions, in conformity with the usual allegorical identification that is pervasive in Philo’s allegories. In this opening treatise, if it was indeed written, Philo would have laid the foundations of his grand allegory of the soul in terms of an allegorical interpretation of the cosmogony in terms of the structural features of the soul and its parts. But it must be said that, apart from the [193] texts cited above, no traces of such an allegory remain and Philo appears to have lost interest in it. For this reason, perhaps, there are virtually no traces of it in the Quaestiones.60 Without wishing to simplify Philo’s notoriously complex allegorical schemes too much (it is not possible to go into much detail), I  would argue that the allegory of the soul takes its main point of departure from the double creation of the humanity and its placement in paradise symbolising the garden of virtues. In 56  As argued by Nikprowetzky (1977) 194. [See now also Matusova (2019). On the relation between Opif. (as part of the Exposition of the Law) and the Allegorical Commentary see further article 16 below.] 57  See above n. 15. 58  Niehoff (2011a) 152 calls it a ‘manual of instruction.’ 59  See Nikiprowetzky (1977) 198; Morris (1987) 832; Tobin (2000). 60  There is a partial exception at QG 1.19, but no mention is made of the passions.

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broad terms it is consistent with the more literal interpretation in the De opificio mundi, but with the point of focus on the embodied soul rather than the human being. Philo patiently takes us through the history of that soul, beginning with Adam and Eve (Leg. 1–3), their expulsion from paradise (Cher.), the story of Cain and Abel (Sacr.–Det.) and the birth of Seth (Post.). It is mainly a free fall into passion and wickedness, notably when the God-loving soul Abel is murdered by the self-loving Cain. The birth of Seth, however, is the turning point.61 With Seth the soul begins to make the long journey of progress and improvement, symbolised first by the generations up to Noah, then by the three Patriarchs, one of whom has his name changed to Israel, the ‘one who sees God,’ and culminating in the great leader and lawgiver Moses. A stage on that journey is relevant to our theme. The Patriarch Abraham leaves the land of his birth Chaldea and moves first to Haran, out of which God calls him to depart (Gen 12:1). This is the theme of μετανάστασις, migration from the cosmos and the world of sense-perceptible nature to the mind and to God, which Valentin Nikiprowetzky declared to be the central theme of Philonic thought.62 The Chaldeans symbolise those who regard the cosmos as the primal god and the movements of the heavenly bodies, which they study intensely as determining [194] what happens to other beings, whether for good or for evil.63 Philo trenchantly formulates the view that Moses has on such a doctrine. He agrees that the cosmos has come into being as a unity of parts that are in sympathy with each other. But crucially he differs from them in recognising God as the creator and transcendent cause of the universe. As for the movements of the stars, they are not primary causes, but rather subject to the divine powers which hold the cosmos together.64 In his discussion of the first commandment of the law, Philo attacks those who worship the heavenly bodies. The cosmos is like a city on the largest scale, with the heavenly bodies as rulers (ἄρχοντες) and beings on earth as subjects. But the rulers are not autonomous. They are subordinates of the Father and it is by imitating his rule that they carry out their tasks.65 The term ἄρχοντες is intriguing, because it is precisely the term later used by the Gnostics to denote the cosmic powers which tyrannise the life of human beings in the cosmos. But it will be plain that Philo is opposed to any form of anti-cosmism as put forward in Brague’s fourth model.66 The cosmos is the greatest and best of created things precisely because it has been created by the good God, Father and Maker of the universe. 61 

See esp. Post. 173–174. Nikiprowetzky (1977) 239. See also from a slightly different perspective the remarks by Brague (2003) 79–82 on Philo’s ‘Abrahamic Socratism.’ 63  Migr. 179. 64  Migr. 180–181. 65  Spec. 1.13–15. 66  See above n. 1 and the text below it. 62 

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Philo’s thought remains true to its biblical roots in discerning an element of competition between God and the cosmos. Both claim admiration and worship. But for Israel, if it is to be faithful to its calling, there can be no question of a true contest. The Chaldeans get it wrong by worshipping the cosmos and not looking beyond it to its creator. This theme is also found in the prefatory comments of Philo’s main cosmological treatise. There are some, he writes, who have more admiration for the cosmos than for its maker. The former they regard as not having come into being and everlasting, while to the latter they [195] fail to give due honour, denying him providential activity, for without creation there is no providence.67 We are now in a position to understand the sub-text of this important remark better. Cosmogony and cosmology not only provide an understanding of the foundations of the cosmos and the place of human beings therein. They also entail divine providence and so have a bearing on the life of the Jews in Alexandria. They allowed Philo to live in hope through grim times and he lived to see that hope at least partly vindicated.68

4.  Origen: Cosmos, Logos and the History of Salvation A full two centuries separate Origen and Philo and much had occurred in Alexandria in the meantime. Ultimately Philo’s hopes for the Jewish community were crushed through the disastrous events of the revolt under Trajan in 115–117 CE.69 The rich legacy of Alexandrian Jewish literature was lost. The single exception was the corpus of his own writings, rescued from the shipwreck in a process that we cannot reconstruct, but which almost certainly involved the interventions of second-century Alexandrian Christians, including in all likelihood Pantaenus, head of the so-called Catechetical school. As is well known, Origen played a crucial role in this process by eventually taking his copies of the Philonic corpus to Caesarea, where they were preserved in the Episcopal library.70 There is evidence of considerable interest in and exegetical activity focused on the Mosaic creation account in the period between Philo and Origen. Clement, the first Alexandrian author to cite Philo, gives various interpretations in his Stromateis, some [196] of which may have been taken over from the lost Hypotyposeis.71 Theophilus of Antioch devotes a long section of his Ad Autolycum to exegesis of the Hexaemeron and the early history of humankind. Certain details 67  Opif. 7–8. It is disputed whether this text has ‘Chaldean’ philosophy in mind; see Bos (1998); Runia (2001a) 122; Trabbatoni (2009). 68  See above n. 55 and esp. the triumphant undertone of his references to providence, recompense and punishment at Legat. 1–7. [On the themes of hope and providence see below articles 19 and 26 respectively.] 69  For an account of the disaster see now Schwemer (2013). 70  See Runia (1993a) 16–25. 71  On this work see Duckworth-Osborn (1985).



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are reminiscent of Philo’s De opificio mundi and may have been derived from there.72 Eusebius records three other second-century authors who wrote commentaries on the Hexaemeron.73 Also the heterodox theologians of Alexandria, including Valentinus, made extensive use of themes from the early chapters of Genesis, to judge by material preserved in Irenaeus, Clement and the Nag Hammadi codices.74 This is the tradition in which Origen stood in his interpretations of the first chapters of Genesis. Of all the works in his gigantic œuvre that provided exegesis and interpretation of the Mosaic cosmogony, one stands out: the Commentary on Genesis in 13 books. Despite its great length we know for certain – because Origen himself tells us – that it treated only the first part of the book from Gen 1:1 to the words ‘this is the book of the genesis of human beings’ in Gen 5:1.75 Most regrettably the work is lost. Only a limited number of excerpts, citations and references have been preserved. These have recently been comprehensively collected and published for the first time by Karin Metzler in the first volume of the new German bilingual edition of Origen’s works.76 Ronald Heine and Charlotte Köckert have also recently done valuable research on the remains of the work and its place in Origen’s thought.77 [197] In spite of its loss we do know important details about the circumstances of its composition. Eusebius tells us that Origen wrote the first eight books while he still resided in Alexandria and the remainder after his move to Caesarea in 232  CE.78 An important piece of evidence that the historian cites is Origen’s words in the preface to Book 6 of his Commentary on John, which was written at the same time as the work on Genesis. This passage is interesting to compare with Philo’s lament while writing the Exposition of the Law.79 Origen tells his reader how he overcame the ‘storm’ directed against him by the enemy in Alexandria which prevented his scriptural labours. Scholars agree that the reference here is not to any persecution by the Roman civil authorities, but to conflict within the Church of Alexandria and in particular with its bishop Demetrius. Ever since he abandoned his literary and philosophical studies when still quite young, Origen had worked as a lay teacher within the Catechetical school of the Alexandrian 72  Autol. 2.12–30. See Martín (1990). The details of his exegesis certainly go back to Hellenistic-Jewish sources. Theophilus is the first author after Philo (Leg. 2.5, Decal. 100) to use the term ἑξαήμερος; see Autol. 2.12. 73  Rhodon, Apion and Candidus; see Eus. HE 5.13.8, 5.27. 74  Heine 2003, 65–66, 70. For Valentinus see fr. 1, 5, 11 in Markschies (1992). 75  Cels. 6.49, which also gives an outline of topics treated on Gen 1:1–8. 76  Metzler (2010). [Dr Metzler informs me that she plans to publish the critical edition of the fragments of the Commentary on Genesis in the series Die Griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller.] 77  Heine (2003); (2005); Köckert (2009). 78  H. E. 6.24.2 (the number of 12 books here is a mistake on the part of Eusebius). 79  See above n. 29.

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church. His goal had been, through an intense study of the text and meaning of scripture, to deepen the understanding of its spiritual sense and also protect his charges from the dangers of heterodoxy. The precise nature of the conflict with Demetrius is unclear. It could well have had its origin in differences of opinion on how to instruct the faithful, but there may have also been aspects of church politics involved.80 We may be certain that the first part of the Commentary on Genesis was written in a polemical atmosphere. Origen was defending his own view of how scripture should be interpreted, in response to both orthodox opponents who rejected his theological and allegorical approach and heterodox thinkers whose interpretation of the Genesis account differed markedly from his own. But when Origen received the offer to be ordained as a priest of the Church of Caesarea, it was too good to refuse. He took his [198] Alexandrian baggage with him, including, as we saw, his copies of the works of Philo.81 If the Commentary was better preserved, we might more of an idea of its literary features. Scholars have argued that it followed the method of question and answer directed at the biblical text, as used in the very long extract on Gen 1:14 preserved in the Philocalia.82 This is a method also frequently used by Philo, which goes back to the heyday of Alexandrian scholarship in the Hellenistic period.83 It is indicative of a scholastic environment within the Church. To judge by the Commentary’s size and the above-mentioned passage it must have dealt with the questions raised by the biblical text at very considerable length, including exhaustive discussion of the views of predecessors and opponents. It will also have given Origen scope to make detailed philological comments on the text, a practice which is found much less in Philo. The loss of at least 90 per cent of the work is a considerable handicap when trying to compare Origen’s understanding of the Mosaic creation account with that of Philo. Fortunately, however, a number of other works can aid us in this task. Before leaving Alexandria  – so at the same time as he wrote the Commentary on Genesis –, Origen had also written the systematic work De principiis and the first part of the Commentary on John. Both works could hardly avoid including interpretations of the creation account (the latter work with reference to the Logos in John 1). The Homilies on Genesis were written much later, when Origen was settled in his role as priest of the Church of Caesarea.84 The first homily treats the first chapter of Genesis. It would appear that on various occasions Origen utilises exegeses [199] from his earlier commentary. Finally in in the Contra Celsum written late in his life Origen often refers back to the Com80 

Nautin (1977) 422–431; Trigg (1983) 130–140. See above at n. 70. 82  Fr. D7 Metzler. 83  Nikiprowetzky (1977) 5; Niehoff (2011a) 136 and passim. The general use of the quaestio approach should not be confused with the form of Quaestiones practised by Philo in the third of his commentaries, which is a particular literary adaptation of the method. 84  Habermehl (2011) 4 dates them to after 245 C. E. 81 

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mentary on Genesis as he undertakes to sharply distinguish Christian doctrine from that of his Platonist opponent.85 Let us now outline some of the main themes that emerge from the remains of Origen’s Commentary, examining them for themselves, but also seeing them against the background of the themes that we earlier discerned in Philo’s handling of the same biblical material. (1) For Origen the very first words of the creation account, ‘in beginning’ (ἐν ἀρχῇ), are not a reference to the aspect of time, as in Philo, but to the Logos, the first principle of all creation. The Logos, equated with the pre-existent divine Wisdom (σοφία) of Prov 8:22–31, is the instrument through which God created the whole of reality. The ἀρχή is Christ, who in a sense (πως) can be regarded as the Demiurge, to whom the Father speaks when he says ‘let there be light’ (Gen 1:3) and ‘let the firmament come into being’ (Gen 1:6), but inasmuch as he is wisdom, i. e. the system of the contemplation and conceptuality of the whole.86 This is Philo’s noetic cosmos located in Christ the Logos. Origen makes the comparison with the architectonic models and designs of a house or a ship. Unlike Philo he does not make the comparison with a city, and also does not include the component parts of ‘day one’ as its contents. On the other hand, like Philo he does distinguish between the heaven created on ‘day one’ and the physical heaven or ‘firmament’ created on the second day, but the former is not an intelligible model. It is rather the ‘entire spiritual substance’ [200] consisting of all the rational creatures, as opposed to the world of physical bodies represented by the ‘earth.’87 Gen 1:1 thus lays the foundations for the subsequent creation of human beings as consisting of mind (or rational soul) and body. (2) Just like Philo, Origen makes extensive use of the demiurgic model of the Platonic Timaeus to explain God’s creative activity. But he points out its limitations in a much clearer manner. God as creator and sole principle is not like a sculptor or a builder who needs already existent material to make his product. Following the lead of Theophilus of Antioch,88 Origen argues that God’s power and will are such that he can summon into being whatever he wishes, i. e. through his foresight he ensures that there is a material basis sufficient for the world he wishes to create. If, however, uncreated matter had preceded creation, 85 See

Cels. 4.37, 4.39, 6.49–52, 60. I am paraphrasing Origen’s actual words here. The text (Comm.Joh. 1.19.110–111) reads: δημιουργὸς γὰρ πως ὁ Χριστός ἐστιν, ᾧ λέγει ὁ πατήρ· «γενηθήτω φῶς» καὶ «γενηθήτω στερέωμα». δημιουργὸς δὲ ὁ Χριστὸς ὡς ἀρχή, καθ’ ὃ σοφία ἐστί, τῷ σοφία εἶναι καλούμενος ἀρχή. Ἡ γὰρ σοφία παρὰ τῷ Σαλομῶντί φησιν· «ὁ θεὸς ἔκτισέν με ἀρχὴν ὁδῶν αὐτοῦ εἰς ἔργα αὐτοῦ», ἵνα «ἀρχῇ ᾖ ὁ λόγος», ἐν τῇ σοφίᾳ· κατὰ μὲν τὴν σύστασιν τῆς περὶ τῶν ὅλων θεωρίας καὶ νοημάτων τῆς σοφίας νοουμένης … Cf. also 19.22.147 where the Logos is also κόσμος νοητός. On these texts see Köckert (2009) 245. 87  Hom.Gen. 1.2; Calc. 278 (= Comm.Gen. test. C II 1 Metzler). On this interpretation see Köckert (2009) 249–253. 88  Autol. 2.4. 86 

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there would not be a good Creator or Father who created through his providential activity, but rather some prior providence more ancient than God who caused the pre-existent matter to be available. Another unacceptable alternative would be that God just happened to find the right amount of material for his work.89 In contrast to Philo and Clement before him, Origen thus makes quite clear that God creates ex nihilo, thereby breaking with one of the great assumptions of Greek philosophy, that nothing can come to be out of nothing. One of the reasons for this move will certainly be that it is a response to Gnostic thinkers who not only contest the excellence of created reality, but also the goodness of the God responsible for it.90 It is [201] also fascinating to see how, like Philo, Origen uses the argument of divine providence, but gives it a different twist. (3) Origen fully agrees with Philo (and perhaps makes an anonymous reference to him91) that creation occurred instantaneously outside time and that the scheme of the six days of the Mosaic cosmogony is used ἕνεκα τάξεως, i. e. to emphasize the ordered nature of the created product.92 Unlike Philo, however, he again makes explicit the limitations of the demiurgic metaphor: God is not like a builder who needs time for his work. (4) By far the longest extract that survives from the Commentary on Genesis discusses the text of Gen 1:14 that the heavenly bodies are created to be ‘for signs.’ i. e. to indicate future events.93 For Origen this verse raises questions about human freedom and human knowledge. It cannot be the case that the role of the stars as signs entails that human beings do not have freedom of choice in their actions, for that would remove human responsibility and even mean that the divine plan of salvation through the law and the sojourn of Christ on earth would be in vain.94 This would be to fall into the error of the Marcionites, who attribute human wickedness to an evil demiurge.95 Origen emphasises that the fact that the stars indicate future events by no means entails that they determine them as in the doctrines of astrology.96 The excerpt does not tell us much about 89 Eus. PE 7.20 (= Comm.Gen. fr. D 3 Metzler). Philo entertains the possibility that God calculates the right amount of matter in Prov. 2.50–51, but does not draw out the philosophical implications. Köckert (2009) 285 argues, adducing Princ. 2.1.4, that Origen has Epicureans in mind, but I suspect his target is broader and includes Platonists and Aristotelians. 90  As argued by May (1994). For remnants of Valentinus’ interpretation of Gen 1:2 which Origen would have had in mind in his exegesis see Heine (2003) 70. 91  See Van den Hoek (2000) 61. Nearly all Origen’s references to Philo are anonymous (only three exceptions); see the list at Runia (1995a) 230–231. [At least three more anonymous references to Philo are found in the recently discovered and edited Homilies on the Psalms; see Perrone (2015); Cover (2018).] 92  Comm.Gen. fr. D 13 Metzler. 93  Philoc. 23.1–11, 14–21 (= Comm.Gen. fr. D 7 Metzler). 94  Ibid. 23.1. 95  Ibid. 23.2. 96  Philo too is strongly opposed to astral determinism; see Prov. 1.77–88 and Migr. 179, 194 (Chaldeans).



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the status of the heavenly beings. From other texts we know that Origen regards them as rational beings with a higher status and a better life than humans, but they remain creatures nonetheless. Ontologically they are less exalted than in Plato, [202] and also less than in Philo, who does not share Origen’s speculative doctrine of a divine plan of cosmic salvation which also involves the heavenly beings.97 (5) From scattered texts it appears that Origen followed Philo quite closely in his interpretation of the two anthropological texts Gen 1:26–27 and 2:7. We even find the same ambiguity that haunts Philo’s interpretation of the texts. The human being ‘according to the image’ can be interpreted as an intelligible model, similar to heaven and earth in Gen 1:1.98 But in one of the more extended verbatim excerpts from the Commentary, he argues that the ‘according to the image’ character of the human being lies in the rational soul. It should not be seen in relation to the body, since God is incorporeal, but rather to the capacities for knowledge, judgment, practising justice and doing good which the rational soul possesses.99 In the homily on Gen 1 he first points out that it is only in the case of the heaven, earth, sun, moon, stars and humanity that God is said to ‘make.’ whereas all the other creatures are commanded to come into being. This is an indication of the greatness of the human being. But even greater is the honour accorded him when it is said that he is made ‘in the image of God.’ Origen here repeats the Philonic distinction between the two verbs in the texts. God ‘made’ the inner incorporeal human being ‘according to the image,’ whereas he ‘moulded’ the corporeal human being.100 Predictably Origen also identifies the ‘image’ of God, which for Philo was the Logos, with Christ. A reference to Origen’s discussion in the Commentary that Christ had a soul can be plausibly linked to exegesis of Gen 2:7, the only text in the creation account which mentions the human soul.101 [203] In addition it is likely that there was discussion of Adam and Eve, the first human beings, as types of Christ and the Church, probably with particular reference to Gen 2:24: just as all human beings stem from the original pair, so all believers are the product of Christ and his church.102 (6) Origen agrees with Philo that the story of paradise and the trees that it contains must be allegorised.103 Unfortunately it is not possible to reconstruct in any detail how in the Commentary he interpreted Adam and Eve’s life before they fell into sin, their fall and their expulsion. An intriguing Catena fragment records views on the interpretation of Gen 3:21, where God is said to make ‘coats 97  Scott (1991) 132–142. Notoriously in the De principiis Origen speculates that the stars are to some degree fallen beings requiring ultimate redemption. 98  Calc. 278 (= Comm.Gen. fr. C II 1 Metzler). 99  Coll.Coisl. fr. 73 Petit (= Comm.Gen. fr. D 11 Metzler). 100  Hom.Gen. 1.12–13. On the debt to Philo see Van den Hoek (2000) 66. 101  Heine 2005, 137 with reference to Socrates H. E. 3.7 (= Comm.Gen. fr. C II 3 Metzler). 102  Ibid. 137–138 based on texts in Jerome and John Philoponus. 103  Eustathius of Antioch Engast. 21 (= Comm.Gen. fr. D 14 Metzler).

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of skins’ for the first human beings.104 A literal reading is of course out of the question. A possible explanation is that they represent ‘bodies.’ This was Philo’s view,105 and one might expect Origen to be in sympathy with it. But he raises the objection that earlier Adam had spoken of ‘bones and flesh’ (Gen 2:23). Moreover, if they represent mortality, which now came into the world, how can one explain that God is the cause of this rather than the sin they committed? Another Catena excerpt identifies paradise with the Church and states that ‘working’ there (Gen 2:15) means carrying out spiritual deeds and obeying the command to love each other. Christians now fall under the ‘spiritual law’ (Rom 7.14), which gives life, in contrast to the literal law which brings on death.106 Philo too takes the death mentioned in Gen 2:17 as referring to death of the soul, much worse than that of the body, but he would of course never agree that the letter of the law has fatal results.107 [204] We have reached the end of the main extant themes of Origen’s great Commentary on Genesis. The question remains why he stopped it at Gen 5:1 after the birth of Seth. Ronald Heine has suggested that the reason is connected to the views of the heterodox Christians in Alexandria, who showed a great deal of interest in the creation narrative and in the role of Seth.108 He notes the text of Theodotus quoted by Clement, in which we read that ‘three natures are engendered from Adam, the first is irrational, to which Cain belonged, the second rational and righteous, to which Abel belonged, the third spiritual, to which Seth belonged.’109 The rest of the passage demonstrates that this tripartition is based on the Pauline schema of the earthly, psychical and spiritual.110 It seems to me valid that the early Christian commentators saw a break at this point in the narrative of Genesis, and not only because of the wording of Gen 5:1. Theophilus of Antioch points out that after Gen 4:22 the genealogy of Cain dies out and affirms that ‘from Seth the rest of the human race is derived up to the present day.’111 But I  suspect that the reason that Origen stopped here had a deeper structural reason. As we found in Philo, the birth of Seth means a new starting-point for the human race. The purpose of the creation narrative was to set out the origins of the world and of humanity. With the three sons of Adam the main types of human soul, which can be reduced to two, are in place and the 104 

Coll.Coisl. fr. 121 Petit (= Comm.Gen. fr. D 22 Metzler). QG 1.52, expressly identified as the ‘deeper meaning.’ 106  Coll.Coisl. fr. 259 Petit (= Comm.Gen. fr. D 18 Metzler). Cf. Cels. 7.20, which shows that the reference is to Rom 7:14. 107  Leg. 1.105–108. On the theme of death of the soul see (Zeller) 1995. 108  Heine (2003) 65–66. 109  Exc. ex Theod. 54.1. 110  Cf. Irenaeus Adv.haer. 1.7.5 on the Valentinians. It is very odd that at 54.2 Theodotus says the earthly man is κατ᾿ εἰκόνα. He must mean in the image of the evil demiurge. This is at a great remove from Origen. 111  Ad Autol. 2.30. 105 



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divine plan of salvation can unfold, culminating in the incarnation of the Logos in Christ.112 A final word should be devoted to the homily that Origen delivered on the first chapter of Genesis. As we have seen, it very [205] likely contains many themes from the Commentary now presented in an attractively compact and straight-forward form. But no less interesting is the manner in which it develops an elaborate allegory of the creations of the six days in terms of the make-up and life of the human being in a manner that was lacking in the extant works of Philo. It starts at the very beginning: the heaven in Gen 1:1 is the human mind, the first earth his body.113 The division of the waters (1:7–8) is an exhortation to the faithful to become heavenly and participate in spiritual matters.114 The great lights in 1:14 are Christ and the Church, the former illuminating the latter and enabling it to be the ‘light of the world.’115 Climactically the human being is created according to the image, who is the Logos. Here Origen departs from strict allegory and exhorts his listeners to be transformed in the likeness of the Saviour, repenting and making progress just as the Apostles did.116 This is the cosmogony translated into a spiritual exhortation for the church folk of Caesarea. But it would be wrong to make too great a contrast between the complexities of the Commentary and the simple exhortations of the homily. In both cases Origen, as Charlotte Köckert has well said, sees the created cosmos as a place of education (‘Erziehungsstätte’) for humans to make progress and achieve the spiritual growth that will enable them to be with God.117 Correspondingly the creation account is more than a description of how the cosmos came into being and what its main components are. If read properly it is also a paedeutic text teaching human beings what they are and how they can be saved. It thus continues the protreptic emphasis of the tradition of Plato’s Timaeus just as Philo did,118 but adds the specific dynamic of [206] the Christian history of salvation. And we may safely assume that for Origen himself the act of commenting and preaching on this sacred text was also a profound spiritual exercise.

5.  Some Conclusions The two Alexandrian thinkers and theologians we have studied in this essay stand very consciously in an exegetical tradition focused on the Greek text of 112  Seth is not mentioned in the Scholia on Genesis which Origen compiled on the rest of the Book. See Metzler fr. E 1 ff. 113  Hom.Gen. 1.1; cf. Philo Leg. 1.1 discussed above at n. 59. 114  Hom.Gen. 1.2. 115  Hom.Gen. 1.5–6. 116  Hom.Gen. 1.13. 117  Köckert (2009) 307. 118  See above n. 53 and text thereto.

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the Septuagint. Philo’s openness to Hellenism enabled him to develop new approaches to the understanding of the biblical creation account, most of which were taken over by Origen in a different context. Starting-point is not the heaven and earth of the first verse, but the cosmos of Greek philosophy, a unified and ordered whole which is good because it comes into being by and through the divine Logos. The anthropocentrism of the biblical account, to which Rémi Brague has rightly drawn attention, is retained to some degree, as can be seen in the treatment of the creations of the fourth and sixth day. But philosophically much is taken over from what Plato had taught in his cosmology. The good life, in conformity with excellence and in accordance with divine instruction, is cosmically situated through the Logos, which enters into the make-up of the human being created κατ᾿ εἰκόνα θεοῦ. The role of the Logos, philosophically and theologically understood and developed, is what Alexandria added to the Abrahamic model outlined by Brague.119 There are divergences between our two authors as well. Philo’s context is the Alexandrian Jewish community under threat. Origen found himself wanting to leave his community, the Alexandrian church, behind, because it would not accept the fundamentals of his spiritual theology and exegesis. For Philo the Logos found expression in the nomos that Moses wrote down and invited his disciples to observe and study. Origen believed [207] that the Logos had entered human history and brought salvation. Only the spiritual law remained. But it too invited study in this world, anticipating further contemplation in the next.

119 

See above at n. 3.

16.  The Doctrine of Creation in Philo’s Allegorical Commentary* An important breakthrough occurred in Philonic studies a little over twenty years ago when the American-Armenian scholar Abraham Terian demonstrated that the order of Philo’s treatises in all editions and most translations up to that time was incorrect.1 De opificio mundi should not be followed by the Legum allegoriae. It explicitly connects to the De Abrahamo and is the opening treatise of the series of treatises known by the modern title The Exposition of the Law. The Legum allegoriae, on the other hand, is the first extant treatise of another series, the Allegorical Commentary. In fact, this was not really a new discovery. At the turn of the 20th century the first volume of the German translation had commenced with the De opificio mundi followed by the De Abrahamo. In the foreword its editor Leopold Cohn says that he and his co-editor Paul Wendland in their great critical edition of Philo’s works in Greek retained the traditional order of previous editions ‘on practical grounds.’2 This was, in retrospect, an error in judgement on their part. The practice continued until recently and it still to be found in the English, French, Italian and Spanish translations of Philo’s works (but not in the Hebrew translation). But this having been said, we must also recognise that it is a very understandable mistake. The Legum allegoriae begin with the citation of Gen 2:1 without any further ado. It appears to be crying out for some kind of introduction. There are two questions we can ask here? Firstly, was the opening treatise that we now have actually the beginning of the Commentary? There seems to be an increasing scholarly consensus that this cannot [4] have been the case.3 The opening words after the cited biblical lemma seem to imply that they are a continuation of an earlier discussion. In the next treatise Philo refers to an allegorical interpretation of the creation of the animals in terms of the passions (Leg. 2.11–13). It is prob*  I wish to express my warmest thanks to Angela Longo and Ludovica De Luca for their invitation to attend a conference in October 2019 on Philo’s De opificio mundi in L’Aquila, Italy. It was a joy to experience their hospitality and collegiality, and also to see in person the impressive progress made by the city after the catastrophic earthquake of 2009. Little did we know that another disaster, this time of a medical kind, would follow only a few months later. 1  Terian (1997); now followed by Runia (2001a) 1–4; Royse (2009) 47. 2  Cohn PCH vol. 1 (1909) vi: ‘aus praktischen Gründen’. 3  See the discussions in Goulet (1987) 136–139; Tobin (2000); Sterling (2012) 64; Niehoff (2018) 247–250.

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able that a prior treatise now lost gave an allegorical interpretation of the six days of the creation account in terms of the human being consisting of mind, soul and body, parallel to but of course very different from later allegorical readings by Origen and Augustine. A second question follows from this. Would this initial treatise have commenced with an introductory section in which Philo explained the method he was going to use in the Commentary, parallel to the opening words of the Exposition of the Law at the beginning of the De opificio mundi and the opening section of the independent work De vita Moysis? How wonderful would it be to have such a statement, since nowhere do we have any theoretical reflection on Philo’s part regarding his allegorical method. But we cannot be sure whether such a piece ever existed, since the opening treatise is missing and the majority of the treatises in the Commentary simply start with a quotation of the biblical text.4 All of this brings me to the topic of my lecture today. Firstly I  should say that the phrase ‘the doctrine of creation’ in my title is really a short-hand form of saying ‘the doctrine of God as creator of the physical universe.’ Creation for Philo is wholly predicated on his understanding of God. What role, then, does the doctrine of creation, based on the account of the creation of the cosmos at the beginning of the Pentateuch, play in the Allegorical Commentary? In her recent acclaimed intellectual biography of Philo, Maren Niehoff argues that this role is less than in the Exposition of the Law, in which the doctrine of creation and the biblical account on which it is based are allocated a central place.5 This is indicated in the placement of the De opificio mundi at its beginning and in the summary [5] of the Commentary’s structure in De praemiis, towards its end, as well as in the summary of the Pentateuch’s contents in the introductory work De vita Moysis.6 Our subject is too large to be treated in full detail. Many texts and aspects of the theme, both theological and cosmological, will have to remain untouched or superficially treated. My approach will be to focus on a number of key examples from the Allegorical Commentary. These will allow us to reach some useful conclusions on the place of the doctrine of creation in the work as a whole, and on how important the doctrine is for our understanding of its author’s intention in writing it. Because of the subject of the present conference, 4  Of the 19 treatises from Leg. 1 to Mut. only five do not start straight away with the biblical text to be commented on: Plant. to Sobr. because they clearly form a tight unity, Conf. and Her. The opening passages in these treatises are in all cases what Sterling calls (2012, 60) calls ‘secondary prefaces,’ the function of which was to ‘introduce a scroll that was part of a larger series.’ The case of Somn. differs. Given the lengthy prefaces of the extant books, we may be quite certain that its opening treatise (now lost) would have had an extended preface. In certain respects, however, this final part of the Commentary deviates in its method from from what precedes. 5  Niehoff (2018) 93–96, 224; also Niehoff (2013). 6  Opif. 1–3; Praem. 1; Mos. 2.51.

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I will also take the opportunity to point out various connections that can be seen between the Allegorical Commentary and Philo’s main exegetical work on the creation of the cosmos and the human being, the aforementioned De opificio mundi.

1.  Exegesis of the Creation Account in the Allegorical Commentary There is a danger, when speaking of the ‘doctrine of creation,’ that we think of Philo as a theologian writing systematic treatises, such as Origen would later do when he wrote the Περὶ ἀρχῶν or Augustine when writing the De civitate Dei. But this is not the case. Philo sees himself as above all as an expositor of Mosaic scripture. It is from his exegesis, for the most part, that we have to distill his theological ideas. The doctrine of creation is based almost wholly on the creation account in Genesis 1–3. Very occasionally Philo refers to other biblical texts which state God’s role as creator, but such cases are quite rare.7 So a first step in our investigation should be to look at the extent to which he cites texts from the creation account in the Allegorical Commentary. Of course, as already noted, the initial three books of the work treat Genesis 2–3 as their primary biblical text. But after that all other references to the creation account will necessarily be secondary texts. I have listed all such texts in an appendix to this essay and they amount to 48, less than three per treatise. It has to be agreed that this is a surprisingly limited number. On the basis of this statistic, we might be inclined to agree with Niehoff that in the Allegorical Commentary the creation account does not play a prominent role.8 A first response to such a conclusion might be the following: is it not important to take into account that the Allegorical Commentary does start with exegesis of the creation account and that it may have devoted as many [6]as five books to the first three chapters of Genesis, including the presumed lost book on Genesis 1 that we discussed above.9 But here it is important to look at the kind of allegorical interpretation that Philo employs in those books. It is appropriate, I believe, to invoke a distinction put forward by the Finnish scholar Sami Yli-Karjanmaa in his recent monograph on reincarnation in Philo.10 He 7 

For example, Ps 93:9 at Plant. 28. See above n. 5. 9  In the existing books Leg. 1–3 the interpretation of Gen 3:1–8a and 20–23 is missing. Niehoff (2018) 249 argues that, given the extent of the commentary on individual verses in the surviving books, the treatment of the first chapter will have occupied more than a single book. This may well be correct. It depends on the ‘density’ and complexity of the exegesis that Philo undertook. 10 See Yli-Karjanmaa (2015) 4–5, 35–36; it is anticipated, without the terminology, in Runia (1986) 388–389. 8 

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distinguishes between protological allegorical interpretation on the one hand, in which the emphasis is on the act of creation as it took place at the beginning of time, and universal allegorical interpretation on the other hand, which relates what happened in the beginning to general truths on how things are in the present. The latter kind is what is most common in the Allegorical Commentary. It can be seen, for example, in the interpretation of the patriarchs, who are regarded for the most part as types illustrating the life of the soul, rather than as historical figures and ancestors of the people of Israel. A feature of the latter kind which Yli-Karjanmaa also emphasises is its soteriological orientation. The allegory shows how the soul can be saved, obtaining liberation from the evil and passion that results from its association with the body, through a life of virtue leading ultimately to knowledge and experience of God. Protological interpretation, in contrast, explains why that salvation is necessary, because in the garden of Eden the first human beings succumbed to the power of passion and departed from the life of virtue. It is obvious that the exegesis of the creation account preserved in the Legum allegoriae as we have it now belongs to the second kind of universal allegory. To give an example, the famous passage at the end of the first book interprets the words of Gen 2:17, ‘you shall die in death,’ as pertaining to the death of the soul. The soul is described as ‘entombed in passions and all manner of wickedness’ and its death as ‘destruction of virtue and the taking up of wickedness.’ While we are alive, we are dead to the soul, Philo says, echoing the words of Heraclitus.11 He is clearly not interpreting these words in relation to the events that occurred in paradise, but rather [7] in terms of the life that human beings, as composites of body and soul, are leading in the present. Throughout the circuitous routes of Philo’s allegories in his interpretation of Gen 2–16, the universal allegory of the soul in quest of virtue and God is dominant. The question for us is then: what does this mean for the doctrine of creation? does it still play any significant role in the depiction of the soul’s journey? I would answer this question in the affirmative. There are a number of key passages in the Commentary that point the way to understanding its role. One of the most interesting and informative of these is found in De plantatione, the second treatise in the Noah cycle, on which my colleague Albert Geljon and I have just completed writing a commentary in the Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series.12

11  Leg. 1.105–108, cf. Heraclitus 22B62 Diels-Kranz. On Philo’s appropriation of Heraclitus see Saudelli (2012). 12  Geljon–Runia (2019).

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2.  Creator and Cosmos in De plantatione Many years ago, in my dissertation on Philo and the Timaeus of Plato, I devoted a section to the passage Plant. 1–27, giving it the title ‘the phyto-cosmological excursus.’13 This text occupied an important place in my study because it appeared to be a kind of allegorical alternative to the commentary on the creation account in De opificio mundi. In this text too, Plato’s Timaeus appeared to play a central role in the way that Philo explained the creation process, though with less reference to the text of Genesis and with more use of concepts drawn from other cosmological traditions. In retrospect, however, I am not entirely happy about the title I gave this section at the time. The description ‘phyto-cosmological’ is quite apt. It is a cosmology presented allegorically in terms of an extended plant metaphor (φυτόν in Greek). But it is definitely not an ‘excursus.’ The detailed analysis that Geljon and I have made in our commentary reveals that it is tightly integrated into the treatise’s structure.14 The entire first part of the treatise can be regarded as a literary tour de force. In this and the previous treatise De agricultura Philo departs from his usual method of giving a running commentary on the text of Genesis. Instead, he effectively bases his entire allegorical treatment on just a single biblical lemma, Gen 9:21, and in the case of De plantatione even this text [8] is reduced to a single word which describes Noah’s action after the great flood had receded: ἐφύτευσεν, ‘he planted.’15 Using this term and the metaphor which it inspires, Philo gives his treatise a very effective structure. It has three main sections. In the first, it is God the great planter (μέγας φυτουργός) and world-fashioner (κοσμοπλάστης – a unique term only used by Philo and probably coined by him) who does the planting by creating the cosmos and its contents, including the human being.16 In the second part, it is the wise person, symbolised by the patriarchs Abraham and Jacob, who imitates God in planting as well, and so learns that God is the beginning and end of all things, that perfection is not found in the world of becoming but appears in that world through his gracious gifts, and these gifts last forever.17 Finally, in the third part, it is we who are not yet perfect but on the path towards it who learn what planting means for us, a process culminating in the cultivation of the fruits of wisdom and moral insight.18 The allegory of planting, based on a succession of biblical texts, provides the links between the parts, but these texts also bring about a structural and logical progression from 13 

Runia (1986) 389–392, with frequent reference to discussions earlier in the book. esp. Geljon–Runia (2019) 10–16; also Runia (2017b). The integration relates to §§ 1–138. The final part of the treatise, §§ 139–177, starts on a new subject and actually belongs more with the following treatise Ebr. 15  Cited in Plant. 1. The previous treatise Agr. had dealt with the earlier words of the verse. 16  Plant. 1–72, esp. §§ 2–3. 17  Plant. 73–93, esp. § 93. 18  Plant. 93–138, esp. §§ 94 & 138. 14 See

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God to the readers of the treatise. And given the use of the self-referential first person pronoun (τοῖς μήπω τελειωθεῖσιν ἡμῖν, Plant. 94), it appears that Philo includes himself as writer of the treatise in that group as well. We should now take a closer look at the opening section of the treatise to see how Philo outlines God’s activity as planter-creator. Citing virtually literally the words of the Timaeus.19 Philo says that he began the process of creation by leading disordered and confused matter (literally οὐσία, ‘stuff,’ § 3) to order from disorder and from confusion to separation (the final term introducing a biblical theme from Gen 1:4). The description shows similarities to two passages in De opificio mundi (§§ 8–9, 21–22) which each in slightly different ways describe the transition from unformed matter to a finished and ordered product.20 The first step was to separate the elements and the regions of the cosmos, with the foundation of the whole not being sought in any physical support, but rather in the divine Logos (Plant. 8). These regions [9] were then filled with living beings, with two regions having two kinds of creatures. In the air there were birds, but also angels (§§ 14–15). On the earth there were plants and land animals. Most of these had their heads downwards, but the human being received a structure that was exceptional. He was raised up so that he could look towards heaven, a ‘heavenly plant’ as the ancient saying states (§ 17), Philo here making an anonymous allusion to another famous phrase from the Timaeus (90a6). This part of the account covers the events of the second to sixth days in the Genesis account as expounded in Opif. 36–88, but Philo makes no reference to this biblical material, preferring to give a more systematic account which draws on contemporary philosophical cosmologies.21 (We might also note that later in the same treatise at § 147, when the first human being is described, Philo again turns to philosophical terminology. Because his body is raised ‘aloft’ (μετέωρος), he is ‘airborne’ (ἀεροπόρος), but through his sight he is also ‘heavenly’ (οὐράνιος). Here, however, Plato’s plant imagery is not used.22) It is at this point in De plantatione that Philo first cites the Genesis creation account explicitly, quoting words from both key anthropological texts, first Gen 2:7, then Gen 1:27 (§ 19). It is wrong, he says, to think that the human being through his intellect has kinship with the heavenly ether. Rather, he has 19  Especially § 3 εἰς τάξιν ἐξ ἀταξίας … ἄγων, based on Tim. 30a5 εἰς τάξιν … ἤγαγεν ἐξ ἀταξίας; see the analysis at Geljon–Runia (2019) 95. 20  On the differences between the two texts see Runia (1986) 140–144; on Plant. 3–5 ibid. 145. At Opif. 8 Philo uses Stoic terminology, as pointed out inter alios by Niehoff (2018) 97. I continue to believe, however, that the influence of Plato’s Timaeus, and especially 30a, is dominant here. 21  For parallels see the discussions at Runia (1986) 229; Geljon–Runia (2019) 108. 22  The theme of heavenly contemplation by means of sight is referred to here, but it is used much more extensively when expounding the creation of light on the fourth day in Opif. 55–61, with heavy use of Tim. 47a–c. The theme of ‘heavenly plant’ is used in another allegorical treatise at Det. 85.

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been made κατ᾿ εἰκόνα θεοῦ, ‘after the image of God.’ This gives him the strong yearning to be carried on wings past the limits of the entire cosmos and to perceive the Existent One (τὸ ὄν, § 22). Philo here returns to Plato, this time with an allusion to the Phaedrus myth (246c). For this reason, he continues, those who persist in this longing are ‘called upwards’ (Lev 1:1), referring to both Bezalel and at a higher level Moses, the former giving shape to the shadows as his name indicates, the latter marking out the archetypal realities (§§ 26–27). The human being has thus been placed in his cosmic context, as a created being who is orientated upwards toward the heavens and God. Philo now continues the plant allegory with an interpretation of the human being as the microcosm with with his or her own trees and fruits. First there are the faculties of sense-perception and cognition, of which according to a text in Psalms God is the planter.23 Then Philo returns to the Genesis account [10] and cites the text – highly apposite for his allegory – that ‘God planted (ἐφύτευσεν) a paradise in Eden toward the East, and there he placed the human being whom he had moulded’ (Gen 2:8). This is not to be taken literally, but rather we must understand it as referring to a ‘paradise of virtues and their corresponding actions’ which God in his generosity planted in the rational soul and which lead it to perfect felicity (§ 37). This allegorized human being is not the one according to the image (Gen 1:27), but the ‘moulded’ one (Gen 2:7) who was introduced into paradise. Drawn in two opposite directions, he was invited to choose either immortality or death (§ 45). The readers of the treatise will know the fateful choice that was made. The remainder of its first part devoted to the theme of God the planter shifts the focus to the sons of Adam who have been expelled from paradise but are invited to return back to God. Moses calls upon God’s sovereign might and his merciful powers to plant them on the mountain of his inheritance (Exod 15:17). These wise souls, also called Israel, became the Lord’s portion (Deut 32:9). Indeed, to the Levites among them God even goes so far as to say in the oracles, ‘I am your portion’ (Deut 10:9). It might appear that Philo moves here in the allegory from the individual soul to the collective people of Israel, but this is not really the case. Israel here stands primarily for those ‘who see God,’ i. e. ‘the visionary character who is his [God’s] true worshipper’ (§ 60).24 This is the intellect which has become completely purified and renounces what belongs to creation, whom God takes up to himself (§ 63–64). We cannot go into the further details of this extremely rich allegory, which illustrates quite beautifully how Philo, using biblical texts as his starting point, marks out the journey of the soul towards God. There are two points to which I want to draw your attention. Firstly, it is very instructive to look at the tem23  24 

See above n. 7 and text thereto. On the interpretation of the reference to Israel here see Birnbaum (1996), (2003).

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porality of the verbs used to describe God’s creative activity. These verbs are consistently in the past aorist tense, as befits actions that took place in the beginning when God created the cosmos. He began (ἤρξατο) to give shape to confused matter and separated the elements (§ 3); he alloted (προσένειμε) the animals to their place (§ 14); the human being obtained (ἔλαχεν) an exceptional structure (§ 17), and so on. These were events that took place in illo tempore. But twice Philo breaks the sequence of past tense verbs. The divine Logos runs (δολιχεύει) an invincible course (§ 9), holding the cosmos with its centrifugal forces together. This is a process [11] that continues in the present, as God through his Logos maintains and preserves the cosmos. More surprisingly, after recounting the creation of the human being by means of the two key Genesis texts, he goes on to say that God makes (ποιεῖ) the eyes of the body as a clear representation of the invisible eye of the soul’ (§ 21). Here too we have a present tense. Why does Philo do this? Should we read it as a historic present, making the account more vivid? I would prefer an alternative explanation. My suggestion is that Philo moves to the present because he is about to describe what the human being can do with this equipment. His eyes wing their way upwards and press on toward the One who is ungenerated (two more present tenses, τείνεται and ἐπείγεται, § 22). We encounter here, I submit, precisely the distinction between protology and universal allegory that I introduced earlier. The creation account recounts how the human being was created. Via universal allegory we can understand the soul’s potential journey in the present. God planted (ἐρρίζου) the trees in the rational souls (§ 46, note the past tense), inviting the human being to choose between life and death (the path to virtue or to wickedness set out earlier in § 37). The allegory of the death of the soul while it is still alive, which is developed – as we saw – at the end of Legum allegoriae Book 1, describes what happens to the soul which makes the bad choice in the present.25 My second point I will make more briefly. I want to point out the key role that the two fundamental anthropological texts play, both in the text just analysed and also elsewhere in the Allegorical Commentary. If you consult the list of passages in the appendix to this essay, you will see that by far the most often quoted texts from the Genesis account are precisely the two just mentioned, Gen 1:26–27 and 2:7. They make up 15 of the 48 passages in the list. This dominance is only increased if we add the texts Gen 2:8–9 on the planting of paradise, which Philo takes to be a figurative description of the placement of virtues in the human mind. This would add an additional five texts. An examination of these texts will show that they figure in key discussions on what the way that human beings were created in the beginning means for our lives in the present.

25 

Leg. 1.105–108; cf. above n. 11 and text thereto.



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3.  Other Key Texts on the Creator and the Cosmos The De plantatione is of course just one of the 21 surviving treatises in the Allegorical Commentary. The Noah cycle to which it belongs can in some regards be regarded as playing the role of a hinge in the structure of the [12] series as a whole.26 As we learn in the first treatise of the group, De agricultura, Noah represents the beginner, the person, or perhaps better, the soul, which can make progress, but there is a limit to what it achieves.27 After the interlude of the Babel-builders, who founder in the confusion of foolishness and vice, we arrive at the first of the great triad of patriarchs. As recounted in the De migratione, Abraham receives the call from God to emigrate from his land and his family and his father’s house, leaving behind, as the allegory of Gen 12:1 signifies, the body, sense-perception and speech (§§ 1–12). The interpretation deepens when we get to the details of the migration. The patriarch first departs from Chaldea and lives in Haran, from where he then departs a second time (Gen 12:4). The Chaldeans symbolize those thinkers who do not go beyond the cosmos, believing it to be all that there is, namely that it is itself the primal god or that it contains God within it as the soul of the whole (§ 179). They emphasize the affinity (συμπάθεια) of the parts of the cosmos and believe that the revolutions of the heavens are the primary causes of what happens to people on earth.28 The term συμπάθεια recalls Stoic doctrine and indeed the Chaldeans appear to represent a form of cosmic and theological immanentism, to which Mosaic philosophy is strongly opposed. Moses does not object to the notion of cosmic sympathy as such. It flows from the view that the cosmos has come into being and is one (§ 180). But he strongly disagrees with their theology. What they think are the causes of what exists and happens, are in fact the powers of God which the creator extended through the cosmos and will ensure its permanence (another allusion to the Timaeus29). This is a similar view to what we saw in De plantatione. This time, however, he refers to the divine powers rather than the Logos (§ 181), and then specifically mentions the creative power which establishes all things and is identified with pure goodness.30 Moving to Haran represents an initial shift from cosmology to psychology. The name symbolizes the senses. From surveying these one will recognize that beyond them there is the human intellect, which can depart [13] 26 The structure of the Allegorical Commentary still holds many mysteries. But for a stimulating recent analysis see Sterling (2018a). 27  Based on the word ἤρξατο (‘he began’), also found in Gen 9:21; see Agr. 125, 181. 28  Migr. 171–181; for other texts on the Chaldeans in the Allegorical Commentary see Gig. 62, Ebr. 94, Her. 97, Congr. 49, Mut. 16, Somn. 1.52–54. 29  On the allusion to Tim. 41a, the classic Platonic text on the eternity a parte post of the cosmos, see Runia (1986) 235. 30  Migr. 182–183, with also the mention of ‘driving away of envy which hates virtue and beauty,’ an elaborated allusion to Plato Tim. 30a, on which see Runia (1986) 136.

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from them and intuit – analogically – that there is a intellect of the universe that differs in being wholly transcendent in its Being.31 It is not our intellect, Philo concludes, that has created the body, but it is the product of another, the intellect of all things (ὁ τῶν ὅλων νοῦς) which has created the universe. Α creator cannot be contained in what he creates, so God cannot be contained within the universe. Implicit is also the argument that the human intellect can only depart from its physical status to a certain degree, withdrawing as it were into itself so that it can attain the contemplation of God as (true) Being.32 Though the text we have briefly examined here is allegorical, relating to the journey of the soul, there is much in it that recalls Philo’s description of creation in the De opificio mundi. His criticism of the Chaldean mentality recalls his preliminary comment at Opif. 7–12 and also the list of five crucial doctrines in the treatise’s epilogue.33 But perhaps the most striking resemblance is found in the exegesis of Gen 1:26 in Opif. 69–71. The human being is created ‘after the image of God’ (κατ᾿ εἰκόνα θεοῦ) with respect to the intellect, which is modelled ‘on that one intellect of all things’ (πρὸς ἕνα τὸν [sc. νοῦν] τῶν ὅλων ἐκεῖνον) as an archetype. Just as there is a great Ruler in the cosmos, so there is a intellect in the human being. And this intellect is capable of ascending upwards until, inspired by corybantic enthusiasm, it appears to be heading towards the Great king himself. Obviously in this text Philo does not refer to the senses, since these have not yet been created. The allegory in the Allegorical Commentary is more extended and richer. But the themes of analogy and ascent are the same.34 A few treatises later Philo returns to these theological themes in the opening section of De mutatione nominum, where the biblical text is Gen 17:1: ‘… and the Lord appeared to Abraham and said to him, I  am your God.’35 This text contains the two chief divine names κύριος and θεός, and also appears to refer to God’s existence, so Philo does not waste the opportunity to delve into some of the finer points of his theology. First there is a brief exposé on the divine transcendence, which sets out the well-rehearsed doctrines [14] of negative theology (Mut. 7–15). Transcendent Being is unknowable (ἀκατάληπτος, § 10) and unspeakable (ἄρρητος, § 14), as Moses and Jacob discovered. The classic text here is Exod 3:14–15. God is the One who IS. There is no proper name that discloses his essential nature. But so that human beings would not be devoid of 31 At Migr. 183 Philo quotes Exod 17:6 to illustrate that God as ‘Being’ (τὸ ὄν) is ‘prior to all that is generated’ (πρὸ παντὸς τοῦ γενητοῦ), which is then further developed in §§ 192–193. 32  Migr. 195. The phrase ἡ τοῦ ὄντος ἐπίσκεψις is ambiguous; it can refer to the Existent one (ὁ ὥν) or to Being itself (τὸ ὄν). Note that Philo is speaking about contemplation while in the body, not about possible experiences of the soul after death. 33  Especially the unicity of the cosmos (Migr. 180), which is a surprising component of the five key doctrines at Opif. 170–172. 34  On this text and the theme of ascent see now Sterling (2018b). 35  Mut. 1, καὶ ὤφθη κύριος τῷ Ἀβραὰμ καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῷ· ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ θεός σου.



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a title to use, he grants them – through a misuse of language36 – the titles of Lord and God, connecting them with the names of the three patriarchs symbolizing the natures of learning, perfection and practice (§ 12). This is where the doctrine of creation returns and receives a fuller explanation (in De migratione, as we saw, it was only touched on37). Following the main biblical lemma, Philo first focuses on the name Lord. He recalls that Abraham migrated from the Chaldean doctrine of immanent causes only, and that he has now recognized that the cosmos is guided and ruled by a sovereign. For this reason it is the Lord who appears to him. But now he receives a higher gift, namely that he now has the creator as his God, for as the words in the text say, ‘I am your God’ (§§ 16–18). A little later he repeats that these words are used ‘by licence of language’ (καταχρηστικῶς) and that they really mean ‘I am your maker and creator,’ referring to the creative power, as indicated (here implicitly) by the etymology of the term θεός (from τίθημι, ‘set in place,’ § 29).38 It is the greatest gift that we can have to receive God in the guise of his creative power as our architect (§§ 28–30). The parallel with the celebrated image in De opificio mundi, to which Ludovica de Luca has devoted her dissertation, is unmistakeable.39 The words following the image there also speak of God’s cosmos-creating power and refer to the gracious gifts he lavishes on the cosmos.40 But here in the treatise De mutatione nominum we also have to take the context into account and observe the particular application that Philo gives the doctrine of the creative power. In § 18 we read that ‘his [God’s] interpreting word will teach me that he does not now speak of the cosmos, of which he is certainly [15] creator and God, but of human souls …’ The context is thus allegorical, as befits its presence in the Allegorical Commentary, and the application relates to the souls of human beings. Their nature and behaviour ranks them in a hierarchy from Pharaoh at the bottom to Abraham and Moses at the top (Mut. 19–26).41 And after the reference to the divine architect in § 30, he returns to the theme of the different kinds of souls and cites the first person plural verb in Gen. 1:26 (ποιήσωμεν), which recalls ‘the doctrine which has been proven in many places, teaching that God is the creator of the wise and good only’ (§ 32). The same explanation is given when 36  The contrast is between the name that is κύριος (‘proper’) and the name that is ἐν καταχρήσει (‘in misuse’). For the grammatical and philosophical theory used here see Runia (1988a). On Philo’s use of Exod 3:14–15 see Runia (1993b); Birnbaum (2016). 37  See above at n. 30. 38  See esp. Plant. 86 (and QG 2.16), where Philo notes that the title θεός is used throughout the the creation account (up to Gen 2:7); other texts in which the etymology is brought to the fore are Conf. 137, Migr. 182, and outside the Allegorical Commentary Abr. 121, QE 2.62, 2.68. See further Runia (1986) 134. 39  Opif. 17–20; see De Luca (2017), who refers to the text in Mut. 30 at 25, 277, 285. On the image see also Runia (1986) 168 (where this text is not noted); (1989a). 40  Opif. 21 (κοσμοποιητικὴ δύναμις), 23 (χάριτες), on which see Runia (1986) 137. 41  Note that the theme of God as being the portion (κλῆρος) of the human being’s mind (Mut. 26) is central to the exposition at Plant. 46–72; see the discussion above in the text at n. 24.

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this text is expounded in Opif. 72–75. In both cases Plato’s introduction of assistants to the Demiurge at Tim. 41a has been an inspiration.42. Just like in the case of the two previous passages which I have analysed, the contents of Philo’s allegories here are immensely rich but also complicated. Only the main themes can be mentioned. Continuing the exegesis of Gen 17:1, Philo gives some examples of human beings who are ‘pleasing to God,’ including Abraham and Jacob. He concludes that the person of virtue should be a ‘follower of God’ (Mut. 45), alluding to a Pythagorean formula for the telos of human existence.43 This entails taking care of ‘our common humanity,’44 just as God takes care of what he has brought into being (§ 46). At this point Philo once more emphasises God’s goodness in creating the cosmos when there was nothing. As so often elsewhere, there is an implicit allusion to Plato’s famous pronouncement at Tim. 29d (in paraphrase): ‘for what reason did the creator create the universe? because he was good (ἀγαθὸς ἦν).’ We already saw an allusion to this passage at Migr. 182–183. References to God’s goodness and beneficence in creation are a Leitmotif throughout the entire Allegorical Commentary, frequently combined – as Maren Niehoff has noted  – with mention of the theme of grace.45 It is no different in the opening section of the De opificio mundi. In the description of the act of creation (§§ 21–23) this doctrine could not have been given a more prominent place. In the Allegorical Commentary, however, the [16] emphasis shifts from creation in general to what creation means for the soul. As example we might refer again to the case of Noah who ‘found favour before God’ (Gen 6:8). On two occasions when citing this verse Philo alludes to the same Platonic text for the purpose of illustrating God’s beneficence to creation in general, but then also to one person in particular.46

4.  Concluding Words The Allegorical Commentary is an immensely long and complex work. The splendid annotated Italian translation in a single volume occupies nearly 2000 pages.47 In determining the place of the doctrine of creation in it, I have only 42  Further parallel texts at Conf. 168–183, Fug. 68–72, QG 1.54; see a full discussion at Runia (1986) 242–249; also Winston (1986). 43  For the Pythagorean formula ἕπου θεῷ for the τέλος see esp. Migr. 128; also alluded to at Opif. 144; see further Runia (2001a) 343. 44  I take over Colson’s felicitous translation of τῆς δὲ καθ᾿ αὑτοὺς φύσεως μὴ ὑπερορῶντες at Mut. 46 (LCL 5.167). 45  As well observed by Niehoff (2018) 95 and n. 6, but she nevertheless argues ad loc. that ‘the doctrine of creation does not play a prominent role in the Allegorical Commentary’. 46 See Leg. 3.78, Deus 108. 47  Radice (1994b). I do not include in the page count the translation of Opif., which should not have been included; see above n. 1.

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been able to discuss a selection of texts. For example, you might have expected me to say something about the celebrated passage in Quis heres, where Philo describes the act and process of creation in terms of the Logos-cutter (λόγος τομεύς).48 But we have covered enough ground, I believe, to allow us to reach some conclusions. The number of references to the Mosaic creation account in the Allegorical Commentary is not all that great, and it might be concluded that its role is downplayed in that work. But such a conclusion would be a mistake. We have seen that at crucial points in Philo’s commentary the creation account makes its appearance. This is because God’s creative act in founding the cosmos is also foundational for the allegory of the soul. The doctrine of creation is crucial for a correct evaluation of the cosmos as the physical reality in which the human being is placed. More importantly perhaps, the structure, both physical and spiritual, which human beings receive through the creation of the first man and woman lays the foundation for the journey that the soul undertakes in the cultivation of virtue and the quest for the knowledge and vision of God. For this reason the various anthropological texts in the creation account are the ones that are privileged in the Commentary. In our analysis of certain passages we have been able to observe a fascinating interplay between what occurred in the beginning (protology) and what is being experienced in the present. Philo might even have hoped that this interplay will occur as his readers work their way through the allegorical interpretation that he has prepared for them. [17] There is one more conclusion that I would like to draw. I have been struck, in carrying out the analyses of the texts from the Allegorical Commentary that form the basis of my argument, how often there are correlations and connections with themes in the De opificio mundi. I do not, of course, want to return to the view that somehow that treatise also stands at the beginning of the Allegorical Commentary.49 And it is certainly true that Philo’s two great scriptural commentaries have different aims and different contexts. Nevertheless this observation does lead me to think that there might be a greater unity to Philo’s thought than is sometimes supposed. Perhaps this is a thought that could be kept in mind when reading the other essays in of this book, where Philo’s most famous treatise will often be the centre of attention.

48 

Her. 130–160, exegesis of Gen 15:10. view of Nikiprowetzky (1977) 199, opposed by Terian (1997), as noted in the text above at n. 1. 49  The

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Appendix List of all secondary citations/allusions to Genesis 1–3 in the Allegorical Commentary The list, compiled with the assistance of the indispensable Biblia Patristica Supplément: Philon d’Alexandrie (Paris 1982), records all secondary texts (and some clear paraphrases, but not mere allusions) from the creation account in Genesis 1–3 cited in the Allegorical Commentary. It excludes the texts that are the main biblical lemmata of the Commentary. Gen 1:1 Gen 1:2 Gen 1:3 Gen 1:4 Gen 1:10 Gen 1:24 Gen 1:26 Gen 1:27 Gen 1:31 Gen 2:1 Gen 2:2 Gen 2:4 Gen 2:6 Gen 2:7 Gen 2:8 Gen 2:9 Gen 2:10 Gen 2:19 Gen 2:21 Gen 2:24 Gen 3:1 Gen 3:9 Gen 3:14 Gen 3:15 Gen 3:19 Gen 3:20 Gen 3:22

Her. 122 (1) Gig. 22 (1) Somn. 1.75 (1) Her. 175; Somn. 1.76 (2) Her. 135 (1) Leg. 2.11, 13 (2) Det. 83; Conf. 169, 179; Fug. 68, 71; Mut. 31 (6) Plant. 19; Her. 56; Fug. 71; Somn. 1.74 (4) Migr. 42, 135; Her. 159 (3) Her. 122 (1) Post. 64 (1) Post. 65 (1) [18] Post. 127; Fug. 178 (2) Leg. 3.161; Det. 86; Plant. 19; Her. 56; Somn. 1.34 (5) Plant. 32, 41 (2) Plant. 44; Migr. 37; Somn. 2.70 (3) Post. 128; Somn. 2.241 (2) Mut. 63 (1) Her. 257 (1) Gig. 65 (1) Agr. 95 (1) Somn. 1.192 (1) Migr. 66 (1) Agr. 107 (1) Migr. 3 (1) Her. 53 (1) Conf. 169 (1)

Distribution: Leg. 2 (2); Leg. 3 (1); Det. (2); Post. (4); Gig. (2); Agr. (2); Plant. (5); Conf. (3); Migr. (5); Her. (9); Fug. (4); Mut. (2); Somn. 1 (5); Somn. 2 (2). Total 48

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17.  Theodicy in Philo of Alexandria* 1.  Philo, Jew and Alexandrian Not long after Alexander the Great founded the city of Alexandria on the Egyptian shore in 331 BCE the first Jews migrated from Palestine and settled in the city. By the end of the 3rd century BCE, if not earlier, a flourishing Jewish community had come into existence. Naturally these Jewish settlers took their religious and social practices along with them, including copies of their sacred writings. But the Alexandrian cultural and social context, in which they found themselves, differed markedly from what they were used to in Palestine. Alexandria had quickly became the cultural capital of the Eastern Mediterranean. The famous institutions promoted and financed by its rulers, the Ptolemies, which included the Library and the Museum, gave it enormous prestige as the new centre of Hellenism. It did not take long before the Jews started to speak Greek, at first for communication with outsiders, but after a short period also among themselves. It became a necessity to have the writings of the Hebrew Bible translated into Greek. This lengthy and arduous project was completed in two stages. First in the third century the Torah, consisting of the five books of Moses, was translated into Greek and named the Pentateuch. Within a century a Greek version of the entire Hebrew Bible was completed. The entire translation was named the Septuagint after the seventy translators which were reportedly involved in the project. Its importance for the identity of the Alexandrian Jewish community cannot be overestimated.1 Into this community Philo of Alexandria was born in about 15 BCE.2 He belonged to one of its most influential and wealthiest [577] families. Philo enjoyed all the privileges of his superior social status, doubtless involving extensive contact with the cultural and educational elite of the city. He himself tells us in very general terms that he received a Greek education at what we would now call both a secondary and a tertiary level. During his education he came under the *  The essay was originally written in response to an invitation of Antti Laato and Johannes de Moor to contribute to a volume on the emergence of the problem of theodicy in ancient Near Eastern texts, biblical literature and early Jewish writings. 1  For a history of the Jewish community in Alexandria see Mélèze Modrzejewski (1997). 2  For an account of Philo’s life and work in his Alexandrian context see Runia (1990b). The best recent synoptic study on Philo is by Borgen (1997a).

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spell of Greek philosophy. We may assume that he was impressed by its claim to seek the truth through the instrumentality of thought and reason and by the rational lucidity of its writings and doctrines. Philo’s love for philosophy did not, however, cause him to abandon his commitment to Judaism. Throughout his entire life he remained first and foremost loyal to his people and his native religion. At some stage he must have concluded that there was no absolute incompatibility between the two traditions that he loved. The Pentateuch and the Septuagint provided the foundation of his thought, but he could make use of the doctrines of Greek philosophy in explaining many aspects of its contents. The task of elucidating the writings of Moses became his life’s work. We still possess about 50 treatises, most of which are directly or indirectly concerned with the exposition of scripture. Philo is an important figure in the history of philosophy and theology because it is in his writings that the two great traditions of biblical and Greek thought first meet and interact with each other in a profound way. Philo’s successors are not to be found in the Rabbinic tradition, because the rabbis soon decided that they did wish to follow Philo’s lead in making use of the instruments of philosophical reasoning. (There is plenty of reasoning in Rabbinic Judaism, but it is not philosophical.) His thought was picked up by the Greek and Latin-speaking Church fathers. It is no exaggeration to say that it lays at the foundation of the later traditions of church dogma and systematic theology.3 These later traditions lie outside the scope of the present handbook. For this reason it is all the more important to take a good look at how Philo, as a philosophically sophisticated Jewish thinker, dealt with the problems of theodicy and the existence of evil in the world.4 [578]

2.  Philo’s Judaism But first it will be necessary to take a closer look at the nature and basic features of Philo’s Judaism. Valuable insights for our purposes can be gained from the final paragraph of his work On the Creation of the Cosmos according to Moses, in which he gives an exegesis of Genesis 1–3 as a prelude to a detailed exposition of the Mosaic law. Philo concludes the treatise by outlining five ‘most beautiful and excellent lessons,’ which he summarizes as follows (§ 172):5 3 

For an account of Philo’s Nachleben in the Christian tradition see my monograph, (1993). studies on Philo’s thought in this area are few in number. See Meyer (1939) 43–49; Wolfson (1947) 2.279–290; Leaman (1995) 33–47. An anthology of relevant texts in Philo is found in Winston (1981) 176–185. See also the studies on providence cited below in n. 10. 5  Translation of passages in Opif. are taken from my commentary on this work,(2001a). 4  Previous

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He, then, who first has learnt these things not so much with his hearing as with his understanding, and has imprinted their marvellous and priceless forms on his own soul, namely that God is and exists, and that He who truly exists is One, and that He made the cosmos and made it unique, making it … similar to himself in respect of its being one, and that He always takes thought for what has come into being, this person will lead a blessed life of well-being, marked as he is by the doctrines of piety and holiness.

On the basis of this short passage the following six observations can made on Philo’s Judaism. Philo does not hesitate to speak about doctrines (δόγματα) to which his reader should subscribe. Observance of the Law is very important for Philo, but his Judaism also has a strong intellectual element. One might even go so far as to speak of ‘orthodoxy’ in this context.6 The first two doctrines concern God’s existence and unicity. Philo’s thought is wholly theocentric, though concerned not so [579] much with God as He is in himself, but rather in his relation to the world and the individual soul. Elsewhere Philo relates these two doctrines to the first two commandments of the Decalogue. Theology and observance of the Law go hand in hand.7 God is creator of the cosmos and of all the creatures on it, as outlined in the creation account with which Moses opens his legislation. The further stipulation that there is but one cosmos has no biblical warrant and shows the clear influence of Greek philosophy, in which the question whether there was a single or multiple or even an infinite number of worlds was one of the contentious issues separating the various schools of thought.8 The final doctrine links up the two groups of two that precede it. God exercises providential care for the cosmos that He has made, for this is the natural relationship between maker and product, just as it is between parent and offspring.9 Philo goes further than most philosophical defenders of divine providence in insisting that this involves the direct concern for the life and fate of the individual human being.10 For Philo human well-being centres primarily on the life of the soul as it stands in relation to God. Hence the deliberately chosen final words of the quotation, which are also the final words of the entire treatise. Elsewhere in his writings Philo develops his views on the spiritual life of the soul in his enormously elaborate Allegory of soul, based on exegesis of Genesis and in particular the lives of the Patriarchs. 6 Mendelson

(1988) 29–49. Decal. 52–81, Spec. 1.13–345. 8  As Philo himself notes at Aet. 8, he follows Plato, Aristotle and the Stoics here; see Wolfson (1947) 1.181; Runia (1986) 174–176. 9  Philo argues for this position in Opif. 9–11, 171. 10  On Philo’s doctrine of providence see Hadas-Lebel PAPM 35.58–117; Frick (1999). 7 See

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Finally the epistemological basis of the five doctrines should be noted. In the first instance these are firmly held convictions, based on a reading of Mosaic scripture (with the exception of the fourth). But Philo thinks it is also possible to give convincing arguments in support of them. God’s existence, for example, can be demonstrated by means of natural theology. Philo sees it as his task to show that the Jewish religion is fully compatible with the precepts of reason. In fact he is convinced that at its core it [580] represents the original wisdom, in comparison with which other forms of belief are either derivative or inferior. This conviction places him in a somewhat precarious position, of which he seems to be unaware. He is persuaded that he can defend his religion through use of the tools of reason developed by his rivals, but is it not possible that these tools gain the upper hand?11 If we take into account the background that I  have just sketched, it is inevitable that Philo is going to be directly concerned with the questions of theodicy and the origin of evil in the cosmos. God is the creator of the cosmos and of the human beings who live in it. Men and women experience evil in their lives. It affects their well-being, not only in material terms, but especially in their relation to God. Given Philo’s emphasis on the reasonableness of Judaism, he is going to have to find answers to the questions of where this evil comes from, and whether God should be held responsible for it. Moreover, given his profound knowledge of Greek philosophy, it is also likely that the answers that he gives to these questions will be influenced by the answers already formulated in that tradition. Before we turn to Philo’s own ideas, we need to briefly sketch in this background.

3.  Theodicy in Greek Philosophy11a The strongest philosophical influence on Philo is exerted by the great Athenian philosopher Plato. Throughout his long career Plato was intensely preoccupied with questions of theology. In the Republic he formulates the so-called ‘principles of theology,’ to which both religion and philosophy must conform. Chief among these is that divinity is the source of good only. ‘Since a god is good, he writes, he is not the cause of everything that happens to human beings, but only of a few things, for good things are fewer than bad ones in our lives. He alone is responsible for the good things, but we must find some other cause for the bad 11  In his valuable survey of research on Philo (up to 1984) P. Borgen has called Philo ‘a conqueror on the verge of being conquered,’ (1984) 98–154, quotation at 150. 11a  [As noted in the Introduction to this collection of essays, the volume with its primary focus on the Bible and its milieu in the ancient Near East did not include an article on theodicy in Greek philosophy, so this section was needed as essential background. Greek philosophical views were also discussed in the article on the Wisdom of Solomon by David Winston, (2003).]

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ones.’12 Plato’s strong ontological and cosmological dualism entails that the task of accounting for the presence of evil in the cosmos is [581] not particularly difficult.13 The world of sense-perceptible reality is no more than an imperfect copy of the perfect transcendent realm of the ideas. The cosmos is created by a divine craftsman, the demiurge of the Timaeus, and is a perfect realization of the possibilities that can be realized in the material realm. But the demiurge in his creative reasoning needs to allow for the recalcitrance of the realm of necessity. If you bump your head against a stone wall, you are going to get a bump, and if you hit it hard enough, your head will break. No god can construct a world in which this will not happen. Plato’s chief concern is the origin of moral evil, the injustice and wickedness that people commit of their own accord. He is insistent that this is not the god’s responsibility. Human souls are shown the divine law before they descend into their bodies. The most famous text in this connection, well-known to Philo, is the pronouncement of the herald in the myth of Er: Virtue knows no master. Each person will possess it to a greater or lesser degree, depending on whether he values or disdains it. The responsibility lies with the one who makes the choice; the god has none.’14

In the lengthy work of his old age, the Laws, Plato devotes an entire book to questions of theology and how religion should be regulated in his utopian state. He strongly insists that there is such a thing as divine providence. The supervisor of the universe has arranged all things for the best, but it is important to recognize that the cosmos has not been designed for the benefit of human beings. It is rather the other way around: humans contribute as parts to the good of the whole. What the divine draughts-player does is link souls up to bodies and promote or relegate them in accordance with their performance in the human realm, so that each soul receives the fate that it deserves.15 There [582] are also some indications that Plato sees divine reward and punishment operating at the level of human communities, though he never finished the trilogy that he intended to write on this theme.16 It cannot, therefore, be said that providence in Plato is an entirely theoretical or impersonal affair. Nevertheless there does remain a difference between his cosmic providence and the intense personal relation between God and the soul  – and also between God and his people, Israel – that we find in Philo. 12 

Rep. 379c (translation Grube–Reeve). the classic analysis of Cherniss (1954), reprinted in (1977) 253–260. Note too the famously pessimistic text at Tht. 176a, where Plato states that evil cannot be destroyed, and that one should imitate god as much as possible by escaping from earth to heaven. Philo cites this text at Fug. 63. 14  Rep. 617e (translation Grube–Reeve); a similar presentation is found at Tim. 42d. 15  Laws 903a. 16  See now Broadie (2001). 13  See

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The second philosophical influence on Philo in relation to the theme of theodicy is the Stoic school. Although in its physics the Stoa holds to a doctrine of two principles, God and matter, it cannot adopt Plato’s dualistic solution very easily, because it regards God or the creative Logos as pervading the whole of the material realm and being responsible for every aspect of its organization. It is thus much more difficult to explain cases of apparent imperfection or evil in the cosmos. Theology plays a crucial role in the Stoic system. God can be equated both with Providence and with Fate respectively, depending on one’s point of view. Pace Plato, the cosmos has been tailor-made so that humans can live in it. The Stoa thus has to take the question of theodicy much more seriously than Plato does.17 At least three mains lines of argumentation were developed. Firstly, what is apparently evil, may not in fact be so. It may have an educational purpose. Bed-bugs are undoubtedly a nuisance, but they are valuable in ensuring that we do not spend too much time in bed. In actual fact the only true evil is moral evil, and this is something that humans have control over. Secondly, all things contribute to the good of the universe as a whole. This even includes individual acts of wickedness or the seemingly undeserved sufferings of good people. Thirdly, the divine Logos orders all things perfectly, but in so doing may cause concomitant side-effects (παρὰ κατακολούθησιν) which cannot be avoided. The human body is beautifully designed, but the possibility of infirmity and disease is a secondary [5803] effect of the construction. The author of this argument, Chrysippus, is adapting Plato’s doctrine of material necessity and uses the same example (the necessary fragility of the skull).18 But, as noted above, the question of divine responsibility is more pressing for him because of his pantheistic theology. God does not design in opposition to material forces, but is himself responsible for structure at various levels, both of the soul and of the body. Could he not have designed bone in such a way that it was protective, but not brittle or obtuse? The early Stoic philosophers, such as Zeno, Cleanthes and Chrysippus, all attempted to develop arguments to prove that they were justified in insisting so strongly on the doctrine of divine Providence. But they found many opponents on their path, notably the Academic philosophers, who were quick to spot weaknesses in their arguments. Using the cut and thrust of philosophical dialectics they took Stoic views as hypotheses and showed what paradoxical or unacceptable consequences flowed from them.19 Accounts of such debates can be found in the philosophical works of Cicero, notably On the Nature of the Gods, books II & III. This brings us close to the time of Philo. 17  See further Long (1968); Long–Sedley (1987) § 54; for the later Stoa Dragona-Monachou (1994). 18 Reydams-Schils (1999) 75. 19  Long and Sedley (1987) § 54P, T.

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4.  The Treatises On Providence Among the writings of Philo are five so-called philosophical treatises.20 They have received this title because they are wholly concerned with philosophical questions and also make extensive use of source material from the Greek philosophical tradition. Two of these treatises are entitled ‘On providence.’ Although there are considerable similarities in subject-matter, they are not two parts of the same work.21 One is a systematic treatise, the other is a [584] dialogue. Both works strongly argue that God is the providential creator and administrator of the cosmos and the people who live in it. In both works questions of theodicy play a prominent role. Unfortunately both have survived in a complete form only in an Armenian translation, which sometimes makes it difficult to determine Philo’s exact meaning.22 In the case of the second about a quarter is cited in the Greek original by Eusebius in the Praeparatio Evangelica.23 In spite of this handicap, these works are a good place to start our discussion of Philo’s views on our subject. It is best to start with the better-preserved of the two, i. e. Prov. 2. This work is of great interest for our knowledge of Philo, because in it he portrays himself as entering into a philosophical discussion with his nephew, the fascinating historical figure Tiberius Julius Alexander.24 Born into Philo’s family as a member of the Alexandrian Jewish community, he rose to political eminence and became Governor of Egypt. During his rise to power, as we read in Josephus (A. J. 20.100), ‘he did not remain loyal to the practices of his fathers.’ He went on to serve as chief of staff to the emperor Titus during the campaign which led to the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem. Philo’s treatise was probably written about two or three decades before these events. Alexander is given the role of spokesman on behalf of those who deny the working of providence. His arguments are countered one by one by Philo. 20 

On the division of Philo’s writings see Runia (1986) 64–65; (2001a) 1–4. The view of H. Diels, (1879) 1–4, that Prov. 1 is a later reworking of an original dialogue representing the earlier conversation mentioned at the beginning of Prov. 2 is to be rejected, in spite of the support of Terian (1984b) 272–294, esp. 275 n. 7. See the convincing arguments of Hadas-Lebel PAPM 35.47–57. [On Prov. 1 see now Runia (2017a) = article 26 in this collection. In n. 21 of that essay it is noted that Terian has since changed his mind.] 22  Hadas-Lebel’s translation, published in 1973, is based on Aucher’s Latin version published in 1822. The same applies to the German translation by L. Früchtel in L. Cohn et al., (1909–1964) 7.267–382. Most regrettably there is as yet no complete English translation available. [This remains the case. But see n. 26 on substantial sections translated by A. Terian in Winston’s anthology of Philonic texts, (1981). Terian’s translation of the two treatises is still eagerly awaited.] 23  PE 7.21, 8.14. These passages are edited and translated in vol. 9 of the Loeb edition of Philo (the numbering of this translation is not to be confused with the numbering of the Armenian text). In his catalogue of Philo’s works Eusebius places Prov. 2 among the μονόβιβλα, which implies that he was not acquainted with Prov. 1. 24  On this man see Mélèze Modrzejewski, op. cit. (n. 1) 185–190. 21 

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The first part of the conversation concerns just and unjust desert. Why, Alexander asks, do the wicked prosper and the righteous suffer unjustly (§§ 3–11)? Examples are given from the Greek world: on the one hand tyrants such as Polycrates and Dionysius, on the other philosophers such as Socrates and Zeno of Elea. Philo [585] begins his reply by saying that poverty is not an evil (§§ 12–14). But then he affirms the basic principle of his argument: God is not a tyrant, but can be compared with a benevolent father. Just like parents are concerned about their wayward children, so God watches over those whose behaviour is reprehensible and gives them the opportunity (§ 15). There is no such thing as a wicked person who possesses true well-being.25 The good things that such a person appears to enjoy are only apparent, not real (§§ 16–22). Philosophers know that is truly good and they supply the right therapy for the sick soul (§§ 23–24). Moreover it should be borne in mind that God and human beings do not judge in the same way. We should not be quick to condemn the way that God operates (§ 29). Moreover, even tyrants and other harmful phenomena can have their uses. God can use them to punish wicked cities and nations. He can even send famine or pestilence or earthquakes for this purpose himself (§§ 31–32). In the second part of the conversation Alexander turns to cosmological issues. He argues that there are many reasons to conclude that the cosmos is not created and there is no role for providence in its creation and administration (§§ 45–46). Mechanical forces can be evoked for the structure of the universe. If a providential creator had been involved, there would not have been such a wastage of resources. Why, for example, are there such expanses of salt water in the seas and oceans (§ 61)? Why are the heavenly bodies so chaotically organized (§§ 69–71)? Philo answers confidently that a thorough examination of the cosmos and all the physical phenomena in it demonstrates beyond a shadow of a doubt that they have been brought into being and are maintained by a providential creator (§§ 72–81). But this answer may seem too easy and slick. In the final part of the dialogue the two speakers concentrate on the problem of the apparent presence of imperfection and evil in nature. Alexander cites all the usual examples: terrifying and destructive meteorological phenomena, earthquakes and other natural disasters, dangerous animals and poisonous plants, unequal distribution of resources (§§ 85–96). It is worth citing two passages in which Philo summarizes the principal arguments which he uses to defend his position that God is the providential creator of the universe and [586] is in now way responsible for any evil:26 25  The Greek term is εὐδαιμονία, which represents more than subjective ‘happiness,’ i. e. a good life deserving of congratulation. 26  Translations based on Terian, as included in Winston’s anthology (above n. 4). Note that for the first passage the Greek original is lost, so Philo’s exact meaning cannot be considered certain.

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When Providence is said to govern the universe, this does not mean that God is the cause of all things. He is certainly not the cause of evils, or of that which lies outside the course of nature, or of those things that are in no way beneficial. One might compare a well-run city, which is said to be administered by law inasmuch as there is a good distribution of necessary products, there are governing bodies, ruling persons, judges, praise and honour for good people, blame and punishments for wicked people and all those who deviate from the commonly accepted order. Violence, theft and what is similar are not caused by the law, but by the lawlessness of the inhabitants. In a similar way the assertion that the cosmos is ruled by Providence does not mean that God is responsible for everything. No, the attributes of His nature are altogether good and benevolent. All that is contrary is the result of a deviation either caused by the unruly nature of matter or of wickedness, but not caused by God. (§ 82) Earthquakes, pestilences, thunderbolts and similar phenomena are said to be divine visitations, but in reality they are nothing of the kind. For God is in no way the cause of evil, but these things are generated by the changes of the elements. They are not primary works of nature, but are consequent upon her necessary works and follow on what is primary. If some of the more refined people also share in the damage that results from these, one should not blame the divine dispensation. In the first place, even if these people are considered good in our perception, this does not mean they are really so, since God’s standards are more accurate than those in accordance with the human mind. Secondly, divine forethought is content with overseeing the most essential aspects of what happens in the cosmos, just as in the case of kingdoms and military commands there is a focus on cities and troop concentrations, and not on a some individual who belongs to those who are undistinguished and of no account. Indeed some thinkers affirm that, just as in the execution of tyrants it is lawful to kill their relations as well, in order that injustice may be kept in check through the severity of the punishment, in the same manner it happens that in the course of pestilential diseases some of the blameless also perish, so that others in the future will act with more restraint. In addition, it is unavoidable that those who come into contact [587] with a pestilential atmosphere get sick, just as those on a ship in a storm all run into equal danger. (§ 102)

Philo’s chief lines of argument emerge clearly from these passages. God is not the cause of evil and is not to be blamed for nasty things that happen to people. Moral wickedness deserves and receives punishment. This is in itself not an evil, but in actual fact is beneficial, either because the recipient learns his lesson and rescues his immortal soul, or because others are given timely warnings through the evildoer’s fate. God knows far better than we humans who is morally good and who is not. We should not be quick to accuse him when seemingly good people suffer. Other evil that might be thought to come from God is related to the physical or material nature of the universe. Philo shows no hesitation in taking over the Stoic theory of the consequent or secondary effects of primary processes, as we can see from his use of the usual technical vocabulary.27 27 

Note esp. the sentence ‘they are not primary works of nature, but are consequent upon her necessary works and follow on what is primary’.

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Similar arguments are found in the other work on providence, Prov. 1. Most of the treatise is concerned with developing positive proofs of Providence on the basis of various analogies. But in the middle part of the treatise Philo also addresses the error committed by those who conclude that there is no divine Providence on account of the evils which are thought to exist in the cosmos (§ 37–66). Lightning, for example, is a work of Providence. Not only does it offer warnings to humans when it strikes trees and rocks (§ 38), but when it strikes humans, this happens to good purpose, for Providence uses it to strike the wicked and always works with discernment (§ 55). Doubts might linger. What about the good people who are struck down? And what happens when a ship sinks? Do not the good and wicked both drown (§ 59)? To these questions we get the same reply: which tribunal should we appeal to in order to determine who is good and who is wicked? Providence, which occupies the summit of intelligence, knows this far better than humans do (§ 60). And, if a person is truly good, then such blows of fortune will not really affect him anyway … (§ 62). [588] At the end of his conversation with Alexander Philo affirms that the arguments and proofs that he has put forward should be sufficient to persuade all those who have an open mind that God does concern himself with human matters (§ 112). Alexander replies that he is in agreement and that he has no further questions (§ 113). In the light of his subsequent career and his reputation as an apostate from the Jewish religion, this conclusion has an air of wishful thinking about it. But what if we were to place ourselves in Alexander’s position? Would we be convinced? As has already been noted above, it is plain that Philo is overwhelmingly indebted to the Greek philosophical tradition in drawing up the arguments of these two treatises. There virtually no references to Judaism in the two treatises.28 The examples he uses are drawn from Greek literature, not the Bible. All his detailed arguments can be paralleled in earlier and contemporary philosophical literature.29 Indeed both treatises very much have a scholastic air about them. They give the impression that the interlocutors are engaged in a dialectical exercise, i. e. Philo is not treating the reader to an in-depth exposition of his own thought on the issues, but is demonstrating that he is capable of answering every objection with counter-arguments. It is striking that in the second of the two long quotes cited above, he refers to arguments of others (‘some thinkers’) without indicating that he himself is in agreement with them. Is it likely that Philo would agree that God just concerns himself with the larger issues and does not mind if some blameless people get crushed in the machinery of divine retribution? Moreover we are faced with the seemingly blatant contradiction between § 32, 28  On the relation between Judaism and Hellenism in the treatises see Hadas-Lebel PAPM 35.23–34. 29  The Greek philosophical background has been painstakingly researched by Wendland, (1892).

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where we read that God sends famine and pestilence and other θεήλατα (divine visitations) himself, and § 102, where the same phenomena are explicitly said not to be θεήλατα. Interesting though Philo’s arguments are, it is necessary I believe, take into account the context in which they are put forward, and not to conclude that they represent a complete statement of his views on the problem of theodicy. We need to look further. [589]

5.  The Exegetical Works As we already observed above, Philo regarded it as his chief task to expound the thought of Moses as it had been recorded in the five books of the Pentateuch. By far the majority of his writings (40 of his 50 treatises) are concerned with exegesis of Mosaic scripture.30 These writings must be further sub-divided into three major commentary series. The Exposition of the Law concentrates on the injunctions of the Law, but places them in a larger context by also looking at the account of creation in Genesis and the lives of the Jewish Patriarchs. The Allegorical Commentary gives a detailed allegorical exposition of the first 17 chapters of Genesis in terms of the life of the soul. The Questions and Answers on Genesis and Exodus give answers both at a literal and at an allegorical level to problems posed by the biblical text. This last Commentary is incompletely preserved and, apart from a number of fragments, is extant only in an Armenian translation. For our purposes it is the least important of the three major series of exegetical treatises. There has been much discussion about Philo’s purpose in writing these three separate commentaries. Generally speaking it may be concluded that the Exposition of the Law aims at making Judaism accessible to a broad audience, whereas the Allegorical Commentary is aimed at insiders who are already deeply versed in the intricacies of Mosaic thought. The Questions and Answers is more like a reference work for students of scripture and operates at various levels of difficulty. A good place for to begin is the opening work of the Exposition of the Law on the Mosaic creation account, the conclusion of which has already been discussed in our preliminary presentation of Philo’s Judaism. At the outset of the work Philo asserts that God is the sole and excellent creator of the universe (Opif. 21–23): (§ 21) If anyone should wish to examine the reason why this universe was constructed, I think he would not miss the mark if he affirmed, what one of the ancients also said, that the Father and Maker was good. For this reason he did not begrudge a share of his own excellent nature to a material which did not possess any beauty of its own but was able to become all things … [590] 30 

See above n. 20.

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(§ 23) With no one to assist him  – indeed who else was there?  –, but relying solely on his own resources, God recognized that he had to confer the unstinting riches of his beneficence on the nature which of itself without divine grace could not sustain any good whatsoever. But he does not confer his blessings in proportion to the size of his own powers of beneficence – for these are indeed without limit and infinitely great – but rather in proportion to the capacities of those who receive them. The fact is that what comes into existence is unable to accommodate those benefits to the extent that God is able to confer them, since God’s powers are overwhelming, whereas the recipient is too weak to sustain the size of them and would collapse, were it not that he measured them accordingly, dispensing with fine tuning to each thing its allotted portion.

The anonymous author to which Philo refers in the second line is Plato, who in his Timaeus argues that the Demiurge formed the cosmos because he was good (29e). Plato thus – in Philo’s view – gives expression to one of the central tenets of Mosaic thought. The world of physical reality has come into being through the free will of the Creator, who acted out of pure goodness and produced a work that was excellent in every single respect. This view is repeated on numerous occasions throughout his writings.31 Creation is the product and the recipient of divine grace. Philo emphasizes in the quoted text that God did not create the cosmos in co-operation with – or in opposition to, for that matter – anyone else. From the viewpoint of later Christian dogma it is surprising to observe that he does not state that the material used for the cosmos also created as part of the creational act. On the contrary, the above text implies that this material, as absolute unformed matter, was not created by God, but was available to him. If this interpretation is correct, then there are vestiges of dualism in Philo’s thinking on creation, but only in the very limited sense that the substrate of physical creation is not created by God and is unable to accommodate the fullness of God’s creative power.32 Physical reality is simply unable to become fully the same as divine reality. There is no evil in the positive sense, [591] i. e. a malevolent force that actively counters the good. But in his work on the creation Philo does not use such an understanding of creation as a reason for explaining its imperfections. The emphasis is quite different. Creation is the perfect product of a good God. If there is positive evil, its source has to be located elsewhere. Further on in the treatise Philo reaches the works of the sixth day and in particular the creation of humankind. Here he has to confront a serious difficulty in his text. His answer bears directly on our subject (§ 72–75): (§ 72) It would not be off the mark to raise the difficulty as to why only in the case of the human being he attributed his coming into existence not to a single creator as in 31 

See the texts discussed in Runia (1986) 132–140. The question of whether Philo holds the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo is a highly controversial subject in Philonic studies; see the discussion of various views at Runia (2001a) 152–153, 171–172. In a recent essay I defend the view that Philo’s position on creation can best be described as ‘monarchic dualism’; see (2003) = article 5 in this collection. 32 



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the case of the other creatures, but as if to a plurality. For he introduces the Father of the universe as saying these words: ‘let us make a human being after our image and likeness’ (Gen 1:26). Surely, I would say, he to whom all things are subject would not be in need of anyone whatsoever. Or is it likely that when he made heaven and earth and sea, he did not need any collaborator, but that in the case of such a tiny and perishable creature as the human being, he was unable to fashion it all by himself without the assistance of others? Of necessity only God knows the truest reason for this, but we should not conceal the answer that seems to be convincing and reasonable, based on a likely conjecture. It is the following.   (§ 73) Of the creatures that exist, some share neither in goodness or in evil, such as plants and animals without reason, the former because they do not possess soul and are regulated by a nature without imagination, the latter because they have been excluded from intellect and reason. Intellect and reason may be regarded as the home where goodness and evil naturally reside. Other beings have taken part in goodness only and are without share in any form of wickedness, such as the heavenly beings. These are said not only to be living beings, but living beings with intelligence, or rather each of them is an intellect, excellent through and through and not susceptible to any kind of wickedness. But [592] there are also creatures of a mixed nature, such as the human being, who admits opposite characteristics, wisdom and foolishness, self-control and lack of restraint, courage and cowardice, justice and injustice, and – to summarize – good deeds and evil deeds, fine behaviour and foul, goodness and wickedness.   (§ 74) Now for God the universal Father it was highly appropriate to make the virtuous beings on his own because of their family relationship with him, and in the case of the indifferent beings it was not alien to him to do so, since these too have no part in the wickedness that is hateful to him. In the case of the mixed natures, however, it was partly appropriate and partly inappropriate, appropriate on account of the better kind mixed in with them, inappropriate on account of the kind that was opposite and inferior.   (§ 75) For this reason it is only in the case of the genesis of the human being that he states that ‘God said let us make,’ which reveals the enlistment of others as collaborators, so that whenever the human being acts rightly in decisions and actions that are beyond reproach, these can be assigned to God’s account as universal Director, whereas in the case of their opposite they can be attributed to others who are subordinate to him. After all, it must be the case that the Father is blameless of evil in his offspring, and both wickedness and wicked activities are certainly something evil.

Only the human being, Philo argues, is capable of moral wickedness, i. e. either good or evil deeds. This is because he possesses reason, but is free not to follow its recommendations. God cannot be held responsible for the evil that humans do. Yet this propensity to do evil does seem to be part of the human make-up. Thus it must be thought likely that God had collaborators who created that part of him that is responsible for wicked deeds. Philo should be taken at his word when he says that this plural verb is difficult and that his answer is tentative. The inspiration for his solution is once again Plato’s Timaeus, where the demiurge calls upon the ‘young gods’ to help him by making the mortal parts of humanity and those living beings who [593] have no

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share in immortality.33 But surely his solution is problematic. All of a sudden God has collaborators, whereas earlier he had stressed that He worked alone. Who are these subordinates? Are they divine powers or angels or even heavenly beings (as in Plato)? And what do they create? This is not stated explicitly. Do they only make the human irrational soul, or do they also create the human body? If the latter is included, this would lead to a very negative view of the body, but elsewhere in the same treatise Philo emphasizes how beautiful and well-designed the body of the first human being was.34 All these questions are difficult to answer, and it is hard to avoid the conclusion that Philo remains deliberately vague in his exegesis. At the very least, however, they are an indication of how seriously he takes the problem of theodicy. There are four other passages in which a similar exegesis is offered. In each case troublesome plurals in the biblical text are explained:35 On the Confusion of Tongues 168–183, On Flight and Finding 68–72, On the Changing of Names 30–32, Questions on Genesis 1.54. In each case Philo entertains the idea that God is addressing collaborators or subordinates. In the first of these texts he takes as his starting-point Genesis 11:7. God is upset about the builders of the Tower of Babel and says: ‘Let us go down and confuse their tongue there.’ In a long passage Philo first emphasizes that there is no question of there being more than one God. God is one, but he is surrounded by numerous powers who assist him, and among these are powers responsible for punishment (§ 171). Nothing which is destructive should have its origin in God, whose nature is be do good and offer salvation. In actual fact punishment can be a positive thing because it brings about salvation for human beings. Nevertheless it is better that the punishment of the wicked should be carried out by God’s subordinates, so that God is not associated in any way with what might seem be evil [594] (§ 182). In this text God uses his powers as instruments of punishment, the purpose of which is corrective and ultimately salutary. Philo is not specific about who these powers are, but does state that they are his subordinates (§ 180). A similar presentation is found in Philo’s account of the life of Abraham. Here too he has to deal with an exegetical puzzle. Why does Abraham receive three visitors in Gen 18:2, but only two of them go down for the punishment of Sodom (cf. Gen 19:1)? Philo argues that the three men symbolize God and his two chief powers (§ 143):36

33  Tim. 41a, 42e. Plato has in mind the heavenly beings and esp. the sun, which is responsible for life and growth on earth. 34  §§ 136–138. For a different interpretation of the division of labour here see Winston (1986) 105–111. 35  These are Gen 3:22 and 11:7. For a fuller discussion of these texts see Runia (1986) 242–249. Note that they occur in all three series of Philo’s biblical commentaries. 36  Translation Winston (modified).



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That [third] one, in my view, was the truly Existent, who held that it was fitting that he be present to bestow good things by his own agency, but should turn over the execution of the opposite to his powers alone acting in his service, so that He might be considered the cause of good only, but not primarily the cause of anything evil.

Here we appear to have a theological answer for the problem of punishment. Destruction such as overcame the inhabitants of Sodom can be thought of as an evil, though its ultimate aim is correction and salvation. God cannot be considered directly responsible for this punishment. He uses his powers to inflict it. Philo often distinguishes between God as He is in his unattainable essence and his powers, which represent God as He interacts with his Creation.37 The divine name ‘God’ indicates his role as creator, the other divine name ‘Lord’ his role as ruler and overseer of that creation. It must be said, however, that this theological doctrine, based on the distinction between transcendence and immanence, seems hardly suitable for supplying a convincing solution to the central problems of theodicy. Even if God’s powers or angels are the instruments of punishment, ultimately God is the source of justice. Since He is the source of good only, justice and punishment must be seen as good too. This can only be the case if it is corrective and pedagogic. Returning to the account of creation, Philo explains towards the end of the treatise that the first man was created excellent [595] in every respect, both in body and in soul (§ 137–150). He would have lived a truly felicitous life, were it not that he fell into error. The cause of this error was the creation of woman. When he first saw his helpmate, he wanted to make love to her. Philo makes quite clear that love is in itself not the source of sin,38 for it is needed for the survival of the human race. The problem is that love can lead to passion, and that is a grave danger for the life of virtue and happiness. So it turned out to be, and the first man and woman were expelled out of paradise as punishment (§ 151–156). This exposition of the events in paradise is consistent with Philo’s strong emphasis on human free will as the source of moral evil earlier in the treatise. The situation is not, however, completely hopeless. God was merciful and moderated the punishment that the first humans deserved. The human race would survive, but its life would be harsh (§ 170). In the remainder of the Exposition of the Law Philo turns to the history of Israel. In his mercy God gave humankind the Law. The patriarchs were living laws, demonstrating how great natures could live in a way pleasing to God. But for more ordinary people God has given the Law of Moses, establishing guidelines for numerous aspects of human life. Philo notes that in the chief summary of the Law, the Decalogue, no penalties are stated. The explanation that he gives for this is already familiar to us. God, as creator and as Lord of creation, is the source 37  See e. g. the earlier passage at Abr. 121–132. On this doctrine see Winston (1985) 19–22; and now Termini (2000). 38  This has been frequently misunderstood; see my remarks in (2001a) 359–361.

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of good only. People should obey the Law for positive reasons, in order to do good, and not because of fear of punishment. But in his exposition of the more detailed sections of the Law, Philo observes that on many occasions rewards are stated for those who obey the Law and punishments for those who disobey it. God rewards good people and punishes those who are wicked. The final two books of the Exposition are consistent with this double viewpoint. In the former, On the virtues, Philo explains how the obedience to the Law results in the practice of the virtues, including piety, justice, bravery and humanity. In the latter, On rewards and punishments, he specifically discusses the rewards for obedience and punishments for disobedience that are indicated in the Pentateuch. Abraham’s reward was faith, Isaac’s joy, Jacob’s that he might see God (based on the purported etymology [596] of his alternative name, Israel). Punishments are meted out to Cain and the house of Korah (Numbers 16). But more than half the book is devoted to the rewards which are promised to the nation of Israel if it remains true to the Law (§ 79–126) and the punishments that are threatened against it if it becomes disobedient (§ 127–161). Basing his exposition largely on Leviticus 26 and Deuteronomy 28, Philo describes a straight-forward correlation between obedience, virtue and material prosperity on the one hand, and between disobedience, wickedness and catastrophe on the other. It is God who rewards and it is God who punishes, in accordance with the biblical text. No questions of theodicy are raised. Earlier in the same book, however, Philo expounds in some detail the joy that is Isaac’s reward, and here he does relate this reward to a broader cosmic perspective (§ 32–34):39 Joy is in fact the best and noblest of the rational emotions, by which the soul is thoroughly filled with cheerfulness, rejoicing in the Father and Creator of all, rejoicing also in his actions, which are devoid of malice even when not conducive to his own pleasure, since they occur for a noble end and for the preservation of all things. For it is like the case of a doctor who, in the course of grave and serious diseases, sometimes removes parts of the body while aiming at the health of the rest, and the pilot who, at the onset of a storm, jettisons cargo in his concern for the safety of those sailing with him. No blame attaches either to the doctor for the disabling or to the pilot for the loss of cargo, but to the contrary, both are praised for looking to what is advantageous rather than what is pleasant, and for having acted correctly …

This passage reminds us of the arguments that we read in De providentia. When we combine the passage with the subsequent discussion of rewards and punishments, we may easily conclude that Philo is skating over the problems of theodicy far too easily. Is it really the case that the righteous always gain their reward in terms of success and prosperity, and that the wicked are always justly punished? And is it not the case that if all things contribute to the preservation 39 

Translation Winston (modified).



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of the universe, many innocent victims are going to be unjustifiably crushed in the cogs of cosmic continuity? Considerations such as these may easily lead to the conclusion that Philo is preoccupied with questions of theodicy, but that his [597] solutions for the problem are marked by a rather disappointing superficiality. We need to bear in mind, however, that the texts cited above are almost all derived from Philo’s Exposition of the Law. In the Allegorical Commentary Philo examines the biblical narrative from the deeper perspective of the life of the individual soul, which has to choose between turning towards or away from God, between virtue and wickedness. In a recent article Alan Mendelson has argued that it should not be thought that Philo is not concerned about the suffering of the individual.40 His most potent symbol of the suffering soul is Abel, who is unjustly killed by his brother Cain. In the biblical account it seems that Abel loses his life. Cain is punished but is allowed to live. How can this be? Philo confronts these questions in two treatises, On the worse attacking the better and On the posterity and exile of Cain. Abel is presented in the biblical text as the good innocent, unable to match the sophisticated ill-will of his brother. Philo is clearly concerned about the injustice that Abel suffers at the hands of Cain. How can God allow that to happen? The text which gives his answer is the following (Det. 47–49):41 So the words that follow, ‘Cain rose up against Abel his brother and killed him’ (Gen 4:8) suggest, as far as superficial appearance goes, that Abel has been destroyed, but when examined more carefully, that Cain has been destroyed by his own hand. The text must be read in the following way: ‘Cain rose up and killed himself,’ and not someone else. And this is exactly what we should expect to happen to him. For the soul that has destroyed from itself the principle of love of virtue and love of God, has died to the life of virtue. The result is that, strange as it may seem, Abel has both been destroyed and lives; he is destroyed from the mind of the foolish man, but lives the life of well-being in God … The wise person, therefore, who seems to have died the corruptible life, lives the immortal [598] life, whereas the worthless person lives the life of wickedness and has died to the life of well-being.

As Mendelson points out, there were various strategies open to Philo in dealing with this case. He could have tried to deny that any injustice took place, or he could have tried to find room for divine mercy. But both of these moves would have been unconvincing. Therefore he resorts to the distinction between appearance and reality familiar to him from Greek philosophy and especially from the philosophy of Plato. Cain commits a crime and is punished. It appears that he stays alive, whereas the innocent Abel is deprived of life. In reality, however, Abel lives, because he takes refuge in God, whereas Cain dies a living death. His 40  Mendelson (1997) 104–125, esp. 116–123. Philo has been accused of lacking this concern by Sandmel (1981), especially in his final comments. The problem is that Sandmel bases his analysis almost exclusively on texts from Prov. 41  Translation Whitaker PLCL (modified).

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punishment is even greater than that suffered by Adam when he was expelled from paradise. Philo expatiates at some length on this punishment (Post. 8–9):42 If it is a difficult thing to move away from the face of a mortal king, how must is not be a thousand times more difficult to leave the vision of God and go away, having decided no longer to approach his sight, that is to say to become incapable of receiving a mental picture of him because one has been deprived of the sight on the eye of the soul. Those who have suffered this loss under compulsion, overwhelmed by the force of an inexorable power, deserve pity rather than hatred. But those who have of their own free will turned away from Existent Being, transcending the very limit of wickedness – for what evil can be found of equal weight to this – these must pay no usual penalties, but ones that are newly devised and beyond the ordinary. And what penalty could one devise that is more original and greater than banishment and flight from the Ruler of the Universe?

The greatest punishment that humans can receive is a profound alienation from God. They may continue to live and even live in superficial prosperity, but their life is actually in ruins. Spiritually they are living a living death. Cain and his posterity are the symbols of absolute wickedness. Fortunately God is merciful and in the place of Abel he raised up another seed, Seth (Gen 4:25). Seth is the beginning of the restoration of piety and virtue, which [599] will further flourish in the lives of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The three patriarchs symbolize respectively the three gifts that the soul needs in order to lead a good life pleasing to God, teaching, natural aptitude and spiritual exercise. They represent what the human being can attain in his or her life. In his analysis Mendelson rightly sees a tension or dialectic between the approaches to reward and punishment in the Exposition of the Law and the Allegorical Commentary. The former is closer to the biblical text as found in Leviticus and Deuteronomy, the latter is influenced by Plato and Greek philosophy. He wonders whether Philo may have changed his mind about these issues at some stage in his career. I would prefer to conclude that his thought operates at more than one level. At a superficial level there is a direct correlation between goodness and a successful, prosperous life. But a more searching look at what actually happens in life shows that innocent and virtuous people do suffer, and that wickedness often seems to be rewarded with success. Because God is both merciful and just, this situation cannot be allowed to continue indefinitely. Philo is convinced that ultimately goodness will be rewarded and wickedness will be punished, but how this process takes place is not always obvious on the surface of things. Only when the inner life of the soul and its relation to God is taken into account is it possible to understand how God brings about a merciful and just resolution.43 42 

Translation Whitaker PLCL (modified). should be noted that Philo also distinguishes between the punishment of voluntary

43  It



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A question that might still be raised is whether Philo believes the process of reward and punishment is confined to the present life, or that there is a further perspective. In the footsteps of Plato – and contrary to the main thrust of the Hebrew Bible, he is persuaded of the immortality of the soul.44 There is more to life than life in the body. In his treatment of the punishment of Cain in the Questions and Genesis, Philo distinguishes between two kinds of death and life (1.76):45 [600] Firstly, one kind of death if the change of nature of the living. Continuous sorrows, unmixed with joy, and violent fears, empty of good hope, bring on many grave and manifold deaths, which are caused by sense-perception. Secondly, immediately at the outset (Scripture) wishes to describe the law of the indestructibility of the soul and to refute the false belief of those who think that this bodily life alone is blessed. For behold one of the two (brothers) is guilty of the greatest evils, namely impiety and fratricide, and yet is alive and begets children and founds cities. But he who gave evidence of piety is destroyed by cunning. Not only does the divine word clearly proclaim that it is not the life of sense which is good and that death is not an evil, but also that the life of the body is not even related (to life). But there is another (life) unageing and immortal, which incorporeal souls receive as their lot.

The life of the soul continues after death, and both reward and punishment are not confined to this life. This having been noted, it must be stressed that Philo does give a very concrete picture of a life after death. Heaven is portrayed in rather vague terms as a flight of the soul to the celestial realm or to God.46 Hades is sometimes referred to as the place where wicked souls spend their days,47 but the descriptions are conventional and not very developed. There is nothing in Philo equivalent to the detailed descriptions of hell as portrayed in the later Christian tradition or of the underworld with its punishments as so vividly described in the Platonic myths. The major difficulty for Philo is that on the one hand he cannot accept the Platonic doctrine of reincarnation,48 but that he is also on the other hand not comfortable with the idea that God would punish the wicked for all eternity. So he remains rather vague about the fate of the soul after and involuntary wrong-doing. See his lengthy exegesis of the Levitic cities of refuge in Fug. 53–86. 44  On Philo’s views on the immortality of the soul see Wolfson (1947) 1.395–413; Harl, PAPM 15.103–130. As noted by Wolfson 1.396, belief in the immortality of the soul had entered in Judaism under the influence of Hellenistic thought well before Philo; cf. also Sanders (1991) 298–303. 45  Translation Marcus PLCLSup (modified). 46  E. g. Abr. 258, Mos. 2.288. [This topic is also discussed in Yli-Karjanmaa’s monograph cited below in n. 48; see 81–85; also the comments at Termini (2009) 106–109.] 47  E. g. Somn. 1.151 etc.; see Harl, op. cit. 105 n. 1. 48  Some Philonic texts state that souls descend into bodies, but – with one explicable exception (Somn. 1.139) – the doctrine of reincarnation is not found in his writings; see Runia (1986) 347–348. [This interpretation has been vigorously contested by Sami Yli-Karjanmaa in his monograph on the question of whether Philo subscribes to the doctrine of reincarnation, (2015); see further article 8 in this collection.]

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death and prefers to emphasize that life and death can be experienced in spiritual terms while human beings are alive on this earth. This spiritual life of the soul, expressed both in the relation to God and in the life of virtue or of wickedness, is the main subject of the long and complex Allegorical Commentary which [601] represents his greatest achievement as exegete of Mosaic scripture.

6.  Theodicy and the Contemporary Situation of the Jews Philo’s thoughts about the problems of theodicy may so far have seemed rather theoretical, the typical product of a philosophically minded person who spends most of his time behind his desk in his study. But this would be a misleading impression. It is true that Philo loved to study. In a famous passage he complains that he does not have enough time for his studies because he has been sucked into the maelstrom of political affairs.49 This is almost certainly a reference to the severe troubles experienced by the Alexandrian Jewish community during the reign of Gaius Caligula (38–41 CE).50 In his two treatises Against Flaccus and Embassy to Gaius Philo describes how the Governor of Egypt Flaccus allowed the enemies of the Jews among the citizens of Alexandria and the local Egyptian populace to run amuck and perpetrate what may be regarded the first pogrom in history. The Alexandrian Jews were used to a good deal of antagonism in the fractious atmosphere of the city. Nevertheless we may be sure that these dreadful events sent shock-waves throughout the community. How could God allow these crimes to occur? Would he punish their perpetrators? Philo himself was appointed leader of an delegation that travelled to Rome to appeal to the emperor to intervene and guarantee the Jews their rights. This enterprise too was fraught with danger. Not only did the ambassadors have to travel at an inauspicious time. They also had to confront the notoriously unpredictable and cruel emperor Gaius Caligula. Would God support and sustain them in their endeavour to gain justice, or would their voyage end in disaster and possible death? The main theme of the two above-mentioned treatises is the wonderful workings of God’s providential care for the Jewish people. The first words of Embassy of Gaius hint at the fact that Philo himself had grave doubts (§ 1–3):51 How long shall we old men still be children, our bodies [602] grey with age through the length of time, but as far as our souls are concerned still infants through our insensibility, regarding what is most unstable, fortune, as most unchanging and what is most 49 

Spec. 3.1–6. an account of these events and their aftermath see Mélèze-Modrzejewski (1997) 165–183. 51  My translation. It is important to note that by nature here Philo means the providential working of God. 50  For

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securely fixed, nature, as most unreliable? … And yet the present situation and the many important questions that have been resolved in it are sufficient to persuade even those who did not believe that the divinity exercised forethought for human beings, and especially for the suppliant kind, which has obtained as its inheritance the Father and King of the universe and the cause of all things.

The suppliant race, Philo goes on to say, is Israel, the nation which alone is fully dedicated to the service of the one God and refuses to worship anyone or anything that belongs to created reality (cf. § 114–116). The climax of work is reached when Philo describes the interview that the delegation had with the Emperor. They were gripped by fear because they knew that Gaius was angry with the Jews for resisting his attempt at deification and for refusing to accept the placement of his statue in the temple at Jerusalem. They tried to put forward their case, but the emperor kept on getting distracted by other matters (§ 366–367):52 So with the statement of our case totally shattered … we gave up. There was no strength left in us, and since we continually expected nothing else than death, we no longer possessed our souls within us, but in deep distress our souls had passed from within us and went forth to supplicate the true God that he should restrain the anger of the pretender to his name. And He, taking compassion on us, turned that man’s spirit to mercy. He relaxed into a softer mood and said only this: ‘These people seem to me to be not so much wicked as unfortunate in refusing to believe that I have inherited the nature of a god.’ He then left, ordering us to do likewise.

Looking back at his perilous adventure, Philo thus sees the direct intervention of God in human affairs. Providence is not just a philosophical doctrine. Its intervention can be the difference between life and death. [603] God not only saves, however, but he also punishes. In the other treatise Philo describes how the governor Flaccus, after having done all he could to injure the cause of the Jewish community, falls into disgrace and is punished, first by being exiled to a remote island, and then by being summarily executed. This development Philo also attributes to the workings of divine Providence. It was the will of justice, he claims, that Flaccus’ body should receive just as many stabbings are the number of Jews that he unlawfully allowed to be put to death. The final words of the treatise are full of conviction (§ 191): ‘Such was the fate of Flaccus, who thus became an indubitable proof that the Jewish race was not deprived of the assistance that God can give.’ Any attempt to see God’s hand in history is a perilous exercise. There are other texts in Philo that are more pessimistic about the fortunes and prospects for the Jewish nation.53 If we can believe the evidence of these two works, however, the events of 38–41 CE were for Philo a vindication of his deeply held belief 52 

Translation Colson LCL (modified). E. g. Mos. 2.43, where he says that, were it not for the fact that the Jewish nation was under a clould, all people would turn to the Law of Moses and observe it. 53 

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that divine Providence and Justice go hand in hand, resulting in reward for the righteous and punishment for the wicked.

7. Conclusion Philo has been called the ‘first theologian’.54 Certainly he is the first thinker who wishes to stand in the biblical tradition, but is prepared to use the considerable resources of Greek philosophy in expounding and defending his religious beliefs. The deeply theocentric nature of his thought means that he cannot avoid a frequent wrestling with the problems of theodicy. It is Philo’s profound and unshakeable conviction that God is good and in no way the source of evil, a just God, who rewards good people and punishes the wicked. This conviction must be seen as an act of faith, but Philo wants to underpin it with all the arguments that he can muster. The use of these arguments, as we have seen, is often dependent on the context in which and the audience for which Philo is writing. There are four main strategies which Philo uses when confronting [604] the problems of theodicy. Firstly, God is consistently dissociated from the causation of any kind of evil. Secondly it is argued that apparent evils contribute to the good of the whole. Thirdly, Philo is convinced that God in his concern for the world always has positive intentions. If He needs to inflict punishment, whether by Himself or through the agency of his subordinates, its purpose is to educate either the perpetrator or those who observe his example. The pedagogic function of punishment outweighs its retributive purpose. When all else fails, Philo occasionally resorts to the fourth line of argument. God’s ways are only known to Himself and are certainly not accessible to humankind. Human reasoning may try to understand them, but often its limitations are only too apparent. Fundamental to Philo’s approach is the distinction between physical and moral evil. We have seen that he finds the latter easier to explain than the former. Human beings have a free will, and so can be held responsible for the wicked things they do. The difficulty is that sometimes good people seem to suffer unjustly. Philo has more trouble with the explanation of physical evil. He is utterly convinced that creation is the work of God and is good in every respect. In explaining the apparent imperfections of the physical world, he either has to resort to a mild and vague form of dualism, or he has to try to explain things away. In both cases the help offered by Greek philosophy seems to lead to an uneasy relationship with his biblical and Jewish convictions. Of the four arguments outlined above, it seems to me that the third is the one that appeals to Philo most. It is not difficult to understand this preference. This argument assumes not only that God is deeply concerned with his creation, but 54 

Bousset–Gressmann (1926) 445.



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that his intentions are always salvific, even when appearances are to the contrary. The emphasis on the pedagogic nature of God’s providential concern for the world was to have a bright future in the thought of the Christian theologians who in the coming centuries would benefit from Philo’s pioneering exegetical and theological labours.55

55  Most notably by the Alexandrian theologian Origen; see the classic but now somewhat outdated study of Koch (1932). [See now the monograph of Bergjan (2002), esp. Part II, §§ 2–3 (on Basilides, Clement, and Origen).]

18.  Philo of Alexandria on the Human Consequences of Divine Power* This third European conference of Philo scholars (or fourth or fifth, depending on how you wish to count1) is a splendid opportunity to engage in a multifaceted investigation of Philo’s views on divine power and the powers of God. It is a theme that has been central to scholarly discourse on Philo’s thought from the beginning but is far from being exhausted. Indeed I am convinced that our learned discussions on this topic will be just as inexhaustible as the divine powers are in Philo’s estimation.

1.  Theme and Preliminary Remarks In this essay I  want to approach the main topic of the conference a little differently than is usually the case. I think it is fair to say that the subject of the power or powers of God has almost always been treated in what one might call a top-down approach. Given Philo’s strong focus in all his writings on God, the nature of his being and his action in relation to the world, it is natural to start with the doctrine of God and the place of God’s power(s) within that doctrine. This is the case in the classic expositions of Drummond, Bréhier, Goodenough, Wolfson and Daniélou.2 Of course we are speaking here of studies that are now entirely superseded, largely through the paradigm shift brought about by the splendid scholarly contribution of Valentin Nikiprowetzky.3 But [246] even in the most recent study on the subject, the excellent Italian monograph of Cristina Termini published in 2000, this top-down approach is maintained. In each of the six main parts of her study, God’s power and its manifestation is the starting*  This essay was originally presented as the keynote address of the conference ‘Petere e potenze in Filone di Alessandria/Pouvoir et puisssances chez Philon d’Alexandria’ held in Milan in June 2011. This context explains the references at its beginning and end. Section headings have been added to this reprinted version. 1  Paris 1995, Brussels 2007, Milan 2011. One could also include Lyons 1966 and Bologna 2003, though these conferences had a more national character. 2 Drummond (1888); Bréhier (1950); Goodenough (1935); Wolfson (1968); Daniélou (1958). 3  Nikiprowetzky (1977); Lévy (1998).



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point.4 I wish to emphasize that this is an entirely legitimate and indeed obvious and fruitful approach. My approach in this essay, however, will be a little different. I wish to reverse the direction of focus as it were so that it follows more of a bottom-up approach. A primary characteristic of divine power in Philo’s view is that it acts in relation to created reality and particularly in relation to human beings. I want to examine what the consequences are of that divine power, with a special focus on how it is experienced by human beings. In the top-down approach a primary focus is on the role of the divine powers in the creation of humanity, particularly as described in the biblical accounts of creation. Accordingly an important and persuasive part of Termini’s monograph is devoted to ‘Le potenze e l’antropogonia.’ I will not be dwelling on that theme. Instead I will be looking at what it means for the human beings who have been created by God to live on this earth to experience the divine power in their lives and how in Philo’s view they should respond to that power. But before I begin with the main body of my investigation, allow me first to make two further preliminary remarks. Firstly, one of the topics that may occupy us in the next few days is the relation between divine δύναμις in the singular and God’s δυνάμεις in the plural. The organizers of the conference get around this problem very neatly with their title ‘Potere e potenze in Filone.’ The title of Termini’s monograph shows a similar duality: Le potenze (plural) di Dio: Studio su δύναμις (singular) in Filone di Alessandria. In fact one of the more interesting results of her investigation is that in Philo the plural is more frequent than the singular (108 to 79 instances),5 a practice, she notes, that sets him apart from other Hellenistic-Jewish authors, the New Testament and Josephus, and also, we might add, from Greek philosophical writers such as the author of the De Mundo. We shall see that this alternation between power and powers is relevant to some aspects of our theme, when Philo wishes to dwell on particular aspects of divine action as it affects human beings. But you will excuse some fluidity on my part as I move from singular to plural in my exposition. Similarly I will not be distracted by issues of [247] hypostasization, hierarchy or stratification in Philo’s doctrine. It is plain that some of the divine powers are not only at work in the created realm, but sometimes belong to that realm. I am just going to focus on their effects.6 My second point concerns method. I want to return to the paradigm shift that has already been mentioned. Since Nikiprowetzky we have come to appreciate the fundamental importance of scriptural exegesis in Philo. For our subject the 4  Termini (2000). As I stated in my review of this work, SPhA 15 (2003) 155, it would be very worthwhile to produce an English translation of this work. See also Calabi (2008), esp. chap. 4. 5  Termini (2000) 32. 6  Another difficulty I will avoid is whether to capitalize the divine power(s) in some contexts or not. I will consistently use lower case.

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shift was already fully recognized by Termini in the study which I have already praised.7 It will emerge in my essay that much that can be said about its theme derives from Philo’s requirements in interpreting scripture. The clearest example is the linkage of the doctrine of the divine powers to the two chief names of God in the Pentateuch. Moreover the basis for my analysis will be textual, i. e. derived from explicit mentions of the divine power(s) in Philo’s treatises. I will, however, continue to use the term ‘doctrine’ and ‘thought’ in relation to Philo’s work without apology. Behind the exegetical demands and constraints lies a body of thought which resists detailed systematization but does have discernible contours. I would argue that it is at the intersection of the biblical text and that body of thought that the answers to the question we are posing in this essay are to be found.8

2.  The Powers as Relational to Human Beings An appropriate place to start is Philo’s observation that at many places in the Pentateuchal narrative biblical characters are said to belong to God or the Lord or both as the case may be. ‘I am your God,’ is what Abraham gets to hear in Gen 17:1. These words, Philo interprets,9 are not used in their proper sense, for God as being is sufficient to himself. They are used catachrestically and must be taken to refer to God’s powers, which are spoken of as ‘quasi-relative’ (ὡσανεὶ πρός τι), namely the beneficent power and the royal power, the powers associated with the two chief divine names. (They are not fully relative because the relation cannot be reciprocal. Human beings depend on divine power, but the reverse does not apply.10) In the case of Abraham above, the pronouncement means that he receives the great gift of having the Father as his ‘maker [248] and demiurge.’11 But there are numerous other permutations of the same scheme, which Philo adapts to the various biblical contexts. Though Er, Judah’s firstborn, is found wicked before the Lord, it is God who kills him (Gen 38:7). Why is the punishment not carried out by the ruling power as one might expect? Because, Philo claims,12 it is an act of goodness to destroy the body which Er symbolizes, just as it was an act of goodness to create it. Fittingly when Noah the δίκαιος is instructed by the Lord God (Gen 7:5), the name Lord comes first. Even at the time of the great Flood there is divine beneficence, since the λόγοι σπερματικοί from which a new world would emerge remained, but the context is one of destruction 7 

Termini (2000) 17 at n. 30. My formulation is a variation on Termini (2000) 17. 9  Mut. 27–28. Cf. also Abr. 51 on Exod 3:15. 10  See PLCL 5.587, who cite Drummond (1888) 2.48–49; see also Wolfson (1947) 2.138. 11  Mut. 29–30. 12  Leg. 3.73. 8 

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and punishment, so the name Lord rightly comes before the name God.13 When God speaks to Jacob at Bethel, he says he is the Lord God of Abraham, but the God of Isaac, fittingly again because Abraham is a man of progress, starting off as an emigrant and needing both governance and beneficence, whereas Isaac was born perfect and so obtained unmixed goodness only.14 All these texts and the interpretations given to them indicate that the divine powers are relational not just to the cosmos as a whole, which has been created and is governed through their agency, but also  – and perhaps especially  – to human beings who have a special place in that cosmos. Human beings are special because they are sentient and intelligent, enabling them to experience the divine power as it relates to them and respond to it in their lives. The nature of that experience and the response to which it gives rise is our next topic. But first Philo considers it worthwhile from time to time to reflect on the very fact that such experience is possible at all. For a vast chasm exists between the infinite and overwhelming nature of the divine power and the human capacity to receive and experience that power. As Philo clearly states at the beginning of his exegesis of the creation account, this chasm can only be bridged if the divine power is adapted and adjusted to the nature and capacities of its recipients.15 Otherwise they would simply be overwhelmed and collapse. One of the ways that this can take place is through the process of mixture. A reflection on a Psalm text that speaks of ‘a cup in the hand of Lord full of a mixture of unmixed wine’ [249] (Ps 74:8) illustrates this theme. How can the unmixed be mixed? The answer is that God’s powers are unmixed in relation to himself, but need to be mixed in relation to what he has created. The creator understood the natural weakness (ἀσθένεια) of his creatures and so does not distribute his gifts or punishment according to his power, but only to the extent that those who share in them are able to receive them. This modified mixture is the drink that we should enjoy, Philo concludes, and it will give us a sufficient gladness. A more perfect joy is not available for the human race, since the height of unmixed and unmediated powers exist only in Being itself (περὶ τὸ ὄν).16 A seminal text in the Pentateuchal narrative for Philo’s understanding of God’s powers is the account of the three visitors received by Abraham in Gen 18, who in an often repeated exegesis represent God flanked by his two chief powers. Part of the story is that Abraham commands his wife Sarah to make haste and knead three measures of fine meal in order to make ἐγκρυφίαι, what in Australia we call ‘damper’, cakes of flour baked by concealing them (hence their name) in the ashes of a fire (Gen 18:6). Philo sees in the three measures an allegorical allusion 13 

QG 2.16. Somn. 1.159–163. 15  Opif. 23, on which see Runia (1986) 137–138. 16  Deus 77–81. [On this Psalm text and its exegesis in Philo and subsequent exegetes in the Alexandrian tradition up to and including Synesius see Runia (2017c).] 14 

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to the theme of ontological measurement. Both God and his powers cannot in any way be measured or circumscribed, but God’s goodness and authority do need to be measured out in the process of creation. The powers thus take on the role of standards and measures in order to weigh out what ontologically comes after them.17 The following conclusion can be legitimately extrapolated from this passage: were it not for the tempering and measuring out of the divine power, no experience of the divine would be possible for the human beings whom that divine power was instrumental in creating.18

3.  Experiencing the Divine Power Now that we have seen what makes human experience of the divine power possible, let us now turn to that experience itself. Here too essential background material is supplied by theology. Philo makes use of a multitude of schemes and structures that have various permutations depending on the context of what he is explaining. The divine powers can be linked to a triadic structure (the guardians of the garden of Eden, Abraham’s three visitors, the three cakes of flour), or hexadic (the six cities of refuge, the six wings of the Seraphim), or even hebdomadic (the [250] ark of the covenant). The diversity is appropriate, for God’s powers (and excellences too) are of course countless and limitless. But in spite of the apparent diversity, the structure of divine power in Philo’s view is essentially binary, linked to the two main names. This two-fold structure determines the contours of the human experience of divine power and can also be linked to the quintessentially Philonic doctrine that God can worshipped in two ways, through love or through fear. We can start with the way that Philo interprets some of the injunctions of the Law. What is symbolized by the cutting up of the sacrificial animal into its limbs (Lev 1:6, 12)? After giving some explanations in terms of physical allegory, Philo states that his own reflections give rise to an explanation that is closer to the mark:19 The soul that honours the Existent through the Existent itself, should honour him not irrationally or in ignorance, but with knowledge and reason. When we reason about him we accept a cutting and division into each of the divine powers and excellences. For God is good, the maker and begetter of the universe, and he exerts providence over what he has created, as saviour and benefactor, filled as he is with blessedness and complete well-being. Each of these attributes is holy and praiseworthy, both on its own and when examined together with its fellows. 17 

Sacr. 59–60. Cf. also Somn. 1.143, where Exod 20:19 is interpreted to mean that unless God employs subservient powers, human beings would not be able to receive benefits from him. 19  Spec. 1.209 (my own translation). 18 

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The emphasis is here on the divine power of beneficence – God acts as benefactor and saviour  –, though perhaps the mention of providence hints at the co-presence of the ruling power.20 The human response to such beneficence is praise and gratitude, making the sacrifice in Philo’s reading one of thanksgiving rather than of atonement as in the biblical text (Lev 1:4). Such thanks will obtain a hearing with God.21 Other ordinances of the Law are no less instructive. The emphasis falls on the merciful nature of God’s power. The sin-offering begs for purification and forgiveness (literally amnesty) from wrongdoing to be granted by God’s power of mercy.22 The purificatory sprinkling of water on the sacrifice deepens the symbolism because the water is to be mixed with ashes, symbolizing the components of the human body and teaching [251] the human being that he should turn away from a sense of self-importance (οἴησις) and become well-pleasing to God by claiming the help of his power of mercy which detests any form of arrogance.23 A similar lesson underlies the prohibition of leaven in the sacrifice (Lev 2.11). Here you should recognize – Philo speaks in the second person – that God has regard not for his own excess of might and authority, but for human weakness (ἀσθένεια), and so allows you to share in his power of mercy and thus have an effect on the way you deal with other people.24 A few pages later, reflecting on the various exhortations in the Law, Philo discusses the central text Deut 10:16–17: ‘circumcise the hardness of your hearts and do not harden your neck, for the Lord your God, he is the God of gods and the Lord of lords …, who is not an admirer of persons and does not take a bribe.’ Not surprisingly Philo sees here a reference to the doctrine of divine powers and concludes that, although God’s powers and excellences are vast, he takes pity on those in need and gives them the benefit of his providential care. This God should be our boast and greatest glory. Let us follow after the good that is fixed and unchanging (i. e. God in his goodness) and embrace his service as suppliants and worshippers.25 From these texts in the Exposition of the Law we see that Philo tends to prioritize the beneficent aspect of divine power. Human beings experience God’s beneficent power in their lives and the appropriate response is one of thanksgiving and praise. ‘God is immensely generous,’ Philo writes in the fragment De Deo,26 ‘and he has sent to us his image [i. e. the Logos] and his powers as a help in the sufferings and evils which are the lot of anyone who is of mortal nature.’ This beneficent power is frequently linked to the mercy and grace which 20 Cf.

Legat. 6. Spec. 1.211. 22  Spec. 1.229. 23  Spec. 1.263–266. 24  Spec. 1.293–295. 25  Spec. 1.305–312. 26  De Deo 12 (translation Siegert (1998), slightly modified). 21 

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God shows to those who recognize their own nothingness and become his suppliants.27 Such mercy gives rise to hope, as when God assures the lover of discipline (παιδεία) that ‘I will not let you go nor shall I abandon you’ (Deut 31:6).28 The bonds that bind the soul will not be loosed, because God has bound them with the unbreakable bonds of his powers.29 [252] But there is also the other side of divine power as experienced by human beings. Many are the texts, both in the Pentateuch and in Philo’s commentaries, that draw attention to the lordship and sovereignty of the Existent one. As Lord (κύριος) God is ruler and king and master. He is near to us and sees all that we do. The best response is awe (αἰδώς), but it is also very understandable that humans respond in fear, when mindful of how frightening and inexorable God can be when he employs his punishing power.30 Fittingly the etymology of ‘Master’ (δεσπότης) is linked to fear (δέος).31 Already in the creation account both the titles of God and Lord are used to show that punishment will be inflicted on the first human beings if they disobey, as indeed occurs, and they are expelled from paradise.32 An exemplary display of the might of God’s sovereign power is the punishment inflicted on the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah very soon after the visit of the three men to Abraham. Only two of the men went down to the land that was about to receive punishment. This can be understood to mean that the truly Existent wanted to use his powers to carry out the handiwork of punishment.33 But if their task is to mete out punishment, why are there still two men representing both powers? Philo has an answer for this question too. He recalls that not all five cities in the valley were destroyed, but one remained untouched, preserved by God’s beneficent power.34 Philo is realistic in concluding that scripture reveals both the positive and the negative experiences that humans can have of the divine power. But the fear that humans rightly have of divine retribution is not an ideal state of mind. He remains committed to the Platonic axiom that God can be the source of good things only.35 So throughout his writings he shows a strong tendency to give human experience of the negativity of divine power a positive twist. Let me give two examples from the Allegorical Commentary. A lesson taught by the Cherubim symbolizing the two powers is that we may obtain the excellences (ἀρεταί) to which they give rise, friendliness (φιλοφροσύνη) and respect (εὐλάβεια) 27 

E. g. Deus 73–74, Migr. 122, Fug. 95 etc. Conf. 166. The text is wrong in all the editions; the correct text has been recognized by Termini (2000), 219. 29  See the chapter in Termini (2000) 189–229 (‘Potenza come legame’). 30  Gig. 45–47. 31  Her. 23. 32  Leg. 1.95–96, referring to Gen 2:16, 3:23. 33  Abr. 143–144. 34  Abr. 145. 35  Rep. 379. 28 



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towards [253] God.36 When things are going well, instead of becoming arrogant we should bear in mind his royal sovereignty, whereas when we have to endure what we do not wish, we should recall his great bounty and not despair of having hopes of improvement.37 The second passage gives exegesis of a grammatically difficult text, Gen 21:33: ‘He [Abraham] called upon the name of the Lord (genitive), God eternal (nominative).’ Philo appears to interpret the sentence as if there was a colon after κυρίου and the last two words mean ‘let him [the Lord] be as God eternal.’38 Through his beneficent power God can do good only, but through his ruling power he can do both good and harm. The greatest good would come to the soul if it ceased to be in doubt about how the royal might can work in both directions, but instead resolutely dissolved the fear it has hanging over it and kindled the flame of hope that it might receive good things only from a God who chooses to be bountiful.39 For the third time we see that for Philo the experience of divine power gives rise to hope in human beings. Hope for the good is contrasted with fear of the bad. It encourages the soul in its progress, as it moves towards a perfection beyond the experience of the powers, when it will stand secure in the presence of the Existent one, as symbolized by the sages Abraham and Moses.40

4.  Human Understanding of Divine Power Having examined these facets of the human experience of God’s power, we turn now to an aspect of that experience that deserves a brief separate treatment, namely human understanding of the divine power. In his allegorical interpretation of Gen 2:7 Philo asks, ‘how could the soul gain cognition of God until he had inbreathed and touched it κατὰ δύναμιν.’41 The Loeb translation renders the Greek phrase ‘mightily’, i. e. through the exercise of divine power, but it is more likely that it means ‘to the extent of its (the soul’s) ability to receive it,’42 as is confirmed by [254] the rest of the passage: ‘for the human mind would not have ventured to ascend so far as to grasp hold of God’s nature, if God himself had not drawn it up towards himself, inasmuch as it was possible for the human mind to 36  Cher. 29. The LCL translation ‘cheerful courage’ for the former term is not correct. There is a presumed link to the two main attitudes that humans can have towards God, love or fear. 37  Ibid. 38  Plant. 85, ἐπεκάλεσε τὸ ὄνομα κυρίου θεὸς αἰώνιος. The LCL translation is on the right track in translating ‘as God eternal,’ though it does not explain how it can be grammatical. [On this text see now the commentary of Geljon-Runia (2019) 203–205.] 39  Plant. 88 (paraphrased). 40  See for example Deus 109 (Moses moves beyond Noah), QG 4.30 (three men appear to Abraham, but only two to Lot, the person making progress). [On the theme of hope in Philo see below article 19 in this collection.] 41  Leg. 1.38. 42  As interpreted by I. Heinemann in PCH and C. Mondésert in PATP.

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be drawn up, and marked it in accordance with the (divine) powers accessible to its understanding.’ The limiting phrase ὡς ἐνῆν recalls the theme of measuring which we discussed earlier. But we also note the double aspect characteristic of the human understanding of divine power. The movement is in two directions. God extends his power,43 touches and draws the human mind to himself so that it can gain knowledge of God, and more specifically of his powers.44 But at the same time the human being aspires to ascend upwards and gain knowledge of the divine power that he experiences. This scheme is applied to many characters in the Pentateuch, but the most instructive passages for our topic relate to the figures of Abraham and Moses, the one symbolizing instruction and desire for knowledge, the other perfection of human attainment. In both the episodes of the visit of the three strangers in Genesis 18 already discussed above and Moses’ ascent of Mt Horeb in Exodus 33 the relationship between God and his powers is the key. In the case of the former some lack of clarity is caused by the play between three and one and between singular and plural in the text.45 But for our purposes the lengthy exegesis in Quaestiones in Genesin Book IV will serve well. God is one, but the eye of the soul, i. e. the mind, does not have the strength to attain the One as one, but receives an impression of him together with his powers.46 The fact that Abraham is said to ‘go with them and escort them’ (Gen 18:16) shows that ‘once the soul of the virtuous person has received a very clear impression of God and his powers, it is filled with longing … and if he moves away, it follows him with longing, having a heavenly desire that clings and adheres closely.’ Philo notes that the words ‘with them’ in the text must refer to the powers.47 In contrast Moses aspires to seeing the One without his powers. This is not a request that can be granted. His [255] yearning can only be satisfied through the revelation of God’s powers, and even these cannot be wholly comprehended by the human mind.48 It is not being too systematic, I submit, if we conclude that the working of the divine power in the human mind brings about a yearning to gain knowledge of and even become one with the highest being, but that fervent desire can only be satisfied when a vision is gained of those divine powers through which God relates to all that belongs to the realm of created being. 43  Explicitly stated in Leg. 1.37, τείναντος τοῦ θεοῦ τὴν ἀφ’ ἑαυτοῦ δύναμιν διὰ τοῦ μέσου πνεύματος ἄχρι τοῦ ὑποκειμένου (God extending the power from himself through the medition of pneuma to the subject). 44  See also Abr. 59 on Israel, he who sees God, whose soul ‘God suspends from his own powers and draws to himself by a more powerful attraction (than those which drag it down).’ 45  There are discrepancies between the account in the Exposition of the Law and in the Quaestiones. See now the dissertation of Moreau (2010). [On these texts see now the commentary of Birnbaum-Dillon (2020) 270–272, 275.] 46  QG 4.8, LCLSup 1.281–282. 47  QG 4.20. 48  See esp. the celebrated passage Spec. 1.41–50; also Post. 14–17, 168–169.

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5.  Humans Imitating the Divine Power The final theme to which I wish to draw attention also involves a double movement from and to God rather similar to what we have just discussed, namely the theme of human beings imitating the divine power or powers. As we have already seen the first human being was stamped by the divine power, making him a copy or likeness and allowing him to imitate that power.49 Thus Adam received a power of sovereignty enabling him to become a subordinate of God but a ruler over everything else.50 Many generations later Noah and his family became the leaders of a new race of human beings and received the sovereignty of the earthly realm which was imitative (ἀντίμιμος) of the divine power.51 Similarly in allegorical terms the mind, in becoming master of the inclinations in the soul, desires to imitate the Deity and so receives a ‘double stream’ from his powers, both beneficence to those which wish to obey and reproof to the unruly.52 In more general terms we may say that human action can take divine action, as exercised through the powers of God, as its example. This will enable it always to act for the good, whether through doing beneficial deeds or exercising authority and so preventing evil. The most interesting texts in this context are perhaps those in which Philo reflects on the fifth commandment to honour one’s father and mother. Parents stand in relation to their children as God stands in relation to the world, for just has he produced existence from non-existence, so they by imitating the divine power immortalize the race to the extent they are able.53 Another formula is that parents are the final point (τέλος) to which the immortal powers of God descend, which [256] makes it fitting that the fifth commandment is the final one in the first group of five that enjoin piety towards God.54

6.  Concluding Remarks From what I have been able to present in this brief article, some brief conclusions can be drawn. The doctrine of the divine powers is one of Philo’s favourites, not only because it can help him explain numerous biblical texts, but also because it draws attention to the experience that human beings have of divine action. Wherever and whenever God is active – and of course God is always active55 – 49 

Det. 83; cf. Leg. 1.37–38 discussed above at n. 43. Opif. 148. 51  Mos. 2.65. 52  QG 3.42, LCLSup 1.233. 53  Spec. 2.225; see also 2.2. Note again the limitation: the human race is only immortal in its being carried forward from generation to generation; it is not immortal in the absolute sense that the cosmos and the higher created beings are. 54  Her. 172. 55  Cher. 87. 50 

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the divine powers come into play and human beings experience these powers in the various ways that we have been able to explore in this essay. The doctrine of the powers has a theological basis and is constructed on the basis of philosophical principles. But I would want to argue that in our elaboration of this theme the religious and indeed spiritual dimension of Philo’s work – always so vigorously emphasized in the French school of Marguerite Harl and her pupils56 – has come strongly to the fore. This includes a marked synergistic element. God acts with his unlimited but calibrated power; humans are called to respond, preferably in love but otherwise through respect or even in fear. Divine action and the human response it elicits will lead human beings to the ultimate goal that has been set before them, to see and know God to the extent that they are able. I very much hope that many of these central Philonic themes will be further explored during the remainder of this conference.

56 

Esp. in the magisterial introduction to her commentary, Harl (1966); note esp. her conclusion at 151–154.

19.  The Virtue of Hope in the Writings and Thought of Philo of Alexandria* About fifteen years ago Greg Sterling published a fine article on piety as ‘queen of the virtues’ in Philo of Alexandria.1 He demonstrated that, though Philo makes extensive use of systems of canonical and other virtues in Greek philosophy, he also deviates from them and adapts virtue theory to the particular emphases of his own exposition of biblically based thought.2 Thus εὐσέβεια, a virtue on the margins of Greek theory, in Philo’s theocentric perspective becomes ‘the cardinal virtue.’3 In the present article I wish to examine another case of a virtue in Philo where we find Greek and Jewish motifs combined. Remarkably, there has never been an extended discussion of the theme of hope in English-language scholarship on Philo. Some fine treatments are found in other scholarly languages, such as by Van Menxel, Studer, and Termini, but none of these focus on Philo exclusively.4 In fact the subject really deserves monographic treatment, which of course is not possible in the present context. The purpose of this article is therefore to give an outline of the main features of Philo’s use of the theme of hope in [258] his exegesis and his thought generally.

1.  The Exegetical Background The Greek term ἐλπίς, hope in the sense of confident expectation of a future event or thing, and its cognate verb ἐλπίζω, to engage in such expectation, are quite common in the Septuagint.5 In the Pentateuch, however, that part of the *  A number of volumes of The Studia Philonica Annual have been devoted to Festschrifts honouring Philonic scholars. This essay was originally written as a contribution to the Festschrift for Greg Sterling on his sixty-fifth birthday. 1  Sterling (2006). 2  On this adaptation see also Konstan (2006). 3  Sterling (2006) 123. 4  Van Menxel (1983) 295–311; Dihle–Studer–Richert (1991), on Philo Studer, 1177–1178; Termini (2008). I have not been able to gain access to Frazier (2003). 5  Muraoka (2009) 224–225. Note that Philo occasionally uses the more neutral sense ‘estimation, surmise,’ commonly found in early Greek texts; see Van Menxel (1983) 297. Also common in Philo are the two adjectives, εὔελπις and δύσελπις, usually used nominatively as ‘he who has good hopes’ and ‘he who has bad hopes’ respectively. The former is rarely found in the Greek Bible, e. g., Wis 12:19, the latter not at all.

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Greek Bible on which Philo almost exclusively focuses his exegetical labours, they scarcely occur. The verb is found only at Gen 4:26,6 where the text reads as follows:7 καὶ τῷ Σὴθ ἐγένετο υἱός, ἐπωνόμασεν δὲ τὸ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ Ἐνώς· οὗτος ἤλπισεν ἐπικαλεῖσθαι τὸ ὄνομα κυρίου τοῦ θεοῦ. (And to Seth a son was born, and he named his name Enos; this one hoped to call on the name of the Lord God.)

The text here deviates from the Hebrew original in two ways. (1) The word οὗτος appears to translate the Hebrew zeh (this one), whereas the Masoretic text reads ’az (then, at that time). (2) The verb ἤλπισεν is derived from the verb yḥl (hope) rather than ḥll (begin) as in the Masoretic text, which thus reads ‘at that time people began …’ The two changes taken together make it quite likely that the alteration on the part of the translators was deliberate. From the viewpoint of narrative it allows the text to be consistent with the later texts Exod 3:14 and 6:3, where it is said that the divine name Κύριος was not revealed to the Patriarchs. Allegorically it allows Philo to connect the theme of hope with Enos, the grandson of Adam.8 The name Enos means ‘human being’ in Hebrew, that is, the equivalent of ἄνθρωπος (not [259] ἀνήρ).9 As we shall see, this encourages Philo, who recognizes the etymology, to see a connection with the following verse, Gen 5:1: αὕτη ἡ βίβλος γενέσεως ἀνθρώπων. In each of his three biblical commentaries a section of his exegesis is devoted to an exposition of these texts. But it would be wrong to think that Gen 4:26 is the only exegetical basis for Philo’s reflections on hope. Though he cites no other biblical text with the terms ἐλπίς/ἐλπίζω, there are other biblical texts and themes that he regularly associates with the concept. Prominent among these is the story of Abraham and Sarah, their migration and wish to have an heir with a particular emphasis on Sarah’s laughter as recorded in Gen 18:12 and 21:6. Another less well-known text concerns Exod 2:4, where Moses’s sister is said to be watching from a distance to see what would happen to her baby brother. At Somn. 2.142 Philo writes that the sister ‘is called Hope by those of use who engage in allegory.’ The phrasing would appear to indicate that this was a traditional interpretation.10 Philo refers to it nowhere else. 6 

The noun only at Deut 24:15, to which Philo alludes in Virt. 88. Translations from the Greek in this article are my own. 8  Alexandre (1988) 376–377. As she points out, the same translation is presumed at Jub. 4.13 and is also followed, via the Vetus Latina, by Augustine at Civ. 15.18. 9  On this etymology in Philo see Grabbe (1988) 155–156. 10  Hay includes it in his list of references to other allegorists in (1979–1980) 43. Le Boulluec–Sandevoir (1989) 81 argue that the explanation (it is not an etymology in the strict sense) relates to her role as watcher. However, the notion of hope appears to relate more closely to the words ‘what would happen to him’ (τί τὸ ἀποβησόμενον αὐτῷ); cf. Mos. 1.12, but without any reference to hope. 7 

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2.  Three Commentaries, Six Key Passages I commence my analysis by examining the three passages, one per commentary, that centre on Gen 4:26 and the figure of Enos.11 (1) The most general of these is in the Exposition of the Law at Abr. 7–16, at the beginning of Philo’s account of the patriarchs as ‘living laws’ who followed the ordinances of nature before these were written down as laws (Abr. 5).12 They form two triads, Enos, Enoch and Noah, followed by the more familiar Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The Genesis text is not cited, but Philo starts straight away with hope, the ἀρχή (‘beginning’) of the possession of good things which for the virtue-loving soul opens up the [260] highway to the truly good (§ 7). This interpretation is proven not only by the meaning of the name Enos, ‘human being,’ but also the following text Gen 5:1 which speaks of the ‘book of the genesis of human beings.’ Enos is thus the πρὸς ἀλήθειαν ἄνθρωπος (human being par excellence), who lives in expectation of good things and bases his life on ‘beneficial hopes’ (§ 8; this is my translation of ἐλπίδες χρησταί, a phrase to which I shall return). Enos is the fourth from Adam (§ 12),13 and this allows Philo, via Lev 19:24, one of his favorite texts, to call the εὔελπις ‘worthy of praise.’ He lives in hope, whereas his opposite, the δύσελπις, lives in fear, his ‘evil counsellor’ (§ 13). As he nearly always does, Philo draws on ideas from Greek philosophy to flesh out the themes he locates in scripture. Here a Platonic background makes its presence felt. In both §§ 8 & 14 there are references to the definition of hope as ‘expectation of the good’ that we find in the ps.Platonic Definitiones which go back to the Old Academy.14 There are texts in which hope is connected with good things, and in the Apology and Phaedo Socrates is unremittingly hopeful in relation to his imminent death.15 More often, however, Plato himself is ambivalent about hope. In the Timaeus, hope is an πάθημα (‘emotion’) that is easily led astray, connected with the evil counsellors audacity and fear (cf. § 13 cited above).16 In his schema of the patriarchs Philo appears to depart from Plato and calls hope the ‘gate-keeper’ to the royal virtues within (§ 15), a stage which one must pass through before advancing further. Contrary to the general practice in Greek philosophy, he explicitly labels it a virtue, which Enos learnt not through the exhortations of law but from nature itself (§ 16). When, however, he con11 

On the biblical figure of Enos in later interpretations see Fraade (1984), on Philo 19–25. I have benefited from the forthcoming commentary on this treatise in the PACS series, a section of which the authors John Dillon and Ellen Birnbaum have kindly made available to me. [The commentary was published just a short while before the present article appeared in the FS Sterling; see Birnbaum–Dillon (2020).] 13  Either not including Adam, or if including him, leaving out the evil Cain (cf. QG 1.81). 14  Def. 416a προσδοκία ἀγαθοῦ. 15  Phaedr. 241a; Leg. 718a; Apol. 40c; Phaed. 63c, 67c. 16  Tim. 69c; on Philo’s use of this text see Runia (1986) 300. 12 

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cludes his treatment of the first triad of Patriarchs, he introduces a different emphasis. Compared to his successors, Enos is ‘deficient’ (ἐλλιπής) as the name itself, ‘the hoper,’ (ὁ ἐλπίζων) reveals, for he is always aspiring to the good but never attaining it (§ 47).17 [261] (2) The next passage has a more complex context, as we might expect from its placement in the Allegorical Commentary. The specific passage is Det. 138–140, but the entire chapter beginning with the main biblical lemma Gen 4:12 cited at Det. 119 has to be taken into account.18 The godless Cain ‘groans and trembles upon the earth,’ indicating that he is prey to the πάθη (‘passions’) of fear and grief, components of the bad life (§ 119). By way of opposition, the person who pursues virtue is to be found amid the corresponding ‘good emotions’ (εὐπάθειαι), namely joy (χαρά) and hope, the former as the finest of possessions, the latter offering lovers of virtue the expectation of it through the encouragement of fine deeds (§ 120). Joy is illustrated through the laughter of Sarah in Gen 21:6 (§ 123) and the rejoicing of Moses in Exod 4:14 (§ 135). Joy, Philo concludes, belongs to the wise, but so does hope (§ 138), allowing a return to the other good emotion as illustrated by the example of Enos. Interestingly, when Philo cites Gen 4:26 here, he inserts after ἤλπισε the word πρῶτον. As has been often noted,19 this is reminiscent of the Hebrew text from which the LXX differs. Was it included in some versions of the LXX text? Certainly the given that Enos is the first on the path to excellence and God is important for Philo’s exegesis. Once again he represents the ‘human being par excellence’ who is in expectation of possessing good things, but now with the significant addition ‘from the only bountiful God’ as shown by the mention of God as the focus of Enos’s hope. The next move that our passage makes is typically Philonic. Citing Gen 5:1, he states that, as only the human being is εὔελπις, by the converse he who is δύσελπις, that is by implication the worthless Cain, is not (truly) human (§ 139). But what is a human being? Philo now invokes the help of philosophy: the standard definition of us composite beings is a ‘living rational mortal being.’ But for Moses a human being is a ‘disposition of the soul that fixes its hope on the God who truly exists,’ that is as symbolised by Enos. On this basis he concludes that virtuous humans receive joy and hope as their blessed lot, but worthless humans 17  Fraade (1984) 22–23, regards this statement as an important modification of what precedes: ‘Enosh, the ideal man, is now portrayed by Philo as being flawed.’ This is to my mind too strong a conclusion in light of Philo’s motif of the progress of the soul. The human being par excellence, i. e. the rational soul, has to make a start on the path to excellence and God. However, the portrayal of Noah as perfect here is in contradiction to the depiction as a beginner in Agr. 125 based on Gen 9:21. Philo’s exegesis is always contextual, leading at times to incompatible results. 18  For this section I wish to acknowledge the assistance that I have received from the section on this passage which Adam Kamesar in his forthcoming commentary on the treatise has kindly made available to me. 19  See for example in addition to Alexandre (1988) 377; also Wevers (1993) 66–67.

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such as Cain experience the opposite, groaning in their present pain and trembling at the fearful things they expect (§ 140). Differently from the first text, Philo here appears to owe much in his explanations to Stoic ethical theory. It hardly needs pointing out that the [262] antithesis between the worthless and the virtuous person is Stoic, as is the opposition between passions and good emotions. The first definition of the human being was made popular by the Stoa.20 However, though in Stoic theory joy is one of the standard good emotions, hope is not among them. There are in fact very few Stoic texts that make mention of hope. There has been general agreement among scholars that there is little interest in the concept of hope in Stoic ethics.21 But as Kamesar will argue in his commentary on this text,22 some Stoic background to this text may have been overlooked. Though Philo says that the act of hoping is a characteristic (ἴδιον) of the wise person, we should understand – although this is not made explicit – that it occurs because he is setting out on the path to perfection. The schema of the person in progress is Stoic,23 and hoping for wisdom can be an initial stage of that process.24 (3) For the third text we turn to the remaining commentary, the Quaestiones. Here Philo devotes two sections to the same biblical pericope Gen 4:26–5:1. He first asks the general question: ‘why did Seth’s son Enos hope to call on the name of the Lord God?’ (QG 1.79). The answer is:25 ‘Enos’ is interpreted as ‘human being.’ And this is now taken, not as a composite [σύγκριμα], but as the rational part of the soul, the intellect, for which it is peculiarly fitting to hope, for irrational animals are devoid of hope. And hope is a kind of anticipatory feeling [προπάθειά τις] of joy, a joy before joy [χαρὰ πρὸ χαρᾶς], being the expectation of good things.

The first two sentences are perfectly consistent with the exposition in Det. 138, but the final sentence introduces two new elements. Hope is not an [263] εὐπάθεια (and also not an ἀρετή) but a kind of προπάθεια, literally a ‘pre-emotion,’ and as such its relation to joy is explained as a χαρὰ πρὸ χαρᾶς. The use of the indefinite 20  For

this definition see Sextus Empiricus, Math. 11.8 (= SVF 2.224); Arius Didymus at Stobaeus Ecl. 2.7.6 p. 75.7 Wachsmuth etc. 21  See Dihle–Studer–Richert (1991) 1160, 1166. The term ἐλπίς does not occur in Adler’s index to SVF. For a very negative view on hope, because of its connection with fear, see the statement of the Stoic Hecaton at Seneca, Ep. 5.7. 22  See above n. 18. 23  See Roskam (2005), on Philo 146–219. 24  Kamesar points to the text at Cicero Fin. 4.56, in which Zeno refers to a spes sapientiae with reference to Plato’s experience in Syracuse. 25  Based on Marcus’s translation from the Armenian (PLCLSup 1.49), with assistance from Mercier’s French translation in PAPM 34A.151–53. For the Greek fragment of the final sentence see Petit PAPM 33.73. Marcus translates Aucher’s mixtum as ‘mixture’ and suggests μῖξις or κρᾶσις in a note to the text (cf. Mercier ‘mélange’), but the parallel at Det. 139 makes σύγκριμα more likely (Michael Cover suggests to me that Aucher with his totum mixtum is rendering the single word xaṙnuac(n)). The other two phrases are confirmed by the Greek fragment.

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pronoun, translated as ‘a kind of,’ may indicate a non-exact use of the term. But it could also be the case that Philo is correcting himself. Margaret Graver, who has made a study of the Philonic evidence on the Stoic doctrine of the προπάθειαι, asks why Philo does not portray hope as a species of the εὐπάθεια of βούλησις (‘rational wish’). Her suggestion is:26 Perhaps he reasons that hope, more than desire or wishing, requires a certain element of uncertainty, i. e., that it necessarily stops short of assent. If I believe that a particular good is in prospect for me, I may desire or wish for that good, but what I feel is then no longer hope.

But if the Stoics regarded hope as a προπάθεια, there is no evidence for it. The formulation χαρὰ πρὸ χαρᾶς is also new. We shall see that it also occurs in two further texts. The second question is: ‘why, after (mentioning) hope, does (Scripture) say, ‘This is the book of the generation of human beings’?’ (QG 1.80). In the answer Philo first points out that the text makes the previous statement in Gen 4:26 trustworthy. It would perhaps have been better to say that it makes his interpretation of the text more persuasive, since as he argues in both previous texts (Abr. 9, Det. 138) he sees in it a confirmation that Enos is the human being par excellence. So he explains that the human being is ‘that which more than any other kind of living being has obtained a very large and wondrous portion of hope.’27 Finally he adds that ‘this is celebrated as inscribed in nature, for the mind of the human being hopes by its own nature.’ This is a more compact variation on what Philo has explained in Abr. 11, that the εὔελπις deserves a memorial in (the) immortal (book of ) nature, where good actions are recorded. I now move on more briefly to three further texts, one per commentary, which discuss some of these ideas further, and particularly the relation to joy, the state of mind that in Philo’s view is characteristic of the wise person. (4) Quite a bit later in the Allegorical Commentary, at Mut. 154, Philo reaches Gen 17:17, where Abraham is said to fall on his face and laugh. As Abraham represents the sage or the wise soul, this cannot be because of incredulity at God’s promise of an heir, but rather it is an indication of his [264] piety (§ 155). But why, Philo continues, does he laugh, when Isaac who is laughter, is not yet born? The answer is provided through the connection with hope. When a good thing is hoped for, the soul rejoices in anticipation, and so there is χαρὰ πρὸ χαρᾶς (§ 161). A few lines later Philo repeats that joy accompanies the good when it arrives, while hope does the same when it is anticipated (§ 163). Then he adds the case of their opposites. The presence of evil gives rise to pain, its expectation results in fear. Just as hope is joy before joy, so fear is pain before pain (§ 164). 26  27 

Graver (2008) 212; also by the same scholar, (2007) 104. Translation based on Marcus PLCLSup 1.49–50 and Mercier PAPM 34A.153.

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This recalls but also expands upon the opposition between hope and fear that he introduced when expounding Cain’s fate in Gen 4:12. (5) In the first of the quaestiones that Philo poses in relation to Gen 17:17 he asks why Abraham laughs (QG 3.55). The answer here is appears to be less exact:28 ‘Rightly did he laugh in his joy over the promise, being filled with great hope and in the expectation that it would be fulfilled.’ The formula ‘joy before joy’ is not used explicitly, but does seem to be at the back of his mind.29 (6) For the last of our texts we return to the Exposition of the Law and its final treatise De praemiis et poenis, which expounds the rewards and punishments that individual human beings, families, cities, countries and peoples, and regions of the earth receive in consequence of their responses to the divine laws of God and nature (§ 7). The individuals discussed are again the two triads of Patriarchs. Philo begins with a revised summary of the role of hope. Hope, the source of the lives we lead, is the first thing that the creator sowed in the rational soul (§ 11). Many are the kinds of activity to which hope gives rise, including the aspiration to the good life (εὐδαιμονία) for the devotees of virtue. But to achieve this the right orientation is needed. Some cling to self-love (φιλαυτία) and think that they themselves are the cause of their success (§ 12). But it is only the pious person who sets his hope on God who is worthy of approval (§ 13) and it is he, Enos, who receives the exceptional prize of being ἄνθρωπος, the name that is common to the whole species (§ 14). Towards the end of the treatise (and the Commentary) Philo returns to the theme of hope. At § 127 he moves to the curses which follow disobedience to the Law, based on texts in Leviticus and Deuteronomy. Among these are the destruction of cities and the desolation of the land that surrounds them, exacerbated by the neglect of the sabbatical rest that 265] human beings and the land are meant to enjoy (§§ 153–156). But this will have the beneficial effect of gradually restoring the land through the enforced rest it receives. Then, surprisingly, Philo includes a brief allegorical passage, inspired by the prophetic text (Isa 54:1), which states that she who is desolate will be blessed with many children (§ 158). This can be applied to the soul. When it is ‘many,’30 it is filled with passions. But when it is barren, it becomes a pure maiden and gives birth to a whole array of virtues and good emotions (εὐπάθειαι, § 160). However, not only is the birth process good, but also its anticipation though hope. Philo has noted the first word of Isaiah’s text, ‘rejoice’ (εὐφράνθητι) and deduces that this joy must be anticipatory. Hope, he continues, is joy preceding joy, the third time he uses the 28 

Translation based on Marcus PLCLSup 1.256. a secondary exegesis of Gen 17:17 at Leg. 3.86 Philo uses the verb προγανόω to express the same relationship of hope and joy. Together with Praem. 160 (and perhaps Cohn’s conjecture at Praem. 50), these are the only extant examples of this verb. 30  Note that πολλά, which in the LXX qualifies ‘children,’ is changed to πολλή and applied to the soul. 29  In

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phrase. He then adds as a comment that it falls short of perfection compared with joy (cf. Abr. 47), but in two respects is superior: it soothes our cares and announces the fullness of the future good. Despite all the threats of grimness and desolation, the theme of hope can introduce the promise of a bright future if Israel finds favour with God the saviour and the merciful (§ 163). We shall return to this theme of eschatological hope further below. It may be concluded on the basis of these six texts that the theme of hope forms a coherent motif across Philo’s three exegetical commentaries on scripture. Exemplified in the figure of Enos, but also by the patriarch Abraham in his hope for an heir, hope is focused on God as the source of benefits and blessings. It is defined as ‘the expectation of good things,’ but also as ‘joy before joy.’ As for the status of hope as a human phenomenon, while emphasizing its importance, Philo does not seem to be concerned to be very exact. He calls it a virtue (Abr. 16), seems to imply that it belongs to the good emotions (Det. 120), but then also calls it ‘a kind of pre-emotion’ (QG 1.79). He is indebted to certain Platonic and Stoic ideas without following them closely. In the remainder of this article I will explore some further aspects of Philo’s views on hope, which extend beyond the narrow range of texts studied so far. They will fall under three headings. [266]

3.  Hope and the Experience of God’s Goodness When Philo refers to hope, which he does rather often,31 it almost always represents a positive state of mind. It is striking how often he uses the phrase ἐλπίδες χρησταί (beneficial hopes), that is, hopes that are positive, that involve blessings, and that relate to an outcome resulting in good things. It can be seen as a shorthand way of referring to the definition of hope as the ‘expectation of good things’ that Philo regularly refers to. The expression occurs no less than twenty-seven times in the Philonic corpus. But it should not be concluded that hope is always a positive phenomenon. To be sure, Philo seldom indicates any ambivalence about the object of hope, as was common in classical Greek tradition. But he does recognize that there are hopes that are in vain or best unachieved. The reason for this black and white approach is that, as we have already seen,32 he is firmly persuaded that the nature of hope is directly dependent on the state of the person who gives expression to that hope. It is characteristic of good and virtuous persons to be optimistic and expect that good things will be conferred on them. 31  The concordance of Borgen–Fuglseth–Skarsten (2000) 123, records 177 instances of ἐλπίς, 72 of ἐλπίζω, 4 of ἐπελπίζω, 4 of ἀνέλπιστος, 5 of εὔελπις, 5 of εὐελπιστία, 5 of δύσελπις, and 6 of δυσελπιστία. Note, however, that quite a few instances of ἐλπίς involve set phrases such as παρ᾿ ἐλπίδα(ς) etc. 32  Above section 2(1), on the godless Cain.

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In contrast, evil persons or those who succumb to the passions may have hopes, but they are built on delusion. They are orientated towards desire and pleasure, which fixate the mind on the body rather than on God (Post. 26). The archetypal biblical example is Cain, whose wrong hopes are discussed at length in the sequence of allegorical treatises De sacrificiis, Quod deterius, and De posteritate Caini, including the key passage Det. 138–140 already discussed above. An example in Philo’s own time is the Governor of Egypt, Flaccus. He had hoped to escape punishment for his crimes against the Jews, but in fact was merely deceiving himself, ‘since the hopes of wicked people are without foundation’ (Flacc. 109) and in the end he lost all hope and was deprived of the comfort that ‘beneficial hope’ could give him (Flacc. 176). Hope, whether of things that are beneficial or their opposites, is a general trait of human beings. For this reason it is so apposite that the very first of the biblical patriarchs, Enos, is called ἄνθρωπος, the archetypal human being (Gen 4:26). In his most general exposition of this text Philo relates the description to the ‘virtue-loving soul’ who stands at the [267] beginning of the path to what is truly good (Abr. 7). More specifically, in his very brief exegesis in QG 1.79 cited above, he stresses that ‘human being’ here is not the composite of body and soul, but in particular the ‘intellect’ (νοῦς) or ‘rational part’ of the soul. Hope is thus an essential element of the journey of the soul, which – as the key text Gen 4:26 again can be taken to mean – has as its focus God as the truly good, or perhaps better (since Philo often says that God is beyond goodness33) the source of all goodness. With God as its focus, the soul will recognize that the good things it experiences are in fact the blessings that it receives from the beneficent creator and saviour of humankind. There are thus numerous texts, particularly in the Allegorical Commentary and its lengthy dissection of the ascent towards God, in which reference is made to hope. It can be regarded as a component of the quest for perfection, associated perhaps more with its initial stages, but also appearing in descriptions of the subsequent stages of the process. Indeed the ‘joy’ which hope is described as anticipating, can be taken to be the goal of human life, εὐδαιμονία, the perfection and felicity that is attained through knowledge of God and experience of his goodness (cf. Cher. 106). Hope accompanies the person when beginning to make progress through the stage of education (cf. Agr. 158). The intellect, having gained knowledge of itself, hopes to take the road that leads to knowledge of the universal Father and to contemplation of He who IS (Migr. 195). Hope also appears at the very summit when the prophet Moses raises his eyes beyond the universe and undertakes to gain that same knowledge, well aware that he cannot hope to gain it from any other source than God himself (Fug. 164). The same 33 See

Opif. 8; Praem. 40; QG 2.54, 4.140; Contempl. 2; Legat. 5.

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Moses sits outside the camp far away from what is bodily (Exod 33:7), hoping in this way to become a perfect suppliant and worshipper of God (Det. 160).34 An aspect of the foundational text on Enos, Gen 4:26, so far not discussed is that he is said to call on ‘the name of the Lord God.’ The double divine name recalls the many occasions on which Philo interprets it in terms of the two chief divine powers, the beneficent and the kingly. Surprisingly perhaps, there are no passages in his extant writings where he exploits the theological possibilities of this particular text. In the detailed exposition at Det. 138–140 the emphasis is solely on God as the φιλόδωρος, the giver of good things. The connection of hope in the Allegorical [268] Commentary is almost always with the beneficent power, as is indeed to be expected given the understanding of hope as the expectation of good things. When discussing the two powers in response to their mention in Gen 21:33 (‘he [Moses] called upon the name of the Lord, God eternal’), we read that the soul would greatly benefit from ceasing to be in doubt regarding the two powers. It should dismiss the fear it has of the might of his rule and instead kindle the very sure hope of obtaining the possession and use of good things (Plant. 88). This can also be formulated in terms of salvation. We see this at Migr. 124 with reference to the righteous Abraham’s appeal for mercy for the inhabitants of Sodom (Gen 18:24–32). Philo writes: Let us pray that for the healing of our diseases … the righteous intellect in the soul and the righteous human being in the human race may remain. For when he is in a healthy state, there is no need to give up hopes for complete salvation, because I am convinced that God the saviour will extend his all-healing remedy, the merciful power, and entrust it to his suppliant and worshipper as salvation for those who are suffering, applying it to the soul’s wounds split open by the sharp point of follies, injustices and the whole crowd of evils.

We should note here in particular the emphasis on the role of the δίκαιος, the righteous human being (or his soul) who can be an agent of salvation. We will return to this theme towards the end of our article. One object of hope that we might expect to find in Philo is missing, the hope of personal immortality. He had a famous example in Greek philosophy to follow, Socrates’s hope that he would go on to a better life after death, firmly expressed in Plato’s Phaedo, less confidently in the Apology.35 There is no trace of such hopes in Philo’s writings. It is consistent with his general reluctance to speculate on what happens to individuals after death.36

34  Other texts in the Allegorical Commentary which focus on hope are: Leg. 3.85–87, 164, 194; Sacr. 53, 123; Post. 97; Ebr. 25; Conf. 104, 166; Migr. 70, 195; Her. 100; Fug. 164; Mut. 7, 219; Somn. 2.279. 35  Phaed. 63c, 67b, 68a; Apol. 40c, 41c; see above n. 15. 36  As noted by Karjanmaa (2015) 81.

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4.  Hope, Trust, Prayer, and the Foundations of Piety Apart from Enos, the archetypal human being, the biblical figure most associated with hope is undoubtedly the patriarch Abraham. As we already saw,37 the response that he and his wife Sarah gave to the promise of a [269] child in their old age elicited a rich vein of reflection on the nature of hope and its relation to joy. But in the case of Abraham the theme of hope also occurs much earlier, when God first makes the promise which induces him to embark on his migration to the promised land. Philo is struck by the use of language in the words that God speaks to him (Gen 12:1). In stating the promise God says ‘which I shall show (δείξω) you,’ using the future tense rather than the present. Philo interprets this as follows (Migr. 43–44): This testifies to the trust [πίστις] with which the soul trusted [ἐπιστεύσεν] in God, demonstating its thankfulness not on the basis of what was accomplished, but rather from an expectation of what will occur in the future. For the soul, clinging in dependence on a beneficial hope [ἐλπὶς χρηστή], and regarding what is not yet present as indubitably already present through the reliability of the one who made the promise, found as its reward trust, a perfect good. For it is said a little later, that ‘Abraham trusted in God’ (Gen 15:6).38

Philo here appears to draw attention to the fact that hope and trust are attributed to Abraham, even though God’s promises had not yet been fulfilled. Hope becomes trust through the certainty that is gained because of the firm conviction of God’s utter reliability and beneficence. The uncertainty that cleaves to hope, and perhaps is the reason that it is not generally considered to be an εὐπάθεια,39 is removed and gives way to trust. Hope is thus preliminary and subordinate to trust.40 We learn more about the relation of hope to trust in God in the Exposition of the Law. In his eulogy of Abraham as an example of true nobility (Virt. 216), Philo notes that the patriarch is the first to be spoken of as trusting in God, since he was the first to have a secure and unwavering conception of the deity as the one highest cause which exercises providence for the cosmos and what it contains. The epistemic aspect of trust here comes clearly to the fore. A similar pronouncement is made in the summary of Abraham’s prize at Praem. 30, where God is said to be his sole ‘stay and support.’ The role of hope is clarified in the climatic section of the account of his life (Abr. 268): 37 

Above, section 2(2)&(4). It is worthy of note that Philo cuts the verse off at this point, not adding the words ‘and it was counted to him as righteousness’ which were to be so crucial for the theology of the apostle Paul. But we may be sure that these words contribute to the presentation of the patriarch as the just person (ὁ δίκαιος) who we already saw in action above on behalf of the inhabitants of Sodom. Philo does cite these words at Leg. 3.228 and Mut. 177. 39  As suggested by Graver; see above, text to n. 26. 40  As well observed by Studer at Dihle–Studer–Richert (1991) 1178. 38 

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Trust in God, therefore, is the one sure and infallible good, counsel for life, fulfilment of beneficial hopes, lack of evil things, supply of good things, [270] inexperience of illfortune, experience of piety, inheritance of felicity, betterment of the soul in all things as it is supported and firmly based on him who is the cause of all things and can do all things but wishes only the best.

Hope’s placement in this long list confirms that it is preliminary to and orientated towards trust in God. Hope provided Abraham with aspirations for a good and virtuous life, motivating him to heed God’s call and migrate to the promised land, and also to seek an inheritance that would be passed on to his descendants through his son Isaac. But it was his trust in God that led to the fulfilment of these hopes. Hope, as the gate-keeper to the kingly virtues (Abr. 15), contributes to piety (εὐσέβεια, cf. Praem. 12), but occupies a subordinate position in Philo’s hierarchy of virtues. In the context of Abraham’s life Philo goes so far as to claim that it is trust in God which is the queen of the virtues (Abr. 270). Elsewhere this is the title which, departing from the canons of Greek philosophy, he grants to piety.41 In this context I  wish to draw attention to a relevant Philonic fragment in which hope plays a prominent part. First published by Pitra and then by Rendel Harris in his collection, its contents to my knowledge have never received any attention.42 Because it is so little known, I give both the Greek text and an English translation:43 ἐκ τοῦ περὶ εὐσεβείας κεφαλαίου. τίνας γὰρ μᾶλλον εἰκὸς εὐθυμίας ἄγειν καὶ χάριτας ἢ τοὺς προσιόντας ἀγαθῷ καὶ ὠφέλειαν ἐλπίζοντας ἀγαθῶν; ἔστιν δὲ ὁ θεὸς τὸ πρεσβύτατον, ἄρδων, καθάπερ ἐκ πηγῆς τῆς ἑαυτοῦ φύσεως, ἀνθρώπων γένει τὰ σωτήρια. συγγενὲς γὰρ οὐδὲν ἄλλο ⟨ἄλλῳ⟩, ὡς ἐλπὶς εὐχῇ·καὶ γὰρ ἀμείνω προσδοκῶντες, εὐχόμεθα· καὶ εὐξάμενοι, χρηστὰ πάντως ἐλπίζομεν. (From the chapter on piety. For who are more likely to be cheerful and give thanks than those who draw near to goodness and hope for assistance from good things? God is the most ancient one, showering on the race of human beings, as from the fountain of his own nature, what contributes to salvation. Nothing else is so akin to anything else as hope is to prayer. For [271] we pray in the expectation of better things, and after praying we hope above all for what will be beneficial.)

This fragment adds an important element to our treatment of hope. All we know about the context is that it belongs to a discussion on piety.44 Between hope and 41  Sterling (2006) 120. Both Van Menxel (1983) 311, and Studer at Dihle–Studer–Richert (1991) 1166, rightly emphasize the connection of ἐλπίς with πίστις and on that basis conclude that hope is given a kind of ‘metaphysical’ status. However, despite an undeniable intellectual component, it is its religious, or perhaps better, its spiritual aspect that is dominant. 42  Pitra (1884) 310 (from Cod. Coislin. 276, fol. 169); Rendel Harris (1886), 11. See also Royse (2006) 83. [In the published version I  referred to this great scholar of ancient manuscripts as Harris, but in fact he went under the double name of Rendel Harris.] 43  The text in Rendel Harris (see previous note) does not follow Pitra in placing a question mark (semi-colon in Greek) at the end of the first sentence, but this must be the case. The conjecture is my own, based on similar language at Prob. 21. 44  Perhaps from a missing section of Virt., as suggested by Royse (1980) 162. But this is far from certain.

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trust in God there lies as it were a third element. As we read, since hope is the expectation of good things and God is their source, the pious soul should be engaged in the activity that gives expression to those hopes and brings them to his attention, namely prayer. Prayer goes a step further than hope in the act of calling upon God and entreating him to act. And through prayer the supplicants demonstrate the confidence that they have that God will respond to them. As Termini has rightly observed,45 there is a convergence between the actions of God and the actions of human beings. Moreover, this synergism is as God wishes it to be. In Abr. 51 we read, with reference to God’s self-revelation to Moses in Exod 3:14, that he grants to humanity a suitable (though catachrestic) name for himself, ‘the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob,’ ‘so that they may take refuge in prayers and supplications and not be deprived of beneficial hopes.’ As Valentin Nikiprowetzky has shown, the theme of supplicatory prayer is central to Philo’s depiction of Israel, which he even calls the ‘suppliant race’ (τὸ ἱκετικὸν γένος, Legat. 3).46 This brings me to the third and final aspect of hope that I wish to discuss.

5.  Hope and the Future of the Community The main body of the Exposition of the Law, following the lives of the Patriarchs, is taken up with the explanation of the injunctions of the Law, first under the general headings of the Decalogue, then treating the particular laws in great detail. It is quite striking how often the theme of hope comes to the fore in these explanations. To give one example out of many: expounding the injunction to love the Lord and walk in his ways in Deut 10:12–22, Philo describes how God provides for orphans and widows. Having lost parents and husbands, they have God as their refuge, and so are not deprived of the greatest hope, hope in God, who does not refuse the task of caring for them (Spec. 1.310, based on Deut 10:18). The unstated [272] assumption is that this will occur through care offered to them through the community. Hope thus also has a strong communal aspect. Hope for future blessings and thanksgiving when they are received are also frequently mentioned in Philo’s explanations of the various rituals of piety and worship.47 In a song of thanksgiving accompanying the offering of first fruits, the worshipper or the priest addresses God (Spec. 2.219): ‘A ll these things, O Master, are your favours and gifts. We, having been thought worthy of them, take pride and rejoice in these unexpected blessings which you gave us beyond

45 

Termini (2008) 440. Nikiprowetzky (1963). 47  Termini (2008) 440 and n. 35 gives a list which could be expanded. 46 

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our hopes.’ As we have already seen,48 these hopes extend to the eschatological future of Israel, when desolation will turn to hope and joy. Philo’s exposition of the laws explains an ancient text, but it is not difficult to discern contemporary resonances. The themes of hope, supplication and salvation are also prominent in the two historical treatises which describe the tumultuous events during the reign of the emperor Gaius. As already noted,49 the hopes of the wicked Flaccus were in vain (Flacc. 109, 176), whereas God’s compassion towards the Jews give them grounds for thinking that they would not be cheated of their hopes (Flacc. 102). After the governor’s arrest the Jews offer a prayer to God, giving thanks that he has begun to listen to their supplications and has already given an outline of the fulfilments of their beneficial hopes (Flacc. 124). A  little later, however, it seems that the early hopes that they had in the emperor Gaius were dashed (Legat. 73). When the persecution continued and an embassy under Philo’s leadership was sent to Rome to plead with the emperor, the situation appeared to go from bad to worse. Writing in the first person, Philo describes the anxiety he felt (Legat. 184), but in response to possible criticism of the embassy’s efforts he tells the others (§ 196): Truly well-born people are full of hopes and the laws create good hopes in those who study them more than superficially. Perhaps these events have been sent to test the present generation and the state of its virtue … All human aid disappears and let it be so. Let what remains in our souls be the indestructible hope in God the saviour, who has often saved the nation from difficult and impossible situations. [273]

God’s providential care for the Jewish people is a dominant theme in these treatises.50 That Philo should make no less than three references to the theme of hope in words that he places in his own mouth shows how important it was for him personally. One might even speculate that he saw his own role in biblical terms, as a just person who confronts the evil oppressor and intervenes on behalf of his people, while resolutely placing his hope and trust in God.51

6.  Concluding Remarks Hope, directed at God and his providential care for individuals and the community is a constant theme in Philo’s writings, both when explaining scripture and when reflecting on the human condition. As explained in his schema of the biblical patriarchs, hope is a liminal experience, leading to trust in God through the experience of his beneficence. Its role should not be overemphasized. Its 48  See above, section 2(6) on Praem. 153–164. On Philo’s eschatology focused on Israel see Tobin (2016) 351–374. 49  Section 3, between nn. 31 & 33. 50  See the (too brief ) comments in Frick (1999) 185–189. 51  Cf. above section 3 on Migr. 124.



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position in the hierarchy of virtues is incipient and subordinate. But its frequent presence in all of Philo’s writings shows that its importance should also not be underestimated. Our study has shown that in the case of hope, we should come to the same conclusion that Greg Sterling reached when analysing Philo’s views on piety. To a limited degree he exploits some themes from Greek philosophy, notably as found in the Platonic and Stoic traditions. But overwhelmingly he is ‘doing his own thing.’ For Philo hope has a dominant spiritual and theocentric focus. It is, or at least should be, wholly directed towards the beneficent and salutary acts of God. For this reason hope is nearly always regarded in a positive vein, unless it is motivated by false view of the self and its needs. It is often expressed through or accompanied by prayer, whether in the thoughts of the individual soul, or in the collective liturgies of the community. A perhaps unexpected result of this investigation has been that it has brought us closer to Philo’s personal experience. The hope that he had in God’s providential care and salvific intervention clearly motivated him as a leader of his community. It brings to mind one of the more remarkable passages in his works, when he describes the festival held on the island of Pharos to celebrate the gift of the Greek translation of the Torah. The high value of the Laws is recognized by all, whether rulers or citizens, we read [274] at Mos. 2.43–44, even though the Jewish nation is not prospering. But if its prospects should improve, then all the other nations would abandon their ancestral ways and honour its laws alone. This is surely an expression of Philo’s own deepest hopes. We now know, of course, what Philo did not. In the short term any such hopes were to be dashed. The Jewish community in Alexandria was heading towards disaster. Yet from an entirely different perspective it might be said that they were quite remarkably fulfilled. The Abrahamic religious tradition, for which he was such an eloquent spokesperson, did become dominant in large parts of the world and remains so today, though for the most part transformed in ways that went beyond anything that he could have imagined.

E.  Studies on Philonic Texts

20.  The Reward For Goodness: Philo, De vita contemplativa 90* 1.  Introducing the Text and the Problem The text of the final paragraph of Philo’s famous treatise on the Therapeutae as established by Leopold Cohn in his editio maior reads as follows:1 § 90. θεραπευτῶν μὲν δὴ πέρι τοσαῦτα θεωρίαν ἀσπασαμένων φύσεως καὶ τῶν ἐν αὐτῇ καὶ ψυχῇ μόνῃ βιωσάντων1, οὐρανοῦ μὲν καὶ κόσμου πολιτῶν, τῷ δὲ πατρὶ καὶ ποιητῇ τῶν ὅλων γνησίως συσταθέντων ὑπ᾿ ἀρετῆς, ἥτις ‹θεοῦ›2 φιλίαν αὐτοῖς προυξένησεν οἰκειότατον γέρας καλοκἀγαθίας3 προσθεῖσα4, πάσης ἄμεινον5 εὐτυχίας, ἐπ᾿ αὐτὴν ἀκρότητα φθάνον6 εὐδαιμονίας7. 1 βιωσάντων, θεωρησάντων Arm | καὶ ποιητῇ del. M 2 θεοῦ add. Cohn, αὐτοῦ mavult 3 καλοκἀγαθίας FG (Arm ἀνδραγαθίας ut videtur), καλοκἀγαθίαν MAHP Colson 4 προσθεῖσα G Mangey, προθεῖσα MAHP Arm Conybeare, προσθείς F Turnebus vulg.,

in marg. HP 5 ἄμεινον Turnebus (et UF sec. Conybeare), ἄμείνονα codd. sec. Cohn φθάνουσαν M 7 εὐδαιμονίας: ἡγεμονίας A

6 φθάνον:

The first half of this complex period, up to and including the words συσταθέντων ὑπ’ ἀρετῆς, is not difficult to construe and yields no major difficulties of interpretation. This cannot be said for its second half. Comparison of the following three translations shows that it has been understood in quite different ways. F. H. Colson, Loeb Classical Library: ‘So much then for the Therapeutae, who have taken to their hearts the contemplation of nature and what it has to teach, and have lived in the soul alone, citizens of Heaven and the world, presented to the Father and Maker of all by their faithful sponsor Virtue, who has procured for them God’s friendship and added a gift going hand in hand with it, true excellence of life, a boon better than all good fortune and rising to the very summit of felicity.’2 David Winston, Classics of Western Spirituality: ‘So much then for the Therapeutae who have embraced the contemplation of nature and its constituent parts, and have lived in the soul alone, citizens of Heaven and the universe, truly commended to the Father and Creator of all by virtue, which has secured for them God’s friendship in [4]

*  This essay was the opening article of a Festschrift dedicated to the great Philonic scholar David Winston in celebration of his seventieth birthday in September 1997. 1  PCW (1915) 6.71. 2  PLCL (1941) 9.169.

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addition to the most fitting prize of nobility, which excels all good fortune and attains to the very summit of joy.’3 P. Miquel, Les œuvres de Philon d’Alexandrie: ‘J’ai fini au sujet des Thérapeutes, qui ont embrassé la contemplation de la nature et de ce qu’elle contient, qui ne vivent que par l’âme seule, qui sont citoyens du ciel et de l’univers, véritablement unis au Père et Créateur de toutes choses, grâce à leur vertu qui leur a procuré le don le plus précieux pour un homme bon: l’amitié de Dieu, présent meilleur que toute autre prospérité et qui mène rapidement au comble de la félicité.’4

The problem is caused by the phrase οἰκειότατον γέρας καλοκἀγαθίας προσθεῖσα. Colson interprets it to mean that ‘the prize of goodness’ is added to the friendship of God as an extra gift, and that the rest of the passage expands on what this gift means for its recipient.5 Miquel in contrast regards the friendship of God as the reward for goodness, and takes the rest of the passage to be a further elaboration of what that friendship entails.6 The third translation is to my mind a little ambiguous. At first glance it seems natural to take the final relative clause as qualifying the immediate antecedent (i. e. ‘nobility’), but one could also read it as elaborating on the earlier noun ‘friendship.’ This is possible on account of the ambiguity of the phrase ‘in addition to,’ which could be taken in a bracketing sense, although it is undoubtedly more natural to take it additively. The very last thing I wish to do in offering this little article to David Winston is to give the impression that I would like to correct him. My [5] hope is that he will be intrigued by the interpretative question at stake here, and that he will agree with me that it invites us to reflect on a number of fundamental issues in Philo’s ethical thought. 3 

Winston (1981) 57. PAPS (1963) 29.147. 5  Compare also Bormann, PCH (1964) 7.70: ‘Soviel nun sei gesagt über die Therapeuten. Sie widmen sich der Betrachtung der Natur sowie dessen, was sie enthält, und leben nur mit der Seele. Zwar sind sie Bürger des Himmels und der Welt, doch wurden sie in echter Weise auf die Seite des Vaters und Schöpfers des Alls gestellt durch ihre Tüchtigkeit, welche ihnen freundschaft gewährte und als passendstes Geschenk sittliche Vortrefflichkeit verlieh, die besser ist als alle Glücksgüter, da sie bis zum Gipfel der Glückseligkeit selbst gelangt.’ The translations of Corrington (1990) 154 and Graffigna (1992) 91 are similar to Colson and Bormann. 6  Compare also in the translation of Géoltrain (1960): ‘… ils sont réellement unis au Père et au Créateur de l’univers par la vertu, qui leur a procuré l’amitié de Dieu. C’est une distinction qui convient au mieux à leur vie excellente, une distinction supérieure à n’importe quel bonheur, qui touche au comble même de la félicité.’ This interpretation was also anticipated by the rather loose version of Yonge (1855) 4.20: ‘This is then what I have to say of those who are called therapeutae, who have devoted themselves to the contemplation of nature, and who have lived in it and in the soul alone, being citizens of heaven and of the world, and very acceptable to the Father and Creator of the universe because of their virtue, which has procured them his love as their most appropriate reward, which far surpasses all the gifts of fortune, and conducts them to the very summit and perfection of happiness.’ 4 



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385

2.  A First Philological Approach My first approach to our problem will be exclusively philological: what does the text say, and how should it be grammatically construed? Here we have a considerable advantage in the fact that Philo was a prolific and rather repetitive writer. By looking closely at parallel passages elsewhere, we should be able to gain insight into how he meant this passage to be understood. A number of important parallels were noted by Conybeare in his exemplary edition of the treatise published more than a hundred years ago.7 This feat deserves all the more respect because he did not have access to any lexical tools specifically devoted to Philo, let alone a computer which can find any word or combination of words in Philo within ten seconds. Conybeare does not remark on our problem in his commentary. His placement of a comma after προυξένησεν (not taken over by Cohn in his edition) might suggest that he construed the text in the manner of Colson’s version. But this is in fact not the case. In his translation, which he published elsewhere, he anticipates the version of Miquel, but with a very important difference, which will claim our attention directly.8 First we should look at the combination of verb and participle, προυξένησεν … προσθεῖσα. There are a considerable number of examples in Philo of an wholly unproblematic participial use of προσθείς or προστιθείς in the nominative qualifying the main verb and indicating that something is added to the action of that verb. A simple example is found at Fug. 48: τὰ δ᾿ ὅμοια καὶ ὁ πατὴρ ὑφηγεῖται, μικρὰ προσθείς, ‘the father too gives similar instructions, making some small additions.’ Two separate actions or items are thus joined together. It is this common usage that has inspired Colson’s translation: the reward of goodness is added to the friendship with God. Sometimes the verb and participle are so tightly linked together that the use of the participle becomes [6] instrumental: e. g. Migr. 79, ἐπειδὴ τῷ ὄντι ὁ λόγος τοῖς ἐνθυμήμασιν ὑπαντῶν, ῥήματα καὶ ὀνόματα προστιθεὶς χαράττει τὰ ἄσημα, ὡς ἐπίσημα ποιεῖν, where we might translate ‘speech, meeting the mind’s conceptions, by adding verbs and nouns stamps the unmarked things so as to make them marked.’ In order to rescue the translation of Miquel (who in fact ignores the participle προσθεῖσα), we would have to imagine that both verb and participle qualify the same item, with the participial phrase giving an extra qualification, i. e. ‘procured God’s friendship in addition (to their virtuous life) as the reward for goodness …’ The use of verb 7  Conybeare (1895) 134–135. The chief purpose of these parallels was to settle the question of the authenticity of the treatise once and for all. 8  Conybeare (1894) 769: ‘Concerning the Therapeutæ, then, let so much suffice, who embraced the contemplation of nature and of her verities, and lived a life of the soul alone. They truly are citizens of heaven and of the universe, and have been established with the Father and Creator of all things by virtue, which secures unto them love; proffering therein the only meet reward of godliness – better than any mere good fortune, because it lifts them in advance straight to the zenith of bliss.’

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and participle qualifying the same object is common enough in Greek prose and in Philo.9 But I have found no convincing example involving προστίθημι in the Philonic corpus. The closest is found at Leg. 2.62, τουτέστι καὶ εἰς τὰ ἐκτὸς ἔτεινε καὶ ἐπεξειργάσατο προσθεὶς τῷ κακῷ βουλήματι κακὸν τὸ διὰ τῶν ἔργων ἀποτέλεσμα, which we might translate: ‘this means that the soul extends its evil intention to the external world as well and carries out its execution through its deeds as an evil act added to the evil wish.’ But although κακόν can be taken conjointly with ἐπεξειργάσατο and προσθεὶς, there can be no doubt that the notion of ‘adding’ refers only to the addition of the deed to the wish. We conclude, therefore, that the Philonic parallels for the use of the participle προσθεῖσα support Colson’s translation, but that none of these texts represent particularly good parallels for an understanding of our problematic phrase. A further aspect, however, needs to be taken into account. A glance at the apparatus criticus of the text shows that there is considerable disagreement, both in the manuscripts and the editions, on the reading of the participle. The majority of the MSS do not read προσθεῖσα, as found in the editions of Mangey and Cohn (and printed without comment by Colson), but προθεῖσα.10 Moreover this reading is supported by the 6th century Armenian translation. Conybeare, who attached considerable weight to this translation in the constitution of his text,11 is the only editor who has adopted the latter reading. It can be shown, in my view, that his decision was sound. Firstly, no less than four parallels can be given for the expression γέρας (or its synonym ἆθλον) προτιθέναι, ‘to set up or establish as a reward or prize’:12 Mos. 2.161: (Moses) μίαν τῶν δώδεκα φυλῶν ἐπικρίνας ἀριστίνδην ἐχειροτόνει θεοφιλοῦς ἔργου προθεὶς ἆθλα καὶ ἀριστεῖα. Spec. 3.51: (the prostitute) καὶ ἐπὶ μὲν θήρᾳ τῶν νέων ἕκαστα λέγει τε καὶ πράττει, τοὺς δὲ ἐραστὰς ἀλείφει κατὰ ἀλλήλων αἴσχιστον ἆθλον αὑτὴν προτιθεῖσα τοῖς τὸ πλέον εἰσενεγκοῦσιν (in this text the reward is negatively qualified). 9 

Cf. Smyth (1956) § 1635. Turnebus read προσθείς (taken over by the editiones vulgatae before Mangey), presumably based on a marginal note in Parisinus gr. 434, since this MS is derived from H (= Venetus gr. 40). (The other two Parisian MSS used by Turnebus [433, 435] both read προσθείσα.) But this reading is ungrammatical. Gelenius in his Latin translation based on the editio princeps ignores the word entirely. 11  See Conybeare (1895) 20–22, where he argues that it represents ‘an earlier stage of the text than any existing Greek source, not excepting even the extracts in Eusebius’ and states that in some cases he has ‘preferred the Armenian implied reading, even where this diverged from all the Greek MSS.’ The dating that he gives for the Armenian translation, c. 400 CE, is now regarded as too early by at least a century; cf. Siegert (1989) 360. 12  A standard expression in Greek, cf. LSJ s. v. I 3b. The last of these parallels is printed by Conybeare (1895) 135. That γέρας and ἆθλον are virtually synonyms can be seen from texts such as Congr. 108, Praem. 22 etc.; cf. also Plato Rep. 460b γέρα καὶ ἆθλα. The reason I have translated the term by ‘reward’ will emerge at the end of the article. 10 

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Spec. 4.72: (Moses) κελεύει ‹γὰρ› πένητα ἐν κρίσει μὴ ἐλεεῖν ὁ πᾶσαν σχεδόν τι τὴν νομοθεσίαν πεπληρωκὼς τῶν εἰς ἔλεον καὶ φιλανθρωπίαν διαταγμάτων καὶ μεγάλας μὲν ἀπειλὰς ἐπανατεινόμενος ὑπερόπταις καὶ ἀλαζόσι, μεγάλα δὲ προθεὶς ἆθλα τοῖς τὰ ἀτυχήματα τῶν πέλας εἰς ἐπανόρθωσιν ἄγειν ἀξιοῦσι … Virt. 175: φιλάρετος καὶ φιλόκαλος καὶ διαφερόντως φιλάνθρωπος ὢν ὁ ἱερώτατος Μωυσῆς προτρέπει τοὺς πανταχοῦ πάντας εὐσεβείας καὶ δικαιοσύνης εἶναι ζηλωτάς, ἆθλα προτιθεὶς ὡς νικηφόροις μεγάλα τοῖς μετανοοῦσι πολιτείας κοινωνίαν τῆς ἀρίστης καὶ τῶν κατ’ αὐτὴν ἀπόλαυσιν μικρῶν τε καὶ μεγάλων.

The reason why the verb προτιθέναι is used in such phrases appears to be that it emphasizes the public aspect of the action.13 Compare texts such as Fug. 29 (private property put forward for the common good); Spec. 1.320 (putting forward good things in the market for the benefit of all); Legat. 147 (Augustus does not hoard his favours but sets them out for the benefit of all). In the context of our text this means that the divine friendship that excellence14 procures the Therapeutae also has a public manifestation: it is apparent in the reward of their felicity, as shown by the description of their truly admirable way of life. Secondly, a number of excellent parallels can be found for the expression γέρας (or ἆθλον) καλοκαγαθίας, in which it is quite clear that the genetive involved does not indicate contents (‘consisting of goodness’) but rather consequence (‘resulting from goodness’):15 Abr. 254: a true son is born to Abraham and Sarah, ἆθλον καλοκἀγαθίας ἐλπίδος πάσης τελειότερον τοῦ φιλοδώρου θεοῦ παρασχόντος (the reward for goodness more perfect than every single hope). [7] Spec. 1.79: one tribe (the Levites) is selected for the priesthood on account of its great merit, γέρας ἀνδραγαθίας καὶ φιλοθέου σπουδῆς τουτὶ λαβοῦσα (the reward for manly behaviour and zeal that shows love for God). Virt. 201: (Noah) μόνος μετὰ τῶν οἰκείων διασῴζεται τῆς καλοκἀγαθίας ἆθλον ἀράμενος, οὗ μεῖζον οὐκ ἔστιν εὑρεῖν (saved as a reward for his goodness). QG 3.8: Cities remain without conflict because a single just man lives in them, οὗ ἡ ἀρετὴ τὰς πολιτικὰς νόσους ἰᾶται, γέρας ἀπονέμοντος τοῦ φιλαρέτου θεοῦ καλο­ κἀγαθίας, τὸ μὴ μόνον αὐτὸν ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς πλησιάζοντας ὠφελεῖν.

The last text is of particular interest, because it contains almost the same difficulty as in Contempl. 90. What is the reward? Not, surely that the just man receives καλοκἀγαθία (he is already just), but that he is able to intervene on behalf of his fellow-citizens (cf. Ebr. 91, Mut. 149 etc.). We note also that the first and third 13 

Conybeare’s translation ‘proferred’ does not make this very clear. this article I  render ἀρετή by ‘excellence’ rather than ‘virtue,’ because it brings out much better the connotation of the Greek word, which as we shall see is not confined to moral behaviour and attitudes. We note that at § 21–22 Philo appears to link up ἀγαθὸν τέλειον and the ἄριστοι who share in it. The latter word is etymologically related to ἀρετή. 15  The second of these texts is given by Conybeare ad loc. 14  Throughout

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parallel text both qualify the reward by means of a comparative adjective (‘more perfect,’ ‘better than which’), just as is the case in Contempl. 90 (‘better than’). For the sake of completeness we note that two other formulations in the final part of our text can be amply paralleled.16 For the use of the verb προξενέω in the sense of to procure or recommend something for someone, cf. Ebr. 49 (liberal studies obtain wisdom), Congr. 111 (allegorically Eleazar, the servant of the φιλομαθής Isaac, procures the excellence most suited to him, i. e. Rebecca as constancy), Virt. 55 (a heavenly ἔρως procures for Joshua the friendship [!] of Moses). For the phrase ‘to reach the summit of ’ we may compare Opif. 8 (Moses reaching the summit of philosophy), Det. 65 (not yet perfect souls desiring the summit of excellence), Mos. 1.32 (Moses at the court of Egypt having reached the summit of human εὐτυχία), Virt. 226 (people who reach the very summit of καλοκἀγαθία). On the basis of these philological considerations it is apparent that Philo, in crafting this period, has used a large number of expressions that are characteristic of his style. The parallels adduced indicate that we should follow Conybeare in reading προθεῖσα. For the sake of clarity one might also take his lead and place a comma after προυξένησεν. One textual difficulty remains. Cohn argued that the word φιλία needs to be further qualified.17 Clearly it is divine friendship that is being referred to. God has just been mentioned as father and maker of the universe, but the addition of αὐτοῦ (pace Colson) is unlikely in combination with αὐτοῖς two words later. Cohn will not have known the surprising fact that the phrase θεοῦ φιλία does not occur in Philo’s writings. The conjecture is most likely unnecessary. [9] The text of Contempl. 90 may thus be translated along the following lines:18 Let this account suffice for the Therapeutae, who have embraced the contemplation of nature and what it contains, and have lived a life of the soul alone, citizens of heaven and the cosmos, truly commended to the father and maker of the universe by their excellence, which has procured for them his friendship and set it before them as the most fitting reward for their goodness, a gift superior to all prosperity and attaining to the very summit of felicity.

3.  A Second Thematic and Interpretative Approach The second approach to our problem is parallel to the first, but looks more closely at the philosophical and religious contents of the sentence. It is apparent 16 

A number of the cited texts have already been given by Conybeare ad loc. Cohn (1916) 181 (the only comment he makes on the text of Contempl. 90). 18  I wish to acknowledge my debt to David Winston’s translation. Like him, I have retained the concatenatory form of the Greek (three participles, followed by a relative clause, followed by two more participles, or three if we understand ὄν with ἄμεινον). 17 

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that Philo has selected a number of key philosophical terms and linked them together in a particular way. What is he exactly trying to say about the Therapeutae and their life by means of this series of terms? An answer to this question will give us further insight into how the controversial phrase οἰκειότατον γέρας καλοκἀγαθίας fits into the sentence as a whole. In his concluding words Philo in fact connects up no less than five terms: Excellence (ἀρετή), Friendship of God (φιλία θεοῦ), the Reward of/for Goodness (γέρας καλοκἀγαθίας), Prosperity (εὐτυχία), and Felicity (εὐδαιμονία). Using the capital letters as symbols we can reduce the two differing interpretations to the following two formulas:19 (a) the conventional interpretation (Colson etc.) E → FG + GR (> Pr) → F, where GR is Goodness as Reward; (b) the alternative interpretation (Miquel etc.) E → FG = RG (> Pr) → F, where RG is the Reward for Goodness. Moreover there are two terms earlier in the sentence which one might wish to connect up with both of these formulas, namely Contemplation (θεωρία) and the Life of the Soul alone (βίος τῆς ψυχῆς μόνης). The first and most important question that needs to be raised focuses on the relationship between the terms ‘excellence’ and ‘goodness.’ Do these amount to (virtually) the same thing, or is καλοκἀγαθία (goodness or [10] nobility20) something different than ἀρετή (excellence), which would entail that it can be added to it? A good text with which to begin is QG 3.8, which has already been cited above (p. 8). The single just man saves the city through his excellence, and this healing beneficence (an activity) is given him as a reward for his goodness by God the lover of excellence. Compare also Mos. 1.148, where Moses is granted the office of leader of his people as a reward for excellence and goodness by God who is φιλάρετος καὶ φιλόκαλος. Other texts can be adduced to show that for Philo the two terms are virtually synonymous.21 The most interesting texts for our purposes are found closer to home. In Contempl. itself we have only a trivial example of this parallelism. The young men selected for service at the table (§ 72) are striving for the summit of ἀρετή, which gives them an affinity to the elder members of the community, since there is no more fitting tie for those of sound moral judgement (εὖ φρόνουσιν) than καλοκἀγαθία. Far more interesting, however, is Philo’s account of the Essenes in Prob. Both at the beginning and at the end of his description he mentions their 19 Where

→ means ‘leads to,’ > ‘greater than’. In the moral sense, not in the sense of good birth (εὐγένεια). 21  Cf. also Somn. 1.176–178, Abr. 34–36, Mos. 2.57, Spec. 1.215, Virt. 60, Prob. 62, Legat. 5. Note also an association of καλοκἀγαθία with particular virtues, e. g. Congr. 31 (δικαιοσύνη), Abr. 271 (φρόνησις, σοφία). 20 

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καλοκἀγαθία (§ 75, 91), and in both cases this hallmark is placed in clear parallel to the theme of ἀρετή, as exemplified by liberty (ἐλευθερία), which is the main theme of the treatise.22 The final words of the account are particularly interesting as a parallel to the text we are concentrating on:23 All (these savage potentates) have proved unable to break down the goodness of these men and have treated them as autonomous and by nature free, singing the praises of their communal meals and the communality which passes all description, the clearest indication of a perfect and supremely felicitous way of life.

We note here the connection of goodness with a particular way of life (the βίος πρακτικός in this case) and with felicity, which serves as the [11] climax of the account, just as in Contempl. The theme of friendship with God, however, is missing.24 On the other hand, I have found no texts in Philo where a clear distinction is made between excellence and goodness. Völker, the only Philonic scholar to my knowledge who has drawn attention to the prominence of the term καλοκἀγαθία in Philo’s ethics, argues that Philo uses it when he wishes to indicate the summit of the life of excellence.25 He may be right that the term with its aristocratic resonance carries a somewhat heavier loading than ἀρετή on its own. I  have found only one text which gives explicit support for this view, Virt. 60, where Joshua’s τελεία ἀρετή is equated with καλοκἀγαθία.26 But this hardly amounts to a clear distinction between the two terms, which would allow us to conclude, in accordance with the interpretation of Cohn and Colson, that in Contempl. 90 καλοκἀγαθία could be added as a special reward to the friendship of God which ἀρετή has procured. It makes far more sense to regard it as virtually synonymous 22  § 74 ἐπίδειξεν ἀρετῆς … τὸν β¥ίον, § 75 καλοκἀγαθίας οὐκ ἄγονος, § 88 ἀθλητὰς ἀρετῆς, § 91 τῆς τῶν ἀνδρῶν καλοκἀγαθίας, § 92 τὰς ἐν τοῖς πλήθεσιν ἀρετὰς οὐκ οἴονταί τινες εἶναι τελείας. 23 § 91: πάντες δὲ ἀσθενέστεροι τῆς τῶν ἀνδρῶν καλοκἀγαθίας γενόμενοι καθάπερ αὐτονόμοις καὶ ἐλευθέροις οὖσιν ἐκ φύσεως προσηνέχθησαν, ᾄδοντες αὐτῶν τὰ συσσίτια καὶ τὴν παντὸς λόγου κρείττονα κοινωνίαν, ἣ βίου τελείου καὶ σφόδρα εὐδαίμονός ἐστι σαφέστατον δεῖγμα. Without wishing to labour the point, I am convinced that the description of the Essenes at Prob. 75–91 (and perhaps also that in Hypoth. 11) is very likely a summary of the contents of the lost treatise that preceded Contempl. which has been adapted to the special theme of the liberty of the sage. This can be shown if one examines carefully the shared thematics and terminology of the two documents. The shared themes of the two final sentences constitute just one example of this correspondence. 24  Though mentioned earlier at § 42–44, first in general terms, and then of Moses. The Essenes are θεραπευταὶ θεοῦ (§ 75) and exercise τὸ φιλόθεον (§ 83). 25  Völker (1938) 275. He is above all concerned with what Philo means by καλοκἀγαθία, which in his view is far removed from the Greek ideal. 26  The same context as the text Virt. 55 cited in the text below n. 16. Cf. the conception of καλοκἀγαθία found in the final chapter of Aristotle’s Eudemian Ethics, notably at 1248b10, where it is equated with the ἀρετή which consists of all the partial ἀρεταί. On the other hand, in both Stoic and Platonist ethics the conception is almost entirely absent. For example it is found neither in Alcinous nor in Arius Didymus’ summary of Stoic ethics.



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with ἀρετή. God’s friendship is the reward that the Therapeutae obtain for their excellence, that is to say, for their goodness. We might now proceed a step further and ask the further questions: the excellence and goodness which procure the Therapeutae divine friendship, what do they actually refer to? and why does Philo gives these terms such prominence in the final sentence of his treatise? Since § 90 is very clearly meant to be a concluding summary of the treatise’s contents, one would expect its terminology to be related to the earlier description given of the Therapeutae and their way of life. As we also saw in the case of the briefer description of the Essenes in Prob., Philo uses the literary technique of ring-composition to link up the final words with the introduction, where he not only describes the Therapeutae as those ‘who embrace contemplation’ (the same words as in § 90), but also speaks of the magnitude of the excellence of these men (sic!), thereby linking up θεωρία with ἀρετή, as he also does in the final sentence. The first excellence that is prominent in the text is ἐγκράτεια, rigorous [12] self-control in relation to the needs of the body (§ 34). It serves as a foundation for the other excellences. Philo goes on to illustrate it by describing the extreme asceticism of his heroes. The needs of the body are reduced to an absolute minimum. The meal on the Sabbath and especially the sober feast of Pentecost provide an elaborate illustration of this excellence. It also extends to the simplicity of clothing and housing (§ 38). Self-control is thus an excellence of the soul in relation to the body. It can be related to the statement at the beginning of the treatise (§ 2) that the Therapeutae practise the art of healing (ἰατρικὴ τέχνη), which is focused not so much on bodies (as is the doctor’s art), but on souls who are afflicted by the diseases caused by the passions of desire, grief, fear and so on. In the standard divisions between intellectual and moral and between divine and human excellences, self-control belongs to the latter categories.27 Because the Therapeutae have the ἦθος or moral disposition of self-control in relation to bodily desires, this allows them to devote all their time and energy to their contemplative activity. This is how I interpret the foundational role of ἐγκράτεια indicated in § 34. Consistent with this excellence of self-control is the purity or chastity (ἁγνεία) practised by the older female members of the community.28 It frees them from all bodily desire and allows them to focus their longing on wisdom and the contemplation of its doctrines. In addition we read at the beginning of the treatise (§ 13–20) that the Therapeutae have already bequeathed all their property to others and have become totally unattached to wealth. Philo perhaps 27  On these divisions in Philo and Greek philosophy, see Wolfson (1947) 2.202–205, who as usual tries to systematize the various Philonic texts. The division between intellectual and moral excellence is fundamental for Aristotle (EN 1.13, 1103a5), the Stoa (e. g. Arius Didymus at Stob. Ecl. 2.7.5, 58.10 Wachsmuth) and Middle Platonism (e. g. Alcinous Did. 29.1). 28  Kraemer (1989) 353–355 persuasively suggests that by γηραιαὶ παρθένοι Philo means women who have attained the menopause and so revert to virginity as it were.

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thinks back to this section in the final sentence when he states that the felicity of the Therapeutae is superior to all prosperity. Εὐτυχία in the sense of material well-being is of no interest whatsoever for the Therapeutae because they ‘live by the soul alone,’ requiring so little for their activities that their needs are easily satisfied.29 For the attainment of εὐδαιμονία the activity of contemplation which they practise with such tenacious devotion is sufficient.30 [13] The second chief excellence possessed by the Therapeutae is piety (εὐσέβεια), the right disposition of reverence and love for God. At the beginning of the account (§ 3) it is related to their name as those who have been taught by nature and the sacred laws to ‘serve that which is.’ Knowledge and piety is what they increase and perfect by study in their solitary cells (§ 25). Piety is the goal of the thoughts, words and dances which they unfold during the sober ecstasy of their feasts (§ 88). In philosophical terms piety is clearly an intellectual excellence of the soul, for it expresses the soul’s disposition towards the divine. Philo, who – understandably from his Jewish viewpoint – gives it even more prominence than it receives in Greek philosophy, more than once describes it as the queen or greatest of the excellences.31 Are these chief excellences exhibited by the Therapeutae sufficient to explain the link that Philo makes between ἀρετή and the friendship of God which it procures as reward for their καλοκἀγαθία? Not entirely, I believe. It still has to be shown how this excellence is related to the contemplative activity (θεωρία) of which the Therapeutae are the paradigm. Philo mentions their θεωρία at the beginning of the period, but it is not one of the five terms that he connects together at the end. What is the place of θεωρία in his scheme? The answer is quite straightforward, I  submit, if we bear in mind that excellence is not itself an activity, but rather a disposition of the soul towards a particular activity.32 The Therapeutae in their way of life reveal both moral excellence in relation to the body and material things and intellectual or spiritual 29  The Essenes (Prob. 77) also practise ὀλιγοδεΐα, not for want of εὐτυχία, but through conviction. Because they practise the βίος πρακτικός, however, it is not possible for them to be quite as unattached to material things. Philo never tells us how the Therapeutae obtain their scanty necessities of life. Presumably they were supported by the Jewish community or a wealthy patron. 30  Philo nowhere else contrasts the two terms. In a non-philosophical context at Legat. 211 they are presented as parallel. For Aristotle the εὐδαιμών has to be εὐτυχής, but also more than that (NE 1.8 1099b8, 7.13 1153b21). The Stoa identifies them, but is criticized by Alexander because excellence is not a matter of chance (SVF 3.567, 595). In Alcinous too (§ 27, 181.10 Whittaker) the man of science is both εὐτυχέστατος and εὐδαιμονέστατος. 31  Spec. 4.135, Abr. 60, Mut. 76, Spec. 2.63 etc. As Cohen (1995) 219, 247 correctly argues, Philo exploits both the Greek philosophical and the Jewish religious connotations of the term (Völker [1938] 225 is too one-sided). The same applies to the concept of the ‘friend of God’ or θεοφιλής. 32  Cf. the distinction between αἱ κατὰ μέρος ἀρεταί and αἱ κατ᾿ αὐτὰς ἐνεργεῖαι at Leg. 1.56 (allegorical exegesis of the tree of knowledge of good and evil in Gen. 2:9), where Philo also distinguishes between ἀρετὴ θεωρητική and ἀρετὴ πρακτική. The connection between ἀρετὴ and



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excellence towards God and the things of the mind or spirit. The former is the foundation for the latter. Ἀρετή and καλοκἀγαθία not only denote their rigorous asceticism, but also their passionate longing for wisdom and knowledge of the divine (cf. § 10–12, 25–26, 32, 35, 64, 75, 85). Such knowledge or wisdom is intimately tied to [14] their piety, for it disposes the soul towards continual service and devotion to God, or so at least the optimistic intellectualist Philo thinks. The excellence of the Therapeutae thus finds its expression in an appropriate kind of activity, and that activity is contemplation. This contemplative activity is the chief ingredient of the life which brings them felicity. Εὐδαιμονία is emphatically not just a state of mind, but a realized way of life, in the case of the Therapeutae the βίος θεωρητικός, in the case of the Essenes the βίος πρακτικός.33 Very deliberately Philo ends both accounts with the concept of εὐδαιμονία. If we return to the formulas introduced at the beginning of this section, two conclusions may be drawn. Firstly it is clear that we opt for the second. Goodness is not added to divine friendship, but that friendship is the reward obtained on account of goodness (both moral and spiritual). Secondly we can see now that the two other terms that are used earlier in the period, Contemplation and Life of the Soul alone, should be integrated into our formula, because implicitly they are included in its scope. The full extent of the formula might be represented thus: E (+ C) → FG = RG (> Pr) → F (= LS). Spelled out in full it states that the soul’s disposition of Excellence as practised in Contemplative activity results in the Friendship of God granted as the most appropriate Reward for Goodness, a gift superior to Prosperity, leading to the summit of Felicity, which is in fact the realized Life of the Soul alone. With great care Philo designs the concluding period in order to give his treatise a climactic finale. Its final word is εὐδαιμονία, which I have translated by ‘felicity,’ though the rendering fails dismally to capture the full meaning of this central Greek ethical concept. It represents the highest well-being that can be attained by the human person, not so much in his or her life, but rather as his or her life. The customary translation of ‘happiness’ should be avoided, because it willynilly introduces too much of a subjective and transient element into the conception. Today I am on top of the world, tomorrow down in the dumps. This is not what the term is trying to convey. Eudaimonia indicates a state of well-being that is achieved in terms of a realized way of life of considerable duration.34 The Therapeutae reach the proclaimed height of felicity because they have dedicated ἕξις is clearly made at Leg. 2.18, Spec. 4.144. Compare standard definitions of ἀρετή in various philosophical traditions, e. g. Ps.Plato Def. 411d, Arist. NE 2.6 1106b36, Stoa ap. D. L. 7.89 etc. 33  There is an intrinsic connection between εὐδαιμονία and βίος, as shown for example in Cicero’s translation beata vita. At Prob. 91 Philo speaks of βίος τέλειος καὶ σφόδρα εὐδαίμων. 34 Hence the famous discussions in Herodotus (1.30–32) and Aristotle (NE 1.10) on whether a person can be deemed εὐδαίμων while he or she is still alive.

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their lives to God’s service as expressed in their devotion to the activity of contemplation. Philo announces this when he introduces them early in the treatise (§ 11)35 and returns to it in the final words of the treatise. It is no accident that we find a similar climactic use of the concept of eudaimonia or the ‘blessed life’ on a number of other occasions in Philo’s works. Of greatest interest for the present discussion is the fact that it is also found in the final words of the abbreviated description of the Essenes at Prob. 91 (cited above on p. 10). Philo is using the same philosophical framework for his discussion (adapted to a slightly different context) of the βίος πρακτικός. Another prominent example is located at the end of De opificio mundi, where we read that the person who accepts the chief lessons that Philo has outlined will lead a blessed and fortunate life (μακαρίαν καὶ εὐδαίμονα ζωήν), marked as he is by the doctrines of piety and holiness (Opif. 172). Similar instances of the climactic use of this theme are found at Post. 185, Ebr. 224, Somn. 1.256, Spec. 1.345, Virt. 50.36 Philo’s reason for doing this can be explained along the following lines. In the Greek philosophical scheme that he adopts, the state of felicity is identified with the telos, the ‘end’ or ‘point of completion’ of human endeavour. This is the ideal that the teleios, the person who has attained perfection, is supposed to reach. It is natural for a literary work, in which the path to the attainment of the state of felicity is laid out, to end with the theme of the telos itself. In this way the form and the contents of the treatise can neatly coincide.37 This is also an indication of the protreptic element that lies behind the writing of Philo’s commentaries. He wants the reader not only to read the books of Moses, but also to practise the philosophy that they contain. This can be done at various levels. The Therapeutae represent a higher level than the Essenes, but both are praiseworthy. Both communities have attained the goal of an εὐδαίμων βίος. In this brief article I have concentrated primarily on the philosophical terms that Philo uses in the final section of De vita contemplativa. I regard these terms as forming a philosophical framework within which Philo can [16] localize the activity and way of life of the Therapeutae, a group of people who have excited his admiration and whom he presents as a model for his readers. The aim of the treatise is plainly apologetic.38 Philo in fact wants to win a favourable response for the practitioners of Jewish religion, and so places their activity in a framework 35  The desire for the vision of God is connected with the rank (τάξις) that leads to τέλεια εὐδαιμονία (perfect felicity). 36  I pointed this out in my Leiden inaugural oration (1993c, in Dutch) and attempted to offer an explanation by citing widespread parallels in Greek philosophical and non-philosophical literature. The same phenomenon is noted independently by Dieter Zeller in his excellent article on the life and death of the soul, (1995) 35, n. 47. 37  In my inaugural lecture (see previous note), I gave many examples in Greek and Latin literature, ranging from Plato to Augustine, of this placement of the theme of the telos in a climactic position at the end of a treatise or literary work. 38  Rightly emphasized by Hay (1992) 683.



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that Alexandrian intellectuals would understand. What the terms excellence, goodness, contemplation and felicity actually refer to in terms of the activities of the Therapeutae themselves stands, one must suspect, at some remove from the epistemic ideals of Greek philosophy and also those of Philo himself. The theme of the reward received from God for piety and devotion to the study of his word, too, is biblical, based above all on Deuteronomy, and finds numerous parallels in Jewish inter-testamental writings.39 All this gives the final sentence that we have discussed a characteristically Philonic double face. The Therapeutae are called ‘citizens of heaven and the cosmos,’ and they devote their lives to the study of ‘nature and what it contains.’ At dawn they greet the rising sun and pray for a day full of light (§ 89, cf. 27). But this is meant symbolically. What they actually contemplate  – during the week in their monastic cells (§ 25), on the Sabbath in their general assembly (§ 30–33), and as fixed part of their Pentecostal feast (§ 75–79)  – are the text and doctrines of the Jewish scriptures, together with ancient expository writings which included allegorical interpretation (§ 29).40 Contemplation of this kind is a concrete expression of their piety and reinforces the goodness which gains them the friendship of God as reward and prize.

4.  Concluding Remark It is a long way from the low-lying hill above Lake Mareotis to the steep escarpment above a bay on the western side of a continent wholly unknown to our ancient author. It is also perhaps excessively venturesome to apply the final words of his treatise to the friend whom we honour with this collection of essays. Yet I find it hard to resist, for if ever there was anyone who has truly lived the bios theôrêtikos it has to be David Winston. He has done that in a manner befitting our time – through academic teaching, through extensive publications, even by flying across continents to join in conferences and seminars –, yet also in a manner that recalls a more restful, less hectic age. I decline to ascend the heights of Philo’s climactic scheme. What I prefer to say is this: through David’s ἀρετή and καλοκἀγαθία it is we, his friends and disciples, who have been blessed. 39  See the contributions of Peder Borgen (1997b) and Alan Mendelson (1997) elsewhere in this volume. It is worth pointing out that in the Exposition of the Law a treatise On virtues is followed by a final treatise On rewards and punishments, i. e. the macro-structure of that great work shows exactly the same train of thought as we have found in Contempl. 90. [On the theme of reward in the Exposition of the Law see now Birnbaum (2020).] At Praem. 11 Philo draws an analogy between the athlete who competes for prizes in the arena (i. e. bodily excellence) and the devotees of ἀρετή who philosophize and practise the contemplative and practical life in the hope of attaining felicity. 40  Cf. Nikiprowetzky (1977) 102–103. Hay (1992) 683 writes sententiously: ‘He [Philo] writes in praise of their way of life. He does not encourage investigation of their ideas.’ But certainly no effort is made to conceal the concrete basis of their contemplative activity.

21.  The Text of the Platonic Citations in Philo of Alexandria* 1. Introduction Some years ago John Whittaker wrote an article which should be compulsory reading for all scholars and students working in the area of later ancient texts.1 In it he argues against the conventional view that indirectly transmitted texts (i. e. texts cited by a later ancient author) differ from their directly transmitted counterparts (i. e. texts preserved in a manuscript tradition) so often because the author recording them was quoting from memory or taking it over from an anterior inaccurate source. Against this view he advocated the thesis that ancient authors were not constrained by the practice of accurate quotation that has become mandatory in modern times, but rather practise the ‘art of misquotation,’ i. e. when citing a text they not seldom deliberately introduce alterations for various reasons consonant with their own concerns. Consequently the indirect tradition, while undoubtedly remaining interesting and valuable in its own right, is of restricted usefulness in the establishment of the original text.2 [262] In the present contribution, I  shall apply this insight to and test it for the collection of citations of the writings of Plato found in the extensive œuvre of the Jewish exegete and philosopher Philo of Alexandria (c. 15 BCE–50 CE). How does Philo quote the Platonic material he appropriates? How closely does he adhere to the received Platonic text? What have editors (both of Plato and of Philo himself ) done with this material? Before I begin on my task I need to say a little more about this collection and the method that I will be using. One of the corollaries of Whittaker’s thesis is that it is in principle not possible to make a rigorous distinction between verbatim quotations which adhere *  This essay was originally written as a contribution to a Festschrift for the British-Canadian scholar John Whittaker on his retirement from Memorial University, St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada. 1  Whittaker (1989), largely based on research done for his magnificent edition of Alcinous, Whittaker–Louis (1990), where see esp. xvii–xxx. 2  See the conclusion in Whittaker (1989) 94. More research needs to be done on the method of quotation and citation practised in antiquity. I have also been aided by a forthcoming article by Ian Kidd (St. Andrews) on Plutarch’s method of quoting other texts and making use of them in his argumentation (Plutarch is perhaps the best author to compare with Philo in this regard). [Subsequently published as Kidd (1998).]



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conscientiously to the original text and looser paraphrases of and references which take considerable liberties with the text in question. Of course there are great differences in fidelity and accuracy, but we have to do with a sliding scale. Even an author such as Eusebius who claims to quote πρὸς λέξιν is not averse to introducing slight alterations into his text.3 The criterion that I have employed for determining the extent of my collection is that the author should himself indicate that he is citing another work. In the case of Philo’s Platonic quotations this yields 32 separate texts.4 Of these we shall disregard nine, because they only survive in an Armenian translation, thereby preventing us from making an exact analysis of how they relate to the Platonic text.5 In the remaining 23 texts Plato is either referred to by name or cited by means of an anonymous phrase.6 [263] In the main body of the article the 23 Philonic texts are quoted in the original Greek as found in the editio maior of Cohn, Wendland and Reiter (1896–1915).7 This, note well, is not necessarily the text that I would prefer to print. It is to be taken as a starting-point only. In the quoted text the phrase indicating  – explicitly or implicitly  – Platonic authorship is underlined. In smaller print relevant textual variants in the MSS and printed editions will be noted (the sigla are those of the editio maior). Thereafter I shall first indicate the Platonic text which is being cited and in some cases record the differences compared with the established critical text of Plato (i. e. the OCT text).8 After this some brief comments will be added on Philo’s use and adaptation of Plato’s text and especially on the differences between his rendering and what we find in the original. For reasons of space other aspects of the Philonic text can only be given very limited treatment.9 For the same reason references to other authors who cite the same 3  An example at Mansfeld–Runia (1997) 134–136, where it is shown that changes are introduced in the text of ps.Plutarch to accommodate his own theological views. [Further comments in Mansfeld–Runia (2020) 1.62–64. On Eusebius’s quotations from Philo see now Inowlocki (2006), esp. 190–206.] 4  List based on Leisegang (1926–30) 19–20, Theiler (1964) 391, Runia (1986) 367. 5  These are: Prov. 1.20 (Tim. 38b6–7), 1.21 (Tim. 28b4–c2), 1.21 (Tim. 29b1–2), Terian’s fragment (Tim. 35b4–5), Prov. 2.43 (Phdr. 245a), QG 1.6 (Tim. 29e), QG 3.3 (Phdr. 246e), QG 4.159 (Phd. 60b, but see below on Ebr. 8) QE 2.118 (Tim. 75c–d). On Terian’s fragment, perhaps a section of Philo’s lost Περὶ ἀριθμῶν, see Terian (1984b), Runia (1986) 203. 6  I leave out the more general references to the Symposium at Contempl. 57–63. 7  The sequence in which they are presented also follows this edition. [This means that the placement of Opif. is misleading; see the beginning of article 16 = Runia (2020) above.] Reference will also be made to the other major editions of Philo, the editio princeps Turnebus (1552) and Mangey (1742). Textus vulgatus (or vulg.) refers to the editions based on Turnebus published in the 17th and early 18th centuries; on these cf. Goodenough–Goodhart (1938) 188–190. 8  For vol. 1 Duke–Hicken–Nicoll–Robinson-Strachan (1995), for the rest Burnet (1899– 1908). 9  Various relevant comments have been by translators and commentators of Philo, esp. in the Loeb Classical Library edition of Colson, Whitaker and Marcus (abbreviated PLCL). In the case of Philo’s use of the Timaeus detailed analysis has already been given in Runia (1986).

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Platonic texts will have to be severely restricted. In accordance with Whittaker’s methodology I shall refrain from using any quotation marks in the quoted texts (here I depart from the editio maior). These are of course a modern addition. Not only are they usually misleading, but also unnecessary, because an ancient author makes clear by the wording of his text where a citation begins and ends.10 But since it is necessary to indicate the dependence on the Platonic text in some way or another, I shall print the text of the citations in italics.11 [264] A brief word needs to be said about the changes we should be looking for. Here Whittaker’s article can give us guidance. Four general categories can be discerned:12 (a) inversion (and dislocation): when words in the original text are reversed or moved around. (b) addition: when extra words are added to the original. (c) subtraction: when words are removed from the original. (d) substitution: when words in the original are replaced by synonyms or other related terms; In describing the changes we are looking for in these terms, I have avoided any kind of value-judgment. Of course there are many reasons why an author might wish to alter a text. He may want to make it clearer or more in line with contemporary terminology. He may want to show off a bit by introducing variations that the reader has to pick up. A  special category is formed by those changes which have a deliberate or even tendentious character, i. e. the quoter alters the text so that it says what he wants it to mean. Whittaker calls these ‘tamperings,’ and the same term is used by Dillon in an article on ideological emendation of the Timaeus.13 I shall make some more comments on this practice at the end of my article. Finally we should note one more important phenomenon that we will be studying in this article. Frequently, when Philo cites a Platonic text more or less 10  A

special case is formed by lemmata of the text commented on in a commentary (e. g. below no. 10). Here I have used ‘guillemets.’ But even here the situation is far from simple; cf. for example the analysis of the biblical quotations in Gig.–Deus by Gooding–Nikiprowetzky (1983). 11  Note that the words printed in italics in all cases go back to the Platonic text, but are not necessarily found there in exactly the same form. For example in text no. 1 εἶναι is derived from ἦν at 29e1. In this I also follow Whittaker’s practice [except that he used Sperrdruck rather than italics, which is no longer possible in the present context]. It is not possible to be very exact. 12  See esp. Whittaker (1989) 71. 13  Whittaker (1989) 80, Dillon (1989); for a similar study in the area of New Testament text criticism see Ehrman (1993). For the practice in Patristic texts see a brief discussion in Riedweg (1994) 78–80, who cites an interesting quote from Hierocles of Alexandria (found in Photius cod. 251, 7.191 Henry = Ammonius Saccas test. 15 Schwyzer), in which he accuses early Platonists and Aristotelians of τὰ συγγράμματα τῶν οἰκείων νοθεῦσαι διδασκάλων εἰς τὸ μᾶλλον ἐπιδεῖξαι τοὺς ἄνδρας ἀλλήλοις μαχομένους.

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verbatim, editors are tempted to correct the text of the manuscripts on the basis of the received Platonic text. I  have labelled this special kind of emendation ‘retro-correction.’ Whenever it occurs it will demand our special attention. [265]

2.  The collection of 23 Philonic texts (1)  De opificio mundi 21 εἰ γάρ τις ἐθελήσειε τὴν αἰτίαν ἧς ἕνεκα τόδε τὸ πᾶν ἐδημιουργεῖτο διερευνᾶσθαι, δοκεῖ μοι μὴ διαμαρτεῖν σκοποῦ φάμενος, ὅπερ καὶ τῶν ἀρχαίων εἶπέ τις, ἀγαθὸν εἶναι τὸν πατέρα καὶ ποιητήν: Cf. Tim. 28c3 τὸν … ποιητήν καὶ πατέρα, 29e1 ἀγαθὸς ἦν. Philo conflates two of the best-known phrases in all of Plato, expecting his reader to identify the anonymous attribution. The Platonic order of the two epithets used for the demiurge is reversed, as happens in 20 of 41 occasions when Philo cites the phrase; see further Runia (1986) 108.

(2)  De opificio mundi 119 πάλιν δ’ αὖ τὸ ἡγεμονικώτατον ἐν ζῴῳ κεφαλὴ τοῖς ἀναγκαιοτάτοις ἑπτὰ χρῆται, δυσὶν ὀφθαλμοῖς, ἀκοαῖς ἴσαις, αὐλοῖς μυκτῆρος δυσίν, ἑβδόμῳ στόματι, δι’ οὗ γίνεται θνητῶν μέν, ὡς ἔφη Πλάτων, εἴσοδος, ἔξοδος δ’ ἀφθάρτων· ἐπεισέρχεται μὲν γὰρ αὐτῷ σιτία καὶ ποτά, φθαρτοῦ σώματος φθαρταὶ τροφαί, λόγοι δ’ ἐξίασιν ἀθανάτου ψυχῆς ἀθάνατοι. Cf. Tim. 75e1–5 τὴν μὲν εἴσοδον τῶν ἀναγκαίων μηχανώμενοι χάριν, τὴν δ’ ἔξοδον τῶν ἀρίστων· ἀναγκαῖον μὲν γὰρ πᾶν ὅσον εἰσέρχεται τροφὴν διδὸν τῷ σώματι, τὸ δὲ λόγων νᾶμα ἔξω ῥέον καὶ ὑπηρετοῦν φρονήσει κάλλιστον καὶ ἄριστον πάντων ναμάτων. A loose paraphrase of what had become a bon mot (also used in QE 2.118).14 The key terms εἴσοδος and ἔξοδος are retained. Plato’s contrast between ἀναγκαῖα and ἄριστα is altered to the more explicit antithesis θνητά/ἄφθαρτα. Philo’s ἐπεισέρχεται clearly picks up the Platonic εἰσέρχεται. On substitution of various compound forms of verbs in later citations see Whittaker (1989) 83–84.

(3)  De opificio mundi 133 οὐ γὰρ γῆ γυναῖκα, ὡς εἶπε Πλάτων, ἀλλὰ γυνὴ γῆν μεμίμηται1 … 1 μεμίμηται:

μιμεῖται M

Cf. Plato Menex. 238a4–5 οὐ γὰρ γῆ γυναῖκα μεμίμηται κυήσει καὶ γεννήσει, ἀλλὰ γυνὴ γῆν. [266] Though no more than a literary allusion, the citation is rather accurate. Philo leaves out the phrase κυήσει καὶ γεννήσει as not so relevant for his example of Demeter (though note 14 

The Platonic quote is not found in the arithmological texts parallel to Philo; cf. Staehle (1931) 48. [See further on this text Runia (2001a) 289–290.]

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γεννησομένῳ a few lines earlier and γενέσεως a few lines later). The verb μεμίμηται is relocated to the end to balance the attributory clause inserted in the middle, but otherwise Philo retains the original word order. The forms of the words, too, are identical to the Platonic text.

(4)  De plantatione Noe 17 ἐξαιρέτου δὲ τῆς κατασκευῆς ἔλαχεν ἄνθρωπος· τῶν μὲν γὰρ ἄλλων τὰς ὄψεις περιήγαγε κάτω κάμψας, διὸ νένευκε πρὸς χέρσον, ἀνθρώπου δὲ ἔμπαλιν ἀνώρθωσεν, ἵνα τὸν οὐρανὸν καταθεᾶται, φυτὸν οὐκ ἐπίγειον ἀλλ’ οὐράνιον, ὡς ὁ παλαιὸς λόγος, ὑπάρχων. Cf. Tim. 90a5–6 ἀπὸ γῆς ἡμᾶς αἴρειν ὡς ὄντας φυτὸν οὐκ ἔγγειον ἀλλὰ οὐράνιον, ὀρθότατα λέγοντες. Another famous phrase from one of the best-known sections of Plato’s dialogue on the cosmos and human beings. In spite of the rather vague attribution, the phrase is fairly accurately reproduced. Philo substitutes ἐπίγειος for Plato’s ἔγγειος. This we may take as a modernization or adaptation to Philo’s own vocabulary. He uses the latter term only once (Her. 208), whereas the former is rather common. This leads him to ignore Plato’s distinction at Rep. 546a4 between φύτα ἔγγεια and ζῷα ἐπίγεια. Philo’s text gives the elision ἀλλ᾿ whereas Plato retains an hiatus. In the later dialogues Plato is notoriously strict in this regard (cf. Cherniss [1957] 344 ff.), but this time the less strict Philo overtakes him. Moreover the MSS of both writers are not a very reliable guide to such textual finesses.15

(5)  De plantatione Noe 131 τοῦτο ἀεὶ καὶ πανταχοῦ μελετῶμεν διὰ φωνῆς καὶ διὰ γραμμάτων ἀστείων καὶ μηδέποτε ἐπιλείπωμεν μήτε λόγους ἐγκωμιαστικοὺς μήτε ποιήματα συντιθέντες, ἵνα καὶ ἐμμελῶς καὶ χωρὶς μέλους καὶ καθ᾿ ἑκατέραν φωνῆς ἰδέαν, ᾗ τὸ λέγειν καὶ τὸ ᾄδειν ἀποκεκλήρωται, ὅ τε κοσμοποιὸς καὶ ὁ κόσμος γεραίρηται, ὁ μέν, ὡς ἔφη τις, ἄριστος τῶν αἰτίων1, ὁ δὲ τελειότατος τῶν γεγονότων. 1 αἰτίων:

αἰτιῶν M

Cf. Tim. 29a5–6 ὁ μὲν γὰρ κάλλιστος τῶν γεγονότων, ὁ δ᾿ ἄριστος τῶν αἰτίων. [267] Once again Philo adheres fairly close to the well-known Platonic phrase. Two changes are made. Firstly the two phrases are reversed. Philo retains the sequence creator–cosmos which he had used in the phrase used to introduce the quote. Previously (Runia [1986] 155), I suggested the reason for the change was that it was more reverent to mention the creator before his product. If, however, he had retained the Platonic order, the naming of the best of causes would have made a fitting climax. Secondly τελειότατος replaces Plato’s κάλλιστος. In my previous discussion (cited above) I followed Pouilloux (1963) 83, who argued that Philo relies on his memory, and mistakenly imports the superlative from elsewhere in the Timaeus (68e3, 92c8). Following Whittaker’s lead, however, we might now prefer to see here a case of deliberate variatio. In Abr. 74 Philo describes the cosmos as τὸ κάλλιστον καὶ μέγιστον καὶ τελεώτατον ἔργον, using three of the four superlatives in 92c7–8. It is difficult, however, to give a specific reason for Philo’s change.

15 

As the editor of the volume Mark Joyal reminded me in a comment on a draft version of my contribution.

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(6)  De plantatione Noe 171 ὁ γὰρ ἄκρατος τὰ τῇ φύσει προσόντα ἐπιτείνειν καὶ σφορδρύνειν ἔοικεν εἴτε καὶ τὰ ἐναντία, καθάπερ καὶ πολλὰ τῶν ἄλλων· ἐπεὶ καὶ χρήματα αἴτια1 μὲν ἀγαθῶν ⟨ἀγαθῷ⟩2, κακῷ3 δέ, ὡς ἔφη τις, κακῶν4· καὶ πάλιν δόξα τοῦ μὲν ἄφρονος τὴν κακίαν ἐπιφανεστέραν, τοῦ δὲ δικαίου τὴν ἀρετὴν εὐκλεεστέραν ἐπιφαίνει. 1 αἴσια

MGFH: αἴτια U vulg. 2 ἀγαθῶν ⟨ἀγαθῷ⟩ coni. C-W: ἀγαθῶν MGFH, ἀγαθόν U, ἀγαθῷ ἀγαθῶν Turnebus Mangey 3 κακῷ coni. Turnebus C-W, κακά codd. 4 κακῶν GFH κακόν U, om. M.

Cf. [Plato] Eryxias 397e3–8 ἠρώτα γὰρ αὐτὸν τὸ μειράκιον πῶς οἴεται κακὸν εἶναι τὸ πλουτεῖν, καὶ ὅπως ἀγαθόν. ὁ δ’ ὑπολαβών … ἔφη, τοῖς μὲν καλοῖς κἀγαθοῖς τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἀγαθόν, καὶ τοῖς ἐπισταμένοις ὅπου δεῖ χρῆσθαι τοῖς χρήμασι, τούτοις μὲν ἀγαθόν, τοῖς δὲ μοχθηροῖς καὶ ἀνεπιστήμοσιν κακόν. ἔχει δ᾿, ἔφη, καὶ τἆλλα πράγματα οὕτω πάντα … This time we have, it would seem, a very loose allusion. The noun χρήματα replaces the verbal phrase τὸ πλουτεῖν. Philo appears to turn the remark into a much more pointed expression. I  say ‘appears to’ because there is much confusion in the MSS. Certainly the combined conjectures of Turnebus and Wendland produce a smooth and pointed text. The contrast is then, however, between two datives and two genitives, whereas in (ps.)Plato’s text it is between two datives and two accusatives. These accusatives are retained in MS U. One might consider reading ἐπεὶ καὶ χρήματα αἴσια μὲν ἀγαθόν, κακὰ δέ, ὡς ἔφη τις, κακόν. But many objections can be raised. Such a reading [268] is also not found in any MS The phrase χρήματα αἴσια (auspicious money) is forced: Philo usually uses αἴσιος in mantic or religious contexts, e. g. of a dream or prayer or result of an action. The contrast is between two types of people, so a dative is needed. In the emended text retro-correction plays a rather limited role. The distance from the Platonic model is in fact still quite large. It seems to me, however, that the MSS readings allow little alternative. Perhaps one might quibble about whether the conjecture ⟨ἀγαθῷ⟩ is absolutely necessary, but it certainly helps the contrast.

(7) De ebrietate 8 ὥσπερ γὰρ ἡδονὴν καὶ ἀλγηδόνα φύσει μαχομένας, ὡς ὁ παλαιὸς λόγος, εἰς μίαν κορυφὴν συνάψας ὁ θεὸς ἑκατέρας αἴσθησιν οὐκ ἐν ταὐτῷ, διαλλάττουσι δὲ χρόνοις ἐνειργάσατο κατὰ τὴν φυγὴν τῆς ἑτέρας κάθοδον τῇ ἐναντίᾳ ψηφισάμενος, οὕτως ἀπὸ μιᾶς ῥίζης τοῦ ἡγεμονικοῦ τά τε ἀρετῆς καὶ κακίας διττὰ ἀνέδραμεν ἔρνη μήτε βλαστάνοντα μήτε καρποφοροῦντα ἐν ταὐτῷ· Cf. Phd. 60b8–c1 ὥσπερ ἑκ μιᾶς κορυφῆς ἡμμένω δύ᾿ ὄντε, c2–4 ὡς ὁ θεὸς βουλόμενος αὐτὰ διαλλάξαι πολεμοῦντα, ἐπειδὴ οὐκ ἐδύνατο, συνῆψεν εἰς ταὐτὸν αὐτοῖς τὰς κορυφάς κτλ. Philo here illustrates the thesis that excellence and badness cannot coexist with an allusion to Socrates’ famous remark about the alternation of pain and pleasure felt by his chained and unchained leg (Philo’s ἡδονή and ἀληγδών replace Plato’s τὸ ἡδύ and τὸ λυπηρόν, but note also τὸ ἀλγεινόν, τὸ ἡδύ at c6–7). The phrase ὁ παλαιὸς λόγος is rather vague (it is also used by Philo elsewhere, e. g. in no. 4), and could refer either to Socrates as the teller of the tale or to Plato as the source. Philo rather neatly conflates Plato’s two phrases, the single head of 60b8 not illogically replacing the two heads in c4. The words συνῆψας ὁ θεός clearly pick up ὁ θεὸς … συνῆψεν in the Platonic text (not noted by Colson LCL in his note ad loc.). Philo’s μαχομένας replaces with a synonym Plato’s πολεμοῦντα, while φύσει perhaps is inspired by πέφυκε at Phd. 60a6. Plato’s contrast between the god’s will and his

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power is predictably deleted by Philo, who prefers to stress God’s omnipotence (e. g. at Spec. 4.187).   A parallel passage is found in QG 4.159, where the idea of pleasure and pain stemming from a single root (cf. ἀπὸ μιᾶς ῥίζης in Ebr. 8) is attributed to ‘the poet’ (ut poeta ait in Aucher’s translation, secundum poeticum carmen in the Old Latin version). The two [269] translations have obscured Philo’s original text, and it is difficult to say whether a reference to Plato is meant.16

(8)  De ebrietate 61 λέγεται δὲ καὶ ἀμήτωρ γενέσθαι τὴν ἐκ πατρός, οὐ πρὸς μητρός, αὐτὸ μόνον κληρωσ­ αμένη συγγένειαν, θήλεος γενεᾶς ἀμέτοχος. εἶπε γάρ πού τις· «καὶ γὰρ ἀληθῶς ἀδελφή μού ἐστιν ἐκ πατρός, ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἐκ μητρός» (Gen 20:12)· οὐ γὰρ ἐξ ὕλης τῆς αἰσθητῆς συνισταμένης ἀεὶ καὶ λυομένης, ἣν μητέρα καὶ τροφὸν καὶ τιθήνην τῶν ποιητῶν ἔφασαν, οἷς πρώτοις σοφίας ἀνεβλάστησεν ἔρνος, ἀλλ’ ἐκ τοῦ πάντων αἰτίου καὶ πατρός. Cf. Tim. 49a6 τιθήνην, 50d3 μητρί, 51a4 μητέρα, 52d2 τιθήνην, 88d6 τροφὸν καὶ τιθήνην. The allegorical interpretation of Sarah as essentially masculine assumes the Middle Platonist doctrine of two principles (cf. Baltes [1996a] 439–443) and dissociates her with senseperceptible matter which is considered feminine. The description of the source here is very vague. We have to do here not so much with a reference to the text of the Timaeus but to a list of attributes of ὕλη distilled from that text. Compare the list in the Middle Platonist handbook of Alcinous, Didaskalikos 8 162.29–31 Whittaker: ταύτην (sc. ὕλην) τοίνυν ἐκμαγεῖόν τε καὶ πανδεχὲς καὶ τιθήνην καὶ μητέρα καὶ χώραν ὀνομάζει. The first and third of Philo’s epithets are indeed commonly listed (cf. also Aëtius 1.9, Tim. Locr. 4, Plut. Mor. 1015D, Calc. 277.17). The second (‘nanny’) is rather exceptional and is derived from a much less well-known passage of the Timaeus. I have not been able to find any similar references in Platonist handbooks and commentaries.17

(9) Quis rerum divinarum heres sit 181 καὶ γὰρ ἡ1 ψυχή, τὸ κήρινον2, ὡς εἶπέ τις τῶν ἀρχαίων, ἐκμαγεῖον, σκληρὰ μὲν οὖσα3 καὶ ἀντίτυπος ἀπωθεῖ καὶ ἀποσείεται τοὺς ἐπιφερομένους χαρακτῆρας καὶ ἀσχημάτιστος ἐξ ἀνάγκης διαμένει, πειθήνιος δ’ ὑπάρχουσα καὶ μετρίως ὑπείκουσα βαθεῖς τοὺς τύπους δέχεται καὶ ἀναμαξαμένη τὰς σφραγῖδας ἄκρως4 διαφυλάττει τὰ ἐνσημανθέντα ἀνεξάλειπτα εἴδη. [270] 1 καὶ

γὰρ ἡ Cohn: ως γαρ η pap, ἡ γὰρ codd. 2 κήρινον pap et coni. Mangey in adnot.: καίριον codd. 3 οὖσαν pap 4 ἄκρως pap Cohn: ἀκριβῶς codd. Turnebus Mangey

Cf. Tht. 191c8–d1 θὲς δή μοι ἕνεκα λόγου ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς ἡμῶν ἐνὸν κήρινον ἐκμαγεῖον, … καὶ τῷ μὲν καθαρωτέρου κηροῦ. Although the Coptos papyrus discovered in 1889, which contains the text of the entire treatise, is not in all cases reliable,17a it certainly preserves the correct reading κήρινον in the case of the Platonic citation here, demonstrating how an erudite allusion may disappear in 16  Marcus PLCLsup ad loc. refers to a Sophoclean fragment and Petit (1973) 2.14 to an earlier source behind Sophocles and Plato, but both suggestions are speculative. 17  On Philo’s relatively infrequent references to Plato’s receptacle see further Runia (1986) 283–7. 17a  [Prof. James R. Royse (Claremont) is now preparing a new edition of this papyrus. For a preliminary study see Royse (2016).]

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the manuscript tradition because it is not understood. The reference to Plato as the source of the famous image of the soul as wax-tablet is straightforward enough. Indeed Philo perhaps keeps it anonymous in order to avoid the obvious, since every educated reader would be expected to be able to identify the allusion (cf. the handbook reference at Alcinous Did. 4 155.12). A difference between the two texts is that Philo simply identifies the soul with the wax-tablet, whereas Plato posits an ἐκμαγεῖον in the soul, i. e. memory as a faculty. Philo’s descriptions of the resistant and retentive souls bear faint traces of the Platonic passage (σκληρὰ cf. c10 σκληροτέρου, μετρίως ὑπείκουσα cf. d1 μετρίως ἔχοντος), but his terminology here in fact reminds us more of the language used to describe the way matter receives the ideas in the formation of the cosmos (e. g. ὕλη as ἀσχημάτιστος at Somn. 2.45, cf. Alcinous Did. 8 163.3).18

(10)  Quis rerum divinarum heres sit 307 λέγει δὲ ἑξῆς· «ἐπεὶ δὲ ἐγίνετο ὁ ἥλιος πρὸς δυσμαῖς, φλὸξ ἐγένετο» (Gen 15·17), δηλῶν ὅτι ἀρετὴ πρᾶγμά ἐστιν ὀψίγονον καὶ μήν, ὡς ἔφασάν τινες, πρὸς αὐταῖς1 τοῦ βίου δυσμαῖς βεβαιούμενον. 1 αὐταῖς:

pap αυτοις

Cf. Laws 770c6 ἐν δυσμαῖς τοῦ βίου. Although the phrase ὡς ἔφασάν τινες might be thought to indicate a citation, the allusion that Theiler (see above note 4) sees to the passage in the Laws is doubtful. The context there is about lawgiving, not virtue. In her commentary ad loc. Harl argues that the expression is proverbial and gives the excellent parallel at Sextus Empiricus Adv. Phys. 1.90 καὶ γὰρ εἴ ποτε περιγένοιτο ἀρετῆς, ὀψὲ καὶ πρὸς ταῖς τοῦ βίου δυσμαῖς περιγίνεται. Harl’s view is strengthened by the fact that Philo himself uses the same expression at [271] Somn. 2.147, to which four lines later (§ 148) he adds the Homeric phrase ἐπὶ γήραος οὐδῷ.

(11)  De fuga et inventione 63 τοῦτό τις καὶ τῶν ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ θαυμασθέντων ἀνὴρ δόκιμος ἐφώνησε μεγαλειότερον ἐν Θεαιτήτῳ φάσκων· ἀλλ’ οὔτ’ ἀπολέσθαι τὰ κακὰ δυνατόν – ὑπεναντίον γάρ τι τῷ ἀγαθῷ1 αἰεὶ εἶναι ἀνάγκη – οὔτε ἐν θείοις αὐτὰ2 ἱδρῦσθαι, τὴν δὲ θνητὴν φύσιν καὶ τόνδε τὸν τόπον περιπολεῖν· διὸ καὶ πειρᾶσθαι χρὴ ἐνθένθε ἐκεῖσε φεύγειν ὅτι τάχιστα. φυγὴ δὲ ὁμοίωσις θεῷ κατὰ τὸ3 δυνατόν· ὁμοίωσις δὲ δίκαιον καὶ ὅσιον μετὰ φρονήσεως γενέσθαι4. 1 τι

τῷ ἀγαθῷ conj. Wendland e Platone: τῷ θεῷ codd. Turnebus Mangey ταῦτα Η 3 τὸ om. H 4 ὁμοίωσις – γενέσθαι om. H, rest. Mangey

2 αὐτὰ

G:

The cited text is Tht. 176a5–b1 with the following differences:19 Plato Philo a5 ὦ Θεόδωρε deleted a6 τι τῷ ἀγαθῷ τῷ θεῷ a7 ἐν θεοῖς ἐν θείοις a8 περιπολεῖ ἐξ ἀνάγκης περιπολεῖν 18  For an extensive list of such terminology in Philo and Middle Platonism see Runia (1986) 160 f.; see also De Vogel (1985) 13–7. 19  Philo’s citation is regrettably not taken up in the Index testimoniorum of the new OCT (see above n. 8).

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Plato is effusively cited as evidence that evil haunts mortal life, far from the divine choir (§ 62 πορρωτάτω θείου χοροῦ διῳκισμένον, an allusion to Phdr. 247a7, but not signposted). Plato’s name is not given, but the name of the dialogue is mentioned, surely an indication that the anonymity is a stylistic device in order to avoid the obvious and invite the participation of the reader (cf. above no. 9). Philo devotes a separate sentence to the introduction of the quote, but does not use a technical term such as κατὰ λέξιν or ταῖς λέξεσιν to indicate that it is given verbatim.   As our table shows, the citation adheres rather closely to the Platonic text, but there are some very intriguing differences. The first is easily explicable: the vocative is irrelevant for Philo’s context (we note, however, that Eusebius, who cites 173c3–177b7 in its entirety, does retain it). In the case of the third Wendland has retained the MSS reading. Colson PLCL ad loc. alters his text to the Platonic reading and translates accordingly. In a note, however, he adds: ‘Philo may have deliberately wished to avoid the thought of “gods”.’ [272] This seems to me very plausible; in my view he should have followed the critical text. The second difference is much more difficult. It is possible that a scribe ‘simplified’ and ‘theologized’ Philo’s text. But this seems to me not more likely than that Philo himself ‘tampered’ with it. Philo himself avoids a two principle doctrine, but does suggest in passages such as Opif. 8–9 and 22–23 that there is a passive object separate from and opposed to God which is the source of imperfection and evil.20 If evils were not opposite to God the source of all goodness, then they would no longer be evil and so would disappear. In this case there would no longer be a distinction between God and his creation. Obviously this does not make better sense than the Platonic original, but it is also not total nonsense. Following Whittaker’s methodology we should be very hesitant, I believe, to ‘retro-correct’ Philo from Plato. The fourth difference is also tricky. Here Wendland takes a conservative line and follows the Philonic MSS But the infinitive is not easy to construe (all the translators in fact render Plato’s indicative). Perhaps Wendland takes it as an infinitive construction with φάσκων (cf. the way Clement builds the same quote into his sentence at Str. 2.133.3). But this is surely forced, since ἀλλά at the beginning of the citation much more naturally introduces direct speech. The omission of ἐξ ἀνάγκης is perhaps occasioned by the fact that ἀνάγκη already occurs in the previous line.

(12) De fuga et inventione 82 παγκάλως τις τῶν πάλαι σοφῶν εἰς ταὐτὸ τοῦτο συνδραμὼν ἐθάρρησεν εἰπεῖν, ὅτι θεὸς οὐδαμῇ οὐδαμῶς ἄδικος, ἀλλ’ ὡς οἷόν τε δικαιότατος, καὶ1 οὐκ ἔστιν αὐτῷ ὁμοιότερον οὐδὲν ἢ ὃς ἂν ἡμῶν2 αὖ3 γένηται ὅτι δικαιότατος4. περὶ5 τοῦτον καὶ ἡ ὡς ἀληθῶς δεινότης ἀνδρὸς καὶ οὐδενία6 τε καὶ ἀνανδρία. ἡ μὲν γὰρ τούτου γνῶσις σοφία καὶ ἀρετὴ ἀληθινή, ἡ δὲ ἄγνοια7 ἀμαθία τε καὶ κακία ἐναργής. αἱ δὲ ἄλλαι δεινότητες δοκοῦσαι καὶ σοφίαι ἐν μὲν πολιτικαῖς δυναστείαις γιγνόμεναι φορτικαί8, ἐν δὲ τέχναις βάναυσοι. 1 καὶ

om. H 2 ἡμῶν om. Turnebus 3 αὖ Wendland e Platone: εὖ MSS, οὐ conj. Turnebus, legit Mangey in textu οὐ, prop. in adn. αὖ 4 ὅτι δικαιότατος om. H Turnebus Mangey 5 περὶ: παρὰ conj. Mangey in adn. 6 οὐδενία τε Wendland e Platone: οὐδὲν ἰᾶται G (lectio H obscura, corrector οὐδένειά τε) 7 ἄγνοια G: ἄνοια H Mangey [273] 8 φροντισταί H

The cited text is Tht. 176b8–c7 with the following differences (the deviations of the inferior MS H can be ignored):21

20 See further Runia (1986) 104, 144, 452–456. [Further discussion in Runia (2003c) 136–138 = article 17 above.] 21  This citation too is left out in the OCT.

21.  The Text of the Platonic Citations in Philo of Alexandria



Plato c2 αὖ περὶ τοῦτο (MSS) περὶ τούτου (Iamb. Eus. Stob.) c6 τε δοκοῦσαι

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Philo εὖ περὶ τοῦτον δοκοῦσαι

A few pages later Philo continues his quotation from the Theaetetus, again praising its author without naming him. The use of the conjunction ὅτι gives the impression of a running text, but there can be no doubt that Philo means to cite verbatim. The rendering is for the most part faithful to the transmitted Platonic text. The differences are this time less interesting.   In the first case the reading of the MSS does seem rather forced. Philo only uses the phrase εὖ γένηται in the form εὖ σοι γένηται when he quotes Exod 20:12 at Det 52 and Spec. 2.261. So the retro-correction from the Platonic text may be conceded (confusion between these two little words is frequent in ancient texts, e. g. at Plato Laws 891d2, where Burnet adopts Eusebius’ εὖ against the αὖ of the MSS). The second difference is more intriguing because, as Colson recognized in his translation, the masculine τοῦτον can only refer back to θεός (this does not apply to both variants in the Platonic text, which more naturally refer to the proces of becoming as just as possible). Colson is dubious about the correctness of the transmitted text, while the German translator follows Plato explicitly (the French commentator Starobinski-Safran equivocates).22 It is very probable, however, that Philo has again theologized his Plato text, so Wendland’s reticence is praiseworthy. (Note, too, that Philo would probably take the τούτου in l. 4 as also referring to God, cf. Spec. 1.345). The third difference is trivial. Finally perhaps a word should be said about the strange reading in MS G, οὐδὲν ἰᾶται instead of οὐδενία τε.23 This does not make very good sense and is surely best taken as a scribal error induced by a wrong word division. I see no [274] strong reason why Philo would have wished to alter the text, even if he elsewhere always uses the term οὐδένεια in a positive sense (i. e. man’s nothingness over against God), and not in the sense of failure, as here.23a The corrector of MS H, though no doubt retro-correcting from Plato, has used the usual Philonic form of the word, οὐδένεια.

(13)  De vita Moysis 2.2 φασὶ γάρ τινες οὐκ ἀπὸ σκοποῦ, μόνως1 ἂν οὕτω τὰς πόλεις ἐπιδοῦναι πρὸς τὸ βέλτιον, ἐὰν ⟨ἢ⟩2 οἱ βασιλεῖς φιλοσοφήσωσιν ἢ οἱ φιλόσοφοι3 βασιλεύσωσιν. 1 μόνως:

Platone

μόνος Catena Barberini, μόνον FH1P Turnebus, μόλις G 2 ⟨ἢ⟩ addidit Cohn e οἱ φιλόσοφοι FGHP Cat. Barb. editores, φιλόσοφοί τε ceteri

3 ἢ

Cf. Plato Rep. 473c11–d6: ἐὰν μή, ἦν δ’ ἐγώ, ἢ οἱ φιλόσοφοι βασιλεύσωσιν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν ἢ οἱ βασιλῆς τε νῦν λεγόμενοι καὶ δυνάσται φιλοσοφήσωσι γνησίως τε καὶ ἱκανῶς, οὐκ ἔστι κακῶν παῦλα … ταῖς πόλεσι. As part of Philo’s apologetic presentation of the Jewish lawgiver, he states that Plato’s utopian wish in the Republic has already been more than fulfilled, for not only was he king and philosopher, but lawgiver, high-priest and prophet as well. The allusion goes no further than the key double phrase on kings and philosophers. Philo’s application is influenced by the context. Because he has just discussed Moses’ glorious role as king, i. e. leader of the Israelites, he is much more positive that Plato, who presents his thesis rather tentatively, 22  The identity of the translator is not given in vol. 6 of PCH. As Schwartz (1989) 70–73 demonstrates, it was probably M. Pohlenz, but his name was suppressed for fear of Nazi reprisals in the benighted situation of Germany in 1938. 23  And also perhaps in MS H (note that the MSS tradition for this treatise is rather weak). 23a  [On this text and the use of οὐδενία/οὐδενεία see now Cover (2020).]

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expecting it to be overwhelmed by a wave of scorn (c7–8). We note the following: (i) Philo states the thesis positively (states will progress if …), Plato negatively (no end to evils unless …); (ii) Philo reverses the two parts, mentioning kings before philosophers (since Moses is already king); (iii) Plato’s qualifying phrase on kings and dynasts, which can easily be taken as deprecatory, is omitted. The most difficult aspect of the text is what to do about the conjunctions ‹ἢ› … ἤ. Cohn’s editorial decisions can be questioned. The first ⟨ἢ⟩ has been imported from the Platonic text. It is not necessary in the Philonic context and can be dispensed with. The second ἤ is more difficult. The better class of MSS24 and the citation in the Catena preserve the Platonic reading. The reading of at least seven other MSS, however, is more consistent with the context, since Moses is both king and philosopher. It is possible that retro-correction has taken place from Plato to Philo, carried out by a [275] learned scribe.25 On the other hand, Philo does record the form of the verbs correctly, so he may have wished to retain the Platonic phrasing. Cohn’s reading is defensible but not certain.

(14)  De specialibus legibus 2.249 πάλιν δ’ ὁ τὴν ἱερὰν ἑβδόμην βέβηλον ἀποφήνας τό γ’ ἐπ’ αὐτὸν ἧκον μέρος ὑπόδικος ἔστω θανάτου. τοὐναντίον γὰρ τοῖς βεβήλοις καὶ πράγμασι καὶ σώμασι καθαρσίων εὐπορητέον εἰς τὴν ἀμείνω μεταβολήν, ἐπειδὴ φθόνος, ὡς ἔφη τις, ἔξω θείου χοροῦ βαίνει. τὸ δὲ τολμᾶν τὰ καθωσιωμένα παρακόπτειν καὶ παραχαράττειν ὑπερβάλλουσαν ἀσέβειαν ἐμφαίνει. Cf. Plato, Phdr. 247a7: φθόνος γὰρ ἔξω θείου χοροῦ ἵσταται. The Platonic phrase from the Phaedrus myth is a favourite of Philo’s. It is also cited at Prob. 13 (see further the references given below, no. 16). Philo has replaced Plato’s ἵσταται with βαίνει. In the context of this treatise the θεῖος χόρος refers to the Jews as members of the ἐκκλησία κυρίου (cf. the exegesis of Deut 23 at 1.319–345). The change of verb perhaps makes the quote more dynamic, befitting the context of expulsion.

(15) Quod omnis probus sit 8 πῶς δὲ οὐ παράλογα καὶ γέμοντα πολλῆς ἀναισχθντίας ἢ μανίας ἢ οὐκ ἔχω τί λέγω … πλουσίους μὲν ὀνομάζειν τοὺς ἀπορωτάτους καὶ τῶν ἀναγκαίων ἐνδεεῖς, λυπρῶς καὶ ἀθλίως ἀποζῶντας, μόλις τὸ ἐφήμερον ἐκπορίζοντας, ἐν εὐθηνίᾳ κοινῇ λιμὸν ἐξαίρετον ἔχοντας, ἀρετῆς αὔρᾳ, καθάπερ ἀέρι1 φασὶ τοὺς τέττιγας, τρεφομένους, πένητας δὲ τοὺς ἀργύρῳ καὶ χρυσῷ καὶ πλήθει κτημάτων καὶ προσόδων καὶ ἄλλων ἀμυθήτων ἀγαθῶν ἀφθονίᾳ περιρρεομένους … 1 ἀέρι:

ἀέρος A, ἀέρι om. QT, sec. Cohn coni. Mangey δρόσῷ, sed non inveni

Cf. Plato, Phdr. 259c2–5. On this literary allusion see further under no. 17 (Contempl. 35).

(16) Quod omnis probus sit 13 ἐπειδὴ δὲ1 κατὰ τὸν ἱερώτατον2 Πλάτωνα φθόνος ἔξω θείου χοροῦ ἵσταται, θειότατον δὲ3 καὶ κοινωνικώτατον4 σοφία, συγκλείει μὲν οὐδέποτε τὸ ἑαυτῆς φροντιστήριον, ἀναπεπταμένη5 δὲ ἀεὶ6 δέχεται7 τοὺς [276] ποτίμων διψῶντας λόγων8, οἷς ἀκράτου διδασκαλίας ἄφθονον ἐπαντλοῦσα νᾶμα μεθύειν τὴν νηφάλιον ἀναπείθει μέθην. 24 

According to PCW 4.xx. Byzantium a strong link was seen between Plato and Philo, epitomized in the wellknown proverb, ἤ Πλάτων φιλωνίζει ἢ Φίλων πλατωνίζει; cf. Runia (1993a) 4, 208, 313. 25  In

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1 δὲ:

γὰρ conj. Cohn 2 ἱερώτατον M Mangey in adn. Cohn: λιγυρώτατον ceteri Turnebus vulg. 3 δὲ M: τε ceteri Turnebus, om. Mangey 4 κοινότατον coni. Turnebus 5 ἀναπεπταμένη H2, ἀναπεπταμένως MQT, ἀναπεπταμένω GAH1P, ἀναπεπταμένοις F 6 ἀεὶ M, om. ceteri Turnebus 7 δέχεται: εἰσδέχεται coni. Mangey 8 ποτίμοις διψῶντας λόγοις F

Cf. Plato, Phdr. 247a7: φθόνος γὰρ ἔξω θείου χοροῦ ἵσταται. Philo here uses the same quote as at Spec. 2.249. The divine choir is now the company of philosophers and wise men, who are prepared to share what they know. The Platonic tag is here quoted with total accuracy, except that the conjunction is deleted. The citation causes Philo to make somewhat of a jump in the train of his thought. First we read that ἐπιστήμη is man’s ἴδιον κτῆμα (§ 12). But σοφία is a most divine thing. Those who share in it form a divine choir, i. e. its possession causes one to transcend the human realm. For allusions to this phrase elsewhere in Philo see further references collected by Colson PLCL 5.584, Petit PAPM 28.146. The epithet given to Plato in the edited text is most striking indeed. As Petit PAPM 28.145 notes, it is elsewhere reserved for Moses (about 20 examples), with the single exception in this same treatise at § 2, where he speaks of the τῶν Πυθαγορείων θίασος. No doubt the special character of the treatise as one of the so-called philosophical treatises is determinative. But it is to be agreed with Colson LCL 9.16 that the majority reading of the MSS λιγυρώτατον, as lectio difficilior, should be given very serious consideration.26

(17)  De vita contemplativa 35 ἔνιοι δὲ καὶ διὰ τριῶν ἡμερῶν ὑπομιμνῄσκονται τροφῆς, οἷς πλείων ὁ πόθος ἐπιστήμης ἐνίδρυται· τινὲς δὲ οὕτως ἐνευφραίνονται καὶ τρυφῶσιν ὑπὸ σοφίας ἑστιώμενοι πλουσίως καὶ ἀφθόνως τὰ δόγματα χορηγούσης, ὡς καὶ πρὸς διπλασίονα χρόνον ἀντέχειν καὶ μόλις δι’ ἓξ ἡμερῶν ἀπογεύεσθαι τροφῆς ἀναγκαίας, ἐθισθέντες ὥσπερ φασὶ τὸ τῶν τεττίγων γένος ἀέρι τρέφεσθαι, τῆς ᾠδῆς, ὥς γε οἶμαι, τὴν ἔνδειαν ἐξευμαριζούσης. [277] Cf. Plato, Phdr. 259c2–5: ἐξ ὧν τὸ τεττίγων γένος μετ’ ἐκεῖνο φύεται, γέρας τοῦτο παρὰ Μουσῶν λαβόν, μηδὲν τροφῆς δεῖσθαι γενόμενον, ἀλλ’ ἄσιτόν τε καὶ ἄποτον εὐθὺς ᾄδειν, ἕως ἂν τελευτήσῃ … Philo twice makes an allusion to this well-known Platonic passage, both times indicating the reference with an impersonal φασὶ. At Prob. 8 (see above no. 15) the allusion is brief and not very to the point: it is meant to illustrate the paradox of the virtuous who are rich, though in fact they have so little that they feed off the air. Plato nowhere mentions air, and the point is that the cicadas need neither food nor drink. The allusion in Contempl. is more relevant. The Therapeutae lead such ascetic lives that during the six days of the week they resemble Plato’s cicadas. Here too they feed off air, but Philo adds that their singing compensates for the lack (of food and drink). The words τὸ τῶν τεττίγων γένος are taken literally from Plato (τῶν is additional). ᾠδή is found at Plato Phdr. 259b8, but with reference to the appearance of the Muses, not the singing of the cicadas.

The remaining six Platonic citations, all referring to Plato’s cosmological dialogue, the Timaeus,26a are found in De aeternitate mundi, the Philonic treatise 26  Compare the critique of Plato’s style given by Dionysius Halicarnassus De Demosth. 5–8, cited at Dörrie–Baltes (1990) 135, who argues that when he uses his ἰσχνὴ φράσις, it is ἡδεῖα and διαυγής. The examples he uses are taken from the Phaedrus. 26a  [On the indirect tradition of the Timaeus, including Philo, see now Jonkers (2016), who gives a very full list of testimonia and citati0ns at 397–520, but does not discuss the Philonic material further.]

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with the most direct references to Plato.27 He is mentioned by name no less than seven times. Even today doubts continue about the treatise’s authenticity.28 To my mind, however, countless indications point to Philonic authorship.29 Our treatment of these fascinating texts will have to be severely restrictive. (18) De aeternitate mundi 13 γενητὸν1 δὲ2 καὶ ἄφθαρτόν φασιν ὑπὸ Πλάτωνος ἐν Τιμαίῳ3 δηλοῦσθαι διὰ τῆς θεοπρεποῦς ἐκκλησίας, ἐν ᾗ λέγεται πρὸς τοὺς νεωτέρους θεοὺς [278] ὑπὸ τοῦ πρεσβυτάτου καὶ ἡγεμόνος· θεοὶ θεῶν4, ⟨ὧν⟩5 ἐγὼ δημιουργὸς πατήρ τε ἔργων, ἄλυτα6 ἐμοῦ γε μὴ θέλοντος7. τὸ μὲν οὖν δὴ δεθὲν8 πᾶν λυτόν, τό γε9 μὴν καλῶς ἁρμοσθὲν καὶ ἔχον εὖ λύειν ἐθέλειν κακοῦ. δι᾿ ἃ10 καὶ ἐπείπερ γεγένησθε, ἀθάνατοι μὲν οὔκ ἐστε οὐδ’ ἄλυτοι τὸ πάμπαν, οὔτι γε μὴν11 λυθήσεσθέ γε, οὐδὲ τεύξεσθε θανάτου μοίρας, τῆς ἐμῆς βουλήσεως μείζονος ἔτι δεσμοῦ καὶ κυριωτέρου λαχόντες ἐκείνων12, οἷς ὅτε ἐγίγνεσθε συνεδεῖσθε13. 1 γενητὸν

ME: γεννητὸν UHP 2 δὲ: τε M 3 ἐν Τιμαίῳ UHP: in margine M, non in textu θεῶν Turnebus e Platone: θεὸς θεῶν MSS 5 ⟨ὧν⟩ add. Turnebus e Platone 6 ⟨ἃ⟩ ἄλυτα coni. Colson 7 ἐμοῦ γε μὴ θέλοντος Cohn: ἐμοῦ μὴ θέλοντος MHP Turnebus Bernays Cumont, ἐμοῦ γε θέλοντος U Mangey 8 δὴ δεθὲν Turnebus e Platone: μὴ δεθὲν MSS 9 τό γε: τότε U 10 δι᾿ ἃ U (et Plato): διὸ MHP 11 οὔτι γε μὴν: οὔτι μὲν δή Plato 12 ἐκείνων MU: ἐκείνω H, ἐκείνου P 13 συνεδεῖσθε Turnebus e Platone, συνέδησθε HP, συνδέδεσθε M Bernays

4 θεοὶ

The cited text is Tim. 41a7–b6, with the following main differences:30 Plato Philo a7 θεοὶ θεῶν, ὧν θεὸς θεῶν (MSS) δι᾿ ἐμοῦ γενόμενα desunt a8 δὴ δεθὲν μὴ δεθὲν (MSS) b3 οὔτι μὲν δή οὔτι γε μὴν Philo reports that the well-known text from the Timaeus is used as a proof-text in order to indicate Plato’s doxa on the createdness and indestructibility of the cosmos (the mixed view already announced in § 7) and then himself proceeds to cite it. The verb λέγεται introduces a direct quotation. There can be no doubt that Philo wishes to reproduce Plato’s text. Nevertheless once again the differences are intriguing.   The opening words of the Platonic text are notoriously difficult to construe. Philo’s version in the MSS is ungrammatical as it stands, and so needs to be emended. It is easiest to take the opening words θεὸς θεῶν in the MSS as a scribal error and adopt the Platonic text. θεοί are then the gods addressed. A parallel case is found in the MSS of Stobaeus at Ecl. 27 The treatise was edited in separate critical editions by Bernays (1876) and Cumont (1891). 28  19th century doubts were dispelled by the excellent prolegomena of Cumont (1891), who esp. argued against the views of Bernays (1883). New doubts have been raised through the use of computer analysis; see Skarsten (1991), reporting on the results of his Norwegian dissertation, (1987). Because Philo makes so much use of source material in this treatise, however, detailed linguistic comparisons may well come up with misleading results. 29  See my detailed analysis in Runia (1981). Esp. the exordium, which adapts two passages from the Timaeus, is redolent with Philonic language. Nearly every phrase can be paralleled with other passsages in his works; see further Runia (1986) 88–90, 123–6. 30  I ignore differences of spelling, crasis etc.

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1.181.7, where both ὧν and ἃ δι᾿ ἐμοῦ γενόμενα are read. Wachsmuth has no hesitation in changing the singular θεός to the plural θεοί. In my dissertation, however, I noted that the [279] expression θεὸς θεῶν is not only Pentateuchal (Deut 5:6, 10:17), but also Philonic (Spec. 1.20) and even Platonic (cf. Crit. 121b7).31 So I speculated whether Philo may not have read θεὸς θεῶν ἐγὼ δημιουργὸς πατήρ τε ἔργων, ⟨ἃ⟩ ἄλυτα … This would certainly be a case of tampering with the Timaeus, to use Dillon’s phrase, evidently for the purpose of bringing Plato closer to monotheism. Two arguments against this suggestion are: (i) the words πρὸς τοὺς νεωτέρους θεοὺς go well with an initial vocative; (ii) the singular is found in none of the many patristic citations of this text.32 Turnebus’ retro-correction from Plato in the editio princeps is the easiest option, but not necessarily in my view the right one. Also worth considering is Colson’s interpretation θεοὶ, θεῶν ἐγὼ δημιουργὸς πατήρ τε ἔργων, ⟨ἃ⟩ ἄλυτα … The difficulty here is that the words δημιουργὸς and πατήρ seem the wrong way around.33   The omission of the words δι᾿ ἐμοῦ γενόμενα found in the Platonic MSS is shared by the entire indirect tradition prior to Philoponus. For a discussion of this puzzling fact, which might indicate that they are a later gloss, the reader is referred to Dillon’s analysis.34   Cohn is precipitate in reading the minority Platonic reading ἐμοῦ γε μὴ θέλοντος back into Philo, going against the practice of all previous editors. In both the Platonic MSS and the indirect tradition there is much uncertainty between ἐμοῦ γε θέλοντος and ἐμοῦ μὴ θέλοντος. Burnet cites Philo for ἐμοῦ γε μὴ θέλοντος, which is odd because this reading was nowhere found in either the MSS or the editions of Philo up to that time. Cohn then cites it from the Platonic MS A to justify his reading.35 It is best to follow Bernays and Cumont, who print the majority reading of the MSS.   The reading τὸ μὲν οὖν μὴ δεθὲν in the MSS must be wrong because of the parallelism with τό γε μὴν καλῶς ἁρμοσθὲν, which Philo cannot have missed. Turnebus’ retro-correction is fully justified. [280]   The reading οὔτι γε μὴν instead of Plato’s οὔτι μὲν δή is doubly awkward, because of the repetition of the particle combination from two lines earlier and the double γε. Perhaps it is a case of scribal dittography.

(19)  De aeternitate mundi 25–26 μαρτύρια δὲ καὶ τὰ ἐν Τιμαίῳ περὶ τοῦ τὸν κόσμον ἄνοσον εἶναι καὶ μὴ φθαρησόμενον τάδε1· τῶν δὲ δὴ τεττάρων ἓν ὅλον ἕκαστον2 εἴληφεν3 ἡ τοῦ κόσμου σύστασις· ἐκ γὰρ πυρὸς παντὸς ὕδατός τε καὶ ἀέρος καὶ γῆς συνέστησεν αὐτὸν ὁ συνιστάς, μέρος οὐδὲν οὐδενὸς οὐδὲ δύναμιν ἔξωθεν ὑπολιπών, τάδε διανοηθείς· πρῶτον μέν, ἵνα ὅλον ὅτι μάλιστα ζῷον, τέλειον ἐκ τελείων μερῶν, εἴη· πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ἕν, ἅτε οὐχ ὑπολελειμμένων4 ἐξ ὧν ἄλλο τοιοῦτον5 γένοιτ’ ἄν· ἔτι δέ, ἵνα ἀγήρων6 καὶ ἄνοσον ᾖ, κατανοῶν ὡς συστάτῳ7 σώματι θερμὰ καὶ ψυχρὰ καὶ πάνθ’ ὅσα δυνάμεις ἰσχυρὰς ἔχει8 περιιστάμενα ἔξωθεν καὶ προσπίπτοντα ἀκαίρως λυπεῖ9 καὶ νόσους καὶ γῆρας ἐπάγοντα φθίνειν ποιεῖ. διὰ τὴν αἰτίαν10 καὶ τὸν λογισμὸν τόνδε θεὸς ὅλον ἐξ ὅλων ἁπάντων11 τέλειον καὶ ἀγήρων12 καὶ ἄνοσον αὐτὸν ἐτεκτήνατο. τοῦτο μὲν δὴ παρὰ Πλάτωνος 31 

Runia (1986) 234. Athenagoras Leg. 6.2, Clem. Alex. Str. 5.102.5, Origen c.Cels. 6.10, Ps.Justin Coh. ad Gr. 20.2, 22.3, Eus. PE 11.32.4 etc. 33  They are found reversed in Clement, Str. 5.102.5. On the Plato’s use of biological and technological metaphors here see the essay of Plutarch at Mor. 1000E, Riedweg (1994) 93 ff. 34  Dillon (1989) 70–71. 35  At Runia (1986) 234 I stated that the Platonic edition cited the corrected Philonic text for support. The difficulty here is that Burnet’s edition of the Timaeus is dated to 1905, Cohn’s edition of Aet. to 1915. The easiest solution is to suspect Burnet of carelessness in not distinguishing in his all too brief apparatus between ἐμοῦ γε μὴ θέλοντος and ἐμοῦ μὴ θέλοντος. 32  See

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πρὸς τὴν ἀφθαρσίαν τοῦ κόσμου μαρτύριον εἰλήφθω, τὸ δ᾿ ἀγένητον παρὰ τῆς φυσικῆς ἀκολουθίας. 1 τάδε: εἶναι M Turnebus 2 ἕκαστον om. M 3 ἕκαστον εἴληφεν ὅλον transp. UE 4 ὑπολελειμμένων M, ὑπολελειμμένον UE 5 τοιοῦτον UE (et Plato): τοιοῦτο MHP Turne-

bus Mangey 6 ἀγήρων HP, ἀγήρω MUE 7 ὡς συστάτῳ Cumont Cohn e Platone (Bernays ὡς συστατῷ): ὡς τὰ τῶ MSS Turnebus Mangey 8 ἰσχυρὰς ἔχει transp. UE 9 λυπεῖ MSS editores recc.: λύει (e Platone) Turnebus Mangey 10 διὰ τὴν αὐτὴν αἰτίαν E 11 ἁπάντων om. E 12 ἀγήρων P: ἀγείρων H, ἀγήρω MUE

The cited text is Tim. 32c5–33b1, with the following main differences: Plato Philo 33a3 ὡς συστάτῳ ὡς τὰ τῶ (MSS) 33a5 λύει λυπεῖ γῆράς τε καὶ γῆρας 33a6 διὰ δὴ τὴν αἰτίαν διὰ τὴν αἰτίαν 33a7 ἕνα (or ἓν) ὅλον θεὸς ὅλον ὅλων ἐξ ἁπάντων ἐξ ὅλων ἁπάντων Philo’s first of four proofs of the uncreatedness and indestructibility of the cosmos (§§ 20– 27) is generally regarded as indebted – in one [281] way or another – to Aristotle’s lost De philosophia (= fr. 19a Ross).36 At its close he adds as a proof-text – note the double use of the term μαρτύριον – the above citation from the Timaeus, the longest in our collection. The words τάδε before the citation and τοῦτο after it clearly indicate a verbatim quotation. Consisting as it does of 112 words, it seems too long to quote from memory (unless Philo had truly phenomenal powers of recall). The differences between the texts are really rather limited.37   The reading of the Philonic MSS κατανοῶν ὡς τὰ τῷ σώματι θερμὰ makes so little sense that the retro-correction made by Bernays and followed by other editors since then is quite plausible. It should be noted, however, that the readings of the Platonic MSS at this point are rather obscure (ξυνίστας τῶι vel sim.) and that Burnet’s reading is only found in Proclus.38 In fact Philo’s defective reading might be taken as support for this solution (but Burnet does not refer to it).   The second discrepancy is a most interesting case. I know of no other citation of the text that uses the verb λυπεῖ, but, as Bernays pointed out, it fits in very well with Plato’s meaning, and might even be preferred. Remarkably in the princeps of Platonic MSS, Parinus 1807 (= A), we read λύπας.39 This suggests that Philo’s reading may represent an ancient variant. The editors all have rightly resisted the temptation to retro-correction.   The next two variants are of little importance. It is difficult to see a deliberate reason for the changes. They may represent carelessness in the writing out of the text.   The insertion of a reference to God (i. e. the demiurge in the Platonic context) is not found elsewhere. The most plausible explanation is that after the phrase διὰ τὴν αἰτίαν καὶ 36  On these arguments see Runia (1986) 191–8, with further references to the literature. On p. 196 I argue, following Pepin (1964) 265, Effe (1970) 10, 18, and Mansfeld (1979) 141, that Philo rather than Aristotle probably added the verbatim quote from the Timaeus. 37  For earlier discussions see Bernays (1883) 66, Colson PLCL 9.527–528, Runia (1986) 184–185. 38  As pointed out by Colson, but he fails to record that the accepted text is found in the indirect tradition. 39  On the complicated reading of the MS see Jonkers (1989) 137. The same reading is also found in P, which Burnet regarded as independent of A – wrongly, according to Jonkers (1989) 35.

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τὸν λογισμὸν τόνδε a subject is expected (someone has to do the thinking) and that the theologically minded Philo inserted θεός as subject, either because he thought it was needed, or even without thinking. He perhaps recalled the λογμισὸς θεοῦ at Tim. 34a8. [282]   As Burnet’s apparatus informs us, Philo’s ‘deviant’ order at 33a7 is found elsewhere in the indirect tradition, in Proclus, Philoponus and Calcidius.

(20)  De aeternitate mundi 38 διὸ καὶ Πλάτων εὖ ἀπῄει τε1 γὰρ2 φησίν οὐδὲν οὐδὲ3 προσῄει4 αὐτῷ ποθεν· οὐδὲν γὰρ ἦν5. αὐτὸ6 γὰρ7 ἑαυτῷ τροφὴν τὴν ἑαυτοῦ φθίσιν8 παρέχον καὶ πάντ’ ἐν ἑαυτῷ καὶ ὑφ’ ἑαυτοῦ πάσχον καὶ δρῶν ἐκ τέχνης γέγονεν9· ἡγήσατο γὰρ αὐτὸ10 ὁ συνθεὶς αὔταρκες ὂν11 ἄμεινον ἔσεσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ προσδεὲς ⟨ἄλλων⟩12. 1 ἀπῄει τε M: ἀπίητε H, ἄπιτε U 2 εὖ ἀπῄει τε γὰρ om. E 3 οὐδὲν οὐδὲ M: οὐδὲν οὔτε cett. 4 προσῄει M: προσείη UPE, προσίη H 5 οὐδὲν γὰρ ἦν om. UE 6 αὐτὸς … παρέχων

… πάσχων MSS Turnebus Mangey, corr. (e Platone) Bernays 7 γὰρ om. L Turnebus, rest. Mangey 8 φθίσιν: φύσιν E 9 ἐκ τέχνης γέγονεν ἀρίστης leg. E 10 αὐτὸ HPE: ex αὐτοῦ corr. M, αὐτὸς U 11 ὂν: ἦν HP 12 ἄλλων add. (e Platone) Mangey Cohn

The cited text is Tim. 33c6–d3. The differences are rather limited:40 Plato Philo c7 προσῄειν προσῄει c7–d1 αὐτὸ παρέχον πάσχον αὐτὸς παρέχων πάσχων (MSS) d3 ἄλλων omittunt MSS Philo closes his third proof with a further appeal to Plato.41 This time there is no separate introduction of the quote with a phrase ending in a semcolon, but Philo places the verb φησίν inside the citation. Again, however, the citation appears to aim at being verbatim. The first difference can be neglected, since Philo’s reading is also found in the Platonic MS F and Stobaeus. In the case of the second Bernays argues that the pronoun and participles should be changed to the neuter on account of the neuters in the final sentence (αὔταρκες ὂν ἄμεινον, προσδεὲς). This is plausible but perhaps not wholly compelling, since their subject is the cosmos, to which Philo had referred in the masculine (ὁ κόσμος, αὐτόν) in the previous sentence. The transition to the neuter in the final sentence is abrupt but not entirely impossible. In the case of the final difference it is to be agreed with Bernays and Cumont that, in light of the unanimous evidence of the MSS, the word should not be supplied from Plato. The [283] retro-correction of Mangey and Cohn (also adopted by Colson) is thus unjustified.

(21)  De aeternitate mundi 52 μεγίστην μέντοι παρέχεται πίστιν εἰς ἀιδιότητα καὶ ὁ χρόνος. εἰ γὰρ ἀγένητος1 ὁ χρόνος, ἐξ ἀνάγκης καὶ ὁ κόσμος ἀγένητος2. διὰ τί; ὅτι, ᾗ φησιν ὁ μέγας Πλάτων, ἡμέραι καὶ νύκτες μῆνές τε καὶ ἐνιαυτῶν περίοδοι χρόνον ἔδειξαν. ἀμήχανον δέ τι τούτων συστῆναι δίχα ἡλίου κινήσεως καὶ τῆς τοῦ παντὸς οὐρανοῦ περιφορᾶς· 1–2 ἀγένητος

(bis) M: ἀγέννητος cett.

Cf. Plato, Tim. 37e1 ἡμέρας γὰρ καὶ νύκτας καὶ μῆνας καὶ ἐνιαυτούς, 39c1–5. 40 

Discussed by Bernays (1883) 67, Colson PLCL 9.528. I argue, (1986) 192, against the mainstream of scholarly opinion, that this proof should not be separated from the other three and attributed to a different (non-Aristotelian) source. 41 

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This time we have no more than a loose paraphrase of Plato’s account of the origin of time, which is measured by the motions of the heavenly bodies. Philo deliberately preserves the same order of the measurements of time as indicated at 37e1 (in 39c1–5 the order is nearly the same, except the night precedes day). The expression χρόνον or χρόνου φύσιν (ἀνα) δεικύναι is not Platonic, but is found elsewhere in Philo, e. g. at Aet. 19, Leg. 1.2. Indeed at Spec. 1.90 the text is very similar to what we find here (ἡμέρας δὲ καὶ νύκτας μῆνάς τε καὶ ἐνιαυτοὺς καὶ συνόλως χρόνον τίς ἀνέδειξεν ὅτι μὴ σελήνης καὶ ἡλίου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἀστέρων αἱ ἐναρμόνιοι … περιφοραί;), but the Platonic allusion is not specifically indicated. The epithet used of Plato here, μέγας, is elsewhere used by Philo of the prophet Moses (Opif. 12, Plant. 118, Mos. 2.211, Spec. 2.51).

(22)  De aeternitate mundi 141 ἡ δὲ Ἀτλαντὶς1 νῆσος, ἅμα Λιβύης καὶ Ἀσίας μείζων, ᾗ φησιν ἐν Τιμαίῳ Πλάτων, ἡμέρᾳ μιᾷ καὶ νυκτὶ σεισμῶν ἐξαισίων καὶ κατακλυσμῶν γενομένων δῦσα κατὰ τῆς θαλάττης ἐξαίφνης ἠφανίσθη, γενομένη πέλαγος, οὐ πλωτόν2, ἀλλὰ βαραθρῶδες. 1 Ἀτλαντὶς:

ἄντλα τις H

2 πλωτόν:

πλωτῶν P, πλωτῶ H

Cf. Plato Tim. 24e6–7 ἡ δὲ νῆσος ἅμα Λιβύης ἦν καὶ Ἀσίας μείζων, 25c6–d6 ὑστέρῳ δὲ χρόνῳ σεισμῶν ἐξαισίων καὶ κατακλυσμῶν γενομένων, μιᾶς ἡμέρας καὶ νυκτὸς χαλεπῆς ἐπελθούσης, … ἥ τε Ἀτλαντὶς νῆσος ὡσαύτως κατὰ τῆς θαλάττης δῦσα ἠφανίσθη· διὸ καὶ νῦν ἄπορον καὶ ἀδιερεύνητον γέγονεν τοὐκεῖ πέλαγος, πηλοῦ κάρτα βραχέος ἐμποδὼν ὄντος, ὃν ἡ νῆσος ἱζομένη παρέσχετο. [284] In the final section of the incompletely preserved work (§ 117–149), Philo present four arguments against the indestructibility of the cosmos refuted by Theophrastus.42 In the second argument contra Philo appeals to the story of Atlantis.43 The formula ᾗ φησιν is the same as in the previous text at § 52. Here too it introduces a paraphrase, but this time one adheres rather closely to Plato’s text and incorporates a number of Platonic phrases with varying degrees of accuracy. It cannot, however, be regarded as a literal citation, as the quotation marks of the editors suggest. The main text paraphrased is 25c6–d6. The paraphrase is built up as follows:   (i) The phrase ἥ (τε) Ἀτλαντὶς νῆσος is brought forward as subject, and further qualified with the descriptive phrase at 24e6.   (ii) Plato’s temporal phrase ὑστέρῳ χρόνῳ is replaced by the indication that the disaster happened in the course of a single day and night (dative case instead of genetive, as in ὑστέρῳ χρόνῳ; note ἠμέρα and μία reversed). The reason is obvious enough: Philo uses the story as an example, so he is not interested in a sequence of events.   (iii) The following phrase up to γενομένων follows Plato exactly.   (iv) δῦσα κατὰ τῆς θαλάττης involves another reversal of word order compared with Plato, no doubt in the interest of dramatizing the event. This comes out even clearer in Philo’s addition of ἐξαίφνης, a famous Platonic term to be sure (e. g. Rep. 515c6, Symp. 210e4, Ep. 7 341c), but nowhere to be found in the Timaeus.   (v) Philo’s final six words compress the much lengthier Platonic final part of the period at d3–6. οὐ πλωτόν is a nautically appropriate variant for ἄπορον. βαραθρῶδες (‘like a pit’ 42 = Fr. F184 FHS&G. An enormous body of secondary literature has accumulated on this section; the most recent study is Kidd (1996). [Further discussions since then in Sedley (1998a),(1998b) 166–179; Sharples (1998) 130–142 (2008) 57–59. See also Runia (2008a) at n. 80 = article 7 above.] 43  It is a moot point whether it is Theophrastus or Philo who appeals to Plato; in Runia (1986) 84–85 I argue that it is a Philonic addition. See also the parallel columns of original and paraphrase presented at 84.

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or ‘full of clefts’), however, is a rather puzzling replacement for Plato’s shoals of mud. It is relevant to note that the words κάρτα βραχέος at 25d5 are highly disputed in the Platonic MSS. I think it likely that Philo read κάρτα βαθέος with MS A, which, as Cornford (1937) 336 remarked, makes dubious sense, but at least explains Philo’s paraphrase (there is also a resemblance in sound). [285]

(23)  De aeternitate mundi 146 ἡ δ’ ἱστορία τίς; φθοραὶ τῶν κατὰ γῆν, οὐκ ἀθρόων ἁπάντων ἀλλὰ τῶν πλείστων, δυσὶ ταῖς μεγίσταις αἰτίαις ἀνατίθενται, πυρὸς καὶ ὕδατος ἀλέκτοις1 φοραῖς· κατασκήπτειν δ’ ἑκατέραν ἐν μέρει φασὶν ἐν πάνυ μακραῖς2 ἐνιαυτῶν περιόδοις. Cf. also § 149: κατὰ δὴ τοὺς λεχθέντας τρόπους δίχα μυρίων ἄλλων βραχυτέρων φθειρομένου τοῦ πλείστου μέρους ἀνθρώπων. 1 ἀλέκτοις:

ἀλήκτοις P et coni. Turnebus in appendice

2 μακραῖς

UE: μικραῖς ΜΗ

Cf. Tim. 22c1–3 πολλαὶ κατὰ πολλὰ φθοραὶ γεγόνασιν ἀνθρώπων καὶ ἔσονται, πυρὶ μὲν καὶ ὕδατι μέγισται, μυρίοις δὲ ἄλλοις ἕτεραι βραχύτεραι; also 22d2 διὰ μακρῶν χρόνων. For the refutation of the final argument Philo turns to the theme of periodically recurring natural disasters. φασὶν is of course the vaguest of references, but there can be no doubt that he has the celebrated passage Tim. 22b–23c in mind.44 This is made clear at the outset. Philo’s opening sentence clearly alludes to the beginning of Plato’s explanation of the comparative youth of Greek culture. His paraphrase alters and expands Plato’s words in order to increase their generality. Plato speaks of mankind, Philo alters to the destruction of much of the earth. Fire and water are described as causes and an indication is given of how the damage takes place. From other passages in Philo, notably at Abr. 42–5 and Mos. 2.54–6, we know that he identifies Plato’s descriptions with the biblical accounts of Noah’s flood and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. It is likely that this perceived parallelism has influenced the wording of the paraphrase. The element of periodicity is added from Plato’s later statement at 22d2. In the remainder of the passage § 147–9 Philo continues to makes verbal allusions to the Platonic account. These allusions will not be dealt with here,45 except to observe that in § 149 Philo returns to Plato’s sentence at 22c1–3 and in a kind of ringcomposition mentions both the minor disasters and the specific destruction of mankind, both of which were overlooked in the opening sentence in § 146.

3.  Some Conclusions It has been an interesting, if limited, exercise. It would be worthwhile to advance a further step and compare Philo’s citations with [286] the practice of other authors in the Platonist and other traditions, but space forbids. The chief findings of our study can be briefly summarized as follows. 1. We encountered a great deal of variation in the extent and method of citation. One might divide the citations into the following categories:46 44 

On Philo’s further allusions to this passage see Runia (1986) 74–7. See the brief analysis at Runia (1986) 82. 46  No. 10 not included because it is dubious whether Plato is referred to. 45 

414 brief allusion: erudite brief quotation: extended paraphrase: verbatim quotations:

E.  Studies on Philonic Texts

nos. 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 15, 17; nos. 1, 2, 3, 5, 13, 14, 16; nos. 22, 23; nos. 11, 12, 18, 19, 20.

In the case of a brief allusion only a word or two is taken over from the Platonic text. The erudite brief quotations are longer, involving a phrase or a short sentence which is quoted with greater or lesser accuracy. Extended paraphrases are rare. The final category is distinguished by the length of the citation, which would appear to be too long to be cited from memory. In these five cases Philo demarcates the quote in his sentence structure, although this does not always involve the use of a colon (e. g. in no. 12), and in no. 18 he even interpolates a verb of saying in the quote itself. The range from a fleeting word (e. g. no. 15) to a lengthy passage of more than a hundred words (no. 19) indicates how varied and flexible the ancient method of citation was. In only seven of the texts is Plato referred to by name (nos. 2, 3, 16, 18, 20, 21, 22). In the case of the shorter citations Philo generally makes use of an anonymous phrase to draw the reader’s attention to the fact that he is alluding to or quoting a Platonic text. Only in the cases of an extended paraphrase (no. 22) and of verbatim citations (nos. 11, 18, 19) is a reference given to the title of a Platonic work. Twice this occurs (nos. 11, 19) without the name of the author, a practice which we may ascribe to Philo’s desire to avoid the obvious. Finally we note that on three occasions Philo uses complimentary epithets to indicate his respect for the ancient philosopher (nos. 11, 16, 21). In the last two cases the epithets (ἱερώτατος, μέγας) involved are generally reserved for Moses.47 2. In general terms it can be said that Philo’s citations adhere reasonably closely to the original Platonic text such as we can reconstruct it. There is a marked difference between the first three categories above, in which Philo feels free to make all manner of changes, [287]and the final one, in which he is necessarily more restricted. Whittaker’s methodology proved especially valuable for the first two categories, where it was observed that Philo alters the Platonic text in numerous ways, for which it is usually possible to give a rationale, but not always. We note the following: inversion of word order (nos. 1, 13, and also 22), substitution of verbs (nos. 2, 14), modernization of terminology (no. 4), replacement and variatio (nos. 2, 5, 7, 14), improvement (nos. 6, 7), deletions (nos. 3, 7, 13), adaptation in the context (no. 14). In the case of the extended paraphrases Philo is sometimes so free that one can only identify the Platonic words and phrases within his own sentence structure. The final category of the verbatim quotations has to be separated from the other three.48 Philo himself in all but one case makes a 47 

Provided we do not read λιγυρώτατον in no. 16. Whittaker makes the distinction at (1989) 64, but it does not play a significant role in his argument. Philo’s evidence is illuminating in this regard. 48 

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clear distinction between where his own introductory words break off and those of Plato begin (and also where his own words resume).49 These quotes adhere rather closely, even impressively, to the Platonic text, and have been used by Plato’s editors as evidence for particular variant readings in the tradition. Here too, however, Whittaker’s distrust of the accuracy of the indirect tradition is valuable, because it alerts us to the small changes that do occur in the quotations, which we have to explain, and which can only increase our wariness when we think of using these quotes for text-critical purposes. 3. Can it be concluded that Philo tampers with his Platonic material, to use Whittaker’s and Dillon’s suggestive term?50 Though most changes are relatively innocent, there is one category that is clearly exceptional. In five cases (nos. 7, 11, 12, 18, 19  – all but the first of these are quotes) modifications of the text can be traced back to theological considerations. These texts are in some cases (esp. the θεὸς θεῶν in no. 18) not easy to interpret. Given the overwhelming presence of the God of Israel in Philo’s works, however, we must surely suspect a personal contribution of the author himself. Various explanations can be given. One might appeal to an unconscious process, e. g. in the change to περὶ τοῦτον in no. 12 and the sudden appearance in no. 19 of θεός as subject of the sentence. In other cases we might suspect a more deliberate intervention. If it occurs in a quote, then one might rightly speak of ‘tampering,’ [288] since the words of Plato are expressly cited. There is, however, an extra consideration. In a most interesting article Yehoshua Amir has recently drawn attention to the deliberate monotheistic alteration of pagan texts in the Hellenistic-Jewish tradition.51 As Philo’s predecessor Aristobulus fr. 4 claims (quoted at Eusebius PE 13.12.7), if we cite the opening line of Aratus’ poem as ἐκ θεοῦ ἀρχώμεσθα (instead of ἐκ Διός), we are not citing what the poet wrote, but what he should have written, since it is our duty to speak about God as one should (καθῶς δεῖ). It is possible that Philo has been influenced by this tradition when quoting Plato as well.52 4. In six or seven of our texts (nos. 6, 11, 12, 18, 19, 20, perhaps also 13), the phenomenon of retro-correction occurred, i. e. the Philonic text was altered in order to conform with the received Platonic text. In one or two cases (e. g. δὴ δεθέν in no. 13) such emendation is mandatory. On the whole the more recent editors of Philo, Cohn-Wendland and Colson, have shown admirable restraint or perhaps have even been too conservative (e. g. in the case of περιπολεῖν in no. 11). Nevertheless there still remain a number of passages where retro-correction is dubious and it is better to retain the transmitted Philonic text (e. g. in nos. 11, 18). These are not open and shut cases, but involve the application of fine-tuned 49 

I. e. except no. 20 (φησί interrupts the text); the use of ὅτι in no. 12 is standard. See above at n. 13. 51  Amir (1993); cf. also valuable comments at Riedweg (1994) 164. 52  Amir only discusses poetic material: Hesiod at Ebr. 150, Sophocles at Prob. 19, Solon at Opif. 104 (but here the singular seems to have been in his arithmological source). 50 

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philological judgment. Here too we can draw our inspiration from the example given us by the great philologist to whom this little offering is dedicated as a token of gratitude and deep respect.53

53 My thanks to Gijs Jonkers, who gave me access to his complete list of the indirect tradition of the Timaeus, Milko van Gool and Bert van den Berg, who read through the manuscript and made valuable comments, and also to the editor of this volume Mark Joyal for his encouragement and pertinent comments.

22.  Philo’s Reading of the Psalms* 1. Introduction The book of the Psalms occupies a unique place both in the Hebrew and in the Christian Bible. As James Limburg has well stated:1 The book of the Psalms is unique in the Bible because it is a collection of literature of prayer, praise and meditation. If the Bible’s narrative materials relate what God has done and the prophetic literature reports what God has said, the Psalms present the response of the people to the acts and words of God. As a book of the people, the book of Psalms has been especially valued for both public worship and private devotion among Jews and Christians alike.

Luther called this book ‘a little Bible,’ composed by the Holy Spirit as a kind of compact handbook containing a summary of all the major theological themes of Bible.2 It is no wonder, therefore, that the book of the Psalms has played a major role in the exploration and expression of Jewish and Christian spirituality. But does this apply to the entire Jewish tradition? It is well-known that Hellenistic Judaism, one of the major ‘Judaisms’ of the pre-rabbinic period, focused its attention primarily, or even in some cases almost exclusively, on the Pentateuch of Moses, i. e. the Torah in Greek. It has been calculated that Philo of Alexandria, the most famous representative of this form of Judaism, quotes the Bible 1161 times, but that only 41 of these quotations refer to texts outside the Pentateuch, of which 20 – as we shall see – concern the Psalms.3 In this article I  wish to subject Philo’s use and reading of the book of the Psalms to closer scrutiny. To my knowledge this theme has never been thoroughly researched.4 *  This essay was originally written for a Festschrift presented to the Philonic and New Testament scholar David Hay on his retirement from Coe College, Iowa, U. S. A. in 2001. 1  Limburg (1992) 522. 2  Luther’s Works 35.254, cited by Limburg (1992) 536. 3  Statistics based on Burkhardt (1988) 134. 4  On previous research see further n. 6 below. [Jutta Leonhardt published a long chapter on ‘Psalms, Hymns and Praise’ concurrently with my study in her fine monograph on Jewish worship in Philo, (2001) 142–176. She confines her analysis to the 18 references in the Allegorical Commentary. Further recent research on the subject is found in: Böhm (2017); Steyn (2018); Niehoff (2020).]

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First I shall collect and present the Philonic evidence. On the basis of this material questions will be answered concerning the distribution of Philo’s citations in his work, what his way of introducing his quotes tells us about his understanding of Psalms, the manner of his usage of the material, how his use of the Psalms relates to other references to hymns and songs in his works, and finally, to what extent he captures the spirit of the Psalms in his biblical exegesis. It is a great pleasure to dedicate this piece of research to a scholar whose first book was devoted to the reception of an important Psalm in Early Judaism [103] and Christianity.5 For more than thirty years David Hay has been a major participant in Philonic scholarship in North America and, through his membership of the Studiorum Novi Testamenti Societas, in Europe. During the second half of this period it has been a great privilege for me to collaborate with him in Philonic studies. I am delighted to join the other scholars in this volume in thanking him for his many fine contributions and in wishing him a blessed and productive retirement.

2.  The Evidence First we need to determine what the evidence is on Philo’s use and reading of the Psalms.6 Firstly we shall list those passages where Philo very clearly quotes or paraphrases a text from the Psalms. The evidence will be presented in a systematic and compact fashion under the following headings:7 Location in Philo’s writings: we follow the standard order of Philo’s writings as found in PCW and PLCL. Context (Cxt): brief remarks on the wider context of the quotation. Method of introduction (MoI): Philo often introduces his quote with a phrase which describes or indicates its source. Text (T) referred to: i. e., the text from the Psalms quoted or paraphrased. Method of citation (MoC): analysis of the accuracy of the citation. Pretext for citation (PrC): attempted explanation of what prompted Philo to chose this particular text, often related to the main biblical lemma (MBL) or a secondary biblical lemma (SBL) being given exegesis and thus involving a verbal or thematic mode of transition (MoT).8 5 

Hay (1973) on Ps 110 (109 in the LXX). have compiled the evidence with the aid of the indispensable Biblia Patristica Supplementary volume on Philo, Aa. vv. (1982). Useful collections of material are also found in Goulet (1987) 514–517 and Burkhardt (1988) 135–137. In both cases they survey the entire collection of non-Pentateuchal material and evaluate it from the perspective of the main thesis of their studies; see further nn. 15 and 23 below. 7  Translations will be kept fairly literal, in order to preserve Philo’s exact meaning. 8  For these terms and the theory of the method of Philo’s allegorical exegesis that lies behind them, see Runia (1984), (1987), both reprinted in Runia (1990a). 6  I

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Secondly we shall list other texts in which Philo alludes to texts from the Psalms, but does not quote or paraphrase them. There is in fact no indication at all that he is citing scripture. Here we shall confine ourselves to indicating the nature of the allusion. In all cases passages will not be quoted in full. The reader is asked to consult the full text in his or her edition of Philo’s writings. It should be noted that the references to the Psalms will follow the LXX numbering on all occasions, with the MT numbering added in square brackets. [104] A.  Quotations or paraphrases of texts from the Psalms (1)  The Allegorical Commentary A1 De gigantibus 17 Cxt: The verse is cited as proof of Philo’s exegesis of the ‘angels of God’ in Gen. 6:2 as wicked souls. MoI: μαρτυρεῖ δέ μου τῷ λόγῳ τὸ παρὰ τῷ ὑμνογράφῳ εἰρημένον ἐν ᾄσματι τοῦτο (conj. Mangey, MSS τούτῳ). ‘Witness to my account is this that has been said by the hymn-writer in a song.’ T: Ps 77 [78]:49, ἐξαπέστειλεν εἰς αὐτοὺς ὀργὴν θυμοῦ αὐτοῦ, θυμὸν καὶ ὀργὴν καὶ θλῖψιν, ἀποστολὴν δι’ ἀγγέλων πονηρῶν. ‘He sent upon them the anger of his wrath, wrath and anger and affliction, a mission through wicked angels.’ MoC: Exact quotation. PrC: ἀγγέλων, as found in the MBL Gen 6:2; πονηρῶν, cf. Philo’s exegesis as explained after the quote (and note also § 14). A2 Quod Deus immutabilis sit 74 Cxt: Verse quoted in response to exegesis of Gen 6:8 (‘Noah found grace with him [God]’). MoI: καθάπερ καὶ ὁ ὑμνῳδὸς εἶπέ που. ‘Just as the hymnist too said somewhere.’ T: Ps 100 [101]:1, ἔλεον καὶ κρίσιν ᾄσομαί σοι. ‘Mercy and judgment I shall sing to you.’ MoC: Quotation almost exact; ἔλεον replaces ἔλεος, and the final vocative κύριε is not included in the quote. PrC: χάρις (grace) in the MBL and δίκαι (punishments) in Philo’s explanation provoke the combination of ἔλεον and κρίσιν. A3 Quod Deus immutabilis sit 778a Cxt: The combination of two divine attributes just cited now gives rise to a paradoxical kind of mixture. MoI: διὰ τοῦτο ἐν ἑτέροις εἴρηται. ‘For this reason it has been said elsewhere.’ T: Ps 74:9 [75:8]: ποτήριον ἐν χειρὶ κυρίου, οἴνου ἀκράτου πλῆρες κεράσματος. ‘A cup in the hand of the Lord, full of a mixture of unmixed wine.’ MoC: Exact quotation. PrC: MoT thematic, but note that in v. 8 God is κριτής (Judge). 8a 

[On Philo’s exegesis of this text and its continuation in the Alexandrian tradition up to Synesius of Cyrene see now Runia (2017c).]

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A4 Quod Deus immutabilis sit 82 Cxt: A further illustration of the paradox of mixed and unmixed. MoI: τοῖς δ᾿ εἰρημένοις ὅμοιόν ἐστι καὶ τὸ ἑτέρωθι λεχθὲν. ‘Similar to these words is also what has been said elsewhere.’ T: Ps 61:12 [62:11], ἅπαξ κύριος ἐλάλησε, δύο ταῦτα ἤκουσα. ‘Once the Lord spoke, these two things I heard.’ MoC: ὁ θεός in the LXX is altered to κύριος, no doubt under the influence of the theological context (judgment is associated with this divine name). For the remarkable deviant or ‘retouched’ reading in the MSS UF see Barthélemy (1967) 48. PrC: MoT is thematic; the exegesis moves from wine to speaking. A5 De agricultura 50, 52 Cxt: Part of a long allegorical exposition of the distinction between a shepherd and a rearer of cattle (§§ 27–66), parallel to the distinction in the MBL Gen 9:20. [105] MoI: τούτου δὲ ἐγγυητὴς οὐχ ὁ τυχὼν ἀλλὰ προφήτης ἐστίν, ᾧ καλὸν πιστεύειν, ὁ τὰς ὑμνῳδίας ἀναγράψας· λέγει γὰρ ὧδε. ‘Guarantor of this statement is not just anyone, but a prophet whom it is good to trust, one who has composed hymnic songs; for he states as follows.’ (Note that after the quotation Philo speaks of τοῦτο τὸ ᾆσμα, ‘this song.’) T: Ps 22 [23]:1, κύριος ποιμαίνει με, καὶ οὐδέν με ὑστερήσει. ‘The Lord shepherds me, and to me nothing will be lacking. (In § 52 the verse is cited once more.) MoC: Exact quotation on both occasions. PrC: The MoT is plainly verbal, inspired by the noun ποιμήν, shepherd. A6 De plantatione 29 Cxt: In §§ 2–27 Philo has explained the work of planting (Gen 9:20) in a cosmological perspective. Now he turns to humankind as microcosm. MoI: μαρτυρεῖ δέ μου τῷ λόγῳ ὁ θεσπέσιος ἀνὴρ ἐν ὕμνοις λέγων ὧδε. ‘A s witness for my account there is the divine man who speaks in hymns as follows.’ T: Ps 93 [94]:9, ὁ φυτεύων οὖς οὐκ ἀκούει; ὁ πλάσσων ὀφθαλμοὺς οὐκ ἐπιβλέψει. ‘He who plants the ear, does he not hear? He who moulds the eyes, does he not perceive?’ MoC: The LXX text is altered at four points; ‘ear’ loses the article; ἤ between the two questions is dropped; ‘eye’ becomes plural without the article; κατανοεῖ is altered to ἐπιβλέψει. PrC: A lovely example of how the verbal cue in the MBL ἐφύτευσεν is picked up in an illustratory text from the Psalms. A7 De plantatione 39 Cxt: Eden is symbol of the soul who delights in worship of God the Only Wise. MoI: τούτου τοῦ γανώματος ἀκράτου τις σπάσας, ὁ τοῦ Μωυσέως δὴ θιασώτης, ὃς οὐχὶ τῶν ἠμελημένων ἦν, ἐν ὑμνῳδίαις ἀνεφθέγξατο πρὸς τὸν ἴδιον νοῦν φάσκων. ‘One person who drew from this unmixed delight was a member of Moses’ sacred band, not to be found among the insignificant, who in hymnic songs spoke to his own mind and pronounced.’ T: Ps 36 [37]:4, κατατρύφησον τοῦ κυρίου. ‘Take delight in the Lord.’ MoC: Exact quotation. PrC: Once again a clear verbal MoT, the verb in the quote picking up the etymological explanation of Eden as τρυφή, luxury. The verb κατατρυφᾶν only occurs in the LXX twice, both times in this psalm.



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A8 De confusione linguarum 39 Cxt: Those who cannot demolish the plausible inventions of the sophists take refuge in the help of God the Only Wise. MoI: καθὰ καὶ τῶν Μωυσέως γνωρίμων τις ἐν ὕμνοις εὐχόμενος εἶπεν. ‘A s one of the disciples of Moses too prayed in the hymns and said.’ T: Ps 30 [31]:19, ἄλαλα γενέσθω τὰ χείλη τὰ δόλια. ‘Let their cunning lips be devoid of speech.’ MoC: Quotation exact, except that the LXX γενηθήτω is trivially altered to γενέσθω. PrC: The quote is clearly prompted by the word χεῖλος in the MBL Gen 11:1 which in §§ 16–60 is given a lengthy allegorical interpretation. [106] A9 De confusione linguarum 52 Cxt: Men of peace become warlike in combatting evil and passion. (Note that in § 44, after the previous quote from the Psalms, the prophetic text Jer 15:10 has been quoted.) MoI: ὡς καὶ ἐν ὕμνοις που λέλεκται. ‘A s has also been stated somewhere in the hymns.’ T: Ps 79 [80]:7, ἔθετο γὰρ ἡμᾶς ὁ θεὸς εἰς ἀντιλογίαν τοῖς γείτοσιν ἡμῶν. ‘For God has set us up for a contradiction to our neighbours.’ MoC: Paraphrase. The second person of the Psalm text (ἔθου ἡμᾶς) has been replaced by ἔθετο γὰρ ἡμᾶς ὁ θεὸς. The rest is the same. PrC: MoT thematic. Philo’s eye falls on the word ἀντιλογίαν in the Psalms text, which is also a technical philosophical term. ‘Neighbours’ are interpreted allegorically as the passions which the wise person opposes. A10–11  De migratione Abrahami 157. Cxt: For the devotees of virtue tears can be indicative of the good emotion (εὐπάθεια) joy. MoI: περὶ ὧν ἐν ὕμνοις εἴρηται. ‘Concerning which it has been stated in the hymns.’ (The two quotations are simply connected with ‘and’.) T: (10) Ps 79 [80]:6, ψωμιεῖς ἡμᾶς ἄρτον δακρύων. ‘You will feed us with bread of tears.’ (11) Ps 41 [42]:4, ἐγένετο τὰ δάκρυά μοι ἄρτος ἡμέρας καὶ νυκτός. ‘My tears became bread by day and by night.’ MoC: (10) Exact quotation. (11) Slightly altered: the LXX reads ἐγενήθη μοι τὰ δάκρυά μου. PrC: The two quotes are clearly inspired by the SBL Num 11:4 through a contrast between the weeping of the wicked and the tears of joy of the virtuous. Remarkably the word δάκρυον (tear) does not occur in the Pentateuch. A12  Quis heres rerum divinarum sit 290. Cxt: A peaceful old age does not necessarily mean a long life but a life lived wisely. MoI: μίαν γὰρ ἡμέραν ὑγιῶς εἶπέ τις προφητικὸς ἀνὴρ βούλεσθαι βιῶναι μετ’ ἀρετῆς ἢ μυρία ἔτη ἐν σκιᾷ θανάτου, θάνατον μέντοι τῶν φαύλων αἰνιττόμενος βίον. ‘For a prophetic man made the healthy statement that he would rather live a single day virtuously than ten thousand years in the shadow of death, hinting with ‘death’ at the the life of the wicked.’ T: Ps 83 [84]:11, μία ἡμέρα. ‘A single day.’ MoC: Very loose paraphrase. The phrase ἐν σκιᾷ θανάτου, found in Ps 22 [23]:4 and elsewhere in the Psalms, replaces the expression ἐν σκηνώμασιν ἁμαρταλῶν in the

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Psalm to which Philo apparently alludes. This may be a slip of the memory, as suggested by Colson PLCL 4.575, but if so, it is allegorically very convenient. PrC: Thematic. The text is prompted by a single day as opposed to a long life. A13  De fuga et inventione 59 Cxt: Nadab and Abihu die in order to live. MoI: ὡς καὶ ἐν ὕμνοις λέγεται. ‘A s is also said in the hymns.’ T: Ps 113:25, νεκροὶ δ᾿ … οὐκ αἰνέσουσι κύριον. ‘Dead persons will not praise the Lord.’ MoC: Paraphrase. The direct address of the Psalm (‘the dead will not praise you, Lord’) has been changed to the 3rd person. [108] PrC: The context focuses on death, and the word νεκρός has already used by Philo in §§ 55, 56, 61. A14  De mutatione nominum 115 Cxt: Jethro is also called Raguel, whose name means ποιμασία θεοῦ (shepherding of God). MoI: ᾄδεται δὲ καὶ ἐν ὕμνοις ᾆσμα τοιοῦτον. ‘Such a song is also sung in the hymns.’ T: Ps 22 [23]:1, κύριος ποιμαίνει με, καὶ οὐδέν με ὑστερήσει. ‘The Lord shepherds me, and to me nothing will be lacking.’ MoC: Exact quotation, as was also the case in A5. PrC: Clearly provoked by the etymology of Raguel. A15  De somniis 1.75 Cxt: The sun is a visible image for God. MoI: ἐν ὕμνοις ᾄδεται. ‘In the hymns it is sung.’ T: Ps 26 [27]:1, κύριος γὰρ φωτισμός μου καὶ σωτήρ μου. ‘For the Lord is my illumination and my saviour.’ MoC: Exact quotation, except for the addition of the conjunction γάρ. PrC: The identification of God as light calls forth the quotation with the term φωτισμός. A16  De somniis 2.242 Cxt: As a symbol a river can be positive or negative, the former being illustrated by the river going out of Eden. MoI: … ἐπεὶ καὶ ἐν ὕμνοις ᾄδεται. ‘Since in (the) hymns too it is sung …’ T: Ps 36 [37]:4, κατατρύφησον τοῦ κυρίου. ‘Take delight in the Lord.’ MoC: Exact quotation, the same as in A7. PrC: Inspired by the mention of Eden and its interpretation as τρυφή (delight). A17  De somniis 2.245 Cxt: The river in Eden symbolizes the divine word. MoI: τοῦτον τὸν λόγον εἰκάσας ποταμῷ τις τῶν ἑταίρων Μωυσέως ἐν ὕμνοις εἶπεν. ‘This logos one of the companions of Moses compared to a river in the hymns and stated.’ T: Ps 64 [65]:10, ὁ ποταμὸς τοῦ θεοῦ ἐπληρώθη ὑδάτων. The river of God has been filled with waters. MoC: Exact quotation. PrC: Continuing the theme of the river, thus MoT is verbal. Philo argues that ‘of God’ means the text has to be allegorized.



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A18  De somniis 2.246 Cxt: Continuing from the previous quotation. MoI: ἔστι δὲ καὶ ἕτερον ᾆσμα τοιοῦτον. ‘There is also another song as follows.’ T: Ps 45:5 [46:4], τὸ ὅρμημα τοῦ ποταμοῦ εὐφραίνει τὴν πόλιν τοῦ θεοῦ. ‘The onset of the river makes glad the city of God.’ MoC: Two slight alterations: (1) In the LXX τὸ ὅρμημα is plural and has a plural verb. (2) Philo reverses the LXX order τοῦ ποταμοῦ τὰ ὁρμήματα. PrC: Continuing the river allegory, thus MoT is verbal. Once again the text makes plain that the writer wants the text to be read allegorically. [108]

(2)  Exposition of the Law There are no quotations or paraphrases of the Psalms in these treatises. (3)  Quaestiones in Genesim et Exodum9 A19  Quaestiones in Genesim 4.147 Cxt: Scripture has attributed the three best senses to God. MoI: ‘And to hearing, when it [Scripture] says.’ T: Ps 68:34 [69:33], The Lord listened to the poor (= εἰσήκουσεν τῶν πενήτων ὁ κύριος). MoC: Apparently exact. PrC: Directly inspired by the context. The quote from the Psalms is wedged in between two quotations from Genesis illustrating sight and smell respectively (1:31, 8:21). A20  Quaestiones in Genesim 4.232 (only in the Old Latin translation, not in the Armenian) Cxt: A comment on the verb used of Isaac in Gen 27:38 when he ‘is dismayed’. MoI: ‘I declare that I have read that in Hebrew dismay and silence are expressed by the same letters. And there is something else that is incredible. In Psalm 64 we do not have ‘For you a hymn is fitting,’ but ‘for you, God, a hymn is silent in Zion.’ T: Ps 64:2, ‘For you a hymn is fitting in Zion’ (= σοὶ πρέπει ὕμνος, ὁ θεός, ἐν Σιων). MoC: If the two versions are put together, we get a complete and accurate quotation. PrC: The passage is in all likelihood a gloss add to the Philonic text by an unknown reader before the Latin translation was made. See text further below at n. 20.

B.  Allusions to Texts from the Psalms (1)  The Allegorical Commentary B1 Quod Deus immutabilis sit 182 The words ἄγγελος ποδηγετῶν καὶ τὰ ἐν ποσὶν ἀναστέλλων, ἵνα ἄπταιστοι διὰ λεωφόρου βαίνωμεν τῆς ὁδοῦ (an angel guiding our feet and removing the obstacles before them, so that we may proceed along the highway without stumbling) are an allusion to Ps 90 [91]:11–12. Verbal resemblances are: (a) ἄγγελος, interpreted as the Divine Logos, recalls τοῖς ἀγγέλοις; (b) ποδηγετῶν καὶ τὰ ἐν ποσὶν recalls τὸν πόδα 9  I cite the translations of Marcus in PLCLSup. The citation of Ps 95:5 at Rendel Harris (1886) 106.28, listed in Biblia Patristica, Aa. vv. (1982) 90, is not included, because it is plainly a gloss, as concluded by Royse (1992) 19.

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σου in v. 12; (c) ὁδοῦ recalls ταῖς ὁδοῖς σου. It should be noted that it also recalls the MBL Gen 6:12 cited in § 141 B2 De confusione linguarum 98 Exod 24:10, cited in § 96, is paraphrased as referring to the ὑποπόδιον θεοῦ (God’s footstool), which is an allusion to Ps 98 [99]:5. [109]

(2)  The Exposition of the Law B3 De opificio mundi 84 The words καθίστη (‘established’) and πάντα ὑπέταττεν αὐτῷ (‘he subjected all things to him’) are a clear allusion to Ps 8:6–7. B4 De decalogo 48 The words ἠκρίβωται γὰρ καὶ βεβασάνισται τὰ τοῦ θεοῦ λόγια καθάπερ χρυσὸς πυρί (‘for the oracles of God have been refined and tested like gold by fire’), which comment on Deut 4:12, are probably an allusion to Ps 11:7. B5 De decalogo 63 The phrase ἀκονησάμενοι κακήγορον γλῶτταν (‘sharpening their evil-speaking tongue’) is probably an allusion to Ps 51:4 [52:3]. B6 De decalogo 74 The doctrine of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ in the context of a polemical outburst against idol worship induces to Philo to make a plain allusion to Ps 113:12–15 [115:4–7] and 134 [135]:15–17. Note the phrase ὅμοιοι αὐτοῖς (‘similar to them’) at Ps 113:16 [115:8] and 134 [135]:18, which doubtless inspired the allusion. B7 De specialibus legibus 1.204 He who makes a sacrifice should have a clear conscience. The words that Philo puts in his mouth, αἱ χεῖρες αὗται οὔτε δῶρον ἐπ’ ἀδίκοις ἔλαβον (‘these hands did not take a gift for unrighteous acts’), are a plain allusion to Ps 14 [15]:5, καὶ δῶρα ἐπ᾿ ἀθῴοις οὐκ ἔλαβεν (‘and he did not take gifts for wicked acts’). B8 De specialibus legibus 2.256 Parallel passage to Decal. 74 analysed above. The words καὶ αὐτὸς ἐξομοιούσθω τοῖς χειροκμήτοις (‘and let he himself become like things made by human hands’) is a plain allusion to Ps 113:16 [115:8] and 134 [135]:18. B9 De praemiis 46 The words ἀλήθειαν δὲ μετίασιν οἱ τὸν θεὸν θεῷ φαντασιωθέντες, φωτὶ φῶς (‘they pursue truth who envisage God through God, light through light’) may be an allusion to Ps 35:10 [36:9], ἐν τῷ φωτί σου ὀψόμεθα φῶς (‘in your light we shall see light’).10

(3)  Quaestiones in Genesim et Exodum B10  Quaestiones in Genesim 4.195i Petit In explaining the ‘oath’ of Gen 26:33 Philo makes a contrast between human ignorance and the reliability of divine knowledge. The latter is illustrated with the words (in the Old Latin translation) testimonium dei fidele et solidissimum (= ἡ μαρτυρία τοῦ θεοῦ πιστὴ καὶ βεβαιοτάτη, the witness of God is trustworthy and most reliable), which 10 

Used by E. R. Goodenough for the title of his famous monograph on Philo, (1935).

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constitutes a clear allusion to Ps 18:8, ἡ μαρτυρία κυρίου πιστή (the witness of the Lord is trustworthy). The identification was made by Petit (1973) 2.89. [110]

3.  Typology and Distribution The evidence that we have collected shows very clearly that we were justified in dividing the material into two separate categories. In the group of 20 quotations and paraphrases Philo takes care to indicate quite explicitly that the citation comes from the Psalms and the actual citation, with one exception, stays very close to the biblical text. The method in the second group of 10 allusions is quite different. There is no explicit indication that reference is being made to the Psalms. The allusion can only be recognized by the reader if he or she is well versed in the Psalms. In some cases Philo may not even expect this, but has simply allowed his formulation to be influenced by his knowledge of the Psalms. It is striking that almost all the examples in Group A are found in the Allegorical Commentary, and only from Gig.–Deus onwards.11 In two cases we have clusters of three quotations in the same context (A2–4, A16–17). On two occasions citations are found in close proximity in the same treatise (A6–7, A8–9). Without exception all these citations are formally introduced, so that they come to stand out in their immediate context. As we shall observe at greater length below, their inclusion in the Allegorical Commentary is directly connected with the method of exegesis that Philo practises in that work. Against this background we see that the only other certain citation of the Psalms, which was found in the Quaestiones (A19), deviates rather strikingly from Philo’s usual practice. It is a characteristic of this Commentary that the exegete adheres closely to the biblical verse being questioned, and almost never refers to other biblical texts.12 Here, however, we find a small cluster of three texts illustrating the fact that scripture attributes the three best senses to God. The first and third are well-known texts from Genesis, but the middle one is from the Psalms. Unlike in the Allegorical Commentary it is not introduced as coming from outside the Pentateuch. In fact it is doubtful whether scripture is mentioned at all. The verb which introduces the three texts, ‘has attributed’ (baxeal et in Armenian), has no subject, so that it is quite possible that its understood subject is Moses. It might also be noted also that there is a Pentateuchal text, alluded to at Det. 93, which could have been just as effectively used, namely Exod 2:23: καὶ εἰσήκουσεν ὁ θεὸς τὸν στεναγμὸν αὐτῶν (and God listened to their groaning). Since Philo apparently deviates so markedly from his usual 11 

It is plain that these two treatises were originally a single allegorical treatise. These are listed in Runia (1991), and amount to 100 in all, 8 of which are derived from outside the Pentateuch. This is a small number when we consider that there are 636 quaestiones in total. 12 

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practice, one wonders whether at some early stage of the transmission of this text (i. e. before the [111] Armenian translation was made in the 6th century) the Exodus text was replaced by the very similar text of the Psalms.13 But this must remain a matter of pure speculation. From our collection of material it emerges that allusions to the Psalms in Philo’s writings are quite uncommon. Of course it is of the nature of such allusions that they have to be identified, and our list may well not be complete. Valentin Nikiprowetzky once pointed out that Philo’s writings contain many more implicit references to the non-Pentateuchal part of the Hebrew Bible than is often thought.14 But in the case of the Psalms the French scholar did not identify more than the allusions we have listed above. It is interesting to observe that most of the allusions we discovered are located in the Exposition of the Law, which contains no citations of the Psalms at all. This strengthens our deduction from the evidence that our two groups of texts represent two very separate methods of usage. The only text which seems to hover between the two groups is A12. The text, as we shall see below, is introduced somewhat differently than the others. The biblical text is not cited, but two separate phrases are picked out, the second of which is not accurate. The paraphrase is thus very loose, but it is not merely an allusion, since Philo actually wants to make a point with the phrases that he cites. This text may thus be taken as the exception which proves the rule that Philo either cites or alludes to the text of the Psalms, and that he does so in two quite distinctive ways.

4.  Philo’s Manner of Introducing the Citations A marked feature of Philo’s citations of the Psalms (Group A) is that they are without exception announced by means of an explicit introductory formula which precedes the cited text. In every case except one (A12 again), Philo makes clear that the citation comes from the Psalms. The key term here is ὕμνος (hymn) and its derivatives ὑμνογράφος, ὑμνῳδός and ὑμνωδία. Only in the clusters, when additional texts are added (A3, 4 and 17 – but here we do have the term ᾆσμα, song) does Philo not follow this practice. In a number of cases the introductory formulas are quite expansive (i. e. A1, 5–8, 11, 16). On six occasions he elaborates on the person who has written the text (A 5–8, 11, 16). Three times the prophetic dimension is stressed: the man is a prophet (A5, 11) or he is divinely inspired (A6). Three times Philo tells us that he is a disciple of Moses (A7, 8, 16). The two features are implicitly combined in A7, for there the member of Moses’ sacred 13  On possible Christian contamination in our Philonic texts, especially in citations found in the Fathers, cf. the warning of Harl (1966) 159. 14  Nikiprowetzky (1977) 7, cf. 246.

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band [112] (θιασώτης, a term from the Greek mysteries) is described as taking a draught from the unmixed joy of the Lord, an image which recalls the theme of ‘sober drunkenness’. These texts provide us with extremely valuable information on how Philo regards the status of the biblical text which he cites. It is clear that in his view these texts are inspired. They are not regarded as having a merely human origin, but as composed with divine assistance. This is the reason why they should be cited. The pronouncement is inspired and needs to be written down for the reader before it can be interpreted by the exegete. Those who compose such inspired hymns are described as disciples of Moses. This means they follow in Moses’ footsteps. Their pronouncements are comparable to the inspired oracles of the great prophet and lawgiver, and can be used to elucidate them. As Philo states in A5, one should trust such persons, presumably because they are specially privileged. This does not mean, however, that they are regarded as having the same status as the author of the Pentateuch (or Torah) himself. A pupil does not operate at the same level as his teacher. As we shall see, the texts from Psalms always play a subordinate role. In this context we briefly need to broaden our perspective. The 17 passages in which Philo cites the Psalms form part of a larger collection of about 40 extraPentateuchal texts cited in the Allegorical Commentary, including citations from the major and minor prophets, from the historical books and also from the Wisdom books Proverbs and Job.15 All these citations are introduced, and some of them have elaborate introductions which place the same emphasis on prophetic inspiration and Mosaic discipleship that we noted above (esp. Cher. 49, Plant. 138, Conf. 44, 62, Congr. 77, Fug. 197, Mut. 39, Somn. 2.172). Elsewhere I have suggested that these prophets and writers are portrayed by Philo as belonging to the hairesis or school of thought of Moses, a characterization which is adapted from the Greek philosophical tradition.16 As David Hay has rightly pointed out,17 ‘apparently Philo considers the Pentateuch the basic expression of God’s revelation and the rest of scripture (prophets, psalms, and proverbs, especially) as a kind of commentary on it or secondary scripture.’ It is clear that Philo regards himself as also belonging to this hairesis. He too writes commentaries, and from time to time they may contain inspired thoughts and passages (e. g. at Cher. 27), but we may safely assume that Philo regards [113] himself at a further remove from Moses than the earlier prophets and writers whom he cites. The Psalms are separated from the rest of these passages because 15  These

n. 6.

16 

passages are most easily consulted on the basis of Burkhardt’s list cited above in

Runia (1999a), esp. 127–135 [= article 3 in this collection]. (1991b) 45, cited in Runia (1999a) 132. Hay adopts a sensible mid-way position between the opposed views on the extent of Philo’s scriptural canon as give by Burkhardt (1988) 144–146 (all three kinds of writings) and Siegert (1996) 176 (only the Torah). 17  Hay

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they are referred to as ‘hymns.’ On two occasions Philo cites the song of Hannah, which of course is like a Psalm (Deus 10, Mut. 143), but on both occasions he refers to it as a song (ᾆσμα), not a hymn.18 We return to this theme of songs outside the Psalms below. By always referring to the Psalms as the ‘hymns,’ Philo chooses not to use the title ψαλμοί or ψαλτήριον used in the Septuagint. Indeed it is a remarkable fact that Philo never uses the term ψαλμός at all, and only refers to a ψαλτήριον when quoting and explaining Gen 4:21 at Post. 103 and 111. This suggests that we have to do with a reflex that can be frequently observed in Philo’s writings, namely to avoid terms that are somehow peculiarly biblical and substitute the word that was commonly used in Greek literary contexts.19 This fact must make us all the more suspicious of text A20, where reference is made to Psalm 64. As Petit has acutely perceived,20 the corruption in the Latin translation psalmoza must derive from the Greek ἐν ψαλμῷ ΞΔ, a fact that proves that this passage was present in the Greek original on which the translator based his version. But it is not found in the Armenian, and both the non-etymological reference to the Hebrew language and the mention of the title Psalms make it quite certain that these words have been added to Philo’s original text.21 Finally we note that Philo’s statements introducing citations from the Psalms pay little attention to the spiritual side of psalm-singing. The only exceptions are A8, where the psalmist is said to pray (εὐχόμενος), and A12, where he is said to address his own mind, which is perhaps an indication that Philo regards the singing of a Psalm as kind of spiritual exercise.22

5.  Texts Cited and Manner of Usage It will have been observed above, in our listing of Philo’s actual citations from the Psalms, that the lemmata cited or paraphrased are all very short. Except A1 (15 words), they all consist of ten words of less. The briefest, cited [114] in both A7 and 15, is only three words long. Philo cites no more of the text than he needs to make his point. To use a variant on a common American phrase, the citations are 18  This is obscured by the translations at PLCL 3.15 (‘psalm’), 5.215 (‘hymn’). At Plant. 138 the prophet Hosea is described as joining Moses in singing an oracle (συνᾴδει). 19  The words ψαλμός, ψάλλω, ὕμνος and ὑμνεῖν do not occur in the Pentateuch, but are common elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. The word ᾆσμα and the cognate verb occur only at Num 21:17 (cited in Somn. 2.271). For a compact but thorough analysis of Philo’s terminology on hymns, also in relation to the Psalms, see Lattke (1991) 129–131. 20  Petit (1973) 2.153. 21  Nikiprowetzky (1977) 79–81, who does not refer to Petit, was insufficiently sceptical when dealing with this text. 22  Cf. the comment in Plant. 51 that every lover of God should rehearse (μελετᾶν) this psalm.



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for the most part ‘text bites.’ The brevity of the quotes, the slight changes made to the text and the mistake made in A12 all suggest that Philo generally cites without consulting the written text. No doubt he knew the Psalms well, and had absorbed them into his capacious memory. It may be assumed that he himself was responsible for their introduction into the exegesis. There is not the slightest indication that he indebted to other exegetical traditions for this material.23 One particular kind of change that Philo makes in the texts he quotes is worth looking at in detail. Characteristic of the Psalms as documents of human spirituality is that they are a response to God. This means that they are often written in the first person and address God in the second person. It is interesting to observe that on two occasions Philo modifies this aspect in his citations. In A9 the second person description of what God has done has been altered to the third person. In A13 the direct address of the Psalm text in the second person has been altered to a description in the third. Moreover, in A2 the second person address is maintained, but the vocative κύριε dropped. We may be tempted to conclude, therefore, that Philo shows a tendency to tone down the spiritual aspect of the Psalms. Against this hypothesis, however, it has to be said that the 1st person reference to humanity in relation to God is maintained in A2, 5, 13–15, and the second person address to God is retained in A2 and 10.24 Why, then, does Philo cite these texts from a part of the Bible which does not have the canonical status he accords to the writings of Moses himself ? Surveying the evidence, I conclude that there appear to be three main reasons. In the first place these texts can be used as evidence or proof of a particularly daring exegesis that Philo gives. In A1 and A6 he calls in the Psalmist as witness, on both occasions using the formula μαρτυρεῖ δέ μου τῷ λόγῳ. In A5 the psalm-writing prophet is a guarantor of his allegorical exegesis. In A15 the text from the Psalms allows one to conclude by a method of (exegetical) reasoning (ἐξ ἐπιλογισμοῦ) that God is to be identified with light. Secondly in quite a number of passages the words of the psalmist serve to illustrate the exegetical point that Philo is making. We note the connectives καθάπερ in A2 and καθά in A8. Other texts which have this illustrative role are A3–4, 7–9, 11–12, 15–17. These texts do add some [115] new material to the exegesis, but only with the purpose of deepening the interpretation that has already been outlined. In the remaining two texts, A10 and 13, Philo seems to go a step further and use the Psalm text to offer fresh material which allows him to substantiate and advance his exegesis. In A10 tears become 23  This can be seen if we compare the list of Hay in (1979–80) 42–43. A13 follows on a vague reference to Lady Wisdom in Fug. 55–58, but in 59 Philo speaks in his own voice. Goulet (1987) 517 concludes that none of these texts reflect the pre-Philonic commentary which he hypothesizes on the basis of his analysis of the Allegorical Commentary. 24  Philo does not exploit any of the many passages in the Psalms in which God speaks in the first person.

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food for the joyful soul. In A14 the famous first line from Ps 22 [23] indicates that God the shepherd gives the mind a multitude of gifts. The distinctions I have made between these various usages are perhaps disputable and certainly not very important. What is much more important is that we observe that in all cases the role of the text from the Psalms is to serve as a secondary biblical lemma in the complex patterns of exegesis which Philo weaves into his treatises. Sometimes they are attached directly to the main biblical lemma being explained (e. g. A1, 2–4), sometimes they are inspired by the main biblical lemma at a greater distance (e. g. A6, 8), sometimes they are attached to an already cited secondary biblical lemma (e. g. A10), sometimes the exegetical connections are even more convoluted (e. g. A5, 13 etc.). As we noted in our listing of the evidence above, in most cases the actual choice of the text can be explained through verbal cues in the immediate context (often in the MBL or SBL themselves) which prompt Philo to recall the text and weave it into his exegesis.25 Perhaps the most striking example of this process is A6, in which the participle φυτεύων in the text cited from the Psalms exactly parallels the verb ἐφύτευσε in the main biblical lemma Gen 9:20 cited in Plant. 1. Philo must have really known his Bible well to make this subtle connection.26 Turning now to the actual content of the passages discussed, we should note that they all occur in the context of allegorical exegesis, so the role of the soul is prominent in most of them, e. g. the joy of the soul in A10, the life and death of the soul in A12, and so on. More striking, however, is the fact that almost all the texts, either directly or indirectly, have to do with the relation of the soul (or the human being) to God (A15 is an exception). This corresponds of course to the focus of the spirituality of the Psalms. Hence, for example, the repeated citation of the texts ‘The Lord is my shepherd’ (A5 and 13) and ‘Take delight in the Lord’ (A7 and 15). Although the contexts are always allegorical, it is not always easy to determine whether the actual interpretation of the quoted text is allegorical or literal. In A1–4 and 14, for example, it is primarily theological, while in A6 it refers to the act of creation. On two occasions, in A17–18, Philo makes clear that he thinks it compulsory to interpret the texts from the Psalms allegorically. In both [116] texts the ‘river’ cannot be taken literally, but refers to the divine Logos. In A12 the prophetic writer is explicitly described as practising allegory, as indicated by his use of the technical term αἰνίσσεσθαι (to hint at darkly).27

25  I. e. a verbal rather than a thematic MoT in the terminology of the articles cited above in n. 8. 26  The verb φυτεύω is used 6 times in the Psalms, but only once in the creational sense that suits the context at Plant. 29. 27  Leopold (1983) 161 is quite wrong to suggest that Philo avoids this term for the allegorical method as seen from the viewpoint of the allegorizer; cf. Cher. 21, 60; Agr. 95 and numerous other texts. A text such as Deus 21 certainly does not prove his point.

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This is one more piece of evidence to show that Philo regards the Psalmists as operating in the inspired tradition initiated by Moses. Quite different is Philo’s method in the other list of passages (Group B) in which allusions are made to the Psalms. In examples such as B1–3 and 9 implicit reference is made to rather well-known passages in Ps 8, 90 [91], 98 [99] and 35 [36]. In B6 and 8 Philo insultingly contrasts the doctrine of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ to the ὁμοίωσις that the makers of idols produce in themselves, appositely alluding to the well-known lines in Ps 113 [115] and 135 [136]. In general the aim of the allusions would appear to be to add some biblically based colour to his prose descriptions. Unlike in the case of the citations, there is no verbal relation to biblical texts being given exegesis. The connections are purely thematic. An exception is B1, which links the ὁδὸς βασιλικός (royal way) of Num 20:17 cited in Deus 145 (cf. 180) to the ὁδοί in Ps 90 [91]:11. But this text is one of only two allusions to the Psalms found in the Allegorical Commentary, and thus uses its intertextual method. In contrast to A12, however, the text from the Psalms is not announced, so we could not include this passage in Group A.

6.  Other references to hymns and songs In his famous description of the mysterious Therapeutae (Contempl. 25), Philo records that in their daily routine they withdraw to their ‘monastic’ cells, to which they bring no food or drink, but only νόμους καὶ λόγια θεσπισθέντα διὰ προφητῶν καὶ ὕμνους (laws and oracles pronounced through the prophets and hymns) and ‘other things (τά ἄλλα) that increase and make knowledge and piety perfect.’ It is clear that Philo here refers to the tripartite division of the Hebrew Bible into Torah, Prophets and Writings. The interpretation of the final phrase, however, cannot be determined with exactitude.28 It is possible that τὰ ἄλλα refers to a subdivision of the final group. In this case ‘hymns’ would most likely be a specific reference to the Book of the Psalms. It is also possible that it refers to other writings of the Therapeutae, such as the allegorical commentaries or even their own compositions of ‘songs and hymns’ mentioned in § 29. During their Pentacostal gathering the President sings a hymn dedicated to God, either a fresh composition or an older one composed in many measures [117] and melodies, such as hexameters and iambics and so on (§ 80). Then all the others take their turn. Later, after supper, they conduct a vigil by forming two choirs, one of men and one of women, and follow the example of Moses and Miriam (Exod 15), who stood beside the Red Sea and ecstatically sang hymns of thanksgiving to God the Saviour (§§ 83–88). 28 

For discussions see Colson PLCL 9.520, Burkhardt (1988) 138, Lattke (1991) 131.

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As David Hay has shown in an important article,29 it is extremely difficult to determine where the historical reality of the Therapeutae ends and where Philo’s apologetic aims begin. It may well be, therefore, that the Therapeutae at their dinner not only recited hymns in Greek metres, but also recited Psalms from the Septuagint, which were not metrical in the strict sense. He mentions the metres so emphatically, we surmise, not only because they may have had such works, but also because that was what was familiar to his hellenized audience. When the Jewish inhabitants of Alexandria learned that their enemy Flaccus had been arrested (Flacc. 121), they stretched out their hands to heaven and sang hymns and led forth songs of triumph to God who keeps watch over human affairs, saying: ‘We do not rejoice, O Master, at the punishments inflicted on an enemy, for we have been taught by the sacred laws to have sympathy for human beings; but we rightly give thanks to you who have taken pity and compassion on us and have relieved our continuous and unceasing afflictions.’

Just like the Therapeutae, they continued to sing hymns and songs of praise throughout the night. It is not hard to imagine that the Song of Moses and Miriam was one of these hymns. But is no less likely that songs from the Book of Psalms were sung. After all, this book can be described as the hymn book of Judaism during the Second Temple period.30 Elsewhere in his writings, Philo describes a number of sections of the Bible as ‘hymns’ or ‘songs,’ i. e. as comparable from a literary and a spiritual point of view to the writings collected in the Psalms. Most prominent is the Song of Moses and Miriam already mentioned above; cf. Leg. 2.102, Agr. 80–82, Ebr. 111, Sobr. 13, Mos. 1.180, 2.254 etc. Other such biblical passages are Abraham’s hymn of thanksgiving in Gen 14:22–23 (Ebr. 105); Balaam’s hymn in Num 23 (Migr. 113, Mos. 1.284); Moses’ praise of God in Deut 10:17–18 (Spec. 4.177); the Song of Moses in Deut 32 (Virt. 72); and the Song of Hannah (Deus 10, Mut. 143; cf. Somn. 1.254, where she is described as an inspired prophetess). Except Hannah’s song, these examples are all found in the Pentateuch. Philo thus retains his characteristic emphasis on the writings of Moses, also [118] when he speaks about songs of worship. We may surmise, however, that his familiarity with the Book of Psalms will have encouraged him to keep a sharp eye out for psalmodic material which the Pentateuch contains.

29  Hay (1992), revised in (1998); cf. also Engberg-Pedersen (1999), who concludes – not entirely convincingly, to my mind – that Philo has written a fictional account. 30  Cf. the remark of A. Stanley Dreyfus in Zwi Werblowsky and Wigoder (1997) 553.



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7.  Philo and the Spirituality of the Psalms The Book of the Psalms is a composite whole of great variety and its spirituality is expressed in a multitude of ways. Fundamental, however, is that the psalms taken together represent the response of the worshipper to God’s acts in creation, in history and in the life of both the community and the individual. This response takes place in various ways, depending above all on the psalmist’s situation. Many psalms, especially at the beginning of the Psalter, are laments, in which the poet ultimately comes to express his hope and trust in God. Other psalms are hymns of praise, in which God’s majesty and power are celebrated. Yet others are hymns of thanksgiving, in which the psalmist expresses thanks for God’s mercy and goodness as he has experienced it.31 It has already been noted above (p. 429) that Philo’s usage of the Psalms focuses very much on the human being’s relation to God. The final question I wish to address in this article is the extent to which Philo also exploits more specifically the major spiritual themes of the Psalms in his exegesis. It can be argued, I  believe, that in some cases Philo neutralizes the vivid spirituality of the verses he cites. In A4 listening to the Lord speaking is converted into a quasi-scientific explanation of human hearing. In A12 the wish of the psalmist to dwell ‘in God’s courts’ and spend time in God’s house is paraphrased in terms of ‘living with virtue.’ These changes are at least in part due to the specific purposes for which Philo cites the biblical text. But there are other examples in which he shows a greater appreciation for the role that the psalm can play in spiritual life. After citing Ps 22 [23]:1 in A5, Philo adds that it is fitting for every lover of God to rehearse this psalm, but that it is even more fitting for the entire universe to do so. A few lines later (Agr. 53–54) he repeats that every individual person should pronounce this verse with the voice of the understanding, for the song contains a magnificent exhortation to holiness. In a few cases (cf. A8 and B5) Philo also shows an awareness of the tougher aspects of the psalmists’ approach to God, in which he is requested to take strong action against the wicked opponents of the suppliant. More often, however, Philo tends to opt [119] for the more positive spirituality of devotion and praise. A striking example is found in A10. The words of the Psalm ask in plaintive tones how long God will be angry at his servant’s prayer and feed him with tears for bread. Philo gives the lament a positive twist by interpreting these tears in terms of the joy of the soul, which occurs when the desire for God converts the mournful dirge for created being into a song of praise to him who is uncreated.32 31  For a typology of psalms in terms of their contents and spirituality see Limburg (1992) 531–534. An excellent general account of the Psalms’ spirituality, which takes into account their cultic origin and the historical development of their use, is given in Kugel (1988). 32  Cf. Colson’s sharp comment, PLCL 4.222: ‘The future [in the LXX, compared with the past in the Hebrew] perhaps makes Philo’s perversion of the meaning a little less unreasonable.’

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A final example well illustrates the way Philo deals with the spirituality of the Psalms and allows us to reach a general conclusion to our brief investigation. In Somn. 2.246–249 (A18) Philo cites the famous verse from Ps 46 (45 LXX) – used centuries later by Augustine to furnish the title of his most famous work, The City of God – and offers his reader a brief meditation on its contents. The river’s strong current symbolizes the Logos of God who gladdens the entire universe. In one sense, therefore, the city of God is the cosmos. Philo’s cosmological exegesis appears to capture little of the Psalm’s original purpose, which is to express confidence in God’s presence in Zion. But, Philo continues, it also represents the soul of the wise person, in whom God is said to walk as in a city. Philo then quotes the words placed in God’s mouth in Lev 26:12: ‘I shall walk among you and will be your God,’ words which correspond beautifully to the profound spirituality of the Psalms. We may conclude, therefore, that Philo cites the Psalms relatively rarely, and usually with a specific exegetical purpose in view. He certainly does not exploit the full spiritual potential that the Psalms contain. But from his own perspective there is no real need for him to do so. The allegorical method in fact allows him to spiritualize the entire Bible, and especially the Pentateuch on which his exegesis is focused. In other words, because Philo so profoundly spiritualizes the Pentateuch, he is able to cite the Psalms in that context, without feeling a need to exploit their specific spirituality to the full. The Book of the Psalms is thus present in Philo’s Judaism, but it is read in a quite distinctive manner, at a considerable remove from the use of the Psalter both in Qumran and in Early Christian writings.33

33 

My warmest thanks to Jos Weitenberg for helping me with questions relating to the Armenian, and to Greg Sterling for valuable and stimulating comments.

23.  Philo of Alexandria, Legatio ad Gaium 1–7* 1.  A Remarkable Passage One of the more remarkable passages in the Philonic corpus is the opening section of the treatise Legatio ad Gaium, in which Philo gives his account of the vicissitudes experienced by the Jews during the reign of the Emperor Gaius Caligula.1 The passage reads as follows (§§ 1–7):2 § 1. How long shall we old men still be children, our bodies grey with age through the length of time, but as far as our souls are concerned still infants through our insensibility, regarding what is most unstable, fortune, as most unchanging and what is most securely fixed, nature, as most unreliable? For we exchange them just like in a game of draughts and alter the state of our affairs, thinking that what is subject to fortune is more stable than what is natural and what belongs to nature is more unreliable than what is subject to fortune.   § 2. The reason for this is that we judge the present without having forethought for the future, relying on erroneous sense-perception instead of unerring thought. For what is apparent and close to hand is perceived with the eyes, but it is understanding that reaches what is unseen and still in the future. In our case, however, its sight, however, though sharper than what is achieved through the eyes of the body, has become dim, for some confused by strong drink and excess food, for others by the greatest of evils, ignorance. [350]   § 3. And yet the present situation and the many important questions that have been resolved in it are sufficient to persuade even those who did not believe that the divinity exercised forethought for human beings, and especially for the suppliant kind, which has obtained as its inheritance the Father and King of the universe and the cause of all things.   § 4. This kind is called Israel in the Chaldean language, but in Greek its name is interpreted ‘he who sees God,’ which in my view is the most precious of all public or private possessions.   § 5. For if the sight of senior people or teachers or rulers or parents moves those who see them to modesty and good behaviour and eagerness to live a life of self-con*  [This essay was written as a contribution to a Festschrift for the distinguished Norwegian Philonist and New Testament scholar Peder Borgen, as noted at the end of the first section.] 1  It is generally agreed that the title in general current use does not cover the contents of the treatise particularly well. For discussions and defence of the Eusebian title Περὶ ἀρετῶν, also found in the manuscripts see Morris (1987) 859–863; Borgen (1997a) 180. 2  I give a literal translation which tries to adhere closely to Philo’s language and syntax. It is based on the text in PCW 6.155.4–156.24 (the bracketing of τοῦ in § 3 seems unnecessary).

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trol, how much greater a support for excellence and goodness will be found in souls that have been educated to transcend the realm of becoming and fix their sight on what is ungenerated and divine, the primal Good and Beautiful and Felicitous and Blessed, indeed if the truth be told, what is better than the Good, more beautiful than the Beautiful, more blessed than Blessedness, more felicitous than Felicity itself and whatever is more perfect than what has been mentioned.   § 6. For the logos does not succeed in ascending to God who cannot be touched or handled in any way, but it sinks and ebbs away, unable to use the right names as a basis for elucidation, I do not mean of the One who IS, – for not even the entire heaven, if it became an articulate voice, could find the right supply of accurate and suitable words – but of his attendant powers, the creative and the royal and the providential and of the others those that are beneficial and punitive.   § 7. We assume here that the punitive powers should also be placed among the beneficial, not only on the grounds that they are component parts of laws and ordinances – for a law is complete if it has two components, reward for what is good and punishment for what is wicked – but also because punishment in many cases admonishes and disciplines those who go astray, or if this does not happen, at least affects those who are nearby. For penalties afflicted on others have a beneficial effect on the crowd, who are afraid to suffer a similar fate.

At the end of the passage Philo immediately turns to the main theme of the treatise. Anyone who saw Gaius after the death of Tiberius would have been amazed at the prosperous situation that he inherited when he ascended the imperial throne (§§ 8–13). But this propitious state of affairs only lasted seven months. Then Gaius got sick and the rot set in (§ 14). For at least two reasons this passage is quite exceptional in Philo’s œuvre. As Ellen Birnbaum has pointed out in her monograph on the place of Judaism in Philo’s thought, this is the only passage in a non-exegetical work in which Israel and the etymology of ‘seeing God’ occurs (§ 4) and – even more striking perhaps – it is the only [351] passage anywhere in Philo where a direct link is made between Israel and the Jews.3 A further remarkable aspect has been pointed out by Peter Frick in his monograph on divine Providence in Philo. This is the only passage in his entire writings in which a divine providential power is specifically mentioned (§ 6).4 The reason for this is not difficult to give. In both treatises Flacc. and Legat. Philo strongly emphasizes the intervention of providence in the events that happened to the Jews in 37 to 42 CE.5 The reason for the first remarkable feature is less easy to explain, as we shall see. Peder Borgen, in a long career as a contributor to Philonic studies that spans nearly forty years, has consistently reminded us that we must take Philo’s Jewish background into account when we read and interpret him. On a number of occasions he has drawn attention to the importance of the passage cited above. 3 

Birnbaum (1996) 105, 189. Frick (1999) 80. 5  See further below at n. 35. 4 



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Recently in his major monograph on Philo as exegete he has convincingly argued that there are significant thematic and linguistic parallels pointing to the conclusion that this passage was written in conjunction with the final treatises of the Exposition of the Law.6 I hope, therefore, that he will be pleased to accept this contribution on the interpretation of the passage as a small token of the esteem in which I hold him as a scholar and a friend.

2.  Difficulties in Interpretation In various discussions of the passage over the past hundred years two main problems have been discerned. Firstly, scholars have wondered whether the passage was complete. The transition at § 8, which begins with the words ‘For who, on seeing Gaius succeed to the rulership of the entire earth’ (τίς γὰρ ἰδὼν Γαίον …), was considered too abrupt. In the view of Massebieau there must have been at least a transitional sentence which connected the general comment at the [352] end of § 7 with the specific case of Gaius’ rise and fall.7 Others have suspected a longer lacuna. This view was taken over by Cohn and found its way into Reiter’s edition.8 Secondly, there has been considerable discussion on the question why Philo should launch into a theological digression – as it is assumed to be – at this particular point. The reason is not made plain, and it seems somewhat out of place in a purely historical and apologetic treatise. In fact, as we shall see, these two problems might not be unrelated. It is possible, for example, that the relevance of the theological passage might have been made clear in the lacuna. There is, in my view, a further problem that the passage raises which has not received the attention that is deserves. The passage contains various allusions to seeing, reasoning and speaking. How do these fit together. What is the relation between the dimming of the sight of the reasoning (λογισμός) in § 2 and the sight that Israel has of God (§§ 4–5)? Why does Philo follow the statement on divine transcendence (§ 5) with a passage on the limitations of the human logos (§ 6) and what is its relevance to the passage as a whole? It will be worthwhile to look a little more closely at some of the scholarly readings of the passage in order to make the above-mentioned problems more concrete. In a spirited introduction to his translation, Colson argued there was no need to posit a lacuna at the end of the introductory passage.9 This would 6  See Borgen (1997a) 182–183. I  would extend this and see connections with the entire Exposition, as well as with Contempl. and perhaps Mos. as well. But this question falls outside the scope of the present article. 7  Massebieau (1889) 68. 8  Cohn (1899) 422; Reiter PCW 6.156. Smallwood (1970) 157–158. I leave aside the speculations of Massebieau and Cohn, inspired by the evidence of Eusebius, that our present Legat. might be a compressed version of an original work in five books. 9  See in Colson PLCL 10.xx–xxi; cf. also Amir (1983) 21.

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involve a misapprehension of Philo’s regular method. The essence of what Philo wants to say is found in the first three or four sections, namely that people judge blindly on the basis of present events, yet what has happened should persuade them of the workings of providence, especially in relation to Israel. Thereafter he goes off into a ‘thoroughly Philonic ramble’ [353] in four stages: (a) Israel means he who sees God; (b) to see God is the highest gift; (c) for reason in itself cannot apprehend God nor even his powers; (d) the powers mean his punitive as well as his beneficial powers. Colson says that he is surprised that Philo has allowed himself this ramble, especially because its themes belong to the Commentary and are not repeated in the rest of the treatise. But it is quite consonant with Philo’s method to return back to the main point after a rambling parenthesis. The γάρ at the beginning of § 8 can be explained in that the joy that greeted Gaius’ accession illustrates the blindness of human reason postulated in §§ 1–2. Moreover it suggests that the entire account will illustrate the assertion that providence watches over Israel in § 3. Colson’s arguments against a lacuna are in my view quite strong. But is it necessary to agree with him that the second half of the passage is a ramble which works by association rather than a coherent line of thought? I suggest that, before agreeing with this conclusion, we invoke the principle of charity and assume that Philo is aware of what he is doing. The challenge is thus to reconstruct the train of his argument. A vigorous proponent of the view that the passage is incomplete in its present state is Goodenough in his study on Philo’s politics.10 It is strange, he argues, that Philo, in a discussion of God’s providential care for humankind and particularly for the ‘suppliant race,’ should ‘plunge the reader into the Mystery.’ The mystic vision granted to the Jews is hidden from other humans, since they have no higher gift than reason, and reason cannot even rise to God’s Powers. We cannot be certain, Goodenough continues, how far Philo was going to penetrate into the Mystery, because the continuity of his presentation suddenly breaks off. It may be suspected, however, that he would have argued that the Jews on account of their mystic powers of vision performed an intercessory role between God and the rest of humankind, saving it from the terrible effects of divine wrath. Goodenough’s reading presumes, of course, on his general interpretation of Philo’s thought as an initiation into the great Mystery (note the capital in the above citation) of Hellenistic Judaism, a view that has been universally rejected by subsequent scholars.11 Nevertheless [354] his mystical interpretation of the opening passage of Legat. has been rather influential. It is taken over, for example, by Smallwood in her Commentary on the passage. Noting that in § 6 the 10 Goodenough (1938) 12–13. He agrees with Massebieau and Cohn that Legat. in its present state is an abridgement; see above n. 8. 11  Nikiprowetzky (1977) 14–21; Borgen (1997a) 1–5.

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Sacra Parallela read the plural ἐπιβάθραις (i. e. steps on a ladder) instead of the manuscripts’ ἐπιβάθρᾳ, she implicitly takes this variant over and argues:12 The use of this word suggests an oblique reference to Philo’s belief in a kind of ladder of mystical experience; as a man progresses up its rungs, he penetrates deeper into the mystery of reality, and his vision and conception of God and His activity change. [There follows a reference to Goodenough.] The argument in 4–7 is that what the unaided human intellect (λόγος) fails to attain, the Jew with his special insight (4) can attain through a mystical experience.

The final sentence is quoted with approval by Borgen in his recent monograph.13 He argues that both Spec. 2.164–166 and the passage in Legat. show that there is no basic gap between Philo’s historical treatise on the events in Alexandria and his other (i. e. exegetical) writings. Although the formulation in §§ 5–6 is general, referring to ‘souls,’ the context shows that it must have a special application, i. e. specifically to the Jewish race in its entirety. Philo connects his anthropology with his understanding of the Jewish people. The association with the etymology of Israel as ‘seeing God’ means this understanding must have a mystical dimension. In the passage just referred to, Borgen takes issue with the interpretation of Legat. 1–7 given by Birnbaum.14 Although, as we have noted earlier, she recognizes this passage is the only place where Philo links Israel, the one who sees God, with the Jews, and she also affirms that the Jews have an intercessory role, she denies that a causal connection is involved:15 Philo does not connect the ability of ‘Israel’ to see God  – which is implied by the meaning of its name ὁρῶν θεόν – with any of the abovementioned claims about the relationship between God and the Jews. In other words, it is not because they see God that the Jews are the suppliant γένος that they have been allotted or allot themselves to God, [355] or that they benefit from His providence. Nor does Philo allege that the Jews can see God because of these other characteristics of their relationship to Him.

Why then does Philo begin his treatise so surprisingly with a summary of philosophical motifs which are usually kept quite separate from discussions about the Jewish nation? The main aim of the prologue, Birnbaum argues, is to show that God watches out specially for the Jews. It is also suggested, however, that Philo might be attempting to vindicate his people’s way of life from another perspective. The Jews, because they are linked to Israel, embody the highest philosophical goal, seeing God. When Philo contends that reason cannot attain this goal, he implies that philosophy on its own is not enough. The Jews exemplify something greater than philosophy, i. e. worship of God through observance of his Laws. These include provision for reward and punishment, as brought about 12 

Smallwood (1970) 155. On this word see further below at n. 52. Borgen (1997a) 240–242; also by Pelletier PAPM 32.64 n. 4. 14  Borgen (1997a) 242, responding to earlier versions of her thesis. 15  Birnbaum (1996) 189 (her emphases). 13 

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through God’s powers.16 Birnbaum’s interpretation thus substitutes observance of the Law for the mystical emphasis of the views of Goodenough, Smallwood and Borgen.17 She admits, however, that this view of the Jewish path as going beyond what philosophy offers is difficult to rhyme with the text at Virt. 65, which states that ‘what the disciples of the most reputable philosophy gain from its teaching, the Jews obtain from their laws and customs, knowledge of the highest and most ancient cause of all things, when they reject the delusion of gods who have come into being.’18 What all these interpretations have in common is that they examine the passage, and especially the theological section §§ 4–7, in relative isolation from the remainder of the treatise. This is less true of another brief but suggestive reading offered by Meeks.19 He agrees that the excursus is ‘odd,’ and wonders why Philo has included in his ‘most political tract’ an allusion to the allegory of Israel as ‘the [356] nation who sees God.’ But Meeks’ chief theme is the role of the divine agent, whether it be Moses or the Logos.20 This encourages him to relate the opening passage to the important theme in the treatise of Gaius’ attempt at selfdeification. Israel has a special knowledge of God. This is exactly why Gaius singled out the Jews for persecution (§§ 115–118). Taking our cue from Meeks, our aim in the remainder of this article will be to offer an extended contextual reading of Legat. 1–7. This means that the theological passage §§ 4–7 needs to be read within the context of the entire opening section, and it in turn needs to be read within the context of the treatise as a whole (and its companion piece Flacc.).21 In so doing we shall have to confront the problems raised at the beginning of this section, in the hope that the appeal we made to the principle of charity above will prove justified.

3.  A Contextual Reading The beginning of the treatise is well-known in Philonic studies because (together with § 182) it contains a unique, if rather rhetorical, reference to Philo’s advanced age and thus gives us a clue to the approximate dates of his birth and 16 

Birnbaum (1996) 191. however, that Borgen too interprets πεπαίδευνται in § 5 as ‘being trained in the Laws of Moses; cf. (1997) 241. 18  Birnbaum (1996) 118, cf. 191 n. 76. 19  Meeks (1976) 43–67, esp. 50–54. Although Leisegang (1938) 377–405, recognizes the importance of the deification theme in the treatise, he does not relate it to the contents of the opening passage. 20  On this theme cf. also two articles of Borgen (1996a) 293–307; (1996b) 145–159. 21  A difficulty here is the fact that Legat. is obviously a torso. It is possible that the full import of Philo’s opening section could only be understood if we also had access to the sequel to Legat. announced in § 373. This problem is unavoidable and insoluble. 17  Note

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death. Moreover it contains an erudite allusion to Plato Tim. 22b, in which the Egyptian priest describes the Greeks as children when compared to the more ancient Egyptians.22 For an understanding of our passage as a whole, however, two other themes are more important. Firstly a contrast is established between Fortune (τύχη) and Nature (φύσις), the former being considered to be stable and the latter unreliable, whereas in fact the reverse is the case (§ 1). The antithesis is [357] rare in Philo.23 It will be better understood if the two components are first taken separately. Tychê refers here above all to the topsy-turvy nature of human life. Fortunes come and go, prosperity is achieved and then lost again. The image of the game of draughts – Heraclitan in origin24 – recurs in two important parallel passages. In Mos. 1.31–32 the young Moses at Pharaoh’s court is contrasted with those who are puffed up with their good fortune:25 For nothing is more unstable than fortune, which moves human affairs up and down like on a draught-board, often on a single day laying low the highly placed and raising on high the lowly placed. And even though these people see and clearly recognize that this is always happening, nevertheless they are contemptuous of their relatives and friends and transgress the laws under which they have been born and raised … But Moses, having reached the very pinnacle of human prosperity (εὐτυχία) … showed zeal for the ancestral teachings of his family …

Similarly in the famous Heraclitan passage on dream-like nature of human life in Ios. 125–147,26 Philo notes how nations rise and fall and concludes that this occurs ‘through the turnings of human affairs and the changes like moves up and down on a draughts-board,’ which cause some to fantasize unlimited prosperity for themselves, whereas disaster will ensue, while others expect evil and meet up with good (§ 136). Prosperity and success (εὐτυχία), when fortune smiles on life, are inherently instable and can swiftly change to misfortune (ἀτυχία).27 The opposite to Tychê is Physis, representing what is stable and fixed, not subject to the vicissitudes of chance. The realm of physis can extend from the regularities of nature to the immutable realities of the intelligible realm. The main contrast is between human affairs and what is non-human or super-human. For the theologically minded Philo, the main source of order and stability in the 22 

Cf. the comments of Pelletier PAPM 32.60, Runia (1986) 74, 77. The only other example I have found is at Spec. 3.137, where in the case of a servant Philo makes a contrast between his lot and his nature, ‘but for the divine law the standard of justice is not what is in harmony with fortune but with nature’. 24  Heraclitus fr. B52 DK, cf. Plato Laws 903b. 25  Philo may well be thinking of his nephew Alexander in this passage. 26  For Heraclitan texts in Philo see Mouraviev (1999) 237–253 (he includes citations and paraphrases, not allusions, so there is no reference to our text). [See now the monograph of Saudelli (2012), who notes this text on p. 217.] 27  Similar themes are found in Mos. 2.41, Deus 172–176, Somn. 1.153, Decal. 43, QG fr. 5 Petit etc. 23 

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world is God [358] and his divine purpose. Nature is thus primarily identifiable with God, a Stoicizing form of expression that is frequently found throughout Philo’s works.28 The second important theme is epistemological. We child-like humans, Philo affirms (§ 1), are insensitive towards the true state of affairs. We judge the present by what we see instead of using our powers of thought (διάνοια). This means we have no eye for what is unseen and awaiting us in the future. Only our understanding (λογισμός) gives us access to this realm. But the eye of our understanding, which should be able to see much more penetratingly than our bodily vision, is dimmed, either through bad living or through ignorance (§ 2). The mildly platonizing contrast is of course familiar to all readers of Philo.29 Implicit is also the gift of prophecy which the mind only achieves under divine inspiration.30 Both themes are commonplaces or topoi and are surely meant to be recognized as such.31 This is especially the case in the formulation of the second theme. Why should the understanding be befuddled by food and drink? Are there not more plausible reasons for a lack of judgment, such as fear and despair? Plainly Philo is not writing this treatise for an intellectually sophisticated audience. But it goes without saying that he had a purpose in beginning his account with these themes. We need to investigate how these topoi are applied to the events recounted in the treatise. The topsy-turvy nature of human affairs is illustrated at various levels. At the beginning of Gaius’ reign the prosperity (εὐτυχία) was so great that it looked like a more permanent state of well-being (εὐδαιμονία) would be achieved (§ 11). But soon Gaius became sick, his promise changed (μεταβαλών) to savagery (§ 22), and the hopes of his subjects altered to total disillusionment. The Ptolemies were [359] sensible rulers, but their good fortune was surpassed by the Julio-Claudian emperors Augustus and Tiberius, until the megalomaniac Gaius entered the scene (§§ 138–154, cf. § 309). The change had a disastrous effect on the fortunes of the Jewish community. Formerly we were prosperous (εὐτυχεῖς), Philo writes in § 114, but now all is changed. The members of the embassy lament the misfortunes (ἀτυχίαι) of their nation, but still fix their hope on God (§§ 196–197). The loyal Jew King Agrippa thinks along similar lines. He is prepared to renounce his fortune if the ancestral customs of the Jews could be left unchanged. Other 28 

See the discussion in Nikiprowetzky (1977) 150–151. for example the excellent example at Aet. 1–2 and the other texts given at Runia (1986) 126. 30  Note in this context the unusual passage at Legat. 109, where the ability to see the future is attributed to Apollo, who ‘has foreknowledge of the future as if it were already present and sees it with the understanding rather than with the eyes of the body, thereby protecting himself and taking care that no harm befalls himself.’ The terminology here is very similar to that used in § 2, even if Philo does not believe for a moment in the existence of this Greek god. 31  As noted by Festugière (1949) 523, 555–567. 29  See

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highly-placed persons such as Flaccus also suffered under Gaius’ whims, exchanging good fortune for misfortune (§§ 339–342, cf. Flacc. 183–185). Less is made in the treatise of the stability of nature. A  rather whimsical contrast is made between nature and Gaius (§ 190): ‘we (ambassadors) sailed through the middle of the stormy winter, unaware how great a storm was awaiting us, far more dangerous on land than on sea. For of the latter nature is the cause, dividing the year into seasons, and nature is a preserver, whereas of the latter a human being is the cause, a reckless youth …’ The real contrast is between the nature of God, supremely powerful, providential but also retributory, and a human emperor who thinks he has been allotted the nature of a god (§ 367). The second theme also recurs through the treatise, because Philo constantly recounts not only the events that occurred, but also how people reacted to them in their evaluations of what was happening. The most striking case concerns Philo himself. It seemed as if the first meeting of the embassy with Gaius had a positive result. Their case was admitted and Gaius promised to deal with it at a later time. The other members were pleased, but Philo, older and more cautious than they, was suspicious. Inciting his understanding (λογισμός) to action, he concluded that Gaius must have an ulterior motive for giving them this preferential treatment (§§ 181–183). It gave him sleepless nights (§ 184). But then they heard much worse news. Gaius had ordered a huge statue to be placed in the temple (§ 188). Together they discussed the situation and expressed what their minds (νοῦς) prompted them to say. In despair they wonder whether, if the causes that they are pleading are lost, they will be able to get home safely. To which Philo replies that truly noble persons educated in the sacred writings are always optimistic (§ 196): [360] Perhaps these trials have been sent to test the present generation, to see how they stand in relation to virtue and if they have been educated to bear misfortunes with understanding and fortitude (λογισμοῖς ἰσχυρογνώμοσιν) and not collapse straight away. All help from humans is gone. Let it go. But let there remain in our souls an indestructible hope in God the Saviour, who has often saved the nation from impossibly difficult circumstances.

It seems to me that this entire passage is meant to illustrate the topos outlined at the beginning of the treatise. Despite his age, Philo is made nervous by his suspicions.32 The future looks bleak. The following statement is a considerable improvement, because it is based on the promises of scripture. But even at the very end of the treatise pessimism prevails. The meeting with Gaius left them in great doubt, and various considerations (λογισμοί) dragged them down into the depths again (§ 372). 32 

Smallwood (1970) 255 remarks: ‘Philo’s prejudice makes him distrust and misinterpret what was probably a perfectly reasonable attitude on Gaius’ part.’

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The final much discussed words of the treatise indicate that a reversal will take place, to be recounted in a ‘palinode.’ But this is in fact already made clear at the very outset. For already in the following section of the prologue (§ 3) Philo looks back at the happenings he recounts. As Pelletier rightly remarks,33 the aorist tense of κριθεῖσαι indicates that the outcome of the events is no longer in doubt. It should be enough to convince even the sceptics of the fact that God exercises providence over humankind and especially the Jews. The connection between the opening paragraphs is made by means of the strong adversative πλήν. This suggests that the ‘epistemological’ theme is being continued. The bedimmed state of the understanding should not longer occur. The events that have taken place, culminating in the assasination of Gaius, should be sufficient to convince everyone that history is not a matter of chance. They could see these events with their eyes, but had to use the understanding to recognize what they meant, namely the working of providence in history. Given the first person plural with which Philo begins (§ 1), we must assume that Jews too were among those who needed to be convinced. The theme of divine providence and its care for the Jews is unquestionably the main connecting theme of the treatise, and also of its [361] companion piece, the In Flaccum,34 recurring at regular intervals whenever there is a crisis in the fortunes of the Jews and an unexpected positive reversal takes place.35 Philo first states it in general terms, as if it was a philosophical proposition. One recalls the fifth and final lesson to be learnt from the creation account as outlined at the end of De opificio mundi.36 But it is immediately made more specific by the reference to ‘the suppliant race’ (τὸ ἱκετικὸν γένος). As Birnbaum has pointed out,37 the phrase is unique in Philo, but the idea that it describes is common throughout the Philonic corpus. Israel – and within it especially the Levites and the proselytes – is the suppliant of God, who favours the nation with his mercy and grace.38 That the title is not only descriptive, but also corresponds to specific acts of supplication is made clear at the climax of the work as we have it. The ambassadors are trying to put their case before Gaius, but he ignores them and they become totally disheartened. Their souls then went forth and supplicated the true God and he took compassion on them (§ 366, cf. § 196). The same occurs at the dramatic climax of In Flaccum (§§ 121–125). 33 

Pelletier PAPM 32.62 n. 6. Cf. the far too brief analysis of Frick (1999) 187–189. In one of the manuscripts the latter treatise is even the alternative title Περὶ προνοίας. 35  Cf. §§ 68, 220, 336, Flacc. 125, 170, and the comments of Smallwood (1970) 272; Frick (1999) 287. 36  §§ 171–172, on which see my comments in Runia (2001a) 400. 37  Birnbaum (1996) 106 n. 22. 38  See the analyses of Nikiprowetzky (1963) (ending with a reference to Flacc. 121–125), and Birnbaum (1996) 106–107. It should be noted that ‘Suppliants (Ἱκέται) is the alternative title for Contempl. 34 



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It is worth noting, however, that at this point in our text there is no indication that Philo is specifically talking about the Jews (the name is in fact not used until § 115). Even the reference to the race having received the father of the universe as its special allotment is not very specific. But Borgen is certainly right to point out the quite similar language in latter books of the Exposition of the Law.39 And Philo apparently does not wish to leave his reader in any doubt. In the next two sections he expatiates on what the phrase ‘suppliant race’ means, explaining it in terms of Israel, ‘he who sees God.’ [362] As we have already noted above, the identification with Israel and its etymology must be regarded as very unexpected in the context of Philo’s entire corpus of writings. Birnbaum’s statistics show that it almost never occurs outside the Allegorical Commentary.40 Of the 49 occurrences in which Israel is related to the etymology, only two are found in the Exposition (Abr. 57, Praem. 44) and two in the Quaestiones (QG 3.49. 4.233). 44 cases, i. e. almost 90 %, are found in the Allegorical Commentary. The single other case that remains is our text. Borgen is certainly justified in drawing attention to Praem. 36–44, in which Jacob is described as having the name Israel and his vision of God is analysed at some length.41 The other text in the Exposition, Abr. 57, is perhaps even more relevant, because there Philo relates Israel’s name to the race (ἔθνος) that drew its origin from the three patriarchs. There is, however, a significant difference between these two texts from the Exposition and what we find in Legat. In the former two texts Philo uses philosophical doctrines in order to explain what ‘seeing God’ actually involves, very extensively in the Praem. passage, less so in Abr. 57–59. In our passage he does three things. Firstly we read that seeing God is ‘the most precious of all public or private possessions,’ i. e. both for the individual and collectively for the nation. Secondly he makes a comparison between the value of seeing our elders and seeing God. Thirdly he explains that seeing God means transcending the realm of becoming and gazing on the divine. God is then described by means of a number of primary epithets. Using a hyperbolic form of expression involving the comparative form of various adjectives for which four exact parallels are found elsewhere,42 Philo strongly emphasizes God’s supreme transcendence. What is lacking is any indication of what that seeing involves, both in terms of the epistemological activity of the subject doing the seeing and the restrictions which result from the nature of the object being seen. Elsewhere in his œuvre Philo frequently emphasizes that the viewer is dazzled by the sight and that God can 39 Esp. Spec. 4.180, Virt. 34, cited by Borgen (1997a) 182; but cf. also Spec. 2.217, Virt. 79, Virt. 184–186 (proselytes). On the theme of inheritance see further Harl PAPM 15.53–56. 40  See Birnbaum (1996) 47–49, 65 n. 12. 41  Borgen (1997a) 183. 42  Opif. 8, Praem. 40 (another ‘Israel’ text), Contempl. 2, QE 2.68 (Greek text at Marcus PLCLSup 2.256).

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only be seen or known in terms of his existence, not in terms of his essence.43 [363] None of this is mentioned here. The choice of epithets too is interesting. Identification with the ‘first good’ and the ‘beautiful’ is parallel to the other texts mentioned.44 But why the mention of God’s blessed and felicitous nature? Once again it is helpful to relate Philo’s formulations here to the contents of the rest of the treatise.45 Respect for his elders is exactly what Gaius did not show, as the story of the miserable fate of his mentor Macro amply proves (§§ 32–75). More importantly, Israel’s gift of being able to transcend the realm of becoming and see God is recalled when Philo reaches the main theme of the work, Gaius’ blasphemous attempt at deification and his attempt to rival the supreme God worshipped by the Jews. The following three texts must be compared: § 5. … how much greater a support for excellence and goodness will be found in souls that have been taught to transcend (ὑπερκύψασαι) the realm of becoming and fix their sight on what is ungenerated (τὸ ἀγένητον) and divine … § 75. … he [Gaius] no longer thought it worthy of himself to remain within the limits of human nature, but transcended them (ὑπερέκυπτε) in his eagerness to be regarded as a god. § 118. … and that change [in the Jews’ ancestral customs] was not something trivial, but the most important thing that exists, when the generated and destructible nature of a human being was seemingly deified (θεοπλαστῆσαι) into what is ungenerated (ἀγένητον) and indestructible, which [the nation] judged to be the most serious of blasphemies – for it would be easier for God to change into a man than for a man to change into God – as well as including the supreme vices of faithlessness and ingratitude towards the Benefactor of the entire cosmos, who by means of his power bestows generous blessings on all parts of the universe.

The theme recurs at the very climax of the work as we have it, when God takes mercy on the Jews and Gaius is described as saying (§ 367): These people seem to be not so much wicked as unfortunate (δυστυχεῖς) as well as foolish in not believing that I have inherited (κεκλήρωμαι) the nature of a god.

We also have perhaps an explanation why Philo emphasizes God’s blessedness in his description of divine transcendence in § 5. Gaius [364] was already considered to have attained an unparalleled prosperity when he ascended to the throne (cf. § 9). Now he also aspired to the supreme felicity of a god. Only the Jews were able to see through this blasphemous attempt (cf. § 211). A further question to be raised is what Philo exactly means when he says that Israel has been educated (πεπαίδευνται) to see what is ungenerated and divine. Borgen rightly suspects that the expression refers to being schooled in the laws of 43 

See esp. Spec. 1.32–40, Praem. 40–46, Post. 168–169, Fug. 141, 164 etc. ’Good’ and ‘beautiful’ in Opif. 8, the ‘good’ in Praem. 40, Contempl. 2. 45  Only Meeks (1976) has observed some of these connections. 44 



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Moses.46 Two further texts make this certain. When Gaius first broached his plan for deification, he was displeased at the Jews, for only they opposed him, ‘having been taught from the cradle by parents and tutors and teachers and by the far higher authority of the holy laws and also by the unwritten customs to recognize God the one father and maker of the cosmos’ (§ 115).47 Petronius, Governor of Syria, was much more sensible. He recognized that ‘all human beings are zealous in guarding their customs, but this applies especially to the Jewish nation, for they consider their laws to be oracles sent by God and they are trained from their youngest years in this doctrine, carrying images of what has been commanded them enshrined in their souls’ (§ 210). In fact, what ‘seeing God’ amounts to is strict and uncompromising observance of the first and second commandment, the subject of the whole of book 1 of De specialibus legibus. It is telling how Philo concludes that work. For the disciples of Moses, he writes, this ‘knowledge of the One who IS’ is the culminating point (τέλος) of well-being and an age-long life, for the law instructs them that all who cleave to God shall live, which is a necessary and philosophical doctrine (§ 345). But now we come to the most difficult part of our text. The problem is caused by Philo’s use of the term logos. In my translation I deliberately left it untranslated. With few exceptions, translators and commentators have translated it with ‘reason’ or an equivalent. The reason for this is plain. They quite naturally take the explanatory γάρ at the beginning of § 6 to refer back to the previous sentence, in which the transcendence of God is strongly emphasized. What would be more natural that to conclude that Philo here further explains how humanity is unable to attain to knowledge of God [365] through its unaided faculties? This is the basis for both the mystical and the ‘legalistic’ interpretations outlined in our second section above. Philo himself will of course have been aware that the term logos in Greek is strongly multi-vocal. He himself uses it more than 1400 times in the extant Greek works.48 Leisegang’s analysis of the word gives three basic meanings (oratio, ratio, dei verbum et ratio), subdivided into no less than 30 different connotations.49 So one would think it was incumbent on Philo to make plain to his reader what the term signifies in the present context. In the first part of § 6, until the verbs ὑπονοστεῖ and ὑπορρεῖ, the meaning is quite unclear. But thereafter he three times uses words that refer to language and articulated sound (‘the right names,’ ‘an articulate voice,’ ‘accurate and suitable words [or verbs]’). The fourth 46  Borgen (1997a) 241; cf. also Birnbaum (1996) 191, though she does not explicitly focus on this expression. 47  I accept Colson’s interpretation of πολὺ πρότερον, PLCL 10.57. For this conviction cf. esp. Opif. 170 (the five lessons of piety). 48  According to Borgen–Fuglseth–Skarsten (2000) it occurs 1413 times. 49  Leisegang (1926–30) 490–503. Our text is referred to (not quoted) on 502 as adjunct to Mut. 15 under the heading III 7 divinae rationis cum hominibus commercium, which does not seem very to the point.

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term δήλωσις, which I  have translated ‘elucidation,’ also most naturally refers to linguistic explanation in the present context. Comparison with other texts in which Philo speaks about δήλωσις confirm this quite clearly. A  very clear example is found at Migr. 77–78, where Philo gives an allegorical interpretation of the figures of Moses and his brother Aaron. Moses symbolizes the nous, which needs no help when occupied with intelligible things, but when it focuses on sense-perceptible things it needs the help of Aaron, the logos, as an interpreter for the elucidation of what it has undergone.50 It seems to me, therefore, that Mangey was fully justified in rendering λόγος with sermo in his Latin version.51 [366] The best translation here is ‘language’ rather than ‘speech,’ because Philo is speaking in very general terms and ‘speech’ is perhaps too human to be applied to the heavens. A brief word should also be devoted to Philo’s phrase ‘unable to use the right names as a basis (ἐπιβάθρᾳ) for elucidation.’ As we saw earlier, Smallwood substitutes ἐπιβάθραις (steps on a ladder).52 Pelletier thinks we have here an allusion to Jacob’s ladder. But there are no clear cases in which Philo uses the word in the sense of a ‘ladder.’ An ἐπιβάθρα is a ‘standing place’ or a ‘stepping stone’ for something. This gives it the meaning of ‘basis’ or ‘foundation.’ The best parallel is the curious allegory in Spec. 3.179, where cutting of the hand that touched the testicles teaches us to excise all godless thoughts (λογισμοί) which use as a basis (ἐπιβάθρᾳ χρωμένους) all that comes into being.53 There is no support for a mystical interpretation in terms of a ladder up to God in this phrase. We now come to the crux of our interpretation. What is the failure of language that Philo refers to here? The first thing to notice is that distinction, central to Philo’s theology, between the One who IS and his Powers. The former is beyond comprehension and description, as Philo habitually emphasizes.54 Philo refers here to God, or Being, as he is in himself. In order to give this view sufficient emphasis he adds a statement in the form of the rhetorical figure of the hyperbole.55 Even the heavens could not articulate God’s nature. But in the present context this is not so relevant. Philo is above all interested in God’s relation to 50  Cf. also Her. 303, Mos. 2.128, Spec. 4.69 (note theλόγος προφορικός). Spec. 1.65 and 4.49 both speak of δήλωσις in connection with the utterances of prophecy. 51  Mangey (1742) 2.546. He is followed by Drummond in his paraphrase, (1888) 2.31. Kohnke in his German translation (PCH 7.176) equivocates, rendering the term with ‘der Geist und seine Sprache.’ Colson PLCL 10.5, argues that Mangey’s rendering is ‘perhaps more in accordance with the words that follow, but not so Philonic in thought.’ This impressionistic argument is quite unfounded. 52  See above at n. 12. 53  For the remaining examples of ἐπιβάθρα see Agr. 107, Conf. 2, Somn. 2.51. 54  Cf. esp. Mut. 1–17, Spec. 1.32–50; Montes-Peral (1987); Runia (1988a). 55  A fine parallel is found at Mos. 2.239: ‘If the entire heaven was resolved into a voice, shall it have the ability to recount even a part of your excellences?’ Cf. also Spec. 1.44, Deus 79, Plant. 126. The figure reminds us of the final verse of John’s Gospel, which finds good parallels at Philo, Post. 144, Mos. 1.213.

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creation and humankind, and especially to the fate of the Jewish people. This is the province of God’s powers, which are active in the world of becoming, and so can intervene in what happens in human affairs. Here too the powers of language fall short. The problem is that Philo does not explicitly tell us why. But at this point we should [367] recall the remarkable fact, noted at the outset of our article,56 that Philo here alone in all his works includes a providential power among the divine powers. This may provide us with the hint we need. What language cannot do is fully describe how amazingly God’s powers intervened in the fortunes of the Jewish nation during the events that Philo will describe in the treatise. The relevant texts have already been noted above.57 In the process some people were blessed, others received punishment. For this reason Philo adds in § 7 an explanation about the workings of God’s beneficial and punitive powers. It is not given for human beings to obtain a precise and detailed insight into the workings of divine Providence. Why should so many innocent people have been killed or otherwise affected by the dreadful events of the ‘pogrom’ that occurred in Alexandria in 38 CE? Philo is convinced, however, that ultimately God is in control of events and that even these terrible events will serve an educational purpose. He does not doubt that God is both good and just.58 A contextual reading of these first seven sections shows, in my view, that they should not be just read as a rambling piece of theology, but were inspired by the subject matter of the treatise. Implicitly, therefore, Philo is alluding to a literary topos that he often uses at the beginning of a treatise or a discussion, namely that the powers of language are insufficient to do justice to the subject matter of the work. Well-known examples are found at Opif. 5 and Contempl. 1. Because the subject matter of Legat. has to do with God’s providential intervention in human affairs, and concretely in the case of Israel, this topos in stated in theological garb. Language fails, not only on account of the undoubted shortcomings of the author, but also on account of the fact that God’s dealings with creation are not fully accessible to the human thought. An objection may, however, be directed against this interpretation. Does Philo not explicitly link, by means of the word γάρ (‘for’) at the beginning of § 6, the theme of the failure of the logos to the transcendence of God emphasized so strongly in § 5? My answer to this objection would be that it seems to me that this gar is better [368] taken not to refer to what immediately precedes it, but rather to § 3, which states the main theme of the introductory passage, namely the undeniable reality of God’s providential intervention in this history of the Jews. If this view is correct, this means we should in fact take the whole of §§ 4–5 56 

See above at n. 4. See above at n. 35. 58  See Leaman (1995) 33–47, and also my forthcoming article on Philo’s theodicy (published in 2003, = article 10 in this collection). 57 

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as a kind of parenthesis, explaning firstly what is meant by the ‘suppliant race’ in § 3, and then what is meant by the etymology of Israel as ‘seeing God’. It might be further objected that Philo does not make his use of the topos about the limitations of the powers of language very clear in §§ 6–7, if indeed that is what he is trying to convey. Does this not mean that once again we are forced to return to the hypothesis that our text is not complete and that it is probable that a section of text has fallen out between § 7 and § 8? It cannot be doubted that the transition in the text at this point is rather abrupt. It is certainly not impossible that a section of text has fallen out. But we can look at one more piece of evidence, namely how the section that follows, i. e. §§ 8–21, relates to the introductory passage. Here, as has already been noted, we confront another explanatory gar.59 Although the German translator Kohnke holds on to the view that there is a lacuna, he is certainly right in concluding that the entire section §§ 8–21 is meant as a paradigm case of the failure of understanding postulated in §§ 1–2. The explanatory gar in § 8 thus applies to entire section §§ 1–7. The participle at the outset in § 8 (τίς γὰρ ἰδών) clearly picks up the role of logismos and the eye of the mind in § 2. Even clearer is Philo’s reference at the end of the passage, which he comments on the premature and ill-advised joy felt by Gaius’ subjects when he first recovered from the illness that threatened him (§§ 20–21): … as if changing from a life without a guardian to being settled under a guardian and shepherd of a more domesticated herd, they were full of joy in ignorance of the truth. For the human mind is blind with regard to the perception of its real advantage and takes resort to guesswork and conjecture instead of knowledge.

In fact this passage rather usefully complements the earlier passage in § 2, because it explains how human ignorance can come about. Interpreting the significance of events is a matter of guesswork until God makes his intentions clear through his actions. [369] But there are quite a few other hints in this passage that show that Philo is thinking of his opening passage and its implicit anticipatory references to the comparison between God and the arrogant young ruler who absurdly wishes to usurp God’s place. We note the following references: § 8 Gaius assumes rulership over the whole of the earth and sea. § 8 His prosperity transcends every description (compare § 5, § 6). § 9 He has inherited a huge amount of goods (in contrast to Israel, who has inherited only God, § 3). § 9 He has at his disposal countless forces or powers (παμπληθεῖς δυνάμεις) (but these are no match for God’s powers, §§ 6–7). 59 

See above at n. 7.

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§ 11 Gaius excelled his monarchic predecessors in his huge supply of goods (i. e. like a god on earth), full of prosperity (εὐτυχία) almost attaining to blessedness (εὐδαιμονία) (but nothing to compare with God’s transcendent well-being, § 5). § 13 It seems like the proverbial times of Kronos, the moment (καιρός) giving equality before the law (but this was to be cruelly reversed, until God intervenes in the present καιρός § 3). § 20 Gaius seems like a good and just shepherd for his flock (but actually this is God’s role, the true ‘support for excellence and goodness,’ § 5). Examples could be further multiplied. The antithesis between God and Gaius is prepared in both the introductory passage and its sequel. It will dominate the rest of the treatise. Unfortunately, since we lack the ‘palinode’ (§ 367), we are unable to read Philo’s account of how the showdown ends.

4. Conclusion A contextual reading of the complex passage Legat. 1–7 has proved a useful exercise. Although the passage has few of the formal characteristics of an exordium,60 its contents are closely related to the subject matter of the entire treatise. The chief theme is focussed on the role of divine Providence.60a No one can reflect on the events that [370] Philo is about to recount without concluding that God is concerned with human affairs, and especially those of the Jewish people. The introduction of the theological section in §§ 4–7 has a triple purpose: (1) to explain the special relationship between God and Israel, here identified with the Jewish people; (2) to further locate the role of providence within the divine nature; (3) to anticipate the theme of the purported rivalry between God and megalomaniac emperor Gaius which will play such a prominent role in the remainder of the work. Especially the role of the third purpose has hitherto received insufficient attention. Throughout my analysis I have emphasized that we are dealing here with a difficult text. The problems of interpretation are caused by the fact that Philo does not make all the connections in his train of thought entirely clear. This has been the reason that scholars have thought the passage incomplete, a conclusion that is in my view not necessary, though it cannot be entirely ruled out either. It seems to me that in the passage at least one ‘epistemological’ difficulty remains which has defied full resolution. Philo appears to combine two quite different 60  On these 60a  [On the

17 and 26.]

in Philo see Alexander (1993) 157–160. Runia (2001a) 99. role of divine Providence in Philo’s thought and writings see further articles

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meanings of mental vision (ὄψις).61 In the opening two sections vision involves the correct discernment of historical events. In §§ 4–5, however, vision has to do with ‘seeing God,’ the special role of Israel. We have interpreted this vision in terms of the recognition of God’s existence and the observance of the first two commandments. I  believe the equivocation has to be allowed to stand. It is even possible that Philo has introduced it deliberately. Devotion to God and observance of his commands do not automatically mean recognition and comprehension of his acts. Philo indicates in the narrative that he himself fell short in this respect. Ultimately his pessimism expressed during the course of events (cf. § 182) proved unjustified. God took mercy on his people (§ 367) and his worst fears were not realized. The Jewish community of Alexandria was rescued from annihilation, during his lifetime at least.

61 

The actual term occurs in § 2 and § 5.

24. Philo, Quaestiones in Genesin 2.62 and the Problem of Deutero-theology* It is nearly two centuries now since the discovery and publication of the Armenian corpus of Philo’s writings by J. B. Aucher (Awgerean).1 It is fair to say that our knowledge of Philo and his thought has been enormously enriched by the gradual unfolding of the riches contained in that extensive corpus. Abraham Terian once remarked on the relative neglect suffered by the Armenian Philo and speculated about the sensation that its discovery would cause if his corpus were discovered now.2 However this may be, Philonic scholarship owes a great debt to Armenologists, both those who have specialized in Philo studies themselves and those who have selflessly helped Philo scholars understand texts that they cannot read in the original. Among the latter group was my friend and former Leiden colleague Jos Weitenberg. Throughout the years I was greatly indebted to him, firstly for the extensive help he gave me in writing my dissertation, and then later when I  continued my Philonic researches. With gratitude, but now also with sadness, I dedicate this short article to his memory.

1.  A Philonic Text Preserved in Three Traditions A fine example of the kind of text through which the Armenian corpus has enriched our knowledge of Philo is Quaestiones in Genesin 2.62.2a For reasons that will soon become clear this text was not entirely unknown to earlier scholars, but *  As indicated in the postscript added in 2013, this article was submitted to the editors in 2003, at the time when the volume was envisaged as a Festschrift for the Leiden scholar Prof. Jos J. S. Weitenberg. Ten years later a revised version was sent in. By that time the book had become a memorial volume, for sadly the honoratus passed away in April 2012. Even then it took another six years before it was published. No literature later than 2011 is cited. 1  For a survey of the Armenian corpus of Philonic works see Siegert (1989). A recent bibliographie raisonnée is Sirinian (2011), while the volume of collected studies, Mancini-Lombardi–Pontani (2011), which opens with Sirinian’s contribution, presents studies of various aspects of the Philo armeniacus. 2  Terian (1994). [This article speculates on what the reaction would have been if the whole of the Philonic corpus was discovered now, but it also would equally apply to the discovery of the Armenian corpus alone.] 2a  [In the published version I  cited the text as located in Quaestiones in Genesim. There is a convergence of opinion that the correct Latin title is Quaestiones in Genesin, as in the

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its full contents were first published by Aucher in 1826.3 The full text reads, as translated by R. Marcus from the Armenian as follows:4 Why does (Scripture) say, as if (speaking) of another God, ‘in the image of God He made man’ and not ‘in His own image’? [260]   Most excellently and veraciously this oracle was given by God. For nothing mortal can be made in the likeness of the most high One and Father of the universe but (only) in that of the second God, who is His Logos. For it was right that the rational (part) of the human soul should be formed as an impression by the divine Logos, since the pre-Logos God is superior to every rational nature. But He who is above the Logos (and) exists in the best and in a special form – what thing that comes into being can rightfully bear His likeness? Moreover, Scripture wishes also to show that God most justly avenges the virtuous and decent men because they a certain kinship with His Logos, of which the human mind is a likeness and image.

The text presents an exegetical problem that arises from Gen 9:6, part of the Noachitic covenant, in which God is said to institute the lex talionis ‘because I have made the human being in the image of God.’ The phrase ἐν εἰκόνι θεοῦ strongly recalls the language of Gen 1:27, where the phrase reads κατ᾿ εἰκόνα θεοῦ. This of course is no coincidence, because the entire passage Gen 9:1–7 is strongly reminiscent of the priestly account of creation in Gen 1. Philo twice refers to this text elsewhere (Somn. 1.74, Spec. 3.83), but the exegetical problem raised in our text is discussed only here. It is thus an illustration of the importance to us of the Armenian Philo. But the Armenian corpus is not the only evidence of this text that we possess from the ancient world. Two Church fathers, both of whom lived in the fourth century refer to it, the one explicitly, the other by implication. Their evidence thus antedates the Armenian translation, which I  take to have been made in the sixth or seventh century,5 by more than two centuries. In the Praeparatio Evangelica, a huge apologetic work written on behalf of Christianity against the attacks of the philosopher Porphyry, Eusebius of Caesarea quotes all of the text cited above except the final sentence. He does this in Book 7, in which he sets out how the Gospel was anticipated in Jewish thought. Chapter 13 presents their opinions on ‘the first cause of the universe,’ i. e. God. The next chapter is entitled ‘On the theology of the second cause (Περὶ τῆς τοῦ δευτέρου αἰτίου θεολογίας),’ i. e. the Logos. In it he sets out all the evidence he can muster to show that the Christian Logos doctrine associated with Christ was prefigured in the Hebrew Bible.6 Then Philo is invoked as proof with a rhetorical flourish (PE 7.12.14): recommended abbreviations of The Studia Philonica Annual. I have altered the original article accordingly (including its title).] 3  Aucher (1826) 146. 4  PCLSup 1.151. 5  Here I follow Terian (1981) 6–9. 6  The texts are Job 28:12 ff., P 32:6 (LXX), Prov 8, Wis 6:12, 7:22–26, Ps 106:20 (LXX), Ps 147:4, Gen 1:26–27, Ps 32:9 (LXX), Gen 19:24, Ps 109:1 (LXX).

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‘But in case you think I am [261] using trickery here, I shall introduce you to a Hebrew man who is an interpreter of the meaning of scripture, an expert in his native tradition and trained in doctrine by his teachers, if indeed you accept Philo as such a person. Listen, then, to him as well and hear how he interprets the divine pronouncements.’ Eusebius then quotes our text as follows:7 Διὰ τί ὡς περὶ ἑτέρου θεοῦ φησι τὸ «ἐν εἰκόνι θεοῦ ἐποίησα τὸν ἄνθρωπον», ἀλλ’ οὐχὶ τῇ ἑαυτοῦ;   Παγκάλως καὶ σοφῶς τουτὶ κεχρησμῴδηται. θνητὸν γὰρ οὐδὲν ἀπεικονισθῆναι πρὸς τὸν ἀνωτάτω καὶ πατέρα τῶν ὅλων ἐδύνατο, ἀλλὰ πρὸς τὸν δεύτερον θεόν, ὅς ἐστιν ἐκείνου λόγος. ἔδει γὰρ τὸν λογικὸν ἐν ἀνθρώπου ψυχῇ τύπον ὑπὸ θείου λόγου χαραχθῆναι, ἐπειδὴ ὁ πρὸ τοῦ λόγου θεὸς κρείσσων ἐστὶν ἢ πᾶσα λογικὴ φύσις· τῷ δὲ ὑπὲρ τὸν λόγον ἐν τῇ βελτίστῃ καί τινι ἐξαιρέτῳ καθεστῶτι ἰδέᾳ οὐδὲν θέμις ἦν γενητὸν ἐξομοιωθῆναι.

After stating that this text comes from the first book of Philo’s Quaestiones et solutiones,8 he goes to quote two more Philonic texts (Agr. 51, Plant. 8–10) and a passage from Philo’s Alexandrian predecessor Aristobulus. If Eusebius’ text is compared with the Armenian transmission, it is apparent that there are small differences. For example the Armenian quotes the verb in the biblical text in the third person, rather than the first, as occurs in the Septuagint and Eusebius. But there are also differences within the Armenian manuscript tradition itself. For the phrase ὁ πρὸ τοῦ λόγου θεὸς κρείσσων ἐστὶν Aucher read Primo Verbo Deus superior est, i. e. translating ὁ πρώτου λόγου θεὸς κρείσσων ἐστὶν. It is apparent that both texts stem from the same manuscript tradition, but in the two centuries separating Eusebius from the Armenian translators corruptions may have set in. Alternatively the Armenian translators may have been careless in their task or mistakes may have entered the subsequent Armenian manuscript tradition. For further details on the differences between the Greek and Armenian texts, the reader is referred to the excellent edition of F. Petit in her collection of the Greek fragments of the Quaestiones.9 [262] Another witness to the text in the Patristic tradition is Ambrose, Bishop of Milan. In his treatise on Noah, which leans heavily on Philo’s Quaestiones, he writes (29.99):10 Many have been troubled by the fact that he has said ‘in the image of God I made man and did not say ‘in my image,’ since he himself is God. But you should understand that there is the Father and there is the Son. And it may be the case that all things were made through the Son, but we still read that the Father made all things and made them through the Son, as it is written: ‘A ll things you have made in Wisdom (Ps. 103:24). 7 

Text edited by Mras (1982–832) 389. The attribution to the first book of the Quaestiones is most likely a mistake on the part of Eusebius. But see the comment of F. Petit in her edition which is cited in the next note. 9  Petit (1978) 116. 10  Text edited by Schenkl (1897) 1.482.17–26. 8 

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Therefore if it is the Father who speaks, then he created in the image of the Son, or if it is the Son who speaks, then he created in the image of the Father. And In this way he demonstrates that the nature of man is familiar and intimate (in his relation with God), that is to say the nature of the rational man, that aspect in virtue of which we have been created in the image of God.

As H. Savon comments in his monograph on Ambrose’s use of Philo,11 these words are so obscure that they can only be understood if we recognize that Ambrose is not only exploiting Philo’s text in the Quaestiones, but at the same time is engaging in theological argument against it. Unlike Eusebius, who is quite happy to quote Philo’s theology without comment, Ambrose finds it contrary to Nicene orthodoxy and feels impelled to emphasize the reciprocity of Father and Son.

2.  Modern Studies of Philo’s Text Turning now to modern discussions of Philo’s text in scholarly literature we find that the same situation is repeated. In the view of some scholars there is nothing exceptional about Philo’s exegesis here. In the view of others it is most unusual and possibly suspect. There can, I  believe, be no doubt that the text taken as a whole is Philonic. The interpretation of the phrase ἐν εἰκόνι θεοῦ in terms of the divine Logos and its application to human psychology is very much congruent with other Philonic texts.12 The reason why the passage has attracted attention lies in its theology. As we have seen, a distinction is made between ‘a highest God’ (ὁ ἀνωτάτω θεός) who is Father of the universe and a ‘second God’ (ὁ δεύτερος θεός) who is his Logos. Unlike Ambrose, modern scholars are not worried about the doctrinal purity of the pronouncement. They are concerned about how it coheres with Philo’s theology in general. [263] One of the first systematic interpreters of Philo’s thought to draw attention to the passage is Drummond.13 In his extensive chapter on the Logos he argues that, given the complex relation between God and the Logos, where much depends on the scriptural and theological context and the perspective of both the text and the interpreter, it is not surprising that the Logos may be spoken of as a God in relation to the inferior perceptions of humanity. But, he notes, Philo seldom avails himself of this privilege and only does so if he has scriptural warrant. In fact the appellation of the Logos as the ‘second God’ is only used once, i. e. in QG 2.62. Here, according to Drummond, the application of God is necessitated by Philo’s interpretation of the passage in terms of the Logos as archetype of the rational principle in the human being. He does not, however, explain why Philo should use the exceptional description of the Logos as ‘second God.’ In the 20th 11 

Savon (1977) 123. See the evidence collected in Tobin (1983), who frequently refers to our text. 13  Drummond (1888, 1969) 195–198. 12 

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century successor to Drummond, the magisterial but flawed systematic account of Philo’s thought by Wolfson, our text is mentioned only once, in a paragraph which explains that the Logos, because it is conceived as both the totality of the ideas and the powers, is described by Philo as created. Citing Aucher’s Latin rather than the Eusebian Greek text, Wolfson states that the Logos is called ‘a second God’.14 No indication is given that the text is in any way exceptional. In more recent accounts of Philo’s theology the text is not cited.15 Other interpreters have emphasized the surprising nature of the Philo’s description of the Logos as ‘the second God.’ In a thought-provoking discussion of patristic citations of Philonic texts, Harl queries the acceptance of certain patristic readings by the editors Cohn and Wendland, and observes in a footnote that the famous appellation ‘second god’ is found in a text cited by the Church father Eusebius and in an Armenian translation based on a manuscript preserved by Christians in Constantinople in the 6th century. The implication is that the controversial phrase might be a Christian interpolation, which crept into the manuscript tradition early on before Eusebius.16 A  similar suggestion is made independently by [264] Weiss in his study on Hellenistic-Jewish cosmology.17 He argues that it is perhaps not by chance that the most extreme separation of God and Logos in Philo’s writings is not found in the mainstream of transmission, but only in the fragments and the Armenian tradition. This, of course, is a rhetorical formulation and the down-grading of the Armenian writings which it assumes would no longer be regarded as acceptable in contemporary Philonic scholarship. In the conclusion to this monograph he raises the question, without really giving a direct answer to it, whether the phrase ‘second God’ does not entail that Philo has ‘already fundamentally abandoned the sphere of Jewish faith’.18 In my own dissertation on Philo’s use of Plato’s Timaeus I referred to the text in a discussion of Philo’s theology. I argued that, although Philo certainly makes the conceptual distinction between God as unknowably transcendent and God as creator, e. g. in his famous image of the founding of a city in Opif. 17–20, he nevertheless ‘does all that he can to avoid the consequence of a first and a second God.’ In the footnote to this claim I  note that Philo only once speaks unambiguously and in positive terms of a ‘second god,’ i. e. in QG 2.62. I then cite both Harl and Weiss and claim that Philo’s manner of expression here is quite 14 

Wolfson (1947, 19684)1.234, n. 47: secundus deus. The Greek reads ‘the second god’. E. g. in the excellent studies of Winston (1985) and Noack (2000). Noack only cites the final part of text which is not found in Eusebius at 147. [Inowlocki (2006) 196 briefly discusses the passage in the context of a study of Eusebius’s quotations from Philo. She thinks it likely that the Church father tampered with the text and, citing M. Harl (see n. 16), that the Armenian translation reflects Christian interpolation.] 16  Harl PAPM 15.159. She suggests that Leg. 2.86 (to be discussed below) might also be a Christian interpolation, the implication being that this is the case for QG 2.62 as well. 17  Weiss (1966) 261 and n. 8. The studies of Harl and Weiss were published in the same year. 18  Weiss (1966) 319. 15 

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extraordinary. The implication is, of course, that one need not take this text too seriously, since it is an isolated passage in Philo’s writings. But this is arguably taking the text insufficiently seriously. After all, there can be little question that Philo did write it, so that he did not really do all that he could to avoid the deutero-theology that the text implies. Two other scholars have tried to contextualize the fragment in relation to bodies of thought outside the Philonic corpus. Theiler cites our text in a discussion of Philo’s theology in the context of imperial Platonism. He speaks of Philo’s ‘doctrine of the second God’ as if it is not at all exceptional and argues that it serves to locate the highest God at an infinite distance from the world of becoming that is the cosmos. It is then related to familiar Middle Platonist doctrines of a hierarchy of gods found in writers such as Alcinous and Numenius.19 A completely different route is followed by Segal in his well-known study Two Powers in Heaven. He argues that the ‘two power’ heretics about which the rabbinic tradition [265] speaks can be localized as far back as in Philo’s time. Various Philonic texts, including QG 2.62, are cited to support this view.20 Philo appears, according to Segal, only to be opposed to naive forms of the belief in a double theology. The difficulty is that no convincing link can be made from Philo’s texts to a body of thought outside him. The references to deutero-theology cited by Segal are derived from interpretations of Pentateuchal texts. There are no references to other exegetical traditions to which Philo might have been indebted. Historically speaking, Segal’s reconstruction floats in the air without any firm lines of support.

3.  Interpretative Considerations In the remainder of this brief contribution I would like to focus in on the contrast that Philo makes in QG 2.62 between the highest God, who is creator of the universe, and the second God, who is his Logos. How much comparative material is available in Philo which will enable to us to determine the status, exceptional or otherwise, of this text? If our text is indeed unique, can this material help us in answering the question why Philo employs deutero-theology here and not elsewhere? The expression ‘the highest God’ (ὁ ἀνωτάτω θεός) clearly implies a contrast with lower gods or other beings. It is found but rarely in Philo’s many writings. In Sacr. 60, in a trinitarian context, it is used to make a distinction between the highest God and his two Powers which he transcends. Two other examples are 19  Theiler (1955) 69–71. But it should be noted that the distinction in our text is not exactly between a transcendent remote God and an immanent creator God, since in it the highest God is also called ‘father of the universe’. 20  Segal (1977) 163–166.



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found in contexts which emphasize Israel’s commitment to monotheism: Decal. 65 (discussion of the first commandment); Praem. 162 (punishment for those who succumb to polytheistic creeds). In a famous text at Spec. 2.165 Philo affirms that all Greeks and barbarians acknowledge that there is a highest Father of gods and men and of the entire cosmos, but that many have erred in introducing and worshipping new gods, an error which is corrected by the Jewish nation.21 There are also a number of texts in which Philo speaks of God as ‘the first God’ (ὁ πρῶτος θεός), whether in contrast to other gods worshipped in the cities (cf. Mos. 2.205) or idols (cf. Decal. 59), or the cosmos itself (cf. Migr. 194, Abr. 75, 88). The text in which Phinehas is described as showing zeal for the first and only God (Post. 183) is related to this theme (even if it is allegorized), since he is murderous opponent of any tendencies towards idolatry. In Abr. 115 it is the holy and divine [265] natures of the angels who are described as servants of the first God. In none of these texts, we note, is any reference made to the Logos. Turning now to texts which speak about the relation between God and the Logos, I  would first like to draw attention to another text in the Quaestiones which has never been cited in relation to QG 2.62. It occurs in that small part of the Quaestiones in Exodum of which the Greek has been preserved in a manuscript tradition.22 In QE 2.68 Philo gives exegesis of Exod 25:21b, ‘and I  will speak from above the mercy seat in the middle of the Cherubim.’ On the basis of this passage Philo develops an elaborate theological scheme, most of which does not concern us, except that the Speaker is God, the middle is the Logos and the Cherubim symbolize the two chief divine powers. He summarizes his findings at the end as follows: ‘You will find the Speaker first, the Logos second (δεύτερος), third the creative power, fourth the sovereignty etc.’ There is a contrast between God as first and the Logos as second, though obviously the phrase ‘second God’ is not used explicitly. The context is arithmological rather than theological in the true sense. Yet it does show us how easily Philo can introduce a subordinationist scheme when it suits his exegetical logic. Two texts often adduced in relation to QG 2.62 are found in the first book of De Somniis. At §§ 228–230 exegesis is given of Gen 31:13, ‘I am the God (ὁ θεός) who appeared to you in the place of God (ἐν τόπῳ θεοῦ).’ Of this text Philo inquires whether there may be two Gods (δύο θεοί) involved, for in it a distinction seems to be made between God with and without the article. Philo argues that God without the article refers to the divine Logos. By implication, 21  Cf. a similar text at Virt. 65, where God is described as ‘the highest and most ancient cause of all things’. 22  In Codex Vaticanus 379. It is for this reason not included in F. Petit’s collection of the Greek fragments of the Quaestiones (cited above in n. 9). The Greek text can be found in Marcus, op. cit. (n. 4) Supplement 2.255–256. [I published an English translation of the QE 2.62–68 in (2004b). A critical edition of the text was published in Royse (2012). The phrase under discussion is in l. 40 of Royse’s text.]

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then, the Logos is the second God here, but the expression itself is not used. Philo justifies the move by saying that, strictly speaking, names do not properly apply to God at all, and can only be applied through licence of language (κατάχρησις).23 Earlier at § 64–67 a similar move was made in relation to the text at Gen 22:3–4, also involving the notion of place. The biblical text says of Abraham: ‘He came to the place of which God had told him, and looking up with his eyes he saw the place from afar.’ Why does the text speak of ‘the place’ twice, and why does Abraham reach it but then still seem far away from it? This time a distinction is made between the two uses [267] of the same word, the one referring to the divine Logos, the other to God himself. Abraham reaches the Logos, but the transcendent God who is unknowable and ineffable was still far from his reach. Although there is no explicit mention of a ‘second God’ in this text, distinction made between the divine logos (ὁ θεῖος λόγος) and the God anterior to the Logos (ὁ πρὸ τοῦ λόγος) is exactly what we find in QG 2.62. Moreover, the exegetical technique used in both texts is clearly reminiscent of what we find in QG 2.62. A close and literal reading of the biblical text uncovers a difficulty which is best resolved by making a distinction between God and his Logos. In all three cases the distinction is used to emphasize the utter transcendence of God, which is in contrast to the greater accessibility of the divine Logos. Two further texts in the Legum allegoriae should also be adduced. In a piece of secondary exegesis that focuses on Deut 8:15–16 Philo describes how God sends a thirst-quenching stream from his wisdom to help the soul that had turned away from him (Leg. 2.86). God’s wisdom, i. e. the Logos, is symbolized by the flinty rock and the manna that the children of Israel receive. Manna means ‘something’ and might be taken to represent the highest genus. But this would be a mistake, for God is the highest genus, and second comes the Logos of God (τὸ δὲ γενικώτατόν ἐστιν ὁ θεός, καὶ δεύτερος ὁ θεοῦ λόγος). Here the Logos is described as second to God, but not literally as a second God. Both Theiler and Harl have wondered whether the words ὁ θεός, καὶ δεύτερος might not be a Christian interpolation, because elsewhere (Leg. 3.175, Det. 118) it is the Logos that is the most generic of all things.24 But it seems to me more likely that Philo is correcting an earlier Stoicizing exegesis with a Platonizing two-level theological interpretation of his own.25 The second text is found at Leg. 3.206–207. The context is again exegetical and focuses on the difference between divine and human swearing. God swears by himself (cf. Gen 21:16), but ‘we must be content if we should be able to swear by his name, which is his interpreting Logos, for this is God for us imperfect people, whereas for the wise and perfect there is the first (God) (ὁ πρῶτος). The 23  For discussions of Philo’s use of the notion of κατάχηρσις in his theology see Runia (1988), reprinted in Runia (1990), study XI. For a differing view see Whittaker (1992). 24  Theiler PCH 7.401; Harl PAPM 15.159, n. 2. 25  As suggested by Goulet (1987) 384–387.



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implication, one might say, is that if God is the first God, the Logos is the second. But of course this is not stated in the text. It is not even made clear who ‘the wise and perfect’ are. If we take Philo’s ‘we’ to stand for humanity, it is conceivable [268] that he is referring to angels or disembodied souls (cf. Abr. 115 referred to above). Just as in QG 2.62, virtuous human beings are connected with the Logos, rather than God himself, who is utterly transcendent. These are, to my knowledge, the main texts that we can compare to our text QG 2.62 and its deutero-theology. One might consider mentioning other texts such as Deus 31, in which the intelligible cosmos – which can be equated with the Logos according to Opif. 24–25 – is called ‘the older son’ of God, and Agr. 51, where the Logos is called God’s ‘first born son.’ But these passages are not close enough to offer us real help in evaluating our text.

4. Conclusion It is time to draw some modest conclusions. It seems to me that there can be little doubt that the text is authentic. It is true that our investigation has confirmed that the expression ‘the second God’ used of the Logos is found only here and nowhere else in the vast corpus Philonicum. Nevertheless the ancient evidence for the text in Eusebius and the Armenian tradition is strong. Moreover its contents, including the unique phrase, can be fitted into the larger framework of Philonic thought on the relation between God and the Logos. The chief doctrine that the text affirms is the supreme transcendence of God, who, although he is Father and creator of the universe, is removed from a direct relation to creation and humankind. Our passage belongs to those texts in which the divine Logos is presented as subordinate to God himself, even though he (or it) is divine and can be called God. The parallel texts that we reviewed show that Philo is quite clear and unwavering in his commitment to monotheism, the conviction that links Jews to some philosophers but separates them from the great multitude of humankind. But at the same time he is quite incautious in his use of the term God (θεός).25a Under the influence of Greek philosophy Philo can call God the Father of gods and humans. The term God can be used without any compunction for the Logos, particularly when exegesis of unusual Pentateuchal texts encourages it. The distinction between a first and a second God goes that just little step further, but Philo apparently did not hear any bells ringing. We may be quite sure that he would been surprised at the view of a latter-day interpreter that he might be on the point of abandoning his ancestral faith (Weiss). 25a  [On his description of the heavenly bodies as gods, under the influence of Deut 4:19, see the additional comment at article 1, n. 35a. These articles were written later than the present essay.]

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At first Christians welcomed such a distinction (Eusebius). Later on orthodox trinitarian doctrines made theologians hesitant to subordinate the Son to the Father (Ambrose). The sixth or seventh century Armenians in Constantinople, for reasons that are still somewhat mysterious, [269] just wanted to translate Philo’s texts, without allowing theological scruples to get in the way. We must be grateful to them for preserving the contents of these texts for us. We should be no less grateful to the latter-day readers of these translations – scholars such as our honorand Jos Weitenberg – who have made them accessible and comprehensible to those of us whose knowledge of the Armenian tradition is less direct than theirs.26

Postscript At a recent conference on Philo’s doctrines of the divine powers held in Milan in June 2011 (eight years after the above contribution was submitted) a paper was presented by the Argentinian scholar J. P. Martín on the interpretation of another Philonic text preserved in Armenian, QG 4.2.26a During the course of this paper Martín briefly touched on the text discussed in my article. Martín suggested that ‘the second God’ in this text should be read as ‘the second ‘God’ mentioned in the scriptural lemma.’ The first ‘God’ would be the one mentioned in Gen 9:1, καὶ ηὐλόγησεν ὁ θεὸς τὸν Νωε καὶ τοὺς υἱοὺς αὐτοῦ καὶ εἶπεν αὐτοῖς, and the second ‘God’ would then be the one in the cited text discussed in the quaestio, i. e. ἐν εἰκόνι θεοῦ in Gen 9:6. The phrase τὸν δεύτερον θεόν would be an alternative way of speaking about the ‘other God’ referred to in the question that Philo poses (Διὰ τί ὡς περὶ ἑτέρου θεοῦ φησι …). This interpretation, which I find quite attractive, would make the exegesis here even closer to that in Somn. 1.64–67 discussed in the article, which in interpreting Gen 22:3–5, speaks of a δυεῖν πραγμάτων ὁμωνυμία, i. e. two things (places) for which the same word is used. If Martín’s interpretation is correct, then there is no question of any deutero-theology in this text, but only a reference to the wording of the biblical text. An objection to this reading, however, might be that in the sentence in which the contentious phrase occurs, the distinction made between τὸν ἀνωτάτω καὶ πατέρα τῶν ὅλων and τὸν δεύτερον θεόν reads more like a theological than a textual statement.

26  I would like to thank Prof James Royse (Claremont) for generous assistance with matters relating to the Armenian text. 26a  [Prof. Martín’s paper was not published in the proceedings of the conference, Calabi et al. (2015). Sadly he passed away in January 2016.]

25.  The Place of De Abrahamo in Philo’s Œuvre* Philo’s treatise De Abrahamo is one of his better known works. As part of the major sequence of treatises called by modern scholars ‘The Exposition of the Law,’ it is well attested in the manuscript tradition and is also preserved in a complete Armenian translation.1 Although apparently relatively little used by the Church fathers,2 its vivid accounts of the life and virtues of the Patriarch Abraham have found many readers in more recent times. It has been translated into seven modern languages.3 Ten extracts are included in David Winston’s fine anthology of Philonic passages.4 But regrettably up to now a detailed commentary on the work is lacking.4a The object of the present article is to shed light on the treatise by examining its place in Philo’s œuvre. I shall first draw attention to the misleading placement it has received in almost all existing editions and [134] translations of Philo’s works. Then, as essential background for the remainder of the article, I  shall devote some brief words to the formal features of the treatise. This will allow us to compare the treatise with the work that immediately precedes it in the Exposition of the Law, the De opificio mundi, both from the formal and the thematic point of view. Finally the more general subject of the treatise’s place in the entire series of writings will be examined.

1.  The Place of De Abrahamo in Editions and Translations It is a well-known fact that in all the more commonly used complete editions and translations of Philo’s works the treatise De Abrahamo is placed somewhere in the middle, in contrast to Opif. which is always placed at the beginning together *  The essay was originally written for a session of the Philo of Alexandria Seminar held at the SBL Annual Meeting in San Diego in 2007. My thanks to Ellen Birnbaum and David Winston for reading the version presented at the conference and their constructive comments. 1  On the transmission of the work see further Royse (2008). 2  There are only ten references to Patristic works that make reference to Abr. in the apparatus of PCW; see the Index in Runia (1995a) 240–249. 3  English, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Catalonian and Hebrew; for full details see the references in Radice–Runia (1988) nos. 417–421; Runia (2000a) nos. 381–383. 4  Winston (1981); see 163, 178, 198, 221, 222 (2), 235, 245, 246, 262. 4a [This desideratum has now been supplied by Birnbaum and Dillon (2020) in the Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series.]

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with the first treatises of the Allegorical Commentary. In Mangey’s great edition it is the first treatise in the second of the two volumes.5 In Cohn and Wendland’s critical edition it is the first treatise in the fourth of the six volumes of text.6 In the Loeb edition it is the first treatise of the sixth of the ten volumes containing the texts surviving in Greek.7 In the Revised Yonge single volume English translation it commences on page 411 of 861 pages in total.8 In the Lyons French translation it is volume 20 of the total of thirty-eight volumes.9 The only exception is the German translation which was commenced in 1909 and not completed until 1964.10 In his foreword to the very first volume the founding editor Leopold Cohn gives us valuable information on how he came to deviate from the order adopted in his own critical edition:11 In the critical edition of Philo’s works it was decided on practical grounds to retain the basic order of the writings as had been customary in the earlier editions since Mangey (London 1742). For the present translation it has been thought appropriate for us to adopt a different order. The various writings which in terms of character and content belong together should be connected up and to the extent possible presented in the order in which the author himself, as far as we can determine from his own statements or from other indications, wrote them. In accordance with this plan we commence with the series of writings in which a systematic presentation of the essential contents of the Pentateuch is given. The present volume contains the book on the Creation, the descriptions of the lives of Abraham and Joseph and the book on the Decalogue. [135]

In this translation, therefore, Abr. follows Opif. and precedes Ios. The only other scholarly work to present the treatises in this sequence is the Hebrew translation.12 If we examine Cohn’s words closely, we should first say that he would be wrong if he implied that it is possible to give a complete chronological order for the entire corpus. All we can do is group the various treatises in the series that Philo appears to have planned and publish them in the internal order of those series. But once this is understood, there can be no doubt whatsoever that his decision was the correct one, at least in relation to the two treatises Opif. and Abr. Philo makes quite clear that these two treatises form a direct continuity. Twice in Abr. he refers to Opif. as ‘the preceding treatise,’ in the exordium (§ 2) and then a couple of pages later in a discussion of the number four (§ 13). Towards the end he makes another reference to the ‘creation account,’ which may well have 5 

Mangey (1742): Abr. in vol. 2:1–40; cf. Opif. in vol. 1:1–42. PCW (1896–1915): Abr. in vol. 4:1–60; cf. Opif. in vol. 1:1–60. 7  PLCL (1929–1962): Abr. in vol. 6:1–134; cf. Opif. in vol. 1:1–137. 8  Yonge (1993): Abr. 411–34; cf. Opif. 3–24. 9  Gorez, PAPM 20 (1966); cf. Arnaldez, PAPM 1 (1961). 10  PCH (1909–64): Abr. in vol. 1:91–152; cf. Opif. in vol. 1:23–89. 11  Cohn, PCH 1.vi (my translation of the original German). 12  Daniel-Nataf–Amir–Niehoff (1986–2015): Opif. and Abr. are located in vol. 2 Exposition of the Law (1991): the former at 14–62, the latter at 77–120. 6 



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his exposition in Opif. in mind (§ 258). Further evidence is found many treatises later in the exordium of De praemiis (§§ 1–2). Philo describes the structure of the Pentateuch under the headings of the creation account, the historical part and the legislative part, but in so doing it is clear that he also has in mind his own systematic treatment of the biblical text in the earlier treatises. As scholars have recognized, the description of the first two parts corresponds well to the contents of Opif. and Abr. It may be safely concluded that these two works represent the first two parts of a long sequence of treatises first identified by the nineteenth century scholars Massebieau, Schürer and Cohn, and now generally known under the title Exposition of the Law.13 [136] But we have not yet finished with Cohn’s presentation. He continues the quote given above as follows:14 Between the Life of Joseph and the Book on the Decalogue we have interposed the two Books on the Life of Moses. They in fact do not belong to the series of writings mentioned above [i. e. the Exposition of the Law], but in terms of their contents they often present a complement or additions to it.

There has been lively scholarly controversy about the relation of Mos. to the Exposition of the Law. Some scholars believe that it does belong to the series, but this view, based primarily on cross-references, cannot be sustained.15 The two books of this treatise are in fact best seen as introductory to all three major series of treatises that Philo wrote.16 Cohn recognized that they did not belong to the Exposition of the Law, but nevertheless placed them between Ios. and Decal. In this he followed the practice of the critical edition, which has in turn been followed by all other editions and translations except one. Perhaps he felt he should compensate for the loss of the two treatises on Isaac and Jacob which were certainly written after Abr. and before Ios.17 Nevertheless this was a mistake which detracts from the presentation of the volume. Here the recent Hebrew translation asserts its superiority. Remarkably it is the only edition or translation that presents the treatises of the Exposition of the Law in the sequence that Philo almost certainly wrote them.18 I believe that much damage has been done to our understanding of Philo’s intentions through the misplacement of these writings, and in particular by the artificial and erroneous separation of two treatises Opif. and Abr., written, as 13 On this series see the excellent presentation of Morris (1987) 840–54 (with further references). 14  Cohn PCH 1.vi–vii (my translation of the original German). 15  E. g. Nikiprowetzky (1977) 195–97; Borgen (1997) 46. 16  As shown by Geljon (2002) 7–46. [But see now Sterling (2022), who argues that it is a complementary work to the Exposition of the Law only.] 17  As proven by Philo’s statements in Ios. 1 and Decal. 1. 18  See above n. 12; Mos. is found in vol. 1, Historical writings, Apologetical writings. [See further the discussion at the beginning of article 16. The article of Terian (1997) played a key role in these discussions.]

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far as we can tell, directly the one after the other. Admittedly the damage has been greater for the interpretation of Opif. and it has been on this aspect of the problem that most of the scholarly attention has been focused.19 Nevertheless there are repercussions for our understanding of Abr. as well. Part of my aim in this article will be to try to undo some of [138] the damage by examining in greater detail how the two treatises do relate to each other, both formally and thematically. But before we turn to this subject, we will do well first to look more carefully at the treatise Abr. itself.

2.  Formal Features of De Abrahamo The treatise has a large number of formal features, to six of which I would like to draw attention. (1) It contains a great number of what we might call ‘formal markers,’ phrases and sentences which order and structure its contents and so guide the reader in reading it. Generally these markers serve as passages linking up what precedes to what follows, summarizing the former in a few words and outlining what the next theme will be. A typical example is found at § 60:20 So much, then, for what had necessarily to be said first on the three figures in common. Next we must describe in what way each of them individually excelled, taking our start from the first one.

This passage links up the introductory discussion of the three Patriarchs in §§ 48–59, in which Philo describes various traits that they have in common, with the passage that follows in which Abraham is presented as responding to the divine call and first moving away from Chaldea to Haran, and then from there to the desert. The key term from the formal point of view in this sentence is ἑξῆς, ‘next’ or ‘in sequence.’ It indicates that the treatise is being structured in a logical or systematic way. This is consistent with it being a σύνταξις, an ‘ordered composition,’ the term that Philo regularly uses to describe individual treatises that make up the Exposition of the Law.21 In § 2 he describes Opif. as the protera suntaxis (‘preceding treatise,’ cf. also § 13), by implication giving the same description to Abr.22 (2) On the basis of these ‘formal markers’ the treatise divides up into a sequence of chapters which mark the progress of the argument. In the following table I set out a division into twenty-three chapters based on the text as [138] 19 

See the discussion at Runia (2001a) 1–4 (with further references). Translations of Philonic passages are my own. 21  Cf. the discussion in Runia (2001a) 5 and also Termini (2006) 265 n. 2 (with references). 22  Since the following treatise in the series, On Isaac, has gone lost, we do not have a retrospective description of Abr. along the same lines. 20 

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found in Cohn–Wendland’s edition (the number of words for each chapter is added in brackets):23 §§ 1–6 §§ 7–16 §§ 17–26 §§ 27–46 § 47 §§ 48–59 §§ 60–67 §§ 68–88 §§ 89–98 §§ 99–106 §§ 107–118 §§ 119–132 §§ 133–146 §§ 147–166 §§ 167–199 §§ 200–207 §§ 208–216 §§ 217–224 §§ 225–235 §§ 236–244 §§ 245–254 §§ 255–261 §§ 262–276

Introduction: subject ‘living laws’ (342 words) first triad: Enos = hope (430) first triad: Enoch = change of mind (513) first triad: Noah = rest or righteous (1059) transitional passage: summary of first triad (92) introduction of second triad (637) Abraham’s migrations: literal explanation (476) Abraham’s migrations: allegorical explanation (1043) Abraham’s marriage threatened: literal explanation (389) Abraham’s marriage threatened: allegorical explanation (432) Abraham’s hospitality: literal explanation (521) Abraham’s hospitality: allegorical explanation (732) Reward and punishment: literal explanation (670) Reward and punishment: allegorical explanation (1004) Sacrifice of Isaac: literal explanation (1419) Sacrifice of Isaac: allegorical explanation (376) Abraham’s kindness to Lot: literal explanation (444) Abraham’s kindness to Lot: allegorical explanation (382) Abraham’s bravery: literal explanation (559) Abraham’s bravery: allegorical explanation (489) excellence of wife shown in Hagar episode (412) excellence of sage in response to wife’s death (359) final encomium of the sage (708)

It can be seen that with one exception they form acceptable literary units ranging in length from 342 words for the Introduction to 1419 words in the case of the very long chapter on the literal interpretation of the ‘Aqedah (where apologetic concerns are very evident). Exceptionally there is a short passage at § 47 which summarizes the first triad of ancestors and is slightly separate from the account of Noah which precedes it. It is perhaps best taken as an independent transitional passage between the introductory and the main parts of the treatise. (3) Philo, as is now generally agreed, is primarily an interpreter and expositor of scripture and this treatise with its concentration on the biblical figure of Abraham fits in perfectly with such aims. Nevertheless it is striking how little direct reference to Scripture it contains. The following table [139] lists all quotations (thirteen, indicated in the third column with Q), paraphrases (five, indicated

23  Making 13,330 words in total (based on the TLG text). [The wording here erroneously gives the impression that these chapters followed the division in the text in PCW (which Cohn and Wendland had taken over from Richter’s edition of the Greek corpus, [1828–1830]), but this is not the case (they have 45 chapters). Birnbaum–Dillon (2020) in their commentary (see the note 4a above) divide the work into 14 chapters.]

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with P), and direct allusions (four, indicated with A), amounting to twenty-two in all:24 § 9 § 13 § 17–19 § 31–36 § 51 § 56 § 67 § 77, 80 § 108 § 112 § 131–132 § 166 § 173 § 175 § 224 § 241 § 258 § 261 § 262 § 270 § 273 § 275

Gen 5:1 Lev 19:24 Gen 5:24 Gen 6:9 Ex 3:15 Ex 19:6 Gen 11:31, 12:5 Gen 12:7 Gen 18:6 Gen 18:12 Gen 18:3, 10 Gen 19:20 Gen 22:7 Gen 22:8 Gen 13:9 Gen 14:10 Gen 23:3 Gen 23:6 Gen 15:6 Gen 24:1 Gen 22:16 Gen 26:5

Q (5 words) Q (4) Q (12) Q (15) Q (14) Q (6) P Q (6) Q (6) Q (7) Q (12+17) A P P A P A Q (7) Q (3) A Q (3) P

Enos tetrad Enoch Noah Patriarchs Israel Abram leaves Chaldea God appears to Abram make three cakes response to Sarah proof single visitor proof fifth city Isaac’s question Abraham’s reply not living with Lot kings in well Abraham moves from corpse Abraham king among us Abraham’s pistis Abraham called presbyteros God swears oath to friend Abraham obeys ordinances

The amount of direct reference to scripture is surely remarkably limited, given that the whole treatise is based on the scriptural narrative. The main function of the quotes seems to be either to highlight some key phrases and terms or to offer proof of a particular interpretation. It should also be noted that there is very little use of secondary biblical texts in the treatise, i. e., scriptural material not directly related to the primary text of Genesis that tells Abraham’s story. The only real example is the quote of Lev 19:24 in § 13 illustrating Moses’ veneration of the tetrad.25 This is in marked contrast, for example with Philo’s method in the Allegorical Commentary. (4) A further feature of the work that no reader can miss is the alternation of literal and allegorical exegesis which is presented in the sequence of seven twin chapters that forms the main body of the treatise (§§ 60–244). These can again be very clearly seen in the table of chapters presented [140] above. The scheme is quite simple. The narratives are first explained in terms of Abraham as a wise and God-beloved person, secondly in terms of the virtuous and God-seeking soul. Similarly Sarah represents the ideal woman or wife, or in allegorical terms 24  Not included are parallels in vocabulary etc. which are inevitable when one is recounting and adapting biblical material. 25  Also cited in Plant. 117, 125, 126, Somn. 1.33, 35 (cf. also Virt. 159). The quotes from Exodus are directly relevant to the presentation of the ancestors in the first part of the treatise.



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wisdom. Every time that Philo moves from the literal to the allegorical form of interpretation he makes some transitional comments which give valuable insights into how he sees the essential differences between the two modes of exegesis.26 Only towards the end does the schema break down. For the account of Sarah’s death and Abraham’s reaction to it (§§ 262–267) no allegorical interpretation is given. (5) Next we should note that the treatise is entitled a bios27 and appears mostly to consist of the retelling of biblical stories, giving Philo ample scope to use his literary talents, but also allowing him to incorporate various traditional elements of the interpretation of Abraham as a biblical figure, whether literal (and midrashic) or allegorical.28 However, narrative is most certainly not an end in itself. The treatise’s structure and method is in fact systematic, with each aspect of or incident in Abraham’s life being used to illustrate a particular conceptual point. This is demonstrated by the fact that Philo does not follow the biblical narrative sequentially, but makes jumps backwards and forwards. It is particularly clear in his location of the stories of Lot and Hagar towards the end of the treatise. As Termini has recently pointed out, § 208 marks an important point in the systematic development of the treatise, for here Philo moves from stories illustrating Abraham’s piety (eusebeia) to those that focus on his humanity (philanthrôpia). The division thus anticipates the treatment of the two tables of the law in Decal.29 Another important consequence of Philo’s systematic approach is the material he leaves out. For example, two themes prominent in Gen 17, the covenant which God promises to Abraham’s offspring and the [141] obligation to circumcise males, are simply ignored.30 It is perhaps no coincidence that these themes are overtly Jewish. (6) Finally it must be emphasized that the treatise has a strong rhetorical character. The basic tenor is encomiastic. Philo pulls out all the stops to show the excellence of the sage as the embodiment of the divine law. Comparisons are made which work to Abraham’s advantage (e. g., on the vicissitudes of emigrating from one’s fatherland, § 66). Paradoxes are highlighted (e. g., that the stronger person should take the poorer land, § 216). In his allegorical exegesis too Philo aims to convince the reader of the validity of his interpretation, using 26  One of these introductory remarks at Abr. 99 formed the basis of Goulet’s speculative monograph on pre-Philonic exegesis in Alexandria, (1987); see 34, 46, 525. 27  Even if the title as we have it perhaps was not originally given by Philo, the emphasis on bios is clear from the concluding words in § 276. 28  E. g., that Abraham was continent after Hagar conceived; see § 253 and Colson’s note at PLCL ad loc. David Winston points out to me that the rabbis in b. Yoma 77a note that the Hebrew phrase watě‘ annehā Sarai in Gen 16:6 means that she prevented Hagar from having sexual relations with Abraham. As proof they cite Gen 31:50 ’im tě‘ anneh ’et benōtai, which they translated ‘if you withhold the conjugal rights of my daughters.’ 29  See Termini (2006) 285. 30  This point was suggested to me by David Winston.

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various techniques such as the explanation of names (e. g., the names Abram and Abraham at §§ 82–83) and the citing of biblical proof texts (e. g., the singular used by Abraham to the group of three cited in § 132). Apologetic concerns are closely linked to the encomium and can be seen as the reverse side of the medallion. Instead of the desire to praise there is a perceived need to defend. It is particularly visible in the spirited defence of Abraham’s willingness to obey God and sacrifice his son Isaac in Gen 22.31 The vehemence of Philo’s language in § 178 and § 191 suggests to me that the people making these criticisms might have been rather too close for comfort, i. e., Jewish compatriots who were uncomfortable with a literal reading of the story.32 There has been a vast amount of discussion over the years about the intended audience of the Exposition of the Law. The view of Goodenough that it was primarily directed at a gentile audience no longer finds favour with scholars.33 Philo would certainly have been happy if non-Jews showed interest in these writings. This is perhaps shown by some unusual use of terminology.34 But educated Jews would have been his chief audience. They were being introduced to the Pentateuch in a well-organized way with a systematic perspective, the main lines of which were not difficult to follow [142] and allowed them to gain a theological understanding of the purpose of the Law. The features outlined above fit in well with this understanding of Philo’s aims.

3.  Comparisons between De opificio mundi and De Abrahamo We now turn to a comparison between the two treatises Opif. and Abr. As was noted at the beginning of the article, Philo makes it abundantly clear that Abr. connects up directly with the preceding treatise Opif. The next step will be to compare the formal features of the two treatises before moving on to their thematic similarities and differences. There are at least six points of comparison. (1) The two works are almost exactly identical in length, a fact somewhat obscured by the marked difference in number of sections (172 for Opif., 276 for Abr.), but clearly shown by the fact that both are exactly sixty pages in length in the critical edition and have almost the same number of words.35 31  On Philo’s apologetic methods in this passage see the detailed treatment of Feldman (2002) 66–86. 32  As suggested by Goulet (1987) 542. Niehoff (2001) 173, argues for the same view. 33  Morris (1987) 840 n. 111 with special reference to Goodenough (1933). The view of Böhm (2004) 390, that the work is aimed at proselytes is an interesting recent variation of Goodenough’s view. 34  E. g. the use of the term Chaldaioi to refer to the Hebrew people and their language; cf. Wong (1992) 1–14, esp. 1–4. 35 For Opif. the TLG counts 13.325 words; compare for Abr. 13,330, as noted above in n. 23.

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(2) In the case of Opif. too, the work can be divided into chapters, but in fact its structure is much less regular than that of Abr. In my commentary I divided it into twenty-five chapters in total, compared with twenty-three in Abr.36 It is striking that one of the chapters in Opif., the long excursus on the number seven in §§ 89–128, amounts to nearly a quarter of the entire treatise. It also has fewer passages that serve as markers for the reader. The reason for this, as we shall see directly, is that in the first three-quarters of the earlier work Philo follows a rather different method of exegesis. (3) Direct exegesis of scripture is much more prominent in Opif. than in Abr.37 It is true that in the former work too the actual biblical text is quoted or paraphrased relatively sparingly. But for the creation account up to the second creation of humanity in Gen 2:7, Philo follows the biblical text rather closely, adhering to the scheme of the seven days of creation and regularly citing key terms and phrases. Only for the final seven chapters (§§ 136–172), which deal with the narrative of the events in Paradise, does Philo’s method start to resemble more closely what we find in Abr. As we shall see, this section also has more thematic resemblances with the main themes of [143] Abr. than the earlier part. As for the use of secondary biblical texts, it is just as infrequent as in Abr., with only two instances (in § 84 and § 163).38 (4) Most of Opif., as is to be expected, follows a literal method of exposition.39 The first man is the prototype of the sage, until he succumbs to the snares of sexual pleasure. Only in a single important chapter (§§ 157–166) does Philo distinguish between literal and allegorical interpretation. The stories of the snake and the fruit in the garden of Eden ‘are not the fabrications of myth … but indications of character types which invite allegorical interpretation through the explanation of hidden meanings’ (§ 157). Unlike in Abr., however, the allegory of the soul is not prominent in the interpretation he puts forward. There is only a very brief reference to it in § 165. (5) A special feature of Opif. is the prominence of number symbolism in the work. forty-nine of the 172 sections are devoted to this theme, which of course relates very directly to the scheme of the seven days of creation.40 There is less scope for arithmology in Abr., but it is used to explain the generations of the first triad of Patriarchs. Enos is noted as the fourth with a reference to Lev 19:24 (§ 13), while Noah is marked as the seventh (§ 28) with a reference to the special 36 

See the analysis in Runia (2001a) 8–10. Philo’s references to scripture in Opif. can be followed very closely in my commentary: see (2001a) 11–14 and the footnotes to the translation. 38  The former of these instances is not a quotation but an unmistakable allusion. 39  There is almost no allegorising of Gen 1 in Philo’s writings. Only in Leg. 2.11–12 is an allegorical interpretation given of Gen 1:24. Goulet (1987) 139, sees the hint of an allegorical reading of Gen 1:28 in Opif. 142. [On the related question of whether there was a commentary on Gen 1 in the Allegorical Commentary see article 16 above.] 40  For the use of number symbolism in Opif. see Runia (2001a) 25–29. 37 

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role of the hebdomad in the cosmos and in the human being. This is a clear example of continuity between the two treatises. However, other opportunities for exploiting numbers associated with Abraham are not utilized.41 (6) Finally, as already noted, Opif. follows the sequence of the biblical text much more closely than Abr., which takes great liberties with the narrative order of events in Abraham’s life in order to give a systematic presentation of his embodiment as a living law. But this is not to say that the earlier treatise is not marked by the same systematic concerns. These emerge very clearly in the final summary (§§ 170–72), but also earlier in the work, particularly in the treatment of the first human beings. It is to these themes that we now turn. [144]

4.  Thematic Connections between De opificio mundi and De Abrahamo Because Opif. gives exegesis of the Mosaic creation account, it is usually thought to be a cosmological treatise, but this is in fact not really the case. Just like Plato’s Timaeus, to which it is so strongly indebted for many of its main insights and themes, it is ultimately more about ethics and how one should live than about science or theology.42 Philo tells us about this primary purpose of the work right at the outset. The Law of Moses starts off with an account of creation to show that ‘the cosmos is in harmony with the law and the law with the cosmos, and that the man who observes the law is at once a citizen of the cosmos’ (§ 3). And the summary of the main themes at the end of the treatise emphatically returns to this perspective: the person who learns the main lessons of the creation account ‘will lead a blessed life of well-being (εὐδαιμονία), marked by the doctrines of piety and holiness’ (§ 172). These themes of living in accordance with the law and living the life of excellence (aretê) are also the main themes of Abr. Of course one would not wish to deny that there are many thematic continuities between the two treatises in the area of science, philosophy and theology. Four examples can be given. The Chaldeanism that Abraham leaves behind is precisely the misguided theology that Philo warns against at the beginning of Opif. before embarking on his exegesis of the six days.43 The luxuriance of the land of Sodom before it was destroyed recalls the creation of the earth on the 41  E. g., his 318 men (Gen 14:14), his 86 years (Gen 16:16), 99 years of age (Gen 17:1), the 175 years of his life (Gen 25:7). The final three numbers are explained in QG 2.38, 39 & 61, and 151 respectively. 42 The fundamental ethical purpose of the Timaeus has been strongly emphasized in recent research. See Steel (2001); Johansen (2004); Carone (2005); Annas (2006) 126–127. As Johansen makes clear, the link between cosmology and ethics is made via the doctrine of natural teleology; see esp. (2004) 1–23. 43 Compare Opif. 7 and Abr. 69.

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third day.44 Of the five cities in the valley the single one that was not destroyed symbolizes the role of sight and so recalls the importance of light as created on the first and fourth days.45 Just as the words ‘let us make’ in Gen 1:26 are taken to indicate that God is not responsible for evil, so the plurality of visitors that Abraham receives is interpreted as signifying that the role of punishment is left in the hands of his Powers.46 [145] But the main connection between the two treatises lies elsewhere. Philo sees a significant line of continuity between Adam the first human being, Noah the first representative of a new race after the flood, and Abraham the founder of the race of Israel.47 Adam was created perfect in body and soul (Opif. 136). He obeyed the divine law of the cosmos and reached the peak of human well-being until the creation of a helpmate brings about his downfall (Opif. 150–152). Noah was a righteous man, displaying all the excellences and pleasing God, but he was only ‘perfect in his generation’ (Gen 6:9), so worthy of the second prize, not the first prize which will go to others, i. e., the three Patriarchs (Abr. 36–38). Like Adam and Noah, Abraham embodies all the aretai in his actions and his life, both towards God through his piety and towards human beings through his humanity. The lives of the ancestors, both of the first and of the second triad, are set before the reader in order to show that the ordinances of the law are not inconsistent with nature (cf. Opif. 3 cited above) and that the injunction to obey the law is not a heavy task, as shown by the fact that these men were able to carry it out when the laws were not even written down (Abr. 5).48 It will be one of the tasks of a commentary on Abr. to point out and analyse the numerous parallels that Philo sees between Adam and Abraham and the intermediate figures of Noah and two other early Patriarchs. One interesting example can be given. Just as the first man exercised sovereignty by naming all the animals that God led before him (Gen 2:19–20), so scripture states that Abraham was called a king by his neighbours (Gen 23:6), who recognized in him the true kingship of the sage.49 In both passages Philo exploits the Stoic paradox that only the wise person is the true king and has true knowledge of what things are good and what things are not.50

44 Compare

Opif. 39 and Abr. 134. Opif. 54 and Abr. 156–164. 46 Compare Opif. 72–75 and Abr. 143. 47 Compare Opif. 140–142, Abr. 46 and 56. 48  Cf. Termini (2006) 286, who speaks of a ‘paradigmatic aspect which characterized the Genesis sages’ and an ‘isomorphism between the Patriarchs’ lives and the Mosaic law.’ 49 Compare Opif. 148–150 (and also earlier 83–88) and Abr. 261. Philo does not mention Noah’s command to the animals in Abr., but it is briefly mentioned in Mos. 2.61. 50 See SVF 3.617, as noted by Colson in his PLCL note to Abr. 261. 45 Compare

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5.  The Place of De Abrahamo in the Exposition of the Law Of the subjects announced at the beginning of my article only one remains, the question how Abr. fits into the grand scheme of the Exposition of the Law in its totality. This is a very large subject and can only be definitively [146] treated if it is preceded by a thorough analysis of the entire series consisting of no less than twelve treatises (two of which have been lost). At this point, however, it will be helpful by way of background to observe that preliminary analysis of Philo’s great work, and particularly of the key passages in which he indicates its main contours,51 shows it to be controlled by four main themes.52 The first theme, already presented in Opif., lays out the framework for both the law and the activity of human beings in response to it. When God creates the cosmos, he gives it a normative structure established in the Logos as the intelligible cosmos, then translated into the immanent rational structure of the cosmos identified with the Law of nature.53 The human being is created as λογικός, an intellectual and spiritual being endowed with logos, and so is able to respond to that structure in his or her life. The first human being resided in the cosmos as his home and used its constitution, the right reason of nature, as the guide for his life.54 The second theme, which also already starts in Opif., is that human life is a contest that can lead in two directions, as indicated by a number of fundamental polar opposites, to life or to death, to goodness or to wickedness, to piety or to impiety. Depending on the direction that human beings choose, it can end in well-being (εὐδαιμονία) or its opposite, a bad life (κακοδαιμονία). The first human being, on being ensnared in the toils of desire, makes a fateful transition from the one state to the other.55 The metaphor of the contest recurs time and time again. The devotees of the law are called upon to show what they are worth in the arena of life.56 [147] The third theme is the observance of the law as given by the great lawgiver Moses. This is central to Philo’s concerns and motivates him to set out the Torah 51  Chief among these is the much discussed passage Praem. 1–3, composed when most of the work had already been written. Although it is presented as an analysis of the Pentateuch, there is an obvious relation to the structure of Philo’s own work, as he himself notes in § 3. On this text see further Kamesar (1997). 52 For what follows I  draw on an unpublished paper presented at a conference of the European Association of Jewish Studies in Toledo, Spain, in July 1998. There is a large measure of agreement with Termini (2006), but our research was done independently of each other. [The paper remains unpublished; see the additional note on article 11, n. 20.] 53  See esp. Opif. 3, 16–25. 54  See esp. Opif. 142–144. 55 See Opif. 150–152. 56  See esp. Praem. 4: ‘They [the citizens of Moses’ polity] advanced as if into a sacred contest and revealed the naked choice that they had made for their lives (προαίρεσις) as a clearest test of the truth.’



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in great detail, because he is convinced that the injunctions of the Jewish law embody the right way to live. This occurs at two levels, at the higher level of the contemplative life directed towards God, and at the lower level directed towards life in human society. Observance of the law leads to the practices of the excellences or aretai, foremost piety and love of humankind, as summarized in the two tables of the Decalogue, but also of all the others. These are particularly focused on in De virtutibus, but also receive much emphasis elsewhere in the Exposition. The fourth and final theme is that of reward and punishment. Just as in a competition there is a prize for the successful competitor, so God grants rewards to those who succeed in the arena of life, while the reverse happens to those who incline in the wrong direction. If one develops the excellences of character and disposition and becomes pleasing to God, the reward will be a good life. If, however, one chooses the path of self-love and wickedness, punishments and failure will be sure to follow. This theme clearly reaches its climax in De praemiis, which sets out the particular rewards and punishments obtained by individuals, families and the nation of Israel. But it is also treated earlier in the account of the events in paradise and the stories of the Patriarchs.57 There is much more that needs to be said about this grand scheme, both in terms of detail and by way of evaluation.58 It is a remarkably ambitious attempt to give a detailed exposition of the entire Torah within a clear systematic framework. This occurs on two levels. The attempt to organize all the commands of the law by means of the ten injunctions of the Decalogue is a remarkable tour de force. But Philo goes even further by integrating the entire contents of the Pentateuch, both narrative and law, within his greater scheme. It does not require much insight to observe that this scheme has some quite problematic elements, particularly in its close linkage of excellence and reward, vice and punishment. The occasional remark shows that Philo was not unaware of these problems, particularly in relation to the precarious position of the Jewish people in his own day.59 It does not deter him, however, in putting forward his bold and forthright [148] scheme. Let us now end by returning to the treatise that is our focus, De Abrahamo. It is clear that the various elements of Philo’s scheme occur in our treatise and that they fulfil an important role in the way it unfolds in the grand sweep from the creation account to the outline of rewards and punishments. The philosophical, and in particular the cosmological, background is most prominent in the interpretation of Abraham’s journey in two stages from Chal57 See Opif. 167–170 (where Philo closes with the theme of divine mercy). Praem. 7–51 repeats many of the themes of Abr. 7–59 on the two triads of Patriarchs. 58  See above n. 52. See also the valuable analysis of Borgen (1997) 46–79. He emphasizes, however, the process of ‘rewriting the Bible’ rather than the systematics of the presentation. 59  See esp. his comment at Virt. 120 and the parallel remarks at Mos. 2.43–44.

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dea via Haran to the promised land, the part of his story with which Philo begins his account of the Patriarch’s life (Abr. 60–88).60 If one contemplates the cosmos as Abraham did, one does not need spoken or written words in order to learn a law-abiding life (§ 61). Yet the mistakes of the Chaldeans show that recognition of the creator does not follow as a matter of course. Abraham had to undertake a journey both literally and intellectually, leaving behind astrology and an immanentist view of the world in which there was no room for a transcendent creator. By the end of the account of his journeys Abraham has recognized a higher reality than the physical world, the intelligible order created on ‘day one’ (Opif. 15–36) and God who is creator and ruler of both worlds (Abr. 88). As we have already noted above, the entire narrative account of the various incidents in Abraham’s life is taken to illustrate his excellence of character and action (ἀρετή), falling under the two main heads of piety (εὐσέβεια) and humanity (φιλανθρωπία). More specifically the choice between virtue and vice, good and evil, is portrayed in a number of the stories that Philo chooses to elaborate. It already commences with the rather euphemistic account of Abraham and Sarah’s journey to Egypt in Gen 12 (§§ 89–106).61 Philo introduces the story by saying that the greatness of the friend of God’s actions is only apparent to those who have tasted excellence. The hospitality that Abraham shows to the three strangers is in marked contrast to the inhospitality shown by the Egyptians (§ 107). The deeper spiritual interpretation of the story of the sacrifice of Isaac is that joy belongs to God alone but, being devoid of jealousy, he is willing to share it with one who travels along the path of excellence and good feelings (εὐπάθειαι), a path which is blocked to passion and wickedness (§ 204). The theme of conflict between good and evil returns when Philo discusses the separation of [149] Abraham and his nephew Lot in Gen 13. Here Lot, as befits a relative of the sage, does not in fact represent vice, but the choice of the lesser goods such as wealth and noble birth, which are not goods in the true sense of the word.62 There is a natural conflict between these two positions, as symbolized by the strife between their herdsmen, because it is a dispute on what is the most important thing in life, the determination of what are true goods (§ 222). The man of wisdom and excellence cannot live together with one whose judgment on the true good is erroneous (cf. § 224). The theme of the observance of the law pervades the entire treatise. At the outset we read (§ 5) that the ancestors were ‘laws endowed with soul and reason’ 60 

Up to this point the contents of the treatise have been all introductory. Philo does not distinguish the parts of the narrative before and after the name change in Gen 17. On his selective adaptation of the far from flattering biblical account see further Kugel (1998) 254–255. 62  Note that Philo associates the lesser goods with passions and illnesses in § 223. He often takes a hard line on this issue, but is sometimes milder and accepts that they are lesser goods. See further Dillon (1996) 146–148. 61 



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(ἔμψυχοι καὶ λογικοὶ νόμοι), whose example shows that living in accordance with the law is not great trouble (surely an allusion to Deut 30:11). At the end of the treatise we read that the greatest praise which Abraham can be accorded is indicated by scripture when it says, that ‘this human being performed the divine law and the divine ordinances’ (§ 275, cf. Gen 26:5). He did so by being a ‘living law,’ obeying the unwritten law of nature. This is what enables him to be an exemplar of the excellences, as portrayed at great length throughout the various stories of his life, whether read literally or in allegorical terms. Many examples of his humanity are given, e. g., in his treatment of his nephew and various neighbours. But Philo, consistent with his hierarchical view of the aretai, places the chief emphasis on Abraham’s piety (cf. § 60). Abraham (as well as the other ancestors) is not only a lover of God (φιλόθεος), but he is also loved by God in return (θεοφίλής, cf. § 50). Finally, the rewards that Abraham receives for his piety and excellence are many. They can be summarized in the perfect life of the sage, the good and complete life that is encapsulated in the Greek philosophical term εὐδαιμονία (cf. §§ 268–71).63 The wise man has a unique place in the world. He is the firstranked of the human race, like a pilot in a ship or a ruler in a city or a general in war, or like the soul in the body, the mind in the soul, like the heaven in the cosmos and – as grand climax – like God in the heaven (§ 272). These formulations remind us strongly of the kind of praise that Greek philosophy accords the philosopher and the sage. But Philo also describes Abraham’s rewards in more biblical terms. The unexpected birth [150] of his son Isaac is a great reward (§ 254), and through Isaac he will be the progenitor of a great nation, which receives from God the great gift of priesthood and prophecy on behalf of the entire human race (§ 98).64 Marvelling at Abraham’s faith (pistis), God repaid him by confirming with an oath the gifts that he had promised him (§ 273, citing Gen 22:16). We see, therefore, that the theme of reward, which brings together the previous themes in the treatise at its end, just as the final treatise De praemiis does for the entire Exposition, combines motifs from both Greek philosophy and Jewish scriptural thought. Indeed, the entire treatise is marked by this duality of perspective which all devotees of Philo’s writings will recognize. This brief presentation has only been able to scratch the surface of what the treatise has to offer. It needs a detailed commentary to do it full justice.65 But if my observations have been able to shed a little light on the place of this fascinating treatise in the 63  On the importance of this theme in Philo’s thought see Runia (2002b) = article 1 in this collection. 64  On this striking, in some ways even unique, text in Philo see Birnbaum (1996) 179–183. 65  As being prepared by John Dillon for the Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series. [At the time of the seminar Dillon was still working on the commentary on his own. The collaboration with Ellen Birnbaum commenced soon thereafter.]

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context of Philo’s œuvre, particularly in relation to the preceding treatise Opif. and the entire series of treatises in the Exposition of Law, I will be more than content.

26. From Stoicism to Platonism: The Difficult Case of Philo of Alexandria’s De Providentia 1* 1. Introduction This volume addresses the hypothesis that we should speak of a transition from Stoicism to Platonism as the dominant Greco-Roman philosophy in the period 100 BCE to 100 CE. It is only natural that an important place is reserved for the Jewish philosopher and exegete Philo of Alexandria in these reflections. Not only does he fall chronologically right in the middle of the period, but his voluminous works also contain numerous references to Stoic and Platonic doctrines. These have been extensively, if not exhaustively, studied in a century and a half of scholarship. Of course it must be immediately recognised that Philo is not a philosopher like most of the others that are being discussed here. As I have shown in previous research, the notion of αἵρεσις, school of thought or doctrinal adherence, is very important for him. He does not regard himself as a Stoic or a Platonist but as a disciple of Moses.1 The books of the great Jewish lawgiver are regarded as the distillation of the true philosophy. But they need to be read in the right way and it is to the exegesis of these writings that Philo devotes most, but not all, of his writings. There are occasional references to Greek philosophers and their schools in his treatises.2 Much more common are passages which make use of Greek philosophical doctrines without attribution in the explanation of scripture. The latter activity is where the heart of the Philonic enterprise lies. On the other hand, it is no less plain that Greek philosophy has exerted a profound influence on the way that Philo reads scripture. Indeed it is [160] clear that he regards the writings of Moses as a book of wisdom that at the highest level must be read philosophically. Philo may be seen as a Platonist in *  This essay was originally written in response to an invitation from the Danish scholar Troels Engberg-Pedersen to attend a conference in Copenhagen in August 2014 on the subject of the transition from Stoicism to Platonism at the beginning of our era. I warmly thank my host for allowing me to participate in this memorable event. 1  Runia (1999a). 2  Direct references to Plato are found at Opif. 119, 133, QG 1.6, QE 2.118; to the Stoa at Post. 133 and QE 2.120. There are also a considerable number of anonymous references, such as to Plato in Opif. 21 and to the Stoa at Spec. 1.208.

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his philosophical orientation because the pillars of his philosophical understanding of scripture are derived from the Platonic tradition.3 It should be noted, however, that there are also numerous Stoic doctrines in Philo’s exegesis, particularly in ethical and epistemological contexts. Because the doctrine of God is central to Philo’s thought and it is quite impossible for him to espouse a materialist and immanentist theology, it is generally agreed that it is impossible to call Philo a Stoic in his main philosophical orientation. It is worth pointing out, however, that there is a little known text, retranslated back into Greek from Armenian some twenty-five years ago by Folker Siegert, in which Philo not only anonymously cites the Zenonian definition of nature as a ‘methodically proceeding creative fire’ which produces ensouled and rational divine images, but also adduces Deut 4:24 which states that ‘the Lord your God is a consuming fire.’4 He immediately adds that this is meant not destructively (φθοροποιῶς) but in a manner that preserves (σωτηρίως). Nevertheless no disclaimer is made correcting the materialistic terminology until we reach the statement at the end of the text that ‘the creator, on whom earth, water, air and heaven depend, stretched them out through his providence and kept the world aloft as carried by his guards, which are his powers that he secures from outside for the salvation and maintenance of his most perfect works.’5 If this was the only cosmological text of Philo that we had, we might even be tempted to speak of Philo the Stoic.6

2.  The Treatise De Providentia I Thus, even though in my view Philo regards himself neither as a Platonist nor a Stoic but as a follower of Moses, there are plenty of reasons why we [161] should adduce his evidence in order to seek an answer to the questions that we are examining in this volume. And this is a fortiori the case when we adduce the group of five so-called philosophical treatises which do not focus on exegesis of

3  As emphasized especially in the research of David Winston and John Dillon: see Winston (1985); Dillon (1996). 4  Deo 6–7; see Siegert (1988) 27–28 (Greek retroversion); (1998) 6 (English translation). 5  Deo 12; Siegert (1988) 31; (1998) 7. 6  On earlier attempts to give priority to the Stoic elements in Philo’s thought see Nikiprowetzky (1977) 12. [Since this was written, Maren Niehoff has strongly argued that Philo shows the influence of Roman Stoicism due to his stay in Rome when leading the Jewish Alexandrian delegation to the Emperor in 38–41 CE, so in fact makes the move from Platonism to Stoicism; see (2018) passim. She argues (p. 241) for a ‘trajectory from deep ambivalence to adoption of central Stoic tenets popular in Rome.’ The philosophical treatises are regarded as late works. There is only the briefest reference to Prov. 1 at p. 77, where she states that its beginning ‘is not preserved, not even in the Armenian translation.’]



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scripture, although they are certainly not to be regarded as wholly separate from that enterprise.7 The view that these treatises are youthful works written before Philo discovered his life’s task in writing commentaries on scripture is no longer tenable, as Abraham Terian has convincingly shown.8 The De animalibus was written after Philo’s return from the embassy to Rome.9 If it and the two treatises on providence were written together, as seems almost certain, then all three must be late works, probably written at about the same time as the final part of the Exposition of the Law and some of the apologetic works. This chronology is all the more persuasive because the philosophical treatises can themselves be regarded as part of Philo’s apology for Judaism.10 Of these five treatises the least studied has been De Providentia 1. The complete text of it and its companion piece De Providentia 2 has only been preserved in Armenian. It is truly remarkable that no translation of Prov. 1 into a modern language from the Armenian has ever been published.11 We still have to make do with Aucher’s Latin translation published in 1822 and modern German and French translations based on it. No doubt the fact that Prov. 1 is the least well preserved of the treatises has contributed to its neglect. It was already unavailable to Eusebius in Caesarea,12 but must have found its way to Constantinople by the sixth century when it was translated into Armenian. A few Greek fragments have been found in Ps.Eustathius’ Commentary on the Hexaemeron.13 The only other solid contributions on the treatises apart from the detailed examination of a few passages14 are a study by Wendland and the analyses and notes accompanying 7  These are Prob., Aet., Prov. 1 and 2, Anim. On these treatises as a group see Royse (2008) 55–58. 8  Terian (1984a). 9 At Anim. 54 we read that Philo’s nephew Alexander participated in an embassy to Rome. This can hardly be other than the embassy headed by Philo after the riots of 38 CE. We are not sure exactly how long Philo (and Alexander) had to stay in Rome, but it may have been as long as two years, i. e. from the spring of 39 to the autumn of 40 or the spring of 41. [Niehoff (2018) 3 dates his stay in Rome from the autumn of 38 to 41 CE.] 10  Terian (1984a) 293; Royse (2009) 57. 11 For Prov. 2 (but not Prov. 1) there is now an Italian translation from a newly edited Armenian text in an unpublished Bologna dissertation, Olivieri (2000). Abraham Terian has been preparing a translation of and commentary on Prov. 1–2 for several decades and he informs me that it is not far from publication. He kindly gave me access to his translation of Prov. 1, but it arrived too late to be taken into account when preparing this essay. [The translation and commentary has not yet appeared. I should have noted that the German translation of Früchtel (1964) and French translation of Hadas-Lebel (1973) were translated from Aucher’s Latin, not the original Armenian version.] 12  If we read τό and not τά at Eus. HE 2.18.6. But the word μονόβιβλα does imply that he had only one of the two books, which must have been the second, since he cites excerpts from it. 13  Noted by L. Früchtel at PCH vol. 6 (1964) 267. I thank my friend James Royse for this information. He will be publishing a detailed examination of these fragments in The Studia Philonica Annual. [See now Royse (2018).] 14  Esp. §§ 6–8 and §§ 20–22.

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the translations of [162] Früchtel and Hadas-Lebel.15 The most recent of these was published more than forty years ago. Even in relation to what has been preserved in the Armenian there has been considerable debate on the state of transmission. The question of authenticity is no longer a subject of debate.16 But ever since Diels started the Prolegomena to his Doxographi Graeci with a discussion of § 22,17 most scholars have agreed with him that the work was originally a dialogue and that it has been reworked at some stage into a continuous piece of prose. The strongest argument in favour of this view is that the second book very clearly is a continuation of the first, treating subjects that remain to be discussed.18 In addition there are what seem to be dialogic traces scattered throughout the text.19 There are, however, some contrary voices. Hadas-Lebel, on the basis of a structural analysis of the transmitted text, distinguishes between a macro-structure, organised by means of views against the existence of providence which Philo attacks, which she thinks is quite sound, and more individual sections of text which she finds less well organised.20 Recently Terian has changed his mind and now strongly argues in favour of the view that the work is not a reworked dialogue but was originally presented as a treatise or a discourse.21 We might indeed ask how likely it is that three passages from Plato’s Timaeus would be quoted verbatim in a dialogue as occurs in §§ 20–21. Certainly there can be no doubt that the doxographical passage from the Placita in § 22 must be interpolated.22 Our judgment on the issue is at present non liquet. Good arguments can be found for both positions. For the present essay the consequences of this unresolved problem are not grave. It encourages us to focus on the philosophical method and arguments contained in the text rather than on the development of the line of argument as a whole. And this is precisely what is required in the present context. [163]

15 

Wendland (1892); Früchtel (1964); Hadas-Lebel (1973); Olivieri (2011) 88–92. proven by Wendland (1892) 38–46. But Hadas-Lebel (1973) 46 still expresses some reservations. 17  Diels (1879) 1–4. Cf. recently Olivieri (2011) 93: ‘Book I may be a sort of abridged version, probably carried out in the Greek tradition.’ 18  Prov. 2.1 Aucher, speaking of Alexander: qui venit ad nos fortassis, ut audiat, quae de Providentia dicenda supersunt. 19  §§ 17, 55, 68, 69, 91. 20  Well analysed by Hadas-Lebel (1973) 51–53. 21  As argued in a paper presented at the annual SBL meeting in San Francisco in 2011 (to a written version of which I only gained access after preparing this essay). [This paper too regrettably remains unpublished.] As the paper’s title indicates, Terian argues that the three Armenian philosophical treatises are closely linked and could also be called De Providentia 1–3. For his previous view that it is a reworked dialogue see Terian (1984a) 275 and n. 7, cited with approval by Royse (2009) 57. 22  Not only for stylistic but also for chronological reasons. See further below at n. 53. For another possible interpolation see below n. 97. 16  As



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3.  The Aim of the Essay Our aim in this essay is to examine the philosophical method and arguments used by Philo in De Providentia 1 with a view to establishing the interrelationship of the Stoic, Platonic and biblical material in the treatise. In so doing our focus will be primarily on the cosmological and theological themes of the text. We shall ask whether the Stoic and Platonic elements stand neatly side by side, or whether the one school is more dominant than the other. But, given Philo’s clear loyalty to the school of Moses as outlined at the outset of this essay, we shall also need to determine the role that his Jewish background might play in the choice and use of these arguments. On the basis of our results we can then reach some conclusions on how the Philonic evidence, difficult and sometimes even intractable though it is, can contribute to answering the questions posed by the theme of this volume.

4.  The Subject and Title of the Treatise The notion of πρόνοια as a cosmological power responsible for the design and maintenance of order in the cosmos and its parts goes back to Presocratic times. Xenophon reports that it was a subject that Socrates liked to discuss.23 But it was above all Plato who placed the term on the philosophical map in three key passages in his Timaeus.24 From there it was easy for later readers to make links to other texts and especially the pronouncement of the Demiurge at 41a–b that the heavenly bodies, though in principle destructible, will not undergo dissolution because his will was a stronger bond that those which held them together. Aristotle does not use the term in a cosmological or theological context. The debate on how far divine providence extends in his cosmology is an application of the concept as it developed in Hellenistic philosophy.25 As is well known, the Stoics took over ideas from Presocratic and Platonic cosmology, but married Plato’s demiurgic concept of intelligent design with a cosmo-biological approach in which the cosmos was a self-developing ensouled and rational living being.26 Although the textual evidence is limited,27 it is very 23  Burkert (1985) 319 with reference to Herod. 3.118, Diog.Apoll. 64B3 DK, Xen. Mem. 1.4, 4.3 (and D. L. 2.45). 24  Tim. 30c1 (cosmos), 44c7 (soul), 45b1 (human face). Another key passage was the longer discussion in Laws Book 10, where however the key term πρόνοια is not used. 25  For texts and discussion see Bos (1976); on the treatise of Alexander of Aphrodisias see below n. 37. 26  Hahm (1977); Reydams-Schils (1999). 27  There is a reference to Zeno’s On nature at Aët. 1.27.5 Diels (= SVF 1.176), but only to say that εἱμαρμένη does not differ from πρόνοια and φύσις. [On this work and the text which refers to it see now Mansfeld–Runia (2020) 1.681.]

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likely that Zeno, in developing this [164] cosmology, attributed a key role to providence as the divine characteristic responsible for the purposeful construction, functioning and maintenance of the cosmos, not only for the cosmos as a whole, but also in relation to the place of humanity within it.28 Zeno’s ideas on providence were further developed by Chrysippus in one of his most important and well-known works, the Περὶ προνοίας in four books, the first work we know to have borne this title.29 The relatively copious surviving fragments indicate a wide-ranging discussion of cosmological doctrines, including the destructibility of the cosmos and the gods within it, the process of cosmic renewal which also involves human beings, the role of fire in that process, the notion of fate or destiny and also – in the final book – the application of the idea of providence to human life, for example positively in the provision of food and negatively in relation to the prevalence of diseases.30 Treatises with the same title were subsequently written by Panaetius and in opposition from an Epicurean viewpoint by Philodemus.31 Closer to Philo’s time (but still a full generation before his birth) Cicero in the De natura deorum makes the association of the Stoa with the doctrine of providence absolutely clear with a multitude of references in all three books, including five passages where he inserts the Greek term.32 Of these texts the most interesting for our purposes is in the first book, where the Epicurean spokesperson Velleius talks about Plato’s Timaeus and ‘the fate-pronouncing hag of the Stoics προνοία’ in one breath (1.18). The doctrine of cosmic providence will have been a fixed feature of doxographical manuals roughly contemporary with Philo. Aëtius has a chapter entitled Εἰ ἔμψυχος ὁ κόσμος καὶ προνοίᾳ διοικούμενος and attributes views on providence to Plato, Zeno and Chrysippus.33 Arius Didymus also mentions it in his summaries of Platonic and Stoic doctrine, albeit without much emphasis.34 Philo [165] himself often refers to the doctrine of providence in doxographical contexts.35

28  The texts are mainly doxographical, but see esp. the discussion of Zeno’s views at Cic. ND 2.57–58, where the mens mundi is identified with prudentia vel providentia which in Greek is πρόνοια. 29  If we disregard the obscure title Περὶ εἰδώλων ἢ περὶ προνοίας attributed to Democritus in the catalogue at D. L. 9.47. 30  The fragments and other material collected in Gercke (1885) 690–781. For the twelve fragments specifically attributed to the work see SVF vol. 3 Appendix II under no. XLVIII. See further Mansfeld 1979: 174 n. 145. 31  See Goulet (1989–2012 = DPhA) 5.134, 5.358. 32  ND 1.18, 20, 2.58, 73, 160. Also at Acad. 1.29 in a presentation of Antiochus’ physics. 33  Aët. 2.3 Mansfeld–Runia; 1.25.5 Diels; 1.27.5 Diels; 1.28.3 Diels. [On these texts see now Mansfeld–Runia (2020).] 34  Texts at Eus. PE 11.23.6 (fr. 1 Diels on Plato); 15.15.6 (fr. 29 Diels on the Stoics); Stob. Ecl. 1.21.5 18.5.8 Wachsmuth (fr. 31 Diels on Chrysippus). 35  Opif. 171, Ebr. 199, Her. 246 and Aet. 13 (by implication); on Philo’s use of doxographical material see Runia (2008a) = article 7 in this collection.

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Against this background Philo’s decision to call his treatise Περὶ προνοίας is of considerable significance. Its very title could not but place it in the context of discussions between the Hellenistic schools on the subject of providence. The best known work with that title in Philo’s time was certainly that of Chrysippus and the cosmological slant of Philo’s work is in agreement with what we know of that work. Using the title is tantamount to stating publicly, ‘this is my take on the well-known topic of providence.’ But it also means he is prepared, given his positive stance, to accept an identification with Stoic pronouncements on the subject. After Philo professed Stoics such as Seneca and Epictetus continued to write treatises on providence. But to my knowledge there is no evidence of a Platonist work with that title until Porphyry gave it to one of the untitled treatises of Plotinus,36 although of course many Platonists  – notably Plutarch, Atticus and Numenius – had discussed the subject in previous centuries.37 But all these philosophers postdate Philo.

5.  The Method of the Treatise From the formal point of view our treatise is presented as a σύγγραμμα pursuing a ζήτησις (inquiry), namely the task of giving a λόγος (account) of what can be said about divine providence and the way it affects what happens in the world.38 However, as the treatise proceeds it seems to take on some of the characteristics of a θέσις, a piece of prose arguing for a particular position, namely the existence of divine providence and the role it plays in creating and taking care of the cosmos and in particular the [166] human beings that live in it.39 The topic of εἰ προνοοῦσι οἱ θεοὶ τοῦ κόσμου is in fact a standard philosophical θέσις or quaestio in both philosophical and rhetorical handbooks.40 A striking aspect of the work is the amount of time it spends on aims and methods of argumentation. Right throughout the text Philo deliberately and self36  As

rightly pointed out by Boot (1984) 47–48 with reference to VP 4.17, 24.13. Galen wrote a work with the title, of which only Arabic fragments survive (DPhA 3.460), but of course he is only a Platonic sympathiser, not a Platonist. 37  See Dillon (1996) 208–210, 252–253, 373–374. The Peripatetic Alexander of Aphrodisias also wrote a work Περὶ προνοίας of which an Arabic version survives; cf. DPhA 1.135, Suppl. 67. Alcinous does not dwell on the subject and only refers to providence in the summary of the Timaeus at Did. 12.1 taken over from Arius Didymus (see above n. 34). 38  The opening words are (§ 1 Aucher): Cum ea, quae de Providentia dici possunt, exquisite indagare mihi proposuerim, atque singularum rerum, quae in orbe contingunt, rationem expendere, dicendi modum, qui sapientum (sic) aures deceat, exposcendum esse putavi, eoque adhibito, hac de re disquisitionem suscipere. I interpret ratio as λόγος, disquisitio as ζήτησις. 39  See for example § 70, an ad hominem argument against a person who rejects the existence of providence. 40  See Quintilian Inst.or. 7.2.2; Theon Progymn. 11; Sext.Emp. PH 1.151, 3.9. The θέσις is also an important background for the method of Aet.; see Runia (1981) 112–118.

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consciously informs his reader about the nature of his arguments, the proper attitude of his reader or interlocutor, the status of those who oppose his arguments, and so on. Some of these comments have a philosophical basis, but mostly they are meant to exert pressure on the reader to accept his arguments. After all, the entire treatise is an exercise in persuasion. Philo passionately wants his reader to accept the philosophical necessity and the reality of divine providence, for reasons that he does not explain, but which we might be able to speculate about when we have advanced further in our analysis. Having announced his subject, Philo begins by stating: ‘I have been saying within myself, I should not engage in contentious disputation, but will strive to achieve a demonstration (of my thesis) by means of the clarity that is obtained from the contemplation of what is visible.’41 But before he explains in more detail what he means by this he first gives some arguments based on reason as a first attempt at persuasion.42 A brief section of quasi-Socratic dialogue follows (§§ 2–4).43 These are dialectical arguments of the analytic type, probably of Stoic origin and somewhat reminiscent of the consequentia mirabilis attributed to Aristotle.44 They can be approximately summarised as follows: whether one affirms or denies providence, one has to make use of reason (and thus admit πρόνοια), so that it is irrational to do away with providence. But Philo soon returns in § 5 to his main method based on evidence drawn from the sense-perceptible world. [167] The key term for Philo’s method here would appear to be ἐνάργεια, clear evidence based on observation and contemplation of the sense-perceptible world. Although the term is not very specific to any school,45 it would seem that it was frequently used by the Stoics to underline the self-evidentiality of the καταληπτικὴ φαντασία and also of the κοιναὶ ἔννοιαι, thereby furnishing a guarantee of their truth.46 Philo uses it often elsewhere, for example at Aet. 99 to emphasise the absurdity of an aspect of the Stoic ἐκπύρωσις doctrine. For Philo it is obvious that divine providence exists and determines what occurs in the 41 

§ 1 Aucher: neque enim per rixosam disputationem, dicebam intra me, loqui decet, sed per evidentiam a contemplatione rerum visibilium petitam, perficere demonstrationem contendam. 42  § 1 Aucher: posthabita nunc itaque harum rerum inspectione, argumentis a ratione petitis rem in primis persuadere conemur. 43  Pace Terian (1991) 326 there is no need to regard them as interpolated. 44  As noted by Wendland (1892) 4 and n.2; Hadas-Lebel (1973) ad loc. That this argument should be attributed to Aristotle has recently been challenged by Castagnoli (2010). 45  The related adjective ἐναργής is very common in Plato, less so in Aristotle. Epicurus uses the adjective and noun ten times in the three letters in Diogenes Laertius. 46  At Plut. Mor. 1083C the Stoics are called πρόδικοι τῆς ἐναργείας. Cherniss (1976) 629 associates the term with Chrysippus. Cf. Dillon (1996): 65: ‘… the Stoics really wanted this principle (sc. of ἐνάργεια) to guarantee the truth of certain dogmas (such as that the world is rule by Providence) which they claimed to be as clear as the normal “clear” perception. It was this position that the New Academy countered with able arguments, but which Antiochus finally found himself driven to accept.’

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cosmos. He pulls out all the stops in order to convince his reader that it is the truth.47 In the words of the opening paragraph cited above Philo states that he will not engage in ‘contentious disputation,’ but it must be said that he does not adhere to this resolve. In fact, because for him the existence of divine providence is so pellucidly obvious, he is convinced that the denial of providence must be the result of ill will. The key term here is φιλονεικία. He uses it in the final words (preserved in Greek) of the sequel to our treatise, Prov. 2.112. My words, he writes, ‘can provide sufficient proof to those who do not have a contentious attitude toward the view that God takes heed of human affairs’.48 In various comments scattered throughout the treatise he engages in polemic against those who deny providence. One should not let oneself be seduced by sophists and reach a different conclusion (§ 17). It is delirious and insane to think that immortal life can be found in a mortal body (§ 19, cf. § 28). Refusing to believe in providence is plain obstinacy (§ 27). The truth is required for souls who labour under the vice of ignorance (§ 38), and so on. These comments are all very general, but Philo also has more specific opponents in mind. These are introduced mostly anonymously, such as the Aristotelians at § 6 who ‘superficially go astray in their observation,’ but play an important role in structuring his argument and the treatise as [168] a whole.49 The exception is Epicurus who is cited by name at § 50: ‘let Epicurus tell me whether he wrote all his writings with or without providence.’50 On the other hand, there are two authorities whom he does cite by name and with approval. One is Moses, the ‘lawgiver of the Jews’ (§ 22). The other is ‘the Greek sage Plato,’ named no less than three times in §§ 20, 21 and 22 together with three quotations from the Timaeus.51 Just as in the first part of his De aeternitate mundi and elsewhere,52 Philo draws on the method of doxography here. This was recognised by an early reader, who inserted a section from the Placita on first principles after the passage comparing Plato and Moses on this subject.53 Doxography, however, plays less of a role in Prov. 1 than it does in the two other thematically related philosophical treatises Aet. and Prov. 2. 47 

Emphasis on the truth of his thesis at §§ 30, 37, 55. The Greek preserved by Eusebius reads: ταῦτ’ ἀναγκαίως λέλεκται πρὸς τὰ λοιπὰ τῶν ὑπό σου διαπορηθέντων, ἱκανὴν πίστιν ἐργάσασθαι δυνάμενα τοῖς μὴ φιλονείκως ἔχουσι περὶ τοῦ τὸν Θεὸν τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι πραγμάτων. 49  Further mention of opponents at §§ 37, 59, 77 (but on this last text see at n. 74 below). 50  § 50 Aucher: dicat mihi Epicurus: quotquot ipse scriptiones edidit, utrum ex providentia sapientiaque scripserit, an sine sapientia? 51  § 21 citing Tim. 38b6–7; § 22 citing 28b4–c2, 29b1–2. 52  Aet 7–19 (including Plato and Moses); for other texts see Runia (2008a). 53  § 22. It is extracted not from the Placita of Aëtius but the Epitome of that work attributed to ps.Plutarch; see 1.3 53.11–59.19 Mau. The Epitome is dated to about 150 CE and so cannot have been used by Philo; see further Mansfeld–Runia (1997) 161–163. [On this work, a chief source for the Placita of Aëtius, see now Mansfeld–Runia (2020) 1.45–59.] 48 

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6.  The Main Arguments of the Treatise I shall now examine the most important arguments that Philo presents in favour of his thesis that divine providence exists and exercises care over the cosmos and its constituent parts. (1) The first argument in the main body of the treatise as it comes down to us attacks the position that the cosmos ‘exists and is constituted from an eternity without beginning, as if it in no way had a beginning of genesis but always existed and is not at all to be destroyed by anyone (or anything)’.54 This of course is the Aristotelian position attacked at the beginning of Opif. (§§ 7–12), but apparently defended in Aet. 20–150. The entire passage §§ 6–8 is far from clear in its details and has been the subject of much scholarly dispute.55 There is no doubt that Philo is attacking the view that the cosmos is uncreated, but what is his alternative view? Does he espouse a creatio aeterna, as developed in [169] Middle Platonism, or does he support the view put forward in Opif., that the cosmos is created, not in time but as the beginning of time, with the status of matter in the process left somewhat unclear, but certainly not recognised as a principle co-existent with God? It is not possible to go into further detail on this question in the present context (although I will say that I continue to support the latter alternative). What is relevant for our discussion is that the entire passage is cast in terms established by Plato in the Timaeus, including references to God the creator, unordered matter, the intelligible world and the concept of (created) time. As for the denial that the cosmos can be destroyed in the words of Philo’s opponents cited above, they are surely an interpretation of Plato’s words placed in the mouth of the Demiurge at 41a8, ἄλυτα ἐμοῦ γε μὴ ἐθέλοντος, as can also be said for the Aristotelian or Peripatetic argument against the destruction of the cosmos at Aet. 39–44. In all of this there are no references to any kind of Stoic cosmology whatsoever. (2) The next section of the treatise as it has come down to us (§§ 9–19) is dominated by argumentation from part to whole. The parts are the regions of the cosmos, corresponding to the four elements; the ‘parts of parts’ (§ 9, cf. §§ 13, 67) are the living beings at home in these parts, esp. the human being on earth and in the air, while the whole is the cosmos. For the origin of the theme we may once again look to Plato. The cosmos is a complete whole consisting of complete parts (Tim. 32d), and it is a visible living being with living beings contained with in it (Tim. 30d).56 But there can be little doubt that the way Philo 54  § 6; I quote the translation of J. J. S. Weitenberg cited in Runia (1986) 150. Aucher translates: (putet) ab aeternis annis ac initio carentibus esse ac constitisse hunc mundum; ita ut nullum creationis principium illi fuerit, sed perpetuam existentiam habuerit, et nullatenus dissolvi possit. 55  See the excellent status quaestionis in (Sterling 1992) 16–21. 56  See also Phil. 29a–30b; an earlier form of the argument is attributed to Socrates in Xen. Mem. 1.4.8.



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sets out the argument in Prov. 1 takes its initial inspiration from the Stoa. The argument moving from the destructibility of the parts of the cosmos to the destructibility (and future destruction) of the cosmos is given a prominent place in the doxographical account of Stoic cosmology in Diogenes Laertius (7.141). It may well go back to Zeno.57 It is also found in a later doxographical text in Lactantius, who like Philo reserves a special place for the example of human beings.58 For the parallel argument arguing from the generation of the parts of the universe to its generation as a whole (§§ 9–10) I have found no Stoic parallels, but it is of course a corollary of the other argument (if the cosmos has undergone destruction, its present state must have an origin). Other likely [170] Stoic features of the argument are the discussion of individual parts of the cosmos as they relate to human beings (the earth § 15, the air §§ 18–19) and the double mention of the Heraclitan flux (§§ 14, 16). But in the case of most of these passages it does not take long before we get a Platonic twist. The generation of human beings must inevitably lead to the conclusion of an uncreated being as maker (§ 12). Cosmic flux is contrasted to permanence, which can only be attributed to God (§ 16). Since all things have a mortal nature, ‘it is a matter of course that they will undergo the kind of perishability appropriate to them, when the one who created them wishes to bring about their dissolution’ (§ 19). The final phrase is undubitably reminiscent of two brief but significant pronouncements in the Timaeus.59 We should note, however, that there is a vital difference between Plato’s ‘indestructible unless’ and Philo’s ‘destructible when.’ Plato’s deity will certainly not wish to destroy; of Philo’s God, to judge by what we will read later, we can be less sure. The absence of a reference to the destructibility of the heavenly bodies is perhaps also a concession to Platonism, but by citing Tim. 38b Philo does the next best thing, drawing attention to the text where Plato at least envisages the possibility that there might be a λύσις of their existence. The use of argumentation from part to whole (or from part to creator) extends throughout the treatise and we are not yet finished with it. At this point we should observe that the same argument is important for Aet. but there the dialectic goes in a reverse and opposite direction: the whole is not susceptible to the same fate as the part. None of the cosmos’ parts can threaten the destruction of the whole, for then the part would be more powerful than the whole (§ 22). The cosmos cannot undergo διάλυσις, for its parts are in their natural place, unlike what is the case for human beings (§§ 28–32). If a region of the cosmos is destroyed, then the same will happen to its inhabitants, which means that if 57  There is no direct evidence for this, but one might argue a general similarity to foundational arguments of Stoic cosmobiology; see Hahm (1977) 136–139. 58  Inst.div. 2.10 (= SVF 2.588). 59  Tim. 32c (ἄλυτον ὑπό του ἄλλου πλὴν ὑπὸ τοῦ συνδήσαντος γενέσθαι), as noted by Hadas-Lebel ad loc.; 41a cited above.

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heaven is destroyed, the divine heavenly beings will be also be destroyed, quod non (§§ 45–46). Those who with their doctrine of ἐκπύρωσις put forward such theories fail to realise that they are imposing destruction on providence (§ 47). (3) As already noted above, in the middle of the argument from part to whole Philo introduces the notion of God as creator. One cannot [171] protract ad infinitum a series of beings which need an act of creation to be brought into existence (§ 11). Nothing can arrive from non-being to being unless a cause is first understood through which this occurs, which means that whatever has been produced must always have a maker or a creator. The first efficient cause is itself not created by anything, otherwise it would not be the first efficient cause (§ 12).60 This is patently Platonic terminology and argumentation. We are far removed from Stoic physics with its doctrines of the materiality and the immanence of the cause.61 Indeed the cause’s transcendence is assumed without being made explicit. In § 21 Philo cites, somewhat surprisingly, the famous passage in the Timaeus on γένεσις (28b3–c2) without going on to quote the passage on causation and the ‘maker and father’ that immediately follows (28c2–5). Instead he moves on to 29b1–2 and cites this text as proof of the creator.62 As noted earlier, there follows a passage in doxographical style, in which Plato is credited with the doctrine that God and matter are the prime causes from which the cosmos derives its existence (§ 22).63 Then, most intriguingly, the ‘lawgiver of the Jews Moses’ is cited, who said that ‘water, darkness and chaos existed before the cosmos’ (cf. Gen 1:2).64 Presumably these are seen as somehow parallel to Plato’s matter in the process of creation. One really must suspect that the text has been tampered with or suffered damage at this point.65 For Philo would surely qualify any such parallel and elsewhere is quite insistent that there are no other principles beside God (it is also denied in § 7). A little later in § 23 he returns to the subject of causes. A  standard scheme of ‘beautiful causes’ of the cosmos, using the terminology of prepositional metaphysics, is trotted out, consisting of the efficient, material, instrumental and final causes.66 [172] But remarkably Philo then continues by 60 At

Spec. 2.5 and Virt. 34 Philo speaks of τὸ ἀνωτάτω καὶ πρεσβύτατον αἴτιον. Compare, for example, the doxographies on cause and matter at Stob. Ecl. 1.13.1c 138.14 Wachsmuth, or in Seneca Ep. 65.2–4. 62  On this passage and its difficulties see Runia (1986) 119–22. The key to his use of 29b1–2 appears to be understanding τινός as meaning ‘of someone,’ not ‘of something’. 63  Plato is credited with a doctrine of two principles in Theophrastus Phys.dox. fr. 9 Diels; DL 3.69; Aët. ap. Stob. 1.1.29 37.8 Wachsmuth [Plac. 1.7.22 in the new edition of Mansfeld– Runia (2020) 1.375]; see Dörrie-Baltes (1996) § 119, and also Hatzimichaeli (2011) 106–117 (on Potamo). Philo himself famously puts forward what appears at first glance to be a doctrine of first principles at Opif. 8; but see Runia (2003a) = article 5 in this collection. 64  Chaos refers to or translates ἄβυσσος in the Greek LXX text (confirmed by James Royse). 65  See above n. 17 and text thereto. 66  The expansion of the Aristotelian scheme is basically Middle Platonist, though the formal cause is missing. On Philo’s use of the scheme and this text see Runia (1986) 171–174. The final 61 



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way of conclusion: ‘Therefore the cause of created beings is God as creator; but the cause of their perishing is the same God as judge.’67 The second part of the sentence suddenly deviates from the Platonism that precedes. A Platonist would surely want to know more about what Philo meant by such divine action. We will return to this theme below. (4) After the brief account of the causes of creation in the text as we have it Philo continues with more arguments involving part and whole. In general they draw analogical inferences from the nature of sentient and rational beings within the cosmos to the existence and nature of providence exercising forethought for the whole. Most examples are taken from human activity  – the human being taking care of his children (§ 25), the shepherd and his flock (§ 25), the felicity of a household or a city (§ 27), human arts and sciences (§ 32) –, but there are also examples from nature (bee and ant, § 25). Similar arguments continue in the section on theodicy (§§ 40–42, § 46), including the ad hominem argument against Epicurus cited earlier (§ 50).68 Von Arnim rightly took up some of these texts in his collection, for their method and much of their content is plainly Stoic.69 The closest parallels are found in Book 2 of Cicero’s De natura deorum, but they are not very precise.70 Philo’s representation of providence in these passages is most intriguing for our main theme. There is no doubt that he is arguing from part to whole and at least twice he uses language that betrays the Stoic conception of a universal nature or soul that directs the whole.71 But for the most part he deliberately avoids such language and introduces familiar biblical and Platonic terms (§ 26 creator, § 31 pater et princeps totius mundi).72 Of course it would not have been at all difficult for Philo to translate the Stoic language of an immanent creative power in terms of the divine Logos, but in the text as we have it the Logos is only briefly mentioned as the instrumental cause in § 23. (5) At § 33 Philo puts forward an argument for the existence of providence on the basis of the fixed and admirable order of the cosmos, [173] both in the heavens and on earth. When he speaks of the ‘wholly unchangeable chain of order,’ he is using language associated by the Stoics with fate (εἱμαρμένη), although he does not use the term here.73 It does appear at § 77 and § 80 as part of a cause is less clearly formulated than the others. The usual reference to God’s goodness appears to be missing. 67  § 23 Aucher: creaturarum ergo causa est Deus, ut creator: corruptionis autem (idem Deus), ut iudex. The words in brackets are not in the Armenian but are supplied by Aucher (as checked by James Royse). 68  See above at n. 50. 69  SVF 2.1111–14 = §§ 25, 29, 32, 40. It is just a representative selection. 70  See esp. the examples of the navigation of a fleet and the marshalling of an army at ND 2.85, and also the comments of Dragona-Monachou (1976) 137, 143. 71  § 32; § 41. Of course the conception is developed from the Platonic World-Soul. 72  The original terms are ποιητής (or ποιῶν) and πατὴρ καὶ ἡγεμών (or ἄρχων), as James Royse informs me. 73  § 33 Aucher: immutabilem prosus seriem ordinis. series translates εἱρμός.

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polemical section directed at astral fatalism. The position that he attacks ‘reduces all that occurs through her (providence) to fictions based on birthdates, to fate and fortune, and proclaims that the nature of the cosmos is wholly governed by the stars.’ The emphasis on nativities could mean that Philo has Chaldean astrologers in mind,74 but certainly the attack on the role of fate can also be seen to include Stoicism. The counter-view put forward by Philo is that providence has endowed human beings with free will and only on this basis it is possible to hold them accountable for their deeds (§§ 80–83). Arguments are also given against the plausibility of the determinative force of nativities (§§ 84–87). But Philo makes no attempt to address the philosophical issues that arise when one tries to reconcile the causal chain of fate and free will, such as is found in the Platonist work De fato.75

7.  Justice, Evil and the Threat of Elemental Destruction Our final theme can hardly be called an argument, but it is very prominent in the work and is perhaps its most remarkable aspect. It is the theme of the judicial role of providence. As we have seen, it receives a first mention when God is briefly described as both creator and judge.76 If human beings in a civic context practise justice, then surely the same must be attributed to providence.77 Not only does God appoint judges in order to eliminate human arrogance, he also acts as Judge himself, exercising measured justice and punishing the impious (§ 34). Philo then follows with two striking paragraphs on the threat of divine judgment (§§ 35–36), elements of which are repeated and expanded in the concluding section of the work (§§ 89–92). The Judge’s eye sees human wickedness and like a father educating his sons, uses both fear and grace to prevent it (§ 36). But [174] when humans totally ignore such providential care, then they become exposed to ‘that anger that threatens the elements’ and are overtaken by catastrophe, ‘as the most beautiful work of the highest creator ceases (to exist)’.78 In other words human actions can have cosmic consequences. The language in the final passage is even bolder. Philo speaks of the vengeance of providence 74  Hadas-Lebel (1973) 89 and Dragona-Monachou (1975–76) with reference esp. to Migr. 178–9, 194 (but the Chaldeans here are in the first instance inspired by the biblical text). 75  On this work in the Plutarchean corpus and its Platonist links see Dillon (1996) 208, 320. 76  See above n. 67. 77  § 30; it follows on from the earlier reference in § 27 to ‘worthless men … and even the condemned’ found in a flourishing city. Same theme in §§ 79, 80, 82. 78  § 36 Aucher: sed quoniam isti penitus a divinae providentiae curis super humanae animae originem sese abduxerunt, iram eam, quae universis elementis imminet, et ipsi subibunt: et quoniam perfectissimum hoc opus providentiae subtrahere conati sunt, cessante pulcherrimo hoc summi creatoris opificio, eadem et ipsi calamitate obvolventur.



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and that ‘it is deserving that there be a total dissolution of the elements’.79 The elements will tremble at the anger of providence and ‘will lose their adornment, so that everything will be affected by a sad deformity and matter hastens to shed its form’.80 This must be a reference to the purpose and beauty of the material world, since there is no room for unformed matter in Philo’s cosmology. Also in the middle part of the treatise, when Philo discusses the existence of evils, whether real or apparent, in the world, the judicial and educative roles of providence are prominent (§§ 46, 52). The cosmos has a fixed order; it is only the ‘citizen of the world’ who neglects the law of justice. Providence does not overstep its limits, i. e. in being just, when it punishes the wicked.81 There are two related themes here, the role of providence as judge and the possible cosmic consequences of the punishment it metes out to the wicked. The Stoics were of course profoundly convinced of the moral order of the cosmos and justice was necessarily an attribute of the cosmic god Zeus,82 but I have not found texts which share Philo’s strong emphasis on providence as judge. It is for example wholly missing in Balbus’ long disquisition on providence in Cicero’s De natura deorum.83 As for the cosmic consequence of human injustice, we know from Plutarch that Chrysippus’ work on providence set out the process of ἐκπύρωσις whereby the cosmos was renewed.84 This resulted in removal of any evil.85 But there [175] is no evidence to link this cosmic process with any kind of divine justice that responds to human activity. The process of renewal is positive, even though it means the destruction of the cosmos.86 Later eschatological interpretations involving physical and moral purification are Christian and influenced by biblical concepts.87 The most apposite Stoic text is found at the end of Book 3 of Seneca’s Naturales quaestiones, when Berosus’ description of the Deluge is connected with the conflagration, i. e. as ἐξυδάτωσις, and interpreted as meaning the temporary end of human vice.88 But there is no mention of divine 79  § 89 Aucher: aequissima erit totalis dissolutio elementorum aliquando futura. But Prof. Royse tells me that dissolutio probably represents λύσις or διάλυσις, and that aequissima erit probably translates ἄξιόν ἐστι. 80  § 90 Aucher: ablatum decus est; tristi deformitate universa affecta sunt; materia formam exuere properat. 81  §§ 71, 76; that this must be the meaning of ‘limits’ (most likely ὅροι) is clear from the context. For Pohlenz 1942: 421 n.1 providence cannot be held responsible for evil resulting from human freedom. 82  E. g. in Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus, lines 2, 35; cf. Thom (2005) 155. 83  At most by implication in the response of Cotta at ND 3.38. 84  SR 1053B (= SVF 2.605). The passage is attributed to the first book of Περὶ προνοίας. 85  CN 1067A (= SVF 2.606). 86  Well argued by Mansfeld (1979). Salles (2009) argues that Chrysippus, in opposition to Cleanthes, does not regard ἐκπύρωσις as involving the destruction of the cosmos. 87  See Hippolytus Adv.haer. 1.21 (= SVF 2.598); Minucius Felix 24; Origen CC 4.64 (= SVF 2.1174) etc. Lactantius Inst.div. 2.10 (= SVF 2.588) speaks of natural disasters but not of providential judgment. See further Mansfeld (1983). 88  3.29–30; cited by Wendland (1892) 12, together with some less relevant texts.

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providence. Equally, although Plato had spoken of the earth being purified by water and fire (Tim. 22c–e), there are no Platonist texts which exploit this theme for moralising purposes.89 For Plotinus it is part of the providential arrangement of the world that evildoers are punished, but this occurs through what they do to themselves and their relegation to a lower place, i. e. in metempsychosis (Enn. 3.2.4). Earlier, Plutarch in his work De sera numinis vindicta had emphasised the role of providence in divine retributive justice,90 but here too this is presented through the doctrine of individual metempsychosis and not in a cosmic context. In his presentation of the threat of cosmic destruction Philo plainly makes use of Stoic themes, such as the emphasis on the role played by providence and the mention of the destructive force of the elements (§§ 89–90). Indeed the role of the elements fire and water was already anticipated in the argument from part to whole early in the treatise (§ 13). When, however, he describes what might happen to the cosmos he appears to use Platonic language, describing how ‘the most beautiful work of the creator’ could come to an end and how ‘matter hastens to shed its form’.91 It is above all the strong and vivid emphasis on just retribution for evil deeds in §§ 34–36 and at the end of the treatise, together with the depiction of God or providence as Judge, that requires explanation. There can be little doubt, I submit, that it is largely biblical in inspiration.92 As Pieter [176] van der Horst has shown,93 many Jewish texts dwell on the role of fire (and water) in God’s punishment of the wicked, although most draw back from the notion of total cosmic destruction. The theme of reward for virtue and punishment for evil is pervasive in Philo’s reading of the Pentateuch, particularly in the Exposition of the Law.94 Noah’s flood and the burning of Sodom and Gomorrah are interpreted in terms of natural disasters inflicted by God or his agents as punishment for human wickedness.95 The treatment we have analysed in our treatise is distinctive on two counts. Philo does not engage in any theological niceties. God (or providence) is Judge and the cause of destruction (§ 23), not one of his potencies or assistants as is often stressed elsewhere.96 Moreover his depiction of the threat 89  See for example Proclus in Tim. 108–119 (excluding allegorical interpretations); also Dio Chrys. 36.47–50. 90 See Mor. 548C, 549B–D, 560F. 91  § 36 text above at n. 78; § 90 text above at n. 80. 92  It is too little recognised by Wendland (1892) 11–12 and Hadas-Lebel (1973) 115–16 but exaggerated by Pohlenz (1942) 423, who claims that the mention of anger in § 34 and § 90 is ‘vollends unhellenisch’ and reminiscent of the dies irae of Jahwe of the Old Testament prophets. 93  Van der Horst (1998); in note 51 on p. 284 he expresses puzzlement at the texts in Prov. 1. 94  See esp. the summary at Praem. 1–3. 95  Abr. 1; Mos. 2.53–65; at Mos. 2.285–287 it is the earth and heaven that are the instruments of punishment (Num 16). 96  Compare for example Decal. 177–178, where δίκη, God’s πάρεδρος, carries out the punishment of sinners. But there are perhaps limits: it is noteworthy that in § 34 and § 90, where he speaks of the ‘anger’ of providence, it is not directly attributed to God (cf. Deus 52).



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of cosmic destruction is not couched in biblical terms,97 but in terminology and phraseology taken from Greek philosophy, and in particular Stoicism and Platonism. This is characteristic of the entire work and is the most remarkable feature of the group of five philosophical treatises.

8.  Concluding Remarks Space forbids a full examination of how our treatise is situated within Philo’s thought in general and particularly its relation to another philosophical treatise, the ever controversial De aeternitate mundi. Abraham Terian has put forward the view that Prov. 1 is in fact the sequel to that work announced in the final words of the extant treatise (Aet. 150).98 I  cannot agree with the suggestion if taken at face value. The formal differences are too great, even if as noted above Prov. 1 does share some features of the θέσις.99 But I do think that the treatise is basically consistent with the doxography in Aet. 7–19 which in my view determines the philosophical position of that treatise as originally planned. A rigorous reading of the text of Prov. 1 through the veil of the translation will reveal, I believe, that Philo does not necessarily envisage the total destruction of [177] the cosmos as attributed to the Stoics in Aet. 8, but rather a threatened purging of the parts of the cosmos through the action of natural catastrophes and elemental change (cf. Aet. 146–9).100 This would be consistent with the basically Platonic view attributed to Moses in Aet. 19. The threat of destruction on a cosmic scale by providence in its role as judge must be read as a very strong formulation of its educative mission emphasised at key points in the treatise (esp. § 36, 46).101 It is important to note that, even though the final words of the treatise return to the theme of destruction,102 it is in fact meant positively since it refers to the destruction of evil through virtue and the exercise of free will (§ 92). A feature of current Philonic scholarship, strongly promoted for example by Maren Niehoff in her recent work,103 is a greater emphasis on chronology. Although initially sceptical because of the necessarily speculative nature of the 97  There are almost no exceptions. Τhe mention of the pulcherrimus flos in § 34 may just perhaps be a reminiscence of Is 40:6–8. But Wendland (1892) 11 n. 6 rightly suspects a Christian interpolation. 98  In the unpublished paper cited above in n. 21. See also the remarks of Wendland (1892) 12. 99  See above n. 40 and text thereto. 100  The most difficult texts for this view are cited above in nn. 78 & 79. 101  For a slightly different approach see (Winston 1985) 71, who calls the threat of the ultimate destruction of the world in response to its wickedness ‘a pedagogical device’ since ‘inasmuch as the world is continuously dependent on God for its existence, God could theoretically destroy it, but in view of his eternal and unchangeable nature he will not do so’. 102  Probably rendering κατάλυσις or καθαίρεσις according to James Royse. 103  Niehoff (2011a) 169–85; (2011b). [This was written and published before the appear-

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hypotheses, I am starting to warm to this approach, particularly in relation to the final period of Philo’s life (the only part we know anything about). As we noted at the outset,104 it is certain that Prov. 1 dates to this period. It seems plausible to me that the unparalleled emphasis in our treatise on the role of justice in civic administration can be explained from this perspective.105 Alexandria had proved to be a turbulent and sometimes lawless place during these years and Philo was personally involved. In addition, as Peter Frick has shown, the punitive and avenging role of providence is prominent in the two historical treatises that Philo wrote on these events.106 Finally I wish to summarise what our investigation has yielded in relation to the main theme of this volume. We have seen that the subject and basic method of Philo’s treatise are Stoic. The Stoic tradition of Περὶ προνοίας literature would appear to be the baseline from which he departs. The philosophical arguments as we have analysed them are fairly evenly divided between Stoicism and Platonism. The former are prominent in arguments from part to whole and from human to providential activity. The latter come into play in the doctrine of creation, which is the bedrock of Philo’s cosmology, and in his theology. It is in his polemical passages [178] that he shows where his real concerns are, directed against the eternity of the cosmos and astral fatalism, not against theological immanentism or the notion of cosmic destructibility (on whatever scale). Philo is thus a fascinating witness to the interplay of the two schools (or their literature) in his time. The Stoa provides a terminology and an argumentative framework for the main arguments on providence, but the main theological arguments derive from the Platonic tradition. But it has emerged that, ultimately (and not surprisingly), it is Philo’s Judaism that subtextually drives the argument. It is subtly done, rising to the surface particularly in the heavy emphasis on the judicial and retributive activity of divine providence. Philo’s intriguing but difficult work cannot be read in isolation from its context, the protracted struggle of a politically disadvantaged community in the city of Alexandria.107

ance of her intellectual biography of Philo, (2018), which takes this emphasis on chronology and the influence of Rome to a new level.] 104  See above n. 9. 105  See above at n. 77. 106  Frick (1999) 185–189. See esp. Legat. 6, 336; Flacc. 102–104, 126, 170, 191. In particular we note the mention of the στοιχεῖα τοῦ παντός at Flacc. 125. 107  I would like to thank Jaap Mansfeld and Piet van der Horst for making constructive comments on a draft of this article, to James Royse for fruitful discussions and assistance with the Armenian text, and to Abraham Terian for sharing with me some of the results of his unpublished research.

List of Original Publications The following list indicates the original location of the studies collected in this volume. The author wishes to express his gratitude to the publishing houses who generously gave permission for the studies to be reprinted. 1. ‘Why Philo of Alexandria is an Important Writer and Thinker,’ in S. Inowlocki and B. Decharneux (eds.), Philon d’Alexandrie. Un penseur à l’intersection des cultures gréco-romaine, orientale, juive et chrétienne, Monothéismes et philosophie (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011) 13–33. 2. ‘Half a Century of Philonic Research since the Lyon Colloque: Some Evaluatory Reflections,’ in S. Morlet and O. Munnich (eds.), Les études philoniennes: regards sur cinquante années de recherche (1967–2017), Studies in Philo of Alexandria 13 (Leiden: Brill, 2021) 21–36. 3. ‘Philo of Alexandria and the Greek Hairesis-Model,’ Vigiliae Christianae 53 (1999) 117–147 (published by Brill, Leiden). 4. ‘Philo of Alexandria and the End of Hellenistic Theology,’ in A. Laks and D. Frede (eds.), Traditions of Theology: Studies in Hellenistic Theology, Its Background and Aftermath, Philosophia Antiqua 89 (Leiden: Brill, 2002) 281–316. 5. ‘Plato’s Timaeus, First Principle(s) and Creation in Philo and Early Christian Thought,’ in G. Reydams-Schils (ed.), Plato’s Timaeus as Cultural Icon (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2003) 133–151. 6. ‘The Rehabilitation of the Jackdaw: Philo of Alexandria and Ancient Philo­ sophy,’ in R. Sorabji and R. W. Sharples (eds.), Greek and Roman Philosophy 100 BC–200 AD, Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies Supplement 95 (London: Institute of Classical Studies, 2007) 483–500. 7. ‘Philo and Hellenistic Doxography,’ in F. Alesse (ed.), Philo of Alexandria and Post-Aristotelian Philosophy, Studies on Philo of Alexandria 5 (Leiden: Brill 2008) 13–52. 8. ‘Is Philo Committed to the Doctrine of Reincarnation?,’ The Studia Philonica Annual 31 (2019) 107–125 (published by SBL Press, Atlanta). 9. ‘The Reception of Plato’s Phaedo in Philo of Alexandria,’ Unpublished. 10. ‘The Idea and the Reality of the City in the Thought of Philo of Alexandria,’ Journal of the History of Ideas 61 (2000) 361–379 (published by University of Pennsylvania Press).

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11. ‘Eudaimonism in Hellenistic-Jewish Literature,’ in J. L. Kugel (ed.), Shem in the Tents of Japheth: Essays on the Encounter of Judaism and Hellenism, Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 74 (Leiden: Brill, 2002) 131–157. 12. ‘The Theme of Flight and Exile in the Allegorical Thought World of Philo of Alexandria,’ The Studia Philonica Annual 21 (2009) 1–24 (published by SBL Press, Atlanta). 13. ‘Dogma and doxa in the Allegorical Writings of Philo of Alexandria,’ in J.‑F. Pradeau (ed.), Études Platoniciennes VII: Philon d’Alexandrie (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2010) 115–132. 14. ‘Philo and the Gentiles,’ in D. S. Sim and J. S. McLaren (eds.), Attitudes to Gentiles in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity, Library of New Testament Studies 499 (London: T&T Clark, Bloomsbury, 2013) 28–45. 15. ‘Cosmos, Logos, and Nomos: The Alexandrian Jewish and Christian Appropriation of the Genesis Creation Account,’ in P. Derron (ed.), Cosmologies et cosmogonies dans la littérature antique, Entretiens sur l’antiquité classique 61 (Vandœuvres-Geneva: Fondation Hardt, 2015) 179–209. 16. ‘The Doctrine of Creation in Philo’s Allegorical Commentary,’ in L. De Luca (ed.), Similitudini, metafore e allegoria nel De opificio mundi di Filone di Alessandria, Studi di storia della filosofia antica 12 (Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura 2021) 3–18. 17. ‘Theodicy in Philo of Alexandria,’ in A. Laato and J. C. de Moor (eds.), Theodicy in the World of the Bible (Leiden: Brill, 2003) 576–604. 18. ‘Philo of Alexandria on the Human Consequences of Divine Power,’ in F. Calabi, O. Munnich, G. Reydams-Schils and E. Vimercati (eds.), Pouvoir et Puissances chez Philon d’Alexandrie, Monothéismes et philosophie 22 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015) 245–256. 19. ‘The Virtue of Hope in Philo of Alexandria,’ The Studia Philonica Annual 32 (2020) 257–274 (published by SBL Press, Atlanta). 20. ‘The Reward for Goodness: Philo, De Vita Contemplativa 90,’ in D. T. Runia and G. E. Sterling (eds.), Wisdom and Logos: Studies in Jewish Thought in Honor of David Winston [= The Studia Philonica Annual 9 (1997)], Brown Judaic Studies 312 (Providence, RI: Brown Judaic Studies, 1997) 3–18. 21. ‘The Text of the Platonic Citations in Philo of Alexandria,’ in M. Joyal (ed.), Studies in Plato and the Platonic Tradition: Essays Presented to John Whittaker (Aldershot: Ashgate, Taylor & Francis, 1997) 261–291. 22. ‘Philo’s Reading of the Psalms,’ in D. T. Runia and G. E. Sterling (eds.), In the Spirit of Faith: Studies in Philo and Early Christianity in Honor of David Hay [= The Studia Philonica Annual 13 (2001)], Brown Judaic Studies 332 (Providence, RI: Brown Judaic Studies, 2001) 102–121. 23. ‘Philo of Alexandria, Legatio ad Gaium 1–7,’ in D. E. Aune, T. Seland and J. H. Ulrichsen (eds.), Neotestamentica et Philonica: Studies in Honor of



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Peder Borgen, Supplements to Novum Testamentum 106 (Leiden: Brill, 2003) 349–370. 24. ‘Philo, Quaestiones In Genesim 2.62 and the Problem of Deutero-Theology,’ in U. Bläsing, J. Dum-Tragut and T. M. van Lint (eds.), Armenian, Hittite and Indo-European Studies: A Commemoration Volume for Jos J. S. Weitenberg, Hebrew University Armenian Studies 15 (Leuven: Peeters, 2019) 259–269. 25. ‘The Place of De Abrahamo in Philo’s Œuvre,’ The Studia Philonica Annual 20 (2008) 133–150 (published by SBL Press, Atlanta). 26. ‘From Stoicism to Platonism: The Difficult Case of Philo’s De Providentia I,’ in T. Engberg-Pedersen (ed.), From Stoicism to Platonism: The Development of Philosophy, 100 BCE to 100 CE (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017) 159–178.

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Index of References 1.  Biblical Texts Genesis 1 309 1:1 154, 309, 311, 313 1:1–2a 103, 159 1:2 105, 113 1:7–8 313 1:14 308 1:26–27 90, 311, 320–322 1:26 238, 343 2:1 304 2:7 90, 311, 320–322, 454 2:15 312 2:17 167, 174, 191, 312, 318 2:18 130 2:23 312 3:8 252 3:19 167, 174 3:21 311 3:24 253 4:1–2 270 4:1 194 4:12 368, 374 4:16 253 4:17 270 4:22 312 4:24 480 4·26 365–366 5:1 312, 366, 368 6:2 195 6:8 253, 326 6:12 424 7:5 356 8:22 154 9:1 462 9:6 454, 462 9:21 319

9:27 7, 221 11:4 271 11:7 30, 344 11:8 254 12:1 254, 305, 323 15:3 196 15:11 150 15:15 190 16:6–9 244 17:1 324, 326, 356 17:17 370 17:21 285 18:2 344 18:12 366 19:15–29 142 21:6 366 22:3–5 460, 462 26:33 424 28:12 178, 195 28:17 76 37:15 273 38:7 356 Exodus 3:14–15 324 3:14 241, 365–366, 377 6:3 365 7:1 64 12:38 273 14:27 256 15:5 176 15:17 257, 321 17:15 251 18:4 256 19:6 287 23:27 286

536 24:10 424 25:21 459 33:7 231 33:16 281 33:20 97 Leviticus 1:6, 12 358 6:20 28 19:24 367 26:12 434 Numbers 3:12–13 257 14:4 177 20:17 431 24:7 288 Deuteronomy 4:4 258 4:6–7 284 4:19 28–29 8:15 213 7:7–8 284 8:15–16 460 10:9 257 10:12–20 377 10:16–17 359 10:17–18 432 10:17 29–30 10:18 287 17:3 29 17:15–16 176 19:5 258 30:20 236 31:6 360 23:2–4 59 26:17 230 30:11–14 230 32:7–9 283, 288, 290 32:9 321 32:32 258 32:39 76

Index of References

Psalms (LXX) 8:6–7 424 14:5 424 18:8 425 22:1 420, 422, 433 26:1 422 30:19 421 35:10 424 36:4 420, 422 41:4 421 45:5 217, 423, 434 51:4 424 61:12 420 64:2 423 64:10 422 68:34 423 74:9 419 77:49 419 79:6–7 421 83:11 421 90:11–12 423, 431 93:9 420 98:5 424 100:1 419 113:12–15 424, 431 113:16 424 113:25 422 134:15–18 424, 431 Proverbs 8:22–31 309 Romans 1:25 34 7:14 312 Ephesians 6:12 34 Galatians 4:19 34 Hebrews 11:3 114

2.  Philonic Texts



2.  Philonic Texts De opificio mundi 5 61, 128 8 104, 118, 126, 131 7–25 74, 80 7–12 80, 324 7–8 160 17–18 84–85, 206–207, 300 21–23 341 21 399 23 86, 90 27 27 31 27 46 32 54 142 55 27 69–71 324 72–75 342–343 84 424 119 399 133 399 161 120 165 252 170–172 60, 128, 161, 275 170 76 172 229, 333 Legum allegoriae 1.1 304 1.105–108 194–195 1.105 167 1.106 191 2.3 118 130 2.11–13 315 2.85 213 2.86 460 3.1 252 3.13 273 3.20 267, 272 3.172 256 3.175 177 3.206–207 460 3.252–253 174 De cherubim 2 253 49 62

86 236 114 168 121 254 De sacrificiis Abeli et Caini 3 267 5 267 60 458 69 273 136 147 119–120 257 121–126 210 Quod deterius potiori insidiari solet 6–7 267, 272 28 273 32 267 34 186 47–49 347 48 231 86 59 95 273 138–140 368, 374 161–162 64 De posteritate Caini 8–9 348 9–10 253 38 268 89–93 283 137 147 156 177 168 76 De gigantibus 13–15 195 14 186 17 419 62–64 31 67 254 Quod Deus sit immutabilis 55 68 74 419 77–81 88 77 90, 419

537

538 82 420 182 423 De agricultura 55 62 89 175–178 50, 52 420 De plantatatione 1–27 319–322 12 26 17 400 29 420 36 68 39 62, 420 46 257 58–60 284 131 400 151 55 171 401 De ebrietate 8 186, 401 36 272 45 272 61 402 100 231 101 192 166–205 148 198–202 149 200–201 162 224 258 De confusione linguarum 39 62, 421 44 62 52 421 70 256 98 424 107–108 211 173 30 176 178 196 254 168–183 344 De migratione Abrahami 1–12 323 9 254

Index of References

43–44 375 53–61 284 77–78 448 86–93 68, 213 124 374 152–154 273 152 268 157 421 180 271 182–183 323, 326 194 31 Quis rerum divinarum heres sit 26 254 60 256 81 61 181 402 228 180 246–248 57, 150–151 267–276 196 273–274 189 290 421 307 403 De congressu eruditionis gratia 22–24 255 54 268 57 192 103 28 177 62 De fuga et inventione 1 244 8–9 272 53–86 257 59 422 63 126, 244, 403 68–72 344 78 258 82 244, 404 148 273 De mutatione nominum 1 324 7–46 324–326 10 147 18 325 30–32 344



45 326 60–61 68 67 147 82 194 115 422 145 148 154 370 184 148 267 285 De somniis 1.14–33 144 1.21–32 145–147 1.21–24 26 1.39 68 1.52–55 145 1.64–67 460, 462 1.75 188, 422 1.139 188, 260 1.134–156 179 1.137–139 168, 178–179 1.138–139 195 1.151 192 1.228–230 459 1.255–256 256 2.8–9 163 2.142 366 2.147–149 211 2.242–246 422–423, 434 2.245–254 217 De Abrahamo 7–16 367 51 377 56–57 287–288 57 445 58 229 69 80, 271 98 287 99 62 159 27 162–163 142 163 76 180–181 287 254 387 268 376

2.  Philonic Texts

De vita Moysis 1.21–24 121 1.22 125 1.24 56 1.31–32 441 1.158 64 1.219 251 1.278 288 2.17–25 288 2.43–44 288, 379 2.46–47 299 2.161 386 De decalogo 48 424 52 29 63 424 66 30 74 424 De specialibus legibus 1.8 63 1.13–20 29 1.13–14 32 1.32–50 80 1.32 97 1.37 26 1.43–44 90 1.68–69 217 1.79 387 1.81 230 1.165 459 1.204 424 1.209 358 1.213 147 1.319–345 60, 258 1.327 274 1.345 61, 230 2.219 377 2.249 406 2.256 64, 424 3.1–6 203 3.51 386 3.110–111 287 3.178 63 4.72 387 4.176–181 287

539

540

Index of References

De virtutibus 64–65 71 119–120 208 175 387 183–185 230 201 387 203 90 214 271

141 412 146–149 495 146 413 150 495

De praemiis 1 299 7–14 371 30 231 32–34 346 36–46 80, 90–91, 445 40 118, 131, 132 44 287 46 424 165–168 217

Legatio ad Gaium 1–7 289, 435–452 1–3 350 5 131, 237 20–21 450 75 446 91 351 118 446 147 289 149 205 151 205 196 378, 443 240 289 366–367 351 367 446

Quod omnis probus liber sit 3 186, 268 8 406 13 183, 406 75–91 214 91 228, 390 De vita contemplativa 2 118, 131 19–20 214 21–22 293 28–29 56 29 431 35 407 83–88 431 90 228, 383–395 De aeternitate mundi 7–19 153, 495 13 408 20 27 25–26 409–411 38 411 46–47 28 52 411 112 28 117–149 137, 155 120 27

In Flaccum 121 432 163 204

De Providentia 1.20–22 105 1.22 136, 159 1.77–88 32 2.48 157 2.50–51 106 2.84 27 2.89 158 2.107 217 De animalibus 6–7 40–41 7 61, 127 Quaestiones et solutiones in Genesin 1.51 174 1.54 344 1.76 349 1.79 369 2.44 132 2.62 174, 453–462 3.8 387, 389 3.16 63, 163

541

3.  Ancient Texts



4.234 177, 192 fr. p. 7 Harris 169, 187

3.48 286 3.55 371 3.60 285 4.2 462 4.8 362 4.20 362 4.110 129 4.147 423 4.159 186 4.167 63 4.173 187 4.195i 424 4.232 423

Quaestiones et solutiones in Exodum 2.22 286 2.40 168, 177, 192 2.68 85, 459 fr. 4 56–57 fr. 5 151, 271 De pietate fr. p. 11 Harris 376–377

3.  Ancient Texts Aëtius Plac. 1.6–7 73–74 1.7 140 1.7.22 74, 133 2.21 145 2.4 138, 154, 157 1.7.22 133 4.2 138 Alcinous Didaskalikos 10.1–4 28 12.1–2 100

De finibus 5.1–4

121, 140

De inventione 8 140 De natura deorum 1.2 73 1.25–41 140 1.30 97 1.65 89 2.3 89 2.12–13 89 De oratore 2.117 136

Ambrose De Noe 29.99 455–456

Tusculanae disputationes 1.18–24 145 1.36 89

Aristotle De anima 1.2 403b20–25 138

Clement of Alexandria Stromateis 2.110.3 125

Topica 1.14 105b19–25 Cicero Academica 2.112–146 140 2.118–119 154

138

Diogenes Laertius Vitae philosophorum 7.38 53 Eusebius Praeparatio evangelica 7.2 106, 113

542

Index of References

7.12.14 455 Homer Odyssey 10.513 192 13.104 178 Josephus Antiquitates Judaïcae 1.19–23 233 Plato Cratylus 400c 195 Leges 770c 403 821b–c Menexenus 238a 399 Phaedo 60b–c 401 67b 186 70c 193, 198 Phaedrus 247a 406 249d 195 259c 407 Respublica 473c–d 405 Theaetetus 176a–c 126, 224, 260, 403–404 191c 402 Timaeus 22c–e 413, 494 24e 412 28b–29b 490 28c 88, 97, 399 29a 400 29d 326 32c–33b 410 33c–d 411 34b 25

37e 411 40d 25 41a–b 408 43a 195 47a–c 142, 320 48c–d 107, 107 49a 101 51a 101 52d 101 53d 101 75e 399 88d 402 90a–c 224, 400 92c 25 Plotinus Enneads 6.9.1 130 Pseudo-Plato Definitiones 416a 367 Epinomis 984d 26 985d–e 26 Eryxias 397e 401 Pseudo-Plutarch Epitome 1.3 136 Seneca Naturales quaestiones 7.30.4 95 Sextus Empiricus Adversus physicos 1.48 73 Adversus ethicos 96 121 Pyrrhoniae hypotyposes 1.13 269

Index of Modern Authors Alesse, Francesca 4 Alesso, Marta 6, 183 Alexandre jr., Manuel 23 Alexandre, Monique 38 Arnim, Johannes von 120, 491 Athanassiadi, Polymnia 115 Aucher, Johannes Baptista 453, 481

Dillon, John M. 23, 41, 95, 128, 129, 183, 398, 415 Dodds, Eric R. 3, 117–133 Doering, Luz 43 Donaldson, Terry 44, 294 Dörrie, Heinrich 183 Drummond, James 124, 354, 456

Baltes, Matthias 101–102, 108, 121 Barthélemy, Dominique 37 Beekes, Robert 266 Billings, Thomas H. 183 Birnbaum, Ellen 44, 290, 436, 439, 444 Bonazzi, Mauro 42 Borgen, Peder 15, 37, 435–436, 439 Bormann, Karl 91, 384 Bousset, Wilhelm 9 Boyancé, Pierre 23, 121, 129, 178, 183 Brague, René 295, 314 Bréhier, Louis 354 Brown, Peter 216 Burkert, Walter 25, 195

Engberg-Pedersen, Troels 15, 479 Erler, Michael 8

Chadwick, Henry 97 Chitty, Derwas 220 Cohen, Naomi G. 23, 235 Cohn, Leopold 22, 315, 385–386, 437, 464–465 Colson, Francis H. 56, 384, 397, 438 Conley, Thomas 23 Conybeare, Frederick C. 385 Corrington, Gail 384 Culpepper, Alan 58 Daniélou, Jean 38 De Luca, Ludovica 8 Decharneux, Betrand 243 Diels, Hermann 135–141, 144, 146, 155, 482

Fantino, Jean 112–113 Festugière, André-Jean 26, 38, 97 Frede, Michael 115, 127 Frick, Peter 436 Früchtel, Ludwig 482 Fuhrer, Therese 8 Gabriel, Frédéric 45 Geljon, Albert C. 12, 175, 318–319 Géoltrain, Pierre 384 Giusta, Michelangelo 141 Glucker, John 4, 49–51, 54 Goodenough, Erwin R. 38, 64, 294, 354, 438, 470 Goudriaan, Koen 291 Goulet, Richard 40 Graffigna, Paola 384 Graver, Margaret 42, 370 Gruen, Erich S. 22 Hadas-Lebel, Mireille 482 Harl, Marguerite 364, 457 Harris, Harold A. 120 Hay, David M. 12, 62, 215–216, 418, 427, 432 Heine, Ronald E. 307, 312 Hirsch-Luipold, Rainer 42

544

Index of Modern Authors

Hoek, Annewies van der 45 Horst, Pieter W. van der 22, 494 Kamesar, Adam 368 Klauck, Hans-Josef 216–217 Köckert, Charlotte 307, 313 Kohnke, Friedrich W. 450 Laato, Antti 5, 10 Le Boulluec, Alain 51, 57 Leisegang, Hans 447 Leonhardt, Jutta 25 Lévy, Benny 23 Lévy, Carlos 19, 38, 42, 43, 120, 164 Lincicum, David N. 37 Long, Anthony A. 119 Longo, Angela 8 Lowe, Malcolm 70 Luther, Martin 417 Mangey, Thomas 386 Mansfeld, Jaap 4, 42, 137, 139, 146, 195 Marcelescu, Smaranda 45 Marcus, Ralph 67, 285 Martín, José Pablo 278, 462 Mason, Steve 66, 233 Massebieau, Louis 437, 465 May, Gerhard 108, 113 McLaren, James S. 7 Méasson, Anita 171, 184 Meeks, Wayne A. 440 Mendelson, Alan 347–348 Menxel, François van 365 Metzler, Karen 307 Miquel, Pierre 384 Moehring, Horst 49 Momigliano, Arnaldo 123 Moor, Johannes C. de 10 Morris, Jenny 39, 465 Niehoff, Maren R. 9, 23, 41, 183, 291, 317, 495 Nikiprowetzky, Valentin 6, 28, 38, 61, 64, 127, 183, 260, 305, 354–355, 377, 426 Noack, Christian 39 Oort, Johannes van 218 Osborn, Eric F. 107, 111

Paz, Yakir 176 Pelletier, André 448 Pépin, Jean 26 Perrone, Lorenzo 24 Petit, Françoise 37, 428 Radice, Roberto 78 Reale, Giovanni 105 Reydams-Schils, Gretchen 3, 104, 107 Riaud, Jean 38 Riedweg, Christoph 6, 243 Rösel, Martin 29, 297–298 Roskam, Geert 197 Royse, James R. 37, 402 Sanders, Ed P. 43 Savon, Hervé 456 Schofield, Malcolm 208 Schürer, Emil 465 Schwartz, Daniel 05 Schwartz, Eduard 236 Schwartz, Jacques 39 Sedley, David N. 4, 51, 54, 119, 127, 156, 295 Segal, Alan F. 458 Shorey, Paul 183 Siegert, Folker 37, 480 Sim, David 7 Sly, Dorothy 40, 206 Smallwood, E. Mary 438 Sorabji, Richard 3, 105, 114, 123 Sterling, Gregory E. 1, 11, 13, 40, 105, 365, 379 Studer, Basil 365 Tarrant, Harold 199 Taylor, Joan E. 215 Terian, Abraham 20, 37, 315, 337, 453, 481–482, 495 Termini, Cristina 354–356, 365, 377, 469 Theiler, Willy 23, 121, 129, 130, 183, 458 Umemoto, Naoto 282 Usener, Hermann 136, 155 Völker, Walther 235, 390 Waszink, Jan H. 109



Index of Modern Authors

Weiss, Hans F. 457 Weitenberg, Jos J. S. 14, 453, 462 Wendland, Paul 22, 144, 315, 481 Whittaker, John 11, 396, 398, 415 Winston, David S. 14, 42, 44,, 91, 105, 383–384, 463 Wolfson, Harry A. 38, 97, 98, 105, 124, 354, 457

545

Wyss, Beatrice 61 Yli-Karjanmaa, Sami 5, 42, 183, 166–181, 193, 317, 349 Zeller, Dieter 195

Index of Subjects Abel 218, 270, 276, 305, 312, 347 Abraham 31, 213, 215, 284, 305, 323, 344, 356, 357, 362 – and hope 367, 375–376 – and trust 230–231 – emigrant 254, 271 – song of 432 – treatise on 463–478 abyss 176 Adam 229, 251, 312 Aenesidemus 148–149 Aëtius the doxographer 5, 73–75, 133, 136–164, 484 after-life 175, 349 Agrippa, King 442 Alcinous 61, 95–96 Alexander the Great 84, 207 Alexander, Philo’s nephew 156–158, 337–340 Alexandria 8, 84, 118, 121–122, 215, 296 – ethnic groups 291 – Jewish community in 205, 247, 350–351, 496 – multicultural 280 – Philo on the city 203–206 – pogrom 205 – political situation 300 allegory – kinds of 170, 318, 248 – of soul 191 – protological/universal 184 âm/goyim 281, 292 Ambrose 155 – and QG 2.62 455–456 Ammonites 274 Anatolius 129 Anaxagoras 146 angels 178–179, 283, 343, 459

anthropology 90 – in Origen 311 – of creation account 302 – theme in Abr. 474 Antigone 223 Antiochus of Ascalon 2, 127 Aquila 250 Arcesilaus 139 Archytas 139 aretê 132, 228, 240, 391 argument from part to whole 488–491 Ariston the Peripatetic 121 Aristotle 153, 163 – and doxography 138–139 – and good life 226 – cosmos as god 27 Arius Didymus 61, 77, 121, 141 Armenian corpus 386, 453–456 astral fatalism 32 astrology 31–33, 492 atheism 162, 270–274 Athens 54, 121, 296 Augustine 103, 114, 154, 218, 278, 317 – and city of God 218, 434 Augustus 205, 289, 442 Babel 208, 211, 271, 274 Balaam 288, 432 barbarians, Greeks and 288, 292–293 beatitudes 227 Benjamin 272 bios – Abr. as 469 body 171, 176–177, 191 – as tomb, corpse 195 Boethus of Sidon 120 Cain 218, 253, 270–271, 275, 305, 312, 347, 368

548

Index of Subjects

– and hope 373 Calvenus Taurus 108 Carneades 164 Chaldeans 28, 31, 80, 254, 271, 274305, 323, 476, 492 Cherubim 360 Chrysippus 120, 139, 164, 336, 484–485, 493 Cicero 3, 136, 146, 152, 164, 208, 336, 484, 491, 493 – and doxography 140–141, 155 – and hairesis-model 51, 54 – and Homeric allegory 178, 255 – existence of God 89 cities of refuge 257–258 city – idea and reality of 203–220 – order/disorder 300 city of God 217 Claudius 293 Cleanthes 336 Clement of Alexandria 20, 118, 306–307 – and first principles 107–108 – citing Philo 125–126 commandments, ten – first 29, 32, 64, 88 – fifth 363 – see also Decalogue conflagration 493 contemplation 389, 393–395 cosmic religion 25–26, 31 cosmology – and doxography 143 – and providence 338 – Greek, and Genesis 301 – models of 296 cosmos – admiration for 31, 306 – and city 207 – destruction of 493–495 – eternity of 488 – existence 488 – order of 491 cradle argument 121 creatio ex nihilo 100, 103, 105–116, 310 creation 100–116 – and good life 303 – and time 310

– demiurgic model 309 – doctrine of 315–327 – fall of human beings 303 – six days of 302 creation account – and allegory 304 daimones 179, 195, 223 Dead Sea scrolls 20 death 190, 231 – two kinds of 349 – of soul 173 Decalogue 333, 345, 475 Democritus 139, 146, 295 desert 212–213 diaeresis 76 diatribe 212 Didymus the Blind 20 Dinocrates of Rhodes 84, 207 Dio Chrysostom 208 Dio of Prusa 243 Diogenes Laertius 52–53, 141, 148 Diogenes of Babylon 120 dogma, dogmata 265–279 doxa, doxai 265–279 doxography 76, 135–165, 265, 487 – on ethics 162–164 Eden, garden of 259, 321 education – cosmos as place of 313 – of Israel 446 – preliminary 255 Egypt 176–177, 210, 256–257, 273 Egyptians 291 Eliezer 256 Embassy to Gaius 41, 289, 378, 442, 481 Empedocles 139, 159 Enos 365–373 Epictetus 61, 94, 208 Epicureanism 121, 163 Epicurus 53, 139, 269, 276, 295 – and good life 226 – and providence 487 epistemology 89–92 Epistle to Diognetus 220 Esau 255 eschatology 169, 175, 194, 263, 349



Index of Subjects

esotericism 169 Essenes 67, 69, 390 – and eudaimonia 228 ethics, see doxography eudaimonia 194, 389–395 – and hope 373 – etymology 222–223 – in creation account 303 eudaimonism 221–242 Eudemus 139 Eudorus 3, 23, 42, 83, 97, 102, 105, 121, 129–130 eunuchs 258 Euripides 223 Eusebius 20, 307, 337, 397, 481 – and QG 2.62 454 – and Therapeutae 21 Eve 252 evil – evil person, and hope 373 – God as judge of 492 – origin of 108, 334 excluded groups 273–274 exile 243–264 exodus 256 Favorinus 243 fear 360 Flaccus 204, 246, 350, 373 flight 243–264 Fortune 441 freedom 189 friendship 389 Gaius 204, 289, 350–351, 378 – and Legat. 436–452 passim Genesis, Book of 283, 295, 299 Gentiles 280–294 Gnostics 34, 111–113, 305 God – and evil 339 – and eudaimonia 236–242 – and intellect 324 – and Logos 458–463 – as creator, arguments for 490 – as judge 490, 492–496 – as planter 319 – beyond description 448

– – – – –

compassion 444 creator 306 existence/essence 88–91 friends of 389, 391 goodness of 326, 342 – and powers 358 – knowledge of 446 – mercy of 359 – naming 325 – one/monad 132 – power/powers 354–364 – providence of 301, 303 – refuge in 261 – saviour 196, 198 – sovereignty 360 – transcendent 132 – unicity 131, 301 – vision of 190 – see also transcendence gods – blessedness of 227, 237 good, the 163 goodness 389 Gorgias 138 goyim 282 grace 326 Greek philosophy – theodicy in 334–336 Gregory of Nyssa 114, 116 Hades 192 Hagar 249, 255 hairesis/haireseis 40, 51–55, 141, 156, 165 Hannah, song of 428, 432 Haran 254 Heaven – unknowability of 144–148 heavenly bodies 146 – as rulers 305 – creation of 302 – divinization of 24 – in Origen 310 – worship of 29–30 Hellenistic schools 51 Heraclitus the Allegorist 276–267 Heraclitus of Ephesus 138, 318, 441 Hermogenes 109

549

550

Index of Subjects

heterodoxy 72 Hippias 138 Hippolytus 146 Homer 155, 177 – allegorization of 177, 261, 276–277 homoiôsis theôi 237–238 hope 194, 361, 365–379 humanity 240 – and divine power 354–364 – imitating God 363 hymns 431–432

Judaism – and eudaimonia 233 – and Greek terminology 235 – and Philo studies 23, 43–44 – and providence 496 – as a unity 71 – flight and exile in 245 – interpretation of scripture 68 – new impulses 219 Justin Martyr 51, 52, 107 Juvenal 212

Iamblichus 61, 129 imagery 84 images – for soul and body 189 Irenaeus 111–113, 307 Isaac 255, 370 Isidorus 293 Israel 258, 284–285, 321 – and Gentiles 281 – and providence 351 – name of Jacob 132 – seeing God 240, 445 – suppliant race 377, 444 Israelites 256

kakodaimonia 223 knowledge, human – imitations of 361 Koran 296

Jacob 132, 249, 255 – ladder of 168, 179, 195, 448 Japheth 221 Jerome 183 Jerusalem 121, 246, 296 – as city 216–218 Jethro 272, 275 Jewish community – and hope for future 377 Jews, and Gentiles 281 – and providence 378, 439 John Lydus 129 John Philoponus 108 Joseph 256, 272 Joseph and Aseneth – and eudaimonism 232 Josephus 20, 45, 65–67, 355 – and eudaimonism 232–233, 238 journey of soul – and hope 373 joy 368, 373

Laban 255, 260, 272, 274 Lake Mareotis 215 Lampo 293 language, limits of 449 language of reason 183 law, and cosmos 301 Law of Moses 60 – and logos 240 law, observance of – in Abr. 474, 477 learning 31 Levites 210, 257, 261–262 life 231 – as contest, in Abr. 474 Logos 85–86 – and Alexandrian theology 314 – and creation 301 – and Greek philosophy 240 – and second God 453–462 – Christ as 309, 311 – in Origen 309 – instrument 491 – multi-vocal term 447 Maccabees, 4 – and eudaimonism 232 manna 460 Marcion 111, 113 materialism 271, 273 matter 109–115 medical schools 52–53



Index of Subjects

mercy 374 metempsychosis 172–175, 193 – see also reincarnation Middle Platonism 41, 95, 122, 182, 196 migration 190, 250, 255, 271, 305 – spiritual 260–261 Milky way 158–159 Mind – unknowability of 144–148 Miriam 432 misfortune 441 Moabites 274 Moderatus 102, 117 Monism – derivationist 115–116 monotheism 115 Moses 59–60, 256–257, 487 – and perfection 362 – as philosopher 65 – disciples of 59, 427 – education of 151 – hierophant 64 – politeia of 208, 258 – prophet 151 – song of 432 Musonius Rufus 3 mysticism 117 Nag Hammadi 20, 307 Nature, and Fortune 441–442 Neopyrrhonism 148, 151 Neopythagoreanism 118, 122, 129–133 Nimrod 253 Noah 177, 253, 326, 473 Noah cycle 323 noetic cosmos 82–85 Numenius 98–99, 178, 199, 261 Odysseus 177, 180, 199, 261, 277 oikeiôsis 121 Origen 113–114, 180, 317 – Commentary on Genesis 307–308 – cosmos, logos, salvation 306–313 – Homily on Genesis 1 313 orthodoxy 161, 165, 333 Panaetius 120, 484 paradise 251–252, 311

551

parents 363 Parmenides 138 Paul – and elements of cosmos 34 – Jew and Greek 293 Pentateuch 426 – Bible texts outside 425–427 Peri haireseôn literature 52–53, 66 Peripatetics 139, 163 Petronius 289 Pharaoh 163, 210, 256, 273 Pharos, Island of 379 philanthropia 469, 476 Philo passim – Allegorical Commentary 231, 270, 283, 315–327, 347–348 – allegorical thought-world 246–250 – allegory 31, 198–199 – allegory, city theme 208 – and doxography 135–165 – and Greek philosophy 242 – and hairesis 479 – and Hellenistic theology 73–99 – and other exegetes 58 – and Middle Platonism 41 – and Plato 183 – and Platonism 479–496 – and Psalms, reading of 417–434 – and school of Moses 49–72 – and sophists 57 – and Stoicism 479–496 – and the city 203–220 – anthropology of 167–168, 321–322 – apologetics 30, 65, 69, 132, 239, 291 – arithmology 129, 131 – Armenian tradition of 45 – as disciple of Moses 479 – chronology 79, 300 – commentaries 39 – cosmos, logos, nomos 298–306 – creation account 27 – democracy 208, 211 – Diaspora 43 – eclecticism 128 – education, and theodicy 352 – eudaimonia in 227–231 – exegesis, literal and allegorical 468

552

Index of Subjects

– Exposition of the Law 79, 228–229, 237, 287, 315–316, 463–466, 470 – theodicy in 341–347 – family 206 – general studies on 2 – heavenly bodies 26–33 – divinization of 24 – worship of 29–30 – his Hellenism 41–43, 263 – his Judaism 43–44, 263 – idolatry 30 – imagery in 188, 208 – interpreter of scripture 28, 38, 127, 181 – Israel 44 – jackdaw 118 – Judaism 43 – in Prov. 1 496 – loyalty to 239 – language 187 – life of 39 – Lyon conference on 2, 36–46 – personal experience 379 – pessimism 452 – philosophical treatises 481 – Plato, attack on 216 – proverb about 183 – Pythagorean, the 126 – reception 44–45 – reincarnation 42, 166–181 – research on 36–46 – Rome 41, 206, 212 – scepticism of 42, 144–151 – school of 40, 58 – spirituality of 364, 433 – teacher, as 127 – text editions 37 – theologian 352 – theology 31, 73–99, 129–134 – verba Philonica 187 – worship 25, 31, 305 – writings – Abr. 463–478 – Aet. 152–156, 276, 407–413 – Contempl. 214–216 – De pietate 376 – Fug. 243–244 – Opif. 160, 315–316, 327 – Opif., and Abr. 470–474

– Praem. 346 – Prov. 156–160 – Prov. 1 9, 340–341, 479–49 – Prov. 2 337–339 – Quaestiones 294 – De numeris 129 Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series 38 Philo Institute 40 Philodemus 20, 51, 54, 140, 484 Philosophers – disagreement of 149, 162 philosophy – origins of 142–143 piety 240, 252, 365, 391, 469, 476 pilgrimage 217 pistis see trust planets 26 Plato – and theodicy 334–335 – as Greek sage 487 – citations of in Philo 396–416 – commentaries on 53 – cosmic religion 25 – doxography 138 – interpretation of 124 – dialogues – Parmenides 117 – Phaedo 42, 168, 170–171, 182–199 – Phaedrus 121, 168, 170–171 – Phaedrus myth 83, 196, 321 – Republic 121 – Timaeus 100–116, 121, 168, 170–171, 295, 320 – interpretation of 81 – text, tampering with 415 – on hope 367 – theology 75 Plotinus 3, 125, 130, 485 – and dunamis of One 87 – and E. R. Dodds 117–118 – and flight 251 Plutarch 3, 42, 125, 197, 208, 243, 260 – and Plato’s Phaedo 186 – and principles 102, 112 – and providence 485, 494 polytheism 162, 272 Porphyry 112, 178, 261



Index of Subjects

Posidonius 272 Potamon of Alexandria 52, 121 Power/Powers, divine 86–88, 354–364 prayer 377 – Psalm as 428 prepositional metaphysics 112–115, 490 presbyteron-kreitton motif 155 principles, first 80–82, 100–116 Proclus 64, 87, 122 progress, spiritual 259 prophecy 442 prosperity 389, 441–442 Protagoras 270, 276 protology 184 protreptic 313 providence 301, 436 – and judgment 493 – in Greek philosophy 483–485 – in Legat. 444 – in Origen 310 Ps.Aristotle De mundo 74, 87, 93–94, 355, 357 Ps.Eustathius 481 Ps.Longinus 244 Ps.Plutarch Epitome 136 Ps.Plutarch On Homer 276 Psalms – and allegory 430 – and exegesis 430 – in Philo 417–434 – response to God 429 – spirituality of 433 Ptolemies 442 punishment 175, 230, 345–346, 349, 475, 492 purification 191 Pythagoras 163 Pythagoreanism 172–173 Pythagoreans 53 rabbis 98, 332 – and imitatio Dei 238 Red Sea 256 reincarnation 42, 166–181, 193, 260, 349–350 religion see worship reward 194, 230–231, 346, 349, 389, 395

– in Abr. 475, 477 righteous person 374 river, symbolizes Logos 434 salvation 175, 262, 353, 379 – Christian history of 313 Sarah 238, 368 Sceptical Academy 139, 146, 148, 151, 156 self-control 390 self-love 270, 274 Seneca 61, 94–95, 105, 112, 141, 208, 493 Septuagint – as translation 297–298 – language of 28–29 Seth 218, 253, 305, 312 Sextus Empiricus 53, 73, 75, 148 sexuality 211 shalom 235 Shem 221 Socrates 151, 295 – and hope 374 Sodom 210, 258, 344–345, 374 sojourner 213, 220 Solon 225 songs 431–432 sophists 151 Sophocles 223 soul – descent of 193 – journey of 167–168, 241 – war in 209 spirituality, Levitic 261–262 Speusippus 160 Stobaeus 136 Stoics 26, 154, 156, 272 – and city 208 – and good life 226 – and theodicy 336 – in Philo 119 – on hope 369 Successions 141 suicide 193 Sybilline Oracles 98 – and eudaimonism 232, 238 sympathy, cosmic 323 Syrianus 64

553

554

Index of Subjects

Tartarus 192 Tatian 109–110 Teles 243 telos 80, 163–164, 225, 326, 373, 394, 447 Temple 217 Tenach – and eudaimonism 234 Tertullian 109 text, tampering with 415 Thales 141, 159 theodicy 331–353 Theodoret of Cyrrhus 136 Theodotus 312 theology – deutero-theology, problem of 453–462 – dogmatic 278 – Hellenistic 73–99 – negative 92–93, 97–99 – systematic 332 Theon of Smyrna 131 Theophilus of Antioch 110–111, 309 Theophrastus 136, 138, 154, 412 theôria 389, 391 theosophy 118 Therapeutae/Therapeutrides 30, 49, 67–69, 214–216, 293 – and eudaimonia 228 – and hymns 431 – and bios theôrêtikos 383–395

thesis 140, 152, 156, 485 Tiberius 442 Timaeus Locrus 121 transcendence 81–82, 97, 131, 324, 448–449, 461 treatise 485 Trinity 115 trust 230, 375–376, 433 universalism 294 Valentinus 307 Varro 102 Virtue – exile from garden of 259 virtues 361 vision, mental 452 wise man 150–151 wise person – and joy 370 World-soul 85, 302 worship 25, 31, 305 Xenocrates 160 Xenophon 216 Zeno the Stoic 53, 336, 480, 484 Zion 434

Index of Greek Terms αἵρεσις 50 ἀλληγορία 247 ἄνθρωπος 373 ἀντιλογία 139 ἄρχοντες 305 ᾆσμα 426 διαδοχή 54, 141 διαίρεσις 138 διαφωνία 138 δόγμα, δόγματα 52, 265 δόξα 265 δύναμις/δυνάμεις 87, 355 ἔθνη, τά 280 ἐλπῖδες χρησταί 372 ἐλπίς, ἐλπίζω 365 ἐνάργεια 485 ἔνδοξα 138 ἐπέκεινα 132 ἑτεροδοξία 71, 151 ἑτερόδοξοι 286 εὐδαιμονία 221 εὐδαίμων 221 εὕρεσις 243 θεός 25, 84, 461 θεραπεία 25 θεραπευτής 30 καλοκαγαθία 389 καταφυγή 251 κενὴ δόξα 269 κοσμοπλάστης 319 κοσμοποιία 299 κοσμοπολίτης 207

λάος 281 λατρεία 25 λόγος 447 μακάριος 227 μεγαλόπολις 207 μετανάστασις 190 μετανάστης 254 ὀρθὴ δόξα 278 ὀρθοδοξία 278 οὐδένεια 44 ὀχλοκρατία 211 παλιγγενησία 171 παλινδρομέω 171, 178 πάροικος 254 προπάθεια 369 προστίθημι/προτίθημι 386 σύγγραμμα 485 σύνταξις 466 τέλος 225 ὕμνος 426 ὑπόνοια 247 φιλο- 187 φιλονεικία 485 φιλοσώματος 187 φυγή 243, 250 ψαλμός 428