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Philo Read Seth as Abel's Soul Given a Second Form

The Torah calls Seth a replacement for Abel. Philo of Alexandria calls him a second nativity. Those are not the same thing at all.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Second Nativity
  2. Abel as a Soul Too Pure for the World
  3. Seth as the Soul That Grows From Below
  4. The Two Kinds of Soul in One Story

The Second Nativity

The Torah calls Seth a replacement for Abel, given in place of the son whom Cain slew. That is the plain reading: one child fills the space left by another, a consolation birth after a devastating loss. Philo of Alexandria heard something different in the same verse.

He called Seth a second nativity. Not a replacement. A second beginning of the same thing.

A replacement fills an absence. A second nativity means the original was not truly gone. The distinction seems small, but it carries an entirely different claim about what kind of being Abel was and what the soul's relationship to death actually looks like.

Abel as a Soul Too Pure for the World

In Philo's allegorical system, Abel represents something that descends from above: a quality of soul, or a kind of virtue, that comes into the world from a higher source and is therefore not entirely at home here. This is partly why Abel perished as he did. Something too refined for the world tends to be destroyed by the friction of ordinary life, and most especially by the envy of those who recognize the quality they themselves cannot achieve. Abel's sacrifice rose toward heaven because that was the direction he was already oriented. Upward. And upward is where he returned when Cain's blow removed him from the field.

His name in Hebrew carries the meaning of breath or vapor. Something that is present intensely and briefly and then gone, leaving only the knowledge that it was there. Abel lived a breath-length and left a body and a crying blood and a shape in the world that could not be filled by anyone who was not, in some fundamental way, a continuation of what he had been.

Seth as the Soul That Grows From Below

Seth, by contrast, represents something rising from below. Where Abel came down from above and was destroyed by what it encountered, Seth rises from the earth toward the divine. He is watered from below, as Philo reads the name: nourished by the ordinary life of the world, growing slowly, rooted in the material rather than suspended above it, but growing in the right direction.

This difference in direction does not make Seth lesser than Abel. It makes him more capable of surviving. A soul that grows from below can be battered by the world without being destroyed by it, because its roots are already in the world's substance. A soul that descends from above can light everything it touches, but the touch is brief. The brilliance cannot last long enough to establish the kind of ongoing inheritance that a family and a people and eventually a Messiah's line requires.

The tradition makes Seth the ancestor of the Messiah, the righteous line that runs from Adam through Noah through the patriarchs toward the redemption at the end of days. That lineage could not have come through Abel. Abel was too pure to be the carrier of a long line. He was the spark, and Seth was the flame that followed, slower and steadier and capable of burning through the centuries that Abel could not have survived.

The Two Kinds of Soul in One Story

Philo's reading places two fundamental models of spiritual life in the same family, adjacent to each other in the same generation, differentiated by the direction in which each soul primarily moves. This is not a hierarchy. Philo does not call one better than the other. The soul that descends from above carries a quality of virtue that the world desperately needs but cannot long keep. The soul that rises from below carries a capacity for perseverance and growth that makes civilization and covenant possible.

Adam and Eve needed both. The world needed both. And the Torah gives them both in the same household, in close enough proximity that the contrast is unmistakable: Abel the breath, brilliant and brief; Seth the seed, slower and permanent.

The second nativity language points to something continuous between them. Seth is not a consolation prize for the loss of Abel. He is the next form taken by a quality of soul that the world was not done with. Abel's particular brightness did not survive the field. But the spiritual movement he represented, the orientation of a soul toward something higher than itself, found new ground in Seth and became capable of enduring.

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

The Midrash of Philo 25:2The Midrash of Philo

The Torah tells us Adam and Eve then had another son, Seth, but it doesn't delve too deeply into his significance. But Jewish tradition, ever eager to fill in the gaps, certainly does!

One fascinating interpretation comes from the Midrash of Philo, an ancient Jewish text attributed to the philosopher Philo of Alexandria. Now, Philo lived a long time ago, around the 1st century CE, and he tried to blend Jewish thought with Greek philosophy. So, his interpretations are often quite… allegorical.

In Midrash of Philo, Seth isn't just another son; he's a second beginning, a "second nativity of Abel." It's a bit like a spiritual do-over. Abel, in this view, represents something descending from above, something perhaps too pure for this world, which is why he "perished injuriously." Seth, on the other hand, is something rising from below, growing and increasing.

Think of it this way: Abel’s sacrifice was “brought back and offered upwards to God.” But the text asks a crucial question: Should everything be raised up? Philo argues that only the good should ascend, because God isn't the source of evil. Things that are "indistinct and uncertain, and mingled, and in confusion and disorder" – those get a mix of blame and praise. Praise because they still acknowledge the divine source, but blame because they lack intention or gratitude.

Nature, the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) continues, separated the brothers. It made the good one – Abel – "worthy of immortality, resolving him into a voice interceding with God," while the wicked one – Cain – it gave over to corruption. The good are granted immortality and can intercede on our behalf, while the wicked are left to rot.

But what about Seth? His name, according to Philo, is interpreted as "watered," like a plant that grows and bears fruit when nourished. He represents the soul, growing and developing. And this brings us to a crucial point: we can't say God causes both good and bad equally. God is only the cause of the good. Only the good should be “planted alive.”

So, what does this all mean? It’s a reminder that we have the potential for growth and renewal, like Seth. We have the choice to cultivate the good within ourselves and let it flourish. Philo is telling us that our souls are like plants that need to be watered with good deeds and intentions. Only then can we truly grow and bear fruit.

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Legends of the Jews 3:7Legends of the Jews

That feeling, that ancestral weight, is something Jewish tradition understands deeply. And it all starts with Seth.

After the tragic story of Cain and Abel, and after a period of separation, Adam and Eve reunited. The Zohar tells us that their love was even stronger than before, a love so profound that Adam carried Eve in his thoughts constantly. From this renewed love came Seth, a figure of immense importance.

Jewish tradition sees Seth as more than just another son. He's the ancestor of the Messiah, the one who would ultimately redeem the world. But even more than that, certain traditions held he was born without needing circumcision, one of thirteen people to be born that way.

There's something else. The verse reads, Adam begot Seth "in his likeness and image." That might sound like flowery language, but it's incredibly significant. See, Cain wasn't in Adam's likeness. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, Seth, in a very real sense, became the father of the human race, especially the father of the pious. While the depraved and godless, unfortunately, descended from Cain. Two lineages, stemming from the same source, but diverging into radically different paths. One, marked by violence and wickedness. The other, by virtue and wisdom.

Josephus, in his Antiquities of the Jews, paints a stark picture of Cain's descendants. They were, to put it mildly, awful. Intolerable in war, quick to rob, and eager to commit injustice for personal gain. It's a grim picture, a world spiraling downwards.

But then there's Seth. He grew into a virtuous man, a role model for his own children. They, in turn, followed in his footsteps, living together in harmony and prosperity. They were inventors, too, particularly skilled in understanding the heavenly bodies. They even invented a special kind of wisdom, concerned with the stars and their order. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, they wanted to make sure their discoveries weren't lost to time.

So, what did they do? They built two pillars. One of brick, the other of stone. They inscribed their knowledge on both, anticipating that the world would be destroyed, at one time by fire, and at another by water. That way, if one pillar was destroyed, the other would survive, preserving their wisdom for future generations.

It's a powerful image, isn't it? A evidence of human ingenuity and a deep-seated hope for the future, even in the face of potential catastrophe. It speaks to the enduring human desire to leave a mark, to contribute something meaningful to the world.

And perhaps, that's the real legacy of Seth. Not just as the ancestor of the Messiah, but as a symbol of hope, of virtue, and of the enduring power of knowledge. What kind of pillar are we building? What legacy are we leaving for those who come after us? It's a question worth pondering, don't you think?

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Legends of the Jews, III. The Ten Generations, Seth And His DescendantsLegends of the Jews

After the tragedy with Cain and Abel, Adam and Eve experienced a period of deep sorrow. According to Legends of the Jews by Ginzberg, Adam separated himself from Eve for 130 years! But, eventually, they reunited, and their love was even stronger than before. And from this reunion came Seth, a figure of immense importance.

Seth wasn't just another child. Tradition holds that he was destined to be the ancestor of the Messiah. And get this: some say Seth was born already circumcised – one of thirteen people born perfect in that way. But perhaps even more significantly, (Genesis 5:3) tells us that Adam begot Seth "in his own likeness, after his image." This is in stark contrast to Cain, who wasn't considered to be in Adam's true image. This distinction is crucial. Seth, in a very real sense, became the father of the pious part of humanity, while the wicked were seen as descendants of Cain.

The difference between the lines of Cain and Seth became increasingly clear. The descendants of Cain grew more and more wicked, constantly escalating in their violence and injustice. But Seth? He was different. Josephus, in his Antiquities of the Jews, tells us that when Seth grew up, he became a virtuous man. He raised children who followed in his righteous path. They lived together in harmony, untouched by misfortune. These descendants of Seth are even credited with inventing a unique kind of wisdom related to the heavens.

Here's where it gets really interesting. Knowing that the world would face destruction, once by fire and once by water, they built two pillars: one of brick and one of stone. They inscribed their astronomical discoveries on both, so that even if one pillar was destroyed, the other would survive and preserve their knowledge.

Now, let's talk about Enosh, Seth's son. People asked him about his lineage, tracing it back to Adam, who they knew was created from the dust of the earth. But they questioned how a human could come from dust. Enosh tried to explain the mystery of creation, but things took a dark turn.

As the story goes, Enosh attempted to recreate God's act of creation, fashioning an image from clay. But when he breathed into it, Satan entered the image! The figure came to life, and people began to worship it. This, according to tradition, was the beginning of idolatry. And the consequences were severe. As we find in the Midrash Rabbah, God unleashed a flood upon the earth as punishment.

The Zohar adds another layer to this. It says that before the time of Enosh, the Shekinah – God's Divine Presence – rested on earth, radiating a light so powerful that it protected people from harm. But with the rise of idolatry, fueled by forbidden knowledge taught by the Watchers Uzza and Azzael, people began to manipulate the heavens through magic. The angels were appalled. They questioned why God would concern Himself with humans who worshipped idols. This ultimately led to the Shekinah leaving the earth, ascending back to heaven amid a chorus of angelic trumpets.

So, what does it all mean? The story of Seth and his descendants isn't just a historical account. It’s a story about choices, about the potential for both great good and devastating evil within humanity. It's a reminder that our actions have consequences, not just for ourselves, but for generations to come. And perhaps most profoundly, it's a reflection on the delicate balance between humanity and the Divine. What do you think? How much do you think the decisions we make today will affect the future?

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