But maybe there's a deeper reason. Maybe the Torah, in its infinite wisdom, is trying to teach us something profound about our relationship with the world around us.
Philo, the 1st-century Jewish philosopher from Alexandria, certainly thought so. He saw the destruction of the animals in the Flood not just as a sad consequence of humanity’s wickedness, but as a direct result of it. He digs into it in The Midrash of Philo, and it's fascinating.
According to Philo, the literal interpretation of the scripture is straightforward: animals were created to serve humanity. Their existence was intertwined with ours. So, when humanity was destroyed in the Flood, it was only “necessary and natural” that the animals should perish with them. They were made for us, and when we were gone… well, what purpose did they have?
But Philo, ever the allegorist, doesn't stop there. He delves into the "hidden meaning" – the drash, if you will. He suggests that man, in this context, represents the intellect within us. And the animals? They symbolize our outward senses.
Think about that for a moment.
Philo argues that when our intellect – our capacity for reason and moral judgment – becomes "depraved and corrupted by wickedness," what happens? All our outward senses perish along with it. We lose our ability to perceive the world with clarity, with empathy, with virtue. We become, in a sense, blind and deaf to the suffering around us.
It’s a pretty strong statement, right?
He emphasizes that this happens because we have "no relics whatever of virtue," which is the “cause of salvation.” Without virtue, without that inner compass guiding us, we’re doomed. And not just us, but everything connected to us. The animals, representing our senses, are destroyed because our intellect has become corrupted.
It’s a powerful metaphor for the interconnectedness of all things. Our inner state, our moral compass, has a direct impact on the world around us. When we lose our way, when we succumb to wickedness, the consequences ripple outwards, affecting everything in our sphere. The Flood, then, becomes not just a story of divine punishment, but a cautionary tale about the responsibility that comes with being human. A responsibility to cultivate virtue, to safeguard our intellect, and to protect the delicate balance of the world we inhabit. Something to consider, isn't it?