Philo, in his exploration of the Torah, grapples with this very idea. He's looking at the verse in Genesis (6:12) that describes the corruption of the world before the flood: "all flesh had corrupted its way upon the earth." But Philo, ever the philosopher, sees layers of meaning within those words.
First, Philo points out that the Torah calls someone "flesh" when that person is devoted to self-love. So when the Torah says "flesh," it's not just talking about our bodies. It's talking about a state of being, a way of living. Someone "destitute of all civilization, and bewildered by intemperance" is, in essence, flesh. It’s a powerful image, isn't it?
And what’s the source of this corruption? According to Philo, it’s the flesh again, because that’s "the seat of desire." From it springs "all the peculiar appetites, and passions, and other affections." It’s a potent image of desire as a wellspring, constantly bubbling up and potentially leading us astray.
But here's where it gets really interesting. Philo notices the verse says "all flesh had corrupted His way." Not "its" way, but "His." Why the capital "H"? Who is this "He?"
Philo argues that this "He" is a subtle reference to God. It's a linguistic move rooted in reverence. Philo explains that, like the Pythagoreans who would only say "He said it" when referring to their master, or like servants referring to their master’s arrival by saying "Here He comes," the Torah uses "He" as a form of honor when speaking of the Almighty.
Why this indirectness? Because, Philo suggests, God was about to unleash the flood. The Torah, out of reverence, uses the pronoun cautiously because it was about to bring on the world the destruction of the flood.
So, "All flesh had corrupted His ways" means that humanity’s lusts and desires had corrupted the path of the Father. They became "enemies and opposers of the laws of continence, and parsimony, and chastity, and fortitude, and justice." These virtues, Philo argues, are what widen the road that leads to God, making it "a beaten and plain road."
It’s a powerful idea, isn't it? That our choices, our desires, can either build or block our connection to the divine. That the struggle between flesh and spirit is not just a personal one, but one that affects our relationship with something much, much greater.
The flood story, then, isn't just a tale of destruction. It's a story about the consequences of choosing the desires of the flesh over the path of righteousness, of choosing self-love over love for the divine. It's a call to examine our own lives, to see where we might be allowing our desires to corrupt the way, and to strive instead for that "beaten and plain road" that leads us closer to God.