That feeling, that nagging sense of injustice, it's not new. Not by a long shot.
In fact, it’s a question that echoes all the way back to the very beginning, to the story of Noah and the Great Flood. Think about it: God, seeing the state of humanity, declares "All the time of man has come against me, because the earth is filled with iniquity" (Genesis 6:13).
But what does that really mean?
That’s the question posed in The Midrash of Philo, a collection of interpretations and expansions on the biblical text. Philo, for those unfamiliar, was a Jewish philosopher living in Alexandria around the time of Jesus. He tried to harmonize Greek philosophy with Jewish thought. His midrashim, or interpretations, offer a unique window into how these ancient thinkers wrestled with the big questions.
So, back to that verse. "All the time of man has come against me…" It’s powerful, isn’t it? It’s not just some of humanity, or some of the time. It's all the time of all of humanity that has "come against" God. It’s a complete and utter breakdown of the relationship between Creator and creation.
Why this all-encompassing condemnation? Because, as the verse continues, "the earth is filled with iniquity." Iniquity, or hamas in the original Hebrew, implies not just wrongdoing, but violence and corruption. It’s a society rotten to its core.
Now, the text doesn't spell out precisely what that iniquity entails, leaving room for interpretation and, well, midrash! It invites us to consider what kind of behavior could so completely alienate humanity from the Divine. Was it idolatry? Social injustice? Moral decay? Perhaps it was a combination of all these things, a perfect storm of wickedness that poisoned the entire world.
The Zohar, that foundational text of Jewish mysticism, paints a vivid picture of this pre-flood world, describing rampant immorality and a complete disregard for divine law. Ginzberg, in his Legends of the Jews, compiles various traditions that elaborate on the sins of the generation of the Flood, ranging from sexual perversion to robbery and murder. It was a world where might made right, and compassion was a weakness.
Is it any wonder, then, that God felt compelled to start over? That the flood, as devastating as it was, became a necessary act of cosmic cleansing?
But here's the thing: the story of the Flood isn't just a historical account. It's a timeless parable about the consequences of our actions. It's a reminder that unchecked iniquity can have catastrophic consequences, not just for individuals, but for the entire world. It challenges us to ask ourselves: what kind of world are we creating? Are we contributing to the forces of hamas, or are we striving to build a more just and compassionate society?
Because ultimately, the question posed by Genesis 6:13 isn't just about the past. It's about the present, and the future. It's a question that demands our attention, and our action. What kind of world will we leave behind?