It's not about bloodlines or earthly possessions, according to Philo. It's something far more profound.
Philo, in his Midrash, tackles this very question, and his answer might surprise you. He starts by telling us, quite firmly, that no one inherits the divine simply by existing. You can't just be and expect to be handed a piece of the divine pie. Instead, inheritance is reserved for those "endowed with virtue."
Think about it. We usually inherit things after someone passes, right? They’re gone, and we get their stuff. But God, being everlasting, does things differently. He shares his inheritance, not when we’re gone, but while we’re here, rejoicing as wise people grasp it. This is no handout. It's an active participation.
Philo emphasizes that this isn't about God needing anything from us. He possesses everything! Rather, it's about those of us "in distress from a want of all things," those yearning for truth. God, seeing our virtuous strivings, favors us and bestows upon us what we truly need.
But here's where it gets really interesting. God doesn't just set up a treaty for the wise. He sets it up with them. What does that mean?
Philo suggests that the wise person, through their virtue, becomes a just and true treaty themselves. They are a living testament to the covenant, a beacon of reason for others seeking virtue. They become a possession and a glory. In other words, the reward for seeking virtue isn't some external prize, but an elevation of the soul.
It's a beautiful image, isn't it? We're not just passive recipients of God's grace. We are active participants, co-creators of a more virtuous world. We, ourselves, become part of the inheritance.
So, what does this mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder that the real treasures aren't the ones we accumulate, but the ones we cultivate within ourselves. The wisdom, the compassion, the unwavering commitment to virtue—these are the things that truly connect us to the divine. And these are the things we carry with us, not just in this life, but into eternity.