Yet, when we delve into ancient Jewish thought, we find just that kind of imaginative, symbolic thinking. Let's take a journey to explore one such fascinating idea, found in the Midrash of Philo.
Philo, a Jewish philosopher living in Alexandria around the time of the Second Temple, wasn’t technically writing midrash as we traditionally understand it. He was deeply influenced by Greek philosophy, and his interpretations of the Torah are unique and allegorical. What's remarkable is how he uses familiar imagery – in this case, the four rivers of Eden – to convey profound truths about the human soul.
Our focus is on Philo's interpretation of the rivers Tigris and Euphrates. He paints a vivid picture, doesn’t he? He describes the Tigris as "a very cruel and mischievous river," and he tells us the citizens of Babylon can attest to this, as can the magi, who see it as quite different from other rivers. Perhaps, Philo muses, they have their own reasons for disliking it. He gives the Euphrates a much better rap, calling it "a gentler, and more salubrious, and more nourishing stream." Because of this, "the wise men of the Hebrews and Assyrians speak of it as one which increases and extends itself."
So, what’s going on here? Is Philo just giving us a geographical description? Not at all! He explicitly tells us, "My own opinion is, that these expressions are all symbolical." Ah, here's where things get interesting!
He connects these rivers to aspects of the human soul. He sees the virtue of prudence, hochma (חָכְמָה) in Hebrew, as residing in the rational part of humanity. But, he cautions, even prudence can be corrupted by wickedness. Fortitude, gevurah (גְּבוּרָה), that inner strength, can degenerate into anger. And sobriety, tzniut (צְנִיעוּת), may be impaired by desires. Philo associates anger and desire with the characteristics of beasts. That's why, he says, the "sacred historian" – meaning the Torah – describes the Tigris, and other rivers mentioned in the text but not included in this particular midrash, by the places they flow around. They are defined by their context, their limitations.
But what about the Euphrates? Why is it different? Philo says the Euphrates is not described in that way, "as being the symbol of justice." Why? Because, he explains, "there is no certain and limited portion of it allotted to the soul." Instead, the Euphrates represents a "perfect harmony of the three parts of the soul and of the three virtues."
Think about that for a moment. The Euphrates, in Philo's interpretation, isn't just a river. It's a symbol of wholeness, of a soul in balance, of justice that isn't confined or limited. It’s a vision of the human spirit at its best, when prudence, fortitude, and sobriety work together in harmony.
Philo’s allegorical reading isn’t necessarily how we’d all interpret the rivers of Eden. But it opens a window into a world where everything – even the natural landscape – can be a mirror reflecting our inner lives. It asks us to consider: what rivers flow within us? Are they turbulent and destructive, or do they nourish and bring harmony?