The ancient sages certainly did. And they found profound meaning in that feeling.
Let's dive into a fascinating interpretation of a well-known biblical passage, explored in the Midrash of Philo. This midrash, a form of Jewish biblical interpretation, focuses on Genesis 15:14, where God tells Abraham that his descendants will dwell in a land belonging to another, serve them, and be afflicted for four hundred years, but will ultimately go free with great wealth.
Now, on the surface, this sounds like a straightforward prophecy about the Israelite's enslavement in Egypt. But Philo, a Jewish philosopher from Alexandria, writing in the first century, saw something deeper. He saw allegory.
He begins with the phrase "It was said to him." Philo points out this phrasing highlights how a prophet doesn't speak from their own authority, but rather acts as an interpreter of divine will. The prophet is a conduit, a messenger delivering truth directly from God.
Philo suggests that the "land belonging to another" isn't just Egypt. It represents the entire earthly realm! Everything beneath the heavens, he argues, belongs to God. We, as humans, are merely sojourners, temporary residents in a foreign land. We don't truly own anything.
And what about the servitude and affliction? Philo argues that every mortal is, in a sense, a slave. We might think we are free, but we are constantly beset by masters both internal and external. External masters? Think about the harshness of winter, the scorching heat of summer, the pangs of hunger and thirst. Internal masters? Pleasures, desires, sorrows, and fears that pull us this way and that. It’s a potent image, isn't it?
The four hundred years of servitude? Philo sees this as the period during which these afflictions and base desires hold sway over us. This is where Abraham comes back into the picture. Remember the image of Abraham driving away the birds of prey from the sacrifices? Philo interprets this as Abraham, the lover and studier of virtue, repelling the afflictions that plague humankind. He is the physician and protector of our race.
Now, here's where it gets really interesting. Philo takes this allegory and applies it to the soul. The wise person's soul, descending from the heavens, enters a mortal body. This body, with its earthly nature, is that "foreign land." It's alien to the pure intellect of the soul, constantly trying to drag it down into servitude, subjecting it to all sorts of afflictions.
But the story doesn't end there! As the verse continues, "Nevertheless the nation whom they shall serve I will judge: and afterward shall they come forth with great substance." Philo interprets this to mean that the soul, through judgment and the rejection of vice, is ultimately restored to freedom.
This freedom isn't just liberation, it's also accompanied by "great substance." When the mind is released from its "mischievous colleague," the body, and departs, it is not only free but enriched. It leaves nothing good or useful behind for its enemies (the vices). The rational soul, Philo says, is productive.
Philo concludes with a powerful analogy: some trees appear to bear fruit early on, but are unable to bring them to maturity. The fruit is easily shaken off. Similarly, inconstant souls might experience initial bursts of virtue, but fail to maintain them until perfection. The truly virtuous person, however, cultivates these virtues and gathers them as their own possessions.
So, what does all this mean for us? Philo's midrash reminds us that life is a journey of the soul, a constant struggle between the higher self and the lower impulses. We are all sojourners in a foreign land, striving to break free from the chains of servitude and return to our true home with the riches of virtue. It's a journey that requires constant vigilance, self-reflection, and a commitment to cultivating the good within us. Are we tending to our inner garden, ensuring that our fruits ripen and endure? Or are we letting the winds of temptation blow them away?