Philo, the great Jewish philosopher of Alexandria, who lived around the time of Jesus, offers some mind-bending insights. In his Midrash of Philo, he suggests that those things created in the six days – were they perhaps not quite as we imagine them?
He proposes something truly extraordinary: could the initial creations have been incorporeal angels? Think about it. Were the "terrestrial and flying animals" initially symbolic expressions, appearances only? And then, they were brought into true, tangible reality, as copies of those ethereal, invisible models. Images perceptible to our senses based on something far grander. It’s a beautiful idea, isn't it? A blueprint of the divine made manifest.
But let's move on to another fascinating piece of the creation story: Why did God bring every animal to Adam, the first human, so that he could give them their names? (Genesis 2:19). It seems like a simple question, but it opens up a "great source of perplexity" for students of philosophy, as Philo puts it.
Philo argues that this act holds a profound lesson. He suggests that names aren't inherent to the thing itself; they are given. He writes that "a natural nomenclature is with peculiar fitness assigned to each creature when a man of wisdom and pre-eminent knowledge appears." In essence, the power to name reflects dominion, understanding, and a deep connection to the essence of the thing being named. It's a concept that echoes through Kabbalistic thought, where names hold immense power and contain the very essence of what they represent.
The role of assigning names, according to Philo, belongs specifically to the mind of the wise – even more specifically, to the first human, born directly from the earth. It was fitting, he says, that the first of our race, the sovereign of all animals, should have this dignity assigned to him. It makes sense, doesn't it? Adam was the first to see these creatures, the first to deserve to govern them. It would have been "inconsistent and mad" to leave them nameless or to allow someone born later to name them. Imagine the insult, the "derogation from the honour and glory due to the first born"!
But there's another layer to this, a truly wondrous idea. Philo suggests that the act of naming was so profound, so seamlessly connected to creation, that the moment Adam gave the name, the animal itself "heard it," being influenced by that name as if it were a familiar, intrinsic part of its being. It’s like the name became woven into the very fabric of the animal's existence.
What does this tell us? Perhaps it speaks to the power of language, the power of human perception, and the profound connection between humanity and the natural world. When we name something, do we simply label it, or do we, in a way, co-create it? Do we shape its very essence? It's a question that continues to resonate, inviting us to consider our role in the ongoing story of creation.