A Guided Walkthrough of the Complete Works: From Allegorical Scripture to the Contemplative Life
Volume I: On the Creation (De Opificio Mundi)
We are at the very beginning of Philo’s exegetical project, where he opens his commentary on the Mosaic account of creation by establishing the philosophical framework through which he will read the Torah.
Philo begins by declaring that the lawgiver, Moses, “is throughout at variance with the other legislators” in his treatment of the cosmos. Unlike those who invent myths or project human experiences onto the gods, Moses first establishes a proper understanding of the Creator before introducing any laws. The opening argument is that the Creation account serves as the necessary foundation for the Law: one cannot understand the commandment “Thou shalt not kill” without first grasping that God made humanity in His own image. As Philo writes, “the beginning is, as I said, most impressive, containing the creation of the world, under the assumption that the world is in harmony with the Law, and the Law with the world.” The cosmos itself is a kind of first Torah, and the written Law is its human-readable copy.
Philo then presents his reading of the six days of creation, but not as a literal chronological sequence. Rather, he insists that the number six is “the most productive of numbers” — it is the product of the first odd and first even numbers (3 × 2), and “the world was completed in six days because this number is the source of all generation.” Within this framework, Philo introduces his fundamental distinction: there is the intelligible world (kosmos noētos) and the perceptible world (kosmos aisthētos) . On the first day, God did not create the physical heaven and earth; rather, He created the intelligible pattern or paradigm of the cosmos, the Logos containing the incorporeal ideas of everything that would later receive material form. This is Philo’s great interpretive move: the “day one” of Genesis is not about physical light but about the creation of the rational principle through which all subsequent physical realities are shaped.
What we must understand here is that Philo is not rejecting the literal text of Genesis but re-reading it as an allegorical map of metaphysical reality. The six days are not periods of time — time itself is a product of the created order — but a logical ordering of divine causation. The intelligible world is “the mind of the Creator,” and the physical world is its sensory manifestation. Philo insists that Moses is teaching Platonic ontology through Hebrew scripture, and that the two are not in conflict but are complementary expressions of the same truth.
Volume I: On the Cherubim (De Cherubim)
Moving to the next treatise, Philo takes up one of the most mysterious symbols in the Torah — the cherubim placed at the east of Eden with the flaming sword — and reveals it as a teaching about the fundamental structure of divine governance.
Philo begins by asking what the cherubim actually signify. He notes that Moses says they are placed “to guard the way of the tree of life,” but this literal image is inadequate for understanding God. Instead, Philo argues that the cherubim represent the two primary powers of God: the creative power (poiētikē dynamis) and the kingly power (basilikē dynamis) . The first power is that by which God made and orders the universe; the second is that by which He rules and judges what He has created. Between these two powers stands the Logos, the third term that unites them. The flaming sword, Philo explains, is the Logos itself — a fire that consumes but also gives light, a sword that divides but also connects.
Philo presents a detailed allegorical reading of the entire Eden narrative through this framework. The expulsion from Eden is not primarily a punishment but a relocation: Adam, representing the earthly mind, is moved from the realm of divine immediacy to the realm of discursive reasoning and moral struggle. The tree of life is wisdom (sophia) itself, and the way is guarded because not everyone can approach wisdom directly — one must first pass through the recognition of God’s creative and ruling powers. Philo quotes Exodus 25, where the cherubim are placed on the mercy-seat of the Ark of the Covenant, and interprets this as showing that the two powers are not merely guarding but also mediating divine presence: “For we have in us, as it seems, a sanctuary of the invisible God, wherein we worship and serve Him.”
This matters because Philo is constructing a theological epistemology: how can human beings know God? Not directly, for no creature can see the face of God. But we can know God through His two primary activities — creating and ruling — and through the Logos that harmonizes them. The cherubim thus become a diagram of how the Transcendent God relates to the finite world: through powers that are God’s own but are distinguishable from His essence. Philo is laying the groundwork for a Jewish theology that can incorporate Platonic intermediate realities without compromising divine unity.
Volume I: On the Sacrifices of Abel and Cain (De Sacrificiis Abelis et Caini)
We now enter the moral psychology of Philo’s allegorical method, where the first brothers become not merely historical figures but archetypes of two fundamental orientations of the human soul.
Philo presents Cain and Abel as representing self-love (philautia) and love of God (philotheia) respectively. Abel’s name means “one who refers to God,” while Cain means “possession” — the soul that claims its achievements as its own. The key passage comes when Philo contrasts their offerings: “Abel brought of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof, and the Lord had respect unto Abel and to his offering; but unto Cain and to his offering He had not respect.” Philo reads this as indicating that Abel’s sacrifice was offered with the right disposition — he recognized that even the first and best belongs to God — whereas Cain’s offering was perfunctory, a mere fulfillment of obligation without inward devotion.
The deeper argument concerns the nature of virtue and vice. Philo insists that true virtue is not a matter of external actions but of internal orientation. Cain represents the soul that says “I have gotten a man from the Lord” — a soul that acknowledges God’s existence but then claims full ownership of what it receives. Abel represents the soul that constantly refers everything back to its source. Therefore, when Cain murders Abel, Philo interprets this as the soul killing its own God-oriented aspect when it becomes consumed with self-possession. The punishment — “a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth” — means that the self-loving soul has no stable place in reality; it is always anxious, always grasping, never at rest.
Philo then introduces an extraordinary teaching about theophany: God speaking to Cain before the murder is not a literal conversation but the voice of conscience (syneidēsis), which is the Logos operating within the human mind. This internal divine voice warns but does not compel; it leaves the soul free to choose. The significance here is that Philo is developing a sophisticated moral psychology in which the entire drama of Genesis becomes an internal landscape of the soul, with each character representing a faculty or tendency within every human being.
Volume I: On the Preliminary Studies (De Congressu Eruditionis Gratia)
This treatise addresses directly the question of how a person educated in Greek philosophy and culture can approach the study of sacred scripture — a question that was Philo’s own life situation.
Philo takes as his text the union of Abraham with Hagar the handmaid, followed by the miraculous birth of Isaac to Sarah. The allegory is explicit: Abraham represents the soul seeking wisdom. Sarah is virtue (aretē) or wisdom (sophia) itself, but she is barren — virtue alone cannot produce offspring in the soul without preparation. Hagar is the encyclical education (enkyklios paideia) — the whole range of Greek learning: grammar, rhetoric, music, geometry, astronomy, logic. Abraham must first “go in to Hagar” — that is, master the preliminary studies — before Sarah can bear Isaac, who represents the self-taught wisdom that comes from God.
Philo develops this with extraordinary attention to detail. The text says that Sarai “gave her handmaid Hagar to Abram to be his wife” — Philo reads this as a command from Wisdom herself: you must first embrace the preparatory disciplines before you can receive divine wisdom directly. The preliminary studies are not opposed to sacred knowledge; they are its necessary foundation. As Philo puts it, “the handmaid is given not as a rival but as a helper to her mistress.” The goal is not to remain with Hagar but to pass through her to Sarah — not to abandon Greek culture but to use it as a ladder to reach the wisdom that transcends it.
Philo then examines each of the encyclical disciplines. Grammar teaches the differences between words and meanings, which is essential for interpreting scripture. Music teaches harmony, which mirrors the harmony of the cosmos created by the Logos. Geometry teaches proportion and measure, which prepares the mind to contemplate the divine order. Astronomy teaches the movements of the heavenly bodies, which leads to wonder at the Creator. Each discipline, properly understood, is a step toward the vision of God. But Philo warns of the danger: some souls remain with Hagar, satisfied with mere human learning, and never proceed to Isaac. The proper path is to use preliminary studies as servants, not as masters.
This treatise is perhaps the most direct statement of Philo’s educational philosophy and his answer to the central cultural tension of Alexandrian Judaism: how to be both fully Greek and fully Jewish. The answer is that Greek learning is the handmaid — indispensable, beautiful, but ultimately subordinate to the divine wisdom revealed through Moses.
Volume II: On the Migration of Abraham (De Migratione Abrahami)
Philo now takes up Abraham’s journey from Haran to Canaan, the command “Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and from thy father’s house” — and reveals it as the fundamental allegory of the soul’s journey from the world of sense to the world of intellect.
The three terms of the command are carefully parsed by Philo. “Thy country” is the physical body (sōma) — the land in which the soul is born and raised. “Thy kindred” is sense perception (aisthēsis) — the family through which the soul receives all its information about the material world. “Thy father’s house” is speech (logos prophorikos) — the ordinary human discourse that deals with appearances and opinions. Abraham is commanded to leave all three, not by physically escaping the body or silencing the senses, but by recognizing their subordinate status. The goal is to become a migrant — one who lives in the body but is not of it, who uses the senses but is not ruled by them, who speaks but knows that speech is only an imperfect vessel for truth.
Philo then presents Abraham as the model of the wise soul that responds to the divine call. Abraham “went forth, not knowing whither he went” — and this, Philo says, is the essence of faith: to trust the divine guidance even when the destination is unseen. The migration is not from one physical location to another but from the realm of sense-certainty to the realm of intellectual vision. Haran (which means “holes” or “caves”) represents the sense-world, where the soul sees only shadows and reflections. Canaan represents the world of virtue and divine knowledge, the promised land of the soul.
The most striking passage comes when Philo discusses the nature of the divine call (klesis) itself. God does not speak in human language; rather, He impresses upon the soul a “divine necessity” that compels it to seek truth. This call is not coercive but awakening: it stirs the soul from its slumber in sense and turns it toward its true homeland. Philo compares this to a light shining in darkness: the soul was always meant for the intelligible world, but it had forgotten its origin until the call reminded it.
Volume IV: On the Decalogue (De Decalogo)
We are now in the first treatise of Volume IV, where Philo turns from the patriarchs as living laws to the explicit giving of the Ten Commandments at Sinai, presenting this event as the foundation of all specific legislation in the Mosaic constitution.
Philo opens with a panoramic description of the theophany at Sinai. The entire nation of Israel, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, is gathered at the foot of the mountain. What follows is not merely a divine speech but a cosmic event: “a voice from the midst of the fire which was poured forth, and the flame was articulated in a language familiar to the hearers” (De Decalogo 33). The fire did not burn anything; it was a supernatural fire, “a fire which gave light without consuming.” The voice itself was not spoken by a human throat but was “sounded forth by God” in a way that reached every soul directly. Philo stresses that the voice was not merely heard but seen—the sound took on a visible form, so that the people perceived the words with both hearing and sight simultaneously.
Philo then enumerates the Ten Words themselves, dividing them into two groups. The first five commandments concern piety toward God (eusebeia): (1) acknowledging one God, not many; (2) not making idols; (3) not swearing falsely by God’s name; (4) keeping the Sabbath; (5) honoring parents (which Philo places in this group because parents are “secondary causes” of life, standing as God’s representatives). The second five concern justice toward fellow humans (dikaiosyne): (6) no adultery; (7) no murder; (8) no theft; (9) no false witness; (10) no coveting. Philo notes the ordering principle: the first tablet deals with the divine, the second with the human. But he adds a subtle point: the fifth commandment about parents serves as a hinge between both tablets, since parents are “between the mortal and the immortal” — they are mortal as bodies but immortal as causes of life.
“But what is the commandment about parents, seeing that it is the last of the first tablet and the first of the second? Does it not stand on the border between the two, and so serve to remind us of piety towards God and of love for men?” (De Decalogo 106-107)
This structural insight reveals Philo’s deeper purpose: the Decalogue is not a list of arbitrary rules but a rational, ordered system. Each commandment flows from the one before it. Monotheism logically leads to rejecting idols; rejecting idols leads to revering God’s name; revering His name leads to setting aside time for Him (Sabbath); honoring God leads to honoring His earthly representatives (parents); and honoring parents leads to respecting all human relationships (no adultery), all human life (no murder), all property (no theft), all truth (no false witness), and finally all inner desire (no coveting). The last commandment about coveting is especially important to Philo: it targets the inner disposition, not just outward action, showing that the Law governs not only deeds but thoughts and intentions.
Volume IV: On the Special Laws I (De Specialibus Legibus I)
This treatise begins Philo’s detailed exposition of the specific ordinances of the Mosaic code, treating each commandment of the Decalogue as a heading (kephalaion) under which many particular laws are gathered. Book I covers the first commandment: the oneness of God and the laws against polytheism and idolatry.
Philo starts by arguing that the First Commandment alone contains the entire principle of monotheism. Those who worship many gods, he says, are guilty of a fundamental confusion: they mistake parts of the cosmos for the whole that produced them. The sun, moon, stars, and elements are indeed beautiful and powerful, but they are creatures, not the Creator. Philo launches into a sustained critique of Greek and Egyptian polytheism. Egyptian animal-worship is especially absurd: “they honor with divine honors bulls and rams and goats and wolves and lions and dogs and hares and fish and even crocodiles and venomous serpents” (De Specialibus Legibus I.14). The worshippers become worse than the beasts they worship, because their intellect is dragged downward to the irrational. Greek nature-worship, while more refined, is also mistaken: it deifies the forces of nature (earth, water, air, fire) rather than the God who set them in order.
The positive content of the First Commandment is knowledge of the Existent (ho On) . Philo draws on Exodus 3:14, where God says “I am the Existent.” God cannot be named or fully known in His essence; we can only know that He exists and that He is the cause of all things. The proper human response is not worship of creation but ascent of the mind toward the Creator. Philo describes the ideal worshipper as one who “has been emancipated from the dominion of the senses and has passed over to the camp of the mind” (De Specialibus Legibus I.40). Such a person sees every creature as a signpost pointing beyond itself to the uncreated Cause.
Philo then moves through a series of specific laws derived from this principle. The prohibition against making graven images is not just about statues but about any material representation of the divine. God is invisible, incorporeal, and beyond all shape; to confine Him in an image is to diminish Him. The law against false oaths follows: swearing by God’s name falsely is an act of impiety because it treats the name of the Holy as a trivial thing. Philo adds a remarkable observation: ideally, one should never swear at all, because the truly trustworthy person’s word is as reliable as an oath. But since human weakness requires oaths, the law regulates them strictly.
Volume IV: On the Special Laws II (De Specialibus Legibus II)
Book II of the Special Laws covers the Third and Fourth Commandments: the sanctity of oaths and the observance of the Sabbath, along with the associated festivals.
Philo begins with the Sabbath law as the crown of the festival cycle. The Sabbath is not merely a day of rest from labor; it is a day devoted entirely to philosophy and contemplation. On this day, the people gather in synagogues (Philo calls them proseuchai, “prayer-houses”) to hear the laws read and expounded. Philo describes these assemblies in vivid terms: “they sit together in orderly fashion, listening in silence, except when it is customary to applaud the teaching” (De Specialibus Legibus II.62). The Sabbath transforms the entire nation into a community of philosophers, studying the nature of the cosmos and the duties of the soul. This is not idleness but the highest form of activity.
Philo then connects the Sabbath to the seven-day cycle of creation. God worked for six days and rested on the seventh, not because He was weary but to set a pattern for humanity. The number seven has special properties: it is the only number within the decade that neither generates nor is generated by multiplication (seven does not produce any number within ten when multiplied, and no number within ten produces seven). Philo draws on Pythagorean number theory to praise heptad (the number seven) as the most peaceful and wisest of numbers. The Sabbath, then, is a reminder of the cosmos’s origin and of the soul’s need for periodic withdrawal from bodily labor into intellectual rest.
The festival calendar is structured around the Sabbath. The three pilgrimage festivals—Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles—are each seven weeks or seven days long, reflecting the heptadic pattern. Passover commemorates the exodus from Egypt, which Philo interprets allegorically as the soul’s escape from the passions (pathe) that enslave it. The unleavened bread symbolizes the soul’s sincerity and purity, free from the “leaven” of arrogance and self-will. Pentecost (the Feast of Weeks) celebrates the giving of the Law at Sinai, and the Firstfruits offerings represent the gratitude of the soul for the produce of the earth. The number fifty (the day after seven weeks) also has symbolic meaning: it is the number of remission and liberation (the Jubilee year). Philo weaves all these festivals into a single liturgical structure, each one a step in the soul’s journey from bodily bondage to spiritual freedom.
Volume IV: On the Special Laws III (De Specialibus Legibus III)
Book III covers the Fifth and Sixth Commandments: honoring parents and the prohibition against adultery, including the related laws about marriage, sexual purity, and social justice.
Philo treats honoring parents (the Fifth Commandment) as a law that borders on the divine. Parents are, in a sense, co-creators (demiourgoi) with God: God gives the soul, parents give the body. Therefore, disrespect toward parents is akin to disrespect toward God. Philo goes so far as to say that “parents are on the borderland between the mortal and the immortal nature” (De Specialibus Legibus III.178). They deserve not merely affection but reverence and obedience, except when their commands conflict with God’s law. The duty to parents includes providing for them in old age, speaking to them with respect, and never striking or cursing them. Philo enumerates specific penalties from the Torah: striking a parent incurs death, cursing a parent incurs death. These severe penalties show the gravity of the relationship.
The prohibition against adultery is the subject of the most extensive treatment in Book III. Adultery is not simply a sexual crime; it is a violation of covenant (diatheke) —the marriage bond that mirrors God’s covenant with Israel. The adulterer destroys trust, disrupts inheritance, and introduces confusion into the lineage of families. Philo condemns all forms of sexual immorality: incest, homosexual acts, bestiality, and prostitution. He particularly denounces the Greek practice of pederasty, calling it “a disease of the soul” that corrupts both the older and the younger partner. Marriage, by contrast, is a sacred union for procreation (teknogonia) and for partnership (koinonia) . The husband and wife become “one flesh” (Genesis 2:24), a union that Philo sees as a microcosm of the harmony between the mind and the senses, or between God and the soul.
“Marriage is the beginning of family life, and family life is the beginning of the state, and the state is the beginning of the community of all men.” (De Specialibus Legibus III.23)
Philo also addresses laws about rape, seduction, and divorce. A man who seduces a virgin must marry her and cannot divorce her; this protects the woman from social ruin. Divorce is permitted but only for serious reasons; Philo seems uneasy about it, noting that Moses allowed divorce only “because of the hardness of your hearts.” The ideal marriage, for Philo, is one of friendship and mutual respect, where both partners pursue virtue together. The laws about sexual purity are ultimately about maintaining the order (taxis) of the home and the community, which reflect the order of the cosmos itself.
Volume V: On the Virtues (De Virtutibus)
We are now in the middle of the Special Laws sequence, and Philo turns from the specific prohibitions and commandments to a positive exposition of the virtues (aretai) that the Law is designed to cultivate.
Philo organizes this treatise around four cardinal virtues: courage (andreia) , love of humanity (philanthrōpia) , repentance (metanoia) , and nobility of birth (eugeneia) . The first of these, courage, is not primarily about martial valor. Philo redefines it as the soul’s firmness in the face of the passions and external circumstances. True courage, he argues, is the “knowledge of things that are terrible and things that are not terrible” — a Stoic formulation that Philo adapts to the biblical context. The Maccabean martyrs, who endured torture rather than break the Law, are the exemplars of this virtue: they showed that physical death is not truly terrible, while disobedience to God is.
But the longest and most detailed section is on love of humanity (philanthrōpia) . Philo argues that this virtue is the very soul of the Mosaic legislation. The Law commands kindness not only to fellow Jews but also to strangers, enemies, and even animals. Philo cites the prohibition against muzzling an ox while it treads grain, the commandment to help an enemy’s donkey if it has fallen under its burden, and the rule that the poor may glean from fields and vineyards. These are not mere courtesies; they are expressions of a cosmic principle: that God, who is “the lover of humanity (philanthrōpos)” , created all people in His image and therefore all people deserve compassion.
“The lawgiver calls for humanity even in the case of irrational animals, that by practicing gentleness in the case of the lower creatures we may be able to exhibit a more complete humanity in our dealings with our fellow-men.” (De Virtutibus 125)
Philo then moves to repentance (metanoia) . This virtue is the power of turning from sin and returning to God. Philo describes it as a “second birth” for the soul. He illustrates this with the example of the Israelites in the wilderness: whenever they sinned and repented, God forgave them. The very institution of the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur) is built on this principle. Philo insists that repentance is always available—no matter how great the sin, if the soul genuinely turns, God receives it. This is not a license to sin, but a demonstration of God’s “bountiful goodness (aphthonia)” . The penitent, Philo says, is more precious to God than the person who never sinned, because the penitent has experienced both the misery of transgression and the joy of restoration.
Finally, Philo treats nobility of birth (eugeneia) . Here he delivers a radical argument: true nobility is not a matter of ancestry but of virtue. A person born into the priestly line who is corrupt is no better than a slave; a person of ignoble birth who practices justice and piety is truly noble. Philo points to Abraham, who was born into a family of idolaters but became the father of all who believe. He also cites the proselyte (epēlytos) —the convert to Judaism—as the supreme example of nobility: the proselyte has abandoned the false gods of his ancestors and chosen the true God. Philo calls the convert “a child of God” in a way that the born Jew who rebels against the Law is not.
The treatise concludes by reasserting that the four virtues are not separate in reality—they are facets of the single life of virtue that the Law teaches. The Law is not a burden; it is a training ground (askēsis) for the soul to acquire these virtues and thus become like God. Philo here echoes the Platonic ideal of “becoming like God as far as possible” , but he grounds it entirely in the concrete commandments of Moses. The virtues are not abstract philosophical ideals; they are lived through the specific acts of charity, justice, courage, and repentance that the Law prescribes.
Volume VI: On the Embassy to Gaius (Legatio ad Gaium)
We now enter Philo’s historical-political writings. This treatise is a dramatic narrative of the crisis that occurred c. 38-40 CE, when the emperor Gaius Caligula ordered a statue of himself to be placed in the Temple of Jerusalem. Philo himself was part of the Jewish embassy that traveled to Rome to petition the emperor. The work is both a historical account and a theological reflection on the nature of imperial power and divine providence.
Philo begins with a description of the reign of Tiberius, the previous emperor, which he portrays as orderly and just. Tiberius, though not a Jew, respected Jewish customs and protected their right to worship. With the accession of Gaius Caligula, everything changes. Philo describes Gaius as a “monster of cruelty” and a “madman” who believed himself to be a god. Philo quotes Gaius’s own words: he claimed to be “the Lord of all things” and demanded that his subjects worship him. This is the central conflict of the work: the absolute and blasphemous claim of the Roman emperor versus the absolute and exclusive claim of the God of Israel.
“He ordered that a colossal statue of himself, plated with gold, should be set up in the Temple of the Jews. He thought that he would thus bring them to the last extremity of despair.” (Legatio ad Gaium 184)
Philo then narrates the events in Alexandria, where the Greek population, incited by the governor Flaccus, attacked the Jewish community. Synagogues were burned, Jewish elders were beaten and killed, and the Jews were herded into a single quarter of the city. Philo describes this as a “pogrom” —one of the earliest uses of that term for an organized persecution. The Jews of Alexandria sent an embassy to Gaius, headed by Philo himself. They hoped to appeal for the restoration of their rights and for the revocation of the order to set up the statue.
The climax of the work is Philo’s audience with Gaius. He describes the emperor as unpredictable, laughing at the Jews’ plight one moment and raging the next. When the Jewish ambassadors stated that they were willing to die rather than allow the statue to be placed in the Temple, Gaius became furious. He dismissed them with contempt, threatening them with destruction. Philo writes that at that moment, he felt as if the “hope of the entire Jewish people” was hanging by a thread.
But the narrative ends with a sudden reversal: Gaius is assassinated. The news of his death reaches the Jewish community in Rome, and Philo presents this as the direct intervention of God. The emperor who had set himself up as God was cut down by a sword; the God of Israel, who needed no sword, simply allowed the madman to destroy himself. Philo’s final reflection is that “God watches over His own” —that the covenant with Israel is not broken even when the powers of the world seem absolute. The embassy may have failed in human terms, but the divine purpose was fulfilled: the Temple was saved, and the arrogance of the tyrant was humbled.
Volume VI: On the Contemplative Life (De Vita Contemplativa)
We move from the turmoil of politics to the quiet of asceticism. This treatise is Philo’s description of a Jewish sect he calls the Therapeutae (therapeutai) , meaning “worshippers” or “healers.” They lived on a hill near Lake Mareotis in Egypt, outside Alexandria. Philo’s purpose seems to be to show that the Jewish tradition produces not only active virtue (as in the Essenes, whom he describes elsewhere) but also the highest form of contemplative life.
Philo begins by distinguishing the Therapeutae from the Essenes. The Essenes were practical, living in communities, working the land, and practicing communal ownership. The Therapeutae, by contrast, are entirely devoted to “the contemplation of the Divine Being” . They renounce private property, family ties, and all worldly pursuits. Each member lives in a separate cell, called a “monastery (monastērion)” , where they spend the day in solitude, studying the Scriptures and composing hymns.
“They are called Therapeutae, either because they profess an art of healing more excellent than that in use in the cities—for that heals only the body, while this heals the souls which are afflicted with grievous and almost incurable diseases—or because they have been taught to worship (therapeuein) the Existent One.” (De Vita Contemplativa 2)
The most remarkable passage in the treatise is Philo’s description of the Therapeutae’s festival meal —a sacred banquet held every seventh week, on the Feast of Weeks (Pentecost). The men and women, who normally live separately, gather together in a single hall. They recline in order of seniority, but the women are separated from the men by a partition. The president of the company delivers a discourse on a passage of Scripture, interpreting it allegorically. After the discourse, the community sings hymns in antiphonal chant—first a hymn composed by Moses or some other prophet, then original hymns composed by members of the community.
The meal itself is simple: bread, salt, and water. No wine, no meat, no elaborate dishes. This is not asceticism for its own sake but a deliberate rejection of the “pleasures of the belly” that distract the soul. After the meal, the community stands in a circle and dances a sacred dance, imitating the dance of Miriam and the Israelites after the crossing of the Red Sea. The dance continues until dawn, when they turn to the east and pray, then return to their cells to resume their solitary contemplation.
Philo ends by contrasting the Therapeutae with the Greek symposia (drinking parties) described by Plato and Xenophon. The Greek gatherings were about drunkenness, erotic love, and philosophical competition; the Therapeutae’s gathering is about “sober intoxication” , spiritual love, and harmonious worship. For Philo, the Therapeutae represent the highest ideal of human life: the soul that has freed itself from the body and the passions, and dwells entirely in the presence of God. They are living proof that the Law of Moses, when interpreted spiritually, leads to the summit of philosophy.
Volume VII: On the Eternity of the World (De Aeternitate Mundi)
We are now in the final treatise of Volume VII, where Philo enters a philosophical debate about whether the cosmos had a beginning or will have an end, engaging with both Aristotelian and Stoic arguments.
Philo opens by framing the question as one of the most fundamental in philosophy: “Is the world indestructible?” He notes that there are three main positions: the view of Democritus and Epicurus that worlds are formed and destroyed by chance; the view of the Stoics that the world is created by God but will be destroyed by fire; and the view of Aristotle that the world is uncreated and indestructible. Philo announces he will examine the arguments, though his own position as a Jew who believes in a created world will become clear through the dialectic. The treatise is presented as a dialogue between philosophical schools, with Philo giving voice to each position in turn.
Philo begins with the Aristotelian arguments for the world’s indestructibility. The first argument is from the nature of the elements: if the world were destructible, its constituent parts — earth, water, air, fire — would themselves have to be capable of destruction. But observation shows that the elements are eternal: fire always rises, earth always sinks, and none of them pass out of existence; they only transform into one another in a perpetual cycle. A second argument concerns motion: all destruction involves motion, either natural or violent. But the world’s motion is orderly and circular, the most perfect kind; violent motion is unnatural and cannot be eternal, while natural motion preserves what it moves. Since the world’s motion is natural and eternal, the world itself must be eternal.
Philo presents a further Aristotelian argument from the order of the cosmos. If the world were going to be destroyed, there would have to be a cause of that destruction — either an internal principle of decay or an external force. But internal decay belongs only to composite things that have an imbalance of elements, while the cosmos is perfectly balanced. External destruction would require something more powerful than the cosmos, which nothing can be. Moreover, the world contains all things within itself; there is nothing outside it that could harm it. As Philo states the argument in his own words:
“If the world is destructible, it must be destroyed either by something external or by something internal. But it cannot be destroyed by something external, for there is nothing external to it; nor by something internal, for it contains no element of destruction.”
The Stoic position is then presented, though Philo frames it as a challenge to be answered. The Stoics argue that the world is indeed destructible — specifically through conflagration (ekpyrosis), where all matter is consumed by fire and then reborn in a new cycle. Their key argument is from change: everything that comes into being also passes away, and the world clearly came into being (since we can trace its origins). Moreover, the qualities of things are subject to change, and if qualities can change, the substance that underlies them can also be destroyed. The Stoics also point to the evidence of decay in the natural world — mountains erode, species die out, cities fall — as evidence that the cosmos itself is subject to the same law of dissolution.
Philo then responds to the Stoic position, primarily using Aristotelian logic. He argues that the analogy between parts of the world and the whole is false: the parts are perishable because they are composed of opposing elements in tension, but the whole cosmos has a perfect harmony that prevents dissolution. The elements, though they change into one another, are never destroyed; their total quantity remains constant. As for conflagration, Philo argues that fire itself is a part of the cosmos and cannot be stronger than the whole; the cosmic fire, if it existed, would be just one element among others, and it could not overcome the other three. Philo also draws on the argument from design: the world exhibits a teleological order that points to an intelligent creator, and a work of such perfect design would not be abandoned to destruction.
Philo then pivots to a critique of the Stoic doctrine of conflagration from a moral and theological perspective. If the world is repeatedly destroyed and recreated, then God’s providence would be intermittent and His creation would be cyclical and meaningless. The virtuous would have no permanent reward, and the wicked no permanent punishment. The whole drama of human existence would be reduced to an endless repetition without significance. Against this, Philo asserts the permanence of the creation as a reflection of God’s goodness: God, being good, would not create a world only to destroy it, for that would imply either a change of intention or a defect in the work.
Within the dialogue structure, Philo also introduces the position of Plato, who in the *Timaeus* clearly states that the world had a beginning but is indestructible by the will of God. Philo reconciles this with his own view: the world is created in time, but God, being perfect and unchanging, sustains it eternally. The world is not self-perpetuating, as Aristotle thought, but dependent on God’s continuous creative act. Philo thus occupies a middle ground: the world had a beginning, against Aristotle, but it will not have an end, against the Stoics. Its permanence is a gift of divine grace, not an intrinsic property of matter.
Volume VIII: On the Special Laws IV (De Specialibus Legibus IV)
We move now to Volume VIII, which contains the fourth book of On the Special Laws, continuing the detailed exposition of Mosaic legislation with a focus on the virtues of justice, judgment, and the regulation of human relationships.
Philo begins Book IV by connecting it to the previous discussion of the Ten Commandments and the specific laws that flow from them. The final commandment, “Thou shalt not covet,” is the foundation for the entire discussion of justice (dikaiosyne). Philo argues that the prohibition of covetousness is the most comprehensive of all the commandments because it targets the root of all wrongdoing: the desire for what belongs to another. Covetousness is not merely an act but a disposition of the soul; it is the internal source from which theft, fraud, adultery, and murder all spring. A person who has conquered covetousness will naturally obey all the laws, since they no longer feel the pull toward injustice.
Philo then turns to the specific laws concerning magistrates and judgment. He explains that judges must be chosen from among the most virtuous and wise men in the community, and they must be free from any taint of corruption. A judge should not accept gifts, for gifts blind the eyes of the wise and pervert the words of the righteous. The judge must also be impartial: “You shall not favor the poor nor honor the rich” — both extremes are forbidden, for justice looks only at the case itself. Philo expands on this by describing the ideal judge as one who has trained his soul to despise wealth, reputation, and pleasure, and who regards truth as the only standard.
A significant portion of the book is devoted to the law of witnesses. Philo explains that Moses required at least two or three witnesses for a capital case, and these witnesses must be above suspicion. They must be mature in age, of good character, and not themselves under any accusation of wrongdoing. Philo provides a psychological profile of the false witness: he is motivated by enmity, love of money, or a desire for favor. The law, therefore, requires that witnesses be impartial and that their testimony be consistent. If a witness is found to have lied, he suffers the same penalty that he sought to inflict on the accused — a principle of strict reciprocity that Philo praises as the highest form of justice.
Philo then discusses the laws of inheritance and property. The Mosaic law establishes that the firstborn son receives a double portion of the inheritance, for he is the “firstfruits of the father’s strength.” However, the father cannot arbitrarily transfer the birthright to a younger son out of personal preference; the right of the firstborn is fixed by nature, not by favoritism. Philo sees in this law a reflection of the natural order: the first in time receives the first in honor. He also discusses laws about daughters inheriting when there are no sons (as in the case of the daughters of Zelophehad), and the requirement that they marry within their own tribe to keep the inheritance within the family.
The laws of contracts and commerce are presented next. Philo explains that Moses forbade any form of dishonest weights and measures: “You shall not have in your bag two different weights, a large and a small.” The use of false measures is not merely theft from one’s neighbor but a violation of the cosmic order, for it introduces deception into the very fabric of exchange. Philo sees in honest weights a symbol of the soul’s integrity: just as the physical balance must be exact, so the soul’s judgment must be true. The merchant who cheats does not merely harm his customer; he harms his own soul by accustoming it to lying.
Philo concludes Book IV with a discussion of the law of love for one’s neighbor. The command “Love your neighbor as yourself” is the capstone of the entire legal system. Philo explains that “neighbor” here includes not only fellow Israelites but also the stranger and the sojourner, for the Law repeatedly commands love for the stranger, reminding the people that they themselves were strangers in Egypt. This law is not merely an external command but a prescription for the soul’s health: hatred and resentment are poisons to the mind, while love and good will produce harmony and peace. Philo sees in this law the fulfillment of the entire purpose of the Law: to create a community where God’s justice and mercy are reflected in every human relationship.
Volume VIII: On the Special Laws IV (continued) — The Virtues of Justice and Humanity
Within the same volume, Philo expands on the practical application of justice in daily life, emphasizing that the Mosaic law provides not merely prohibitions but positive duties toward others.
Philo discusses the law of pledges and loans, showing how Moses regulated the taking of collateral. A creditor may not enter the debtor’s house to seize a pledge; he must wait outside while the debtor brings it out. If the debtor is poor and the pledge is a garment, the creditor must return it before sunset, for the poor man needs it to sleep in. Philo comments that this law is remarkable for its humanity: it does not forbid lending to the poor, but it ensures that the poor are not stripped of their basic necessities. The creditor is reminded that the true owner of all property is God, who commands mercy toward the needy.
Philo then turns to the law of vows and oaths. He explains that Moses forbade swearing falsely by God’s name, but also discouraged swearing altogether. The truly virtuous person should be so reliable that their simple “yes” or “no” is as binding as an oath. Philo sees in this law a training in truthfulness: the person who never swears must always speak the truth, for they have no other guarantee. He also discusses the case of the Nazirite vow, where a person dedicates themselves to God for a period of abstinence from wine and haircutting. The Nazirite symbolizes the soul that renounces worldly pleasures to devote itself entirely to the divine.
A major section of Book IV is devoted to the law of punishments. Philo explains that Moses established penalties proportionate to the offense, rejecting both excessive severity and undue leniency. For intentional murder, the penalty is death, for human life is sacred and cannot be compensated by money. The unintentional manslayer may flee to a city of refuge, where he is protected from the avenger of blood until the death of the high priest. Philo sees in this law a deep wisdom: the cities of refuge are placed at convenient distances so that anyone can reach them quickly, and they symbolize the mercy of God, who provides refuge for those who err without malice.
Philo also discusses the law of corporal punishment. A judge may order a flogging, but the number of stripes is limited to forty (and in practice, thirty-nine, to avoid accidentally exceeding the limit). This limit is a mark of humaneness: the body should not be broken, even for wrongdoing. Philo sees in this law a recognition of the dignity of the human person, who is made in God’s image. Even the criminal must be treated with a measure of respect, for his soul still bears the divine likeness.
The final section of Book IV returns to the theme of love for enemies. Philo cites the law: “If you see your enemy’s ox or donkey going astray, you shall bring it back to him.” This is not merely a kindness to the enemy but a service to God, who commands mercy toward all. Philo argues that the person who returns the lost animal of an enemy is training themselves in the highest virtue: the ability to rise above personal hatred and act according to the divine law of justice. In doing so, they become an imitator of God, who “makes His sun rise on the evil and the good” and sends rain on the just and the unjust.
Volume IX: On the Special Laws IV (continued) — The Decalogue Expanded
This volume continues the special laws associated with the fourth commandment (the Sabbath) and the fifth commandment (honoring parents), showing how Philo develops a full ethical system from the Ten Words.
Philo devotes extensive attention to the Sabbath law, explaining both its literal observance and its symbolic meaning. On the practical level, the Sabbath is a day of rest for all people — free men, slaves, and even animals. It is a democratization of leisure: the highest and lowest alike cease from labor. But Philo also interprets the Sabbath philosophically. The number seven is sacred, representing rest and completion. The Sabbath symbolizes the soul’s rest from the turmoil of the senses and the passions; it is a foretaste of the peace that comes when the mind contemplates God directly.
The law of honoring parents receives equally extensive treatment. Philo argues that parents are the “visible gods” for their children, since they are the immediate causes of their existence. To honor parents is to honor God, who is the ultimate Cause. Conversely, to dishonor parents is a form of impiety, for it denies the gift of life. Philo specifies that “honor” includes not only respect and obedience but also material support in old age. Parents who are neglected in their old age suffer a double injury: they are both abandoned and humiliated. Philo also notes that the command to honor parents has no time limit — it extends throughout one’s entire life, even after the parents’ death, through the preservation of their memory and the continuation of their good works.
Volume IX: On the Special Laws IV (conclusion) — The Virtues of Courage, Piety, and Humanity
The final chapters of On the Special Laws bring together the virtues that the Law cultivates in the soul, showing that the Mosaic code is not merely a collection of rules but a comprehensive program for moral formation.
Philo discusses the virtue of courage (andreia), which the Law instills through its provisions for warfare. The army must be holy, free from any moral taint, and soldiers must be volunteers, not conscripts. Before battle, the priest addresses the troops and tells them not to fear their enemies, for God fights on their behalf. But courage is not only physical; it is primarily the courage to resist the passions and to stand firm in the truth. The Law also exempts certain people from military service: the man who has built a new house, planted a vineyard, or married a wife. These exemptions show that the Law values human life and domestic happiness above military glory.
Philo then turns to piety (eusebeia), the virtue that directs the soul toward God. Piety is expressed through worship — prayer, sacrifice, and thanksgiving — but also through obedience to the Law. The truly pious person does not merely perform rituals but lives every moment in awareness of God’s presence. Philo emphasizes that the greatest act of piety is to know God and to acknowledge that all good things come from Him. The offerings prescribed in the Law — the firstfruits, the tithes, the sacrifices — are all reminders that the earth and its fullness belong to God.
The final virtue Philo discusses is humanity (philanthropia), which he considers the crowning virtue of the Mosaic Law. This virtue is expressed in the countless laws that protect the poor, the stranger, the orphan, and the widow. The Law commands that the corners of the field be left for the poor to glean, that the forgotten sheaf be left for the stranger, and that the wage of the hired worker be paid before sunset. Philo sees in these laws a reflection of God’s own character: “God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” The person who has acquired humanity becomes like God, extending kindness to all without discrimination.
Volume X: On the Embassy to Gaius (Legatio ad Gaium) — The Historical Narrative
We enter Volume X, which contains Philo’s most famous historical work: The Embassy to Gaius, a detailed account of the Jewish delegation to the Emperor Caligula in 40 CE, and the crisis that nearly brought the Jewish people to destruction.
Philo begins by describing the situation in Alexandria, where the Jewish population had lived for centuries but was increasingly persecuted by the Greek citizens. The tensions erupted into violence when the Greeks, incited by the Roman prefect Flaccus, attacked the Jewish quarters, destroyed synagogues, and forced Jews into a single ghetto. Philo was chosen as the head of the delegation to plead the Jewish case before the Emperor. But the situation was made far worse when events in Jamnia ignited a new crisis: a Greek mob erected an altar to the Emperor in the Jewish quarter, and when the Jews tore it down, word reached Caligula that the Jews had insulted his divinity.
Philo then recounts in vivid detail the character of Gaius Caligula. He is described as a monster of vanity and cruelty: “He thought himself a god and demanded worship from all his subjects.” Caligula had already ordered that his statue be placed in the Temple of Jerusalem, a direct violation of the Jewish law against images. The Jews of Jerusalem, upon hearing this, prepared for martyrdom rather than allow the desecration. Philo’s narrative captures the terror of the moment: the entire Jewish world held its breath, knowing that resistance would mean war and surrender would mean apostasy.
The delegation arrives in Rome and must wait for an audience with the Emperor. Philo describes their anxiety as they hear reports of Caligula’s unpredictable moods and savage punishments. When they finally meet him, Caligula is surveying his new palace and gardens, moving from room to room like a god surveying his domain. He greets the Jewish delegates with mockery: “So you are the people who refuse to worship me?” Philo attempts to reply with respect, explaining that the Jews offer sacrifices for the Emperor’s welfare but cannot offer worship to any being other than the one God. Caligula responds with irritation: “Why do you not eat pork?” — a trivial question that reveals his contempt for Jewish customs.
Philo presents his own speech to Caligula as a masterpiece of diplomacy, combining flattery with firmness. He explains that the Jews have always been loyal subjects, that they pray for the Emperor’s safety, and that their refusal to worship him is not rebellion but religious conscience. But Caligula is unmoved. He tells the delegates they are “worse than criminals” and dismisses them with a threat: “If you persist in your folly, you will discover who I am.” The delegation leaves in despair, believing that the destruction of the Jewish nation is imminent.
However, Philo reports a dramatic turn of events. One of Caligula’s close advisors, the Syrian legate Petronius, was ordered to install the statue by force. Petronius gathered his legions but delayed, moved by the desperate pleas of the Jewish leaders. When Caligula learned of the delay, he sent a letter ordering Petronius to commit suicide. But before the letter arrived, news came that Caligula had been assassinated — on January 24, 41 CE — by his own guards. Philo presents this as a divine intervention: God had heard the prayers of His people and struck down the tyrant. The Temple was saved, and the Jews were delivered from destruction.
Volume X: On the Embassy to Gaius (continued) — The Aftermath and Divine Justice
Philo concludes the Embassy to Gaius with reflections on the meaning of the crisis and the lesson it teaches about divine providence.
Philo describes the assassination of Caligula in detail: how the conspirators, led by Cassius Chaerea, struck him down in the palace corridor. Caligula’s last words were “I am still alive!” — but he was dead in moments. The body was hastily covered and left in the street. Philo comments that the man who had demanded worship as a god was left without even a proper burial. His statues were torn down, his name was erased from public records, and his memory was cursed. This, for Philo, is the ultimate proof of divine justice: the arrogant and impious are brought low, and the humble are exalted.
Philo also reflects on the role of providence in the events. The entire crisis unfolded according to God’s plan, he argues. The delay of Petronius, the change of mind by Caligula’s advisors, the timing of the assassination — none of it was coincidence but the work of God, who watches over His people and never abandons them. Philo sees the Jewish people as evidence of God’s care: though they are small and often oppressed, they survive all attempts to destroy them because they are protected by the Creator of the universe.
The Embassy to Gaius ends with a note of thanksgiving. Philo returns to Alexandria, where the community greets him with joy. But he knows that the danger is not over: the Greek citizens continue to persecute the Jews, and the new Emperor Claudius must still confirm their rights. Yet Philo’s narrative ends not with anxiety but with faith: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” The work stands as a testimony to the power of faith in the face of tyranny and as a historical record of one of the most dangerous moments in Jewish history.
Volume X: On the Contemplative Life (De Vita Contemplativa)
We now come to the companion piece to On the Essenes — Philo’s description of another Jewish sect, the Therapeutae, who live a life of total withdrawal from society in the Egyptian countryside.
Philo begins by distinguishing the Therapeutae from the Essenes. While the Essenes live in community and practice agriculture, the Therapeutae pursue a more austere and solitary life. The name Therapeutae means “healers” or “worshippers,” and Philo explains that they are healers of the soul, curing it from the diseases of pleasure, desire, and the passions. They live in a region near Alexandria called Lake Mareotis, where each person has a separate dwelling — a monastery (monasterion) — designed for solitude and study.
Philo describes the daily life of the Therapeutae in loving detail. Each day begins with prayer at dawn, facing the rising sun — not as an act of sun-worship, but as a symbol of the soul’s turning toward God. Then they spend the entire day studying the Scriptures, reading the Law and the Prophets, and interpreting them allegorically. They believe that the literal words of Scripture contain a deeper, hidden meaning, and they devote themselves to uncovering this spiritual truth. Philo notes that they have commentaries written by the founders of their sect, which serve as models for their allegorical method.
The Therapeutae eat only once a day, and some eat only every three days. Their food is bread with salt and hyssop, their drink is water. They abstain entirely from wine and meat. Philo explains that this austere diet is not a form of self-mortification but a discipline that frees the mind from the body’s demands. By eating only enough to sustain life, they prevent the body from dragging the soul down into material concerns. They also practice celibacy, believing that sexual desire is the most powerful of the passions and must be overcome if the soul is to ascend to God.
A significant portion of the treatise is devoted to the Sabbath gathering of the Therapeutae. On the seventh day, they assemble in a common meeting place, a simple hall with seats arranged so that each person can sit in silence. The senior member gives a discourse on some passage of Scripture, interpreting it allegorically and drawing out its moral and spiritual meaning. The audience listens in perfect silence, nodding only to show understanding. Philo comments that their discipline is so complete that no one coughs, sneezes, or whispers during the discourse.
Every seven weeks (the fiftieth day, Pentecost), the Therapeutae hold a special festival. They gather in white robes, arranged in two choirs — one of men, one of women — and sing hymns to God in antiphonal song. Philo describes this as a sacred dance, a reenactment of the crossing of the Red Sea, when Moses and Miriam led the Israelites in song. The singing is ecstatic, inspired by the Holy Spirit, and the participants are transported into a state of sober intoxication — a state of divine rapture that does not impair reason but elevates it.
