Allegorical Questions and Answers on the First Two Books of Exodus
Preface: The Purpose and Method of Philo’s Inquiry
We begin at the opening of the work, where Philo establishes the framework for his entire project of questioning and solving the apparent difficulties in the Exodus text. He is writing for readers who already accept the literal truth of Scripture but who seek a deeper, philosophical understanding beneath the surface.
Philo announces that he will proceed through the book of Exodus “by way of question and answer” — a method common in both Greek philosophical schools and rabbinic interpretation. He states that Scripture speaks in two registers: the literal (rhetos) meaning, which is accessible to all, and the allegorical (tropikos or hyponoia) meaning, which reveals truths about the soul, the cosmos, and God. The literal text may sometimes appear contradictory, trivial, or unworthy of divine authorship; it is precisely at these points that the allegorical interpretation becomes necessary.
The author defines his task clearly: “For it is the custom of the lawgiver [Moses] to suggest things that are worthy of the dignity of God under the guise of literal expressions.” Philo insists that the careful reader must not stop at the surface but must dig deeper, because the divine author has hidden profound philosophical truths within seemingly simple narratives and legal prescriptions. The work that follows will therefore take each difficult passage, present the literal difficulty as a question (zētēma), and then offer a solution (lysis) that harmonizes the text with reason and reveals its allegorical meaning.
This opening establishes that Philo is not rejecting the literal meaning of Exodus but supplementing it. The literal text is the necessary starting point, but it is also a signpost pointing toward a higher truth. For Philo, the Bible is not merely history or law — it is a divinely crafted allegory of the soul’s journey toward God, and every detail, no matter how small, carries cosmic and psychological significance.
Exodus 1:1-5 — The Names of the Sons of Israel
The first set of questions concerns the opening verses of Exodus, which list the names of the sons of Jacob who came down to Egypt. Philo begins by asking why the text repeats the names of the patriarchs when they have already been listed in Genesis, and why it mentions that they came “each with his household.”
Philo’s literal explanation is straightforward: the repetition serves to honor the patriarchs and to mark the continuity between the generations. But his allegorical interpretation goes much deeper. He identifies the seventy souls (the number of Jacob’s household in Egypt) with the seventy nations of the world, as enumerated in the Table of Nations in Genesis 10. The descent of Israel into Egypt, therefore, allegorically represents the descent of the soul into the body and the material world — Egypt being the symbol of the body, the passions, and all that is material and irrational.
“The number seventy is the most perfect of numbers, being composed of seven multiplied by ten. Seven is the number of the heavenly powers, and ten is the number of the perfect and complete.”
Philo further explains that each of the twelve sons of Jacob represents a particular virtue or aspect of the soul, and their descent into Egypt symbolizes the necessary engagement of the virtuous soul with the material world. The seventy souls are not merely historical ancestors; they are the logoi (divine principles) that govern the entire creation. The literal migration to Egypt becomes an allegory for the way divine principles descend into matter to govern and order it.
The clarification here is that Philo is using number symbolism and genealogical interpretation to show that the patriarchs are not just historical figures but types or patterns of the soul’s constitution. Every detail of the Exodus narrative, even the census-like listing of names, contains a philosophical teaching about the relationship between the spiritual and the material realms.
Exodus 1:7 — The Multiplication of the Hebrews
The next question concerns the verse describing how the Hebrews “multiplied and grew exceedingly strong” in Egypt. Philo asks: Why does Scripture emphasize their growth in Egypt, of all places, and why does this growth provoke the Egyptians’ hostility?
Philo’s literal answer notes that the Hebrews’ increase in population, despite being slaves under harsh conditions, was a sign of divine favor. But his allegorical interpretation transforms this demographic fact into a psychological principle. Egypt, he says, represents the passionate and irrational part of the soul — the part that is enslaved to bodily pleasures and material desires. The “growth” of the Hebrews in Egypt means the increase of the rational and virtuous principles (the Hebrews) within the realm of the passions (Egypt). This is a paradox: the soul’s worst environment can actually strengthen virtue, because virtue is tested and purified through opposition.
Philo draws a parallel with the Stoic concept of oikeiōsis, the process by which rational beings appropriate virtue as their own nature. The Hebrews multiply in Egypt because the rational soul, even when immersed in bodily passions, continues to generate new virtues and insights. The Egyptians’ fear of the Hebrews’ growth represents the irrational soul’s recognition that virtue, once planted, will eventually overcome the passions.
The deeper point is that the Exodus story is not primarily about one nation’s liberation from political slavery — it is about the soul’s liberation from the bondage of the passions. The multiplication of virtue within the passionate soul is the necessary precondition for the Exodus, which will follow. Without this internal growth, there can be no true liberation.
Exodus 1:8-14 — The New King Who Knew Not Joseph
Philo now turns to the passage about the new Pharaoh who “did not know Joseph.” The question is straightforward: How could any Egyptian king not know Joseph, who had saved all of Egypt from famine and had been second only to Pharaoh? Philo offers both a literal-historical and an allegorical explanation.
Literally, Philo suggests that “not knowing Joseph” means the new king either deliberately forgot or denied Joseph’s contributions for political reasons — a common pattern in history when new regimes erase the memory of their predecessors’ allies. But the allegorical interpretation is more revealing. Joseph represents the rational discernment that can distinguish between necessary pleasures and harmful passions. The “new king who knew not Joseph” is the irrational principle that arises in the soul when reason is forgotten or suppressed.
“The king who knew not Joseph is the mind that has forgotten the distinction between good and evil, and that now rules over the passionate part of the soul without wisdom.”
This new Pharaoh, Philo explains, represents a state of the soul in which the passions have overwhelmed reason. The “new king” is not a historical figure but a condition: when the rational faculty (Joseph) is no longer recognized or consulted, the irrational passions seize control and impose harsh servitude. The Egyptians’ cruel oppression — making bricks without straw, building the store cities of Pithom and Rameses — allegorically represents the soul’s futile labor in pursuing material goods and bodily pleasures that can never satisfy.
Philo identifies Pithom as symbolizing the mouth (from the Greek *stoma*) — the seat of speech and the appetites — and Rameses as symbolizing the senses that are agitated by external stimuli. The slavery in Egypt is therefore the enslavement of the soul to its own bodily and sensory impulses, a condition that can only be broken by divine intervention.
Exodus 1:15-22 — The Hebrew Midwives
The next section addresses the story of Shiphrah and Puah, the Hebrew midwives who defied Pharaoh’s order to kill all male Hebrew infants. Philo poses the question: Did the midwives do right to disobey the king? And why does Scripture pause to name these two women?
Philo’s literal answer is clear: obedience to God takes precedence over obedience to any human ruler, especially when the command is unjust. The midwives acted rightly because they feared God more than Pharaoh. But the allegorical interpretation reveals a deeper dimension. The midwives represent two faculties of the soul: Shiphrah (which means “beauty” or “brightness”) symbolizes the intellectual faculty that contemplates divine truth, while Puah (which means “mouth” or “utterance”) symbolizes the expressive faculty that articulates what the intellect perceives.
These two “midwives” assist at the birth of virtues in the soul. The male infants they save from death are the virile, rational principles that the passionate part of the soul (Pharaoh) tries to destroy. The midwives’ defiance of Pharaoh means that the intellectual and expressive faculties of the soul refuse to let the passions kill off the rational virtues before they can be born and nurtured.
Philo also notes that the midwives are Hebrew women, not Egyptians — meaning that these saving faculties belong to the rational soul itself, not to the passions. They are “innate” to the soul’s constitution. When Pharaoh asks why the Hebrew women give birth before the midwives arrive, the midwives’ answer — that Hebrew women are “lively” — indicates that virtue, when properly cultivated, comes to birth quickly and without external compulsion. The soul that is trained in wisdom gives birth to virtues spontaneously, before the passions can intervene.
Exodus 2:1-4 — The Birth of Moses
We now arrive at the birth of Moses, the central figure of the Exodus narrative. Philo asks: Why does Scripture emphasize that Moses was “beautiful” at his birth, and why was he hidden for three months? The literal details are well-known, but Philo presses them for their allegorical significance.
Philo explains that Moses is not merely the historical lawgiver but the prophetic mind — the highest faculty of the rational soul, the one that receives direct communication from God. His birth from a Levite mother and father (his parents are named as Amram and Jochebed, though Philo focuses on their tribal designation) means that the prophetic mind is born from virtue (Levi) and divine wisdom (Jochebed) .
“The beauty of Moses is not bodily beauty, but the beauty of the soul, which is the form of the mind that has been shaped by divine ideas.”
The three months of concealment correspond to the three stages of preparation that the prophetic mind undergoes before it can be revealed to the world. These three stages are: first, purification from bodily passions; second, instruction in the encyclical sciences (the liberal arts); and third, direct contemplation of divine truths. The ark of bulrushes in which Moses is placed is the body itself — a fragile vessel that can protect the prophetic mind only temporarily during its journey through the waters of the passions (the Nile). The mother’s placing of the ark among the reeds represents the soul’s careful positioning of the prophetic faculty so that it can be found at the right time by the right person — Pharaoh’s daughter, who represents worldly wisdom or the gentile sciences that will nurture Moses before he fully assumes his prophetic role.
Philo’s point is that the prophetic mind does not emerge fully formed; it undergoes a hidden gestation within the body and the passions, protected by the soul’s virtues (the parents and sister), until it is ready to be discovered and educated. The entire birth narrative is an allegory of how divine wisdom prepares itself to become manifest in the world.
Exodus 2:5-10 — The Finding and Adoption of Moses
The final section of Part 1 addresses Pharaoh’s daughter finding Moses in the ark and adopting him. Philo asks: Why does an Egyptian princess adopt a Hebrew child, and why does she pay the child’s own mother to nurse him?
Philo’s literal answer is that God providentially arranged these events. But his allegorical interpretation unfolds the deeper meaning. Pharaoh’s daughter represents human wisdom or paideia — the general education and culture that even those outside the covenant can possess. She comes down to the Nile to bathe, which means that worldly wisdom must purify itself in the stream of the passions (the Nile) before it can discover the prophetic mind within.
The princess sends her maidservants to fetch the ark; these maidservants are the encyclical sciences — grammar, rhetoric, music, geometry, and the other arts that serve as handmaids to true philosophy. They retrieve the ark (the body containing the prophetic mind) and bring it to the princess. When she opens it and sees the child, she recognizes his beauty — that is, worldly wisdom recognizes the divine beauty of the prophetic mind, even though it cannot fully comprehend its origin.
“The daughter of Pharaoh, though an Egyptian, represents the soul’s capacity for learning, which can receive and nurture the prophetic mind even before the soul has fully turned to God.”
The most striking detail is that the princess pays Moses’ own mother to nurse him. Philo interprets this as follows: the mother is virtue itself, and she is paid to nurse the prophetic mind because worldly wisdom (the princess) acknowledges that virtue alone can properly nurture the soul’s highest faculty. The payment is the honor and recognition that worldly education gives to virtue. The child grows up in the palace — meaning that the prophetic mind is educated in all the learning of Egypt — but he remains at heart the child of his Hebrew mother, virtue. This anticipates Moses’ later rejection of Egypt and his return to his true heritage.
Philo concludes this section by noting that the name Moses itself is significant. In Egyptian, “Moses” means “he who is drawn out of the water,” and Philo explains that this name perfectly describes the prophetic mind: it is drawn up out of the stream of the passions and the material world to become a mediator between God and humanity. The name is given by Pharaoh’s daughter, not by the Hebrew parents, indicating that the true nature of the prophetic mind is recognized even by worldly wisdom before it fully reveals itself.
Exodus 2:11-15 — The Slaying of the Egyptian
We are now in the section where Moses, having grown to adulthood in Pharaoh’s court, goes out to his brethren and witnesses their suffering, leading to his first act of intervention.
Philo begins his examination of this passage by focusing on the phrase “Moses went out to his brethren.” He asks why the text specifies that Moses “went out” rather than simply stating that he saw them. Philo explains that this language indicates a deliberate movement from one state of being to another. Moses had been inside the palace of Pharaoh, which represents the realm of the body and the passions — the Egyptian way of life. His going out signifies his voluntary departure from that realm to join himself to the Hebrews, who represent the soul devoted to God. Philo writes that “going out” in the allegorical sense means leaving behind the concerns of the flesh and entering into the life of the mind and virtue.
Philo then turns to the specific act: “He saw an Egyptian smiting a Hebrew.” He analyzes each element of this statement. The Egyptian, Philo says, represents the passions and the love of pleasure that attack and subdue the soul. The Hebrew represents the mind that is trained in virtue and devoted to the One God. The smiting is the act of the passions dominating and oppressing the rational part of the soul. When Moses sees this, he looks around to ensure that no one is watching — and Philo interprets this as meaning that the prophetic mind acts in secret, not for the sake of human praise or recognition, but purely for the sake of justice and the liberation of the oppressed soul.
“He who has his mind fixed on God is the one who does not merely see the struggle but enters into it, putting to death the passions that tyrannize the soul.”
Philo then addresses the most difficult element of the passage: Moses kills the Egyptian and hides his body in the sand. He explains that the killing of the Egyptian represents the complete destruction of the passions within the soul. The Egyptian is not merely wounded or driven away but killed — meaning that the person who has attained to true virtue has utterly eradicated the rule of the passions. The body is hidden in the sand because sand is unstable, shifting, and without firm foundation; this signifies that the passions, once destroyed, are buried in the unstable and perishable realm of matter. The soul is now free from their tyranny. But when Moses tries to reconcile two Hebrews who are quarrelling the next day, they reject him, saying, “Who made you a ruler and judge over us?” Philo interprets this as the resistance that the virtuous mind faces even from those it seeks to help. The Hebrews who are still enslaved to their passions do not recognize true authority.
Exodus 2:15-22 — Moses’ Flight to Midian and His Marriage
In this section, Philo examines Moses’ flight from Pharaoh and his arrival in the land of Midian, where he marries Zipporah and begins his life as a shepherd.
Philo focuses on the meaning of Midian and the events that unfold there. He notes that Moses flees from Pharaoh, who seeks to kill him for slaying the Egyptian. Philo interprets Pharaoh as the mind that is hostile to God, the principle of arrogance and self-love that cannot tolerate the presence of true virtue. Moses’ flight is not cowardice but a strategic withdrawal — the wise person knows when to retreat from conflict with the forces of evil until the proper time for action arrives. Midian, Philo explains, is derived from a word meaning “judgment” or “measure,” and it represents a place of testing and evaluation where the soul is prepared for its higher calling.
When Moses arrives at the well in Midian, he encounters the seven daughters of the priest of Midian. Philo sees deep significance in the number seven — it is the number of perfection, of the completion of creation, and of the powers of God. The seven daughters represent the seven faculties of the soul or the seven divisions of wisdom that draw water from the well of knowledge. But the shepherds of Midian drive them away — these shepherds are the arrogant and contentious who oppose the pursuit of wisdom. Moses rises up and defends the women, watering their flocks. Philo interprets this as the prophetic mind coming to the aid of the soul’s faculties, protecting them from those who would hinder their access to truth, and supplying them with the water of divine knowledge.
“The well is the symbol of the deep and hidden wisdom of God, and those who draw from it are the souls that seek to understand His ways.”
Philo then turns to the marriage of Moses to Zipporah, whose name means “little bird” or “sparrow.” He explains that Zipporah represents the virtue that is small in human estimation but precious in the eyes of God — the humble and faithful soul that is united with the prophetic mind. The fact that Zipporah is the daughter of Jethro, the priest of Midian, is also significant. Jethro’s name means “his abundance” or “his excellence,” and Philo interprets him as representing the intellectual virtue that offers its daughter — practical virtue — to Moses. This marriage symbolizes the union of the prophetic mind with virtuous action, a union that prepares Moses for his future role as lawgiver and leader.
The section concludes with Moses becoming a shepherd for Jethro’s flocks. Philo emphasizes that this is not a demotion but a preparation. The shepherd is the one who leads, protects, and nurtures the flock — and this is exactly the role Moses will later play for the people of Israel. His time in Midian is a period of hidden cultivation where the virtues necessary for leadership are developed away from the distractions of Egypt.
Exodus 2:23-25 — The Cry of the Israelites
Here, Philo examines the passage where the king of Egypt dies and the Israelites cry out to God because of their bondage, and God remembers His covenant.
Philo begins by noting the phrase “the king of Egypt died.” He asks how the king could die if he has already been established as the oppressor of Israel, and why this death prompts the people to cry out. Philo explains that the “king” here is not the literal Pharaoh but the principle of the passions that rules over the soul. This “death” is not the destruction of the passions entirely — for they still exist — but their weakening or withdrawal from full dominance. When this tyrannical principle is weakened, the soul begins to feel its own suffering more acutely and cries out to God. The people groan under their bondage, and their cry ascends to God.
Phio then examines what it means that “God heard their groaning” and “remembered His covenant.” He insists that God does not hear with ears or remember in the human sense — these are anthropomorphic expressions for divine action. God’s “hearing” means that He takes notice of the soul’s condition and responds according to His nature. His “remembering” the covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob means that He is faithful to His promises and acts in accordance with His goodness. The covenant itself is the divine promise that the soul will ultimately be liberated from bondage and brought to the knowledge of God.
“God is not subject to forgetfulness, but the remembering of the covenant signifies the actualization of His grace toward those who are worthy.”
Philo emphasizes that the cry of the Israelites is not merely a physical cry but the deep longing of the soul for deliverance from the passions and from ignorance. This cry is itself the beginning of salvation, for it represents the soul’s recognition that it cannot save itself and must turn to God. God’s “seeing” the Israelites and “knowing” their condition is the divine acknowledgment of their state — not because He did not know it before, but because the time for action has arrived. The phrase “God knew” is particularly important: it signifies a knowledge that is creative and transformative, not merely observational. When God “knows” the condition of the Israelites, He is already beginning the work of their redemption.
Exodus 3:1-4 — The Burning Bush
This section marks the turning point in the narrative, where Moses encounters God in the burning bush and receives his divine commission.
Philo devotes extensive attention to the burning bush, which he identifies as one of the most profound symbols in Scripture. He begins by noting that Moses is now shepherding the flock of Jethro in the wilderness and comes to Mount Horeb, the mountain of God. Horeb means “desolation” or “dryness,” and Philo interprets it as the state of the soul that has been stripped of all worldly attachments and is thus prepared to receive divine revelation. The mountain itself represents the highest reach of the human mind — the point at which it is capable of contemplating God.
The bush, Philo explains, is a lowly and thorny plant — it represents the material world or the human body which is subject to suffering and affliction. Yet it burns with fire and is not consumed. The fire is the presence of God — the divine energy that penetrates and transforms the material world without destroying it. Philo sees in this the profound truth that God is present in even the lowliest aspects of creation, and that His presence does not annihilate nature but elevates and sustains it. Just as the bush burns yet remains intact, so the soul that is touched by God is inflamed with divine love yet not destroyed by it.
“‘I will turn aside and see this great sight, why the bush is not burned.’ The mind that seeks wisdom must turn aside from the ordinary path of life to contemplate the mystery of God’s presence in the world.”
Philo then examines the moment when God calls to Moses from the bush: “Moses, Moses.” The repetition of the name is significant — it indicates that God is calling the prophetic mind in a special and urgent manner, and that double calling signifies the perfection of the call. Moses responds, “Here I am,” which Philo interprets as the complete readiness and availability of the soul to receive God’s command. The instruction to remove his sandals is particularly important: sandals are made from the skin of dead animals and represent the covering of the body and all that is base and material. To remove them is to strip away all bodily concerns and approach God with the bare soul — with nothing between the mind and the divine.
The ground on which Moses stands is declared holy ground. Philo explains that any place where God manifests His presence becomes holy — not because of its physical location but because of the divine encounter that occurs there. This teaches that the soul must approach God with reverence and purity, recognizing that the presence of God transforms ordinary space into sacred space.
Exodus 3:5-10 — The Commission of Moses
In this passage, God reveals His identity and commissions Moses to return to Egypt and lead the Israelites out of bondage.
Philo carefully examines the divine self-revelation: “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” He explains that this is not merely a genealogical identification but a theological statement about the nature of God’s relationship with the patriarchs. Each patriarch represents a different aspect of the soul’s journey toward God: Abraham represents learned virtue acquired through instruction, Isaac represents natural virtue that is innate, and Jacob represents practical virtue gained through struggle. God is the God of all three — meaning that He is the source and goal of every path to virtue. The phrase “the God of your father” refers to the ancestral tradition that is passed down through generations, the living memory of divine revelation.
Philo then addresses Moses’ reaction: he hides his face because he is afraid to look at God. This fear, Philo explains, is not terror but reverential awe — the recognition that the human mind cannot fully comprehend the divine nature. Hiding the face is an act of humility, acknowledging the limit of human understanding in the presence of the Infinite. This is the proper disposition for receiving divine revelation: not arrogant curiosity but humble receptivity.
“Moses hid his face, for it is fitting that the mind should withdraw from the attempt to see God as He is in His essence, and instead attend to His words and His works.”
God then speaks of His compassion for the suffering of Israel: “I have seen the affliction of my people in Egypt, and I have heard their cry.” Philo emphasizes that God’s action is not arbitrary but is a response to the cry of the oppressed. This teaches that God is not indifferent to suffering but is actively engaged in the work of liberation. The commission to Moses is to go to Pharaoh and bring the people out of Egypt — but Philo notes that Moses is not sent alone. He is sent with the assurance of God’s presence: “Certainly I will be with you.” This promise of divine accompaniment is the foundation of Moses’ authority and the guarantee of his success. The prophetic mind does not act on its own power but as the instrument of God.
Exodus 3:11-15 — The Name of God
Here, Philo examines one of the most profound passages in Scripture: the revelation of the divine name “I AM WHO I AM” and the instruction to tell the Israelites that “I AM” has sent Moses.
Philo begins with Moses’ objection: “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh?” This is not false humility but the genuine recognition of human limitation in the face of divine calling. Moses knows that he is not sufficient for this task — and this very recognition is what makes him suitable. God’s response, “I will be with you,” is the only answer that matters. Philo explains that the divine presence is the source of all adequacy; where God is present, human weakness becomes strength.
The key revelation is the divine name: “I AM WHO I AM” (εγώ ειμι ο ων in the Septuagint). Philo sees in this phrase the deepest truth about God: that God is Being itself, not a being among beings but the very ground and source of all existence. The name indicates that God alone truly exists, while all created things have only a derived and dependent existence. Philo writes that the name means “My nature is to be, not to be spoken” — that God’s essence is beyond human comprehension and linguistic expression. The name is not a description of what God is but an affirmation that He is the One who truly is.
“The name ‘I AM WHO I AM’ teaches that God alone possesses being in the proper sense, while all things that come into being and pass away participate in being only by His gift.”
Philo then examines the secondary name: “The Lord, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” He explains that this name is for human comprehension — it connects the transcendent “I AM” to the history of God’s relationship with the patriarchs. The first name speaks of God’s essence; the second speaks of God’s providential action in history. Together, they teach that the same God who is beyond all understanding is also the God who enters into covenant with humanity and acts for their salvation. This revelation of the divine name is the foundation of all true theology: the transcendent and the immanent are one and the same God.
Exodus 3:16-22 — The Promise of Deliverance
We are now at the point where God, having revealed His name to Moses, gives him specific instructions for addressing the elders of Israel and promises the coming deliverance from Egypt, including the plunder of the Egyptians.
God commands Moses to gather the elders of Israel and deliver a message: “I have surely visited you, and seen that which is done to you in Egypt.” This visitation is the turning point of history — God has seen, God has remembered, and God will act. The message continues with the promise to bring them up out of the affliction of Egypt to a land flowing with milk and honey, the land of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites. Philo draws attention to the phrase “I have surely visited you,” noting the doubling of the verb for emphasis. He explains that this indicates two forms of divine visitation: one through the natural order and one through direct miraculous intervention. The first visitation is the gradual ordering of events that prepares the way for salvation; the second is the sudden, unmistakable act of God that breaks through the normal course of nature. Both are expressions of the same divine providence.
Philo then examines God’s instruction that the Israelites should ask the Egyptians for articles of silver and gold and for clothing. This command has troubled many readers, as it appears to involve deception or taking what does not belong to them. Philo provides an allegorical interpretation: the silver and gold represent the external goods of the world — wealth, knowledge, and culture — which the Egyptians (symbolizing the passions and the body) have developed but misused. The Israelites, representing the soul on its journey toward God, are permitted to take these goods and redirect them to holy purposes. The clothing similarly represents the covering of the body, the outward form of life, which must be taken and sanctified. Philo insists that this is not theft but a reclamation of what rightfully belongs to God’s people — the materials of the world, which have been corrupted by the passions, are now to be used for the service of the true God. The Egyptians’ willingness to give these items is itself a sign of God’s power working upon the hearts of the oppressors, softening them so that the exodus can proceed without violence at this stage.
“For the wise man, when he goes forth from the pursuits of the flesh, will take with him the wealth of the soul, which is the knowledge of divine things.”
Philo clarifies that this entire passage teaches a spiritual principle: the exodus from Egypt is not merely a geographical departure but a moral and spiritual transformation. The Israelites must leave behind the bondage of the passions, but they may carry with them the legitimate goods of creation — the arts, sciences, and skills — which, when purified, become instruments for worship and virtue. The plunder of the Egyptians thus becomes a type of the despoiling of the passions by the rational soul. Every external good that had been enslaved to vice is now liberated for the service of God. This is why the command is given before the actual departure: the Israelites must understand that their journey is not a flight from the world but a reordering of the world under the sovereignty of God. The riches of Egypt are not evil in themselves; they become evil only when they serve the oppressor. Now they are to be consecrated.
Exodus 4:1-9 — The Signs Given to Moses
We move to the next section, where Moses expresses doubt that the people will believe him, and God responds by giving him three miraculous signs to authenticate his mission.
Moses objects: “But behold, they will not believe me, nor hearken unto my voice; for they will say, The Lord hath not appeared unto thee.” Philo notes that Moses’ hesitation is not from lack of faith but from humility and awareness of human weakness. Moses knows that the people, long broken by slavery, are prone to disbelief. God therefore provides three signs, each with a deeper meaning. The first sign: the rod turned into a serpent. Moses is to cast his rod on the ground, and it becomes a serpent; when he takes it by the tail, it becomes a rod again. Philo interprets the rod as a symbol of authority and discipline — the staff of the shepherd and leader. The serpent represents the pleasure and passion that can corrupt authority. When the rod becomes a serpent, it shows how power, when left to itself, can degenerate into tyranny and sensuality. But when Moses seizes it by the tail — the part that drags behind, symbolizing the lowest appetites — he demonstrates the power of the rational soul to master and transform the passions. The rod restored is authority purified.
The second sign: Moses’ hand becomes leprous as snow when placed in his bosom, and is restored when placed there again. Philo explains that the bosom represents the inner self, the seat of thought and intention. The leprous hand symbolizes actions that proceed from an impure heart — deeds that are outwardly performed but spring from corruption within. The restoration signifies repentance and purification: when Moses returns his hand to his bosom, he is turning inward to examine and cleanse his intentions, and the hand is made whole. This sign teaches that the leader must first purify his own inner life before he can lead others to freedom. The people will see that Moses himself has undergone the process of cleansing from within, and this gives him authority to call them to the same purification.
“For the hand which is unclean and leprous is a symbol of the deeds which proceed from a polluted soul; but when it is cleansed, it shows that the soul has been purified.”
The third sign: the water of the Nile turned to blood. Moses is to take water from the river and pour it on dry ground, where it becomes blood. The Nile represents Egypt itself — its pride, its lifeblood, its self-sufficiency. Water is the source of life and fertility for Egypt; turning it to blood signifies the judgment upon Egypt’s natural resources when they are used for oppression. The blood also represents the violence and death that Egypt has inflicted upon the Hebrew children. By turning the water to blood on dry ground, God shows that the very life of Egypt will become death, and the land that was once fertile will become barren. For the Israelites, this sign is a warning and a promise: the same power that turns blessing into curse for the oppressor will turn bondage into freedom for the oppressed. Philo emphasizes that all three signs are given before Moses speaks to Pharaoh — they are not merely displays of power but pedagogical instruments that prepare both the prophet and the people for the confrontation to come. Each sign corresponds to a dimension of the exodus: authority over the passions (the rod), inward purification (the hand), and judgment upon the world’s false life (the water).
Exodus 4:10-17 — Moses’ Reluctance and Aaron’s Appointment
We now arrive at the passage where Moses continues to resist his calling, pleading his lack of eloquence, and God appoints Aaron as his spokesman.
Moses says to the Lord: “I am not eloquent, neither heretofore, nor since thou hast spoken unto thy servant; but I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue.” Philo notes that Moses is not making an excuse but speaking the truth about human limitation in the face of divine command. He understands that the message he is to deliver is so great that no human speech can adequately convey it. The phrase “slow of speech” (literally “heavy of mouth”) indicates a natural impediment or at least a profound sense of inadequacy. Philo sees in this a spiritual principle: the true prophet does not rely on rhetorical skill or natural ability but on the power of God working through weakness. Moses’ hesitation is itself a mark of his fitness for the office, for he does not trust in his own capacities but in God alone.
God responds with a sharp question: “Who hath made man’s mouth? Or who maketh the dumb, or deaf, or the seeing, or the blind? Have not I the Lord?” Philo dwells on this verse at length. God is asserting His sovereignty over all human faculties — speech, hearing, sight, and even the lack of them. Every human capacity is a gift from God, and God can use any capacity, or even incapacity, for His purposes. The rhetorical question forces Moses to recognize that the same God who made his mouth can also enable it to speak. The blindness and dumbness mentioned are not merely physical but spiritual conditions: those who are blind to divine truth and dumb in proclaiming it can be opened and loosed by the same Creator. Philo interprets this as a lesson in absolute dependence: the prophet must not look to his own resources but to the One who gives resources to all.
“For He who gave the faculty of speech to the human race can also, if He wills, give it to the same person a second time, and can make the slow of speech eloquent.”
God then appoints Aaron, Moses’ brother, to be his spokesman: “And he shall be thy spokesman unto the people; and he shall be, even he shall be to thee instead of a mouth, and thou shalt be to him instead of God.” Philo explains that this establishes a twofold ministry: Moses receives the divine message directly from God, and Aaron communicates it to the people. Moses is the mind that contemplates divine truth; Aaron is the voice that articulates it. This division reflects the structure of the prophetic office — there is the inward reception of revelation and the outward proclamation. Moses, as the one who speaks with God face to face, represents the higher, contemplative life; Aaron, who speaks to the people, represents the active, teaching office. The phrase “thou shalt be to him instead of God” is startling: it means that as Aaron is to Moses in relation to the people, so Moses is to Aaron in relation to God. Moses is the mediator of the divine will, and Aaron is the mediator of Moses’ words. Together they form a complete instrument for the deliverance of Israel. Philo sees in this arrangement the pattern for all spiritual leadership: the one who hears from God must be joined to one who can speak to the people, and neither can function without the other.
Exodus 4:18-23 — The Return to Egypt and the Hardening of Pharaoh’s Heart
We are now in the final section of Exodus 4, where Moses departs from Midian with his family and receives his final instructions from God before confronting Pharaoh.
Philo turns to the text: “And Moses went and returned to Jethro his father-in-law, and said, ‘Let me go, I pray thee, and return unto my brethren which are in Egypt, and see whether they be yet alive.’ And Jethro said to Moses, ‘Go in peace.'” Philo notes that Moses does not simply flee his responsibilities but seeks proper leave from his human obligations. This demonstrates that piety toward God does not cancel righteousness toward men. Moses honors his father-in-law even as he prepares to fulfill a divine commission. Then the Lord speaks to Moses in Midian: “Go, return into Egypt: for all the men are dead which sought thy life.” Philo interprets this as a deep providential clearing of the path — the obstacles that once threatened Moses have been removed by the divine arrangement of history. The same enemies who would have prevented his work are now gone, showing that God prepares the way for His servants even before they know they need it.
Philo then examines the command: “And thou shalt say unto Pharaoh, Thus saith the Lord, Israel is my son, even my firstborn: and I say unto thee, Let my son go, that he may serve me: and if thou refuse to let him go, behold, I will slay thy son, even thy firstborn.” He focuses on the phrase “Israel is my son, even my firstborn.” This is not a merely poetic description; for Philo, it expresses an ontological relationship. Israel holds the rank of firstborn among the nations because it has been chosen to receive and preserve the divine law. The term firstborn signifies preeminence in honor and inheritance, not chronological priority. All other nations are, in a sense, younger sons; Israel is the one to whom the birthright belongs. But Philo also notes the conditional nature of the threat: if Pharaoh refuses, his own firstborn will die. This is the lex talionis of divine justice — the same measure used against God’s people will be measured back upon the oppressor. The hardness of the human heart brings judgment upon itself.
“And I say unto thee, Let my son go, that he may serve me: and if thou refuse to let him go, behold, I will slay thy son, even thy firstborn.”
Philo clarifies that this entire passage establishes a correspondence between the earthly and the heavenly kingdoms. Pharaoh rules Egypt by the law of force; God rules the universe by the law of justice. The confrontation is not merely political but cosmic: the tyrant of the material world faces the Lord of all being. The threat against Pharaoh’s firstborn is not arbitrary cruelty but the logical consequence of opposing the divine will. When Pharaoh refuses to release God’s firstborn, he forfeits his own. Philo sees here a profound teaching about the nature of divine judgment: it is not imposed from without but arises from the very structure of reality. The one who hardens himself against God becomes the instrument of his own ruin.
Exodus 4:24-26 — The Circumcision of Moses’ Son at the Lodging Place
We now encounter one of the most enigmatic passages in Exodus, where the Lord meets Moses at a lodging place and seeks to kill him, and Zipporah circumcises her son.
Philo approaches this text with characteristic depth, knowing that the surface narrative seems deeply troubling. The text reads: “And it came to pass by the way in the inn, that the Lord met him, and sought to kill him. Then Zipporah took a sharp stone, and cut off the foreskin of her son, and cast it at his feet, and said, Surely a bloody husband art thou to me. So he let him go: then she said, A bloody husband thou art, because of the circumcision.” Philo explains that this difficult passage must be understood allegorically. The “Lord seeking to kill” Moses cannot mean that God intends to destroy His own chosen instrument; rather, it signifies that Moses was in a state of spiritual danger due to some neglect of the covenant. The danger is not from God’s wrath but from the very nature of the unfilled obligation. Moses had not circumcised his son, and the sign of the covenant had been omitted. In Philo’s understanding, the circumcision of the son represents the cutting away of all that is superfluous and unworthy in the soul’s offspring — the passions and impulses that arise from the lower nature.
Zipporah’s action is decisive: she takes a sharp stone — which Philo interprets as the sharpness of the divine word that cuts through the fleshly encumbrances — and performs the rite herself. Her words, “A bloody husband art thou to me,” are not a complaint but a confession of the mystery. The “blood” of circumcision is the blood of the covenant, the sign that the natural life has been offered to God. Philo sees Zipporah as representing practical wisdom (the practical virtue that, while not itself the highest contemplation, knows what must be done in emergency). She acts when Moses, the contemplative one, is in a state of incapacitation. The fact that she, a Midianite woman, performs the rite shows that the covenant can be mediated through unlikely instruments when the designated leader is hindered.
“And it came to pass by the way in the inn, that the Lord met him, and sought to kill him.”
Philo clarifies the deeper meaning: this episode occurs “by the way” — that is, in the midst of the spiritual journey. It warns the soul that even when one is on the path of divine service, there can be unexpected dangers from unfulfilled obligations. The circumcision of the son is the purification of the soul’s faculties — the cutting away of pride, self-will, and attachment to the flesh. Until this is done, the soul cannot proceed safely. The “bloody husband” phrase, Philo suggests, points to the paradox that union with God (the true marriage) requires the shedding of the lower life. The covenant is sealed in blood because it costs the death of the old self. Zipporah’s act saves Moses not because God is appeased by blood, but because the symbolic act restores the right order between the soul and its divine Source.
Exodus 5:1-5 — The First Confrontation with Pharaoh
We now enter the narrative of Exodus 5, where Moses and Aaron first appear before Pharaoh and deliver the divine demand.
Philo examines the text: “And afterward Moses and Aaron went in, and told Pharaoh, Thus saith the Lord God of Israel, Let my people go, that they may hold a feast unto me in the wilderness. And Pharaoh said, Who is the Lord, that I should obey his voice to let Israel go? I know not the Lord, neither will I let Israel go.” Philo notes that Pharaoh’s response is the paradigmatic answer of the worldly mind to the claims of God. He does not ask for evidence or seek to know the Lord; he denies the very existence of any authority above his own. The phrase “I know not the Lord” is not a confession of ignorance but a declaration of independence — Pharaoh refuses to acknowledge any sovereign except himself. Philo sees in this the essence of tyranny: the tyrant claims absolute autonomy and treats any demand from a higher power as an infringement. The “feast in the wilderness” that Moses requests is not a mere religious festival; it is the celebration of freedom, the act of worship that can only occur when the soul is no longer in bondage to the passions.
Pharaoh then accuses Moses and Aaron of interfering with the people’s work: “Wherefore do ye, Moses and Aaron, let the people from their works? get you unto your burdens.” He commands that the taskmasters increase the labor: “Let there more work be laid upon the men, that they may labor therein; and let them not regard vain words.” Philo interprets this as the typical response of the oppressive passions when confronted with the call to freedom. The first reaction of the tyrant within the soul is to increase the burden, to silence the voice that speaks of liberation by drowning it in more servitude. The “vain words” are the words of prophecy and promise — the worldly mind calls them empty because it cannot perceive their substance. For Philo, this is a profound psychological insight: the bondage of the soul intensifies when it first hears of deliverance, because the passions fight to maintain their grip.
“And Pharaoh said, Who is the Lord, that I should obey his voice to let Israel go? I know not the Lord, neither will I let Israel go.”
Philo clarifies that this entire scene establishes the pattern of spiritual warfare. The first overture to the powers that enslave the soul is met with denial and increased oppression. This is not a failure of the divine plan but a necessary stage: the full extent of the bondage must be revealed before deliverance can be understood. Pharaoh’s hardness is not an obstacle to God’s purpose but part of its unfolding. Moses and Aaron do not argue with Pharaoh or attempt to prove God’s existence; they simply deliver the command and allow the confrontation to develop. Philo sees here a lesson for the soul: when the call to freedom is first heard, the resistance will be fierce, and the burden will seem heavier. This is the darkness before the dawn of liberation.
Exodus 5:6-14 — The Increased Oppression of the Israelites
The narrative continues with Pharaoh’s command to the taskmasters to withhold straw from the Israelites while demanding the same quota of bricks.
Philo examines the text: “Go ye, get you straw where ye can find it: yet not ought of your work shall be diminished.” The taskmasters go out and announce: “Thus saith Pharaoh, I will not give you straw. Go yourselves, get you straw where ye can find it: yet not ought of your work shall be diminished.” Philo interprets this decree as the logic of tyranny perfected: the tyrant simultaneously withdraws the means of production and demands the same output. This is impossible by natural means — the Israelites cannot make bricks without straw. The command is designed to break their spirit and to discredit Moses and Aaron. Philo sees a deeper allegory: the passions and the material world operate on this same principle. The soul is given ever more burdensome tasks while the resources to fulfill them are withdrawn. The “straw” represents the light, supportive elements that make labor bearable; when these are removed, the work becomes pure drudgery. The “bricks” represent the solid achievements of the earthly life, which now must be produced from nothing.
The officers of the children of Israel are beaten when they cannot meet the quota, and they cry out to Pharaoh: “Wherefore dealest thou thus with thy servants? There is no straw given unto thy servants, and they say to us, Make brick: and, behold, thy servants are beaten; but the fault is in thine own people.” Pharaoh’s response is to accuse them of idleness: “Ye are idle, ye are idle: therefore ye say, Let us go and do sacrifice to the Lord.” Philo notes the terrible irony: the very desire for worship is interpreted as laziness. The worldly mind cannot comprehend the value of spiritual service; it sees only the loss of productive labor. For the tyrant, any time spent on God is time stolen from work. The officers are caught in an impossible situation — they are punished for failing to meet impossible demands, and their appeals are dismissed as excuses.
“Thus saith Pharaoh, I will not give you straw. Go yourselves, get you straw where ye can find it: yet not ought of your work shall be diminished.”
Philo clarifies the spiritual meaning: this is the condition of the soul under the rule of the passions before deliverance. The soul is required to produce the works of the law (the bricks) without the spiritual sustenance (the straw) that makes those works possible. The more the soul tries to fulfill the requirements of the flesh, the more it is burdened. The beating of the officers represents the accusations of conscience that arise when the soul fails to meet impossible standards. Philo emphasizes that this suffering is not meaningless; it is the necessary prelude to the cry for deliverance. The soul must be brought to the point of utter helplessness before it can truly call upon God. The increased oppression serves the purpose of breaking the final attachment to the old order, so that Israel will be ready to leave Egypt without looking back.
Exodus 5:15-21 — The Complaint of the Officers Against Moses and Aaron
We now see the immediate aftermath of the increased oppression, as the Israelite officers confront Moses and Aaron with bitter reproaches.
Philo examines the text: “And they met Moses and Aaron, who stood in the way, as they came forth from Pharaoh: and they said unto them, The Lord look upon you, and judge; because ye have made our savour to be abhorred in the eyes of Pharaoh, and in the eyes of his servants, to put a sword in their hand to slay us.” The officers accuse Moses and Aaron of making things worse, not better. Before Moses came, they had a stable if harsh existence; now they have neither straw nor hope. Philo interprets this as the inevitable reaction of those who suffer when a promised deliverance seems to fail. The officers do not see the larger plan; they see only that their situation has deteriorated. They curse Moses and Aaron as the cause of their increased misery. This is the bitter fruit of hope deferred — the soul that has glimpsed freedom but not yet attained it often blames the messenger.
Moses’ response is not recorded until the next section, but Philo notes the importance of the officers’ words: “Thou hast made our savour to be abhorred.” This phrase is deeply significant. To be “abhorred” in the eyes of Pharaoh is actually, in the divine economy, a mark of favor. The soul that pleases the world cannot please God. Philo suggests that the officers do not understand that being hated by Pharaoh is a sign that Moses’ mission is succeeding. The “sword in their hand to slay us” is the threat of destruction that always arises when the old order is challenged. The tyrant will use every weapon to crush the rebellion. But the very intensity of the oppression shows that the tyrant feels threatened.
“The Lord look upon you, and judge; because ye have made our savour to be abhorred in the eyes of Pharaoh, and in the eyes of his servants, to put a sword in their hand to slay us.”
Philo clarifies the psychological and spiritual teaching: the soul that undertakes the journey from bondage to freedom must endure a period of intensified suffering before deliverance comes. The officers represent the part of the soul that still values the approval of the world — they are distressed that Pharaoh now hates them. This is a test: will they trust the promise even when appearances are against it? Philo notes that Moses and Aaron do not defend themselves or argue with the officers. They remain silent because the divine plan needs no human apology. The suffering is real, but it is the birth pangs of liberation. Those who cannot endure this stage will turn back; those who persevere will see the glory of God.
Exodus 5:22-23 — Moses’ Return to the Lord and His Complaint
We now come to a critical moment: Moses, having been rejected by Pharaoh and blamed by his own people, turns to God in prayer.
Philo examines the text: “And Moses returned unto the Lord, and said, Lord, wherefore hast thou so evil entreated this people? why is it that thou hast sent me? For since I came to Pharaoh to speak in thy name, he hath done evil to this people; neither hast thou delivered thy people at all.” Philo notes that Moses’ prayer is remarkably bold — almost accusatory. He does not merely ask for help; he questions God’s purpose. “Wherefore hast thou so evil entreated this people?” This is the cry of a soul that cannot reconcile God’s promise with the present suffering. Moses expected immediate deliverance; instead, he has brought disaster upon the people he was sent to save. Philo sees in this prayer the honesty of true faith — Moses does not pretend to understand or to be satisfied with partial answers. He brings his full anguish before God.
The phrase “neither hast thou delivered thy people at all” is particularly striking. Philo observes that from Moses’ perspective, the situation is worse than if he had never come. The people’s condition is more desperate, and Pharaoh is more hardened. This is the dark night of the soul for the leader — the moment when the divine mission seems to have failed. But Philo emphasizes that Moses does not abandon his commission; he takes his complaint to the only One who can answer it. This is the difference between faith and unbelief: unbelief turns away from God in disappointment; faith brings the disappointment to God. Moses returns to the Lord even when he does not understand His ways.
“Lord, wherefore hast thou so evil entreated this people? why is it that thou hast sent me?”
Philo clarifies the theological significance: this prayer prepares the way for the revelation of God’s name and power that follows in Exodus 6. The delay in deliverance is not a failure of God’s power but a pedagogy of the soul. Both Moses and Israel must learn that freedom cannot be given cheaply; the full weight of Egypt’s bondage must be experienced so that the power of God’s redemption can be fully known. Philo sees Moses’ complaint as a necessary stage in the development of the prophet — he must learn that God’s ways are not measured by human timelines. The answer to Moses’ question will come not in words but in the mighty acts of the plagues and the Exodus itself. For now, Moses must wait in the darkness, trusting the God who seems silent.
