I'm talking about the Letter of Aristeas. It's an incredible text that purports to describe how the Septuagint, that famous Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible, came to be. But tucked within this historical narrative are some fascinating philosophical nuggets, wisdom offered by Jewish sages to the king himself.
So, the king, impressed by the wisdom he's hearing, poses another question: "To whom ought a man to show liberality?"
The sage's answer? Prepare to be challenged. He says, "All men acknowledge that we ought to show liberality to those who are well disposed towards us." Makes sense. We naturally want to be generous to those who are kind to us. But then he throws a curveball. He continues, "But I think that we ought to show the same keen spirit of generosity to those who are opposed to us that by this means we may win them over to the right and to what is advantageous to ourselves."
Whoa. Generosity towards our enemies? It sounds radical, almost counterintuitive. But think about it: what better way to disarm someone, to break down barriers, than with unexpected kindness? It's a powerful idea, rooted in the belief that even those who oppose us are capable of change, of being "won over to the right."
But here's the kicker: the sage acknowledges that this isn't something we can achieve on our own. "But we must pray to God that this may be accomplished," he says, "for he rules the minds of all men." It’s a reminder that changing hearts, especially those hardened by opposition, requires something beyond our own efforts. It calls for divine intervention.
The king, still pondering, asks another question, this time about gratitude: "To whom ought we to exhibit gratitude?"
The answer is beautiful in its simplicity. "To our parents continually," the sage replies, "for God has given us a most important commandment with regard to the honour due to parents." The Letter of Aristeas here points to the bedrock of Jewish ethics: honoring our parents, recognizing the sacrifices they've made, and the foundational role they play in our lives.
But it doesn't stop there. "In the next place," he continues, "He reckons the attitude of friend towards friend for He speaks of 'a friend which is as thine own soul'." The letter emphasizes the profound bond of friendship, elevating it to a level of spiritual significance. A true friend, the kind who's "as thine own soul," is a treasure to be cherished and appreciated. And the text commends the king, saying "You do well in trying to bring all men into friendship with yourself."
So, what can we take away from these ancient exchanges? Perhaps it's a reminder to look beyond our immediate circles of comfort and consider the transformative power of generosity, even towards those who oppose us. Perhaps it's a call to cultivate gratitude, not just for our parents, but for the deep and meaningful friendships that enrich our lives. And perhaps, most importantly, it's an acknowledgement that true change, in ourselves and in others, often requires a little help from above.