That’s the scene set in the Letter of Aristeas, a fascinating historical text.
The king, overflowing with generosity, had just finished toasting his guests. But his generosity wasn't limited to food and drink. He was also hungry for knowledge. The next day, the feasting continued, and the king, seizing his chance, began to pose questions to the sages seated beside him.
He turned to the first wise man and asked, "Is wisdom capable of being taught?" A deceptively simple question, isn't it?
The man's response was profound. "The soul," he said, "is so constituted that it is able by the divine power to receive all the good and reject the contrary." In other words, we have the inherent capacity for wisdom, a gift from the Divine, allowing us to embrace the positive and turn away from the negative. It’s not just about being taught facts, but about an openness of the soul.
The king, pleased with the answer, then turned to the next sage. "What is it that is most beneficial to health?"
The sage replied, "Temperance, and it is not possible to acquire this unless God create a disposition towards it." Now, temperance, or tzeniut (צניעות) as it's known in Hebrew, speaks to moderation, balance, self-control. It's not just about avoiding overindulgence, but about living a life of measured intention. But here’s the kicker: the sage suggests that we can't even achieve this balance without divine assistance. It's as if he's saying that true well-being isn't just about our own efforts, but a partnership with something greater than ourselves.
What I find so striking about this exchange is its timelessness. These questions – can wisdom be taught? What is the key to health? – are ones we still grapple with today. And the answers, rooted in the belief that both wisdom and well-being are intertwined with the Divine, offer a perspective that’s both ancient and eternally relevant.