But that’s exactly the kind of tale that swirls around the translation of the Hebrew Bible into Greek, a story preserved for us in the Letter of Aristeas.
The Letter of Aristeas, if you haven't encountered it before, purports to be a letter written by Aristeas, an official in the court of Ptolemy II Philadelphus (that's a mouthful, isn't it?), telling his brother about the miraculous events surrounding the creation of the Septuagint – the Greek translation of the Torah.
And within this letter, we hear a fascinating anecdote. Theodektes, a tragic poet, was apparently planning to adapt some stories from the Hebrew scriptures for one of his plays. But, according to Aristeas, disaster struck! Theodektes was afflicted with cataracts in both eyes. Imagine that – suddenly plunged into darkness.
Theodektes, being a shrewd fellow, apparently realized the misfortune wasn't random. He understood, or at least suspected, that his ailment was a direct result of his intentions to, perhaps, meddle with sacred material. So what did he do? He prayed. For many days, he beseeched God for forgiveness and healing. And, remarkably, Aristeas tells us, he was restored! His sight returned.
Now, you might be thinking, "Okay, that's a nice story, but what does it mean?" Well, it speaks volumes about the reverence – the almost palpable sense of awe – that surrounded the scriptures, even then. The story hints at a belief that these texts weren't just stories, but possessed a kind of divine power, a power that demanded respect.
And it doesn't end there. The Letter of Aristeas continues, telling us that after King Ptolemy heard Demetrius's explanation regarding the scriptures (presumably about their sacred nature and importance), the king, too, showed homage. He ordered that the books be treated with the utmost care and guarded sacredly. It's a beautiful image: a powerful ruler recognizing something greater than himself, something worthy of reverence.
It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What stories do we hold sacred today? What texts, what ideas, carry that same weight of responsibility and awe? And how do we treat them? Do we approach them with the same reverence, the same awareness of their potential power, as King Ptolemy and Theodektes in the ancient world? It's something to consider.