But what says Zeus?
“Epictetus, if it were possible I would have made your body and your possessions (those trifles that you prize) free and untrammelled. But as things are—never forget this—this body is not yours, it is but a clever mixture of clay. But since I could not make it free, I gave you a portion in our divinity, this faculty of impulse to act and not to act, of will to get and will to avoid,in a word the faculty which can turn impressions to right use. If you pay heed to this, and put your affairs in its keeping, you will never suffer let nor hindrance, you will not groan, you will blame no man, you will flatter none. What then? Does all this seem but little to you?”
Heaven forbid!
“Are you content then?”
So surely as I hope for the gods’ favor.
I always enjoy Epictetus’ no-nonsense style, the way he can cut right down to the bone. Very few writers can manage to pull off a conversation with a god.
Could Providence have made it so that a man might enjoy a power over all of his circumstances? Providence can produce anything possible, but it cannot produce anything impossible, any more than a circle can be square, or love can be effortless.
To be human is not just to be a mind, but to be a mind informing a body, and the weakness of the flesh, its tendency to run its own way, is a necessary part of that humanity.
Divine Wisdom chose, in its own perplexing and astounding way, to produce all sorts of creatures, all grades of being, and thereby, I suspect, to add greater diversity and beauty to Nature. It fell upon me to be made as a man, and not as a rock, or a tree, or a horse.
Having been made in such a way, a tiny spark of divinity crammed into a bit of dirt, I might protest that it is not nearly enough. God sighs, and he smiles. I have been given everything that is me, and yet I still want more.
During a fiery teenage temper tantrum, I once told my father that he was stifling me, that he was not giving me what I deserved. The brief moment of stony silence that followed told me what would soon be coming my way, if I still chose to insist upon my vanity.
For the only time in my life, without a hint of bitterness or sarcasm, I immediately said, “Sorry, sir.” No more was ever said of it, as is right and proper.
God gave me life, and he gave me a mind, and he gave me a will, and he also offered me very clear instructions on how to make use of life, of mind, of will. And yet I blame Him whenever I abuse my gifts, which are quite sufficient for my happiness, and instead I demand completely different entitlements, ones quite unsuited to my nature.
“Epictetus, if it were possible I would have made your body and your possessions (those trifles that you prize) free and untrammelled. But as things are—never forget this—this body is not yours, it is but a clever mixture of clay. But since I could not make it free, I gave you a portion in our divinity, this faculty of impulse to act and not to act, of will to get and will to avoid,in a word the faculty which can turn impressions to right use. If you pay heed to this, and put your affairs in its keeping, you will never suffer let nor hindrance, you will not groan, you will blame no man, you will flatter none. What then? Does all this seem but little to you?”
Heaven forbid!
“Are you content then?”
So surely as I hope for the gods’ favor.
I always enjoy Epictetus’ no-nonsense style, the way he can cut right down to the bone. Very few writers can manage to pull off a conversation with a god.
Could Providence have made it so that a man might enjoy a power over all of his circumstances? Providence can produce anything possible, but it cannot produce anything impossible, any more than a circle can be square, or love can be effortless.
To be human is not just to be a mind, but to be a mind informing a body, and the weakness of the flesh, its tendency to run its own way, is a necessary part of that humanity.
Divine Wisdom chose, in its own perplexing and astounding way, to produce all sorts of creatures, all grades of being, and thereby, I suspect, to add greater diversity and beauty to Nature. It fell upon me to be made as a man, and not as a rock, or a tree, or a horse.
Having been made in such a way, a tiny spark of divinity crammed into a bit of dirt, I might protest that it is not nearly enough. God sighs, and he smiles. I have been given everything that is me, and yet I still want more.
During a fiery teenage temper tantrum, I once told my father that he was stifling me, that he was not giving me what I deserved. The brief moment of stony silence that followed told me what would soon be coming my way, if I still chose to insist upon my vanity.
For the only time in my life, without a hint of bitterness or sarcasm, I immediately said, “Sorry, sir.” No more was ever said of it, as is right and proper.
God gave me life, and he gave me a mind, and he gave me a will, and he also offered me very clear instructions on how to make use of life, of mind, of will. And yet I blame Him whenever I abuse my gifts, which are quite sufficient for my happiness, and instead I demand completely different entitlements, ones quite unsuited to my nature.
Written in 8/2000
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