When someone asked Epictetus how one may eat so as to please the gods, he said, if you can eat justly, and with good feeling and, it may be, with self-control and modesty, may you not also eat so as to please the gods?
And when you call for hot water and the slave does not answer, or answers and brings it lukewarm, or is not to be found in the house, is it not pleasing to the gods that you should not be angry nor break into a passion?
Raised in a traditional Roman Catholic family, I am quite familiar with elaborate rituals, many of which can be rather confusing to outsiders. Though I can understand why it may seem silly to some, or even dangerously superstitious to others, I have come to appreciate how shared words and gestures, steeped in tradition, can become so meaningful for people, taking on a sacred and transcendent quality.
At the same time, however, an alarm goes off in my head when I come across those who love formalities, just for their own sake. They are enamored by the appearances instead of the content, putting the sign ahead of the signified, and they get caught up in the style while neglecting the substance. It isn’t merely shallow, but also destructive, as it measures people by how they look, not by who they are.
A few years ago, I was invited to a dinner party at a professor’s house, and I was seated next to a rather somber theology student, whose face seemed to grow longer and longer as the night went on. I made several nervous attempts at conversation, but I was always met with some dismissive comment. As we were leaving, I mentioned to him that I had enjoyed the evening, and I hoped we would have more like it during the year.
He glared at me, and hissed slowly, “Good God, no! Did you see the terrible dinnerware he was using? Half the guests weren’t even dressed properly. And most of all, I refuse to eat in a home where the host doesn’t open the meal with a reverent prayer. There’s a special place in Hell for people like that.”
Here I was, relieved at how the other folks had simply been kind and decent to one another, unlike so many other academic events, while he was furious about matters of etiquette. As I was walking home, I pondered where true piety could be found, in the heart and mind or in the niceties of ceremony and speech.
If you had asked the young gentleman how to please the gods at a meal, he would first have scolded you about there being only one God, the particular tribal version he happens to favor, and that those heathens who worship any others are surely damned. He would have continued about the proper use of forks, the wearing of black or white tie, and the phrasing of Church Latin.
And as important as the impressions on the outside can be, they are meaningless without the workings on the inside. What use is there in elocution, if the words come from a place of hatred? What benefit can be found in mouthing a pretty prayer with folded hands, when I am obsessed with my own vanity?
Do I eat with sterling silver or a wooden spoon? What difference does it make if I am not first eating with a love for my companions, a friendly and cheerful attitude, and a sense of temperance about consuming my food and drink?
No comments:
Post a Comment