Once again I experienced an amusing fushigi while readingThe fushigi begins with my reading:
... Where I can be hindered and compelled the obtaining of those things is not in my power. Nor is it good or bad, but the use is either bad or good, and the use is in my power. But it is difficult to mingle and to bring together these two things, the carefulness of him who is affected by the matter and the firmness of him who has no regard for it. But it is not impossible, and if it were, happiness is impossible. But we can act as we do in the case of a voyage. What do I do to prepare for it? I choose the master of the ship, the sailors, the day, the opportunity. [It was at this point that for no logical reason, into my mind's eye came the scene in the movie '28 Days' where Sandra Bullock's character Gwen is being taught by the professional baseball pitcher on how to throw a baseball. The lesson Viggo Mortensen's character, Eddie, is giving is to control what is in your hand — how the ball is held, the timing of the release, etc., and to let go whether or not it is a strike because 'that is someone else's business.' Even as I was thinking this, I thought, how funny! The lesson's of Epictetus can be found in feel good American movies! Epictetus continues...] Then comes a storm, regardless my careful preparations. What more have I to care for, for my part is done. The business belongs to another — the master. But the ship is sinking — what then have I to do? I do the only things that I can, which is not to be drowned full of fear, nor screaming, nor blaming God, but knowing that what has been produced must also perish: for I am not an immortal being, but a man, a part of the whole, as an hour is a part of the day. I am present like the hour, and past like the hour. What difference, then, does it make to me how I pass away, whether by being suffocated or by a fever, for I shall pass through some such means (Discourses 2.5 slightly edited).
So, then here comes one of those quiet fushigi that are simply too small and peculiar to take seriously, but so strange and peculiar that they seem worthy of taking some notice, if for no other reason than stopping to see them is like stopping to smell the roses, or pausing to enjoy a sun set or a moon rise.
After being bemused by the curious parallel between a Sandra Bullock movie in which she is being taught to throw a ball and the stoic philosophy of Epictetus, I then read the next paragraph:
This is just what you will see those doing who play at ball skillfully. No one cares about the ball being good or bad, but about throwing and catching it. In this therefore is the skill, this the art, the quickness, the judgement, so that if I spread out my lap I may not be able to catch it, and another, if I throw, may catch the ball. But if with perturbation and fear we receive or throw the ball, what kind of play is it then, and wherein shall a man be steady, and how shall a man see the order in the game? (Discourses 2.5. my emphasis.)
Sorry, but I found that very amusing.
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