Goddess Fortuna

It's understandable why the thinkers of the Italian Renaissance, standing as they were between the world of classical antiquity and the new world they saw being born (or reborn), spent a lot of time examining the conundrum of providence, especially as related to the "pagan" Fate or Fortune.

Life sometimes seems like a joke at your expense. We've all experienced it: at the very moment when you think the course is set and the weather benevolent, all expectations of the joyous return home appear to be met . . . and it is then that the letter arrives, the eye strikes you down, the precincts of the body revolt. Fortuna is a comfortless goddess, but at least you know what to expect from her hands, as Boethius and Machiavelli teach: she doesn't care about you, has her own agenda, turns the wheel. But Providence, ah, that's a tougher nut: God's benevolence, even for those of us who believe in it, can prove just as inscrutable and comfortless as Fortuna. Sometimes more so, given that we expect goodness from God's hand.

Every semester, I teach the opening of Milton's Paradise Lost, emphasizing the fact that he's got a very serious task: asserting Providence, and justifying the ways of God, given the weak and trembling world we live in, is too daunting for lesser minds, like mine. The older I get, the more I see, the more I read and hear and learn, the more daunting it seems. And I recognize that I'm still young, which makes me tremble even more. Is it any wonder when people throw up their hands and instead look to the fickle goddess and her wheel?