Masters of Our Universe

In a prior life, I was assigned to a project where I wished I could call upon some sort of prophetic voice or skill of divination to help accomplish it.

I had to identify potential customers in my field while they were still young and in training—5 to 10 years before they made an impact on their world. I was then to engage them in innovative ways so that, when they did make it big, we had left a mark. They would know who had been with them all along and who had helped them in their endeavours.

If we were successful, we would have "imprinted" them—a concept based on Nobel laureate Konrad Lorenz’s research with goslings. As a result, we could gain in multiple ways from their loyalty. That was when I wished I had the same powers as those attributed to Theogenes, an astrologer mentioned by Suetonius, the second-century biographer of the Twelve Caesars. He narrates an incident that took place just after Julius Caesar’s assassination in 44 BC.

Knowing that his grand-uncle had been assassinated, 19-year-old Gaius Octavius Thurinus and his friend Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa—both of whom were at Apollonia, a Greek colony in Illyria (modern-day Albania, I believe)—decided to consult Theogenes. Agrippa asked about his fortune, and Theogenes predicted great things for him: he would become second-in-command to the master of the universe, conquer on his behalf, and even marry his daughter.

Not expecting his own fortune to be that grand, Gaius motioned to Agrippa that they should leave before hearing something disappointing. But Theogenes stopped them, fell to his knees, bowed before Gaius, and said, “Behold the master of the universe.” Gaius went on to become Caesar Augustus. Not long afterward, as classicist J. Rufus Fears explains, he was so confident of his greatness that he published his horoscope and struck a silver coin bearing the image of Capricorn—the sign under which he was born.

Lacking such powers of divination (which I believe have little more than anecdotal value), I had to settle for more mundane tools like research to identify the likely future “masters of my universe.”

So, who are the masters of our universe? Who—or what—gives us our raison d’être? Could it be something as seemingly harmless as music or a musician? The movies or an actress? Sports stars, perhaps?

As a teenager, I had posters of my heroes on my bedroom wall. If any were scantily clad members of the distaff side, they would be promptly placed on the back of my room door, which faced the wall when opened—so anytime my mom entered, they would naturally disappear. Others were placed high up on the wall so it would take more than a little effort for her to do something about them.

But sooner or later, with nothing more than a long broom, she could do the necessary damage.

Our heroes, in many ways, give us our identity. The eminent sociologist Robert Merton developed the terms role model, reference group, unintended consequences, and self-fulfilling prophecy, among others, to describe such dynamics. We understand the term role model, but in talking about reference groups, he says they are groups to which a person relates or aspires to relate psychologically. “It becomes the individual’s frame of reference and source for ordering his or her experiences, perceptions, cognition, and ideas of self.”

We are often impacted by things we cannot anticipate or control. I wonder how much more powerful are the subtle—but definite—effects our role models and reference groups have on our lives, and therefore, on our children’s lives.

Still, the takeaway is not to throw up our hands in resignation. Rather, it is to try to understand these influences and then order our lives around those ideas—and more importantly, those people—that matter in the long run.

Most of us, I presume, indulge in some form of entertainment—be it music, movies, sports, or something else. Many of us are fascinated by the legends of the genres we engage with. I’m reminded of one Indian actor who transitioned to politics and found success largely because his cinematic aura carried into his electoral campaigns. I remember reading with shock that among the poor, mats bearing his image were rented out to women so they could “lie with him.” Another actress appeared topless on a magazine cover, and the result was a temple built in her honor by adoring fans—er, devotees.

It’s hard to believe that Richard Wagner could have had the influence he did on the German people—so much so that his music and musings fueled anti-Semitism. How did Ludwig II, the King of Bavaria, end up building Wagner a temple—the Festspielhaus in Bayreuth? And how is it that Nietzsche, arguably one of the two most influential 19th-century philosophers (the other being Marx), became so intoxicated by Wagner that he literally got “sick” of him, as he wrote in The Case of Wagner?

As historian Jonathan Steinberg explains, together they became godparents of a movement that so deeply influenced Hitler that on Mussolini’s 60th birthday (July 29, 1943), Hitler gifted him a leather-bound copy of Nietzsche’s complete works.

Think with me on this: how legitimate would a prescient parent’s warning be to their children, asking them to reconsider their choice of heroes—well before the consequences played out?

Would such an admonition hold any water? How should a person order their life in a culture that idolizes celebrities?

I try to live by a rule: “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity.” Charity here being the old English word for grace, derived from the Latin caritas. The phrase comes from the early 17th-century German Lutheran theologian Rupertus Meldenius, spoken during the Thirty Years’ War—a time when religious tensions were especially high in Europe. If only we would identify our essential values and apply this principle as consistently as we could.

In raising our families, I believe we must identify the core values essential to life and build our lives—and our family’s values—around them. These cannot be compromised; they are non-negotiables. We must put our stake in the ground.

These values must revolve around life’s great questions: “Is there a God?” “If so, can I know Him?” “If not, how should I order my life? Can I be my own master?” “Are there absolutes? If so, how come? If not, why shouldn’t I be the master of my own universe?”

In all other areas—like our choice of music—there should be liberty. As St. Augustine put it, “Love God and do as you please.” But the key is to determine who our God is.

I believe that if Jesus is truly our first love, then all other loves—music, movies, and so on—will likely fall into their rightful places. Didn’t C.S. Lewis say something to the effect of, “Put first things first and everything will be in order. Put first things second, and nothing will be in order”?

Sadly, we may be the last to know when our priorities are not right. Such is the deceitfulness of our hearts.

And I shudder at the thought. I shudder at the thought that my children are looking to me—with all their doubts—to help clarify these values and guide them on a wide range of matters. In doing so, they see me and my ways more clearly than ever before.

Psychologist James Dobson once said that with children, “more is caught than taught.” That puts the fear of God in me. I have nurtured certain appetites from a very early age, and the older I get, the more naturally I act on them—often unconsciously—while those around me can see them all too clearly.

That’s why we must be careful about what our children learn and on whom they imprint as they grow.

They will naturally imbibe from us. While I’m called to reflect the truth wisely and graciously to them, I also realize I need to be vulnerable—letting them see that I am as weak as the next man (and in my case, maybe weaker). I am but a pretender who will mislead them if my first love is not Jesus.

I need to wear the robe of Theogenes and, together with my children, bow down and say to—and with—them, about Jesus: “Behold, the true Master of the Universe.”