O had his powerful destiny ordained me some inferior angel, I had stood then happy; no unbounded hope had raised ambition. (Paradise Lost, 4.58-61)
Throughout my own life, I have fought what I consider delusions of grandeur. I don't know how Milton's sense of destiny impacted his daily life, but more often than not, daydreaming about my own foreordination has lead to foolish presumption, a sense of entitlement, and a lack of discipline. Here's why: destiny is often a euphemism for fate: it assumes outcomes may be inevitable; it assumes greatness or ignominy can overtake us no matter how quickly or earnestly we may (or may not) seek it. This concept is played out in countless narratives, from Oedipus Rex to Kung Fu Panda.
Granted, there is much we cannot control beyond our own thoughts and attitudes. We are "things to act," but that doesn't ensure we will never be acted upon by God, man, or circumstance. And we often defend illusions of control to our own detriment. But according to our latter-day faith, fulfillment of a prophecy requires conscious, active, and even strenuous work. If we are, in fact, drenched in destiny, we must be meekly so. Anyway...
Another outcome of this sense of destiny may be the impulse to sweep failures and foibles under the rug.
