It was perfectly clear to the ancients. Anyone who reads the sagas they wrote down about their gods will also recognize it: Even the gods in all their greatness and supernatural power face an instance to which they must bow. This instance, which is above all, is fate. It is often three women who spin the thread of fate, take it up and then – in the end – tear it apart.
The god can stand by his favorite in battle with no matter how much tricky help, endow him with irrepressible strength or blind his opponent: if the god’s favorite is not victorious, then fate breaks his thread – and the god must accept it. After all, he himself is in danger of being punished by fate otherwise.
Thus, fate is above all creation. Man and god alike must bow to it. Thus the magician who forces the spirits and gods to be at his service will remain unsuccessful, thus the healer who asks the spirits and gods will pray in vain if fate does not continue to spin this thread.
Now man comes and places stone upon stone. He asks, „Did I not do this myself? Have I not done this of myself? From my will power? Look: I put another thousand times stone on stone! A wall it becomes! A house! Where are you, destiny, to hinder me? Why should I force spirits that are only subject to Thee? Why should I pray to gods, when I myself am much more powerful? What fear should I have of you, destiny? I am my own destiny and set stone upon stone without hindrance. And if somebody hinders me then nevertheless, then I cut him the thread myself! I am the destiny myself which then comes over him! I set stone on stone. Millions of times. And I see that nobody can hinder me. Not even you, destiny. Nor do I need your helpless gods who serve you. I have escaped from you.“
And so man follows his destiny and places stone upon stone. Millions and millions of times. He builds wall after wall and, with his fists on his hips, enjoys the sight of the stone symbols of his independent power. And he forgets about fate. And he forgets that every spinning, picking up and cutting of the thread is a cycle. He forgets that not only his life thread is determined by fate. All threads – all circles – below and above, every fraction of a second of his existence is determined by fate. Spun, picked up,… torn off. Every pulse beat, every breath, and everything below and everything beyond. Everything is emergence, being, destruction, …and then emergence again…spinning….
What are the millions and millions of stones that he places on top of each other? He does it without God. For this reason alone, it is only half. He does it without destiny. So it is only one third. What do these stones mean, when the fate works everything over and under them? Has man really escaped from his destiny? Is it so, as he does it – so cut off from the eternal truths – not really only sand and transient ashes? And is not he, who devotes his life entirely to this doing, in the end also only sand and ashes? Or is he deceiving himself with his independence and it is nothing but his destiny to walk this path full of loneliness in the midst of his walls?