An Epiphany about Epiphanies

Just the other day, I had an epiphany about epiphanies. It may be useful to someone, so let me try to describe it as well as I can.

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The Meanings of Epiphany

First, let’s lay the table by quickly setting out what “epiphany” is generally used to refer to. The word comes from an ancient Greek word meaning something like “manifestation”, and today, it has, broadly speaking, two possible meanings.

1. For Christians, Epiphany refers to a specific event: the day on which Jesus Christ manifested himself to the world as the Son of God. Depending on local variation, this can mean the day the Three Wise Men visited the infant Christ in Bethlehem, or it can mean the day when Jesus was baptized in the River Jordan. Either way, it was the day when God manifested his presence in the world (epiphany, remember, comes from the word for manifestation).
2. Over the years, as with so many religious concepts, the idea of epiphany has been adapted and altered to fit into a secular context. In this context, an epiphany is “a moment of sudden profound realization, insight, or understanding.” It’s the moment when we suddenly see something, when we have a striking new thought or perspective or insight. On this meaning, an epiphany does not have to be about God at all. For example, Archimedes had one when his bathtub overflowed, as did Newton when the apple fell on the ground

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Epiphanies Without Effects

I have always thought rather longingly about epiphanies, whether via God or overflowing bathtubs. I have wanted that moment - what the Zen Buddhists call satori, perhaps - when suddenly something profound is revealed to me, when the usual masks of the world fall away and I am given the blessing of some great truth.

And, the funny thing is, that longing has been fulfilled. I have been given lots of epiphanies. I have had epiphanies while pushing my daughter up and down a gently rolling hill (in a pram, I’m a responsible parent). I have had them in therapy. I have had them while cooking lentils. I have had moments in which something sacred has revealed itself. I have had moments of deep understanding about myself and about other people, about the workings of the mind and the heart, about things I cannot name because to name them is to unavoidably misrepresent them.

And yet - here I am. The same as I ever was.

I am not wiser. I am not more loving. I am not kinder. I am not anything as a result of the epiphanies I have been given. I have had profound revelations that have left me profoundly unchanged.

And then I was given another one which explained why this was so.

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An Epiphany About Epiphanies

This is how I used to think about epiphanies: once you have them, the work is done. The epiphany is so striking, so powerful, that all you need to do is to have it, and everything changes.

Look, however, at the Christian meaning of Epiphany. It is the day when God manifests Herself in the world. Let’s for the moment take that at face value, as one might when reading a fable or a work of fiction (or take it literally, if that’s your preference; either way is fine). And let’s ask: when God manifests Herself into the world, when Her presence is suddenly real, suddenly in front of you, what is the adequate reaction?

I think the adequate reaction involves the idea of serving. Suddenly, you have encountered something worthy of serving, of honouring, of protecting and promoting and cherishing - and this is what you are required to do.

And now, for people who are uncomfortable with this talk of God, here’s a different way of putting it. Perhaps epiphanies are like babies - they change the world, but part of the way in which they change it is by demanding that they be nurtured and allowed to grow; by demanding that you love them.

This is how I now think of epiphanies. They are not the end of the story. They are the beginning. They don’t necessarily change you or change the world - but they are always invitations to transformation.

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This Is About More Than Epiphany

I have written before about Charles Taylor's idea of “fullness”:

“Somewhere, in some activity, or condition, lies a fullness, a richness; that is, in that place (activity or condition), life is fuller, richer, deeper, more worth while, more admirable, more what it should be. This is perhaps a place of power: we often experience this as deeply moving, as inspiring … There may just be moments when the deep divisions, distractions, worries, sadnesses that seem to drag us down are somehow dissolved, or brought into alignment, so that we feel united, moving forward, suddenly capable and full of energy. Our highest aspirations and our life energies are somehow lined up, reinforcing each other, instead of producing psychic gridlock.”

As Taylor says, we all know this place, this condition. What I am saying is that this knowledge imposes a demand on us. This condition is a glimpse of something we must serve.

Once again, let me bring the grandeur back down to earth. Forget life being fuller, richer, forget a place of power. Think of very simple, ordinary moments when perhaps you are just a little bit kinder than you normally are; when the colours of the sky are just a little bit more vivid than they normally are; when the birds sing and they seem to be speaking to you.

We will all have our own versions of such moments. I am saying: these moments aren’t just blessings. They are invitations - and demands.

What is the demand? I don’t know. But I think it is a good step to recognize that I need an answer, that there is a demand here that I must meet.