If you're healthy, if you don't get sick much, if you don't go to

In the voice of both cynic and sage, Rush Limbaugh once declared: “If you're healthy, if you don't get sick much, if you don't go to the doctor much or use your health insurance much, you are a genetic lottery winner. It has nothing to do with the way you live, nothing to do with doing the right things. It's just sheer luck, and you are gonna pay for that.” In these words lies a truth as ancient as it is unsettling — that fate often plays a larger hand in our lives than discipline, that fortune does not always honor merit, and that health, that most precious of human blessings, is a gift bestowed unevenly by the unseen forces of birth and blood.

To the modern ear, this statement may sound harsh, even unjust. Yet its roots are deep in the soil of human history, echoing the fatalism of the ancients who once gazed upon the heavens and saw in the stars the outlines of their destiny. The Greeks called it Moira, the portion assigned by the Fates. The Romans named it Fortuna, the goddess who spun her wheel without mercy or favor. In every age, men have struggled with this truth: that some are born strong and others frail, some resilient and others burdened with weakness — and that no amount of virtue, wealth, or labor can fully rewrite what nature has inscribed in the bones.

But Limbaugh’s words also hold a mirror to the modern age, where health has become both a private triumph and a public cost. The “genetic lottery winner” — the one who rarely falls ill, who lives long without ailment — benefits not from moral superiority but from chance. This truth humbles the proud and challenges the comfortable. For those blessed by health often forget that others suffer not from neglect or vice, but from destiny’s darker hand. To call health a matter of luck, then, is to call for compassion — for humility in the fortunate and mercy toward the afflicted.

History offers us countless examples. Think of Franklin D. Roosevelt, whose body was struck down by polio, yet whose spirit rose to lead a nation through depression and war. His strength was not of the flesh, but of the will. By contrast, how many men of perfect health have lived small lives, untouched by compassion, their vigor squandered on vanity? The ancients would have seen in this the balance of the universe — that the gods grant health without wisdom to some, and weakness with greatness to others, that the scales of fate may remain ever in motion.

Limbaugh’s reflection also warns us against the illusion of control that pervades our age. We count calories, measure steps, and chase perfection as if life were a formula. But the body, though shaped by care, is still subject to mystery. The healthiest may fall ill overnight; the frail may live to a hundred. Thus, the wise man does not boast of his strength, nor despair in his weakness. He lives with gratitude and prepares for uncertainty, knowing that both health and sickness are temporary guests in the house of life.

There is also an ethical weight in Limbaugh’s final words — “you are gonna pay for that.” He speaks of the social order, where those who thrive must support those who suffer. It is a truth both moral and practical: the fortunate owe a debt to fortune. Just as the strong protect the weak in the laws of nature, so too must the healthy bear responsibility within the community of men. To deny this is to forget that all blessings are shared gifts, sustained by the unseen labor of others.

The lesson, then, is twofold. First, let the healthy be humble, for their well-being is not a testament of righteousness, but of grace. Second, let the strong act with compassion, for one day their strength may falter and they will rely on the mercy they once gave. The ancients taught that the noblest life is one lived in awareness of impermanence — to cherish the moment, to give while one can, to see in every breath a gift and a duty.

So, dear reader, live wisely. Care for your body, but never worship it. Be grateful for your health, but never proud of it. And if you are indeed one of the “genetic lottery winners,” do not spend your fortune on indifference. Use it to ease the suffering of others, to lift the fallen, and to remind the world that though fate may deal the cards, character decides how we play them. For luck may favor some, but virtue belongs to all who choose to live with gratitude, humility, and compassion.