THE FOLLOWING IS A STUDY OF WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE TELEVISION IS NOT WORKING. BE WARNED. THIS COULD HAPPEN TO YOU.
(Written before election results know.)
There is a theory out there that says if you have a million monkeys typing randomly on a million typewriters they will eventually produce the entire works of William Shakespeare in Church Latin with footnotes. I suppose it is possible that this is true but probably impossible to prove because of the difficulties in finding a million typewriters these days and no computer’s shelf life lasting long enough to put this theory to the test.
This is the same theory that is used to say that human life came about. Without any Divine plan (some would say) and through absolutely random occurrences life began and developed into what has become millions upon millions of people typing on millions of computers randomly hoping to reproduce something as spectacular as William Shakespeare’s writings. Good luck.
This blows our minds – the Shakespeare part - that such incredible order would be wrought out of such randomness. But of course it is not randomness. Not entirely. There is already the substructure of letters and a limited number of ways which they can be put together because of the mechanics of the typewriter. For this theory to really take off, we would have to say (and in essence we do) that left to itself, primordial ooze will eventually reproduce the Bard’s complete opus.
You know, I could almost buy this theory for the creation of humans if we only had the power to see, or if we only had the power to hear. But we have the power to see, to hear, to smell, to feel, and to taste. But that is not all. These also work in concert and we have cognitive abilities to put them together and come to conclusions based on the information. “I see a threatening sky, I hear thunder, I feel rain, I better seek shelter.” Have you ever thought about this? How absurdly incredible this is? I can’t even get my computer to talk to my printer. The sheer magnitude of the genius of the human person astounds me. The mathematical probabilities verge on the unimaginable that it is all a random fluke. (Although I am assured that we are dealing with almost infinite time and infinite situations which makes it possible for primordial ooze to create Elizabethan literature. At this point an infinite God seems a more sane possibility.)
But if a fluke, it is also sad. Existence is a fluke. What greater good is there to appreciate it? Why recycle that water bottle? To save life for the next generation? Why? It really would not matter if the next generation existed or not. Who cares? They can't. As soon as my body temperature drops a few degrees and there is six feet of organic matter piled on top of a box holding a once fluke of life, I will not rest assured that I did good for future generations. I won’t care. As a matter of fact, I won’t be able even to not care. And there will be no cognitive force to think, “Gee, isn’t that too bad?” It is not good to exist and evil not to. There just is existing and not existing. But statistically, with enough time, primordial ooze will congeal back and “I” will exist again given enough sub atomic particles are given enough typewriters.
Extreme rationalism can explain this whole un-mess including our desire for our God. “We invented God in order to be able to handle life.” Actually any explanation for our desire for God is permissible except for the easiest: That there is God – and if nothing else, He guided the million atoms on their typewriters.
In the end I accept the wager that there is God that gives meaning, direction, hope, and joy to us in this life, especially this month in which we remember the Poor Souls. Beauty must have meaning outside of me or it isn’t beauty. It is a card shark’s game in which we will all lose and it won’t matter.