Malcolm X Statue2

Since at every moment the odds in favor of the continuity of life on earth are so minute, a sweeping generalization is justified. The truth is that all odds are against us, against life.  The fact that you are conscious at this moment, in some place right now, does not in the least negate that proposition.  Chance rolls that way because that is the nature of chance.


It is the nature of chance to prevent life and to kill whatever life which by chance has come to exists. For, chance produces nothing.  And what we call change is no more than the desolation of all things into nothingness. So, to engender life and then to trust the hands of chance to be the cradle for life is to give to life no chance at all.  The hand of chance rocks us all on the edge of a steep precipice.


Like gulls nested upon a rocky cliff we are nested in life not by our own will but by a fortuitous mix of circumstances. We, a singular form of life on earth are like loose strands of thread dangling on the fabric of nature.  As loose strands of thread are to a piece of cloth, life is an oddity among oddities wherever it is found.  There, at the very extreme edge of that great chain of being, human life is forever pregnant with tragedy.


Tragically, moment by moment, we cling tenaciously to what we think ‘is certainty’ only in the end to find hopelessness.  All the while in our hopeless state we are conscious of the overwhelming pain caused by anxiety which streams unendingly through our bodies. No respite do we have from it when we are bound to consciousness, and no respite do we have even while liberated in that free space we call sleep.


Our anxiety is amplified when we find that neither consciously nor in sleep can we know where we are nor can we know the time wherein we live. For example, our rulers appear straight but are crooked and are applied on curved surfaces. The compass needle shows to us direction but the truth is that it is bound by the power of magnetism outside of which the needle would lie motionless and thus rendering the compass useless to us.


Our predicament only underscores how very lost we are, for we cannot even say that we are going in circles.  To quell our agitation we commit ourselves to myths and conjectural interpretations as though there is something in them to intellectually grasp. But all we find are empty spaces and we are left with empty minds. That is the enigma.


Chance has no inherent purpose yet we continue to explain its meaning and attempt to articulate it. We have spoken across the ages in many languages about the enigma of chance; and we have written on miles of parchment uncountable sentences only to grow the enigma of chance. From the first page to the very last, we have covered on those same parchments oceans of ink with our musing, as would a painter on a canvas, of countless inferences about the perplexities of this enigma.


Yet, on every page what is reflected back onto our faces are nothing more than the deep dark shadows of worthless ink stains. Within their deeply furrowed groves we find nothing germinating which could yield to us something about our chances.  So then what good does this agitation do for the mind?


We do so love to reason on the enigma of chance and we never tire of doing so but always we are led to one conclusion. Every person is singularly the most unlikely being to have ever existed on earth. And all the spermatozoa which did not unite with egg and to fruition roll in sum are singularly the most likely outcome of an ejaculatory shot into the darkness of a womb.


Yet, from such wombs we are pulled out one after the other.  We are birthed into the world in the role of the most unlikely form of life to have ever come to be on earth ‘by chance’. We compete one against the other for a place in the sun.  And compete we do though the back-drop to our lives provides no answer to the question: whence came I?


We have no answer to that question because chance, like an accident, inheres in itself no destiny or fate toward which it rolls. It is not even directed by the force of gravity.  It has no inherent nature to fulfill at all and so why would we have a purpose? We having been only a shot in the dark of our mother’s womb are born into the constancy of ignorance.  And so we find only futility in our search outside the endless chain of material effects for a reason for our being here because there is an utter absence of any meaning for accidents.  But perhaps in moments of clarity we grasp the idea of hope and wonder about it.


Is it conceivable that chance may roll its own demise? Can it roll its own conversion?  And if that be true then there may be that least likely accident; there may be a manifestation of an infinitesimally improbable and inherent contradiction in chance itself.  


Thus, life, human life, though an accident may bow up against chance as its only possible contradiction. Might we peak the thought that human life is the probability that chance will cease to govern the natural order arbitrarily and that instead there will be some reason which may forever contest with chance for supremacy over the universe? Is it the possibility of the impossible?


The inconceivable contradiction of chance that it would manifest its opposite by accident; that chance would by accident face in the infinitesimally improbable mirror of a human mind its own desolation by the light of reason was inevitable.


That inevitable accident that chance would cancel out itself may not answer the question ‘whence came I?’ but it will answer the question ‘whither go I?’  


If chance and the human mind are mutually exclusive powers then the act of reasoning amid the desolation of all things into nothingness must be the medium by which we are drawn into what is rational. And if what is rational is in opposition to the hot hand of nature which is the instrument of chance it follows necessarily that what is rational is to some degree supernatural. We are thus forced to conclude that the supernatural exists and that it exists for us.


And so our minds now clothed in and shielded by the reflected images of the natural world will deliver what is essential in us into that which is supernatural and into participation within the Divine Mind which governs it.