Parable of the pebble

Listen:

In my view, the biosphere is unpredictable for the very same reason--nothing more nor less--that the particular configuration of atoms constituting this pebble I have in my hand is unpredictable. No one will fault a universal theory for not affirming and foreseeing the existence of this particular configuration of atoms; its enough for us that this actual object, unique and real, be compatible with the theory. This object, according to theory, is under no obligation to exist; but it has the right to.

That is enough for us as concerns the pebble, but not as concerns ourselves. We would like to think ourselves necessary, inevitable, ordained from all eternity. All religions, nearly all philosophies, and even a part of science testify to the unwearying, heroic effort of mankind desperately denying its own contingency. (p44)

Chance & Necessity

Jacques Monod

Sacred artifacts: mask, belt

A story in the NY Times or some such hit me bad (this was some years ago). It was all about the Maori people, how they viewed the world and all, and the author described the masks they hang on their homes and elsewhere as sacred. He explained that they were believed to carry the spirits of their ancestors. He sounded very respectful, yet I called him an ass. "You ass, as if you have any idea what that means."

It was quaint that they had these beliefs, but really, we know that spirits don't 'live' in things. I thought about me, how do I participate in this kind of thing? Do I? Am I so advanced?

My dad died when I was about twenty. His brain went dead after half a year of living in a

mangled and paralyzed body, the result of a car wreck, his own fault. My mom had the plug pulled after talking with us children. On a vacation home from college, I helped my mother sort out his clothes from the closet. What to do with it all? She kept asking me to try on pants to see... No. No, they don't. How about this belt? White, vinyl, two or three inches wide. Ma...! But, what complaint did I have? Style? It was in good shape. Shouldn't I just take it. Otherwise, I would just throw it down in the pile of things. My choice. Throw away my dad's belt.

I felt the force of the images of my dad, happy or drunk. I felt how complex he was, how... That belt brought a force into my mind, sent me on a trip, stayed my hand, changed my behavior. What? I thought, if I were to place this belt into a pile of others, similar, I couldn't pick it out, just from its physical qualities, yet right there, it had a profound power over me. My dad's spirit?

Sure, this is just the way memory works, mementoes and all. We can work to rationally kill such feelings as they pop up. Move on.

Perhaps, though, these are the better parts of us.