A pause in the conversation led the old man to look up at the cloud formation and think about his future, which is death.
“I wonder if you learn everything,” he said. “How it all came to be; its meaning and purpose. It can’t be like that Big Bang crap. How could it all have gotten down into an infinitesimal speck, and how did it explode, instead of being sucked into itself like a black hole? And if there was nothing outside of it, how did it have a place to go?”
Death would be sweet if it meant getting all the answers. Without a body you couldn’t do much, but if you knew everything you’d feel pretty good about yourself. It would be like learning how the magician did the trick, only a trillion times better.
My intention was not to depress the old man, but I told him my theory of the moment.
“I doubt we get to know,” I said. “Our opinion of ourselves is exaggerated. Considering all that exists, I’d say we lack importance. I’m sensing we are the equivalent of a low-level employee who gets no time or attention from the boss.”
Top management, to whom the secrets might be disclosed, probably occupies another planet or dimension, is not prone to war and genocide and generally makes things easier for the CEO rather than more difficult.
While the Bible tells how Jesus came to save us, there also are passages like this one in Isaiah:
All the nations before him are as nothing; and they are counted to him less than nothing, and vanity.
In a wonderfully written New York Times column (The Man in the Moon) Lydia Netzer says:
When humanity was in its infancy, we thought the universe revolved around us. Then, with Copernicus, we aged into heliocentrism, became aware we were one of a family of planets inside the walls of our house, the solar system. Nearby stars gather like a town, rotating through the galaxy, our country. Clusters are like continents. We realized in stages that we were very insignificant. And then, almost like grown-ups, we pulled our boots on and began to try to leave a significant mark anyway.
Sitting in a car seat next to the old man, I couldn’t accept that in a few years he would know it all. It’s too grand a gift. In the military, personnel are told things on a “need to know” basis. As humans, do we really need to know?
Once we have performed on Earth, it’s likely we will be whisked away like a bad vaudeville act. There’s plenty more in the wings.
But all is not lost.
“In a way, we are immortal,” I said. “Since matter is neither created nor destroyed, every atom that is you remains as part of the creation. After you die, your atoms eventually scatter. They say we could easily have been part of someone like Socrates or Newton. Can you image that? On the other end, you may help create the next Newton. But you won’t be conscious of it.”
“If what you say is true, I’ll make the next Newton but never know an ounce of what he will know,” he said.
“Look, this is only what I’m thinking today,” I said. “Tomorrow, when the clouds are different and I read a different Bible passage and cut and paste from a different New York Times column, I’ll have another opinion for you.”
“So maybe I will get to know everything.”
“Maybe you will.”
And then he went off to play cards with some ladies who had outlived their husbands and only worry about getting from one place to another without it causing too much pain.
— Lanny Morgnanesi
Lanny, you wrote an excellent 300 word essay on the secrets of the Universe. Wow! It was very well written, thought provoking and a “laugh out loud” piece of writing. Thank you for letting me know about your blogs. It made this rainy Labor Day a lot more interesting!!
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Joan, you’re the best. What a boost to my ego! Thanks.
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