kids say the darndest things

The best question: why are things the way they are, and not some other way?

Why are things? Why would they not be? Are things that are not? Where are we to begin there, the boat of reason so thoroughly swamped that even the words confuse us?

For those just tuning in I am a religious school teacher. For a moment we'll set aside all of the baggage and qualms that come with being an atheist well-paid by a religious organization to inflict dogma on minors, in favor of relating an anecdote.

Student "J," a nice enough kid but perhaps one of the dumbest in the class is sitting blankly this Wednesday night. Nothing new; he is 12 and dumb, and staring at walls or tables is symptomatic of these two big problems. But tonight there's something else in his eyes. We're in the middle of an activity, so watchful if somewhat frigid Mr. Socol descends, in that casual but purposed hawk-swoop that he has somehow channeled from his middle school teachers of yore, in order to encourage participation.

"J, what's going on, man? Having trouble thinking of ideas?" [We have asked them to assign a name to their own Jewish state.]

J: Looking up slowly and with conviction "Mr. Socol, why do we go to school or even do work if everyone dies in the end anyway? Does anyone know what it all means?"

Mr. Socol: Reeling "..."

Why are things the way they are, and not some other way?

Friday night is a lecture on literature. Mr. Socol, having resumed the alter-ego Max, attends with most of the rest of the school. The tutor, stiff but not humorless, says all significant literature concerns death or aspects of death and ending. Just like significant philosophy. Max leaves with his brow furrowed, wanting to make connections but at the time unable. Too many puns, maybe.

Then Saturday morning, crossing the 150 feet from the door of his building to the dining hall, it strikes him suddenly, or part of it strikes him, some bit of debris from the clouded information explosion of Friday's lecture. What makes the question of death significant? Isn't the significant question "why are things the way they are, and not some other way?"

But we can break that one down into many smaller questions. Why do we see in color? Why do insects have so many eyes? Why am I 5'11 and not 6'? (No but seriously on that one, why.) Why do things end and die? Why do we die?

Those last two, those are whence "Why are things...?" derives its power. To ask one
question is almost the equivalent of asking the other. Supposition A.

So then returning to J's question: why do we do what we do, if we do not know the purpose? Why are we the way we are, and not some other way? It's difficult or maybe impossible to inquire seriously into that dangerous subject, for if we do and find our answer lacking we are capable of doing things we might later regret deeply. Why does J go to school? Why does he get out of bed? Why does he get in bed? Will he ever know?

And if that is the equivalent of "why do we die?",[supp B] will he ever know that? Do we die because we can't think of a good reason why we ought not to? [conclusion]

The obsessive ramblings cannot linger past 3 AM without losing the last of their
cohesiveness. But, to finish that short dialogue:

Mr. Socol: continuing to be at a loss "..."
Student B: sensing weakness in an authority figure "Well? How come?"
Mr. Socol: rallying, authoritatively "Oh, you find out the meaning of life when you graduate college. They print it on your diploma. In Latin."

Victory