When you finally sit down to write that autobiography we’ve all been waiting to read, will you include those minor and major conflicts you resolved to ensure your life was peaceful? Will you convey lessons you learned that we might study to make our own lives peaceful?
The cosmological argument that the universe is fine-tuned for life and its famous Darwinian analog that life is fine-tuned for conflict make up one of the great paradoxes of the universe. The universe is good for life that is bad for itself. All the delicately balanced force strengths on the one hand are countered by all life-forms out of strength balance on the other hand. The harmony of material existence in general is broken by disharmony among species all vying for resources, for space, and, in the human realm, for prestige.
Even without the assumption of a fine-tuning Conscious Creator, we can make a reasonable guess that the universe is somehow fine-tuned for life because of balanced forces. We can also reasonably argue that the chances for extraterrestrial life are good, especially in a universe so vast that it holds an estimated two trillion galaxies. From what we have observed, we can say that fine-tuning of the fundamental forces isn’t limited to the Milky Way or to our Solar System.
We can also reasonably assume that if extraterrestrial life exists, it is as prone to conflict as it is on Earth. Conflict might be a universal condition of any realm of life; maybe conflict is a universal Law. It is an oxymoronic, maybe even an ironic, universal condition: All life might operate on lawless Law, or a Natural Law of Lawlessness that is a non-numeric constant. Of course, to say the possibility that life everywhere exists in a state of conflict, is to assign a numerical value to it; to say “chances are” about anything is to give it a statistical, and therefore, a numeric value. As you look back to write that future autobiography, can you assess the probability that you “had” to encounter some of those conflicts?
The paradoxical condition that couples an underlying fine-tuning of instruments of forces to an overlying cacophony played on those instruments by life might justify pessimism. Your story could detail how peaceful equilibrium is always temporary. Conflict, not peace, drives life in general, but maybe you are one of the lucky, someone who has lived the anomalous life of peace. For most people, peace requires the effort to alter the natural state of conflict. In every age people have striven for peace either because a peace into which they were born by chance was interrupted or a conflict into which they were born demanded peace for the sake of safety.
The back-and-forth between conflict and peace makes the Biblical accounts of Adam and Eve’s conflict with God and of Cain and Abel’s fraternal conflict the models for almost all stories, even yours. I’m not suggesting that you are responsible for plunging all humankind into a state of Original Sin or for fratricide, but rather that all autobiographies, if honest accounts, will detail either conflicts between authorities and those they control or conflicts among equals. Every tale centers on resolving some conflict great or small that, if not resolved, plays out in sequels. And the sequels of life’s many real conflicts have been playing out for more than three billion years on this planet and maybe longer on other worlds around distant stars in this physically fine-tuned-for-life Cosmos. But it’s your life that interests us at the moment, it’s your encounters with conflict and your peaceful resolutions that will make your story notable and worth the read.
During a series of Seinfeld episodes, George Costanza’s desire to write screenplays about “nothing,” or stories in which “nothing happens” sparks a quizzical look in the faces of the potential producers, with the exchange:
George: “I think I can sum up the show for you in one word: Nothing.”
Producer: “Nothing? What does that mean?”
George: “The show is about nothing.”
Jerry (interrupting): “Well, it’s not about nothing.”
George: “No, it’s about nothing.”
Jerry: “Well, maybe in philosophy, but even nothing is something.”
Some banter follows, and then...
George: “No stories.”
More conversation ensues...
Producer: “What kind of stories?”
George: “No. No stories.”
More conversation, and then…
Producer: “But why am I watching it?”
George: “Because it’s on TV.”
Producer: “Not yet.” *
What did you learn about plots in literature class? Yes, a key component is the denouement, that essential resolution of conflict. Life never writes a story—even a search for Self—without conflict of some sort. Would you really sit to read or watch a “story about nothing,” a story in which “nothing happens,” as George proposes? Would someone read your autobiography if it were “about nothing,” “about nothing happening”? Life’s plagiarizers, that is, authors, mimic reality. Even science fiction writers. And in fine-tuned fictional tales, denouement completes the story; without that plot element, all stories are mere episodes strung together, an unending line that frustrates because it lacks a discernible ending or because it demands from the reader or viewer his or her own conclusion. We like line segments, not unending lines. We want to see your life’s segments in that autobiography. We don’t want an uninterrupted line. Ask yourself, has anyone ever resolved the question about the lady or the tiger posed in the “unfinished ending” of Frank Stockton’s famous short story?
In case you forgot, Stockton tells the tale of a king whose method of justice requires the accused to choose between one of two doors, one hiding a tiger and the other, a beautiful woman whom the accused had to marry. A commoner and the king’s daughter fell in love, an unsatisfactory circumstance for the king who subjects the young man to his form of justice. The princess, learning the secret of the doors, discovers that the beautiful woman behind one of the two doors is someone she hates. Exchanging glances with her lover as he approaches the doors, she signals which door to choose. Her choice, of course, lies between having her lover killed by the tiger or married to her rival. And there the story “ends,” giving rise to interminable arguments among middle school readers about which door the princess directed her lover to open. **
Stockton’s tale frustrates his readers, but it does mimic our world of so many unresolved conflicts. Widespread conflict goes on, and on, and on, the time-line of every life, yours included, the X-axis on the graph, underlying spikes of conflict on the Y-axis.
Although every generation’s plot reaches a denouement in the deaths of those caught up in conflict, sequels are common in our species’ history. Fighting in the Middle East has surpassed the three millennium mark; the story continues with new characters. No denouement has been written into the plot save one that some future generation might write, possibly—no, probably—long after the demise of all the current characters. Each generation appears to face those two doors behind which some new or continuing conflict waits.
That humans continue to seek peace the midst of conflict is reason for optimism. Other species do little other than survive the conflicts at hand and pass on no lessons to the next generations. In spite of millennia of conflict, we renew our search for peace every generation, sometimes achieving it in surprising ways among belligerent groups. In each age many people discover that conflict breeds conflict to their disadvantage and harm. History shows that conflict is the epitome of lose-lose interactions. Even winners suffer loses. Peace, in contrast, is win-win, at least temporarily.
As you fine-tune the story of your life, include denouements for each conflict. Do not, like George Costanza or Frank Stockton, write a story about nothing or one without resolutions.
“Why should I read your autobiography?”
“Because it’s been published.”
“Not yet.”
*You can see the episode’s segment at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uwapf5DnUrs Accessed June 27, 2021.
**You can read the story in its entirety at https://www.commackschools.org/Downloads/Lady%20or%20the%20Tiger,%20The%20(easy%20version).pdf Accessed June 27, 2021.
The cosmological argument that the universe is fine-tuned for life and its famous Darwinian analog that life is fine-tuned for conflict make up one of the great paradoxes of the universe. The universe is good for life that is bad for itself. All the delicately balanced force strengths on the one hand are countered by all life-forms out of strength balance on the other hand. The harmony of material existence in general is broken by disharmony among species all vying for resources, for space, and, in the human realm, for prestige.
Even without the assumption of a fine-tuning Conscious Creator, we can make a reasonable guess that the universe is somehow fine-tuned for life because of balanced forces. We can also reasonably argue that the chances for extraterrestrial life are good, especially in a universe so vast that it holds an estimated two trillion galaxies. From what we have observed, we can say that fine-tuning of the fundamental forces isn’t limited to the Milky Way or to our Solar System.
We can also reasonably assume that if extraterrestrial life exists, it is as prone to conflict as it is on Earth. Conflict might be a universal condition of any realm of life; maybe conflict is a universal Law. It is an oxymoronic, maybe even an ironic, universal condition: All life might operate on lawless Law, or a Natural Law of Lawlessness that is a non-numeric constant. Of course, to say the possibility that life everywhere exists in a state of conflict, is to assign a numerical value to it; to say “chances are” about anything is to give it a statistical, and therefore, a numeric value. As you look back to write that future autobiography, can you assess the probability that you “had” to encounter some of those conflicts?
The paradoxical condition that couples an underlying fine-tuning of instruments of forces to an overlying cacophony played on those instruments by life might justify pessimism. Your story could detail how peaceful equilibrium is always temporary. Conflict, not peace, drives life in general, but maybe you are one of the lucky, someone who has lived the anomalous life of peace. For most people, peace requires the effort to alter the natural state of conflict. In every age people have striven for peace either because a peace into which they were born by chance was interrupted or a conflict into which they were born demanded peace for the sake of safety.
The back-and-forth between conflict and peace makes the Biblical accounts of Adam and Eve’s conflict with God and of Cain and Abel’s fraternal conflict the models for almost all stories, even yours. I’m not suggesting that you are responsible for plunging all humankind into a state of Original Sin or for fratricide, but rather that all autobiographies, if honest accounts, will detail either conflicts between authorities and those they control or conflicts among equals. Every tale centers on resolving some conflict great or small that, if not resolved, plays out in sequels. And the sequels of life’s many real conflicts have been playing out for more than three billion years on this planet and maybe longer on other worlds around distant stars in this physically fine-tuned-for-life Cosmos. But it’s your life that interests us at the moment, it’s your encounters with conflict and your peaceful resolutions that will make your story notable and worth the read.
During a series of Seinfeld episodes, George Costanza’s desire to write screenplays about “nothing,” or stories in which “nothing happens” sparks a quizzical look in the faces of the potential producers, with the exchange:
George: “I think I can sum up the show for you in one word: Nothing.”
Producer: “Nothing? What does that mean?”
George: “The show is about nothing.”
Jerry (interrupting): “Well, it’s not about nothing.”
George: “No, it’s about nothing.”
Jerry: “Well, maybe in philosophy, but even nothing is something.”
Some banter follows, and then...
George: “No stories.”
More conversation ensues...
Producer: “What kind of stories?”
George: “No. No stories.”
More conversation, and then…
Producer: “But why am I watching it?”
George: “Because it’s on TV.”
Producer: “Not yet.” *
What did you learn about plots in literature class? Yes, a key component is the denouement, that essential resolution of conflict. Life never writes a story—even a search for Self—without conflict of some sort. Would you really sit to read or watch a “story about nothing,” a story in which “nothing happens,” as George proposes? Would someone read your autobiography if it were “about nothing,” “about nothing happening”? Life’s plagiarizers, that is, authors, mimic reality. Even science fiction writers. And in fine-tuned fictional tales, denouement completes the story; without that plot element, all stories are mere episodes strung together, an unending line that frustrates because it lacks a discernible ending or because it demands from the reader or viewer his or her own conclusion. We like line segments, not unending lines. We want to see your life’s segments in that autobiography. We don’t want an uninterrupted line. Ask yourself, has anyone ever resolved the question about the lady or the tiger posed in the “unfinished ending” of Frank Stockton’s famous short story?
In case you forgot, Stockton tells the tale of a king whose method of justice requires the accused to choose between one of two doors, one hiding a tiger and the other, a beautiful woman whom the accused had to marry. A commoner and the king’s daughter fell in love, an unsatisfactory circumstance for the king who subjects the young man to his form of justice. The princess, learning the secret of the doors, discovers that the beautiful woman behind one of the two doors is someone she hates. Exchanging glances with her lover as he approaches the doors, she signals which door to choose. Her choice, of course, lies between having her lover killed by the tiger or married to her rival. And there the story “ends,” giving rise to interminable arguments among middle school readers about which door the princess directed her lover to open. **
Stockton’s tale frustrates his readers, but it does mimic our world of so many unresolved conflicts. Widespread conflict goes on, and on, and on, the time-line of every life, yours included, the X-axis on the graph, underlying spikes of conflict on the Y-axis.
Although every generation’s plot reaches a denouement in the deaths of those caught up in conflict, sequels are common in our species’ history. Fighting in the Middle East has surpassed the three millennium mark; the story continues with new characters. No denouement has been written into the plot save one that some future generation might write, possibly—no, probably—long after the demise of all the current characters. Each generation appears to face those two doors behind which some new or continuing conflict waits.
That humans continue to seek peace the midst of conflict is reason for optimism. Other species do little other than survive the conflicts at hand and pass on no lessons to the next generations. In spite of millennia of conflict, we renew our search for peace every generation, sometimes achieving it in surprising ways among belligerent groups. In each age many people discover that conflict breeds conflict to their disadvantage and harm. History shows that conflict is the epitome of lose-lose interactions. Even winners suffer loses. Peace, in contrast, is win-win, at least temporarily.
As you fine-tune the story of your life, include denouements for each conflict. Do not, like George Costanza or Frank Stockton, write a story about nothing or one without resolutions.
“Why should I read your autobiography?”
“Because it’s been published.”
“Not yet.”
*You can see the episode’s segment at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uwapf5DnUrs Accessed June 27, 2021.
**You can read the story in its entirety at https://www.commackschools.org/Downloads/Lady%20or%20the%20Tiger,%20The%20(easy%20version).pdf Accessed June 27, 2021.
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