But our early man has a moment to reflect and he thinks to himself, "Well, this is an interesting world that I find myself in," and then he asks himself a very treacherous question, a question that is totally meaningless and fallacious, but only comes about because of the nature of the sort of person he is, the sort of person he has evolved into, and the sort of person who has thrived because he thinks this particular way. Man the maker looks at his world and says, "So who made this, then?" Who made this?--you can see why it's a treachersous question. Early man thinks, "Well, because there's onle one sort of being I know about who makes things, whoever made this must therefore be a much bigger, much more powerful and neccessarily invisible, one of me, and because I tend to be the strong one who does all the stuff, he's probably male."
2007-06-10
09:14:57
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➔ Religion & Spirituality
And so we have the idea of a God. Then, because when we make things, we do it with the intention of doing something with them, early man asks himself, "If he made it, what did he make it *for*?" Now the real trap springs, because early man is thinking, "This world fits me very well. Here are all these things that support me and feed me and look after me; yes, this world fits me quite nicely," and he reaches the inescapable conclusion that whover made it, made it for him.
This is rather as if you were a puddle waking up one morning and thinking, "This is an interesting world I find myself in--an interesting *hole* I find myself in--fits me rather neatly, doesn't it? In fact it fits me staggeringly well, must have been made to have me in it!"
2007-06-10
09:15:25 ·
update #1
This is such a powerful idea that as the sun rises in the sky and the air heats up as, gradually, the puddle gets smaller and smaller, it's still frantically hanging on to the notion that everything's going to be all right, because this world was *meant* to have him in it, was *built* to have him in it; so the moment he disappears catches him rather be surprise.
This comes from a speech by Douglas Adams, as quoted in *The Salmon of Doubt*, a collection of work culled from his computers after his death. Used without permission, sorry Del Rey Books!
2007-06-10
09:17:21 ·
update #2