Writing / Andy Warhol's Sister / 1989 / Deep & Savage Way / Helen of Santa Zita / Moscow Film World / Guide

Philosphy Mr. Cristas and I had a history of conversation across the hedge. Sometimes the subject was sports. Or television. Usually, however, it was more esoteric. Mr. Cristas fancied himself a kind of philosopher, and since he had seen the university parking stickers on my car, he assumed that I was interested in philosophy too. I considered explaining to him that universities were different nowadays, that everyone went there, and that you were no more likely to find interest in philosophy there than at a gas station, bowling alley or anyplace else. But of course, I was interested in philosophy and all those big questions, so I never bothered. It usually began with a question of his. "Do you believe in God?" he asked. I responded without hesitating: "There are five proofs for the existence of God." "Five? I'd say you only need one." "That's because you have an unusually clear and concise mind," I replied. "Which proof do you think I accept?" "I'm not going to assume you accept any." "I do. It's this: the universe is infinitely structural." "Is it? Structure may be an illusion. Any structure may decay, disappear." "Even when a structure decays, other structures takes its place. An animal dies. Its corpse lies rotting. To our taste and sensibility, it appears that there is no structure–" Mr. Cristas paused, to indicate the unreliability of taste and sensibility in such matters. "However, the corpse is eaten by microbes and maggots, creatures with their own structure." He punctuated his speech with a sweep of his hand around his garden, indicating that such processes were happening all around us even as we spoke. "Now," he continued, "how did this structure come about?" "It evolved," I proposed. "Yes. Now, the human brain is complicated–the most complicated and active organ of any creature. The totality of this incomprehensible complexity, I believe, creates self-consciousness. I submit to you that the universe is so complicated and structured, that God is the sum total of the universe's self-awareness." It was a measure of the importance to him of this concept that he has stopped any pretense of actually gardening. I nodded acquiescence. His argument seemed as good as any. "There's one problem," I said. "I can't really debate with you on your point of the universe's self-awareness being God, but I want to get back to structure. Now, I may be a philosophy major, but I've also taken physics. I'm not sure you've taken entropy into account. The second law of thermodynamics states that any system uses more energy than it produces. Energy is always decreasing. Therefore, structure is illusory. If the universe is gradually using up all that energy, that self-awareness may not be permanent." Mr. Cristas regarded me. He suddenly appeared to me much older. I felt momentarily sorry, like the argument I had used has been below-the-belt. But Mr. Cristas was not easily daunted. "What about evolution? At the beginning of time, the universe was a uniform place. Then, galaxies formed, solar systems, planets. On planets, oceans and continents were created, then there was life–one-celled creatures, fishes, dinosaurs, human beings!" When he finished, Mr. Cristas stood straight and pointed to me, as if my very existence proved his argument. "Evolution makes the universe more complex." I pondered the point. I looked around, saw the variety of flowers in his garden. His cat sat nearby, licking her hindquarters. I realized, that in a world of such infinite variety and wonder, the existence of God wasn't too hard to admit. "You're probably right, Mr. Cristas." He grunted with satisfaction, and stooped again, to pull weeds out of the flowerbed. It seemed to me that as long as there were people like Mr. Cristas, who worked so hard to maintain order and beauty in their own small corner of the world, that the existence of God wasn't a hard question to answer.