Note: This piece is written from the point of view of several different people with whom the author has spoken in recent months.
There was a time, once, when I believed in god. In this benevolent being that was looking out for us all. Someone who was responsible for the beginning, someone who would see us through to the end. He justified the irrational, explained the otherwise inexplicable, and gave meaning to daily events. But that was before the Big Bang.
On July 17, 1996, the sky exploded. It bellowed out fire and volume into the night and resonated for what seemed like an eternity. I collapsed to my knees, covering my bowed head with both arms and sobbing hysterically as hot shards of red debris rained down on me.
Maybe there is no meaning. Maybe things just happen. Maybe our lives are simply a series of random stochastic events.
After it happened I could either believe in god and hold myself somehow responsible, or abandon a concept that had abandoned me. I could no longer reconcile my experiences with the idea of a benevolent god. I was already devastated with grief; I refused to feel guilt as well.
Was it a bomb? Or maybe a missile? Some even suggested a meteorite! In the end, the official conclusion was mechanical failure. A short circuit most likely ignited the fuel-air mixture in the center fuel tank.
The truth is, they have no fucking idea. That should’ve been the official conclusion. The mechanical failure explanation, even if it is the most likely, is also the least objectionable. And for those in charge of the investigation, it was the lowest maintenance account. It required essentially no further action.
At the same time, though, it’s perhaps the most disconcerting. The officially determined cause of this catastrophe was flimsy at best. There was no Timothy McVeigh to execute here, no Osama bin Laden to hunt. At least the capture of criminals deemed responsible for such tragedies gives us some comfort. It allows us to believe we have eliminated the source; that we have somehow defeated the enemy and thus purged ourselves of the threat. Having been reassured in this manner, we are able to resume living our lives, feeling secure.
Instead, the culprit in this case was most likely a random spark in an obscure part of a mammoth jet. The best that could be offered to the public here, in the absence of a definitive perpetrator, were assurances that measures had been taken that may or may not correct the problem that may or may not have caused the plane to crash.
In the end, regardless of the plausibility of any given explanation, it was a random stochastic event. My life was devastated by a random stochastic event.
We seek reasons to lead us into believing that these catastrophes are preventable. If we take the necessary precautions and rigorously adhere to certain procedures, everything will be fine. This is more than a tendency; it is a knee-jerk reaction.
Columbine happened, and we all said “well, look at the music they were listening to, look at the websites they were visiting, where were the parents?” as if it was a foreseeable and thus—most importantly—preventable incident. When a Georgia man bludgeoned his wife and two children to death, and then went on a shooting spree at two day-trading firms in Atlanta the next day, killing 9 more and wounding 13, we said, “the stress of day-trading got to him, the markets were down, he lost a lot of money, he snapped.” Every effect must have a logical cause.
If something goes wrong, someone must be held accountable, something must explain it. In retrospect, there were always blatant oversights; in the aftermath, there are always justified outcries. How could this have happened? We identify a reason for the calamity, and then we fix it. The world is, after all, perfectible, right?
Or is it? On July 17,1996, I was introduced to the irrational. It exists. Though events in our lives regularly remind us of its presence, we usually close our eyes and plug our ears and hum to ourselves instead. We rationalize the irrational away. It’s far too scary to acknowledge if you don’t have to.
It’s true: if Osama bin Laden did not exist before September 11th, we would’ve created him. The very existence of the man responsible for our fear since that day will allow us to feel secure again once he is taken care of. Just think how much worse it would be for us all without him.
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Originally written in September 2001 & published on thesala.com.
http://www.thesala.com/episode03/10.html
