The Answer Sheet

The great terror is that we are all here by chance, that our numbered breaths are wholly inconsequential and that in the end it will all be meaningless and forgotten. The humanists and the evolutionists, at least the ones who do not believe in God, speak so matter-of-factly about this as if it is of no real concern to them at all. They talk of “man needing a god and creating Him”, of a big bang and the fact that we are all just an accident of fate, a spark on an otherwise unremarkable fire, one that will eventually be winding down and away perfectly naturally, never to be remembered again. They remark about this coolly and calmly, as if they were an outsider to the whole thing. If they are right, if I ever decided to believe such a thing completely, though I doubt I ever could, the last thing I can think of feeling is blind indifference. It would be the saddest, most incomplete, most heartbreakingly hopeless feeling I could ever imagine. Perhaps I am in the wrong, and if I am, then the only regretful fate awaiting me is that I shall never know. If I am correct, then every answer to every question ever asked and never asked shall be answered. At long last the Great Professor’s answer sheet will be given out, and all our wrong answers, as earnestly as we did give them, may even be able to be corrected.