Falling

Who hears the stone drop? It falls from a cliff far off in the horizon where the last light dwindles into an overarching night. It hits the hard surface of the Earth with a clang and a bang, but nobody turns their head to see where the sound came from, nor is anybody conscious enough to recognize the sound as coming from a tumbling stone. Its fall, therefore, is unheard, for the sound is one thing but the meaning of it is another.

That is what happens when the world of life fails to charm the soul. The phenomenon of all the natural environment is detected with ears, with tools and measurements of all sorts, and its purpose is still lost. We can say the stone fell, but why did it fall? We can say the stone fell because the ground beneath it gave way, but why did the ground give way?

We think in one after another: one to two and two to three. This domino chain is not the why. One thing cannot be explained by its temporal predecessor because then that predecessor must be explained in turn, and on and on the endless retracing goes until our eyes and instruments are no longer of sufficient use.

Then what is the why? Why, stone, have you fallen from the cliff? Why, ground, have you given way? Would it not have been equally as good to be solid for some time longer and weaken at a later time? No. That is the direct answer of the happened. It stares back at you with its eerie silence and speaks its negative reply without speaking at all.

There was no better time to fall, says to stone, and there was not a better time for the ground to let me free than when it did. Then comes back the vainly repeated question: why? Because all that has happened has happened according to accordance. Follow that chain into oblivion.

That is why things happen as they do when they do, and how they do it. It’s a falling. The stone fell well.