On the Innocence of Wm. J. Clinton. Why Me, Lord?
If you had to cast a line, that of WJC would be as unlikely as any. Who would have made that bed and who would lie down in it? Why Bill? Or for that matter, why any of us, Lord? Which would you prefer – a seat on flight 111, or a desk in the Oval office? Are we quite sure that this is the best of all possible worlds? Wrong. It is the best of all possible histories. And therefor, it is the only history from anywhere to eternity. Poor Oedipus, he thought he owned the patent on tragedy. If he could see Bill now, he would probably have a jealousy complex.
History is and always will be. It is the only way to get from A to O. As the quantum mechanics say, it is the path of greatest constructive interference. All other paths are overwhelmed by its probability. We are left with the Presbyterians to contemplate the predestined meaning of sin.
Does the person make the sin or the sin make the person? As with Freud it works both ways because of the interplay between the conscious and the unconscious, which is related to the bi-directionality of time. Les jeux sont fait. God has cast her net. End of story. We are the story lines of her net. If one line broke the whole net would unravel. That is our factory warranty. It is good until the Omega.
I can go on in this vein until the end. That’s when we finally get it. And none too soon. Hurry, Lord!
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