Patterns
Be that as it may, he was here and since I happen to be the the One and Only Authorized Spokesperson and Chief Apprentice to the World's Foremost Prognosticator, Seer of Seers, and all-around Grand Visionaire Extraordinaire, he was here, obviously, to see me.
"Greetings, Doctor," I said. "What's happening?"
"Good morning, Number One," replied the good doctor, then, not wasting time or words, "I want you to go back to email publication of Nostradamus Speaks."
I was just as blunt. "Why? What's wrong with Google+?"
"Nothing is wrong with Google+," he countered. "I read an article you re-posted and I'm persuaded that email is the King of All Social Media. Just as all roads lead to Rome, all social media ultimately revolve around email. It's not like I'm asking you to go to Facebook."
"Thanks for that." But I agreed; email is not as cumbersome as I once thought and the latest software make it very powerful. "Okay, will do. (Hey, he's the man.) So, what brings you to my neck of the woods? I've seen neither hide nor hair of you for nigh on six months."
"I've been around," he replied. "Here and there, now and then."
"Well," I said, breaking the ice, "I've been watching events unfold here and there, now and then, and it looks to these eyes anyway, things are going to hell right on schedule."
"Reading the leaves?" he asked, with a casual glance and a sip of his espresso.
"Leaves?" I puzzled.
"Yes, leaves, as in tea leaves, as in casting the bones, as in Prognostication 101."
"Give me a break, Sensei," I protested, with a double slug of my double espresso, "We are not in 16th Century France anymore, or did you take a wrong turn back there, then, whenever?"
Dr. Nostradamus ignored my snotty comment. "This is basic stuff," he said, "So forgive me if I seem impatient at having to yet again pound it into your thick skull."
"Please proceed, Doctor." I countered, feeling myself one up on the Great Maestro.
"Reading the tea leaves, casting the bones, and any number of other dramatically descriptive and arcane soothsayer practices are nothing more than figures of speech, expressions. It just means you are looking for patterns."
"Patterns."
"Yes, patterns," Dr. Nostradamus continued. "It is through patterns that we discern the unfolding of the natural world. The beginning of wisdom lies in the recognition that nature unfolds along lines of pattern, according to natural law as revealed by those patterns, and there is nothing you or anyone can do to change those laws or those patterns. See the pattern; see the patterns within patterns; see the way things actually happen in the world; and from there, see the future."
It had been a while since Dr. Nostradamus had taken to actually teaching me a formal, academic lesson about the avocation to which I had hitched my wagon. Most of the time it has been wax on, wax off, Mr. Miyagi style. This was different.
He continued, "The natural world and everything in it plays out according to patterns -- from subatomic scale to planets and stars and galaxies, and everything in between. All life forms perceive and recognize patterns, and human beings are particularly good at it, provided they can or will set aside their ideological blinders."
"I think I see where you are headed with this," I said, unable to resist. "Seriously though, I have been reading a lot lately about historical cycles and there are some very perceptive bloggers out there, the Archdruid front and center."
"Yes," Dr. Nostradamus leaned in. "Some of humanity's greatest thinkers keenly recognize that history repeats itself, or at least rhymes, and much has been written about the how and why. And it is not limited to historical analysis either. Virtually all of human knowledge, and especially science and mathematics, is the study of patterns."
"And when you think about it," I added, eager to contribute, "It is easy to see that basic human intelligence derives from the recognition of patterns, the memory of patterns, the comparison of patterns. This is exciting stuff, Dr. N., are you sure you're not giving away the store? There are trade secrets worth keeping, you know."
"Not to worry, Grasshopper," the Great Seer reassured me, "This is not rocket science and those who have eyes will see."
"So the trick is," I said, "How to See. Are you going to give that away too?"
"You miss the point, young apprentice. Pattern recognition happens automatically; it is what everyone's brain just does, easily. Sometimes of course, a brain gets overheated and sees patterns where there are none -- conspiracy nuts, those who see Jesus on a piece of toast or a rat in a photograph on Mars."
I agreed. "For sure. But for all that, there are those who refuse to see the glaringly obvious, and those who can't be bothered."
"Indeed," saideth the Soothsayer. "Given the vast storehouse of knowledge easily accessible today, ignorance is a lifestyle choice, and stupidity -- rarely a genetic misfortune -- is almost always a self-inflicted wound -- willful blindness by tribal identity, ideology, wishful thinking. But, as the ancient stoics would have put it, other people are not your problem; each individual is responsible to himself for the choices of action he makes, and for his assessment of the world as he experiences it. To each his own. Not your call."
"We are on a roll, Doc!" I said. "It's like I'm talking to myself, or like you've been reading the same stuff I have! Dare I say great minds think alike?"
"Yes it has been a good meeting Number One," Dr. N. said, "And I am gladdened to see insight rising in that reptilian brain of yours."
"Ha ha, very funny," I said. "So, do you have any predictions to put out there? Am I correctamente? Things are going to hell right on schedule, right? Right?"
"Yes, Number One, things are going to hell right on schedule. Happy now?"
"Yeah, dude! I'm happy now," I said, licking my chops. "I just want to be able to say, 'I told you so.' Now, when is the shit really going to hit the fan?"
"The devil is in the details, Dung Beetle. If scientists predict the end of life on earth when the sun bloats into a red giant four billion years from now, skeptics will demand to know the day, month, and year it all comes down."
"Well, people want to be able to plan ahead. But, closer to home, when is the collapse of modern industrial civilization going to happen? I want something substantial to post this time; something people can sink their teeth into. When is this sucker going down?"
"So sorry, Grasshopper," also sprach Nostradamus, "you seek a certainty not even theoretically possible; but the Titanic has most definitely sailed. Choose your companions wisely; get thee to the lifeboats."
"Will there even be enough lifeboats to go around, this time around?"
"No."
"And I suppose changing out the captain and crew won't help."
"No. Rearrange the deck chairs to your heart's content; have the orchestra play a different tune; play musical chairs with privileged positions in First Class; let a few lottery winners from steerage into the Grand Ballroom -- it won't matter. The course is set; the die is cast."
"So this sucker is definitely going down? Really? It's absolutely, positively, no question about it, going to happen?"
"Don't get too carried away with the Titanic imagery, Number One. It's just a metaphor. The decline and fall of industrial civilization will be a messy, irregular, on again -- off again, bumpy ride down. But down we go, the way of all flesh, the way of all civilizations, empires, nations, tribes, families, individuals, bugs and microbes. Read the leaves, Grasshopper, read the leaves, and think on these things."
Then Dr. Michel de Nostradamus, my employer and mentor and a great man in his own right, was gone.
Dixi.
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