How did it come to pass that I find myself sitting here in some fancy restaurant looking out over the Caspian Sea, being introduced by my minder as VIP, given the best seat in the house so that everyone stands up as I walk by? How did I get here? These are usual existential questions that arise from time to time. But I could equally ask myself next week: how did it happen that I find myself sitting in this armchair at home in the specific location of Kennington London England picking my nose?
The truth is that all specifics seem too random. Why this and not that? Our life should be universal not particular. The particular always seems unlikely.
Much the same instinct comes into play when we think about the unlikeliness of the specialness of, say, the historical Jesus Christ. A bloke with a beard in an iron age tribe in some desert region in the back of beyong 2000 years ago. How could that specificity be universal enough for us today, here?
I suppose one job of art over the years has been to aggrandize the specific.
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