What qualifies me to write the next chapter of this, the next paragraph, sentence or even word? You can see that ontologically, this is a highly improbable document, but at any given moment the following word is quite probably something. There’s a good chance, that given any specific word here, you can narrow down the next one to a rather small subset of the word space.
But ultimately, these probabilities stack up. Any tiny fraction of uncertainty about this document gets amplified over the course of words, sentences, paragraphs and chapters. Ultimately the chance that this document is exactly as it is becomes vanishingly small.
But that still doesn’t answer the question of why I in particular am qualified to write the next words associated with an idea.
Fantastically, one can observe that in any particular context, I could only take this in a certain, finite and representable number of directions. But on a macroscopic scale, what happens is transcendence. It’s when the product of two barely notable fractions get multiplied, and the result, is for all intents and purposes: zero. That’s uniqueness, that endlessly elusive and irritatingly easy goal.
But uniqueness goes much further than that, for all the real ideas expressed in these words are fairly predictable. Nothing’s particularly novel, because given a brief summary of the points, everything that’s explored here can be envisioned, among a host of relevant tangents. So it isn’t unique, and the goal is much harder than that last paragraph indicated.
But if there’s no intraparagraphal consistency, what credence does this lend to an idea? Does it behoove that I delete one of these ideas in order to better fit a grand scheme? Why does it absolutely need a unifying theme, and why is it the fault of an author to ignore it?