The Case for Inevitability

No, you didn't know it was going to happen

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Dear Bolu,

On one of those Saturday afternoons where the temptation to indulge myself proved irresistible, I found myself watching a football match—or soccer as it is known in some parts of this confused world. It was enjoyable as it very often is and it had my full attention. In one of the passages of play, an attacker bore down on the opponent's goal and was presented with a chance to score. He did score, and the commentator, in the universal rapturous tone common to commentators in the event of a climax, said words along the lines of, "was it ever in doubt that he was going to score?"

Of course, it was a rhetorical question, and neither me nor the millions, perhaps, of viewers around the world were expected to answer. The nature of the question presented itself as an adjudgment of the inevitability of the attacker's success. Ordinarily, this would be fine and the world would remain in its balanced albeit confused state. But it wasn't fine. Several minutes later, the same attacker would have a clearer chance to bury the ball in the back of the net and he would miss. And much to my chagrin, the commentator, rather than apologizing for having led me to believe that the striker's potency in front of goal need never be questioned, simply moved on like nothing spectacular happened.

Well, something spectacular had happened, and in some way, it was nothing spectacular. It's a rather simple irony and not some convoluted paradox that warps itself around itself. That the commentator wrongly ascribed the quality of inevitability to the attacker’s goalscoring was spectacular. What made it simultaneously unspectacular was the fact that we are most guilty of doing the same thing.

Because hindsight is such an abundant and guaranteed gift, we are never hesitant to say "ah, I knew this would happen" or "I just knew it was going to end like this" after a thing has happened. I knew you would cheat on her. I knew Daenerys Targaryen would die. I knew the waiter will be uncouth. I knew this car would break down. I knew Tommy Carcetti would win the elections. I knew he would score the goal. I knew you were going to say that. But we don't know these things, do we? We didn't know for sure that they would happen beforehand, did we?

Well.

Photo by Drew Beamer on Unsplash

I like to think that there are only so many inevitable things in the world, including but not limited to the fact that summing 2 and 2 will yield 4. On the other extreme lies uncertainty which as you would expect, is undefinable and inexact, but conceivable as a small probability—say the chance of picking the number 2 from a million numbers. There are lower probabilities than that, of course. In-between these extremes is an expanse of possibilities, each one located at often indeterminable positions. The best we are often and honestly able to do is to comparatively describe one as more likely than the other or just as likely. It's approximate. We can only make good guesses, yet we are quick and delighted to say we knew a thing would happen for certain only after it has happened. We give ourselves too much credit when these predictions come true. We momentarily become the reincarnation of Octopus Paul. We knew. We always knew.

Perhaps one of the more obvious manifestations of our tendency to revel in the joys of our faux prescience occurs when we tell a friend or other that some event would happen and it comes to pass. Now, our friend is already well aware that we said it would happen but that is not enough—we must remind them that we were the ones who predicted the outcome and we do so in the most annoying way. We start by stating how we dislike—no, detest, no, hate—the fact that our prediction was correct. We say, "I hate to say this, but I told you so". If we hate to serve them this reminder, why do so at all? Why not just move on and deal with whatever happened? More so, we are less willing to extend the same courtesy when our predictions are wrong. That’s just good old human nature, I guess. Oh, well.

We have stripped—continued to strip—the word, "inevitability" of its magnificence, and it is quite sad. We throw it around with wanton disregard for its meaning and associated depth. "It was bound to happen". "It was inevitable". "That was the only realizable outcome". No, don't. It was a guess, and it turned out correct. Leave inevitable for the truly unavoidable things—for certainties.

Fin.

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Write you soon, merci !

- Wolemercy