God Was a Watchmaker

Hidden in the folds of time when the mysteries of the mechanics of the human body were still buried within themselves, they called Him a watchmaker. Back before they sliced 'em and diced 'em and knew nothing of how they themselves moved and worked, they said that God was a watchmaker, the eternal force that built up the big magnificent universe and whole of existence, then left it to rot on it's own. But it was perfect, though. It would run forever without flaw, of course. Any good watchmaker would do it right the first time.

And it all ran like clockwork; they all tick by, days, nights, weeks, months, seasons, years, decades. Rhythm; the rise and fall of creation, equilibrium, destruction. Without fail. Crash, boom, bang. The beat of time moved on and God observed, they say.

That was back when we were just lumps of flesh and blood and air, no mystery, just existence. But this world, this place surrounding them was perfectly crafted – tick tock – doesn't skip a beat.

Soon we became the clockwork, the fruits of vivacity and juice made mechanical. Your heart beats, it pumps blood out through your body nourishing it, back into the heart, beat, out to the lungs collecting oxygen, refueling, back to the heart – repeat. If it doesn't you get a pace maker. It will tick tock for you. If not you get the jolt. There it goes, back to life, just needed a recharge. And your mind, your brain, your nerves, they run on electricity too. Charge from the center to the nerve to another and another and a billion more until they raise your arm and that's how you get to move. Break down and you start twitching and talking strange. Break down and you need a tune up or you're scrapped. Tick tock, make sure everything's working just right.

Are we just modeling technology after ourselves?

Is Frankenstein's monster going to be reanimated flesh or a robot?

So which is it – the world or us? When did God play a watchmaker?

I've always wanted to know. I used to think about it long hours in the shop, alone as the many little click clocks and tick tocks and cling clangs that just sounded and sounded and sounded around me. Sit and work and think. I could fix the watches perfectly. Perfectly. I just knew.

It all works flawlessly in my mind. I am a watchmaker by trade, and I have done my observing. I think it's time for a new phase. People are just so fascinating, and I have a long road to perfection in mind. Time to stop and smell the flowers, time to fix the unfit. Time to move on to my new clockwork toys.