The problem of communication is not that, in theory, an infinite number of monkeys given infinite time could produce all the texts of Shakespeare, infinitely many times over.
The real problem is different.
Human beings, within a finite—and very short—span of time, manage to produce what appears to be an infinite number of texts that imitate Shakespeare or other great writers. These texts are often almost indistinguishable from genuine works of genius. And yet they are empty, mistaken, absurd—at best useless, and in a vast number of cases actively harmful.
Excess, not scarcity, endanger humanity.
An excess of imitation, of stylistic mimicry without substance, of language detached from meaning. An ocean of verbosity in which official jargon, triviality, and glamour blend into a single, indistinct mass.
In this ocean, meaningful texts are like islands.
But most readers do not climb onto these islands.
Fortunately, the ability to distinguish the living from the dead, the real from the counterfeit, belongs to every human being. It is not a rare gift, but an everyday faculty—one that people constantly use when something truly matters to them.
The difficulty lies elsewhere.
To recognize what matters—that is the first task of the person. And it is a profoundly creative task.
Not to be like the monkey to whom it makes no difference what it reads—Shakespeare or a comic book—and which may even prefer the comic.