David Starr Jordan, the taxonomist (not taxidermist) and first president of Stanford University, hated chaos.  Using category, level, ladder, and division, he spent almost his entire eighty years trying to bring some sense and order to the glorious riot of species diversity he saw in the animal world.  Tirelessly and repeatedly, he sought connection and linkage, descendant and antecedent:  whatever he could employ to establish a degree of form and, perhaps, predictability, to the cacophony of living beings swirling around him.

And he did.  Modern taxonomy owes much to David’s pioneering work.  Ironically, and too often, however, as his many biographers note, even as he had finished categorizing a particular animal class, even as he brought a modicum of structure to how we might view this level of animalia, he lost it.  Be it an accident in the laboratory, problems at home, an earthquake, even a flood, the chaos of the world intruded.  David’s order vanished.  His genuses broke down, his categories disappeared.  In the span of a few moments, David saw his life’s work, to that point, smashed and dissembled, scattered and shattered.

He had to start all over again.  On the other hand, maybe, despite his frustration, David found unexpected virtue in his task.  Now, we all love order.  Admit it.  You like having a structure.  Of some kind.  Indeed, much science and philosophy has established that we humans are order loving beings.  We look for order, sometimes we crave it.  Perhaps more darkly, sometimes we are willing to give up our freedom for it.

But if order is intrinsic, why did God make the world from a sea of chaos?

Only if order is intrinsic can chaos exist.