Alan Jacobs makes a good response to Freddie deBoer’s assertion that people believe in religions because they offer comfort. (The Freddie post is behind a paywall so I can’t access it.) Jacobs:

I might want to take one step back and ask: Do religions comfort? My experience as a Christian has been more about challenge than comfort, about figuring out how to respond to what I feel to be an unshakable claim on my life.

This is, of course, correct. The idea that religion persists because it’s comforting is the sort of thing that modern atheists say—that I myself have said—but a moment’s reflection shows that is not the case. Jacobs gives good examples in his post. Others could easily be multiplied. “Religion as comfort” seems to be an error that can be traced to our particular time and place, where modern, American, evangelical Christianity dominates the culture.

Jacobs again:

I can’t now remember who said it, but one scholar of religion said that the only thing all religions have in common is that they use candles. That seems right to me. 

So “religion” is an intractably fuzzy concept, the many religions of the world do many different things and do them in many different ways, and even within a given religion people may believe and may commit themselves for as astonishing variety of reasons. The whole enterprise, if indeed we can call religion an enterprise, is so fraught with complications that I don’t think there’s anything that can be legitimately said in general about it.

Here’s where I would disagree: it seems to me that religion is universal and persistent because it gives meaning to human life. That is to say, religion is the answer to nihilism. Any religion. Even a death cult gives a reason for living—or, in this case, dying.

It appears that human beings can abide anything except meaninglessness. Even scientific materialist atheists (and I was one for a while) appeal to wonder and discovery as an organizing principle for life. That line of Sagan’s is popular among them for a reason: “we are a way for the Cosmos to know itself.”

I drifted away from atheism precisely because I needed something more life-giving than consuming science documentaries as if they were sacraments. I needed a scaffolding for my life. While I can’t say I have fully erected that scaffolding at this point, the work itself has been meaningful to me.

I could be wrong about meaning-making being the universal characteristic of religion—but it does feel more true than religion as comfort.

The number of books I’ve read has dropped over the last couple of years because I no longer have a commute during which I can listen to audiobooks. And given the choice of working from home and reading fewer books or working in the office and listening to more audiobooks–that choice is trivially easy for me.

One consequence of this, however, is that I’ve read nearly zero fiction since COVID. Audiobooks were always the way I read fiction; I found that the format was perfect for fiction, less so for nonfiction. So I’ve been feeling the itch to get back to some fiction this winter. I’ve been accumulating a list of possibilities and I’m open to any suggestions:

• Apuleius, The Golden Ass
• Adam Roberts, The Death of Sir Martin Malprelate (mentioned by Alan Jacobs yesterday)
• Robin Sloan, Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore (weirdly, I follow his writing online but have never read his books)
• Ishmael Reed, Mumbo Jumbo (this and the one below were recommended by the Weird Studies guys)
• William Burroughs, Naked Lunch
• Daniel Mason, North Woods
• Ursula LeGuin, Always Coming Home

Finished reading When the Body Says No: Exploring the Stress-Disease Connection by Gabor Maté. Fewer case studies and biological details would have made this a perfect book for me—but I realize that’s a weird thing to ask of such a book. Nevertheless, extremely important ideas here.

I made Indian Pudding and whipped cream. (Not exactly the most accurate or sensitive name for it.) It’s pretty good! The molasses makes it taste old-fashioned, so maybe not for everyone. Rachel says it tastes like the Depression. 😂

Finished reading Owning Your Own Shadow by Robert A. Johnson. Great, short introduction to the subject by a Jungian analyst. It’s an important idea, despite its popularity among young people who have not lived long enough to have developed much of a shadow. 😉

New Aesop Rock album release day is a good day.

Thankfully most of my CPA continuing education can be done via webinar—but today’s is on the north side of Indianapolis, requiring ninety minutes of driving in heavy traffic to listen to an eight hour talk in a drab office park about what’s new in accounting. sigh

James Hillman, “The Poetic Basis of Mind”:

Because symptoms lead to soul, the cure of symptoms may also cure away soul, get rid of just what is beginning to show, at first tortured and crying for help, comfort, and love, but which is the soul in the neurosis trying to make itself heard, trying to impress the stupid and stubborn mind–that impotent mule which insists on going its unchanging obstinate way. The right reaction to a symptom may as well be a welcoming rather than laments and demands for remedies, for the symptom is the first herald of an awakening psyche which will not tolerate any more abuse. Through the symptom the psyche demands attention. Attention means attending to, tending, a certain tender care of, as well as waiting, pausing, listening. It takes a span of time and a tension of patience. Precisely what each symptom needs is time and tender care and attention. Just this same attitude is what the soul needs in order to be felt and heard. So it is often little wonder that it takes a breakdown, an actual illness, for someone to report the most extraordinary experiences of, for instance, a new sense of time, of patience and waiting, and in the language of religious experience, of coming to the center, coming to oneself, letting go and coming home.

It was a great time tonight, despite the unseasonably cold weather. (36F!) Every year we have hundreds of kids through our neighborhood. The number was down a bit this year but still more than expected. It’s truly a special thing we have here.

Happy Halloween!

Appropriately enough for the opening of Allhallowtide, the print shop finished the scan of an 1864 letter written by my great-great-great grandfather–Private David S. Morgan, G Company, 49th Infantry, Union Army. I’ll be framing a copy printed on cardstock and keeping the original in an archival quality folder.

I repeated a previous design this year. The star eye is a little lopsided so I’ve decided that’s him winking at you.

The saddest mummy/archaeologist love story you’ve ever heard. 🎵

Planning to carve a pumpkin today, so I’ve been looking at some of the ones I’ve done over the years. I know there are nifty tools and patterns and such now, but I still love the traditional Jack-o-lantern carved with a kitchen knife.

I did some grave visitation today ahead of Allhallowtide. I’ll be busy on the actual days and I have some local graves to visit this weekend, so today seemed like a good day for the not-so-local graves. Today’s route:

What an absolutely beautiful day for a drive in the hills around Patoka Lake. The fall colors were delightful. A corner of Patoka Lake:

I mentioned recently that I’ve been thinking about my dad’s side of the family recently. I never knew them well, for reasons that are obvious from that post. Some bad stuff came through that family line and a lot of my recent spiritual practice has been working toward understanding and integrating that pain and hopefully transforming it.

It turns out that generations worth of my dad’s family are in two cemeteries: Crystal Community Cemetery and Bethany Union Chapel Cemetery. (The Find a Grave website has been invaluable, by the way.)

Four generations worth of my paternal grandfather’s side are in Crystal Community Cemetery, all the way back to my great-great-great grandfather (b. 1834) who was a private in the Union Army in the Civil War. I have a letter from him that has been passed down the generations. (It’s at the print shop being scanned right now but I’ll post a picture when I get it back.)

Three generations worth of my paternal grandmother’s side are in Bethany Union Chapel Cemetery. The oldest ancestor there was born in 1872 but there are others in nearby cemeteries which I did not have time to visit today. Another time, for sure.

When I got to Crystal Community Cemetery, I was tempted to stand in the middle of it and say, “okay, y’all, who started this shit?” But I didn’t. I did talk to them all, particularly my paternal grandfather who I know did some bad stuff. I was very honest with him about my anger about what he did to my father.

I was honest with my folks in both cemeteries, actually. But I also told them that I and my family are doing well, despite it all. Obviously I still have some things to work through (else why am I traveling miles to gripe at my dead grandpa) but, on the whole, the wounds are closing and I have decided to act in the role of healer, not victim.

Speak softly and carry a big stick. (I cut a limb from a recent oak fall and now I’m lugging it back home to make a walking stick.)

A few days ago a friend sent me this interview with Robert Sapolsky on free will. It was well-timed. I had already been thinking about the impact of my ancestor’s varied experiences on my own life and the two together clarified some ideas.

First of all, I believe in free will. I’m aware of the scientific arguments against it, both in the form of the interview above and in Sam Harris’ book that I read a few years ago. But my purpose isn’t to argue against those ideas per se—not least because I’m unqualified. I just want to develop a few ideas of my own here.

I grew up believing in what I would call a naive version of free will. In this version, a human makes wholly independent decisions that are thoughtful and purposeful. In such a view, a person might take into account other views or influences but does not necessarily need to. It’s a sort of radically free-floating free will. Homo economicus, in short.

This idea didn’t survive very far into my adult years. Buddhist ideas of interrelatedness, Wendell Berry’s ideas about community, and scientific ideas I learned from Sam Harris made it nonsensical to me.

Yet while I understand and appreciate the scientific arguments against free will, I don’t accept them—primarily because I don’t share the materialist assumptions behind them. Why should we believe that consciousness (a nonphysical phenomenon) bubbles up from sufficiently complex arrangements of neurons (a physical reality)? Far smarter folks than me have asked this question and have come to no satisfactory answer (see: the hard problem of consciousness).

I’ve said before that I think a person is a nexus of intersecting forces—parents, ancestors, friends, environment, culture, etc. There is no person apart from these forces. Nevertheless, it still seems apparent from human experience that free will remains, to some extent.

We often talk about free will as if it is an absolute possession—humans either have it or they don’t. What if, instead, it is a quality that has degrees?

I’ve been thinking about this recently in connection to my ancestors, particularly my dad’s side of the family. While I don’t know a lot about them, as far as I can tell they were–for at least two generations and very likely more–poor, unhealthy, uneducated, and addicted to various substances. Dad’s childhood was hell for him and everyone else in the house—including the ones perpetrating the horrors, I’m sure.

Based on what we know about these patterns in families, it’s hard to imagine that this hell was created ex nihilo by my grandparents. For people in such situations, how much free will do they have? Sure they have some choice, especially in the mundane details of daily life. But how free are they in a larger sense? Not very, in my opinion. It is typical in these situations that the trauma is passed on, generation after generation.

Yet there is not zero freedom: my dad got out. He left that town and, for many years, his family of origin also. Nevertheless, some demons followed him out and he was not always successful in beating them back.

And so some of that intergenerational trauma lives in me. I hope now that my daughter, two generations from hell, will inherit still less of that trauma.

What makes the difference between being entrapped in circumstances and moving beyond them? I don’t know. I’m entirely unsatisfied with any variation on the boot-strap theory, which feels derived from the naive view of free will. I’m also uninterested in moralistic takes on these matters, so eager to assign blame that compassion is forgotten.

What if the key to a greater degree of free will is something like interior spaciousness? (That phrase is from Attuned by Thomas Hübl.) Again, how some people in the worst circumstances manage to attain that interior spaciousness while others do not is a fearful mystery. Nevertheless, it happens. Some people manage to cultivate a sense of curiosity and inward development. Some manage to see other possibilities than the ones immediately before them and the will to pursue them.

I agree with Sapolsky’s desire for a more compassionate world—but I do not agree that we reach that goal by denying free will and framing humans as biological machines. Interior spaciousness has the salutary effect of greater clarity and compassion. What if we arranged society in such a way that more people had the ability to cultivate it?

Alan Jacobs:

If you’re reading the news several times a day, you’re not being informed, you’re being stimulated.

It appears that the president will be making a case for more war funding tonight. Remember: he may be on death’s payroll but you don’t have to be.

So I’ve been using Kagi for search and I like it. Unfortunately you can’t make it your default search for Brave so I thought I’d try Orion, Kagi’s own browser. It’s too buggy for me. Freezes a lot. Switching between tabs doesn’t always work. So back to Brave for me.

Hopefully I’ll get back to the “These Weird Times” series at some point soon. When I said a few weeks ago that I was about to do my annual post-audit reboot, this one ended up being more extensive than usual. I’m working on some personal issues that have me doing some very useful exploring–and the more theoretical exercise of something like “These Weird Times” would be too tempting to use as an escape from the more emotional and spiritual work that I need to focus on for now. I don’t know how much I’ll write about that work but hopefully I’ll come through the other side a bit more integrated than I have been. Sacrifices of goats to chthonic deities welcome–or whatever is more your style.

Many thanks to @johnbrady for calling this to my attention in a comment on my earlier post

Conscientious Objector
Edna St. Vincent Millay

I shall die, but
that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;
I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,
business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle
while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by himself:
I will not give him a leg up.

Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,
I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where
the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death;
I am not on his pay-roll.

I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends
nor of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much,
I will not map him the route to any man’s door.
Am I a spy in the land of the living,
that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city
are safe with me; never through me
Shall you be overcome.

Once you decide that you are on the side of life, you suddenly have a lot more clarity about thorny issues. Problem is, the side of life is manifestly out of power right now. The powerful–rather, the Powers and those aligned with them–are bent on blood and domination.

I built a candlestick out of a limb that fell from our sweetgum tree in the front yard. The base is made from salvaged door trim. I was slightly concerned that it would catch fire, but so far so good.

Watched Jim Jarmusch’s Stranger Than Paradise. We used to spend a lot of time doing nothing in the pre-internet days.