Finished reading Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry. Beautiful and heart-breaking. I think I’ll keep working my way through his fiction.

Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow (p248):

All I can answer is that I did love her all her life—from the time before I ever saw her, it seems, and until she died. I do love her all her life, and still, and always. That is my answer, but in fact love does not answer any argument. It answers all arguments, merely by turning away, leaving them to find what rest they can.

That’s certainly one of the most beautiful things you’ll read all week.

I’ve been an admirer of Wendell Berry for over twenty years now—but, weirdly, I’ve only ever read his essays and poetry. I finally picked up one of his novels, Jayber Crow, and it’s being narrated in my head in Uncle Wendell’s mournful baritone. It’s a lovely experience.

We often hear about child development, less so about adult development. There does seem to be an ideal pattern:

• Youth, with its hopefulness and orientation toward the future
• Middle age, with its wistfulness and orientation toward the past
• Elderhood, with its slow releasing toward death

Each stage is necessary and beautiful. In a time where politics dominate the minds of so many people, this ideal pattern can be seen as a problem. As with everything it touches, politics transforms what is beautiful into slogan and tool.

If we can disengage from that way of thinking, however, we can see this progression as a breathtaking tableau. We feel love and pride for the young person setting out with passion and big ideas. We feel the gravity of middle age, and sympathize with the person who longs for simpler times. We reverence the elder, who through some mysterious alchemy, takes experience, blends it with resignation, and works wisdom.

This would seem to be the way most traditional societies saw the progression of life. We might find more peace if we didn’t struggle against it.

I readily admit that I know only a little more than nothing about classical music. A few years ago, though, Rachel and I came across the video of Bernstein conducting Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony and, to our surprise, found ourselves crying by the end. So, yeah, I’ll be watching this movie.

So the lesson from this weekend’s hullabaloo at OpenAI appears to be that not even the board of directors of the world’s most prominent AI company can stop “progress” over concerns about the technology moving too fast. Duly noted.

Daniel Immerwahr, via @tinyroofnail:

If small, rugged farms have not filled the countryside, what has? … For the past century, rural spaces have been preferred destinations for military bases, discount retail chains, extractive industries, manufacturing plants, and real-estate developments.

Yup, about right. The small town I live in depends economically upon a Navy installation, a GM plant, a cement plant, and Indiana University. The Ford/Visteon plant closed in 2007, and its space was filled with defense contractors. There are seven Dollar Generals within a ten minute drive.

If there’s a new Romanticism on the horizon, I’m here for it.

There’s a tiny town an hour or so away called Pumpkin Center—universally pronounced “Punkin Center.” I had occasion to search the name this week and came across this 1972 NYT story on the town. At this point I believe it’s been entirely taken over by an Amish settlement.

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.