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For reasons unknown, several friends have asked me of late about my perspective on spirituality. Might they suspect that the passing of my wife Elisa has prompted me to ponder these matters? Knowing that I philosophize about the deep questions of existence, do they feel that I might have insights to share? Do I give off an aura of spirituality? Is it something in the air, perhaps triggered by the seeming emergence of artificial intelligence?
Independently of these recent queries, I have indeed been thinking about spirituality for the last year or so. I've read or am reading books about the religious views of Spinoza (both his Ethics and Clare Carlisle's book Spinoza's Religion) and about the spiritual journey of Albert Einstein (who claimed to believe in Spinoza's god). I've also been reading about ancient Greek religion as background to my forthcoming book on Aristotle, and I've been trying to integrate and interpret the scattered remarks about god and the divine to be found in Aristotle's own works (which modern academics have shied away from discussing).
It was roughly fifty years ago that, at the age of nine, after period of fervent prayer to the personal god of the Christians, I concluded that such a god does not exist. Although I have not wavered in that conclusion, anyone who wonders as deeply as I do about the human condition must also wonder about spirituality; from time to time I've even written about it, starting with the very first post in my weblog (back-dated to 1989), quite occasional posts since then, and the stray essay.
With all that as a preamble, I offer the following thoughts, which due to the utmost complexity of the subject matter must necessarily be partial, vague, tentative, and provisional.
I think there is something divine about being.
Consider the sheer improbability of being alive. A humble example is a young Ponderosa Pine tree on my property in Colorado, which I suspect took root around the time that Elisa and I bought this land. There are 75 such trees on these five acres, which each year put forth perhaps a thousand or so pine cones, the female cones producing ovules and the male cones producing pollen that swirls around in green clouds every spring. Of the millions or more of potential ovule/pollen combinations, only a few germinate each year, even fewer actually sprout up, and of the few yearly sprouts I have observed that only this one tree has survived, in part because it grew up within the protection of a mountain mahogany bush (which I've cut back and replaced with wire mesh to protect it from the depredations of hungry deer).
I feel like saying to this little tree: congratulations, you have won the lottery of existence and have joined the great pageant of being!
The same could be said to the insects that creep on and under the pines, to the nuthatches and bluebirds that feed on the insects, to the squirrels that scurry over the branches and chomp on the cones, and to my dog Chance, who loves to chase the squirrels and who savors every moment of life. What was the chance, Chance, that you should have come into being on this beautiful planet? And what was the chance that I, too, should have come into being, blessed not only with mere existence but with a form of consciousness that can be behold and ponder the great pageant of being? Of all the human beings that ever could have lived, I am a virtual impossibility, yet here I am.
So I say: it is wondrous and divine that there is something rather than nothing, that there is life in its infinite variety, that there are human beings to be conscious of existence and wonder about its meaning, that I am alive and conscious and wondering, and that of the ten billion or so people alive today I have ten or so dear friends with whom to share these thoughts and go through life together, making and sharing meaning as we proceed.
None of this requires a creator god. The pageant of being simply is. Is it eternal, or will it come to an end with the heat death of the universe? I know not and I care not, for I know the divinity of being and the wonder of living in the here and now.
(Cross-posted at Beautiful Wisdom.)
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Revisiting Montaigne's essay "Use Makes Perfect" just now, I was reminded of his personalist insights regarding the rambling and uncertain pace of the soul, and its intricate internal windings. Having little of a universalist cast to share and not feeling much like writing these days, somewhat reluctantly I turn to the personal.
Last week I visited the coast of Maine to help one of my sisters with a variety of tasks. Given that in Colorado we just experienced the winter that wasn't, I found myself revelling in the snow and cold rain. Plus those glimpses of the ocean were a tantalizing balm for the soul. One of these years I need to spend a week or two on Monhegan Island to get my fill of the North Atlantic - breathing in the salt air, beholding the waves breaking on the rocks for hours on end, and simply being.
On the writing front, progress on my Aristotle book has slowed somewhat because as I move along the material becomes more knotty, which is forcing me to revisit Aristotle's works and my copious notes on the scholarly literature to figure out what I want to say. However, before traveling to Maine I completed the first draft of chapter 3, so I'm now halfway done. This book has been on my project list for years and I'm excited about finally putting pen to paper. (Actually I am writing this book in the notes app shared between my computer and phone, which enables me to write and edit whenever the fancy strikes me.)
Art continues to be a source of solace for me, but only certain kinds of art. Since Elisa's passing, and in fact for months before that, I have been unable to read novels or poems, nor have I been able to listen to music with words; somehow my feelings are still too raw for these art forms. However, purely instrumental music is fine, thus I've been immersing myself in classical music most mornings and jazz most afternoons. Recent favorites are J.S. Bach (as always), Gabriel Fauré, Bill Evans, and Thelonious Monk. Because my guitar teacher suggested that I learn a prelude by Bach (BWV 999), much of my practice time has been devoted to that enjoyable and rewarding task. I've also continued a tradition started last year of reading biographies of jazz musicians (Bill Evans and Lennie Tristano have been the latest subjects) and I've been digging into books about my favorite painters (especially Jan Vermeer and Joaquín Sorolla). As to my own creations, I've been making progress on several musical compositions and hope to have them in shape to share more widely later this year.
In remembrance of Elisa, I've purchased a work of art by Colorado sculptor Rosetta that we had talked about buying last year for a special location in our house, above a fireplace we added a few years ago. Because of her illness we didn't make that happen at the time, but I reached out to Rosetta and she still had one of her "Lion Mask" castings available. It was Elisa who discovered Rosetta's work and this is the third sculpture of hers we've acquired, which makes it even more meaningful. Hanging the mask on the wall turned out to be something of a challenge because the sheetrock had degraded there (perhaps because of the heat?), but after several trips to Home Depot I was able to assign the king of beasts to his rightful place of honor.
(Cross-posted at Beautiful Wisdom.)
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This Thursday at 8:30am PDT / 11:30 EDT / 15:30 UTC, my friend Adrian Lory and I will hold the third in our series of live conversations about psychology and philosophy. Inspired by my friend Dave Jilk's SF novel Epoch, which is subtitled "A Poetic Psy-Phi Saga", Adrian and I have decided to name this series the "Psy-Phi Dialogues", where "psy" is short for psychology and "phi" is short for philosophy. Clever, eh? My friend Dave is very creative. :-)
As Adrian has already pointed out at his Substack blog, potential topics for this third conversation include the marketing and media portrayal (or is it distortion?) of psychological theories and philosophical schools, whether it's healthy to self-identify as a follower of particular thinkers or isms, the nature of psychological diagnosis, the path from diagnosis to therapeutic healing, and the nature of happiness according to the philosophical tradition (with some sneak previews into my rapidly progressing book about Aristotle), sprinkled here and there with connections to the practice and experience of music.
We're looking forward to it and we hope you are, too!
(Cross-posted at Beautiful Wisdom.)
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In ancient Rome, March was the first month of the year (that's why October, November, and December were the 8th, 9th, and 10th months). Thus from a certain perspective March 1st is New Year's Day - a time of longer days, returning light, fresh growth, new life, and renewed commitments.
February 2026 was a difficult month for me, having endured the loss of my dear Elisa and then our dog Red, too. Our little family went from four to two in three weeks - now it's just me and our dog Chance. Yet I am blessed with loving family, dear friends, caring neighbors, a strong community, a lovely house, a serene location, abundant nature, beautiful art, financial independence, good health, numerous interests to explore, and long-term projects to complete before my days are done. Life is movement and activity and aspiration, and the finest way for me to honor the dead is to keep living and growing according to the best I have within me.
Over lunch soon after Elisa's passing, my friend Dave Jilk mentioned an essay by science-fiction author Neal Stephenson, who says that if you want to publish books then you need to write four hours a day. Yesterday I was reading a book about jazz composer and teacher Lennie Tristano, who similarly told his students they needed to practice four hours a day. Given that I have aspirations in both writing and music, it sounds like I might need to dedicate eight hours a day to realizing my goals!
Actually, over the last two weeks I have been writing about two hours a day, and as a result I've drafted the first two chapters of my book about Aristotle's conception of human fulfillment. At this rate I might finish the draft of all six chapters in March or April. And after learning of Tristano's recommendation, I've set a goal of practicing music two hours a day, too. Perhaps I'll work my way up to four hours a day each, but two is a good place to start.
In addition, I've realized that I need to take better care of myself physically, so I'm working to improve my health and fitness through diet and exercise.
However, lest you get the wrong impression, I'll say that my renewed commitments are not only about me, me, me. I'm easing the burdens of some of my family members in various ways, and I'm about to start tutoring immigrants in English as a Second Language through my local library, which I did before I became a more or less full-time caregiver to Elisa. Further commitments might emerge as I deliberate about how to give back at this stage in my life.
As Elisa liked to say, all you can do is all you can do. I'm doing the best I can.
(Cross-posted at Beautiful Wisdom.)
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It's been a long two weeks since my dear Elisa passed away. It goes without saying that losing your partner in life is a harrowing experience. Yet in the midst of the darkness there are rays of light and sources of solace. Here are a few that have soothed me in my time of grief:
These sources of solace don't fill the hole in my heart, but they do help to ease the pain somewhat.
(Cross-posted at Beautiful Wisdom.)
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My dear Elisa's passing last week has brought an entire epoch of my life to an abrupt end. This rupture has re-opened my eyes to the inescapable fact that my sands too are running. Given that I'll turn sixty about six months from now, I've realized that the next epoch is the final third of my life.
What can I make of this?
The question has two senses. The first sense is reflective: What is the significance of reaching this point in my life? How can I account for where I am? What account can I give of myself? What are the implications for my identity, my relationships, the roles I play in my family, friendships, and community?
The second sense is active: What should I do now? How shall I fill my days? What changes should I make in how I live? What long-term projects must I complete while I have the energy to do so? What meaning can I create in this final third of my life?
Although it might take time to find the answers, this is the urgent soulcraft in which I am engaged as I grieve for my dear Elisa.
(Cross-posted at Beautiful Wisdom.)
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