Today’s essay is part of a new series including me, Latham Turner, Bowen Dwelle, Michael Mohr, Dee Rambeau, and Lyle McKeany. In the past, we’ve explored our personal philosophies, fatherhood, and work
Thank you! Yes, Dillard's memoir is familiar, though it's been many years since I read it. Such an intense book. I think I've always been a mystic in that way, just have not reflected very deeply on how a faith practice might transform me compared to the more defensive mode that rationalism seems to have fostered in me over the years. More to come on that. Thanks for your prayers. This essay is a first step in what I know is a long process of self-exploration, but it begins with acknowledging that many of my instincts and personal rituals are at their heart spiritual, and there are personal benefits to opening myself to those implications.
Surrendering to the Appalachian wisdom of gardening. Nice.
It’s a tad bit warmer here, we wait until after Mother’s Day (tho I buy my flowers a couple weeks before that and cover them at night.)
Whether or not we believe in a “Creator” is a huge discussion…
I tend to lean towards honoring all living things, and the manna in all things. I thank the flowers for growing, I talk to them as I am watering and fertilizing (and no, I promise I’m not crazy!)
I still remember a science experiment my daughter performed in high school, which was to buy four seemingly identical house plants (as close as she could get). We bought small pothos.
Then place two of them in one room, and the other two in a different room. Every single day, she had to speak kind and encouraging words to the two in the first room ( things like what sweet plants they are, how much she loved them, how pretty they are, and how beautifully they are growing), while speaking sternly to the two in the second room (like calling them dumb, good for nothing, useless, ugly, and saying how much she disliked them). She was very scientific about doing this, despite really not liking the being mean to two of them.
At the end of a month (or maybe it was two) she was to observe all the plants together, noting any variance. Sure enough, the two she yelled at were stunted, dull and overall barely grown. The two she was kind to were double the size, shiny, healthy and very pretty / bouncy.
All this to say, we were surprised! She got quite emotional then, apologized to the two she had yelled at, and praised them profusely from then on. They remained smaller, but did finally grow more.
So yes, I talk to my plants, I talk to the worms and the lady bugs, and the soil. After all, it can’t hurt❣️
Thanks Tey. There are many ways of showing reverence for living things. I like these examples, too. My meditation here is less on a universal question or debate about proof of God than on a shift in my own thinking which produces different effects on me. I do think that gardening in this way will translate to other forms of reverence and surrender that will have positive effects on me, compared to my more secular stance. How/if that matures into a deeper faith practice is for another time. But I don’t see myself making any claims about anyone else’s beliefs or experiences.
...I've only listened to the preamble so far, in which the point was made that a more secular life hasn't exactly produced any greater measure of sanity or rationality in the West. While I'm not at all tempted by the idea of a big 'Sky Daddy,' I can see a convergence between my own philosophy and some sort of more general state of belief. Or maybe just relief. I do also make hot sauce—try some fermented garlic honey, if you have a good supply of the latter!
Indeed, my thinking is partly shaped by the recognition that secularism has not produced better fruit in me, particularly outside the parameters of a university, where it felt more tenable. Secular rationalism has often made me angry and isolated and given me false benchmarks of strength, such as my own fitness (which was derailed recently by a nasty flu) or my own escape rituals. I am by no means interested in dogma of any kind or in joining a social movement or in recruiting anyone else to join me in restoring some nostalgic idea of civilization. The point is quite personal: the fruits a faith practice might bear in me. I think it's possible to augment my rationalism in this way. But all that is for another essay!
Josh, this was lovely and powerful. Powerful in its simplicity, lovely in its depth. I think for many of us, the question is how honest with ourselves can we be. Can we fight this connection we feel, with a creator, with the divine, with God, or are we willing to let go of the need to know and simply, joyously accept? It seems,a you’ve found that answer for yourself, and I’m happy with you.
Thanks, brother. Yes, honesty is the right word for this. I've always drawn back from calling my instincts spiritual because I grew up with so many false imitations around me and much of my adult life has been defensive in that way, refusing to join others in what seemed like a narrow box. However, I've also been dissatisfied with squishier forms of expressing faith or spirituality, which seem like convenient choices for the individual with no inherent rigor or integrity (and in that way just as false as the other imitations). This is a journey of years, of a lifetime, and for me the most immediate fruit of opening to that connection with the divine is a softening in myself. I'm ready to live more reverentially and less defensively.
An extraordinary take on an ordinary activity. Personally I find the practice of gardening far from ordinary, and I’m far too impatient to succeed at it.
There’s a lot in here to unpack Josh. Control. Surrender. Faith. Serenity.
What I do hear—and smell—as clearly as that warm seed tray you describe is your heart opening. Spring? Love? Or merely as you tease it—a reveal of deeper roots emerging from the soil of your soul.
Yes, surrender and serenity seem to go hand in hand. I'm mindful of the potential for this mindset to enable an escape similar to the one I've sought in the garden. But for now, the shift in thinking requires constant effort that has its own integrity. I'll write more about this in the weeks ahead. But I think this particular essay was propelled in part by my solo parenting abroad. When you get on multiple planes with your kids and travel Third World roads, you have to confront the limits of your control. That doesn't mean doing any less to protect my family, it just means that whether it's a vacation or a typical week at home or facing the stretch of the next decade as I try to keep showing up for my kids, there's an enormous amount that I have to surrender control of. Rationalism doesn't leave me much peace about that. I'm beginning to see how prayer functions not as an excuse to stop trying but as a way of accepting what stretches beyond my grasp.
That’s one of the reasons I love the Serenity Prayer. Having not been a big prayer guy for most of my life, i like that it doesn’t ask for anything specifically—simply acceptance, courage, and wisdom—which applies to everything generally. ☺️
Lovely essay, Josh. May I also recommend Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek if you have not already read it.
I will be praying for you and your prayers, which writing and gardening surely are. Welcome back to the garden, which was always intended as our home.
Thank you! Yes, Dillard's memoir is familiar, though it's been many years since I read it. Such an intense book. I think I've always been a mystic in that way, just have not reflected very deeply on how a faith practice might transform me compared to the more defensive mode that rationalism seems to have fostered in me over the years. More to come on that. Thanks for your prayers. This essay is a first step in what I know is a long process of self-exploration, but it begins with acknowledging that many of my instincts and personal rituals are at their heart spiritual, and there are personal benefits to opening myself to those implications.
Surrendering to the Appalachian wisdom of gardening. Nice.
It’s a tad bit warmer here, we wait until after Mother’s Day (tho I buy my flowers a couple weeks before that and cover them at night.)
Whether or not we believe in a “Creator” is a huge discussion…
I tend to lean towards honoring all living things, and the manna in all things. I thank the flowers for growing, I talk to them as I am watering and fertilizing (and no, I promise I’m not crazy!)
I still remember a science experiment my daughter performed in high school, which was to buy four seemingly identical house plants (as close as she could get). We bought small pothos.
Then place two of them in one room, and the other two in a different room. Every single day, she had to speak kind and encouraging words to the two in the first room ( things like what sweet plants they are, how much she loved them, how pretty they are, and how beautifully they are growing), while speaking sternly to the two in the second room (like calling them dumb, good for nothing, useless, ugly, and saying how much she disliked them). She was very scientific about doing this, despite really not liking the being mean to two of them.
At the end of a month (or maybe it was two) she was to observe all the plants together, noting any variance. Sure enough, the two she yelled at were stunted, dull and overall barely grown. The two she was kind to were double the size, shiny, healthy and very pretty / bouncy.
All this to say, we were surprised! She got quite emotional then, apologized to the two she had yelled at, and praised them profusely from then on. They remained smaller, but did finally grow more.
So yes, I talk to my plants, I talk to the worms and the lady bugs, and the soil. After all, it can’t hurt❣️
Thanks Tey. There are many ways of showing reverence for living things. I like these examples, too. My meditation here is less on a universal question or debate about proof of God than on a shift in my own thinking which produces different effects on me. I do think that gardening in this way will translate to other forms of reverence and surrender that will have positive effects on me, compared to my more secular stance. How/if that matures into a deeper faith practice is for another time. But I don’t see myself making any claims about anyone else’s beliefs or experiences.
I so agree. Our beliefs are so completely our own.
Not only the most spiritual atheist but the most lyrical (former, recovering) academic!
You might be interested in this recent podcast/debate from the Free Press on "Does the West Need a Religious Revival?"
https://www.thefp.com/p/watch-does-the-west-need-a-religious
...I've only listened to the preamble so far, in which the point was made that a more secular life hasn't exactly produced any greater measure of sanity or rationality in the West. While I'm not at all tempted by the idea of a big 'Sky Daddy,' I can see a convergence between my own philosophy and some sort of more general state of belief. Or maybe just relief. I do also make hot sauce—try some fermented garlic honey, if you have a good supply of the latter!
Yes, that conversation is one of many recently. I find this lecture illuminating and will write about it soon: https://substack.com/home/post/p-150912468?source=queue&autoPlay=true
There's another interesting piece at The Metropolitan Review:
https://www.metropolitanreview.org/p/ross-douthats-sandbox-universe?r=16vgt&utm_medium=ios&triedRedirect=true
Indeed, my thinking is partly shaped by the recognition that secularism has not produced better fruit in me, particularly outside the parameters of a university, where it felt more tenable. Secular rationalism has often made me angry and isolated and given me false benchmarks of strength, such as my own fitness (which was derailed recently by a nasty flu) or my own escape rituals. I am by no means interested in dogma of any kind or in joining a social movement or in recruiting anyone else to join me in restoring some nostalgic idea of civilization. The point is quite personal: the fruits a faith practice might bear in me. I think it's possible to augment my rationalism in this way. But all that is for another essay!
Looking forward to your piece, brother.
Josh, this was lovely and powerful. Powerful in its simplicity, lovely in its depth. I think for many of us, the question is how honest with ourselves can we be. Can we fight this connection we feel, with a creator, with the divine, with God, or are we willing to let go of the need to know and simply, joyously accept? It seems,a you’ve found that answer for yourself, and I’m happy with you.
Well done my friend
Thanks, brother. Yes, honesty is the right word for this. I've always drawn back from calling my instincts spiritual because I grew up with so many false imitations around me and much of my adult life has been defensive in that way, refusing to join others in what seemed like a narrow box. However, I've also been dissatisfied with squishier forms of expressing faith or spirituality, which seem like convenient choices for the individual with no inherent rigor or integrity (and in that way just as false as the other imitations). This is a journey of years, of a lifetime, and for me the most immediate fruit of opening to that connection with the divine is a softening in myself. I'm ready to live more reverentially and less defensively.
Beautiful piece; good luck on both your journeys.
Thank you, Jim. Glad to be walking this road with you in our different ways.
An extraordinary take on an ordinary activity. Personally I find the practice of gardening far from ordinary, and I’m far too impatient to succeed at it.
There’s a lot in here to unpack Josh. Control. Surrender. Faith. Serenity.
What I do hear—and smell—as clearly as that warm seed tray you describe is your heart opening. Spring? Love? Or merely as you tease it—a reveal of deeper roots emerging from the soil of your soul.
Well done friend.
Yes, surrender and serenity seem to go hand in hand. I'm mindful of the potential for this mindset to enable an escape similar to the one I've sought in the garden. But for now, the shift in thinking requires constant effort that has its own integrity. I'll write more about this in the weeks ahead. But I think this particular essay was propelled in part by my solo parenting abroad. When you get on multiple planes with your kids and travel Third World roads, you have to confront the limits of your control. That doesn't mean doing any less to protect my family, it just means that whether it's a vacation or a typical week at home or facing the stretch of the next decade as I try to keep showing up for my kids, there's an enormous amount that I have to surrender control of. Rationalism doesn't leave me much peace about that. I'm beginning to see how prayer functions not as an excuse to stop trying but as a way of accepting what stretches beyond my grasp.
That’s one of the reasons I love the Serenity Prayer. Having not been a big prayer guy for most of my life, i like that it doesn’t ask for anything specifically—simply acceptance, courage, and wisdom—which applies to everything generally. ☺️
And the Third Step Prayer
Writing as prayer got me. This is the truth. Doesn't have to be religious. But spiritual, yes.