Why Oklahoma?

Why Mackinack Island?

Why Birmingham?

Why Duluth?

Why Sault Ste Marie?

These questions reflect the shared response to my choice of destinations over the last three summers. While each destination has its own unique reasons and context concerning why I travelled to these particular places, each invokes that same seemingly essential degree of collective  puzzlement. They don’t exactly scream tourist destination.

Each shares another characteristic in common- my decision to visit all three are connected to an item that is on my list (my bucket list if you will, although I prefer the phrase “life list”).

But that’s probably just doubling down on the puzzlement and restating the same question- why are they on my list to begin with?

While the relevant place for me right now is Sault Ste Marie, having just returned less than a week ago from a visit, let me start with a previous destination in order to dive deeper into that why question:

Birmingham, Alabama

Two summers ago I found myself hitting the road for my first solo road trip to Birmingham, Alabama. Now, to be clear Birmingham was not on my list. The mid-sized southern American city is iconic of course for both its bright culture and dark past, but for me the only real awareness I had of the place was in rhetoric or footnotes to conversations about larger topics. It’s never described as a destination for the restless wanderer or the interested tourist.

In this case, part of the why is incidental and practical- what put it on my radar, aside from being a budget friendly option to spend those short summer months on (I’m on the school system, so those months are a sort of routine rite of passage between seasons for me), was the simple fact that I was in the middle of reading the newly released King biography. Thus, I suddenly had a reason to put it on my radar, and decided that traversing this space in tandem with the words on the page was a compelling option. It didn’t hurt that the destination put me in relative proximity to a place that had been high on my list for a while- Charelston, South Carolina. So with Birmingham as my central hub, I set off on an adventure which could more accurately have cited Charleston as my main point of interest. That likely would have led to less puzzlement.

Ironcially, it turned out that my least favorite place to visit on that trip was Charleston. I loved Birmingham. I even ended up loving another place that was neither on my list or on my radar- Savannah, Georgia, which I traded some of my time in Charleston for.

Duluth, Minnesota

A second example: Last summer my already low budget was especially affected by a job change which had sliced my income in half. Why Duluth? Again, bring in the budget friendly destination. Nice and close to my hometown of Winnipeg. To be clear though, Duluth was simply a central hub that allowed me to check off another item on my life list: the Apostle Islands. Admittedly the islands were far down that list, but nevertheless they were on it. And the time seemed ripe to finally take the plunge given my limited resources.

Turns out the islands were fine, but what I really loved was the chance to dig underneath the surface of Duluth. In this case, I had been there enough for the layout and the streets to feel familiar, but I gained a different kind of delight and joy from that trip- crossing that line between being a tourist to being a visitor. It’s kind of magical you move from familiar to routine. That’s when the nuances and the hidden spaces and captured moments are able to emerge with a new kind of veracity and power. The space feels, in part, yours. The chance to just settle in and experience the mix of culture, waterfront and trails and lifestyle from a completely different vantage point blends with mornings sunrise walks at the downtown waterfront, coffee with the now known baristas at Dulth Coffee Company, repeat visits to try different things local institutions like The Duluth Grill and At Sara’s Table, weekend trips up the North Shore, hikes through the popular parks., evening movies, and plays. The kind of stuff you often miss when being a tourist.

Three Essential Observations About Travel

These two examples underscore for me three essential observations about travel:

• Often times its the unexpected places and moments, not the antcipated and planned ones, that prove to be the most cherished.
• Any place can be a destination for the curious, and curiousity, or investing in that curiousity, is what makes any destination a worthwhile one.
• Taking the opportunity to invest opens up more oppporunity, such as a trip to check off the Apostle Islands leading to a chance to dive deep into the life and culture of Duluth, which then lead to a further opportunity to check off the lower mississippi GRR, which takes you to the headwaters. I had even forgotten that this was on my list, a holdover from a trip up the GRR from Minneapolis to Memphis, leaving the final part of the upper portion (Memphis to New Orleans) and the the lower portion (Minneapolis to the headwaters) on my TBT (to be travelled) list.

Which brings me to this summer: why Sault Ste Marie? A barely 90,000 large (or small) populated northern Ontario city seemingly in the middle of nowhere. A place boasting a reputation as a drug-hub given its proximity to the American border and its isolation from any significant center.

Sault Ste Marie

Let me backtrack for a bit. It starts with the once lofty asperations of maybe, just maybe, finally getting to England this summer. A destination residing at the top of my list that seems to forever come and go as a failed endeavor with each passing year. With my expceptionally depleted budget this was going to take some creativity, but it seems like its always my starting point any time I’m approaching the years travel plans. This is a story for another time, but a near comical mix of conflicts and failed and upended plans left us heading into summer with nothing on our plate and a very limited list of potentials, compounded by the fact that this year I don’t have the luxury of August with the demands of my new position as Transit Manager for my school (August is typically the one and only haven for anything remotely nearing budget friendly options in the summer, relatively speaking, with prices droppping the closer one gets to September).

So I find myself moving from the top of my list (England) down to the bottom. That’s where I noticed a tiny, seemingly insignificant mention of the Agawa Canyon Tour Train I had jotted down years ago. 

Why is this train on my list? Someone suggested that the simple fact I’m using train and vacation in the same sentence means I’m old. And I mean, that’s never been more true than turning 49 this past week (which is a digression needing its own space to flesh out as well). But there is another reason why its there: its association with the infamous “Group of Seven.”

If America had its decisive break from Europe through its now infamous stated rebellion, it could be argued that Canada gained its true distinctivness through the emergence of the Group of Seven, who’s paintings come to light between 1920 and 1933 and go on to shape the fabric of Canadian culture at large. Their unique blend of emphasis on a mix of urban, landscape, and person, all brought together against the backdrop of this rugged wilderness of the northern locale, becomes a way of speaking to that necessary fusion of populution density and the sheer vastness of the country’s geographical space. The Agawa Canyon Train traverses the original inspiration and repeated pathways that helped foster the unique vision of these artists, accented by a local museum and artists center designed to continue their influence by connecting this history to the ever emerging voices of fresh generations.

Which is to say, tor a “middle of nowhere” part of Canada, this small city packs a significant punch in terms of cultural relevance. And in true self-depreciating fashion, which I am more and more convinced is found in all places big or small, may be a punch it delivers without the knowledge of some of its local residents, a note I make given some of my interactions during my stay. As one person put it, the goal of education in Sault Ste Marie is to enable people to leave. I’ll come back to that sentiment later, as there is many ways in which this misses the mark, but as a born and raised resident of Winnipeg, Manitoba, I know this kind of self depreciating attitude well. You don’t earn a spot on the Simpsons and the moniker “I was born here, what’s your excuse,” without it being in the air. For the record, I am invested in and love my hometown.

Back to the Soo: what is true of the Agawa Railroad and the Canada Seven could be equally applied to its other most recognizable attraction- the Soo Locks.

What I learned about the Locks:

1. These locks represent the last and final piece of the puzzle that connects Lake Superior to the other Great Lakes, and thus the ocean.
2. The locks are so important to the now developed economy of both the U.S. and Canada, that any intentional targeting which leaves them unusable for even a matter of months would cripple the country (hence the persisting lore of secret underground bunkers).
3. While it costs upwards of hundreds of thousands of dollars to use the Panama locks/canal (beginning with a whopping $800 for vessels under 50 feet), using the Soo locks is free.

Funny enough, the significance of the locks plays directly into that reflection on self depreciating attitudes about a place. Here we have, nearly in the center of these two Countries, a fact that is symbollically recognized by the international bridge and the twin cities occupying both sides of the border (Soo Michigan and Soo Ontario), a transit coridor that functions as a waterway to somewhere else. What I discovered through conversations and podcasts and online discourse (some of the ways I like to immerse myself in a place), is that part of the identity crisis of the Soo connects to the question of why the city is not in fact bigger than it is. Given the beauty of its backyard, given its economic importance (including the massive Agawa steel plant), why did it not grow into a major city center? Part of the answer, at least in appearance, is the fact that its not bolstered by large access to self sustaining farm land. And perhaps its northern winters, but as a Winnipeger I find such critiques difficult to take seriously- winters are something we embrace. I don’t know. It likely just boils down to the ebb and flow of history. Sort of like why Winnipeg stole the once ambitions dreams of becoming Manitobas capital and largest center from Selkirk. What I can say is, its place and position as one of three most populated centers along the North Shore of the Great Lakes Region should not be measured by its relative population. It should be measured by its character and function. And, something else I’ve become more and more convinced of over the years, the best way to get ato know the character of a place is not through the dissenters, but through those who are passionately invested in the place itself. That’s what I wanted to seek out from this place I had driven through and by many times without really stopping to wonder and notice and experience.

So, how would I describe Sault Ste. Marie? First off, it’s defined by a very concentrated mix of the city’s connected hub trails, its wilderness backdrop, and its waterfront canal.

The popular moniker here is that everything is a 15 minute commute. What I discovered is that this is almost and nearly literaly true. This concentration is also defined by an interconnecteness between these three things. Hobbies, recreation and past times are spent in the citiy’s backyard, while all trails lead back to the waterfront and its canal where, when not meeting up at a select Tim Hortons, one finds the local hang out spots (Station Mall retaining a visible presence).

Full disclosure: I’m the kind of traveler that is always looking for that marriage of culture and landscape, as that’s what I think truly defines a sense of place. I admit, on the surface and at first glance the Soo appears shockingly, and even strikingly devoid of that cultural imprint. Save for the small Coles in the city’s lone mall (Station Mall), and an even smaller used booked store  tucked away inside an antique shop (The Skeleton Key, which I recommend), the city has no bookstores, a lone and somewhat antiquated cineplex that plays the few current blockbusters of interest, and doesn’t have a single coffeeshop (once you set aside Tim Hortons and the much bandied about Starbucks in the local Pino’s grocer).

Shocking for a city which is, at to least to one degree, built around the identity of Canada’s most famous artists.

As I dug underneath the surface however, I found a real and authentic Soo identity waiting to be uncovered. Perhaps less conditioned for tourists like me, and much more the holistic product of those who have made this slice of Canadiana their home, the center piece of course being the Algoma Arts Museum.

And what I discovered is that what makes this artistic interest so unique to this area is the way it frames the Soo identity around the visual senses. Here faces and landscape blend together. Further yet, to understand the Soo is to understand that which surrounds it. You can’t get to the Soo apart from going through the Algoma region, and certainly not apart from the rich indigenous culture and heritage that  gives it its historic foundations (known as the Bawating to the Anishinaabe, and marked by the emergence of the Metis communtiy that would help shape this area around a distinct French influence).  

Equally significant is the areas Italian influences and migration, representing the city’s true era as a boomtown in the 1940’s and 50’s, giving the city its post war identity. What’s shocking is how these roots have managed to remain, representing a quarter of the city’s 90,000 and giving it one of its most exciting characteristics- the ongoing pizza wars (I recommend Fratelli’s). In fact, this microcosm of Italian presence offers a good way into another distinct element that you’ll find in Sault St Marie, the common practice of self sustained food sourcing on a micro level (fueled by goats milk and cheese and maple syrup from the nearby St Joseph’s island). You’ll find many places get their food directly from their own backyard gardens

Feeding Your Soul Cafe, a wonderful gem of a spot on the northwestern side of that 15 minute commute, is a great example of this. You walk straight through these quintessential gardens that lead you straight to its localy inspired cousine waiting inside. Including a whole host of gluten free options for those who are celiac like me. And sure, while the city lacks a coffee shop, part of the culture of the Soo is lingering instead in these local institutions, in true Italian fashion. This is not a hurry up and go culture, which is refreshing since you will find that culture coming starkly into view the minute you hit Sudbury and begin that journey to southeastern Ontario. And bonus: the coffee comes straight from St. Josephs island, another local instituion that has made its home in this unsuspecting corner of our country. You can take the short but worth it trip to visit the roastery buried deep in the islands own remote forests,

The bottom line: a true Soo experience, at least of a leisurely day off, is a morning hike to the top of the Robertson Cliffs

Or biking the Hiawatha/Voyageur trails

Followed by breakfast at the famed Breakfast Pig, an afternoon grocery shopping at Pino’s or hanging at Tim Hortons (or perhaps trade any of those for hanging out and dialoging with the locals at the aformentioned Feed Your Soul which closes at three, and then taking one of the paths to the St. Mary’s River to occupy an evening with sunsets and pizza (I would recommend the road through Bellevue Park).

Other recommends: Cafe 4 Good (love their integrated approach to helping underserved portions of the poputlation), Ernies Cafe for a retro vibe, And O Cafe (paired with the Soo Market on Saturdays, since its right around the corner, is perfect).

This identity becomes even more clarified once I started to gain a sense of the stated rivalries between the isolated northern locales that bookend this stretch of the Canadian landscape, the (slightly) more populous center of Thunder Bay on the northern end, and the stronger economic engine of Sudbury, the city built on a rock, on the southern end. Here the descriptions of the banter get fun, all sides slinging zingers at each other with a sense of glee indicative of a place needing a solid past time to fill those conversations at Tim Hortons. If Sudbury has the money and the innovation in the techs/medical care department, a product of its direct connection to the GTA, the Soo has affordability, a down to earth presence, the locks, and isn’t built on a rock. Interpretation: the Soo isn’t one dimensional

Yes, Sudbury has a coffee shop, but the Soo don’t actually care.

And let’s not get into the sports rivalry.

If you’re getting the sense that Thunder Bay tends to be the odd one out, it’s sort of true. That feud is more ammicable, given that the two cities are more interconnected in terms of shared and deeply embedded economic interests (they all know that despite the ongoing competition, what’s good for one is good for both), although Thunder Bay’s noted and elevated isolation is certainly a point any Soo apparently loves to make. That relationship tends to be ingrained more in history than the present, with the Soo and Sudbury rivalry being less dependent and enjoying the benefits of those centralized differences as adversaries.

Nevertheless, its all very much involved in helping to locate these distinct communities in their particular space and time. One of the strengths of the Soo, something that contrasts with the singular presence of Sudbury as a more defined economic engine, is its freedom and ability to reinvent itself. Here perceptions and articles documenting the recent history of rapid decline, relative of course to its small population, are met by articles of optimistic growth. Headlines in 2022 outline a unique city initiative that uses the city’s size as a strength by implementing green hydrogen infrastructure. The Algoma Steel industry is in the middle of a revolutionary overhaul towards the same ends, An emphasis on reducing car dependency through a visible active transportation hub. Making space for temporary residents.

While a 2023 report by a real estate company made headlines for advertising Soo residents as some of the least happy people in Canada (which kind of goes against its slogan of the friendliest city in the Algoma region), numerous studies over the years have indicated that it is one of the best places to start an independent business. I found this tidbit of information interesting, because part of my own experience visiting the city is that the visible lack of culture actually disguises the authentic experience of discovering unique shops littered throughout different sections of the city. Meaning, it hasn’t sprawled. In fact, I don’t know that it could really sprawl. Which leads to reinvention of existing neighborhoods and the preservation of its roots. While certainly a section like Queen’s Street is especially unique, or the recently developed Machine District,

the sense that I got from the Soo is that it’s all seen as one big neighborhood with the canal as its shared backyard. As mentioned earlier, all roads lead to the St. Mary’s River. In fact, at one point as I was driving around and exploring, I found myself in an obviously low income area noted by its housing units. What stood out to me about this area was how it seemed that the way of life for this neighborhood was connected directly to the city’s biggest park, a central facet of the hub trail which circles the city as a functional perimeter for active transit. Coming from Winnipeg where our neighborhoods are defined by their historic divides dictated by the railroad and marked by sprawl, this to me stood out as a significant feature of the landscape- these public spaces are trutly shared by everyone regardless of class.

While I was travelling to the Soo, I was reading a book by one of the areas most celebrated authors- Mary Lawson.

The book is called Crow Lake. It was the top recommendation for anyone looking to pair a literary voice with their exploration of the area. Lawson’s locations and people are technically fictional, but the story itself captures so much of what I’ve been talking about above. It’s about a family growing up in a place like the Soo, a humble, sparsely populated northern Ontario community. While the story is shaped by a certain tragedy that sits at the heart of its slow meandering plot, framed by the narration of the older sister in a family of four siblings, there is another theme or thread that sits in the background before ultimately becoming the central point of the journey and the questions the journey wants to evoke. As the initial chapters establish, this revolves around a great grandmother whom the siblings only know vicariously. The great grandmother symbolizes this tension that exists between those who stay and those who don’t. Between the need to preserve the integrity of this space by becoming part of its ethos and the need to escape it for the sake of opportunity, all shaped by the sort of judgment that social hierarchies can create. For the great grandmother this is about prioritizing education in an effort to escape the lower rungs. One of the morals or lessons that the book ultimately leaves us with then is the power of perception to this end. In a world where education is made out to be a singular conception and where progress and growth is made out to be a singular measure, perhaps there are different ways for one to be “educated,” different ways for one to be experienced and to grow, to have true character.

Which is to say, there are good reasons to immerse oneself in ones space. And there are many ways in which a space gives back. This is why, as it is for anyone who invests in the art of living, faces and places are one in the same. Perhaps this is one of the great gifts of the Soo’s deep connections with its indigenous roots, something that hasn’t been covered over by a certain kind of progress in this area.

Which brings me back to that Train. I ultimately decided to pass on the train, despite it occupying space on my list for so long. After reading a bunch of reviews, I came to the conclusion that it might be better to shift my focus. It’s a pricey endeavor, and the train is iconic enough for people to shape their entire vacations around, which might be why some of the reaction exists. But the sentiment seemed to read loud and clear- great idea, poor execution. That and the long train ride with stories of poorly maintained and gross bathrooms awaiting at the remote canyon not accessible by cars weirded me out. My phobia of public washrooms kicked in and made the final decision. As a number of the voices stated, they believed you can get a similar taste for the place without the train.

Thus I made a shift. I traded the train for a day in nearby Manitou Island. Which of course deserves its own story as an integral piece of that Soo identity. The island I can happily recommend as one of canada’s best kept secrets, a sentiment a recent article I came across expressed.

I’m grateful for all the faces and places I found and met immersed in this destination I chose to tour. Why Sault St. Marie? I came for the Art, I stayed for the context. Next time I anticipate crossing that line from tourist to visitor.

And make sure to enjoy the journey. The north shore is amazing

 

 

 

I was listening to the latest sermon from Bridgetown Church on my morning walk, titled Genesis: Cain and Abel. They have been going step by step, or more accurately section by section, through the Genesis text emphasising the narrative that it is both establishing and evoking. In this particular section the teacher/preacher tasked with bringing this to life narrows in on the importance of the geneaolgy. Bypassing this means missing the story.

The insights he brings regarding the nature of the geneaology (or geneaologies) here is not new, especially for anyone familiar with the work of the Bible Project (Tim Mackie attends this church), but there was a particular insight that stood out for me. He notes the way the narrative is established against two broad reaching, parallel geneaologies- that of the serpents seed and that of the woman’s seed. Much more can be said about how this frames the overaching story the scriptures are looking to tell, but for the purpose of this sermon he narrows in on the connection between Cain and Lamech as a literary device establishing the line of the serpent within the larger narrative.

Many will be familiar with the line from Genesis 4 which depicts sin as crouching at Cain’s “door.”. Much more than metaphor, this phrasing is taken seriously in depicting Cain’s active transformation into an image of the serpent. “It will have you,” God says, if you image the serpent rather than me. Not inconsequentially, Cain is also established as the father of the nations as he builds the cities that define them. This sets the stage for the conflict that will confront the formation of Israel as one set apart among the nations in order to image Yahweh to the world.

And don’t let that pass by unnoticed- the nations are associated with the seed of the Serpent. Important to the story- Egypt, Pharoah, Babylon, Rome, Ceasar, all associated with the seed of the serpent.

The Bible Project does a good job of unpacking the narrative hperlinks between God’s creation of Adam and Eve, Eve’s creation of Cain, and Cain’s creation of the city, all of which use the same word with contrasting emphasis between “I have made” and “God has made.” We are already meant to be immersed in this necessary tension between these parallel lines that are unfolding. In fact, the stark contrast is found at the end of chapter 4 where, instead of the phrase “I have made” in relationship to Cain, we get the phrase “God has granted me” in relatinship to Seth. Here Seth (rendered “appointed one”) is established as the answer to Chapter 4’s poignant commentary on the state of things in which the serpents seed is filling the earth with perpetual vengance.

And here is what I thought was truly interesting. Leading up to Seth is this lineage that connects Cain to Lamech, bookmarked by these two phrasings- “anyone who kills Cain will suffer vengeance seven times over,” (4:15) and Lamech’s reiteration and recasting of this phrase, “If Cain is avenged seven times, then Lamech seventy-seven times.”

Common readings have a tendency of racing past these phrasings with the assumption that this is about God enacting vengeance on those who kill Cain or Lamech. This misplaces the phrasing. First, the narrative is emphasizing the two seeds that we have in view from Chapter 3. One is going to be crushed, the other is going to liberate. Second, the contrast that we find in Chapter 4 is between Cain and Seth.

The teacher/preacher at Bridgetown notes the unfortunate translation of punishment in vs 13 as perhaps fueling certain approaches to this text, a word that should be translated as “visiting.” Or in this case, “the visiting of Sin’s curse through the subsequent encounters with its vengeance. The same curse of the land that we find in Chapter 3 now being applied to Cain. In 4:14 it actively defines this as seperation from God under this cursed land (or occupying this cursed reality). The vengeance in mind here is not God’s doing, rather it is giving us a portrait of how Sin is fruitful (the picture of the seed). Vengeance breeds more venganeace. That’s the only way it can seek justice in a world where the presence of God is absent.

The mark God applies to Cain “so that no one who found him would kill him” (vs 15) is in fact tied to God’s redemptive work in stopping this cycle. We find this in Seth. More importantly, we find this in the portrait of Cain’s giving birth to the nations, out of which God is going to preserve a people in line with the woman’s seed by coming to dwell in the temple (a micorcosm of Eden).

This is in contrast to Cain’s seed, which we find culminating in this passage about Lamech. Thus it is not about greater punishment being enacted on Lamech by God. That makes no sense of the literary flow. In fact, the number 7, applied as it is to Cain, would represent a mark of completion, fulfillment, or wholeness. Meaning, what this should be awakening readers to is God’s promise to crush the head of the serpent in Chapter 3. It should awaken not to perpetual punishment, but to the promise to do something about the problem. The problem here is not Cain, or people, it is a creation under the curse of the serpent. The same serpent that is defined according to this statment in 4:23 where, instead of Cain being targeted it is Cain’s seed, a fact that hands us these competing realities- in a world bearing the fruit of the serpents seed and where the head is not crushed what we get is endless cycles of vengeance that fill the earth with something other than God’s glory (presence). In order for God’s presence to fill the earth, it must be made new, meaning, it must be liberated from the serpent itself. That’s the problem.

Thus God gives a child. A child that, in the broader scope of this narrative, is appointed to bear the weight of this cycle of vengeance but mark it by bringing about this image of the 7 days (the bringing about of the new creation by curshing the serpents head). This is precisely what we find in Jesus who contrasts the image of Ceasar by ushering in the Kingdom of God through His resurrection.

The Bridgetown teacher/preacher notes Jesus’ evoking of this phrase that ties Cain and Lamech together, only reframing it as “forgiveness.” How many times should I forgive? Jesus speaks to Lamech’s concern. Why? Because this is the reality, the world, that we know. It is only in Jesus that we can know the true Sabbath. It is only through the mark that we can reframe the world as it is (seventy times seven, a number that is never complete) within the proper narrative of God’s restorative work (the same 7 day creation imagery that marks the temple inaugeration).

There’s one last important contrast to note here. At the end of chapter 4 we get this phrase- “at that time people began to call on the name of the Lord.” This is in response to the birth of Seth. Fast foward through the geneaologies of the next two chapters, and in chapter 6 we get this phrase bringing us into the story of Noah- “The Lord saw how great the wickedness of the human race had become on the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time.” Readers here are meant to carry the story of Adam and Even/Cain and Abel forward into the story of Noah. Noah’s story mirrors these narratives with an intentional literary design, Where the serpent is at Cains door, here we get the story of the “sons of god” coming down and seeding the women. Noah is ultimatley cast as an Adam figure, with his sons estbalishing this equal picture of two lines that lead to the formation of the nations and ultimately the formation of Israel. We have intentional interplay woven all the way through, including hyperlinked terms that tie Noah’s drunkenness to the eating of the fruit of the garden and the fruit. Which is to say- the same story but told from a different vantage point.

But that phrase, at that time, is meant to catch us with a particular kind of hopeful echo and refrain. At that time frames the hopeful expectation that will follow a story defined by the reality of Lamech. If the fulfilllment is not yet seen, the work of God, or the faithfulness of God can be found in His specific responsiveness, always pointing us not just an ambigious or distant entity unanmed and undefined, but one who is named, who is encountered, who is found in his persistant movement from heaven to earth. One who can be known and who has not abandoned creation to the curse of Sin and Death. One who’s revelatory nature is made fully known in Jesus whom bears the weight of Sin and Death itself. Not some punishment meted out by God, but a stated and responsive act which stops the cycle of Sins continued visiting in its tracks. Announcing a different way, a different kind of Kingdom based on a different kind of needed justice. A justice bent on forgivness, a forgiveness which reclaims and restores by replacing vengeance (the presence of the serpent and its seed) with Love (the presence of God).

“When someone dies or disappears, we can tell stories about only what might have been the case or what might have happened next. And perhaps it is simply a question of control, but it is easier to imagine the very worst than to allow a space in which several things might be true at once.” (The Homemade God, Rachel Joyce)

Joyce’s recently released novel follows a disjointed and entirely dysfunctional family (aren’t we all) on a journey to deal with the sudden passing of their father. At the heart of this story lies two great mysteries- what happened to their father’s allusive and non-existent final painting, a project that was intended to define his legacy, and who is this much younger woman he recently married. As this cast of siblings comes together, these two essential mysteries begin to pull at the fabric of their collective and seperate pasts in the way the loss of a parental figure often does. As the story progresses, it becomes more and more clear that the grater mystery is in fact not this enigmatic figure that was their father, but whether they themselves can be reconciled both to him and one another against the push and pull of their individual stories.

It’s a book that is largely about the shifting nature of our perspectives, especially where these differing vantage points are brought into conversation. Who their father was to each of them matters to who he was as a singular entity to the whole. In many ways these are competing stories, competing stories that, as the above quote suggests, wrestle with how it is we imagine our perspective within the framework of past hopes and regrets. Is my perspective true? In one sense yes. This is the story we bring to the table, a fact that demonstrates the simple observation that all of us then are beholden in some way, shape or form to the perception and memory of others. This is something we cannot ultimatley control. It does however underscore the immense responsibility we hold in having the power to define and shape the story of others.

Here in lies an important facet of the novel, contained within the above quote. It is always easier to imagine the worst, especially where relationships are stained, estranged or distanced. This is precisely where imagination becomes our most powerful tool. Not because we are imagining something that isn’t true, but because our imaginations open us up to greater possibilities, challenging the limiting nature of our individual perspectives. It hands us an ultimate and necessary irony- we shape who others are, but it is the collective that shapes how we are able to see who others are. In the language of Joyce’s novel, this same notion applies to the creative or participatory acts we put out into the world as expressions of our selves and our limiting perspectives.

As I’ve been thinking about this idea over the last couple of days, I’ve actually found myself thinking more about the people in my life who are alive rather than the ones who are no longer around. I mean yes, in many ways this process is shaped by those legacies that get left behind. Legacies that are less defined by what we accomplish and more by the simple fact of our existence. But the only way to have a legacy is for that thing to exist in relationship to the world in the first place. In many ways this feels like a freeing thought. A liberating thought. I am free to embrace this experience in the moment for what it is while also knowing that this story is not bound to the moment. To feel bound, or to bind something to a given moment is where we are failing to engage that imagination.

The power of this thought, for me, is that this applies not to how I shape my life necessarily, but to the responsibility I have for shaping the stories of others. To learn to live this way is to learn how to see beyond myself, and to see beyond myself is to be free to see myself as a necessary part of this collective picture. This doesn’t dilute and devalue how it is we live in the experience of a given moment, as though what we do doesn’t matter or have an impact. It actually liberates those moments to be wrestled with and therofore eventually transformed. It makes space for several things to be true at once. Which of course flows from that necessary foundation- that which we can say is inherently true about this reality that we all share.

This probably needs its own seperate thread, but I can’t help but think about the ways I find this best expressed in the Judeo-Christian narrative. The idea of the homemade god is always seen and understood to be an image, a shadow, a representation. Where this is defined as worship of something inherently false (idolatry), leads to stories that are bound to a given moment. In the biblical narrative this is the language of exile- the dysfunctional and estranged family. Where this is defined as worship of something inherently true, this leads to stories that are liberated by the language of fulfillment. This is the language of new creation. The language of Jesus. It is this christological lens that allows the writers to re-imagine the story of exile-new creation in the sense of several things being true at once. In the language of Paul, evoking the already-not yet nature of telling our stories in the light of the risen Christ.

Now, this is where my imagination not only participates in the stories of those still here and shapes the stories of those who have passed, but entrusts these stories to the reality of the resurrection. The ultimate vantage point.

I was listening to an interview with author and scholar Donna Freitas this morning, where she was speaking about her upbringing and her faith journey. Having grown up Catholic, and having long since found herself wrestling with the tensions present between between the problems she could percieve and experience within the institutional church and the intuitions and longings that seemed to poke and prod at that inner desire to seek and find soemthing true, she eventually found herself falling headfirst into the field of philosophy and religion. Somewhat with that familiar story of contrasting figures in her father and her mother in tow. This is what continues to shape her journey both as a woman and as a seeker.

At one point she said something that caught me in an unexpected way. She described how one of the things that feels like it define her relationship to faith is that she seems to find these glimpses of God through the experiences of other people rather than her own. If she has never had that prototypical direct encounter that makes God so real for the mystics and the many, she consistently finds a connection to the transcendent through exploring the stories and lives and actions of others that have. Here she refuses to allow her own skepticism to invalidate the witness of the diverse world that surrounds her.

There’s a subsequent part to this as well that struck me. If one of the ways these mystics and many commune with God is through the practice of prayer, she describes the freedom that came from recognizing that its possible that her writing could be considered an act of praying. These two things really resonated with me and my own journey. While I can point to different experiences in my life as being a particular harbinger of my own wrestling with faith in God, one of the constants that contintues to sustain me is that so many of my life’s most important moments have come from those whom have that apparent gift of direct communion with the Divine. So much so that their own witness tendsd to become my own.

It’s also not suprising to think back on my life and the figures and encounters that I find contained within and note that these same ones who seem to have that privileged connection and gifting are also often dedicated prayers as well. This might be why part of my wrestling has seen this persistant fascination with prayer. A subject I seem to keep coming back to over the years in different seasons and different moments. Partly because I feel like I suck at prayer. Partly because those who are gifted at it occupy such a powerful place in my life, even ast times directly on my behalf.

I’ve long had this intuition that perhaps I have misplaced my understanding of what prayer is. Perhaps the particular gifting that I so cherish in the lives of others isn’t prayer, but a particular characteristic that I lack which opens them up to and sustains their belief. Perhaps what I have long felt terrible at is not prayer, but that particular characteristic that fills in the gaps of that thing I lack and struggle with. More importantly, if this is true, perhaps there is room to say I can pray. In fact, maybe I do pray in ways I don’t realize. And further, maybe my own particular characterstic reflects an equal strength that somehow fills gaps in others. If so, there is motivation to recognize what that is on both fronts, in what I lack and in what I have.

A difficult thought indeed. But when she described her prayer life as the act of writing, something she suggests “is speaking to something or someone,” a light bulb went on in my mind. That’s exactly what my intuition keeps telling me, even as I constantly dismiss it and distrust it.  I’m not a writer like her, but this space is an example of a similar act of praying. Perhaps more readily is my love of reading, something she also describes as being fundamental to her own life and wrestling. To read is, for me, to be engaged in an act of prayer. To wrestle with big ideas and big thoughts is an act of prayer. To travel, even to the smallest of places (which seems to be norm for me these days) is an act of prayer. It is in these actions, these spaces, that I would say my spirit is most awaken to that necessary conversation that awakens me to God’s reality.

Which is where it hits me- all of these spaces, these actions, are finding God through the experiences of others. Through things external to my own self and in ways that fill in the gaps that my own character lacks. This is, in fact, seemingly also part of my own strength and gifting as well.

It’s kind of funny actually, because this intuition meets the rational part of my brain that says, but prayer is found in things like quiet and detaching and nature and contemptlation and meditation. I’ve long since read and encountered persistant critique of occupying our minds with other voices. But I know, for me those things do the opposite. I feel furthest from God in nature where the only thing I have is myself and the suppposed awarness of the Divine its supposed to evoke. I feel disconnected in the quiet and the contemplation where I have no access to the thoughts of others. Where do I come most alive? Through encountering the thoughts and experiences of others in books and ideas and encounters, and bringing that into conversation whereever it is I find myself.

Yes, I know this makes me the awkward one at parties. It is typically seconds before I’ve forced any and all conversations underneath the surface. I don’t do well with superficialities and practicalities, largely because if we aren’t discussing why it matters then, for me, it doesn’t matter. And part of what makes this particular characterstic what it is, for me, is that I do not fear the questions. I do not fear the wrestling. Those things actually enliven my faith. I do not fear, as Freitas describes the common burden of the existentialist (she’s a fellow lover of Kierkegaard) being one who is able to stare into the abyss and keep on living.

I’ve also lived long enough to know that somehow this quirk has, in different moments with different people, filled in the gaps that those others lack. My whole self resists such acknowledgments, but that witness exists and persists nonetheless in the notes and memories packed away in totes and those deep recesses of my brain. I know that there exists those whom do fear staring into the abyss, or whom find themselves in a space where they feel it but can’t articulate it, and for whom faith itself hangs in that incoherent and precarious balance. I know that in some cases what I am good at meets those gaps. Perhaps strength is as much recognizing what I lack as it is what I have. And sometimes, or maybe often is the case, the same people with whom I find my persistant existential crisis meaning something important, my connection to their own strenghts equally feeds my own soul.

“It was cold, and the servants and officials stood around a charcoal fire they had made to keep them warm. Peter was also standing with them, warming himself.” (John 18:18)

“When they landed, they saw a fire of burning charcoal there with fish on it, and some bread.” (John 21:9)

I came across this thought in a recent sermon from Darrell Johnson titled Jesus the Healer: He Gives Us a New Past. It’s a well documented observation concerning the literary design of John’s Gospel, in this case narrowing in on the explicit use of the term “anthrakia” (the Greek word for “charcoal fire.”). As Johnson states, wherever John is specifically naming a person or thing we are supposed to take notice.

There are only two places in the NT where this word is used, both in the Gospel according to John (see the above verses) and both in relationship to Peter. Both instances are framed by the pattern of 3, in chapter 18 Peter denying his association and friendship with Jesus 3 times, and in chapter 21 Peter affirming his love for Jesus 3 times.

Reading through these chapters this morning, I was struck by another set of three that bridges these two scenes in chapter 20. It concerns the initial question raised following the discovery of the empty tomb-

‘They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him.” (20:2).

he text tells us both that the proper burial practices relating to Jewish Law remained important;, but equally states that they had no sense that they might encounter their resurrected Lord instead. The assumption upon encountering an empty tomb is that the body was taken and that they desired to recover it, something that meets the urgency of Mary Magdalene running to find the disciples.

It is here where we then get three seperate responses to encountering the appearance of a resurrected Jesus. The first is the beloved disciple, whom I argued in my recent blog post (A Fresh Perspective on the Beloved Disciple) is a resurrected Lazarus. The text states that upon finding the burial cloth, the same burial cloth that we find mentioned one other time in relationship to the raising of Lazarus, that the beloved disciple “believes.” The second account is of Mary. Here Mary believes upon hearing her Lord “speak her name.” The familiarity of a voice that, when placed within this specific narrative, calls us back to earlier chapters which establish this notion of “listening” as central to her relationship to Jesus. The third account is Thomas, whom, the text describes, will only believe when we he has been given tangible and physical evidence of Jesus’ scars and holes. Being given this evidence, he then believes.

Three very different ways in which three very different people come to believe that the resurrection of Jesus is indeed true. This reflects the different ways each of us encounters such a truth, even where we might remain unaware of precisely what we need and require to believe in such a truth.

It’s also significant to find  that Chapter 20 ends with the summarizing statement, “these (words) are written so that YOU may believe.” (20:31) An invitation to see and encounter the same truth from the vantage point of our differences. It could be said that the question itself taps into something universal: “where is God.” And yet the ways we engage this truth contains a certain dynamism and particularity. We engage this truth with our own and full distinct selves in tow, and what leads one person to believe will look completely different than the next.

Which brings me back to Peter’s story in chapters 18 and 21. By the time we reach chapter 21 Peter believes the resurrected Jesus to be true. So much so that upon hearing his Lord’s voice echoing from the shoreline he jumps in the water fully clothed (let’s not bypass the apparent customary practice of being in the book completely naked- different times) and swam to him. A powerful picture that conjures up the story of Peter both walking on the water and similtaneously sinking, the image of Jesus reaching out His hands to grab Peter now being set within a larger and more comprehensive picture of Jesus’ denial and now restoration.

Not inconsequetionally, this is stated to be the third time Jesus has appeared to His disciples.

The important observation here- the question doesn’t stop at a matter of “belief.” Here it pushes further to the necessary question that follows an encounter with the resurrected Jesus- “do you love me.” This question of love sits at the heart of the Gospel according to John, and however it is that we find ourselves coming face to face with the truth of Jesus, this is the much more difficult thing to grapple with.

As Jesus’ repeated question posed to Peter around this charcoal fire indicates, it is difficult precisely because of the demands belief makes to actually live in and take up faithful residence in this reality that sits between the two polarizing forces at play in creation- death and resurrection. While Peter’s three denials of knowing Jesus comes in the face of Jesus’ own crucifixion, Jesus pointedly sets Peter’s three repeated confessions of love against the reality of Peter’s own death. I wrote about this in my previous post regarding the beloved disciple being Lazarus, but once again that basic observation helps to illuminate this particular text and give it a fresh relevance. What is Peter’s response to Jesus’ claim that he will die? He points to Lazarus and asks, “but what about him?” Jesus’ reply: this is about you, not him. You, Jesus says, must follow me.

What struck me about Peter’s reaction is two essential things, both of which speak into my own life in very particular ways. First, we, or I, often see belief as the hardest part of faith. Perhaps this is born from a modern context that has now reduced belief to scientific knowledge. Since, as the sentiment often goes, there is no scientific evidence for God’s existence, belief must be relegated to the arena of faith. This is even valorized to a degree: to believe is to have faith in the absence of evidence. This is the core purpose of the Christian Tradition. To be otherwise would mean it is not faith.

And yet, not only does the 3 fold witness of different paths to belief in chapter 20 undercut this, but Peter’s own story challenges this notion by saying actually, belief is a doorway into the much more difficult part called faith- living our beliefs. This is, it would seem, a truer understanding of what faith was to the world behind the text. To believe is something we cannot help. We cannot force ourselves to believe or not to believe. It is a result of a truth intersecting with that part of ourselves that then reformulates this from an uncertain question into basic intuition.

In the case of chapter 20: I know this cloth. I know this voice. I know these holes and these scars.

To love though is something entirely different. To love is to follow. It is to live that belief in the space between those two realized tensions- death and resurrection.

I can’t help but think of this now through the lens of Peter and Lazarus- the statment that these words are written so that WE might believe becomes the invitation to live between the tension of Peter (death) and Lazarus (resurrection). How? By following Jesus, the one who embodies both of these things as the resurrected one who also ascends to the throne. The one who participates in both of these things to their fullest ends, and whom brings about the promised transformation and the coming kingdom. What Jesus inaugerates in his death, resurrection and ascencion is, according to the Gospel of John, the express invitation to live (or to love) in the overlap of the ages. The inbetween space. How? Through the powerful truth that Jesus has sent His Spirit to dwell with us in this tension filled space.

The second essential thing is simply this. The raising of Lazarus is commonly seen and cited as Jesus’ greatest miracle. Certainly in the Gospel of John it stands at the center of this narrative about the Word made flesh. How often do we, or I, want to exchange our present reality for such a miracle? When asking that dangerous question, “do you love me,’ confronts the nature of my own belief, is my tendency to retreat back into that belief where such tensions can be shoved under the rug, to keep on asking the same questions over and over again (Paul uses the analogy of milk instead of solid food), or is it to step into a life of faith where the tension can and must be embraced? 

I admit, for me I do the former far more readily than the latter.

Further yet, how much more difficult is this quesiton when I’m looking acrosss the room at someone elses evidenced miracle and asking “but what about them?” Why do they get that miracle and I don’t? Here’s the irony of such a tendency, which is only far too real- but of course, such a question quickly forgets what brought us to believe in the first place.

Here’s where my thought process is at in this- belief is challenged not by the lack of whatever it is that we need to believe, rather it is challenged by the subsquent call to love in that space where the tension between death and resurrection becomes all too real. I am reminded of those words, “What is that to you? YOU must follow me.” I can imagine the words “where you are” helping to capture the weight of this sentiment.

To imagine Peter looking across that fire into the face of Jesus’ death is, in the narrative interest of John, to equally find himself looking across that fire into the face of His resurrection. In this space inbetween, one of the most powerful things that emerges from these two contrasting portraits is the way the first is framed by retreat and fear of judgment and the latter is framed by liberation and grace. Which is to say, the tension is real, the tension is difficult, but love is more powerful precisely because it liberates us from the trappings of belief apart from a life of participation. As Johnson so articulately puts it, love does not judge our belief for its natural resistance to the tensions of life, rather it is the thing that always makes another fire no matter what and continues to persist in posing that fresh question.

We find this in our participation in the eucharist as well. The memory that calls us back to that place of belief, but which never leaves us there. The culmination is always found in the sending, in the charge. Go in love. Go in the freedom to love.

One of the reasons I love to spend time in the scriptures is their ability to continually suprise me. Given that my own vantage point is always changing with time and context, the ability to speak in new ways. Or perhaps for me to hear in new ways.

One of the reasons I love to spend time with the scriptures in community with others is because it ensures that my old paradigms have the ability to be constantly challenged. Not only by academics and scholars, but by fellow sourjernors on this spiritual journey.

At times, the revelatory moments have the power to stop me in my tracks. This morning was one of those moments. A fresh revelation that has the potential to completely transform a familiar assumption.

This particular insight comes from a book by James Martin called Come Forth: The Promise of Jesus’s Greatest Miracle. And for what its worth, if you have never read his book Jesus: A Pilgrimage, you need to. Here it concerns the chapter titled He Whom You Love: Jesus Friendship and the Beloved Disciple. Or more specifically, the question of who the beloved disciple is, a long debated question in scholarship.

Now, this insight may be more obvious to some than it is to me. Perhaps this is something I should have been aware of a long time ago. In any case, this is my first time encountering this theory, and the theory is so persuasive that I find myself wondering why its not leading the way as the majority view in scholarship. Perhaps old paradigms are harder to let go of than many of us would care to admit?

In any case, the one leading the way in developing this theory is bliblical scholar Ben Witherington III. And the theory is simply this: the beloved disciple in John’s Gospel is in fact Lazarus.

Consider the following points:

• Not only is the Gospel of John the only Gospel to contain this story, Lazarus is the only one to be called “the beloved.” So much so that the raising of Lazarus goes out of its way to exclaim this as the most significant element of the miracle- “see how he loved him.” A climatic exclamation point of what is seemingly an intentional movement on the part of Jesus to return to Bethany against great danger for this very purpose
• The Gospel of John picks up the phrase “the Beloved Disciple” only and directly after the raising of Lazarus
• The raising of Lazarus forms the thematic and dramatic center of the Gospel
• The narrative structure, with chapter 12 and 13 being framed around dinners, both which lead up to the Passover, Martin cites Witherington unpacking how the original hearers would have heard this story orally, showing how the connecting point between the meal at Lazarus’ house (chapter 12) and the meal in chapter 13 is designed to bring Lazarus to the forefront, particularly as the customary “reclining with or next to the chief guest” of the host
• If this is the case, this would make sense of why every mention of the beloved disciple has him (its a masculine reference) residing within the vicinity of Jersusalem- the host of the house, being able to take Jesus’ mother in at the crucifixion, beating Peter to the grave, having access to places that only a Judean would, ect.
• If Lazarus is the beloved disciple, this makes sense of the seeming contrast between Peter and the “other” or “beloved” disciple that we find in John (think of the beloved disciple beating Peter to the tomb, and instead of Peter we hear only from beloved disciple)
• The burial clothe is mentioned two times in John’s Gospel, once with Lazarus and another with Jesus, and it is tied directly to the beloved disciple “seeing and believing.” Narratively the cloth is used to trigger a direct memory for the beloved disciple.

If all of that wasn’t enough, this is the one point that really got me. Why does Peter respond to Jesus at the end of John’s Gospel by asking “what about him” in response to the question “do you love me.” Even more striking- why does Jesus respond to Peter by saying “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you?” What does John record this saying as bringing about? A rumour within the community that the disciples would not die.

This has long puzzled readers and scholars alike. Why would this exchange culminate in this rumour? If the beloved disciple is indeed Lazarus, a disciple whom was resurrected, this would make complete sense of such a rumour. This makes sense of why Peter would be singling the beloved disciple out, and why it would be attached to this concern. After all, what do you do with a resurrected individual?

One last point on this front: this also makes sense of why the Gospel of John is composed, or at least portions of it (scholars seem to note three distinct layers of composition within the Gospel itself, meaning, it contains a portion that could very well be one of the earliest written testimonies that we have of the life of Jesus, connected directly to the named eye witness). It is entirely plausible to imagine a community whom had elevated Lazarus within their circle (perhaps in the same way others had elevated Peter?) having this Gospel recenter the real focus on the incarnate, crucified and raised Christ.

And hey, just because I can, why not throw out this tantalizing question for as ludicrous as it sounds- is t possible that Lazarus never died? “What is that to you” is indeed a startling phrase. A good reminder as well regarding our own awareness of our own “Peter” type reactions over and against the work of God.

So why does this matter for me? First, and this feels like stating the obvious, but if this theory is true it adds a whole new layer not just to Mark’s Gospel, which is commonly associated with Peter (what a wonderful exercise to read these two side by side- Mark’s Gospel which leaves the impact of the resurrection cloaked in the mystery of the women fleeing the empty tomb speechless and terrified, paired with the stated witness of Lazarus alongide Peter), but to Peter’s role in Acts and Paul’s writings.

Second, the window it gives us into the imtinate friendship between Lazarus and Jesus becomes a powerful portrait of the ways in which God works for the sake of His creation. That it gives such a flesh and blood context to the Gospel narrative is one of scriptures great gifts. This isn’t simple accounting, its a love letter.

Lastly, I find myself reading the Gospels final chapter with a new fervor and weight. Written so that they (his hearers) might believe. How often do I play this against my modern conception of faith and doubt “in God.” What does it add to read this from the vantage point of a people wrestling with connecting the meaning of two resurrections with the singular work of God’s taking on flesh for the love of the world?

On the most recent episode of The Good Fight podcast, host Yascha Mounk interviews author Dean Spears on the subject of population. Or more specifically, the subject of his new book (After the Spike: Population, Progress, and the Case for People), the problem of depopulation.

A few times throughout the interview the word “math” was evoked to define their particular approach to the subject. I’m always fascinated by such conversations. Reducing the laws that govern our existence to a math equation certainly fits for the physicist in the room. Somehow though, once we get into the complex workings of existence itself, or our experience of it, reducing such an experience to a math equation feels like it betrays the emptiness of such an approach.

What makes this more problematic is that, in this case the numbers apply to the authors desire to uphold a kind of unspoken and undefined value statement, something you can hear him subtly slipping in and out of as he moves to justify certain concerns using reductionist terms.

The concerns can essentailly be summarized as fleshing out the relationship between population growth and progress. As the analysis goes, the spike that we saw in human population, which has brought us to 8 billiion people in a relatively short amount of time, is masking what is most likely an inevitable shift towards depopulation. Here its a simple numbers game- the trend of any progressive society is decreased childbirth. We can note this in the most progressed societies in which child birth is below the magic number of 2 children per 2 adults. We can also see it in less progressed societies which are still above that number and presently sustaining our global population, as even a shift from 5 to 4, or 4 to 3 reflects the same inevitable trend moving at a striking speed. It’s a quick moving trend precisely because any decrease in numbers has an immediate and direct impact on the next generation. Less people in a given generation means less ability to increase the population.

There are numerous observations and questions that go along with this, all of which eventually lead to that bigger concern: what is the relationship between this and progress, and how do the two impact one another. For example, progress is often seen to correlate with education, and it would appear that one of the biggest things that fuels a generation that has less kids is education, especially for women. Why? This can be debated, but one liklihood is that education prioritizes numerous other things above systems that encourage and support birthrates. In Western culture, it also tends to correlate with the rise of individualism and the decline of things that grow and develop family systems. Without even making a value statement, the rational observation suggests that any culture which is predominated by declines in marriage, long term relationships, non-nuclear family structures, results in a drastic decline in population growth. It simply is what it is.

Here is where things get really interesting though. The author is very clear about seeing the decline of progress as a bad thing. He also sees depopuluation as a bad thing. What becomes clear the more he speaks to both of these things is that they are far more interconnected than first appearances might allow. To the point where, what starts to emerge is a kind of cyclical pattern, Progress leads to depopulation. But population is needed for progress. At this point I kept wondering whether the real crisis point here is an incoherent value system.

To underscore this point he pushes back on anyone who thinks over-population is the cause of our worlds problems. It is not over-population, rather it is people living wrongly that is the problem. Here again though he kind of muddles his way through an incoherent point of perspective and smuggles in undefined value statements. He wants to state that the problems emerge from populations living wrongly (defined as living in ways that do harm to the environment), but he also wants to state that the growth in population is what creates the pockets that have come up with solutions to the problems, something he sees progress as enabling. You can see how this starts to trip over itself on logical grounds, trying to get from one to the other and back again every time it runs into an apparent contradiction. Kind of like trying to make a case that the advancements progress handed us which allow for unrestricted sex without concern for pregnancy have played a significant role in the seemingly inevitable depopulation problem, but that overpopulation is what handed us the necessary progress to have those advancements in the first place.

Welcome to a world reduced to a math equation.

Welcome to a world that has bound itself to the myth of progress.

It’s the same problem he attaches to the rising rates of life expectancy around the world, a key factor in disguising the trend of depopulation from numbers that might suggest the opposite. The reason for the illusion of an increase in population trend is the simple fact that more kids are being had that not only survive past infancy and into childhood, but that adults are also sticking around at the same time. When you add 30/40/50 years to a lifespan, the numbers will go up expanentially in the short term even as birthrates decline. But there again, you come back to progress as the thing that enables something that then brings its own set of problems that progress has to solve (aging). Which of course is the number one thing that impedes progress in other areas (inherent concern for all persons of all ages).

So here’s my thought process on this. And as I was thinking about it, I was thinking back to that period of our life where we found out we could not have kids (we being my wife and I). It’s odd for me to think that this had such an impact on our lives. When you think about the socieity that we actually live in this shouldn’t be the case. Finding out that we couldn’t have kids should have been the thing that handed us the world progress promised us. The liberated individual who can make the world whatever we want it to be. That’s not at all what it felt like though. It felt like we lost our place in the world. The liberated individual that the myth of progress hands us is a lonely life to inhabit. Which might be why its so effective in pushing people to instead sink their lives into the aims of progress.

There’s another outcome of this that might be even worse though. That’s the notion that the world this myth of progress hands us is one in which overpopulation is necessary precisely because it hands you that necessary pool of potential exceptional persons and collaborations that bring progress about. That simply means that while all of these people are required for those pockets and persons to emerge, the vast majority are in a way sacrificial lambs. We are only needed as part of a numbers game. Which is what makes the fact that progress is similtaneously inhibited by those numbers and its supposed moral and ethical obligation to extend energy and attention in attending to them so ironic. This is precisely what we find though in such a view. The push and pull that the disparity between forms of affluence and forms of poverty cause (or the strong and the weak, the exceptional minority and the greater majority).

This is precisely why I see the role of the cynic as so necessary. Sure, on some level we can locate functional societies in which all of these realities are equally necessary, and then satisfy our point of persepctive by looking at the world progress has handed us and convincing ourselves that this is an end and an aim in and of itself. After all, we would never want to revert that way things were, right. We wouldn’t want to be like those lesser backwards people and societies. So we reinforce our convictions by creating those necessary scapegoats. All while we see history hurtling forwards towards who knows where and who knows why. Every advancement creating its whole new set of pains and problems, all while selling us on the idea that we could not live or thrive without it.

And then we get confronted by this data. Progress has created a problem of depopulation. We in the progressive West cannot sustain it because future generations won’t have the numbers. And all those other countries that we insisted needed to become like us, well the more they become like us the less childeren they have. Raise the alarm bells. Except lets be clear about what those alarms are for: a fear of losing hold of the privileged position western exceptionalism hands us.

To return to my own observations regarding our experience of not being able to have kids. There is something that happens when you lose your sense of place in this world. Something else happens though when you become aware of the fact that this is both because of the way the cultural conssruct (marriage, family) judges you, AND because of the way the myth of progress judges you. That’s what the proper cynic is analyziing. Except, a proper cynic is also not embracing defeatism and nihilism. Rather, it is a seeking after what it is that actually matters, what is actually true. A true value. What is it precisely that all of these cultural constructs are responding to, and do our social constructs reflect that or not. Perhaps thats the real crisis at hand. And here’s the most revealing thing. When we are looking at less progressive socities and saying both that they have something we value (higher birth rates, which is essential to progress) and that we have something they value (progress, which leads to our depopulized societies), perhaps the obvious muddledness of that whole equation should be the first thing leading us to question our foundations.

I was challenged recently to demonstrate why morality is a problem for the worldview of an atheist.

A complicated question to be sure, and I would need to qualify it. First, to me, I begin with the premise that the atheist, in terms of adherence to logical and rational conclusions, is obligated towards a reductionist/materialist worldview. I know not all atheists subscribe to this, but certainly the reductionsit/materialist POV is the basis for most atheist positions and arguments. It is the primary reason why one can appeal to and justify either the soft version (“I have yet to find compelling evidence for God) or the hard version (“There is no evidence for God”).

Second, I would also qualify this by saying, the reason morality is a problem for the atheist intersects with why “morality,” at least in an objective sense, is a problem for any worldview. There is a particular shape that this takes for the atheist, to be sure, but it belongs to that larger discussion.

Less suffering is better than more suffering

Often the foundation of ethics and morality for secular humainists (or other materialst/reductionist views that fall under the atheist umbrella) adheres to this simple mantra- less suffering is better than more suffering. Dig underneath the mix of practical and philosophical approaches found in works from Julia Drivers, Steven Cahn, Sam Harris, Peter Singer, James Rachel Joshua Greene, just to name a few anchored in the likes of Hume, Nietzsche and Kant, and you’ll find some version of this generalized statment.

What is suffering

Suffering is defined as “the state of undergoing pain, distress or injury/hardship.” (Oxford)

It’s a simple statement that doesn’t appear to need any further qualifications. Whatever we build around this doesn’t change the brute nature of the statement, which is rooted in a simple, testable, reliable observation: we know that biological systems seek to avoid pain, and it stands as a basic, logical assumption that less suffering is always better than more. Of course this can apply to personal experiences, but it also applies to the cooperative social systems that different philosophies will say are beneficial to human life and survival.

But is it really that simple?

What is morality and how does it relate to suffering

Let’s begin with the most direct and prominant criticism of such a view, which is that it represents a crude form of morals and ethics. To reduce morals and ethics to simple pain and pleasure paradigms is not only inconsistent in its own premise, it cannot attend for all of the ways in which our experience of this world actually works and functions. In truth, suffering reaches far beyonod simple matters of physical pain, and equally represents many varied equations in which suffering is seen to either be neccessary, welcome, or good. The same person attempting to establish a basic grounds for moral and ethical concern around the brute statement “less suffering is better than more,” is also someone who will insist that pain is a necessary, welcome and good part of the natural order. This seems a given. Which, at the very least, means we are dealing with complex systems that are not reducible to hard and fast rules.

But it doesn’t stop there. That same person will usually add to the premise a further qualification regarding how it is we respond to suffering. This usually follows the recognition that a world without suffering is both impossible and undesirable, thus given it is a brute fact (we suffer), it is also necessary to not only accept suffering as part of life, but to see it as enhancing the experience of life. Typically you find this in the more philosophical works, given that it tends to reflect a blend of function (the pain that we find in the natural order) and construction (suffering that comes from pain makes us better and helps us grow in our experience of it).

Here we begin to confront the inconsistencies, and it is easy to see the line between pain and suffering starting to blur, along with the moral values.

Is suffering good or bad, desired or unwanted, necessary or uneccessary

First off, one of the biggest arguments against theism is the problem of suffering. Which, to restate that in a slightly different way, is a problem because suffering is assumed to be a bad thing. A world with suffering either means God does not exist or God is not good. Why? Because a good God would not submit its creation to suffering and/or would do something about it.

Typically, at least in my experience, the people making this argument are the same ones who would make the argument that a life without suffering and pain would be undesirable and not a good thing. That would be the first contradiction. Now, its possible of course to restrict the problem of suffering to a theological framework, which is to say that it is only a problem IF a good God exists. But I find that to be a bit of a smokecreen. Why would we percieve suffering to be a problem in a world with a (good) God but not in a world without a (good) God? The answer usually follows a line that says well, in a world without a God there is nothing to blame. But one still assumes that suffering is bad and undesirable in that equation, and further, morality and ethics seems to depend on seeing suffering, or least certain suffering, as bad, undesired, or unecesesary.

Thus the inconsistency illuminates the real issue: can we logically sustain a response to suffering that wants to choose when and how to apply it as necessary and good, and when to see it as bad and undesirable? Most of the academic sources that you will find on morals and ethics from a secularist POV will be engaged in this game of selective application. The way around this is to double down on the brute fact as its guiding principle. The problem is, this tends to leave most discussions of morals and ethics operating largely beyond this brute fact.

Why is suffering a problem?

This is where you start to see arguments fluctuating between allegiances to morals and ethics in and of themselves and bringing in appeals to different motivating factors to provide a coherent narrative for these constructed and complex systems. Here in lies one of the problems though. If one adheres to a reductionist/materialist foundation of reality, the only way any emergent or complex property makes sense is within the predictive laws that ground them. In other words, those complex and constructed moral/ethical systems might be a true observation regarding what we find in the world, but their justification, if we indeed seek to justify it, is still bound to the laws and order of nature. This is what I find gets muddled, and indeed often clouded in much of the academic work on this subject.

If suffering is a brute fact, and all responses that label selective suffering as bad are necessarily contextualized within our social constructs (meaning, the existence of suffering itself, or lack thereof, isn’t the true concern of such systems), then what we have is a necessarily dynamic response that is operating without a coherent anchor when placed within the category of our experience.

What are we justifying?

Now, this in and of itself doesn’t mean the existence of morals/ethics can’t be justified within secularist worldviews (it can). It just shifts precisely what is being justified in this case. This is not a justification that morals/ethics are inherently good. It’s not even a justification that morals/ethics are necessary for the survival of the human species. Rather, it is a justificaiton for what the moralal/ethical systems that we find are- emergent properties of the development of humans/human socities as socially aware creatures. And part of this qualification means both pointing out that there is no concrete sense in which given morals/ethics exist in this sense. They are, categorically, products of socal and biological function. This is easy to see and note of course when we actually narrow in on the functional aspects of moral and ethical systems, but the problem is we also see something else- human creatures who live and believe as though morals and ethics do in fact have some proper grounding in objective truth.

The reality of our beliefs

In other words, the typical argument from a secularist vantage point understands morals and ethics to, rationally speaking, be one thing, but it also understands that in order for moral and ethical systems to work people need to believe they are something else. Which is precisely what we find in any fair and reasoned analysis of societies operating from a secularist POV. In truth, there are endless ways and examples in which the former, which must be the voice of authority in this equation, contradicts the latter, which is where we find a framed crisis or moral dilemma emerging.

The atheist could turn around here and say okay, that’s fine, it just is what it is. Our experience can still categorize as real. Which might be true in one sense. The issue surfaces on two fronts however: when this basic function of reality reflects the grounds for ones rejection of their belief in God, it raises the question of why one is motivated to see one belief as necessarily antithetical to reason while the other is not. One fair response to this could be for the atheist to concede that one doesn’t need to see belief in God as anteithetical to reason, it just needs to qualify it in the same terms as things like our adherence to moral and ethical systems. But, and this would be my own assessment and conclusion of course, I have yet to meet an atheist who approaches this idea with any true consistency or coherency. It never takes long to find ones true authority being something other than the former (reductionst/materialist forms of reality), and it is typically some form of the latter (experiences and beliefs) that is holding everything together.

The contradiction of selective suffering

And this isn’t contained to personal experience. Just as we target diseases and look to eradicate them based on deeming them “bad,” we qualify suffering as inherently bad and undesirable. If we could not assume suffering to be bad and undesirable, we would not attend to it, and the reason we attend to it is part of our need to construct meaningful lives, however that gets defined. Which is to say: we need the freedom to name suffering as bad, unwanted, undesired. The problem is, our commitment to a reasoned position based on a reductionaist/materialist POV means taht we are forced to be inconsistent in how we apply this. It would be like trying to justify the eradictation of cancer while similtaneously trying to argue it is necessary or wanted as part of the natural order.

This applies to all manners of commonly held beliefs. We don’t value love on emotional grounds- that would suggest we experience love as a biological function. That doesn’t map on to how people actually experience the world. It doesn’t make sense of the beliefs we hold that allow us to experience the world in ways that redefine it as more than biological function. Sure. we can manipulate biological function, and we do so all the time through the information gained in the field of science or in the natural processes of our interaction with the world. But the reason we do so, at least in terms of our experience, is because we beleive that love is a valued and inherent thing. It is not subjective, meaning we feel free, in our brains, to apply it to the whole of our subjective experiences as an objective and inherent truth or a governing force.

This is what anchors the biological construction in something we might call real. Which is where any point of crisis really arises from. Our brains are wired to solve the cognitive dissonance that occurs between functional realities and our experience of reality. If we understood and genuinely saw reality (or the different componants of reality) as they are and for what they are, within a secularist POV, we wouldn’t be able to function. This is true on the level of physics, but it is also true on the level of the constructed or complex realities that shape our lives. Any emergent or constructed property can be reduced to the same physical components. Our brains are designed to construct reality out of this so as to allow us to comprehend the world, not reeduce it. Which is where many attempt to argue that morals and ethics are in fact necessarily subjective. Subjective doesn’t need to be contained to the individual, it can apply to societies and cultures and communities.

Again, on one level this is fine when it comes to making a rational and coherent argument. The problem is, our actual beliefs don’t follow suit. Pick apart someones life and values (or a society or a culture) and this becomes obvious time and time again. In my experience, atheist arguments often fail to address this simple point- when confronted with reality our brains are designed to defend against it. Which is precisely why we have to be able to name suffering in concrete terms. We can do all the necessary work of reducing it and breaking it down on paper, the simple truth is that when we are actually confronting or experiencing it we do so in ways that reframe it according to our actual beliefs.

If not suffering, than happiness?

Going back to the question about suffering and how we attend to it in largely selective ways, this also betrays the other part of that equation- we not only assume that suffering is bad, we also assume that happiness is the preferred aim. Which brings in a whole other set of problems, and in my opinion this is also a point that I find most atheist arguments simply do not attend for. If our starting point begins on the level of suffering’s brute nature (it exists, and it is both impossible and undesriable to get rid of all suffering and it less suffering is better than more), we then find ourselves in the game of measuring when we deem suffering as unecessary and undesirable and when we don’t. Sometimes this is reduced to that age old hierarchy of needs- suffering is defined as the lack of those base needs such as food, clothing, shelter, relationship. And yet, we also know that once these needs are met there is a whole other part of that hierachy that comes into view. We give a person food. We give a person a home. Then what? This is where a whole other kind of suffering opens up and forces its way into the mix.

When addressing one pain creates new pains

And yes, I have had many an atheist simply dismiss this point out of hand, but I don’t think this can be dismissed that easily. We can apply this same base line of thought to nearly everything that concerns matters of moral/ethical obligation, which again, is a socially imposed construct anchored in biolgical/social function. This is a truism we cannot escape- addressing one pain creates new pains. On a societal level, any societal change that is deemed to be good is similtaneously the grounds for future pains. And on that same level, every single moral and ethical decision one makes in response to perecieved suffering has to be measured in context. The issue being, the only way to do that is to assume some underlying grounds and foundation that can reflect a fixed value or belief across all times and all contexts. This is the part that often gets ignored.

Selective or uniform suffering

If its not clear at this point, where this presses towards is always to say, suffering relative to what? And why are we selecting this suffering here and now to be labeled as bad in relationship to other suffering? These are usually the questions posed to the equation in a hierchal system where moral and ethical constructs are necessarily contextualized. There is always the sense that someone or something has suffered more or less in measure, and yet suffering, to be coherent, also has to be uniform in its nature. Its an experience that expresses itself in the same way regardless of where we find it within that refelected hierachy. This poses a problem to the reductionsit POV, which seeks to systematize moral and ethical obligations and responses within these contextualized realities. Some try and skirt this, usually the token positivist in the crowd, by appealing to the inherent good nature of the human person. We, they say, are simply prone to respond to others when we see suffering. There is no need to distrust this, nor is there need to overcomplicate it. That belongs to the old “you’re placing too much burden on rationalism” rhetorical response, which is an accusation I’ve had lobbied my direction a few times. The problem emerges when one wants to actually attend for the rational argument and critique the beliefs that we find present in the world and underlying and sustaining these systems. If something is shown to be inconsistent in how it maps on to reality, then its fair to say that represents a logical problem.

But of course, rationalism is precisely the basis for ones rejection of particular worldviews. So it seems odd that we can choose when and how it can and must apply to our given beliefs. Perhaps it simply comes down to this: if I encounter someone making concrete statments like “less suffering is better than more suffering,” and I either desire, feel obligated towards, or feel the need to challenge the coherence and truth of that statement, am I not required to test that statment if I want to be rational? I would say yes.

I might even say my desre, obligation, need to test that statement has direct implications for how I live my life. In fact, the statement might be true in some shape or form, but that simply opens the door to other questions, which is to say, to what end must that demand something of me? Does it apply to an inherent responsibility? Or is it simply about wanting to establish integrity between my beliefs and my actions? Again, this opens up all sorts of other problems that only compound the more we realize the degree to which our concern for suffering relates directly to our experience of a meaningful life.

What we think versus what we feel suffering is

To begin, it might be true to point to the presence of certain biological factors that suggest a person in a given social situation who encounters suffering will be compelled to act. But this is not the trustworthy observation that many make it out to be. First, we are restricted in our ability to say someone is good or has done good because they act in a particular fashion, in the same way we are restricted in saying someone is inherently valuable purely on the grounds that they are a person. Second, when the definition of a good person is defined in terms of how we act, either willfully or naturally, this leads directly to moralism. Moralism establishes a social hierachy based on judgement Its central concern is upholding social function, not the inherent value of the person.

Third, one does not need to look far to find represented in our art endless stories of people and societies and communities facing moral and ethical dilemmas on these very terms. Stories about people who failed to act in such a situation. Stories of people who have to make compromising or impossible decisions. The list goes on and on. The question is, why does this dilemma exist? In the above approach it exists because it is imposed by a social structure, one that is based on reductionism/materialism and moralism. To be caught in a space of moral compromise is to have ones worth thrown into question. Even if this doesn’t correlate with anything truly rational or true, we both feel and experience this to be true largely because of social implcations and biological function.

Do we cause more harm than good?

It gets worse though. It is possible for one to live a happy life and to believe one is good while living a life that causes far more suffering than not. Actually, its not just possible, its the most likely description of most lives, if not all. We don’t like to think this way of course, because that would lead to defeatism. Our necessary beliefs would collapse very, very quickly (ironically leading to our suffering). So we emphasize the other side of the equation. In a world full of suffering its about the good that we do. Leaving aside for a second the fact that this brings in unsubstantiated assumptions about what is “good,” here certain logical approaches like effective altruism press back with its commitment to a truly rationalist approach. What something like effective altruism points out is, the good that we do has more to do with how we feel than making any actual difference. It’s not only true that we have no way of knowing how any action we take leads to good outcomes, let alone the best outcomes, its also true that we only have the way it makes us feel- meaningful or worthwhile or purposed. This is precisely why the atheist will protect their beliefs with the same fervor as the religious. In fact, once again, when we look at the most likely conclusion, it can be said that most of what we do creates and experiences far more pain and suffering than anything else. That’s a rational statement. What effective altruism wants to do is find a way to objectively anchor any moral/ethical action to a simple statment- whatever serves the greatest good for the greatest numbers. Good here being defined as less suffering is better than more, and simtaneously more happiness is better than less.

Thus, if we give money to an organization that is ineffective compared to the organization down the road that is objectively more effective, that is by defintion a less than moral act. In this sense, morals and ethics are seen for what they are on purely rational grounds- functional realities that stand external to any allegiance to a will or a self or objective truth. Simple math measuring material outcomes based on the natural order. What brings about the greatest and the most good is the measure. And yes, critics will say that it is impossible to know such a thing, and that such a way of thinking prevents people from doing any good, precisely because it has the appeearance of being an impossible equation and subsequently does not align with how people experience and live in the world. And yet, at the very least, it exposes and highlights the logical problems that do exist in how we view and approach matters of morals and ethics. We don’t need to apply those things on a macro level, we can see it taking effect on a micro level. And one of the biggest things it reveals is the way social systems work. The fact is, most, if not all people will live their lives doing far more harm than good. A very select few who have ability, awareness and influence change the systems people belong to, and the greatest good for the most people is always a question of system. Those who change systems are typically doing so by reorienting the masses in a particular direction subconcsciouslly, unconsciouslly, and unaware. And in all cases, such moral and ethical commmitments requires sacrifrice that, if understood and made aware, would lead to a moral crisis.

Just to reiterate and restate that: in a secularist POV, the only real moral and ethic that applies to the average pereson is the enforceable kind, which tends to get reduced to not causing recognizable physical harm to another. This defines most of human life on planet earth. The way this is upheld is by having our societal portraits of the necessary scapegoat. As long as we have someone or something that enables us to say “we are not them or that,” we can call ourselves good and feel that we are good. This is necessary because suffering and happiness are always existing in relative comparison.

For the greater minority, whatever reason is driving such an action, they will make active decisions to sacrifice one thing for another. This usually arises through some form of contact, influence or awarness. But even then, beyond playing into the false perception that this results in a meaningful or purposed life (again, sacrifice compared to what), those decisions and actions rarely, if ever, bring about actual real change that qualfies as good that we can know. At best, that is restricted to the very small minority who have the capacity and influence to break things down into functional and measurable componants (reductionsism), and whom are able to satisfy and solve the effectiveness of the perecieved needed moral and ethical response on a mathematical level.

Yes, I know I get a lot of pushback on this front. But remember, this is speaking in purely rational terms. It might not feel great to hear and see it in this way, but that doesn’t mean its not true. I would suggest though that even in these cases, such changes by those with the capacity to bring it about are nevertheless still coming face to face with the same problems. History shows that even widespread changes in systems inevitably become the thing that bring about new problems and pains, and typically exist within a world that takes the same sahpe that it always has- Empire (or its ancient form, tribalism). Whatever changes in that system we might find and see, the shape of the world is still the same. That doesn’t change.

What really matters is believing we’ve lived a meaningful life

But it has another problem. If the true moral and ethical discussions belong to the question of constructed systems, what do we do with the lives contained within? This, I am arguing, is where those beliefs become necessary, even where we can say they aren’t rooted in anything true. And this uncovers the push and pull of moral and ethical constructs. What matters to people is ultimately how we feel. Whatever objective measure we might seek beyond that is fueled by this essential componant. And feelings map on to beliefs. These things might change according to that which comes into our field of awareness, but they remain what they are- they serve that part of our self that needs to feel as though we have meaning and purpose. This is part of what it is to be human. In this sense, the truly rational approach to morals and ethics does not matter. Our lack of true defintions does not matter. Our inconsistencies and incoherent narratives does not matter. Whatever our life gets constructed to be controls where and how we relate to that necessary feeling. This becomes more concrete when functional realities (a lack of food or home for example) challenge the construction of our lives. In that case its easy to put all of the other logical demands of our reasoning aside. When we bring in the rest of the hierarchy things get much more problematic. However, what I am arguing here is that regardless, the problem still apply in the same way.

What is the answer?

So what is a possible answer? I might suggest two things. First, for moral and ethical constructs to be rational, we must acknowledge that they are contextualized realites, not authoratative ones. Meaning, they can never act as a source of truth. Here I would say that this applies to any worldview, including the worldview of the theist. What follows from this for the atheist is the equal concession that such constructs. regardless of how we attribute meaning to them, are reduced to their material defintion. This means, the only way to be trutly rational is to accept and state that, in a secularist POV, our beliefs are part of that construct. They play a role, but that role necessarily contradicts the reality of the biological and social  system that it is a product of. Which means, such truth is contained to data, to information regarding a functional system

If those two things are the necessary foundation for our understaanding of moral and ethical systems, the rest of the discussion becomes about the implications of this reality. This is where I think push comes to shove. This is also why my own position is such that I maintain a rejetion of all moral and ethical systems. Which is not to say that I reject morality or ethics, or that I live apart from such things. It is to say that I reject all such constructs as authorative. On this front I adopt the necessary posstion of the cynic. This is also where I would challenge the atheist on the logical front of this question. It would be one thing if the atheist were to adopt that necessary cycnism. It would be quite another for the atheist to apply that. This gets to the crucial point for me in terms of seeing morals and ehics through a different lens. Cynicism can’t remove oneself from a world of constructs and still function according to the way we experience the world as conscious creatures. Unless, that is, they anchor truth in something else. This is really what it comes down to. What I find in most of these debates and argumnets, and indeed in academics, is a need and desire to anchor ones experience of the world in truth. But this truth inevitably just ends up being another construct. Such approaches tend to protect the most important facet of our lives- our experience. The obvious implications here are that such arguments tend to function as their own justification. The reason we are okay with this, or the reason we don’t see this as an affront to logic and reason and our commitment to rationalism, is that what matters most is how our experience connects to the way we feel. Its akin to saying, if we feel our life is meaningful, than our life is meaningful. And moral and ethical constructs play a crucial  and important role in giving us a way to measure that meaning in relationship to how we live in the world. The question then is not whether its possible to feel that way, and thus experience life in this way, its whether we have a basis to logically justify it. We do if objective truth exists. By that I don’t mean the information that defines the construct. I mean truth in the sense that affords the construct a greater authority that it can function as a witness to.

I recognize that I’m wading into waters that has a long and storied history in debates and academics. To this front, this is just my personal assessment born from own studies, experiences and observations. I would maintain that while what I wrote hardly qualifies in the same way, it is my own reflections on that material, which anyone has access to. On my journey, everything that I wrote is what, when I strip away the technical arguments and complex philosophies, what I tend to find in some way, shape or form. And one one last thing on this front. I don’t think that this is some proof of God argument. It’s simply a rational one. It might be true that this world is defined as one in which God exists, that just means the rational argument obligates itself towards certain conclusions. Thats the greater point. If God exists, then I do think there is a way to take those obvservations about the nature of moral and ethical constructs and justify them according to such an appeal to objective truth. The challenge there is to sperate truth from the construct. That would be my objection to certain theistic approaches, which I think have their own penchant for slipping into moralism.

It’s been an interesting year for film in 2025. There’s the usual mix of box office and critical successes, blanketed of course by the usual barrage of cycnicism and the perpetual identity crisis facing the American industry. Anyone who follows headlines knows how ridiculous it all tends to be on the best of days, everyone racing to be the first to declare a film a success with subsequent headlines deeming it a failure the next day. All before these films even have an opportunity to exist in the public consciousness.

It’s tough to be a film fan these days. Even tougher to be a fan of the movies. In an industry, at least the bottleneck that we experience here in Canada which is the bleeding of the Hollywood system into our cineplex’s, that refuses to adjust expectations and a media desperate to stay relevant without any real measure of success or failure, most films keep becoming victims of the system. That’s not even to wade into the waters of the anti-Disney rhetoric and the incessant negativity of the trolls. This is pure speculation and intuition on my part, albeit born from what I feel, see and experience, but it appears like I’m starting to finally sense a change in the tide. The response to a struggling theatrical landscape thus far has been to double down on a constant barrage of new films all releasing at the same time with very short windows. One of the benefits of this has been that diversity of films that theaters are meant to support has retainted its presence, and even gotten more crowded. And yet, there has also been this sense that they have been chasing some magic solution in an environment of collapsed windows, heightened political rhetoric, and the continued loss of the theatrical as a primary language, making that crowded space difficult for everyone. This is the first year I have felt a general decline in content and quality as a result. And just to be clear, this will remain one of the most direct causalties of an industry in chaos. Theaters can survive on big event movies (at least a core of them). The health of the industry is what gets lost in the mix. It’s simple- without theaters driving the diversity, quality, creativity and the language of the cinematic industry in terms of original stories, these films don’t get made and the artists struggle. Not everyone needs to go watch films in theaters, but without that feeding the system the films don’t make it into homes either. And that includes the continued “streamlining” of streaming services, which in effect do very little when it comes to allowing these films to come into existence, let alone into the conversation.

There are however still a few stand out moments to note at the half way point of the year. It hasn’t been strong on the top end. I imagine you’ll be finding your fair doses of the one-two punch of Sinners and Black Bag dominating these lists thus far. Two very good films, to be sure, but even then I don’t know to what degree either will be sticking around at the end of the year, save for Sinners’ hoped for Oscar predictions.

What I have found, with the above anxieties noted, are a handful of solid 3.5/4 out of 5 star releases. These types of films are what sustain the movie going experience, to be sure. I’m hopeful that the fall will bring a few stand out entries to anchor this mix, but looking at my top 20 right now, its certainly possible to pull out some memorable and exciting moments and fare, be it the smaller indie or the bigger blockbuster.

In descending order:

Honorable Mention: Paddington In Peru

I’d be remiss if I didn’t get Paddington in here somewhere. What it misses in terms of the heights of its two predecessors, it makes up for in the increased nature of its scope, balancing the grandness of its adventure with the simple charms of those familiar storytelling beats. Any year is made better by another appearance of the beloved bear. 

Mission Impossible: Final Reckoning

It’s not the best of the franchise, but it is definitely the biggest, blanketed by two jaw dropping extended sequences that manage to raise the spectacle that the series has come to represent to a whole other level. I’m a sucker for final films in a series as well as I’m big on theme, and often these kinds of films are doing the heavy lifting on the narrative front when it comes to tying everything together. So it worked on an emotional level for me too. It’s a lot of movie, and thus it is a lot of working parts that need to work together, but taken together its a defining film of the year, no question.

The Order

One of the Canadian films on my list, and it stakes its claim with its gritty, raw, procedural digging deeper underneath the surface level plot regarding murder and violence and white supremacy in America. Perhaps ripe for a rewatch already, as that outsiders perspective arrives with that stark awareness that we share the impact north of the border. This is a throwback to that boots on the ground, grassroots realism that used to permeate these kinds of films back in the 70’s, and it’s truly propulsive in its presence and pacing here.

Inside

I’d say this qualifies as a true hidden gem, a debut from filmmaker Charles Williams that functions as a stark character study following the relationship between three individuals finding their way in a broken prison system. It’s the bond between these three individuals, each traversing their own unique arcs from different vantage points and captured by some stunning performances, that proves so powerful, utilizing some simple imagery to explore questions of redemption, hope and despair. It’s not afraid to leave all of these things in question, a brave move in a film that is also asking us to give ourselves over to its emotional stakes. That it works as well as it does is one of the films grewat rewards. Don’t miss the score either, because its phenomenal.

Grand Theft Hamlet

Telling the story of Hamlet within the game of Grand Theft Auto is all you need to know about this film to give it a shot. One of the most unique films you’ll likely see this year. Let the films shocking level of emotional heft and authenticity be the thing that carries you through and lingers well after the credits.

Universal Language

Another Canadian title, and this one is a true gem. And not because its set and filmed in Winnipeg, my hometown (although there’s little question the insider wit and humour that likely will only make sense to Winnipegers is a big part of what I loved about the film). To be sure, the film is a complicated narrative to unpack out of context, parlaying the Iranian experience overtop of its surrealist vision of our cityscape. What grounds it though is the humour. Comedy is the genre I’m most particular about, and this is the sort of comedy-visual, subtle, witty- that really lands for me. Far and wide the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long while, and a film I loved experiencing with a local crowd. The story and themes? That came through the necessary research I needed after. But hey, that’s also part of the experience for me. I’m never going to begrudge a challenging indie.

Better Man

If I’ve found this film slipping down in the mix over the last three months, I’d say that has less to do with the film itself, which still represents one of my favorite big screen experiences in 2025, and more to do with the passage of time. It’s a film I need to revisit. A banger of a musical with stunning production and a huge dose of creativity and innovation. Not to mention thematically layered with its exploration of the rise and fall narrative arc of its real life persona. I knew next to nothing about Robbie Williams going in, nor did I need to. This film allowed me to become intimately aquainted with and invested in his story nonetheless.

Jazzy

A companion piece to Unknown Country, this is a lovely coming of age tale with a strong female center. The score, the visuals, its all transcendent in the way that immerses and lingers as a portrait of persons occupying space in the world from their particular vantage point. And then of course there is Lily Gladstone. Always a masterclass.

Lost in Starlight

I fully expect and imagine that as the year goes on and we get more animated fare (it’s been somewhat slim on that front up to this point), this is going to just increase in favour. It’s a love story following the individual but parallel paths of two persons and perspectives in a way that leads to worlds colliding. It is the kind of narrative structure anime is so adept at drawing out, and it, as is usually the case, packs an emotional punch. Stories about crossing that divide, that distance, will always resonate, and when packaged within the films gorgeous animation, bringing space and music together as part of the narrative and theme as a device, it is extremely satisfying.

Bridget Jones: Mad About The Boy

Without a doubt one of my biggest surprises. An exceptional exploration of grief, and more importantly the act of recovering life and joy in the midst of the struggle. Where is the wonder, the film asks. I think its here.

Predator: Killer of Killers

Speaking of top tier animation in 2025, don’t sleep on this one. This is an original anthology that traverses time periods that absolutely rocks from start to finish. Where else can we get the worlds of WW2, Vikings and feudal Japan colliding with larger than earth stakes.

Ballerina

John Wick exhaustion? Not when we have Ballerina. But let’s be clear, bringing in John Wick and embedding this in that world and story is equally part of what elevates this action flick to something that both carries that already established weight and carves its own path. It’s what big screen blockbusters are meant to be, and its commitment to a visual feast for the senses is what makes it so memorable.

How To Train Your Dragon

The animated films are among my favorite trilogies of all time, so my hopes and expectations for this was quite high. I can’t talk about this film without mentioning the sheer glee and joy of my theater experience. Watching this with a crowd genuinely excited to be there and anticipating and cheering with each beloved moment of what becomes a faithful adaption was a cherished moment. What makes this film stand out though is that it understands exactly what a live action remake should be. It preserves the integrity of the source material and understands precisely what live action adds or differentiates- the scope of that real world terrain with its cinematic presence and turning the camera to the intimacy that flesh and blood presence can tease out. It’s not better or worse than the animated film, it simply adapts and reimagines the same story from its particular vantage point with its own opporunities and limits being used to its benefit. And yes, I loved the story and characters just as much.

Exhibiting Forgiveness

A powerful indie, about as small as films can get in terms of budget and production, but also so extremely confident in what it wants to capture and explore in terms of father-son relationships and the complicated nature of forgivness. Its a film driven by the senses, including the way it utilzies the parallel devices of art and music. A massive part of what elevates this film to moments and points of real transcendence and meaning.

Materialists

I’m a huge fan of Celine Song’s Past Lives, so her follow up effort was among my most eagerly anticipated films. It’s a fascinating film to unpack given that it takes a very different path into her recognizable sensibilites. Much of this functions as a commentary on the nature of the hollywood rom-com, which for me really worked as an intelligent examination of the relationship between these stories and the modern landscape of dating and relationships. Using the superficiality of modern dating platforms and emphasis “qualifications” and status, she without inhibition and fear dives head first into the subject of more universal ideas such as marriage. Here she challenges us to consider the difference between a true value and a construct, challenging the modern conceptions to reflect on the real values and truths that lie underneath the superficial game of relationships that seem like a ship without an anchor. It’s a story that I deeply appreciated, as we don’t often get these intuitive and aware observations in a world bent towards tearing down constructs that have the appearance of threatening our tightly guarded individualism. Perhaps true liberty comes from elswhere.

The Penguin Lessons

This isn’t the kind of film that gets universally recognized, but where it finds someone to resonate with, its the sort of film that proves genuinely powerful as an emotive experience. I am one of those. I was drawn into the story, was genuinely touched by the journey, and felt changed afterwards in terms of my perspective. Its ultimately a film about the power of relationships, but its the way it fleshes this out against a larger backdrop of social and systemic struggle, something it leaves largely in the background, that elevates the simple character arcs informing its core. It wonders about what relaly matters in life, and it fleshes that out in the interactions between these unlikely friendships, all of which find their way through the presence of this humble penguin. I cried, and the film earned those tears, which is, for me a mark of a great film.

F1

The perfect summer movie that manages to distinguish itself amongst other “racing” films in ways that serve its emphasis on the inner workings of the race and its different people and components. At three hours long, it is structured in a way that allowed me to be immersed in the moment while feeling the satisfaction of a whole, sweeping story afterwards. It has some ambitious interplay that might have diverging mileage between viewers, but for me it was all anchored in the stakes, which paralleled the immediate (the outcome of the race) with the larger picture of these internal processes. A well-rounded and well exectuted blockbuster with substance is never something to take for granted.

Black Bag

There’s no question this film remains one of the most technically impressive of the year in the hands of one of the greats (Soderberg). It’s a masterclass in the art of dialogue driven narrative, using that to pit this impressive cast of characters in a delicious interplay stock full of social tension, plotted mystery, and power games. What Soderberg understands so intuitively is that what makes this more than a story is allowing the layers of the characters to sit and persist under the surface. This is what gives them, and the film, its complexity. If it is technically impressive, it doesn’t quite fit the bill of emotionally resonant, although it presents an interesting philosophical exercise, to be sure. Which leaves this as one I admired far more than I connected with on a meaningful level. There’s nothing wrong with that, and certainly I have no issues with carving out a space for such a film here, still lingering around the top of my list.

The Legend of Ochi

This occupies the other side of the coin. Admittedly it has some technical issues, and ironically this goes to show what takes precedence in my personal rating system, as I rated this lower than Black Bag despite having far more affection for it and far more of a preference for the story and for revisiting it. I’m actually staring down my own review- “I never expected it would land in my top 10 best of the year… It won’t.” And yet here I am. If my mind keeps going back to it, there is no reason it shouldn’t be here. It is one of my “personal favorites” of the year thus far, being tailor made for me on so many levels- sonically, visually, thematically. It took me back to being a kid and encountering some of those films that transformed my imagination so long ago. Exploring the human-creature relationship, using mythic storytelling focusing on characters who find they don’t belong in this world. The muted colours of the films aesthetic, the incredible landscape bringing the Carpathian region to life, borrowing from the regions own folklore to help us imagine a real world place where magic meets the darkness. The kind of story that for me finds me once again making sense of a confusing world.

28 Years Later

It would seem like a tall order for a third film in a beloved franchise to surpass the others, but this is precisely the case with Danny Boyle’s ambitious, risky endeavor, returning to the story’s raw and basic origins and then bringing in the sheer creative force of its expanded concern for the story in the way that it does. Its full of dramatic tonal shifts, using both music and place, all framed by these two parallel journies from the island to the mainfland, both from different POV’s. Ultimately it is about how we find those notes of transcendence in the darkness, glimpsiing new life in the sunrise, even where death persists. Visceral and powerful as a movie going experience.

Sinners

The jury is out for me on how this stands the test of time, but until I can get a couple rewatches under my belt, the sheer force of its wow factor paired with what the films thematic resonance brought about for me in my initial viewing, keeps this as a top contender. I can’t shake the feeling that some of that shine maybe masked some narrative problems, but not its heart. Here we get to its conversation about sin, both in a cyclical and systemic sense, and in a personal sense. As I wrote in my review, everyone in the film is running from something, and the brilliance of the film is where it shifts the focus to evoke the question of what they might be running towards. Or whether there is, indeed, anything to run towards. Here it brings us face to face with the two dueling forces- death and resurrection, imagining song as representing the power of those thin places where the spirit can cut through the tension with some revelatory sense of what is true. So much imagery, and certainly a profund visual presence. Sinners, even if it might have some weaknesses, is not a film you quickly forget.

The Ballad of Wallis Island

Such a sweet, gentle, good spirited movie. Exudes an unassuming charm and likeability that sweeps you into the simple beats of its quiet dramatic notes. So much so that it kept flying under the radar everytime I reassessed my working list of 2025 films. My most recent reflections just seemed to have the right moment to make this basic observation click for me- what film would I miss the most if it wasn’t here. I feel it would be this one. There is so much understated wisdom in its approach, landing the perfect marriage of tone and pacing, character and story. It all culiminates in a truly authentic experiernce designed and meant to lift ones spirit and point of view. One of a few films on my list that use music as part of its plot device, which is part of what makes its Irish setting come so alive.

Having just finished Ethan Kross’ book Chatter: The Voice in Our Head, Why it Matters, and How to Harness It, I find myself in a weird space. For a book that is as accessible as this one is, it is suprisingly difficult to apply. Part of the issue is his reliance on case studies. Another part of the issue is that he fails to establish a real foundation for why his thesis matters. Perhaps most pertienent is that whatever tools he offers (and his final chapter is called “The Tools”) serves the privileged and the ones on top of the evolutionary chain (in his view). Which means, it is a science book written in laymans terms masquerading as a self help book for those who want to rise above the rest.

The reason I picked this one up is because it was recommended that I find something to help deal with my penchant for going inside my head whenever positive things happen. I am in a season of positives. For the first time in our lives we have equity that is allowing us to pursue different options in home and travel. After a couple years of treading water with severely reduced hours, I have a new position that has bumped me back up to full time hours doing what I enjoy. We’ve got a good 12 year track record now with investing in stability in different areas of our life, which is a sharp departure from the constant change that shaped the first 8 years of our marriage.

And yet with all of this in sight, my brain finds itself spiralling, waiting for the worst case scenario to drop. I find it so hard to escape those anxieties, and find myself stuck in this space that insists when good things happen it means the bad is lying in the wake. One could argue for good reason.

So this book sounded right for me. In some ways it was. I don’t want to lose it entirely to the above critique. But I knew right off the bat that I might have a challenge here. I am big on the why questions. Which is to say, I need the philosophical side of any equation to make logical sense for it to work (for me). In the introduction, the defintion of chatter feels apt. He describes it as “consisting of the cyclical negative thoughts and emotions that turn our singular capacity for introspection into a curse rather than a blessing.” Feels about right. But then he follows up on the why- it inhibits peformance, successful relationships, decision making, happiness and health. So now we are in the arena of self help. Okay. I get it. Of course our motivation for tackling a problem is attending to the problem. So having targeted outcomes feels expected, if a bit leary.

But it doesn’t stop there. Right after this he brings up the why question again, this time, on the heels of him doubling down on his credentials as a scientist. The why gets reduced to a purely materialist framework. What he is really interested in is reducing the human experience related to chatter to its base level material function. Why? So that we (and he) can manipulate and control it.

Who the “we” is in this equation is already a question I find myself asking, because I, as the reader and thinker in this equation, have been likewise reduced to to the same material property.

But then he grabs me in with observations like this simple fact- we spend upwards of half of our lives NOT living in the present.
Meaning, we spend that time in both past and future. Which is where the chatter comes from. In some ways necessarily, but in other ways to our detriment. “Much of our life is in the mind.” That’s the way life works. And it is that inner conversation that plays a crucial role in how our brains function on an evolutionary level.

Alright, now we are getting into that philosophical territory.

Chatter, definitionally, is when that inner voice that is the life of the mind becomes a curse. Meaning, chatter gets in the way of us using that inner voice to what we might call or impose or assume to be positive ends, something he, like most who approach his field in the way he does, qualifies as “the pursuit of happiness.” A word that I might argue is part of the problem. What is happiness? For him it relates to functional success. A kind of state that our material functions create. Why? I guess because it serves some constructed end  in the realm of the natural order.

Here he tackles things like memory, something he says we have a penchant for romanticizing as a glorified image of the past acting in response to the challenges of the present. And yet memory is much more than this. It is equally a matter of the brains multitasking ability regarding the onslaught of information it recieves as it is formulating narratives. He sees this as dependent on what he calls an “excecutive function,” which is the part of our brain that dictates how different information is used. I’m thinking here of Andy Clark’s The Experience Machine: How Our Minds Predict and Shape Reality. I think Kross is getting at something similar, underlining the relationship between past and future to the present as a constant act of “prediction.” Prediction that consistently is being tested and reformulated against the past. The important part of that being, memory plays into this through the simple observation that prediction never stops. Which is to say, we, by our nature, live in a necessary and perpetual state of uncertainty that is being overlayed on to the past. This is what creates what we might call our conscious experiences.

Kross also touches on the continually emerging field of genetics, suggesting that what we are finding is that our assumptions about genetics as concrete predictors is not entirely accurate. It is not that black and white. It has more to do with genes being turned on or off, and even more to do with the constant interplay of a world of genes that can come from anywhere. Here I’m thinking of Dalton Conley’s The Social Genome: The New Science of Nature and Nurture. The important point that Kross is drawing out here being that our inner voice, something that is constantly shifting between zooming in and zoooming out, or our experiences set against acts of conscious or unconcious distancing, has the power to change our biological makeup. Our genes. It can turn genes on or off, which is the far more prevelant and pertinant question relating to our genetic makeup.

Which of course begins to tread on that old tired trope that says “stop being anxious or it will kill you.” Well there goes that chatter again.

If genes can be turned on or off, Kross also brings in the simple fact that this happens in relationship to others. How we relate to others and how others relate to us has a reciprocal affect. One of the key things here is whether we have people in our lives who can recognize the balance between needing empathy (listening and understanding) and needing the overt push towards change. We crave negativity in many ways. We are drawn to the problems. And yet the mark of successful people is the ability to reframe those problems as positives and points of growth. Miring ourselves in the negative for long periods of time is the problem of chatter. Where we can get ourselves out of introspection and into action is where chatter ceases to have that negative power over our lives.

Ok. So how do we get there? Over and over again Kross defines it in terms of manipulation. Self manipulation. Or manipulation of this material reality we call the self. Bringing in specfic actions that can turn our experience of something in one direction or another by appealing to illusions. Illusions of feeling. Illusions of beliefs. To cite page 125, “In order for you to truly FEEL in control, you have to BELIEVE…” In this case, seeing and claiming order in a disordered world. Or feeling and believing that ones world is ordered. That translates to a physicalist POV and to our sense of meaning in the same way. He calls it “perceptions of control,” and applies it to the brains act of “simulating” such perceptions in ways that formulate into necessary beliefs.

Remember when I said he appeals sharply to a reductionist worldview? What he has done here is used the concept of chatter as another way of reordering the world according to hierchies of success. The strong and the weak. If you want to survive, and in his view conquering chatter is integral to survival, you must be successful at these things.

He then gets to a central question- the question of pain. As is commonly assserted, pain is something he sees as necessary to a physicalist POV. He relates pain of one kind to the critical voices that lie inside our head- we need both. Why? Because that is the mechanism he sees evolution has given us to avoid that which harms us. In this case it is chatter. And yet what has he handed me but another social construct by which to prove and demonstrate my worth, and one that is based on the power of my mind to delude myself for the sake of feelings of “happiness.”

Here he has shifted, if subtly, so subtle as to not be noticeable even, from the functional and mechanical reasons to empirical or philosophical ones. To me, such a view quickly distorts itself into defeatism, precisely because he conflates them. Not only is it based on something that is in fact acting contrary to reality, but because it uses certain truths about a functional reality to prop up life as a game of winners and losers in a world defined by its evolutionary push. All while sneaking in this view that sees it as some kind of transcendent truism.

This becomes no more apparent than in his ability to harness feelings that he has reduced to material function in order to turn it into something else he calls awe. As though this awe exists as some external and authoritive motivating force in our lives. Just to ensure that we understand, he consistently qualifies these statements by reasserting his commitment to reductionism so that we know we haven’t fallen over the line into religiousity. Seemingly burying the lead that he made loud and clear from the start, which is that this awe he is experiencing is a constructed illusion that finds its foundation in the simple truth of its material function. It is when we allow ourselves to believe in the illusions that the practical, functional changes can happen for the (strong, defined accordingly) individual.

Which brings me back to his observations about pain. It seems awfully convenient to me to try and say that pain exists so as to allow us to avoid pain. He tries to romanticize this by attaching it to some imposed virtue of betterment, but that betterment is little more than a material reality manipulating itself so as to appear AS something else. Which, if I’m correct, is the exact awareness that creates the chatter in the first place. Chatter is fundamentally, according to the author, being consumed by pain, or the correlary experience of the inner voice being shaped by crisis or curse agianst perceptions of blessing. And yet the reality that he is working with is a cursed one. The only way to reformulate it as blessing is to be a functional “winner,” and even then survival is a whole lot different than appealing to something called awe. An appeal that surfaces in order to make survival feel and seem like it has some inherent meaning, or that happiness has some kind of coherent definition, or that the self is anything but a construct. Blessing in this sense is privilege, not reality. Worse yet, it is packaged as accomplishment and acts without any real or true foundation. What is privilege after all other than a perpetual game of social comparison.

The real point of crisis for me comes when I submit his approach to a necessary cynicism. Sure, I can do a, b, and c and possibly come out on top in this observably and painfully cruel world. But that necessary critical voice tells me such a thing is not trustworthy. It might reflect certain truisms regarding our biological function, but it is not trustworthy. The question then is, can I allow myself to be given over to the tactics of his tools so as to actually be able to believe the illusions are true. If he is correct, and to a degree I think he is, our brain function depends on this. My cynicism pushes back and says, okay, the truth is reducible to the biological function of creating illusionary beliefs (the degree to which I do not think he is right), but I also know that a contrary reality is the thing my brain is reacting to. Disorder is the reality my brain is manufacturing an illusionary sense of order from and against. And the only way to sustain a different kind of reality than the one the chatter is a symptom of is persist in our constrcuted beliefs. To fall back on the reductionism Kross has handed us is to be left weilding tools without a foundation. Or worse, building on a faulty and problematic foundation that enselves us to the biological and social systems. This is precisely why, for me, the way through the problem of chatter needs that foundational why question. Without that I find myself being pushed and pulled headfirst into the very thing that caused the problem in the first place. It makes things worse. What Kross does is conflate the why with the what.