
In my gardens, working in the dirt, tending the plants, I come as close to knowing the face of God that I ever will (and I say this as an atheist). Here, in the garden, the beauty of the world coupled with its randomness is made manifest and I am in awe.

The garden changes not only from day to day, but if you've ever watched a rose bloom, by the moment. It is teeming with life in all its stages. It is at the mercy of nature but welcomes the nurturing and tending of a conscientious caregiver. It can be destroyed in a moment of torrential rain and wind or the unrelenting heat of a sudden fire, and yet it is resilient and will reassert its dominance given a brief respite.

The garden centers me. It gives me hope for tomorrow on bleak days and shows me that effort matters. It also humbles me and shows me that effort is not enough.


garden 2006
The power of the garden and its ability to transport me emotionally is not lessened by realizing this is a neurochemical dance my brain is engaged in. It only serves to lend it another layer of wonder.

When I read Shermer's words that "[t]he brain is a belief engine. From sensory data flowing in through the senses the brain naturally beings to look for and find patterns, and then infuses those patterns with meaning," I am in accord with him and no less in awe of the garden and the meaning I find there.


People of faith believe that a higher power directs their lives and the events within them, providing meaning and depth. I think it is not so different a feeling to realize that my brain and not my consciousness may be controlling and directing my life. It can be a terrifying thought.
Shermer provides three examples of belief conversion in part one of his new book The Believing Brain; one in particular, Francis Collin's conversion to belief, is humbling. From atheist to believer, Shermer contends that it was that opening of himself to the potential that allowed Collins to convert, and Collins' formidable intelligence to effectively justify and rationalize his beliefs. According to Shermer, "[b]elief systems are powerful, pervasive, and enduring." And they are, until they are not. Research shows us the power of repeatedly hearing a story; it explains to a large degree why urban myths prevail, why merely giving voice to the myth makes it more likely it will be accepted than its countering fact.
While it's true that our confirmation biases make it unlikely that a contradictory belief will get a foothold, the underlying mechanisms of the brain allow for the possibility that it will. That's good if we hold an incorrect belief and are provided access to factual information (perhaps it will be like the unceasing drops of water on a boulder), but it's bad if we already have a factual foothold and are constantly subjected to pseudoscience and false information.

We all have a foundation upon which we build our lives, and the solidity of this foundation determines how well we weather the adversities that life inevitably brings us. I think it is better to think about the foundation, work out what it is, test it, and see if it will hold than find in a moment of crisis that the ground we thought was firm and hard was nothing more than quicksand. I look to and maintain my foundation in the time in my garden, where introspection is welcome but not required, where peace can be found.
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