Dead Wood

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nurse log

Whether it makes a sound or not, when a tree falls in the forest it joins that great cycle that embraces all living things. Decomposition is as much a part of life as conception. Rotting logs provide homes and minerals and nutrients to other living creatures. Although the individual life is over, life as a whole goes on. Nowhere is this more evident than in nurse logs. Nurse logs are those trees that directly host seedlings after they die. While examining such a nurse log yesterday my daughter said, “It’s life after death.” Resurrection. The more I reflected on nature’s resurrection, the more selfish the human concept seemed to become. We want—and some of our religions offer—individual resurrection, the continuance of me, not mere life.

Nature has no theology. In its immediacy and pragmatism, creatures live without pondering what it means, striving to pass on the gift of life they’ve been given through their offspring to keep the cycle going. Evolution may shape forms into new varieties along the way, but we are more amoeba than angel. We are part of something larger than ourselves. Unfortunately our society has evolved to emphasize individual drive over collective effort. We don’t want to tax the ultra wealthy, for they are where we all want to be. It is the poor who are sacrificed on the unholy altar of this thinking that truly reflect what nature intends for us to be.

To justify our selfish outlook humans made gods in their image, adding prerogative to perfidy. Somehow we deserve more than others—longer life and even more life after that. Evolution has, in its non-directional way, distorted the picture by providing us with inordinately parsimonious attribution of souls, according to theologians. Nature belies our paltry attempts at self-deification. Quietly in the forest a tree dies, offering its life for those that will come after. The nurse log knows the true meaning of resurrection, while we fumble to gain more for ourselves, backed by the religions we’ve invented.

Vindication

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Back in the summer of 2009, I chose the name of this blog on a whim. Relatives had been encouraging me to provide a platform for podcasts and the occasional post and asked me what I would call such a blog. The pun of sects and violence initially drew some good humored interest, but there was a serious subtext beneath the choice. Nature has now published an article declaring that violence and sex are related. (Sects and violence is a no-brainer; just look at the newspaper.) The connection has been established satisfactorily only in the brains of mice so far, but what is the real difference between mice and men?

Yes, men. The studies focus on the male brain, that organ that continues to confound those of us who daily try to use one. Certain circuits in the mouse hypothalamus trigger either a violent or loving response when stimulated certain ways. Aggression is almost an automatic response. My mind tied this in with the Singularity article in last week’s Time. As we race forward with technological mergers between artificial intelligence and the human machine, do we really understand what that brain is that we are attempting to emulate electronically? Biology, according to many theorists, does not bow to the rules of reductionism. What happens when the violence of natural circuits (fight or flight) kick in with titanium feet?

I commented on a friend’s post when he cited the Singularity article in Time. Others responded to my remarks suggesting I did not take the reality of this seriously enough. Those who are familiar with Sects and Violence in the Ancient World will have no such questions. The minds that have given us both gods and guns are machines that can not be replicated precisely. Their function is to keep a degenerating biological mass alive. Electronic brains with replaceable parts (think Wall-e) have no such concerns. The missing limb syndrome is a very human response that is well recognized by those who understand the human psyche. And that psyche, it seems, is ready to fight as long as it is properly stimulated.

A boy's eye-view of the world

Blessing Nature

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Today is the traditional Feast of St. Francis of Assisi. Yesterday the local Episcopal Church celebrated this feast with the somewhat Anglophile practice of the blessing of the animals. This is not generally an event to which my family pays particular attention – although we are animal lovers the only pets we have are hermit crabs and the spiders and bugs that naturally make their home along with us. Yesterday also happened to be a beautiful day for the local street fair and my brother and his family joined mine for the event. His family includes a dog and we noticed a sign advertising the local blessing of the animals. As my brother noted that his dog might better do with an exorcism, we decided to pick up a free blessing while the offer was good.

Normally animal services are held outdoors. This in itself is a commentary on the true equality of species. Many people feel it sacrilegious to bring animals into churches. Biologically speaking, however, that would exclude us all. Perhaps for allergies or the price of carpet cleaning it may be more expedient to bless the critters outside. After all, animals do fend for themselves out-of-doors, right? As we sat in an informal circle, the priest emerged from his office with his own dog at his side. A makeshift card-table altar had a simple wooden cross atop it to sanctify the area. As soon as they reached the center of our circle, the priest’s dog squatted to defecate on the lawn. It was a lighthearted moment, but it also spawned some reflection.

When it comes to religious settings and ceremonies, many normal behaviors and actions are considered inappropriate. This invisible divide reflects the time-honored division between the sacred and the profane. There is no tangible way to distinguish between the two; sacredness is a matter of cultural taste. Absolutes for sacred and profane simply do not exist. A priest’s dog following the dictates of nature is about as sacred an example of life as experienced by all creatures on this earth as any other. Expelling of waste is one of the characteristics of life as we know it. While some may find dog droppings offensive in sacred settings, I have a feeling St. Francis would simply have laughed.

Your dog did what?