A fantastic book by one of the finest science communicators of our age, Prof. Robert M. Sapolsky of Stanford University.
Every essay is both erudite and fascinating, and the book is very readable, edifying, and enjoyable.
The title essay was especially interesting, as was the long reflection on religion and neurological disorders that (not accidentally) closes the collection.
From that last piece, I bring this delicious passage, about a young sixteenth-century Augustinian monk named Luder, whose writings have survived into our time:
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Anxious and neurasthenic, troubled with a relationship with a stern and demanding father, plagued with a variety of seemingly psychosomatic disorders, the young man had been caught one day in a frightening thunderstorm while walking alone, suffered a panic attack, and vowed to become a monk if he was allowed to survive.
True to his vow, he became a novitiate and threw himself into the rituals with a froth of repetition, self-doubt, and self-debasement. He described his dis-ease with the German word **Anfechtung**, which he defined as a sense of being utterly lost, a sense of anxious lack of mooring in every circumstance.
He carried out each monkish ritual to perfection, urging himself to ever greater concern for detail, ever greater consciousness of God throughout the act, ever greater contrition for his own inadequacies . . . and would invariably find fault and have to start over again. The first Mass that he led was an agony of anxiety, as he was filled with fears of leaving out details, of saying something blasphemous. His spare hours of silent meditation were filled with obsessive, heretical thoughts, for which he confessed at length day after day.
"I often repeated my confession and zealously performed my required penance," he wrote. "But I was always doubting and said, 'You did not perform that correctly. You were not contrite enough. You left that out of your confession.' "
At one point, his father confessor, no doubt exhausted with having to hear hours of confessions each day from Luder, endless reportings of evidence of failings and God's justifiable anger, finally turned to the young monk with an exasperated, shockingly modern insight—"It is not God who is angry with you. It is you who is angry with God."
History gives us a final hint of this monk's affliction. He washed and washed, and it was all futile. "The more you cleanse yourself, the dirtier you get," he summarized plaintively. The vein of obsessive-compulsive anxiety is readily apparent in this young man, who would come to be known by the more modern version of his name, Martin Luther.
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