As the bookstore doors open and the scent of fresh air and paper mingle within my breath I am stricken by the deep impression Ecclesiastes and the Gospels have left upon me. When among books, those passages well up as the reason I continue to read. The all-encompassing emotions I feel when I read the phrase “All is vanity,” or immerse myself in the Sermon on the Mount, ignite a yearning within me that I seek to make reality each day.
As I write these words, I recall my love of books beginning with religious tomes, but truly they began as a young child. My parents filled my home with books and read to me often. Love you Forever by Robert Munsch is a favorite of mine, the illustrations stirring up memories of my youth. As I grew and began to read on my own, my siblings and I shared a set of The Boxcar Children. I would eventually come to hoard this set in my room wanting each book to be kept together.
Silver Fin
As imprecise as memories can be - seemingly influenced by our present circumstance more than our past, the first book I recall reading the physical words of is SilverFin by Charlie Higson. I assume I found this at a book fair and begged my mother to purchase it for me after playing Golden Eye on a friend’s N64. My fascination with James Bond could have come from nowhere else, as I surely was not allowed to watch Bond movies at that age.
SilverFin was the first book I read in which I felt like a “big kid.” In terms of thickness, it looked like the Dan Brown novels my father would read. I could not consume it quickly like I did with The Boxcar Children. It was the first book I had to persevere to finish and that I felt pride in being able to read.
While sitting on the edge of my bed I remember reading a passage where the main character was swimming, perhaps in a race, with his chest burning from lack of oxygen or perhaps mere exertion. The setting, as my childhood self recollects, was that of a dark castle of sorts. This is where the memory fails me, perhaps the main character was found passed out, or perhaps I am remembering a scene from Dan Brown’s “Deception Point” where that main character drowns in freezing water and is revived in burning pain aboard a maritime vessel. Both books I know I read, not likely in close succession, and yet due to similar scenes they are inseparable within my mind.
As I entered my teenage years, my affection toward books faded. Required reading at school felt like a slog. Books like Huxley’s Brave New World left met feeling alienated and empty. My attention was captured by other interests. My old companion of reading was lost.
It was not until college, that a passion for reading would well up once more.
World Religions
World Religions by John Bowker is a college purchase which remains upon my bookshelf; a book that has deeply shaped my life. The words and images in Bowker’s text left me in awe at the ways we have curated places of worship and sacred mythology. As I traversed the rich pages, I found familiar Christianity and Buddhism, experiencing the former and reading books on the latter. New to me was Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, and the remainder of the religions within. This one book inspired me to take courses on Judaism at university, read further on Shinto and Daoism, and to delve deeper into the vast literature on religious faith and ways of life. I had no devotion to a particular religion, and I enjoyed reading all the more. Part of me wondered if I should commit myself wholly to a religion, as if it were a requirement for human life. I was exploring what the world had to offer.
Outside of the pages of Bowker I explored texts on Native American spirituality and took college courses on the history of the first nations of the Americas. I found rich traditions connected to the development and context of their societies; practices that had deep meaning and that spoke to my own heart. In time, I came to see each custom as something I could not simply role-play as, join, or be part of. The human connection was apparent, and yet their history was not directly my own.
Lupe
My mind has never really worked chronologically. I remember things based on themes and my emotional experience. I am dizzied at times thinking about my past, trying to put it all into perspective. What I have read and written helps bring a clearer view.
During college, perhaps my second or third year, the academic discipline of human rights became deeply important to me. I was a double major in history and psychology; the history portion focused predominantly on non-western history of human rights.
The rights and treatment we humans should afford one another has much more importance than mere academics. Yet in college I was introduced to Orwell’s Animal Farm, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and the idea that human rights could be studied in an academically rigorous manner. One day during class our professor brought us to explore one of the historical archives at the university. As our class was sat in a room we were passed a child’s drawing stained with blood, etched by a militia during their attack on a school. Academics dramatically took the back seat as the practical implications of human belief systems took the forefront.
Amid this time of raw reflection on the horrors of our world, I began reading the autobiographies of Nelson Mandela and Malcolm X. Daily after my academic studies, or in-between classes, I would attentively read these books, captured by the narrative and lives of these two people and their communities. The reading sparked one of my first ever iTunes purchases, a collection of the speeches of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X. In lieu of music I would listen to these great orations on repeat.
Not soon after my hiatus from music, a good friend of mine introduced me to Lupe Fiasco. I remember purchasing Food & Liquor II, no art on the cover. I listened to it twice in one night. Later that same year, as my friend and I carpooled to a conference together, we explored the depths of meaning gleaned from the album’s lyrics.
Lupe Fiasco introduced me to aspects of life I had never experienced. Listening to his music hit a note within me, a ringing of sorrow and recognition. Enveloping myself in his songs in my solitary dorm was almost like going to church. I wondered where his artistry and passion came from and who he was. I learned of his Muslim faith and presumed his connection to God gave him his fortitude. I had a feeling that his music came to me at this time for some unknown reason.
Having recently completed Malcolm X’s autobiography, I was intrigued by X’s description that Islam was a universal religion without regard to upbringing, similar to the way Christianity is described. It came across a religion wholly devoted to God, like Judaism, though not tied to birthright. Evermore compelling to me was the inclusion of Jesus as a prophet without the positioning of him as God incarnate. I was captivated by this rush of knowledge: it seemed unraveling before me was a universal faith I had been privately seeking.
By my senior year, I was immersed in the Quran (The Study Quran) and an abbreviated version of Rumi’s Masnavi. I fervently explored these texts and eagerly learned about the ways of life of the varied people who practice Islam. Engrossed by the central ideas of wholehearted submission and peace I found commonality to the great quote of Hillel “What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. That is the whole Torah; the rest is commentary. Now go and study.” and to Matthew 22:36-40 reminding the reader to “love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.”
Tradition
From Fall of 2015 until around the summer of 2020 I read through the Quran numerous times, attended prayer at Mosques, read history, and listened to exegesis; doing much of this in private with the words of Matthew 6:5-6 swirling in my mind. During this time, I stumbled upon What is Islam? by Shahab Ahmed introducing me to a new cascade of information and depth. More than simply teaching me about Islam this book was a clinic on historical thinking, orthodoxy, heterodoxy, dogmatism, and cosmopolitanism. I was driven fast into ancient Persia, Al-Andalus, and the Mughal Empire. I was overcome by the complexity, contradiction, and wonder of life and so unabashedly reminded about the history behind each one of us born into this world.
As I was engrossed in this tradition, it thrust me uncontrollably into thinking about the tradition I was raised in, the aspects that have evolved over time, and those that were lost: memories of golumpkis, trick-or-treating, decorating for Christmas, and the thanksgiving table. Just as Ahmed had written this tome of knowledge, I too wondered about the complex forces that brought me to who and where I am today. What do I want to preserve, revive, and prevent from being forgotten in time? I found myself working hard to cast off reductive, essentialist thinking and to not so quickly commit myself to principles or ways of thinking that would forsake those dearest to me.
The New Atheist Movement
I am unsure when or precisely how, but I remember at some point coming to the conclusion that no person or orthodoxy is a direct path to God. I was unsure what God even was or meant, but figured that if there is a God this being must care more for the impact that I have on the world and my fellow humans over any outward professions of faith. I put down the quest to find the perfect religion or spiritual practice and instead devoted my energy to understanding the moral and ethical obligations I should commit myself to and how I should lead my life.
Precisely when I was coming to these epiphanies, I was picking up The Upanishads, The Bhagavad Gita, The Dhammapada, and began reading varieties of ghazals and other poetic collections. I was reflecting on the topic of love, what it means to be human, and the tragedy that is found in existence. Since that time, I have never discontinued the reading of religious texts, whether the Tanakh, New Testament, the Quran, or various others.
Concurrent to reading, I became interested in the experiences of “exes”: ex-Christians, ex-Muslims, etc.... I began to explore videos online of their experiences and started consuming videos on YouTube by Rationality Rules, Genetically Modified Skeptic, and Cosmic Skeptic. I was once again jolted into a new world of information that harkened me back to my first year of university; to Rousseau, Plato, Aristotle, and the wealth of philosophy and reason.
For the first time I was immersed in the world of debate and enraptured by videos of Christopher Hitchens, Daniel Dennet, Sam Harris, and Richard Dawkins rhetorically sparring with religious thinkers on stage. Before me was the inner turmoil I felt expressing itself in debate and conversation. I watched videos of talks by Ayaan Hirsi Ali, discovered a variety of podcasts, and renewed a deep fascination I once had with both science and philosophy.
Amongst all this something was still missing, as much as I emotively related to the sentiments in the new content before me, I could not put down the religious texts. I no longer had drive to devote myself to a religious practice, but I did not want to wholeheartedly lay myself down before an altar of rationality and reason. There was a chasm within me.
Philosophy
Einzelgänger is a YouTube channel that explores a variety of topics in philosophy. When I came to the realization that I was disenchanted with religion, this channel was a source of comfort and a place to explore further my unsettled feelings and existential dread. In December 2020, Einzelgänger came out with a video about Miyamoto Musashi’s Dokkõdõ. It was novel to me to think that a person could develop their own way of living, their own path based in steadfast principle and disciplined action. As ideas from the previous nine years of my life swirled in my head, I was inspired to write my own “Dokkõdõ” to attempt to make sense of my confusion, to provide guidance for my days ahead, and anchor myself to something less transient than personal whims. Instead of bumbling through life, I wanted to try to bring myself some sense of stability and security.
I quickly learned of the monumental nature of this task and how inept and unprepared I was. The shell and outline of this foray still sits in my personal files. I once had a dream to publish a book on this topic as if it could teach others the essential truths of life as vividly as I felt I was learning them. My enthusiasm and excitement at the time shrouded me from the realization of how foolish I was.
Another YouTuber from this time of my life is someone I follow to this day, Cosmic Skeptic (Alex O’Connor). This parasocial relationship is something that still surprises me. I have always felt I was on a parallel journey to him despite his Oxford education and growing fame. His topics of interest nearly mirror my topics of interest, and I quite enjoyed a video he made cringingly reflecting on YouTube videos he made in his youth. Two different people from two different places reflecting on past moments of assuredness and seeing now how little it is they truly know.
Today Alex primarily creates podcasts on philosophy, consciousness, and Christianity from the viewpoint of an agnostic. He has solidified within me the truth that I can read and be enamored with the words of the Tanakh and New Testament without a mandate that I follow the religions made in their namesake. That I can love philosophy and explore religion without devoting myself irrevocably to any one creed.
Gurus
Whenever I find my attention wholly captured by a topic I attempt to stop myself in my tracks, to take a step back, and bring further context and complexity to my view. Though I desire to never be captured by ideology and orthodoxy again, I am also quite tempted by it. I cannot quite describe the feeling of believing in something, or especially believing in a person, and feeling that they have somehow transcended their human limits. How badly part of me once wanted to find a perfect mentor or role-model. Even with my present knowledge that no such person exists, that part of me seeps its way back more often than I would like. This is not to say that mentors and role-models are profane, but every person no matter how skilled or accomplished is fallible and they do not lead ideal lives without err.
A companion of mine in laying bare and inoculating myself against this affinity toward infallibility is the Decoding the Gurus podcast. Chris and Matt explore in depth and without reservation individuals throughout secular and spiritual pop-culture. Through their “Gurometer” they test whether the episode’s featured individual presents themselves in a guru-like manner. Despite being fun and enjoyable for myself, it challenges me to think critically about the information I consume and to sober me up during the times I am swept off into the books or presentations of people or ideas that seem larger than life.
The World of Fiction
Throughout college, I predominantly read non-fiction books and academic works. Unless I read a work of fiction as part of a literature course or to explore novels from a historical perspective, those books were not on my shelf. For much of that time I did not understand why a person would read fiction when there is so much to learn about our world. To be blunt, I thought it a waste of precious time.
Once I finished graduate school my mindset began to shift. I began working as a mental health therapist and had increased free time after the workday was over. I spent hours sifting through academic papers about the most effective therapeutic techniques, parsing through what was fad pop-psychology versus what was reasonably research-based, re-reading old textbooks, and trying to compile a therapy guidebook for myself. All the while, this quest morphing from a professional endeavor to a personal one.
My brother and I were talking one evening and he was sharing with me about Greek Mythology, something he had always had a deep interest in. His passion struck me as well as the deep meaning he gleaned from its tales and mythos. These books he read brought so much joy, meaning, and comfort to his life. This deep connection he had left an impression on me.
My thoughts wandered back time and again to our conversations and to the idea that a book of fiction could be so moving. All the while remaining ignorant to my own interest in religious works, putting them in a different category within my mind.
As I thought more about fiction, I researched. I came across blogs and articles on bibliotherapy and read the experiences of many individuals who purported books to be the reason they were able to get through difficult times. I know not the veracity of the scientific evidence behind bibliotherapy and have not used this technique in clinical practice. What I did find were personal anecdotes of people sharing the impactful and introspective nature of books.
I am unsure of exactly when, but I eventually made the conscious decision that outside of reading non-fiction books for professional development, I would solely read fiction. Up to this point I spent my free time consuming online self-help, historical texts, current events, and philosophy content through articles, academic sites, YouTube, and the occasional book. I felt as if this rigorous research and life-application was not impacting my life as I wish it had.
As I moved from non-fiction to fiction I began to journal and write more often. I assume this is close in succession to when I wrote to myself describing how I continue to seek life changing advice on the internet but never find it. It is heartening to think that beginning to read fiction laid the foundation for the writing of my own book.
The first works of fiction I picked up were The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. Growing up I loved The Lord of the Rings movies from the animated version to the live action trilogy. As a child I think I enjoyed the epic battles on screen and the struggle between good and evil. As I considered reading the books in my late twenties, Tokein himself was acutely on my mind. I was intrigued by his professorship, his relationship with C.S. Lewis, the way he wrote The Hobbit for his children, and the commentaries I read discussing The Lord of The Rings as a modern epic in league with Homer or the Bible. It was a trilogy so discussed, with a vast community built up around it, and yet I had never read it.
Opening the pages of Lord of the Rings set off a cascade of reflection; it felt like a mirror to my human experience more closely than anything non-fiction ever had. It was like reading great religious texts, but more relatable and down to earth despite the fantastical setting. As the one ring weighed on Frodo’s neck I was defenseless against reflecting on my own times of obsession. Defenseless against remembering the times I immersed myself in retrospectively meaningless tasks as family and friends received my neglect and petulance.
Perhaps I am dramatic, someone who has always loved theater; once a part of the ensemble in local theater productions. Yet as I read fiction, the scene plays out before me, a stage production within my mind’s eye; my own life a parallel show. Each work of fiction I read sparks deeper and deeper reflection on life; and against all my preconceptions it has sparked deeper connection with those I love, rather than creating an escape from reality.
A Recourse from Insularity
What is it about fiction? These books are not some miraculous fix to our problems, they are not a cure for disease, nor are they a guidebook to life. What is it about them that people find so moving? What is it that has me, like so many before me, searching for the next book?
What strikes me is how seamlessly a book of fiction whisks me away from my self-obsessed thoughts, from the impossibility of the moment. The pages themselves provide a buffer against placing myself as the center of everything, with monumental tasks upon my shoulder. The weaving words expand my vision and reveal what is beyond myself. These stories are unlike academic works and non-fiction that pull me deeper into the moment and the purpose I am reading them for. With fiction, the primacy of the moment fades and I am better able to see its context.
Winding, Winding my Way
This journey through books feels like a whirlpool turning me around and now bringing me back to the beginning. As I read, I feel a warmth and comfort not so different from that of my youth in a family surrounded by books. The time spent with academics, self-help, and religious works seeming distant and yet only just across the spiraling water. It has all swirled together and left its deep impression on me. The world once seeming so small grew to mind bending proportions to then be seen in a familiar light. How unique my experience once felt and through reading and living I have come to see how relatable a human life is.
Here I find myself, not an atheist, more of an agnostic, and unable to be a devout believer. I am stuck in between, unwilling to commit myself to dogmatism, certainty, or fervent belief. Here, winding my way through books and seeking each day to simply live life as I find it. My life becoming something more each day.
© 2026 Austin Lochan Dodd