Real money magic: legal tender

“This note is legal tender, for all debts public and private.” That is the message written on all federal reserve notes, the paper currency produced in the United States. “Legal tender” is a phrase used in law to indicate that something without intrinsic value (paper currency) must be accepted as if it does have value; in the U.S., the rationale for imposing that requirement is that the bills are backed by the “full faith and credit” of the federal government.

In the 20th century, currencies around the world were shifted to this debt-backed system (which might also be called fiat currency, non-convertible notes, and greenbacks) from precious-metal standards, which were seen as actually holding back economic growth rather than regulating it. It’s the largest, and arguably most successful, foray into debt-backed money ever attempted. What it depends upon in part to succeed is the confidence of users that the money they accept they will thereafter be able to spend on a comparable amount of goods or services. Calling it “legal tender” is, in a sense, an official vote of confidence. There was a time when such votes of confidence were phrased as a promise to pay the bearer in gold or silver, but now all that’s needed to keep the system moving is that phrase, printed on federal reserve notes.

Thus far, that promise has inspired enough confidence in some Western nations to keep the money usable. Well, the promise and the implied force of law behind it. What happens if that legal requirement is not universal?

It actually isn’t even remotely universal. Most consumer transactions, as it happens, are not debts and therefore don’t count. Judges have further whittled away at the idea by determining that merchants don’t have to accept all currency; a bus driver is thus allowed to demand exact change, and convenience-store clerks are within their rights when they turn away large bills. Perhaps most egregious are local justices who have determined that they do not need to accept U.S. currency for fines, despite these being the very essence of the word “debt.” In those courtrooms, expect to be asked to pay by certified check, money order, or bank card, each of which has its own associated fees.

As this notion of cash having some value is gradually eroded, at what point does the notion of government-backed money simply dissolve with it? If the point of legal tender laws is the force citizens to accept government debt as money, what does that even mean in a world where no one has to accept the stuff despite those laws? What it means is that the notion of what’s valid and valued might be changing: electronic money is still backed only by government debt, and it’s accepted everywhere from people who happen to have bank accounts with which to credit it.

On its face, just having electronic money isn’t bad, but electronic money comes as a cost. As I detailed in my review of Curse of Cash, divorcing money from the physical makes it easier to manipulate, making it possible to get projects such as wars paid for without public outcry. It’s also more challenging for people who struggle with money management.

Nevertheless, the law as I understand it applies to physical, paper currency, at least in the United States. Without it there would be nothing but market forces determining if our cash is accepted, or in fact our electronic credits, either. Legal tender laws are on the books to prevent the chaos of having to figure out if the boss’ money could be used to buy groceries, or the necessity of keep currency-exchange apps handy when traveling across state — perhaps county — lines.

The way American laws are written offers a convenient loophole: it’s only debts for which currency is legal tender. That excludes retail transactions, exchanges of money for a good or service right now. That’s why a bus driver can refuse anything that isn’t exact change, or a convenience-store manager can decline to accept hundred dollar bills. That’s life under a jurisdocracy (government of attorneys, by attorneys, and for attorneys) in action right there. Never a law was written by a lawyer that isn’t riddled with loopholes.

Debt, however, does include fines levied for breaking laws; it’s part of one’s “debt to society.” Give a call to the local court to see if cash is accepted; it isn’t in my town, and in about half of the towns nearby. I’m told that’s because the justices are liable for money stolen, and rather than learn how to stop hiring criminals (or creating a culture in which stealing is okay), they ban the use of money. One justice told me he believes this is illegal, but until my local court is hit with a lawsuit, that’s never going to change. To that end, I am raising money to sue for the right to pay court fines in cash, as the law requires. The situation as it stands now is unacceptable because it hits the people most likely to accrue such fines with additional costs.

Inconsistent enforcement could be a symptom that legal tender laws are unnecessary, but if that’s the case, they can be rolled back. For now, we’ve got laws, and when they are not enforced consistently it ends up being really unfair to the unbanked, the cash-rich, the undocumented, the homeless, the money-workers, the debt eliminators, and probably many others.

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Real money magic: cash money spells

Money spells: who doesn’t love them? From dressing lodestones to scratching off lottery tickets, there’s lots of methods which are supposed to bring money into one’s life. Occasionally I will try out a spell I find online, or actually buy a spell kit, to understand how they’re put together. Along the same lines, I once wrote a column reviewing lottery games; each as is much magic as the other. I find it interesting to deconstruct them, and try to evaluate how effective they are.

There is a class of money spells that I find to be quite effective, to the tune of several thousand dollars that has come into my life because of them. The qualities these spells share include slow development and an emphasis on how money flows. For all it’s associated with earth, money does an awful lot of flowing; whether that’s indicative of water or magma, I’m not yet clear.

Bad news first: if it’s not already clear, lottery tickets don’t make the cut. Sure, there is an opportunity to win beaucoup bucks by playing, but anyone who believes they can wrap their head around just how small that chance is going to be is kidding themselves. I do buy a lottery ticket from time to time, but I do so as an offering to Hermes, and never expect a winner. That way lies madness.

My reference to “slow development” might also be disappointing; if there is magic which showers the user with lots of money within hours or days, I haven’t found it. Money just doesn’t seem to move all that quickly, and it might take a tremendous amount of energy to change that. (I searched high and low for a datum about the physical speed of money to no avail, but I assure readers it’s measured in miles per year, if that fast.)

Nevertheless, there are spells which I have used to good effect in helping me accumulate money. The astute reader might notice a theme.

  • Weekly dollars: On the first Sunday (a day good for money work) of the year, I light my money candle, take out a dollar bill, and recite a prayer to my patron:
Khaire, Poseidon Asphaleios.
Guide the tides around me
so that my efforts here
will secure my future.
I do the same each Sunday thereafter, only increasing the amount of money by a dollar each week. The last Sunday of the year that’s $52 I drop in the pot. Increasing the amount over time makes it doable for me, because I can make adjustments to my spending habits gradually. I’m like the proverbial toad in the pot of water being boiled, and I think most other humans are as well. This is not about ripping the band-aid off; it’s allowing it to drop when it drops. If you’re ready for radical transformation, go for it! This spell is intended for the rest of us.

Spells work better if there is a specific intention; for this one I focus on needs for my home. I am presently working toward a fireplace insert to make a home warmer than 60 degrees in winter affordable; I’m on my fourth annual cycle, and expect to make this offering to Hestia next summer.

  • Daily cents: This is another incremental saving spell, but it focuses on pocket change. I was given a lovely pottery container, and on the first day of the year into it I deposited a penny while saying:
Penny by penny,
cent by cent,
to pay for my funeral
is my clear intent.
I repeat this every day, adding one more cent to the pot daily, meaning that on the last day of the year I’m putting in $3.65. For those not reading closely, the intent I have chosen for this spell is preparing for my own death. First on the list is purchasing plots in a nearby natural-burial cemetery; in future years I’ll set aside money to be used for whatever friffery my survivors decide to put me through on the way to that hole in the ground.
  • Fiver diversion: For about seven months I’ve been avoiding spending five-dollar bills; instead, I put ’em in special money jar I originally prepared for the “daily cents” spell, but proved too small. I have accumulated about $400 thus far, for which I have not stated an intention. Money magic without intention is only for advanced practitioners! Set a goal for every spell; don’t be like me, or you might discover you blow your wad and have nothing to show for it.
  • March of dimes: Pinterest wisdom is that a two-liter soda bottle filled with dimes yields about $700. I haven’t tried this one yet, because we don’t waste enough money on soda to justify the big bottles of the stuff. It’s true that the price per unit is much lower when buying in bulk, but I personally would rather not save money on something this awful. Yes, I drink soda, and I don’t want to have any excuse to think there’s any benefit once it’s past my taste buds. No, I’d rather not feel morally superior about drinking soda, thank you very much.
  • Found money: I pick up pennies in the road. I scoop change out of the lint trap and couch cushions. I discover crisp bills in the pockets of pants I haven’t worn in months. Some of this money was technically mine all along, but either I didn’t miss it or I adapted to its absence. Either way, it’s a blessing to have it in my life and I set this money aside as “luck money,” to be used when times are lean (to counter bad luck) and when celebrating the bounty in life (such as giving to panhandlers or purchasing lottery tickets).

None of these spells have made me rich, but those I’ve used have ensured I have money when I need it most. Some might say that this isn’t drawing money to me, because it’s mostly about money already coming into my life. If capturing the money coming in before it disappears isn’t magic, then why aren’t more people doing it?

Real money magic is part of a wider project, Thrifty Pagan Writings.  If you think this stuff is utterly amazing, please convince me to start a Patreon account.

Rethinking immigration law

My long-held view on immigration is classically Republican, as opposed to the view held by many modern members of that political party: a republic is a nation governed by laws, and if those laws are not enforced there’s nothing left holding that republic together. The modern Republican view is classically American: we don’t like foreigners and will use laws to keep out as many of them as we can, even as our hearts swell with pride when thinking of the Statue of Liberty. I say “classically American” because while the Republican party is presently the home of most xenophobes, hating people who look or sound different is an idea that’s historically right up there with apple pie and “give me your tired.” We love the idea that people want to come here (we’re number one!), but once the neighborhood is packed with folks talking in another language, it’s a different story.

[Wikimedia Commons]

I try to avoid such hypocrisy. Sometimes, I even succeed.

Being a stick-to-my-guns sort of guy, I’ve gotten in a few online tussles with people over my “enforce the law” position, even after I started clarifying that “enforce the law, or change it to a law that you’re going to enforce” is fine by me too.

As I sat watching my local elected officials work out some kind of sanctuary law, listening to the testimony of people who live under threat — often, but not always, deserved — of detainment and deportation, it was very important that I wrap myself in my journalist’s mantle of dispassion. Otherwise, I knew that I could end up writing up my opinions, rather than actually reporting what happened. This is a mantle which often hangs loose about me, but this was one of those times when pulling it tight would be needed to make sure its work was done.

When I wrote the editorial about journalism as ministry, it wasn’t just that I see reporting news as a vital service. When I notice similarities in the way I approach my work as journalist and priest, that means I see serving the gods and speaking the truth to be closely aligned on a sacred level. It is a place from which I deeply listen to discern that truth, to the wagging of tongues and the moving of spirit. What settled over me was an understanding that I needed to let go my righteousness.

I’m surprised that no one in the room that night heard the grating, crunching sound of a paradigm shifting without a clutch. Maybe that falls short in explaining what went on in my head. It’s not that I suddenly understood reasons differently; no, I was just getting new orders and it didn’t really matter what I thought about them. Sometimes divine presence, for me, can be compared to physical sensation: floating, tingly, an emotional response. That was not the case this time; what I got was a thought dropped cleanly into the logic center of my brain.

Zeus is keeper of the law. My respect for law honors he who oversees its enforcement. It was some weeks after my experience before I realized he’d had a hand in reconsidering this question. Yes, Zeus is god of law, but not only mortal law. There are divine laws which also govern my life, and one of them, xenia, he wants me to put before immigration policy. Moreover, he shifted how I might interpret the relationship between host and guest; where I previously would have branded the alien an enemy for disregarding the law, I must evaluate em now as stranger, a person unknown who should be treated with respect and hospitality.

What’s changed? Expectations, more than attitudes. I still feel that a republic — a country governed by laws — should only have laws which are enforced, and that all others should be discarded. I still am likely to bristle a bit when I think about people ignoring the process for immigrating to this nation, rather than working to get it changed. Those thoughts, and the logical sand emotional steps I took to reach those conclusions, were not erased. However, I’m not to act on those opinions. It will take time for my worldview to shift, aligning itself with this directive, if it ever does. All I know for certain is that this particular set of laws is not one I am to defend. Perhaps, like tectonic plates settling after an earthquake, the change will be a gradual one that I scarcely notice. For now, I wait.

Real money magic: acting wealthy

Fake it ’til you make it. Dress for the job you want, not the job you have. Act in accordance with your will. From the standpoint of motivation, magic, and mental discipline, mindset is everything. I recall a news story from some years ago about professional panhandlers who dressed business casual to hit up the crowd at busy subway stations; they were never rounded up by police officers and told to move along, even when their “profession” was an open secret. The so-called “millionaire next door” doesn’t find protestors in the front yard because e doesn’t have a reputation for using that wealth to exploit.

One does not need to act wealthy to receive large sums of money, and not everyone with money lives the stereotype of monocle and top hat. Nevertheless, I believe there is a connection between one’s financial self-image and the reality underpinning it. Some of those who have nothing don’t wish for more, and some of those with money spend a lot of time worrying about losing it. Who is the wealthier, the person content with what they have or the person is fears being wiped out?

While I am saying that state of mind is connected to actual wealth, it’s certainly not the only factor. Ben Carson, who arguably should not have been surprised by this, was excoriated for saying that poverty is a state of mind. To suggest that is cruel, and possibly even Calvinist. Were mindset the only factor, then there would be no need to help out the poor, because they got that way by choice alone, correct? Hogwash. Even if I believed that financial hardship was entirely controlled by one’s thoughts, there are still good reasons to dispense charity. After all, a poor person might be a god in disguise, curious how one will act when no one else is looking. It’s also a nice thing to do.

The exact nature of the connection between mindset and money is not entirely clear, but that doesn’t mean it should be ignored, any more than the connection between positive thinking and physical health should be dismissed. More study is required, but in the meantime there’s little downside to evaluating one’s own limiting thoughts.

I submit that the only person who is not prone to limiting thoughts is a megalomaniac. For the rest of us, they act as a check against life-endangering recklessness. When unchecked themselves, they can become self-destructive. What’s needed to avoid either extreme is mindfulness.

When it comes to money matters, mindfulness starts with paying attention. That is a tall order; money is at the heart of most marital discord for good reason. We develop money habits mostly the same way we develop sexual ethics: our parents, who would prefer someone else do the job, largely allow us to figure it all out through osmosis. Many of us never talk about money until we are trying to pool our resources with other people. The entire culture is pitted against mindfulness, with BUY NOW and SAVE MORE marketing schemes flashing in front of every set of eyeballs. (Here’s a little tip about that: if you didn’t have the extra in the first place, spending less on a purchase isn’t “saving” money. Saving involves actually putting the money somewhere safe.)

Acting wealthy isn’t about conspicuous consumption, because the smart money isn’t spent on clothes and jewelry, at least in my culture. Americans do love to flaunt wealth they do not have, but that is not acting wealthy. True wealth, monetary or otherwise, is its own reward.

Real money magic is part of a wider project, Thrifty Pagan Writings.  If you think this stuff is utterly amazing, please convince me to start a Patreon account.

Real money magic: volunteering

“I would never volunteer,” remarked the grandmother of a friend of mine. “Why give it away if you can get paid for it?”

That’s the quintessential problem with money: once it’s introduced into a society, the temptation is to quantify everything. The insistence of that grandmother to have all her time be measured in dollars comes from the same state of mind that spawned the idea that human lives can be bought and sold. The same magic that allows money to bring good things into people’s lives can be used to reduce every human interaction to a number.

I don’t think it’s fair to blame money for this desire we have to see all things through the lens it offers. We are malleable mortal beings, and encounters with spirit always carry with them the possibility of the profound. Some spirits, like that of opium, I steer away from because those encounters are incredibly dangerous for humans. Other spirits, like air, I must engage with lest I die. Money carries with is some of both perils, tempting us to frame our world as profit statements and deliverables.

Not everything of value can be priced, and not everything that can be, should be. It’s a human failing to use too much of a good thing, whether it’s money, sugar, heroin, sex, or curling; humans seldom pursue any form of pleasure in moderation.

I don’t have much time to volunteer, but I’m glad to do what I can. Lately that’s been helping to steer a local nonprofit farm that’s got a heavy emphasis on feeding hungry people. Due to how the systems are structured, I don’t have direct contact with the people getting fresh produce to supplement the crap they’re stuck eating because they live in a food desert. I can’t even take a tax deduction for the time I spend, but that’s not the point. People are getting fed. Children are learning where food comes from. I am meeting people in my community I didn’t know lived here, and strengthening my ties to my home.

The benefits of volunteering may not be easily quantified, but they are incredibly valuable, both to the volunteer (although the research doesn’t confirm causation, there’s definitely a relationship) and to anyone who is a recipient of those efforts. I don’t think I would have been able to convince that granny of this truth, but truth it is.

What is difficult for Grandma Worksforpay and many who live in capitalist societies to grasp is the value proposition of the anything that cannot be quantified or, more specifically, priced. That is not their fault; one does not expect the fish to notice the water. In The Soul of Money, author Lynne Twist begins with the tale of Chumpi Washikiat, member of an Amazonian tribe called the Achuar. Washikiat’s people didn’t use money, weren’t familiar with the concept of money, and got along just fine without money. Historically, that dynamic has not gone well: land conscription, resource exploitation, and slavery are common results of early contact between monetary and non-monetary peoples. The Achuar were trying to get ahead of the curve, learning about money before money mowed them down. Writes Twist:

“When the Achuar are in their rain forest home they are prosperous and have everything they need, and have been so for centuries, even millennia. One step out of the rain forest into our world and they can’t eat, find shelter, or live for any length of time without money. Money is not an option; it is a requirement.”

Plenty of people — albeit not necessarily readers of my humble blog — would nod their heads sagely as they read that passage, perhaps sympathetic to the simple savage trying to make his way in the civilized world. I see a different message, as did Twist herself, that within “civilization” it’s difficult to imagine life without money, perhaps as difficult it is to imagine how one thinks before learning language. In Debt: the First 5,000 Years, David Graeber frequently returns to the amount language which is couched in monetary terms, showing as “owing” someone because of a small gesture, such as letting the other person merge a car onto the freeway. Even those of us who are cognizant of money, or try to be, think in those terms frequently throughout the day. I’m tempted to call it a “startling” or “alarming” frequency, but it’s no more alarming that the rising water temperature around that proverbial toad, about to be boiled alive.

There is a Jewish tradition of anonymity in charity, baked into Maimonides’ eight levels of giving. I believe that’s intended to separate doing good things from the quantity of money involved, to some extent, but I’m not sure how effective it is. The person who gives will always know how much they give, even if they don’t know to whom they actually gave it. Granted, this system prevents the one from lording it over the other, and that’s an important acknowledgement of our fundamentally jerky nature, but I believe the ideal extension would be giving which is so anonymous that the donor isn’t even aware that the money is gone.

However, that’s another discussion. This post is about volunteering. (Focus, man!) This post is about giving time in lieu of money. Here’s a few things I’ve done in recent years, for which I have not even gotten a t-shirt for compensation:

  • collected food for a local food bank
  • volunteered reorganizing all the canned goods at said food bank (side note: food banks tend to be full of crap no one wants to eat, which for me includes canned olives and hog’s feet. Pro tip: it’s nice to know that something you’re not eating isn’t going to waste, but please consider buying an extra box or can of something you would eat, just to mix it up a bit)
  • sitting on the board of a farm which has a substantial food justice mission (and if readers are sensing a trend, they may not be incorrect)
  • growing a mustache to raise money for cancer research
  • taking care of kids while their parents attended a political caucus
  • picked up trash that magically accumulates over the winter in my college town

Whatever the skills, whatever the time availability, there’s a volunteer opportunity for that. Some of my neighbors organize the library book fair each year. A friend of mine knits caps for premature babies. My mother delighted in her time at a local thrift shop, the proceeds from which supported a sliding-scale mental health clinic. The opportunities are without end, and the need is great.

Coming back to that grandmother I once knew who would never have volunteered, well, more’s the pity, because I am richer for the time I have given away than ever I could be from the time I spend for pay.

Real money magic is part of a wider project, Thrifty Pagan Writings.  If you think this stuff is utterly amazing, please convince me to start a Patreon account.

Curse of Cash review

On its face, The Curse of Cash is an argument for morality: criminals use cash to operate in the shadows, and there’s nothing an honest citizen can’t do with money electronically; therefore ridding our society of physical money would make for a more virtuous, safe, and honest environment. Physical currency was an absolute necessity to simplify a world of barter, but now technology makes it possible for money to be entirely electronic without that bringing disadvantage to any honest person.

Notwithstanding the numerous flaws and fallacies presented as part of that argument, it’s also not the real reason why the author would like to see pesky cash eliminated. The truth is far more insidious, and essentially boils down to this: the existence of cash makes it more difficult to steal on behalf of a government. That’s because currency serves as a backstop for interest rates, to wit: if central bank governors lower interest rates into negative territory — which means that one’s bank balance could shrink over time, even without the application of monthly maintenance fees — then more of us would resort to shoving big bills into our mattresses. Without those big bills, a whole new realm of possible ways to separate individuals from their money becomes possible.

The notion of negative interest rates is novel enough that when first confronted with it, many people don’t even understand the concept. It’s a sweet deal from the perspective of government, though: just like inflation (which is an intentional act, not the mysterious and uncontrollable force it’s presented as in many news reports), negative interest rates allow money to be scooped up without the politics of raising taxes. Negative interest rates, however, are the scalpel to inflation’s chainsaw. What they have in common is that they are tools used to reduce the value of money, which makes it easier to pay back loans for the people who created that money in the first place, who happen to work in government.

Most government spending is paid for not through taxes, but through bonds, which is how governments (and corporations) borrow money. With inflation, the trick is to add more money to the supply, knowing that each dollar will purchase less as a result and thus the dollars used to pay back the loan will actually be cheaper; this is why people who live on borrowed money such as farmers prefer inflation. Negative interest rates, however, remove money from circulation and transfer it back to the government for essentially the same purpose. Both are nothing but sophisticated ways of stealing, but negative interest rates would specifically punish the people who try to save for the future.

don't stealThis entire book uses bait-and-switch, dangling a carrot (the fear of the faceless criminal) to get readers on board before acknowledging the true intent of the cashless strategy proposed, which is stealing more efficiently than any criminal could.

I like cash because it’s how debt-elimination programs work, and because it’s how magic works. I’ve yet to find a viable system for reigning in spending and paying off past debts that doesn’t begin with the participant converting to a cash-heavy or all-cash lifestyle. That’s because bills and coins are tangible reminders of the cost of any purchasing decision, and because there’s a much better chance that cash in one’s pocket is not borrowed, and thus not accumulating interest in favor of a creditor. Debit cards are marginally better than credit cards — if one turns off “overdraft protection,” a fancy term for “borrowing money from the bank,” at least — but I find it’s much easier to spend with the click of a mouse than with the opening of my billfold. Electronic money is always out of sight, and therefore it is out of mind even for a thrifty fellow such as myself.

Magically it works much the same way: a physical talisman is a powerful tool to focus one’s will, and it makes spending money with intent a whole lot easier if one has to physically hand it over. Many people write spells or wishes directly on paper currency. Cutting us off from a physical representation of money is a very effective way to cut us off from any control. It’s downright diabolical.

I now seek hundreds out, because I think normalizing the use of the largest-denominated bill in the American money system is our best defense against these and similar shenanigans. Sooner or later government officials, if faced with a populace of people who prefer cash, will have to reissue some of the larger ones, as well. That, or stop inflating currency, which in case anyone reading this blog doesn’t understand yet is entirely intentional and entirely controllable; inflation is increasing the money supply by issuing more money, and no complicated economic explanation will ever change that.

Do not buy this book. The author should not be rewarded for this diabolical scheme of eirs, which is why I have neither linked to it nor even mentioned the author by name.

Monodeism and polydeism

Deism presumes that the clockwork of the universe was set in motion by a demiurge, who at some point later vacated the premises. Apparently, polydeism is a thing, which is pretty amazing. The notion that a succession of gods have come along, messed around with what passed for the natural order at the time, and then wandered off makes more sense to me than monodeism does, but I still find it kinda depressing. In fact, it depresses me more to think that the universe has been a passing fancy to multiple gods than if it had been just that one time. Is it that boring here?

Accepting the possibility of polydeism also opens new doors. Could it be that some gods just stop by, but others choose to stick around? That’s not an option under monodeism, because it presumes just one deity. There’s nothing in polytheist belief that suggests that all the many gods have much in common with one another, and it stands to reason that some might move in for the long haul once they are born here or happen upon the place. What I’m not sure about is if that would still count as polydeism at all. I think of my ninth-grade social studies teacher’s definition of [mono]deism: “God made the universe, then split.” If it was actually multiple gods, and they split on whether or not to split, does that dilute the -deism part of the word? It certainly doesn’t satisfy people who use deism simply as a way to pay lip service to divine powers while still completely ignoring them, which may have something to do with why it’s not super fashionable to be a polydeist.

There’s a deranged part of my mind that thinks about what this concept means to theological debates within the Pagan and polytheist spheres: were they separate and distinct gods who abandoned the universe, or facets of a single being? On the other hand, maybe these former resident gods were archetypes. Could the universe now be devoid of archetypes? Did those gods all hang out together and bolt when the party was over, or was it a revolving door of holy powers? Revisiting the monist “all gods are one” mindset, could there be a succession of different faces to the same god[s] passing through, giving the polydeist the mistaken impression that there’s been a bunch when it was only a few, or one, deadbeat deity?

Moreover, what if deism is just one more idea which isn’t entirely correct or incorrect? Could it be that some gods have left for parts unknown, but others remain? Perhaps deistic abandonment is inevitable, but still unfolding. How do I know if my gods are going to leave, or when? The very thought could drive some devotees into a bitter form of agnosticism, I’d venture. If we can’t have faith in gods, does the word have any meaning?

If nothing else, a cycle of deism helps me imagine that non-believers such as atheists aren’t precisely wrong, but (like many of the rest of us) simply drawing conclusions based upon only that very small portion of the evidence which is known to human beings. I remain confident that not everything is even knowable to we jelly-brained types, and try mightily not to assume I have a better handle on the big picture than anybody else. I fail in that, regularly, but that’s the fun of being human in the first place. We are a self-centered, arrogant bunch of primates, after all. If some or all of the gods have moved on to better things, I certainly can’t blame them from tiring of our antics.

For me, there is something reassuring about knowing that there’s a lot we don’t know.