I have some hard news. Richard Harris, Trouble’s dad, the mayor of the dog park and the first regular you ever met there, died in his sleep last night. He was 58.
He died after doing his second-favorite thing: cooking for friends. He made dinner in his new pizza oven, dined, laughed, shared his love, said good night and was gone by 4 a.m.
His favorite thing was Trouble, his 12-year-old rescue that taught him to love dogs. He used not to, but said that when he met Trouble, he knew he was in it, because he was head over heels.
From that moment, he became the smiling face of the Sepulveda Basin Off-Leash dog park. He walked dogs there for 20 years under the business name Sitters O’ Critters, and seemed to remember the name of every person and pup he ever met.
If you were a regular at the park, you knew Richard, along with his daily query: “Whatchu doin for lunch? I want something delicious.” A park regular called him “the Great Connector” of people at the park, who became a community — bound by his love of dogs, the park, and the palpable chemistry of that combination.
Born in Hawaii but raised in Pittsburgh, Richard was an eight-year military veteran and served in the Gulf War before civilian life. He could have lived a cubicle existence, and knew how to invest.
But he would say he could never give up a life with dogs, dog people, and the California sun.
Every day, he’d show up in a crapped out Scooby Doo van with at least a dozen of his charges, each of which got their own crate for safe passage. You two would greet him daily, barking hellos to his squadron of fur and fang.
I can’t tell you what the park will feel like tomorrow. Surely empty. Some of your friends may not be back. I know one of mine won’t.
But Richard would never forgive us if we didn’t show up, didn’t love on the fur babies, didn’t marvel at the Cali weather and canine frenzy that brought us together in the first place.
So let’s try keep it together tomorrow. Better than dad did today.
Every faith finds its core in a book—a text to guide, to reflect, to ground its people in a way of seeing and living. The Bible, the Quran, the Bhagavad Gita—these books tell stories, reveal mysteries, set down commandments.
But for Evidentialism, a faith rooted in reason and wonder, Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations offers a deeper resonance. Here is no myth or prophecy, no divine drama or demand for supernatural belief. Instead, Meditations unfolds as a dialogue with reality, a quiet, honest guide for living in accordance with nature, in alignment with truth.
Where other faiths may cling to the unseen, Evidentialism takes up Meditations as its holy book—a text that speaks not to distant deities but to the power of the human mind to meet life with dignity, clarity, and integrity.
From my grandfather Verus, I learned good morals and the government of my temper (Book 1, Page 1).
Gratitude, here, takes the place of worship. Aurelius opens not with grand statements on divine purpose but with an appreciation of his family and teachers, the values they instilled. His reverence lies in real lives, in human interactions, in the cultivation of character.
For Evidentialism, a faith not of blind belief but of inquiry, Aurelius’ approach to reverence is ideal. Values are transmitted not by decree but by example, by thoughtful engagement with others. Faith here is not about gods but about people—their wisdom, their actions, their resilience. Respect for the past merges with a constant readiness to learn and grow.
Nature does not do things in vain.
The stoic philosopher saw nature not as an object of worship but as the ultimate guide. To Aurelius, nature was not mystical but factual; its processes reveal meaning through their constancy, their predictability, their logic.
The Evidentialist looks to science with the same trust. In nature, there are patterns and principles—not designed for us, but present all the same, indifferent yet intelligible. Through understanding nature, we understand our own place. Aurelius’ words mirror Evidentialism’s aim: to accept the world as it is and to find meaning in that acceptance, without illusions of control or demands for reward.
The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.
Stoic philosophy is built on the acceptance of obstacles, on the belief that adversity shapes us, refines our thoughts and actions. This notion—the idea that obstacles don’t just block but direct—reflects Evidentialism’s respect for trial, error, and progress. In science, setbacks aren’t failures but data, indicators of a path not taken or a truth not yet fully grasped. Learning, in this framework, means working through barriers rather than avoiding them. Knowledge grows not despite challenge but because of it, evolving as new questions arise and new challenges are met. The obstacle is not an end; it is a necessary part of discovery.
It is in your power whenever you shall choose to retire into yourself.
Aurelius often reminds himself of the power of introspection. Faith here is private, a practice not of public proclamation but of inner discipline.
This aligns naturally with Evidentialism, which lacks sermons, creeds, or ritual displays. Instead, it fosters a quiet, personal reflection on truth, integrity, and self-improvement. For Evidentialists, introspection becomes a ritual, a means of reconnecting with one’s own reason and ethical center. This inward retreat seeks no divine answer but instead examines one’s own beliefs and actions, understanding that true power lies in self-control and honest reflection.
All is ephemeral, both memory and the object of memory.
There is peace in the acceptance of impermanence. Aurelius reminds himself and us that life, memory, and all things are temporary.
For Evidentialists, this acknowledgment becomes a foundation. With no afterlife, no supernatural promise, meaning is found in the brief, vivid arc of existence. Knowing that all things pass frees us from attachment, from the illusion of permanence. In place of an eternity, we find beauty in transience, seeing life not as something to be preserved forever but as something to be experienced fully.
This stoic acceptance of mortality mirrors the Evidentialist’s respect for reality, for the limitations of our own experience, and for the universe that will continue on without us.
If it is not right, do not do it; if it is not true, do not say it.
Truth and integrity—the twin pillars of Stoic ethics. Aurelius demands honesty, not as a rule imposed from above, but as a personal responsibility.
Evidentialism, likewise, rests on the principle of intellectual honesty, a commitment to truth that surpasses convenience or comfort. In a worldview driven by evidence, truth is sacred. It is not something to bend or manipulate; it is the foundation on which all understanding rests. The call to act only on truth is a call to each person’s integrity, asking them to be accountable not to gods but to reality itself. This is faith not as a duty but as a conscious choice, a self-guided moral code.
You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.
The Stoic reminder of mortality, memento mori, is not meant to instill fear but perspective. Knowing we could die at any moment, Aurelius urges us to live fully, intentionally.
This outlook complements Evidentialism’s embrace of mortality. Without promises of an afterlife, life’s fleeting nature becomes an impetus for moral urgency and intellectual rigor. Every action, every thought, becomes important, meaningful. Life is limited; therefore, it is precious. This sense of urgency leads to a pursuit of knowledge and understanding, a commitment to living wisely and compassionately, knowing that our time is finite.
We were born to work together, like feet, hands, and eyes, like the two rows of teeth, upper and lower.
For Aurelius, humanity’s strength lies in cooperation. Community is a natural law, a necessary aspect of human life.
Evidentialism, too, values the collective pursuit of knowledge and understanding. Science and discovery flourish in communities, in shared endeavors. We advance knowledge not in isolation but together, contributing to a body of work that transcends individual lives. Aurelius’ vision of people as interconnected, like parts of a single body, captures this communal spirit. We are not merely individuals but parts of a greater whole, each adding to the shared understanding of humanity.
Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one.
The Meditations does not instruct through myth or miracle. It is a manual for a life of reason, a life attuned to nature, a life in harmony with reality.
Evidentialism, in adopting Meditations as its guiding text, finds not dogma but a blueprint for thought, a way to move through the world with humility, curiosity, and respect. Where other faiths might ask for blind belief, Aurelius’ words call us to personal responsibility, to question, to seek, to understand.
In this, Evidentialism and Stoicism find their shared essence: faith not in what is unseen but in what is real, in the beauty of existence as it is.
Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.
