Wind and Truth (The Stormlight Archive, #5)

by Brandon Sanderson

“Human religions are all a little silly, aren’t they?” “Yes,” Wit said, “but the Passions teach that if you are fervent enough—if you care enough—your emotion will influence your success. That if you want something badly enough, the cosmere will provide it for you.” Kaladin nodded slowly. “There might be something to that.” “Kid,” Wit said, leaning down over Kaladin on the couch, “the Passions are absolute horseshit.” “What? It’s good to be hopeful! The Passions sound nice.” “The wrong people get far too much mileage out of things that sound nice,” Wit said. “Take it from a guy who is all too capable with a lie: nothing is easier to sell someone than the story they want to hear. The Passions are deeply insulting if you spare even a moment to consider. I once spoon-fed broth to a trembling child in a kingdom that no longer exists. I found her on a road leading away from a battlefield, after her parents—simple peasants—were slaughtered. Her elder brother lay dead a half mile behind, having starved.

Wit preaches to us about religion (derogatory)

Every sketch was a picture of the artist as well: their perspective, their emphasis, their instinct reclaiming a moment otherwise lost …

“So I change the systems,” he said. “I strike down the warlords who hoard resources! I force them to share, to not hurt one another. I make pain impossible.” “And in so doing…” “I create a country where there are no consequences. Is that so bad?” “You tell me,” she said in her infuriatingly calm way. Yes, it would be bad. He could see all the permutations of time, as well as attempts by other Shards like himself to do this very thing. By directly intervening on such a granular level, he risked creating a society where no one learned, and where civilization did not progress. By supernaturally forbidding warlords, he would also stifle scientists and artists. By removing the capacity for violence, he would also remove the capacity for mercy.

a very overt but interesting theodicy?

Recently, in talking with Wit, she’d discovered the extent to which she’d been right. There was something up there, it just wasn’t God. It was a group of ordinary people. She didn’t know what terrified her more. The idea of some powerful, all-knowing deity that controlled everything—destroying her free will, yet for some reason still leaving the entire world in so much pain. Or the knowledge that there were beings who ruled the cosmere with immense power—but they had all the foibles, flaws, and limited morality of anyone else.

“I’ll admit,” the Mink said, stepping up to them, “I didn’t anticipate a discussion of deification. It is … puelo arandan? The Alethi word is…” “Blasphemous,” Jasnah said.

The Stormfather rumbled, and the dark thunderheads calmed. I’m supposed to be better than lies, Dalinar. I should be constant. I am the winds. I do not lie. “You are a person,” Dalinar said, “capable of growth. Capable of learning. If that is the case, then you are capable of mistakes.”

“How can you be sure what is right, though?” Szeth asked. “Your own mind has created both ‘good’ thoughts and ‘bad.’ You need something external, something unchanging—like the law—to guide you. That is what my spren teaches.” “Maybe spren can be

Szeth as poster child for scrupulosity