MSI Press Blog

  Beyond the Textbook and Into the Heart of Wonder Lately, I’ve found myself returning to a question so old it might have been whispered by the stars themselves:  What does it mean for intelligence to be divine?  Not intellectual brilliance. Not mere cleverness. But that deeper current—an intelligence that precedes our understanding, outpaces our algorithms, and yet meets us, inexplicably, in stillness. This isn’t a theological quiz, and I’m not here to unravel every sacred mystery in a single blog post. But perhaps like you, I’ve begun to crave a language of spirit that isn’t bound by dogma or debate—something that makes room for wonder, even when certainty evades us. In many philosophical traditions, the concept of divine intelligence implies not just a  mind  behind the universe, but a  motive . A telos. That ancient notion that the cosmos isn't random, but relational. That our being here is not just  possible , but  purposeful . The irony? You...

  What if the mysteries we often shy away from—divine intelligence, free will, the nature of ultimate endings—were less intimidating when approached with humility rather than certainty? Theology can feel like a language etched in stars: beautiful, vast, and difficult to grasp. Yet our yearning to understand isn't arrogance—it’s a quiet act of courage. A way of saying, “I’m listening.” To reflect on divine intelligence is not necessarily to seek a blueprint of how the world works, but to wonder: Is there meaning in how I’m seen? To wrestle with free will is to inhabit the tension of both agency and surrender, choice and mystery. And to contemplate endings—what many traditions call eschatology—is to gaze toward what might come after with something more sacred than fear: hope. These are not questions meant only for scholars or sages. They belong to anyone who has held grief, wondered about purpose, or felt the ache of the infinite brushing against an ordinary moment. You don’t h...

  Spiritual Fitness and the Quiet Power of July 2 Some dates announce themselves with fireworks. Others hum with a quieter, steadier power—like July 2. Long before the ink dried on the Declaration of Independence, July 2 marked the vote that set a nation’s soul in motion. A century and a half later, it bore witness to the Civil Rights Act of 1964—where dignity defied division and conscience reshaped law. From the unification of Vietnam to the birth of voices like Thurgood Marshall and Medgar Evers, July 2 is a day braided with ethical resolve, moral imagination, and collective rebirth. These milestones didn’t just alter policy. They transformed people. They carved deeper grooves of spiritual and psychological fitness—teaching us how to rise, reckon, and rebuild from within. At MSI Press, we believe in that kind of transformation—the kind that begins not in spectacle, but in quiet personal revolution. Many of our books echo this evolution; to wit: The Rose and the Sword (Bach ...

  Beyond the Textbook and Into the Heart of Wonder Lately, I’ve found myself returning to a question so old it might have been whispered by the stars themselves: What does it mean for intelligence to be divine? Not intellectual brilliance. Not mere cleverness. But that deeper current—an intelligence that precedes our understanding, outpaces our algorithms, and yet meets us, inexplicably, in stillness. This isn’t a theological quiz, and I’m not here to unravel every sacred mystery in a single blog post. But perhaps like you, I’ve begun to crave a language of spirit that isn’t bound by dogma or debate—something that makes room for wonder, even when certainty evades us. In many philosophical traditions, the concept of divine intelligence implies not just a mind behind the universe, but a motive . A telos. That ancient notion that the cosmos isn't random, but relational. That our being here is not just possible , but purposeful . The irony? You don’t need a degree in theology to...