To see a world in a Grain of Sand

And Heaven in a Wildflower

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour

William Blake

I haven’t written a post here in quite a while. It’s been too long, really. This gap is partially attributed to my attempt at balancing working full time with having some semblance of a social life, but it’s also because I’ve had a post in mind that I’ve been wanting to write for a long time, but that I’ve struggled to actually put into words. It seems like every time I try, it just turns into a long rambling mess, with directionless tangents and general incoherence.

And I think that is partially because I don’t necessarily have a solid grasp of the topic itself, or any clear answers to the questions that arise with it.

This topic, as you may have guessed, is belief. Belief, and the question of why people believe in something rather than nothing. Belief, and the question of whether the scientific and the sacred can exist harmoniously together. Belief, and the question of what do I believe, and why do I believe it?

It’s a huge topic to attempt to address, especially because it seems that there are as many different answers as there are people giving them. And that’s why I’ve been mulling over this for months, without posting anything. I just don’t really know where to begin.

Social Theories of Belief

So, maybe I’ll start with something I do know pretty well: academics. Because from neuroscience to philosophy and everything in between, there’s always someone within a given discipline attempting to tackle these big questions of spiritual and religious belief.

Religion and magic have always been of interest to the social sciences. Emile Durkheim, known as the father of sociology, believed that religion is the glue that holds society together, demonstrating how life should be lived, and providing people with a kind of ideal to live up to. Others in the field have reflected on the social benefits of religion, as it unites people, creating a strong sense of community that is important for us as inherently social beings.

Religious and spiritual beliefs are often inherited, as children are typically raised within the same tradition as their parents, but they can also be learned, adopted as a result of changing social interactions. An especially interesting example of this can be seen in anthropologist Edith Turner’s experiences participating in a shamanic healing ritual with the Ndembu people of Zambia. Going into her time with the Ndembu, she did not believe in the existence of spirits, or supernatural forces that could be harnessed and manipulated by shamans. But, after spending months with the Ndembu, learning about their culture and beliefs, she attended a ritual where she actually saw a spirit rise from the body of the man who was being healed. After this incredible event, Turner’s beliefs in the otherworldly shifted, and she published an ethnography on how ritual allows those involved to harness genuine spiritual power.

Unfortunately, Turner’s recognition of the reality of spirits and otherworldly forces is not a popular position within anthropology, as most researchers and scholars attempt to find other explanations for belief without giving much credit to the notion that spirits or gods could actually exist.

Looking into the question of belief itself, anthropologists Terrence Deacon and Tyrone Cashman see religion and spirituality as emergent properties of the human condition. They note that, as humans, we attempt to understand the world and our place within it in narrative terms, turning our thoughts and experiences into stories in order to make sense of them. For some people, this means that there may be some transcendent being or form of consciousness watching the story unfold, or perhaps even writing it.

They also point out that humans have a predisposition to seeing the world as dual-layered. There’s the mundane, which is how things appear on the surface, and then the deeper meaning behind things, which is the underlying religious or spiritual layer. So for instance, rather than seeing three crows outside your bedroom window as simply crows, a Pagan might see them as a sign from the Morrigan.

Cognitive Explanations for Belief

I remember years ago, there were many discussions surrounding the notion of a “God spot” in the human brain, as MRIs taken of people while they were meditating, praying, or encountering religious experiences revealed that certain areas would become especially active. While this idea of the “God spot” has since been largely debunked, as there are actually many areas of the brain involved in spiritual experience, researchers in neuroscience, biology, and psychology have nonetheless continued to look for explanations for why people believe in the sacred.

These days, the cognitive science of religious belief focuses largely on the idea that religion may be a natural by-product of cognitive and social adaptations. Like Deacon and Cashman, they posit that human beings are in a sense predisposed to religious and spiritual belief.

As humans, we have a tendency to:

  • Find order within the chaos, or seek patterns where there really are none. When there is a lack of information, an unknown factor, our brain fills in the gaps, often creating what seem like meaningful connections where there may be none
  • Anthropomorphize the environment, seeing ourselves in the world around us, and attributing human-like qualities to things that do not have them
  • Be anthropocentric, as we often tend to believe that this world was created for our own purpose or use

When speaking about religious belief, renowned atheist Christopher Hitchens referred to the Bible verse “seek and ye shall find.” Because sometimes, it is that simple. If you seek God, you will find him. If you seek an explanation, a reason for why things are they way they are, you will find it.

Why? Because we are pattern seeking animals, and for many of us, there is this God-shaped hole in our lives that asks to be filled by something.

Religion, it seems, rather than being irrational, may simply be innate within us in one sense or another.

Pantheism and Science

So, what do I believe?

At my core, I am a pantheist. I believe in the sacred unity of the cosmos, and in the divine nature of interconnectivity. I believe in a grand ecology, where everything is connected to everything else, and there are infinite microcosms within macrocosms.

My god is not a transcendent god, but an immanent god. The sacred can be seen in every leaf blowing in the wind, every sunset, every grain of sand. What is sacred is not separate from or above the mundane, but it is the mundane—it is us, and everything around us.

Science and spirituality are often pitted against one another, as belief in gods, spirits, and supernatural forces go against our scientific understanding of the world. There is a considerable lack of evidence when it comes to these such things, so they are excluded from the modern rationalist worldview.

Pantheism, though, does not necessarily suggest that there are otherworldly forces operating in this world, or that there even is an “otherworld” at all (though you can certainly believe in these things and still be a pantheist). Pantheism, on the contrary, is very much about this world—the sacred nature of the here and now.

In essence, there is nothing “unscientific” about pantheism. And I think that is part of the reason why I do identify with it—because it doesn’t clash with my scientific, rational understanding of the world.

We can even see this meeting of science and pantheism in something like the Gaia Hypothesis, which is basically the idea that all things on the planet (living or not, organic or otherwise) are part of an overarching ecosystem that allows for life to exist and flourish. This system is known as Gaia, and could be said to have some form of higher order intelligence, or collective consciousness, which can be seen in the way the earth regulates itself, maintaining optimal conditions to sustain life through many complex and interconnected systems, from the atmosphere to microorganisms. While far from being “hard science,” the Gaia Hypothesis can provide something of a bridge between the seemingly disparate areas of science and spirituality.

Similarly, from a cognitive science perspective, Gregory Bateson’s application of cybernetics theory to the ecology of mind can also act as a similar bridge. For Bateson, any given organism never exists solely as an individual, but must be taken as an entire “organism-in-its-environment” unit, where the mind isn’t limited by skull or skin, but must include all of its surroundings. Nothing exists in isolation, but must always exist as part of a greater overarching system.

Essentially, everything is interconnected. Just like for Bateson, the spiritual implications of this and other similar theories fascinate me, as they go to show that “God” doesn’t have to be antithetical to science, if we’re open to a shift in what “God” means, and willing to move away from an Abrahamic understanding of divinity. If we begin to see God as natural, rather than supernatural, both sacred and profane, then pantheism can indeed offer a middle ground between religion and science, believers and skeptics.

Too Scientific?

As someone who finds themselves on this middle ground, I suppose the difficult part is maintaining a balance between science and spirit. When beliefs are held too rigidly, and we become overly caught up in preconceived notions of reality, science can become somewhat dogmatic itself. Scientific inquiry and knowledge can be both limiting and expanding. While it has the potential to be spiritually enriching, this is not always the case.

In a recent video by one of my favourite Youtubers, Ánie Órga speaks about how as a scientific pantheist, she feels that at times she gets caught up in this overly scientific world view, sometimes to the detriment of spiritual development. It’s when we latch onto these scientific “truths” and refuse to let go that science can become somewhat limiting, as it prevents exploration, growth, and new spiritual experiences.

Like Ánie, my pantheism first evolved very much in tandem with my growing knowledge of popular science. Reading books on the inner workings of the human brain, watching documentaries on the mysterious depths of the ocean, and listening to podcasts on the principles of quantum physics left me in utter awe, and I can say with certainty made me a more spiritual person. But also like Ánie, I do sometimes find myself slipping into that limiting mindset, where I become too attached to the things I think I already know, and forget to open my eyes and my mind.

Recently, though, I’ve been doing a lot of research on cell biology for work (not my field of expertise whatsoever), and there have been quite a few times where I’ve been struck by that awe, by the incredibility of it all. There is so much going on at the microscopic level that gives rise to life as we know it, with all of these cells like mini ecosystems themselves, their infinitely complex parts regulating larger systems. They are microcosms within macrocosms, and the utter perfection of it blows my mind. It inspires me, and inspires my pantheistic worldview, reaffirming my belief in the sacred.

Learning about the vast and incredible world in which we live fascinates me to no end, and it seems like the more I learn, the stronger my belief becomes.

Spiritual Experience and Belief

So what then should we make of all these cognitive and psychosocial explanations for belief?

Am I right to believe in the sacred nature of the universe, or am I really just seeking patterns and creating stories? Am I simply evolutionarily predisposed to find some greater meaning in it all, or to latch onto a means of finding order within the chaos?

To be honest, probably.

But does it matter?

Because it seems to me that just because there is a scientific or evolutionary explanation for religious and spiritual belief, that doesn’t make it any less real or valid. Religion and spirituality may be grounded in neurological and biological systems, but that doesn’t mean we should discredit them altogether.

As anthropologist Sabina Magliocco points out, these explanations could in some sense be taken to show that belief and powerful spiritual ecstasy are natural and normal parts of what it means to be human.

What it really comes down to, and what I always come back to, is experience.

I’m not a pantheist just because it may be scientifically valid. I’m a pantheist because of the experiences I’ve had, and because of a feeling deep within, where I have understood the connections that exist within me, around me, and beyond me. I have had those moments where I not only understand Blake’s words, but know them to be true.

This kind of knowing is a deeper kind of knowing—what one wise woman I know refers to as “bone knowing.”

Bone knowing is not something that can be learned about from books, or gleaned from school lessons. It is a deeply felt sensation that escapes the confines of the conscious, rational mind. It’s the kind of knowledge that is intuitive, imaginative, and embodied. It is a kind of knowledge that must come from experience.

And experience is a significant part of what shapes belief, much like how belief shapes experience. It’s a two-way street, a circular relationship—experiences give rise to belief, transforming the way we understand the world, while belief colours our perception of it, acting as the lens through which we perceive reality.

Changing and Fluid Beliefs

It’s been interesting for me, these past couple years, as I’ve observed my own spiritual practices and beliefs undergoing major changes. While my core beliefs (my pantheism) have remained more or less the same, as I’ve begun identifying as a Pagan witch, and begun exploring things like magick, ritual, and devotion, I’ve gone through periods of intense struggle between my spirituality and my identity as an academic, or as a scientifically-minded individual.

While in essence, there is nothing necessarily “unscientific” about pantheism, I do engage in other spiritual practices, and at times hold other beliefs that would almost certainly fall into that category. My witchcraft, for instance. My use of tarot cards and other forms of divination. Finding synchronicities in daily life. My vast and expanding crystal collection, and the fact that I read my horoscope on a weekly basis. Not to mention the elaborate rituals I’ve done to honour deities like Hekate, or the glass of red wine I keep on my altar for Dionysus.

Of course, there are perfectly rational psychological explanations for all of this too. Many of these practices can be used merely as a means of tapping into the unconscious, working with archetypes, and fostering personal growth, with no need for an otherworldly or “woo-woo” element (see my post where I touch on the psychological model of magick). And generally, this is the perspective that I come at these religious and occult practices from—the idea that they are not about something “other” or transcendent, but about personal reflection and transformation.

But then there is also this part of me I’ve come to find that really does believe that the robin outside my window is a sign from the universe, or that the card I drew from my tarot deck this morning is meaningful in a way that goes beyond my own unconscious, or even that the movement of the stars and planetary alignments could have some effect on my financial success this week.

There is a part of me that does believe that when I cast a spell, I’m creating more than just a shift within myself, and could actually have an impact on external circumstances.

There is a part of me it would seem, that many people would see as actually being quite irrational. And although this cognitive dissonance between spirituality and science once really bothered me, I’ve now come to accept (and even embrace) the fact that I can indeed hold both of these two seemingly incompatible belief systems at once.

It doesn’t have to be one or the other.

Why? Because belief can, and perhaps should be, fluid rather than essentialized. For me at least, belief is dynamic. It can change depending on the context, so that what I believe sitting at my desk in the afternoon might be different from what I believe later that night at the altar.

What I’m getting at here is that I can be both scientifically rational and believe in the existence of spirits or the healing power of crystals. From moment to moment, my beliefs may be subject to change… and that’s okay.

And I think realizing this, that belief and worldviews don’t have to be so black and white or one dimensional has certainly helped calm this internal struggle between spirit and science, and has as a result greatly enriched my spiritual practice and everyday life.

Since I’ve already rambled on plenty here, you can read part two of this post here, where I explore this fluidity of belief further, and consider what it means for me not only as a pantheist, but as a Pagan witch. Thanks for reading!

References

Bateson, G. 1972. Steps to an Ecology of Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Cashman, Tyrone and Deacon, Terrence. 2011. Eliminativism, Complexity, and Emergence. In The Routledge Companion to Religion and Science (eds.) James Haag, Gregory Peterson and Michael Spezio. Routledge.

Magliocco, Sabina. 2004. Witching Culture: Folklore and Neo-Paganism in America. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.

Turner, E. 1992. Experiencing Ritual: A New Interpretation of African Healing. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.

Another great video on pantheism and science: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRred3wV80U