I have a confession to make: I sometimes use ChatGPT as a kind of spiritual companion.
This is a journey I never planned to take. And I still have mixed feelings about it.
A few months ago, I decided to engage in an extended back-and-forth with ChatGPT about some questions and struggles in my spiritual life. I began with a query about my imperfect attempts to live simply – a value central to my spiritual identity. After reflecting on ChatGPT’s response, I shared more: the tension between my love of international travel and my commitment to environmental stewardship.
The conversation deepened. I wrote about what I believed and what I doubted about God, and how that related to my choices about simplicity. ChatGPT would summarize my thoughts in ways that accurately reflected my views and that helped me go deeper. Eventually, it offered me a series of queries to ponder:
“In areas where you feel restless or dissatisfied, what is ‘enough?’”
“How free am you from possessions, status, and achievement as indicators of worth?”
“What in your life feels excessive: possessions, desires, and the like?”
“How do you notice the Spirit, or Love, moving in your life, even if you can’t name it as God with certainty?”
“Can you focus more on listening deeply and responding with care, rather than needing certainty?”
I remember reading these questions and feeling… stunned. How could a chatbox so precisely grasp the contours of my spiritual life and reflect them back in such gentle, searching language? These queries have stayed with me in my thoughts. They’ve shaped choices I’ve made and continue to guide my spiritual reflections.
A Moment of Spiritual Vulnerability
To admit this publicly feels risky. Using a chatbox for spiritual direction doesn’t fit with what I’ve long believed constitutes meaningful spiritualtiy. I imagine kindred spirits of mine reading this article and being concerned about the direction my spiritual life is taking.
And yet, recent research is helping me see both the promise and the pitfalls of bringing generative AI into our inner lives.
“I thought I’d live a louder life… But silence called me deeper still Like nothing else I know ever will” —Carrie Newcomer, Quaker singer-songwriter
I didn’t expect to experience this lesson so clearly the first time I visited a Quaker meeting. About 30 minutes into the shared silence – the community gathered in a circle, each person listening expectantly in their own way for the Spirit to move – someone stood, picked up a guitar, and began singing “This Little Light of Mine.” Moments later, another rose and spoke:
“Before we were born, there was great silence, and after we die, we will return to great silence. So, it is good to spend time in silence together today in between.”
Ten years later, I still remember my astonishment at what arose out of that silence. I still remember the goosebumps.
For Quakers – members of the Religious Society of Friends – silence isn’t empty; it’s a place to connect with the Divine.
Centre Friend Meeting House, Centreville, Delaware
One of my early Quaker Friends, Jim, also left a lasting impression. When I invited him to share his personal story with my Psychology of Religion and Spirituality class, Jim said he’d be happy to do so – provided someone give him a ride because he didn’t own a car. As I pulled up to his house, I noticed his yard consisted entirely of vegetables and native plants. As thanks for the ride, when Jim entered my car, he offered me a big bag of freshly picked kale from his front yard, something he said he regularly did for friends and neighbors. In his quiet way, Jim also demonstrated a powerful expression of Quaker spirituality.
As a psychologist of religion and spirituality, I’ve long been drawn to learning from spiritual traditions that approach life in unique ways. Quaker spirituality, in particular, has offered me profound lessons into living a good life – insights that beautifully align with the emerging psychological science of well-being.
Here are four lessons that stand out:
1. Cultivate contemplative stillness.
“Seek to know an inward stillness, even amid the activities of daily life.” —British Quaker Faith & Practice, Advices and Queries #3
Prayerful silence lies at the heart of Quaker spirituality. Quakers often seek to quiet themselves – alone, together, in nature – to be more anchored and present in daily life.
Psychological research on contemplative practice reflects the wisdom of this, revealing benefits like reduced stress, deep rest, and improved health and well-being. Even a few minutes of stillness each day can make a significant difference.
As a psychologist of religion and spirituality, I’ve often been asked what I mean when I use the word “spirituality.” I’ve been studying this topic for 30 years, and though I’ve found some definitions helpful, I’ve always suspected these definitions somehow come up short. For example, renowned psychologist of religion and spirituality, Ken Pargament, defines spirituality as “the search for the Sacred.” I like this definition, and in some ways, I rely on it, including in this article. But what exactly is “Sacred?” And how exactly do people go about “searching” for it?
I recently finished reading the book “Done: How to Flourish After Leaving Religion,” by another psychologist of religion and spirituality, Daryl Van Tongeren. The final chapter, “Post-Religious Spirituality,” offers a fresh way of thinking about these questions that brought me clarity, as it lays out seven different ways of being spiritual. Not seven different religions or dogmas. Seven varieties of spiritual experience. When I read this chapter, something clicked into place and, after all these years, I felt like I understood spirituality differently.
As you read below, you might ask yourself: how many of these seven ways of being spiritual resonate with you?
Five Ways We Encounter the Sacred
Van Tongeren begins by drawing on a 2015 study in which he and his colleagues advance a deceptively simple insight. People differ in perceptions of what’s Sacred. These differences lead to five primary sources of spirituality:
Theistic spirituality. For some, the Sacred is found in God, or some kind of Higher Power. This form of spirituality is common, particularly because it’s supported by longstanding religious traditions, rituals, and communities. Van Tongeren notes that faith, at its core, reflects trust in something higher and hope for something beyond present reality – characteristics of theistic spirituality as well. If you would describe yourself as feeling near to God, this may be a defining part of your spiritual life.
Nature spirituality. For others, the Sacred is rooted in a deep connection with the natural world. In essence, nature spirituality involves awe and reverence for the earth and its beauty. This can be witnessed in someone who finds great meaning while walking in the woods, gazing at the stars, or observing an animal. Some may feel this while caring for a plot of land close to home or working for environmental preservation or justice more broadly. If you feel close to nature, this may be an important form of spirituality in your life.
Can you think of a place where you feel a spiritual connection? Perhaps there’s a location that feels sacred to you – a site you perceive as holy or divine or that evokes feelings of reverence or devotion?
Over the years, I’ve thought a lot about this. Increasingly, I recognize the importance of my hometown church, where I participated in so many religious rituals that stay with me to this day, including the funerals of my mom and dad. I recognize a special relationship I have with the north shore of Lake Superior, a “thin place” for me that was the setting for me kneeling and proposing to my wife decades ago. I think of the armchair in my living room, a spot I quietly associate with spiritual reflection, as it tends to be the place where I most often read, meditate, and attend online Quaker meetings. And I recall the small stone bridge in a remote Scottish village where I once had one of the most profound spiritual experiences of my life.
What is it about these places that means so much to us?
New Research on Our Spiritual Ties to Place
In a recent article published in Psychology of Religion and Spirituality, psychological scientists asked 832 North American Christians, Jews, and Muslims to describe – in detail – a place where they had a spiritual connection. Their responses revealed four primary types of spiritually significant places:
1. Places of worship.
The most commonly mentioned places were the most predictable. Churches, mosques, synagogues, temples, and similar sites exist in large part to allow individuals and communities to engage in religiously and spiritually significant behavior. Interestingly, when individuals in the study described their ties to places of worship, they often emphasized their shared experiences with others – family members and members of their communities, for example – highlighting the interconnection between places and people.
2. Natural settings.
Then there were the natural landscapes – the forests, mountains, oceans, and parks – that individuals frequently identified as spiritually meaningful. Unlike places of worship, these places tend to foster solitary experiences. People described feeling awe, wonder, and amazement most often in these locations.
Many people experience a spiritual connection in nature. I know I do. When I hike through the woods, sit by a stream, gaze at the sky, or even listen to a bird sing, I feel part of something larger. Nature feels like a cathedral to me, offering sacred space to reflect on my relationship with the Divine.
Psychologists have a name for this impulse to perceive the sacred in nature: “ecospirituality.” In a recent article published by the Association for Psychological Science, scientists reviewed research on how ecospirituality relates to two of the great challenges facing our world today: (1) preserving the well-being of our planet and (2) preserving the well-being of ourselves.
What is “Ecospirituality?”
Many of us love spending time in nature. We may even identify as “environmentalists.” Ecospirituality, however, goes further: it involves viewing nature as inherently “spiritual” or “sacred,” something that inspires reverence or a sense of timelessness. Consider these statements, which come from the main scientifically validated measure of ecospirituality:
“There is sacredness in nature.” “When I am in nature, I feel a sense of awe.” “Sometimes I am overcome with the beauty of nature.”
Do you resonate with these statements? If so, you likely score high in ecospirituality.
Our planet faces more environmental challenges than I can list here. Psychologists believe that perceiving a spiritual connection in nature motivates people to take care of our earth beyond the influence of other pro-environmental attitudes and identities.
For instance, in one study, participants high in ecospirituality perceived elements of the natural world (like oceans, mountains, and forests) to be closer to their inner circle of moral concern than participants low in ecospirituality. For those high in ecospirituality, in other words, the earth feels more like a good neighbor we’re compelled to help than a foreign citizen we feel we should.
Ecospirituality also encourages feelings of gratitude. When we perceive something spiritual in nature, we tend to appreciate it more.
Overall, available research suggests that, if we believe nature is sacred, we hold it closer to our hearts, and we’re more grateful for it. This makes us more likely to want to protect it.
Ecospirituality and Well-Being
Ecospirituality not only benefits our planet, however; it also benefits our emotional health. Psychologists believe that those who engage with nature on a deeper, spiritual level experience a range of such personal benefits.
Many of us try to balance two key sides of ourselves: a spiritual side and an analytical side. Our spiritual side seeks the Sacred – something timeless or ultimately important or beautiful to us. For many, however, what we’ve learned through our quest for the Sacred conflicts with what we’ve learned elsewhere. For example, we might learn that religious teachings we were raised with conflict with science and, so, with time, we come to view our previous religious beliefs as wishful thinking, silly, or flat out unreasonable. We might still want to integrate our spiritual side and our analytical side in a desire for wholeness, but it doesn’t seem possible.
Psychological research asking individuals who became less religious over time why they believe this happened suggests that difficulty integrating the spiritual with the analytical is one of the primary factors often reported. In historically Christian countries, such as the United States, this contributes to what has been called “the great dechurching,” as Christian beliefs and practices have become less common over the past several decades. As Elizabeth Oldfield writes in her book “Fully Alive,” one effect of this is that “the stories that used to orient and guide us, handed down through generations of our ancestors, seem to have gotten lost in transit.” Oldfield shares how, at one point in her personal journey, “I tried to find a church, but struggled to connect… I found myself muttering cynically under my breath through services, so stopped going.”
In light of this increasingly common experience involving loss of faith, I was fascinated to read Oldfield’s attempt to reclaim the core of Christian spirituality in her book. As I read it, as a psychologist of religion and spirituality, I couldn’t help but relate what she was saying with what I know of psychological theory and research. For instance, Oldfield offers what I consider a continuum of human functioning, with “fully aliveness” on one side of the spectrum and “sin” on the other. What Oldfield emphasizes in this is that how people function reflects the extent to which they are connected with themselves, the earth, others, and the Divine. In other words, to be fully alive means we are connected; to be in sin means we are disconnected. This reframe helped me to appreciate Christianity in a new way, one that fits with my understanding of psychological research that humans generally do better when they feel meaningfully connected in a web of belonging.
Oldfield ultimately reviews the historical “7 deadly sins” and what Christian tradition suggests “fully aliveness” looks like with respect to each. For instance, with regard to “wrath,” Oldfield discusses some of the reasons why people appear increasingly polarized and how stories of Jesus often highlight how he initiated relationships with the lowest status, most outsider people around, as a way to break down social walls. For “avarice,” Oldfield notes how many tend to be motivated toward extrinsic values such as money, possessions, appearance, and fame, and how social problems such as poverty and climate change could be so much better if we focused more on virtues such as gratitude and generosity. For “gluttony,” Oldfield discusses addictions, in general, and how our needs for awe and self-transcendence could be redirected to better promote health and flourishing than when we try to find ecstasy through chemical means. For “pride,” Oldfield writes about the limitations of individualism and the need for repetitive, accessible social structures that nudge us into deep community.
Do you want to bring more of your whole self to work? Psychological research suggests your work would benefit from incorporating aspects of personal spirituality.
As many of us know, however, work often doesn’t function “at its best.”
According to the World Health Organization, work burnout is characterized by being depleted or exhausted at work; feeling distant from one’s job, including feeling cynical about it; and reduced professional effectiveness. This appears to be increasingly common. For example, in a recent national survey of American workers, more than half (57%) report they are currently experiencing at least a moderate amount of work burnout.
Often times, work stress and burnout stem from factors beyond our control. But, is there anything we can do that would help us cope with work-related difficulties? Is there anything we can do to thrive?
Something many of us haven’t really considered is how the spiritual part of our lives might relate to our work lives. Approximately 86% of American adults report being at least somewhat spiritual, and for those who have integrated spirituality into their work, studies suggests significant benefits. In a recent review of research, for example, workplace spirituality was said to have “significant potential to influence workers and organizations in meaningful ways, fostering integrated (rather than segmented) lives and giving rise to personal and organizational well-being.”
Below are four suggestions for how we might meaningfully incorporate spirituality into work.
1. Seek awe to cope with work-related stress and burnout.
So, before work, during a break, after our work day ends, or on time off, we can intentionally seek awe to cope. For instance, we can go into nature and purposely focus on whatever most strikes us as beautiful that gets us out of our current frame of reference. We can dedicate time to connect with a sacred text, using our imaginations to deepen the transcendence of the experience. We can go to a spiritual gathering or location sacred to us and mindfully focus on something vast that elevates us.
Awe practices such as these may shift our attention away from our selves and our troubles and help us to respond at work in more centered and effective ways.
In the 2023 song “God must hate me,” Catie Turner writes:
“Do you ever see someone and think ‘Wow, God must hate me’ ‘Cause He spent so much time on them and for me, He got lazy Got ample mental illness personality flaws While their only flaw seems to be is that they have none at all… I don’t know what I believe But it’s easier to think He made a mistake with me.”
Have you ever felt anything like this? Although religion and spirituality can be helpful to people, they also can be sources of stress or even trauma. These lyrics demonstrate the emotional power of what psychologists often term “religious and spiritual struggles.”
What is a Religious or Spiritual Struggle?
A religious or spiritual struggle involves a tension or conflict an individual may experience in relation to what they consider sacred. For instance, like in the song lyrics above, a person may feel angry, disappointed, abandoned, or rejected by God. Someone may wrestle with their beliefs or the ultimate meaning of their lives. An individual also may be upset by interactions they’ve had with others within religious or spiritual communities or feel hurt or offended by the teachings of a faith.
The Effects of Struggling with Religion and Spirituality
Research conducted across a variety of contexts and groups consistently reveals how religious and spiritual struggles predict poorer mental and physical health. For instance, individuals who report more religious and spiritual struggles also tend to report more anxiety, depression, and suicidality as well as lower satisfaction with life and overall happiness.
Experiencing religious and spiritual struggles may also underlie why many people disengage from a religion, an increasingly common occurrence. For example, people may withdraw from a religion when they feel negative emotions toward God, such as in the lyrics that opened this article. As another example, individuals may pull back from religion if they experience judgment from others or disagreement about political issues in their religious community as well as when they feel dissonance about belonging to a group they feel has perpetrated prejudice or violence.
Given all this, what could help people wrestling with stress and trauma associated with religion and spirituality? Below are six suggestions informed by the research on this topic.
6 Ways of Coping with Religious and Spiritual Struggles
1. Realize you’re not alone. Experiencing religious and spiritual struggles appears fairly common. In one study, for example, when a national sample of adults were asked to name a specific religious or spiritual struggle they experienced in the past few months, about 40% could do so. Furthermore, many of the heroes of religious faith – from Job to Jesus to Mother Teresa, in the Judeo-Christian faith, for instance – also struggled with matters of the sacred. Realizing this may help decrease the sense of guilt, shame, or moral unacceptability you may feel.
Initially motivated by my concerns about how many courses seem increasingly guided by textbooks and publisher resources, this article published today at Inside Higher Ed seeks to bring together many of my thoughts about teaching and learning in higher education.
Like it has done for so many, college transformed me.
It started on freshman move-in day. My dad, my brother, and I drove 4 ½ hours from my small town of 300 people in rural Minnesota to the eye-popping, “big city” of Madison, Wisconsin. I enrolled in the University of Wisconsin because I had watched the University compete on television in Big 10 sports. Beyond that, I knew very little of what I was getting myself into. So, on move-in-day, I was astonished by the city: the grandeur of the state capital, the beauty of the lakes surrounding campus, and the expansive cultural life scattered throughout.
It took a while for me to orient myself, but I eventually settled into my new home, where I gradually encountered a variety of mind-stretching experiences. When the first semester started, I couldn’t believe I was being taught by renowned experts who raised deep issues and facilitated far-reaching discussions about ideas way beyond anything I previously realized even existed. I went with my friends to ethnic restaurants, with flavors I never tasted before. I visited an art museum for the first time. I attended massive political rallies, being exposed to people with passions and perspectives unlike any I had ever encountered.
I enrolled in what was to become my favorite college course – Environmental Science – during my second year. Most evocative for me was the weekly required lab, usually consisting of a field trip. One trip especially stands out. We met at our Professor’s home, located on the edge of a wetland outside Madison. It was a cold, January afternoon, and there was at least 6 inches of snow on the ground. The Professor eventually led us to a bubbling brook in which I was stunned to find vibrant, green watercress growing. He picked some for us to taste. Not only did I not realize any vegetable grew in this kind of winter climate, I was dumbfounded by the peppery, fresh flavor and icy, crisp texture of the watercress itself. This course, more than any other experience I’ve ever had, nurtured in me a love of nature and a commitment to conservation.
After four years of these kinds of encounters, my mind had expanded in ways that made me almost unrecognizable from the person I had been previously. In retrospect – and knowing what I know now – I believe this is because college regularly exposed me to feelings of awe.
According to Dacher Kelter, in his book, “Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life,” awe “is the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends your understanding of the world.” To clarify, many kinds of vastness can trigger this emotion. For instance, we might feel awe in the presence of something huge, powerful, timeless, or complex. Other people can leave us awestruck as well because of their astounding knowledge, virtue, or skill.
Twenty years of research on the emotion of awe reveals many unique positive effects. For example, awe takes the focus off of ourselves, humbling us in the presence of something beyond us. Physiologically, awe can bring tears to our eyes, chills to our bodies, and goosebumps to our skin. More broadly, awe promotes well-being and interpersonal connection. It may even decrease the body’s inflammation response.
Less research has explored how awe impacts learning and development, but a deeper inspection yields some clues. According to the great psychologist, Jean Piaget, our minds grow through two interrelated processes: assimilation and accommodation. When we assimilate, we fit new experiences into our existing mental frameworks, something not possible during awe. This is because the vastness of what we’re encountering in an awe experience cannot be comprehended with our current way of thinking. As a result, we’re absorbed into a process of trying to reduce the discrepancy between our new knowledge and our pre-existing knowledge. As we do so, we may feel confused, disoriented, or even frightened, as we feel a need to accommodate and create an expanded or entirely different mental framework. We may start to wonder and become curious about new questions. If we can successfully expand our minds in ways that incorporate the new information, we may significantly change how we think, what we believe, and potentially even how we self-identify. Even if we can’t ever fully accommodate an experience, our lives may be taken into different directions as we explore a new passion.
In his book, Keltner describes 8 common sources of “everyday wonder,” any of which could spark transformative change. These sources include exposure to lives and acts of moral beauty; the collective effervescence of big events, rallies, and ceremonies; various features of the natural world; music; visual design; great mysteries that often underlie religion and spirituality; the beginning and end of life; and ideas and truths that stretch our minds beyond what we previously believed was possible. College can regularly expose students to these kinds of stimuli.
Steven Cordes | Unsplash
Based on all this, my best advice to students is to seek awe during your time in college, inside and outside the classroom. Get involved in opportunities that stretch you, such as service learning, internships, field trips, community events, and study abroad and away programs. You may occasionally feel confused, disoriented, and even frightened because of what you’re experiencing. That’s okay: a real education requires some degree of discomfort. Pay attention to what brings you awe and follow that path, seeing what interests and passions that leads you toward. Give yourself space to wonder, to figure things out. Then, when you walk across the stage at your graduation ceremony, you, too, may find you have transformed into a version of yourself you wouldn’t have thought possible when you began.
Andy Tix 