September 21, 2026
Dear Leland and Everett,
I’m just going to come out and say it: I think consciousness begets matter, and not the other way around.
Who knows: perhaps by the time you read this, this letter might seem blasé. As I write, we view things quite differently. I’ve mentioned this before, but so far as I can tell, the dominant worldview, in both the scientific community and public perception, is that material reality somehow begat consciousness. I say “somehow”, because we still – after several decades – don’t have a plausible understanding for how consciousness came into being.
There are some academics arguing on behalf of the primacy of consciousness. Donald Hoffman and Annaka Harris come to mind: both conclude consciousness is fundamental, with Hoffman going further in suggesting what we take for the physical world is more like a user interface than a direct view of what’s underneath. But, so far as I can tell, these voices are influencing neither the broader scientific community nor public awareness in a meaningful way.
I should probably pause here and admit I don’t have a full working theory for how consciousness is fundamental to the universe, nor what the full implications are. I hope to explore some of that while writing. First, it might help if I outlined my personal journey in terms of how I came to this understanding. Because, until very recently, I assumed consciousness stemmed from material reality, though I’ll admit I never really gave the topic much thought.
The first concept that rocked my sense of grip on reality had to do with atoms. We’ve long understood that atoms are mostly empty space, with protons, neutrons, and electrons occupying a relatively tiny amount of the space in an atom. Here is the thought exercise that really confused me: if my human body is made of atoms that are mostly empty space, and my table is made of atoms that are mostly empty space, why doesn’t my hand pass through the table unimpeded and unaltered? Why do I experience the table as solid? When I press my hand against the table, why do I perceive that the matter in my hand is pressing against the matter in the table?
As far as I can tell, the atoms in my hand never really make contact with the atoms on the table. Turns out the atoms in my body form something of an electromagnetic field, and the atoms in the table do the same. So when I press my hand against the table, the electromagnetic field around the table resists against the electromagnetic field around my hand. What I perceive as mass pressing against mass is really energy resisting energy. What I just described might seem obvious or trivial to you; for whatever reason, I found this mind-bending: reality and my perception were different in important and non-trivial ways.
Extending this idea further, we’ve long known humans have a limited capacity to perceive reality, but I’m not sure how much we’ve really internalized that idea. We know, for example, that humans can only see a certain spectrum of light, and can only hear a certain range of sound. Light other animals can see is invisible to humans, and sounds other animals can hear are silent to us; we know because we’ve developed tools that can identify both. We also generally understand that the color brown isn’t necessarily defined by the way humans perceive it, but rather humans have adapted to interpret light reflected at a certain wavelength in the way we perceive brown. Point being: we know our perception of reality is limited at best. Yet I submit we often get stuck assuming our perception of reality is, in fact, reality.
The second experience that really messed with my understanding of fundamental reality relates to the double-slit experiment. Shine light through two slits onto a screen that records where the light lands and you get stripes, reflecting a wave pattern. Fire the particles one at a time and each lands as a single spot, but the spots, once enough particles are fired, build the same stripes. Record which slit each particle used, and the stripes vanish: two piles result instead. I cannot comprehend why recording the path should change the pattern. Typically, we assume measurement records a snapshot of something already decided. Here, how we measure seems entangled with which facts show up. To be clear, that is not proof that consciousness begets matter; it is proof that the old picture — finished objects sitting out there, mind as a spectator — does not survive contact with the data. I can’t quite explain why the double-slit experiment rocked me the way it did when I learned about it. But, like the hand on the table, it really messed with my understanding of fundamental reality.
Undoubtedly I was influenced by the fact that these thought exercises were befuddling me during the time I was having mystical experiences. Prior to those experiences, I assumed we could only know things we derived rationally. Things we could measure, things we could prove demonstrably, and things that we could logically deduce – those were things we could know. Suddenly, however, I was having experiences I couldn’t explain, but seemed to be teaching me things I would come to understand on a much deeper level than anything I could explain with logic. I would never be able to prove those experiences carried any meaning to a skeptic or materialist, but there were things I learned from those experiences that I just know, like “know it in my bones” kind of know. These letters often capture the things I’ve learned from these experiences.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, I eventually began looking for others having mystical experiences. From my church and through Spiritual Stew, I’ve learned that there are more people than we realize having mystical experiences, but they tend to be reluctant to share lest their sanity be questioned. I’ve gravitated toward learning about others having mystical experiences via reading or podcasts as well. I’ve come to suspect telepathy, mediumship, and near-death experiences are all in some way related to the types of experiences I’ve had. To be clear, there are lots of charlatans who profess to have certain skills, but the existence of charlatans does not negate the possibility these skills can be real. For me, I’ve noticed I get a sense of expansiveness around certain people. This sense of expansiveness reminds me of my own mystical experiences, and tends to guide me in whether I trust others sharing their skills or telling about their own experiences. Not everyone will have that capacity for discernment, and I don’t assume mine to be foolproof, but it seems to be working for now.
Anyway, the idea that consciousness begets matter raises all sorts of questions. Like how did the earth and the stars and the solar system and the elements on the periodic table all come into being? I won’t pretend to have many answers, mostly more questions of my own. Humans experience time as linear, but I think we are realizing time isn’t fundamentally linear. Is the human condition more like the quantum aspects of a photon, with a superposition of possible outcomes all present until we experience them? Is history fundamentally in the past, and known or knowable, or do we impact history as our lives progress? In some ways we clearly impact history: the way we remember and tell stories evolves to fit the problems we face as society at any given time. But I even wonder whether we somehow impact the archaeological discoveries we make by virtue of our consciousness; as in, do we will certain historical facts into being? That might be too big a leap even for me, but I’ll admit these are the things I ponder these days. By extension, I think it goes too far to suggest we willed the universe into being; but I do think our consciousness shaped the universe we’ve experienced. Our scientific discoveries are us allowing new experiences and knowledge to come into being as much as they are genuine discoveries.
The reverse is true too: experiences that were once common have mostly now vanished. A world open to the idea of miracles experiences miracles. Not that long ago in human history, people generally credited the divine for unexplained phenomena. Having a deeper understanding for why things occur is, of course, wonderful progress. But by rejecting the possibility of the miraculous, we restrict the miraculous and, when miracles do occur, we tend not to notice.
To give an example of how remaining open might affect the outcomes in our lives: the law of attraction is an old idea that suggests what we think about is what we attract. Hypnotists, mystics, and self-help gurus have long taught that we should imagine the things we want. Jesus even seems to have promoted the idea: in Mark 11:24 he counsels “Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours”. I’ve personally had some success with the practice, such that when I ask for what my soul truly wants, I find the universe starts bending in ways to help. There are some elements of the law of attraction that seem pretty straightforward: e.g. when we condition ourselves to seek a certain outcome, we are more likely to notice the opportunities that might help us achieve that outcome. Personally I think the law of attraction can extend further, where we really can begin to bend reality over time. These outcomes are often explainable in retrospect, with myriad little nudges resulting in the desired outcome. But as we experience them they can seem profound, like the universe reaching out to help and support us. Skeptics will tell me I have too active an imagination, to which I merely respond that I’d rather believe in miracles, and our ability to manifest in connection with the Divine, than not.
If that sounds like wishful thinking, at least it is old wishful thinking: the historical record is thick with reports from people who purported to see the world bend. Perhaps the most thoroughly reported stories about Jesus and the early apostles present them as healers. The apostles’ capacity for healing is often cited as a major reason why people joined the early church. In the period since antiquity, Catholic saints are recognized as saints in part because they performed miracles like healing, levitation, bilocation, or prophecy. We tend to assume the people reporting these miracles were tricked or misguided, but these miracles were often thoroughly and meticulously researched. The Catholic Church continues to canonize saints today, reporting rather diligently on miracles (two demonstrable miracles are required for canonization) before declaring someone a saint.
During the Reformation, Protestants posited the Cessation of Miracles, which argued that divinely inspired miracles ceased in the early centuries of the church. Interestingly, some Protestants argued magical mystical experiences continued, but that these experiences were the work of the devil. During this period lived some of Catholicism’s most notable levitators, like St. Joseph of Cupertino and St. Teresa of Avila. The Catholic Church, wary of accusations that such miracles should be the work of the devil (and no doubt filled with skeptical monks and priests besides) diligently researched these purported miracles, and deemed them true, accurate, and evidence of a special connection with the divine.
Documented stories of miracles are not confined to Catholic tradition. Hinduism, Buddhism, and Islam all tell stories of levitation, to take just one example. Of course, levitation is but one type of potential miracle, and I use it just for the sake of illustration, to suggest the idea of miracles spans cultures across most of history. Only in the last century or two have we broadly stopped believing in miracles, or in the presence of the supernatural in everyday lives. One reason why we stopped believing in miracles is that miracles don’t answer to the scientific method. In science we demand experiments be replicable. Miracles don’t work this way, so they aren’t supported using scientific experimentation; as a result, as our society became more scientifically driven, we increasingly came to reject not only miracles but even the idea of the divine. What I have come to realize is that miracles don’t obey the scientific process because 1) miracles occur when we open ourselves up to the divine, and 2) the divine brings forth what it wants, not what our egos might want. The results are unpredictable and non-replicable, and thus non-scientific, but I’m coming to believe in them anyway.
My thesis is that by denying the presence of the divine, we restrict the presence of the divine, and limit the potential for the divine to enter and work in our everyday lives. The result is a world more limited, more dull, more lifeless, and less loving than it could be. My ultimate argument is not only that consciousness is fundamental (and thus begets matter), but that adjusting our understanding accordingly might allow us to lead fuller, richer lives filled with more love and more impact than we currently imagine.
I am not trying to convince you of the primacy of consciousness. We each retain the right to determine what we fundamentally believe, and I have no desire to deny that right even if I could. But I do want to share some of what I believe, particularly because what I believe runs so counter to the times in which I live. From there, I merely encourage you to think about what it is you believe; my hypothesis is that we each form our belief systems, and it is up to us to decide whether those belief systems are tacit and unexamined. From what I can tell the unexamined belief system causes us to sleepwalk through life, subtly ceding the tools to manipulate us without recognizing we’re doing it.
For what it’s worth, watching the two of you navigate childhood only reinforces my belief in the primacy of consciousness. I genuinely believe Everett has some mystical abilities that are likely to get buried under a layer of insecurity that so many of us (and perhaps especially the mystically inclined) experience. And while Leland likely thinks he is governed by his rational mind, I know that to be only partly true. I only know how to explain using an anecdote. When Leland genuinely wants something, he is able to summon a force of will that bends almost everyone in his orbit accordingly. Your mom and I, your Uncle, all your grandparents…all of us typically play the role of authority figures with you. By authority figures I mean to say that we typically tell the two of you what to do, and not the other way around. To be very clear, all the authority figures in your lives try to grant you as much leeway as possible to enjoy your lives and explore and discover who you truly are. But we also set boundaries, and use certain unspoken algorithms for when we say yes or no to requests. Leland hacks those algorithms in a way I can’t describe, but I suspect almost any of those closest to him would intuitively recognize: when Leland truly wants something, he articulates that want with an almost undeniable power and force. My coach calls this “acting in alignment”, and Leland exemplifies this better than most people I know. My point is just to say that Leland, in my telling, is letting his consciousness shine through, whether he recognizes it or not.
I love you both.
Love,
Dad
