God and the Growing Universe
Where Science, Religion, and Philosophy Converge: The Case for Emergent Holopanentheism
How I Got Here
In 2002, my medical records in the Army got lost somewhere between my mobilization site and duty station. A single administrative failure that nobody owned. In the military that’s not unusual, you’re government property. You belong to Uncle Sam and you go where you’re sent and obey orders. And if the paperwork says you need another vaccine round you get them or you face the consequences. I got them. A second full vaccine regimen in a week’s time. The chronic migraines and immunity issues that came after reshaped everything, my career, my identity, my understanding of what my body was and wasn’t capable of. That reshaping, as painful as it was, turned out to be the opening I needed. Sometimes I wonder if this catalyst was never random at all, if the Universe had a hand in it from the start to invoke change in a life apparently going in circles.
I wanted answers! The pain sent me to books and the books didn’t stop. I had to keep my brain alive and not succumb to all the pain meds. I started reading the way some people start drinking, out of desperation, and what started as a search for medical answers kept expanding until it covered most everything. Health. Science. Religion. Mysticism. Philosophy. Fields that had no business talking to each other but kept arriving at the same questions. It became a kind of intellectual boot camp where the stakes felt existential. My home library grew into something I hadn’t planned, hundreds of books across disciplines that don’t usually share shelf space. I wasn’t building a collection. I was building a framework, though I didn’t know that yet.
The same patterns kept showing up across domains that weren’t supposed to talk to each other. Kabbalah next to quantum physics. Indigenous cosmologies next to emergence theory. Ancient mystical texts describing something that sounded almost exactly like what contemporary physicists were calling non-local entanglement. However, each discipline stayed in its silo, defended its borders, and ignored what was happening next door. Nobody seemed willing to name what was sitting right across all of these disciplines. So eventually I tried.
Twenty-two years later the desperation is gone but the curiosity isn’t. If anything it’s sharper, more disciplined, less frantic. The chronic migraines come and go but have never fully disappeared. What those two decades of searching across silos that wouldn’t talk to each other eventually produced is a framework that integrates scientific evidence and spiritual intuition without forcing either to compromise. It offers a unified view of reality where matter and meaning co-evolve as inseparable aspects of a single, unfolding process.
The Problem with the Old Maps
I grew up with the God of organized religion. Most of us did in one form or another. The God who made everything from nothing, who hears prayers, who exists outside what He created and occasionally reaches in. That picture carried real weight for people across centuries of suffering. It still does. But it kept breaking down against what the evidence was actually showing me, and I spent years trying to patch the cracks before I finally admitted I needed a different map.
Pantheism was the first alternative I took seriously. God simply is the universe, divinity distributed equally through all of what exists. Spinoza made this philosophically serious.1 Certain schools of Hindu thought had been living inside a version of it, Brahman as the ground of all being, for thousands of years before Spinoza was born. The ecological integrity of it I genuinely respect. But if everything is equally divine then nothing in particular is. A God who is just as present in an act of true grace as in a spreading cancer doesn’t accomplish very much theologically.
Panentheism felt closer. Whitehead and Hartshorne kept God as both present within and extending beyond the cosmos.2 It resonated with something I kept finding in the mystical strands of traditions I’d read across all these years of sleepless nights. The Sufis and their teaching that God was a hidden treasure that yearned to be known, which is why anything exists at all. The Jewish understanding of the Shekhinah, not a God above the community but a divine presence that develops within it, through it, because of it. The Christian mystics who found God not above creation but as Augustine put it, closer to us than we are to ourselves. But panentheism still couldn’t close the gap between those intuitions and the physical world science was actually describing. If God operates through resources that extend beyond natural processes, you owe an account of the mechanism. I never found one that held. I spent a long time trying. The puzzle pieces wouldn’t snap into place no matter what I tried.
What the evidence kept showing me was something none of those maps had quite drawn. The sacred doesn’t precede the universe and it isn’t simply identical with it. It develops through it, the way consciousness develops through neural activity without being reducible to any single neuron, or the way a conversation becomes something neither person could have produced alone. This is what the deepest strands of every tradition I read were reaching toward all along. The Christian concept of creatio continua, creation not as a one-time event but as an ongoing act. God working through natural processes rather than above them. The Buddhist insistence that awakening isn’t imported from somewhere else but emerges through practice, through relationship, through the dissolution of the illusion of separateness. The Jewish understanding of Torah not as a fixed code handed down but as a living conversation that deepens through every generation of engagement. All of them pointing at the same thing. The sacred emerges and grows through the process itself. It isn’t something that’s already finished and delivered.
I ended up calling this theory Emergent Holopanentheism.
“Emergent” just means the divine isn’t sitting out there fully formed, waiting to step in. It actually arises from complexity and relationship. That’s the same way a piece of music comes alive only when the notes start playing off each other. The music doesn’t exist somewhere else apart from those interactions. It’s born right there in them.
The “holo” part comes from holographic. The universe is built so that every piece somehow carries an echo of the whole. Deep connection isn’t just a nice poetic idea. It’s wired into how reality works.
And “panentheism” is the frame that says God isn’t identical with the universe. That would be pantheism. But God isn’t floating outside it either. Instead the sacred keeps unfolding right through the natural processes we can see and measure, not hovering above them or bypassing them.
Put together it’s the sense that what’s truly sacred emerges as things get more complex and intertwined. Bottom line: the divine shows up as things get more intricate and linked together. It’s present in every part without ever being detached from any of it.
Standing on Clayton’s Shoulders
Philip Clayton, Professor of Theology at the Claremont School of Theology, has spent more than two decades building what he calls emergentist panentheism, across Mind and Emergence, Adventures in the Spirit, and the collection he co-edited with Paul Davies.3 Clayton’s core argument is that God acquires genuine experience through interaction with the world, and that emergent properties in biology and consciousness provide a model for how divine qualities can arise from natural processes without being reducible to them. He gets this largely right. I owe him a real debt.
I build on Clayton’s rich panentheistic framework in two directions he does not explore in depth. The first is holographic cosmology, drawing specifically on Bohm’s work on the implicate order4 and cosmologist Jude Currivan’s synthesis in The Cosmic Hologram,5 as a structural account of how divine emergence propagates across cosmic scales. The second is Kabbalistic architecture, particularly tzimtzum and the Sefirot, as a phenomenology of how divine self-limitation creates the conditions for creaturely freedom and genuine novelty. Far from being decorative additions, these elements perform genuine explanatory work that complements and extends Clayton’s already powerful model.
Nancy Ellen Abrams, in A God That Could Be Real,6 makes an argument I find genuinely compelling: that God is an emergent phenomenon arising from the collective aspirations of humanity, real in exactly the sense that the global economy is real. Her core commitment, that what’s worthy of being called God need not have existed before the universe, is one this framework fully shares. But her God is explicitly planetary, restricted to the human sphere. My argument is that the developmental principle operates at cosmic scales that precede and exceed humanity by billions of years, woven into the fabric of the universe from its earliest chemical stages. Abrams’ God is a latecomer to a universe that was already doing something before we arrived to name it. Mine isn’t.
Ten Pillars, and What the Evidence Actually Says
The Cosmic Seedbed
This is the first and most foundational of the ten pillars I develop in the book, and it isn’t metaphor. The universe distributes the basic chemical ingredients for life and consciousness throughout interstellar space, not as a miraculous exception but as a structural feature. NASA’s OSIRIS-REx mission returned samples from asteroid Bennu in 2023 confirming carbon-bearing compounds and ammonia salts, the precise chemistry from which biology builds itself.7 The Murchison meteorite, recovered in Australia in 1969, contained more than a hundred distinct amino acids, including types absent from terrestrial biochemistry.8
On Earth, the expressions of this tendency are philosophically striking in their own right. In Oregon’s Malheur National Forest, Armillaria ostoyae spans 3.5 square miles and is estimated between 2,400 and 8,650 years old, transmitting integrated intelligence through chemical and electrical signals across its mycelial network.9 Pando, the quaking aspen colony in Utah, consists of 40,000 genetically identical stems sharing one root system, redistributing resources under environmental stress in ways that demonstrate distributed awareness without any centralized control.10 A slime mold with no nervous system of any kind navigates mazes and optimizes nutrient pathways.11 These aren’t illustrations. They’re evidence that awareness develops through collective relationship at scales and in forms that have nothing to do with individual neural architecture.
Mind and Matter
Marcel Vogel spent nearly three decades as a senior research scientist at IBM and accumulated more than a hundred patents before turning that same disciplined empirical attention toward whether focused human consciousness can produce measurable effects on physical systems. His investigations into quartz crystals produced evidence that intention could alter the molecular structure of water and induce biological changes through mechanisms that resisted reduction to known thermal or electromagnetic pathways.
I want to be careful here. What I take from Vogel isn’t a conclusion. It’s a posture: that the boundary between mind and matter is a site of genuine scientific inquiry rather than a settled metaphysical partition. Kenneth Cohen’s systematic research into qigong documents intention-directed practice producing measurable physiological effects that persist across conditions designed to rule out placebo.12 Dawson Church’s epigenetic research establishes a physical pathway through which consciousness reaches into the body’s most fundamental biological processes.13 The HeartMath Institute has documented heart-generated electromagnetic fields synchronizing measurably among individuals in close proximity.14 These are methodologically distinct research programs addressing different scales of the same structural question. Their convergence matters, even if none of them is individually decisive.
Holographic Cosmology
David Bohm proposed that reality has two layers. Beneath the surface world of separate objects, the chair, the tree, your body, everything exists in a unified field of potential he called the implicate order.15 What we see and touch is the explicate order, the unfolded version, where that underlying unity shows up as apparently distinct things. The distinction matters because it explains how radical interconnection and the experience of separateness can both be true at once. They are operating at different levels of the same reality. Jude Currivan pushes this further in The Cosmic Hologram, arguing that information is even more fundamental than energy, matter, space, or time, that the deepest substrate of the universe is not stuff but meaning-carrying pattern.16
I remember reading Bohm for the first time around 2007, painkiller fog and all, and having the strange experience of recognizing something I’d already encountered in mystical literature but never seen a physicist take seriously. The implicate order wasn’t a new idea to me. It was a very old one with equations finally behind it. That moment of recognition, sitting there with my coffee getting cold, is part of why I trust this pillar more than some of the others.
This isn’t purely theoretical anymore. In 2017, Afshordi and colleagues published an analysis of cosmic microwave background irregularities in Physical Review Letters providing the first observational data consistent with a holographic explanation of the universe’s large-scale structure.17 That doesn’t prove the holographic interpretation. But it means this pillar is grounded in empirical physics, not just philosophy, and that matters for the cumulative case.
Space Weather and Biological Coupling
We’re embedded participants in an electromagnetic cosmos, and the physiological consequences are measurable. Solar flares, coronal mass ejections, and geomagnetic storms produce cascading effects in Earth’s magnetosphere that reach into terrestrial biology through mechanisms now well characterized in space weather research. Epidemiological studies document correlations between geomagnetic disturbance and cardiovascular hospital admissions. Controlled physiological studies show elevated solar activity altering heart rate variability, sleep architecture, and hormone production. Jack Zirker’s work on cosmic magnetism provides the physical framework: organisms that evolved within the sun’s electromagnetic envelope are coupled to its fluctuations in ways that only become visible when you actually look for them.18
It’s intriguing that Indigenous traditions across cultures, Native American, African, Hindu, Buddhist, developed this structural recognition across millennia without instruments capable of measuring the geomagnetic channels through which it operates. The space weather evidence doesn’t confirm those traditions in detail. But it confirms their central structural claim: the boundary between the human organism and the cosmos is genuinely porous.
The Minyan and Collective Consciousness
The rabbinic principle in Pirkei Avot 3:6, ‘where ten are assembled, the Divine Presence rests among them,’19 expresses a recognition built from centuries of communal experience: collective presence creates conditions for divine manifestation that transcend what any individual generates through individual practice. Rather than descending from a transcendent realm somewhere else, the Shekhinah emerges from the synergistic interaction between the divine and creation.
Lynne McTaggart’s research into collective intention, documented in The Field and The Intention Experiment,20 and Roger Nelson’s Global Consciousness Project at Princeton, which maintained random number generators distributed globally and documented statistically significant correlations during periods of focused mass human attention,21 both point toward the same structural principle.
Let me be explicit about the relative strength of the evidence in this section. The Global Consciousness Project has received some methodological feedback from statisticians, and Joe Dispenza’s research on group meditation has not yet appeared in peer-reviewed journals of the same standing as the physics or astrobiology literature I cite elsewhere.22 These findings sit at a different level of evidential confidence. I include them not as equivalent evidence, but as intriguing anomalies that deserve further rigorous investigation. The cumulative case does not require them to carry equal weight.
Kabbalistic Architecture
This pairing with astrophysics may seem surprising at first. Yet the two fit together once we understand what tzimtzum actually accomplishes.
Kabbalah begins with Ein Sof, the infinite divine reality beyond all description. It holds every possibility without bringing any specific world into existence. To create space for a finite world capable of diversity and relationship, Ein Sof performs tzimtzum, a self-contraction that opens a conceptual space where creation can unfold. Divine light then flows through the ten Sefirot, including Keter, Chokhmah, Binah, Chesed, Gevurah, Tiferet, and their companions, which form the Tree of Life.
These qualities exist in balance. Chesed without Gevurah becomes mere permissiveness. Gevurah without Chesed turns into harsh rigidity. Both require Tiferet to integrate them. The whole system develops through creative tension rather than any single quality exercising unchecked dominance.
At its heart, tzimtzum reveals this theological insight: limitation is not the opposite of creativity. It is the precondition for it. A God who determines everything produces nothing genuinely new. The divine withdrawal that makes room for creaturely freedom is not absence. It is the highest form of divine generosity. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks put it this way: ‘Science tells us how, religion why, and together they develop meaning.’23 This formulation reflects the Kabbalistic recognition that different modes of inquiry contribute distinctive qualities requiring integration rather than competition.
Fields, Process Theology, and the Developing God
Quantum field theory establishes that the vacuum state isn’t empty space but a dynamic medium whose effects are measurable in phenomena from the Casimir force to the Lamb shift.
Philosopher Ervin Laszlo builds on this to propose that the quantum vacuum functions as a universal information field from which matter, life, and consciousness develop through natural self-organization.24 His concept of in-formation, distinct from information in the ordinary sense, captures how this field shapes physical organization without direct mechanical contact, the way a magnetic field orients iron filings not by touching them but by structuring the medium they’re in. It’s a subtle distinction but it’s doing a lot of work: if the substrate of reality is informational rather than material, then consciousness isn’t an accident that happened to matter late in the game.
Process theology turned out to be the vocabulary I’d been missing. Whitehead described God as ‘the poet of the world, with tender patience leading it by his vision of truth, beauty, and goodness.’25 That’s divine creativity as persuasion rather than command, and it’s a God I can actually work with theologically. In process metaphysics, God has both a primordial nature containing eternal potentials and a consequent nature that grows and changes through genuine responsiveness to what happens in the world. Every experience of joy or suffering becomes part of God’s own experience in ways that shape subsequent divine influence.
John Polkinghorne, the particle physicist who became an Anglican priest, brings a particularly clear scientific perspective to this point. Quantum indeterminacy creates real openness in the structure of reality itself. Through that openness, divine influence can work as gentle persuasion without ever violating the laws of physics.26 This is not a clever workaround. It is simply how the process functions.
The Objections I Take Seriously
The classical theism objection presents the strongest philosophical challenge to this framework, and I will not dismiss it lightly. In the Thomist tradition, God must be pure actuality, without any potentiality. The reason is simple: anything that develops from potential to actual depends on something prior to make it real. An ultimately dependent being cannot serve as the first cause that explains why anything exists at all. If God grows or develops, then God is not truly self-sufficient. This is not a weak objection. It shows exactly why the entire tradition of classical theism developed the way it did.
My response, drawing from the process tradition, questions whether the requirement for pure actuality truly achieves the theological goals it was meant to serve. An unmoved mover can explain why there is something rather than nothing. Yet it offers no real basis for divine love, divine responsiveness, or the kind of relationship that makes prayer and ethics meaningful. A God who is complete in every way from eternity is also unaffected by events in history. That means human choices ultimately make no difference to the structure of reality. The developmental account accepts genuine limitation as the cost of genuine relationship. I choose that trade-off every time. A God who can be surprised by what I do matters more to me than one who already knew everything in advance.
Next comes what philosopher of science Mariusz Tabaczek calls the emergence gap, as discussed in his careful book Divine Action and Emergence.27 Emergence is a descriptive idea. It shows how higher-level properties arise from lower-level interactions. But a description alone is not enough for theology. Tornadoes emerge from complex weather patterns. Cancerous tumors emerge from cell interactions. If divinity is simply an emergent property of natural complexity, the framework must explain what sets divine emergence apart from these clearly non-divine examples.
My answer focuses on direction rather than a strict definition. The key is not complexity by itself. It is the developmental path toward what Whitehead called intensity of experience, the ability to notice, value, and respond to a wider range of reality.28 A tornado grows intense for a short time and then fades away, leaving no lasting contribution to cosmic awareness. A mycorrhizal network has supported and strengthened the relational intelligence of forest ecosystems for thousands of years. This difference follows the clear developmental line that runs from lifeless matter through shared intelligence to conscious reflection and then to conscious participation in creating meaning. The distinction is not random. It matches the universe’s own observable path of development.
The more difficult issue is gratuitous evil, the kind of suffering that appears to serve no developmental purpose no matter how we look at the creative process. Process theologian David Ray Griffin’s process theodicy explains that God persuades rather than forces, and that suffering comes from the necessary risks of real creaturely freedom in an open creative process.29 This account holds together logically. But Tabaczek’s point is well taken: the persuasion model needs someone who can receive the invitation.30 What about the billions of years when sentient beings suffered long before any conscious mind existed to find meaning in it?
What this framework provides is a shift in perspective rather than a complete solution. A developing God is not all-powerful in the classical sense and does not carry the same moral responsibility as an omnipotent creator for events it did not control. The question changes from “why did an all-powerful God allow this?” to “was a universe that could produce consciousness, love, and meaning on cosmic scales worth the developmental cost of the natural processes that made it possible?” That question stays genuinely open. I do not claim to close it.
Why Any of This Matters
The conclusion this framework pushes toward isn’t comfortable in the way traditional theism offers comfort. It doesn’t promise that the universe is ultimately just, that suffering is meaningful from some perspective that transcends our own, or that the dead are held in a memory that redeems their loss. Those are real costs. I don’t minimize them.
What it offers instead is something more demanding. If divinity develops through the quality of relationships, through the depth of collective consciousness, through the breadth of compassionate attention that conscious beings bring to their shared existence, then the development of the sacred is genuinely at stake in how we treat each other. That’s not a metaphor for something else. It’s the mechanism.
Plato’s allegory of the cave reads differently under this framework. The prisoners watching shadows on the wall aren’t simply ignorant of eternal forms existing in a completed transcendent realm. They’re unaware that the light producing the shadows is something they participate in generating. The world outside the cave isn’t a finished reality discovered by the escaped prisoner. It’s one that consciousness itself is helping to make.
I started following these threads in a coffee house in 2004, reading to stay conscious against the pain. Ensuring my brain didn’t atrophy from the pain medicines the Veterans Administration doctor was prescribing me to get by. I wasn’t looking for theology. I was looking for a reason to power through and keep going. What I eventually found was a framework that took both the scientific evidence and the spiritual intuition seriously without falsifying either. A universe in which matter and meaning aren’t two separate orders of reality requiring separate explanations, but aspects of a single developmental process in which each is partially constituted by its relationship to the other.
The pain never left. It’s still there. The same reminder it’s always been: this whole search started because my body broke down and I had nothing left but books and questions. But something unexpected started happening in those same sleepless hours. Night after night, lying awake, I found my mind ablaze with connections I hadn’t consciously constructed, questions arriving from somewhere that felt larger than me, pointing toward answers I’d spend the next day chasing.
God, the Universe, or whatever we should call this Divine inspiration, seemed to be doing part of the work itself. This did not happen through any sudden revelation. Instead, certain patterns kept showing up again and again. They repeated so steadily that I finally noticed them and began to follow where they led. This is exactly what the psychologist Carl Jung called synchronicity. I don’t know what else to call this except the shape of something profoundly true.
Whether that’s enough to call it God depends on what you were looking for when you started asking.
What you’ve just read, “God and the Growing Universe,” is the complementary essay: a personal, accessible companion piece that traces the heart of Emergent Holopanentheism through story, evidence, and honest questions.
The full manuscript, Emergent Holopanentheism: The Quantum Bridge Between Science, Spirit, and Cosmic Meaning (2025), develops the complete argument across all ten pillars with deeper citations, mechanisms, and connections. Both are completely free with no paywalls, no sign-ups, and no barriers. Read the essay online or listen to the audio narration at www.ericbuesing.com/god-and-the-growing-universe/. Download the full book PDF anytime at ericbuesing.com/free-book-emergent-holopanentheism/.
This is not a finished doctrine. It is an open framework meant to grow through shared inquiry. If any part resonates, challenges, confuses, or sparks a new angle, please do not keep it to yourself. Comment here, reach out on X (@sleuth_fox), or reply wherever you found this. Your perspective, your questions, and your pushback might just help the sacred emerge a little more clearly. Let’s keep the conversation alive.
Notes
1. Baruch Spinoza, Ethics, trans. Edwin Curley (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), Part I, Proposition 15.
2. Charles Hartshorne, The Divine Relativity: A Social Conception of God (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1948); Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology (New York: Macmillan, 1929).
3. Philip Clayton, Mind and Emergence: From Quantum to Consciousness (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004); Philip Clayton, Adventures in the Spirit: God, World, and Divine Action (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008); Philip Clayton and Paul Davies, eds., The Re-Emergence of Emergence: The Emergentist Hypothesis from Science to Religion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006).
4. David Bohm, Wholeness and the Implicate Order (London: Routledge, 1980).
5. Jude Currivan, The Cosmic Hologram: In-Formation at the Center of Creation (Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions, 2017), 34.
6. Nancy Ellen Abrams, A God That Could Be Real: Spirituality, Science, and the Future of Our Planet (Boston: Beacon Press, 2015), chaps. 5–6.
7. NASA OSIRIS-REx Mission Team, “OSIRIS-REx Sample Return,” NASA, 2023, https://www.nasa.gov/osiris-rex.
8. The Meteoritical Society, “Murchison,” Meteoritical Bulletin Database, https://www.lpi.usra.edu/meteor/metbull.php.
9. Myron L. Smith et al., “The Fungus Armillaria bulbosa Is Among the Largest and Oldest Living Organisms,” Nature 356 (1992): 428–431; Bruce A. Ferguson et al., “Coarse-scale Population Structure of Pathogenic Armillaria Species in a Mixed-conifer Forest in the Blue Mountains of Northeast Oregon,” Canadian Journal of Forest Research 33, no. 4 (2003): 612–623.
10. Jennifer DeWoody et al., “Pando Lives: Molecular Genetic Evidence of a Giant Aspen Clone in Central Utah,” Western North American Naturalist 68, no. 4 (2008): 493–497.
11. Toshiyuki Nakagaki et al., “Maze-solving by an Amoeboid Organism,” Nature 407 (2000): 470.
12. Kenneth Cohen, The Way of Qigong: The Art and Science of Chinese Energy Healing (New York: Ballantine Books, 1997).
13. Dawson Church, The Genie in Your Genes: Epigenetic Medicine and the New Biology of Intention (Santa Rosa, CA: Elite Books, 2007); Dawson Church, Mind to Matter: The Astonishing Science of How Your Brain Creates Material Reality (Carlsbad, CA: Hay House, 2018).
14. HeartMath Institute, Science of the Heart: Exploring the Role of the Heart in Human Performance, vol. 2 (Boulder Creek, CA: HeartMath Institute, 2015).
15. Bohm, Wholeness and the Implicate Order.
16. Currivan, The Cosmic Hologram, 34.
17. Niayesh Afshordi, Claudio Corianò, Luigi Delle Rose, Elizabeth Gould, and Kostas Skenderis, “From Planck Data to Planck Era: Observational Tests of Holographic Cosmology,” Physical Review Letters 118, no. 4 (2017): 041301.
18. Jack B. Zirker, The Magnetic Universe: The Elusive Traces of an Invisible Force (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009).
19. The Mishnah, Pirkei Avot 3:6.
20. Lynne McTaggart, The Field: The Quest for the Secret Force of the Universe (New York: HarperCollins, 2002); Lynne McTaggart, The Intention Experiment: Using Your Thoughts to Change Your Life and the World (New York: Free Press, 2007).
21. Roger Nelson, Connected: The Emergence of Global Consciousness (Princeton, NJ: ICRL Press, 2019).
22. Joe Dispenza, Becoming Supernatural: How Common People Are Doing the Uncommon (Carlsbad, CA: Hay House, 2017).
23. Jonathan Sacks, The Great Partnership: Science, Religion, and the Search for Meaning (New York: Schocken, 2011), 3.
24. Ervin Laszlo, Science and the Akashic Field: An Integral Theory of Everything (Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions, 2004).
25. Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology (New York: Macmillan, 1929), 346.
26. John Polkinghorne, Belief in God in an Age of Science (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998); John Polkinghorne, Quantum Physics and Theology: An Unexpected Kinship (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007).
27. Mariusz Tabaczek, Divine Action and Emergence: An Alternative to Panentheism (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2021), chaps. 1–3.
28. Whitehead, Process and Reality, 346.
29. David Ray Griffin, God, Power, and Evil: A Process Theodicy (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1976).
30. Tabaczek, Divine Action and Emergence, chaps. 1–3.
Bibliography
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Whitehead, Alfred North. Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology. New York: Macmillan, 1929.
Zirker, Jack B. The Magnetic Universe: The Elusive Traces of an Invisible Force. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009.
