We all grow up with beliefs. Throughout our lives, we continue to acquire new ones while discarding or updating others. As we’ve seen, somewhere along the way we begin forming abstractions that become the primary lens through which we perceive and understand the world, both the physical and the abstract. Among these, deeply rooted beliefs are perhaps the most invisible.
Because they function as our primary lens, beliefs feel as though they must be protected. Even when specific beliefs change, the underlying need to have beliefs remains one of the hardest things to dislodge.
How do beliefs change?
Beliefs have an opportunity to change when an experience challenges their very foundation. But the window for such change is quite narrow, especially in the case of strong beliefs. As soon as their validity is questioned, they tend to trigger a fight-or-flight response.
Fight and flight are not true opposites, though they appear to be. Both are mechanisms through which belief sustains itself. In fight mode, one actively resists the new idea, hoping to defeat it; if the resistance fails, the new idea may replace the old belief. In flight mode, one avoids or ignores the challenge, or seeks refuge in another belief. In all cases, engagement with, one or the other belief continues. This process, though described quite simply here, can be a long drawn-out process, but nevertheless the essence remains the same.
The formation of new beliefs, then, is not a fundamental transformation. Our worldview may shift, sometimes significantly, but the deeper transformation i.e. seeing the world as it is, without the lens of belief, remains elusive.
It is true that, in relative terms, some beliefs may be more beneficial than others. Some may be less limiting, more “empowering.” Replacing older, limiting beliefs with more enabling ones can have practical value. Yet from a broader perspective, any belief, no matter how empowering it seems, is inherently limiting. It attempts to define and contain what is, creating a closed circle that shields us from direct contact with reality.
In the presence of belief, one is spared the unsettling possibility of being exposed to what is (This is easy to see as a fact and if it is seen clearly (not just intellectually) then this statement is not a belief.)
Questions as invitations
Questions are invitations from the unknown.
What happens if one stays with a challenge to one’s beliefs, i.e. neither fighting nor fleeing?
The moment one genuinely questions a deep-seated belief, it must, at least temporarily, be suspended. In that suspension, there is a sense of groundlessness, which can feel terrifying. The immediate impulse is to grasp onto another belief, to find new ground.
But what if one notices this impulse and simply observes it?
Then one remains in that groundless state, attending to each fear and desire as it arises. From there, one may begin to descend into a deeper inquiry:
- Is this belief really true?
- Do my beliefs obscure or reveal what is?
- What role do my beliefs play in my suffering, and in that of others?
- Why am I attached not only to my beliefs, but to the very idea of having beliefs?
- If all my beliefs fall away, what remains?
- What would life be like without any beliefs?
Each question reveals deeper layers of assumptions. One moves from question to question, gradually unravelling, entering further into the unknown.
In this process, there is no real place for fixed answers. More importantly, the compulsive need for answers—the urge to make the unknown known—begins to loosen. As that need weakens, so too does the need to form rigid beliefs.
After all, what drives the need for belief if not the desire for certainty, for definite answers, for the conversion of the unknown into something known?
In other words, the deeper one goes into questioning, the more one becomes at ease with (or more properly, less terrified with) living in the unknown.
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