Last night I read the last third of The War of Art in which Steven Pressfield explains how creativity does not originate from within us, but is actually channeled through our subconscious, or pure selves, by some divine being or muse. This morning someone asked me whether I thought that the universe had been created by chance or by someone or something. This all got me wondering why it’s so important to believe there is some great machination at work, predetermining everything in the world.

As I mulled over my answer, I definitely saw the appeal of believing in a higher power. Whether it be the story of genesis from the bible or the theory of the holographic universe, it’s very comforting to believe that someone is in the drivers seat of this mad party wagon we call the known universe. Just as I can see the value, as someone who works in a creative field, of placing the source of creative inspiration outside of oneself. Elizabeth Gilbert did a great Ted Talk on how this removed the pressures that cause things like writers block and circumvents the self-destructive nature that supposedly goes hand-in-hand with being an artist.

The weird thing is, as much as I get the usefulness of these mechanisms, I can’t bring myself to believe in them. They don’t feel any different from the stories I invent in my head. Maybe I’m just hardwired to view everything merely as stories to be told? Either way that doesn’t answer my question. Why is believing in a higher power so tied up in feeling happy and secure in our existence? And more over, does it have to be?

I’ll see everyone back here on Sunday for the fourth installment of the DON’T READ ME.TXT series.