One of the most foundational ideas in Buddhism is that of impermanence.
It is one of the three universal truths and one of the three marks of existence. Everything—ourselves included—is in a constant state of change. This insight undergirds the central Buddhist claim that attachment leads to suffering. Why? Because everything we attach to is changing—and attachment to what changes inevitably leads to dissatisfaction when it no longer brings the same joy or disappears altogether.
Suffering.
The water carries away what was, leaving only the present moment.
This is a framework I have found to be true, sometimes painfully so. And yet, at the same time, I also hold a strong conviction about the presence and nature of the Divine.
So how do these coexist?
At first glance, they seem incompatible. If everything is impermanent, then what could the Divine possibly be? It would seem that if anything were to be permanent, it would be the Divine—the one enduring reality from which everything else flows.
This raises a sharper question: if all conditioned things are impermanent, is the Divine something conditioned—or is it not a “thing” at all in the same category?
I don’t have a fully satisfactory answer to that. But I do have a few ways of navigating the tension.
A Note on Doubt and Certainty
One idea I’ve always found interesting is the list of the five hindrances in Buddhism: lust, aversion, torpor, restlessness, and doubt.
The first four form two pairs of opposites:
- Lust vs. Aversion
- Torpor vs. Restlessness
But where is the opposite of doubt? Why isn’t certainty listed as one of the hindrances?
It’s not there—and I think there’s a reason for that.
In a framework where everything is in flux, absolute certainty becomes its own form of doubt. Because certainty implies a fixed, unchanging grasp of reality—and in a world where understanding is always evolving, that fixation is a subtle resistance to impermanence itself.
In that sense, certainty isn’t the cure for doubt. It may just be another version of it.
Practice Over Belief
The most practical way I’ve found to reconcile this tension is surprisingly simple: focus on practice over belief.
- I can meditate without belief.
- I can chant at my altar without belief.
- I can use mantras, rituals, and even frameworks like karma without needing to fully affirm them intellectually.
And what I’ve noticed is this: the more immersed I am in these practices, the less I need the beliefs behind them—even if those beliefs were originally what drew me in.
This leads me to a possibility that feels increasingly true:
What if the reconciliation between impermanence and the Divine isn’t found in belief at all—but in practice?
The journey itself teaches more than any idea could.
Actively Challenging Belief
Twice a year, I try to do something that feels both uncomfortable and necessary: I deliberately subject my beliefs to critique—even ridicule.
This serves two purposes.
First, it strips away what is weak or ungrounded.
Second, it reveals whether what remains is genuine conviction or just intellectual curiosity.
If a belief can’t withstand pressure, it probably isn’t worth holding.
Beliefs Are Necessarily Incomplete
Another perspective that helps: all spiritual beliefs are, in some sense, wrong.
Not because they point to nothing—but because they can never fully capture what they point toward.
My understanding is always evolving. That means my beliefs must evolve too. Even if the Divine is real in some ultimate sense, my picture of it will always be partial, shifting, and incomplete.
So the goal isn’t to arrive at perfect belief—it’s to stay open to refinement.
Conviction Exists Only in the Present
I’ve also found it helpful to think of conviction as something that exists only in the present moment.
I can have confidence in my thoughts and actions right now. That conviction is real and valuable.
But it doesn’t need to extend indefinitely into the future to be valid. In fact, recognizing that it can’t do so helps anchor me more fully in the present, rather than projecting certainty into a future that hasn’t arrived.
God Does Not Have Beliefs
One thought experiment I return to often:
Does God have spiritual beliefs?
Whatever your conception of the Divine is—does it “believe” anything?
It seems strange to suggest that it would. If the Divine is truly all-encompassing, then it wouldn’t need beliefs. Beliefs are tools for navigating uncertainty. But if you are the totality of experience itself, there is nothing to interpret—only to be.
This reframes belief as something inherently human, not something ultimate.
The Limits of Explanation
All of this leads to a final question:
Can I imagine anything shaking my conviction about the Divine and pushing me into a strictly materialist framework?
Honestly, I don’t think so.
Not because I reject science, or wouldn’t accept its conclusions (quite the opposite, in fact)—but because this is not the kind of question science is designed to answer. Science operates within methodological naturalism, explaining the mechanisms of the observable world, while the question of the Divine is ultimately experiential rather than explanatory.
It seems to be a different kind of question altogether—one that ultimately involves not just intellect, but emotion, intuition, and will.
A Possible Resolution
If there is a resolution here, it may not come in the form of a clean philosophical answer.
It may look more like a shift in perspective.
Instead of seeing the Divine as something permanent that stands in opposition to impermanence, it may be more accurate to see it as something encountered through impermanence itself—not as a fixed object, but as something revealed in the very flow of experience.
And if that distinction between the material and the spiritual were to fully dissolve—if there were no longer two categories to reconcile at all—I suspect that may be what enlightenment is all about.
At that point, there would be no need to “experience the Divine” as something separate.
There would only be presence.
Namaste.