Where Does the Idea of God Come From?

Last night I was reading my Bible again — the book of Genesis, and the story of Sodom and Gomorrah.

One thing that has always struck me about these stories is how unevenly the people in them are remembered. Abraham and Lot have names. Sarah is mentioned occasionally, though far less often. But Lot’s wife and daughters remain unnamed. They pass through the story almost as shadows.

As I read, I found myself thinking again about God’s promise to Abraham — that his descendants would become a great nation.

And then I thought of the troubled history of the Jewish people. Centuries of persecution, exile, and suffering. It does make one pause and wonder what exactly such promises mean.

That reflection led me further, into questions I have often wrestled with about Christianity itself. Christianity grows out of Judaism; yet Judaism in turn emerged from the religious world of the ancient Near East. The early Israelites shared cultural ground with the Canaanites, whose gods included figures like El and Baal.

So, one begins to wonder: how much more historically “true” is one religion than another? Egyptian religion, Greek religion, the traditions of Mesopotamia — all of them were once held with deep conviction by people who felt they knew the gods.

Perhaps all religions, at least in part, are shaped by human attempts to understand something larger than ourselves.

If that is so, then where does the idea of God ultimately come from?

Rudolf Otto, in ‘The Idea of the Holy’,  spoke of the numinous — that mysterious sense of awe, wonder, and trembling fascination that people sometimes experience in the presence of what feels holy.

Carl Jung might suggest something similar but expressed differently: that religious images arise from deep archetypal patterns within the human psyche, powerful energies shaping how we perceive meaning in the universe.

And then there is Buddhism, which approaches the question in a very different way. Rather than focusing on gods or divine promises, it begins with a simple observation: life contains suffering. The task is to understand it, to learn how the mind creates it, and to live with awareness and compassion.

In that sense, the teaching is very practical: do not brood endlessly over the past, nor worry constantly about the future. Live in the present moment. Pay attention. Be mindful. Learn to appreciate the life that is here now.

Perhaps all these traditions are touching different parts of the same mystery.

As human beings, we seem to have an instinctive sense that there is something beyond ordinary existence — something that evokes awe, wonder, longing, and sometimes fear. Whether we call that God, the sacred, the numinous, or simply the deep mystery of being, the question remains one of the most enduring we can ask.

For me, these questions about meaning, destiny, and the deeper patterns of life are not only philosophical ones. They are also the kinds of questions people sometimes bring to sessions with me, where we explore life’s meanings through the archetypal imagery of tarot, astrology, and similar symbolic tools.

In their different ways, these ancient systems help us explore the same mystery: how we understand our lives, and how we might live them with greater wisdom and awareness.

And perhaps the asking of such questions, and seeking answers to them, is itself part of what makes us human.