This introduces the key themes of Spirituality in Mind, including the concept of entanglement and the importance of attentiveness as both a spiritual practice and a clinical skill. Whereas many books on psychiatry by psychiatrists emphasise controversies and fears, the intention here is to focus on spirituality as casting light on what patients most desire. This book is different from other books on spirituality and psychiatry by virtue of engagement with the humanities (especially theology and religious studies), its concern with the ‘ordinary theology’ of patients and its attention to the invisible assumptions of pragmatic atheism. This does not mean that atheists or agnostics are less likely to be spiritually attentive than those who are spiritual/religious (not infrequently the reverse may be true) and the situated perspective of the author, and of all psychiatrists, is highlighted. An outline of the book as a whole is provided, some clarifications are given in regard to vocabulary (notably in respect of ‘patients’ and ‘theology’) and general remarks are made concerning the clinical case studies.

This explores the phenomenon of auditory verbal hallucinations (AVHs) as an example of entanglements of spirituality and psychopathology, and looks at ‘spiritually significant voices’ (identified by those who hear them as having spiritual/religious significance). Some have proposed making a differential diagnosis between ‘genuine’ spiritual experiences and mental illness, but the criteria for making such distinctions can be controversial and misleading, based on a false presupposition that the two are mutually exclusive. Research shows that patients identify some experiences as both part of an illness and spiritually significant. Patients with a psychiatric diagnosis are often subjected to epistemic injustice, wherein their claim to know things (e.g. spiritually) is discredited owing to prejudice associated with their diagnosis. A case study explores entanglement of spirituality with AVHs and considers implications for assessment/treatment. Voices of this kind may be meaningful for those who hear them, whether or not associated with a diagnosis, and affirmation of this and patients’ positive spiritual coping, where possible, can be a positive factor in promoting recovery.

The spirituality of the psychiatrist is important because of the way that it may impact the well-being of the psychiatrist, clinical practice and the understanding of psychiatry more widely. In some cases, it may influence a psychiatrist’s sense of vocation to be a psychiatrist. The case study in this chapter draws on the author’s own experience of the ways in which spirituality and formation as a psychiatrist were entangled during training. Three historical examples are offered of different ways in which religion and psychiatry might be entangled in the life, work and thought of psychiatrists: a pragmatic atheism (Maudsley), religion understood as pathology (Freud) and religion as beneficial to mental flourishing (Jung). Three more recent examples are then considered, one of a Christian attempt to integrate theology and psychiatry (Frank Lake), one of reflections on how Buddhism influences practice as a psychiatrist (Mark Epstein) and one of a personal encounter of a psychiatrist with shamanism (Olga Kharitidi).

A case study of a patient diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder demonstrates the entanglements of phenomenology of spirituality and psychopathology, and the implications of failing to properly understand the importance of these entanglements when planning treatment. The concepts of entanglement, pragmatic atheism, spirituality and religion are introduced. Spirituality and religion are both complex and contested concepts which elude simple definition, but a person-centred holistic model of psychiatry requires giving attention to the whole person, ‘body, mind and spirit’. The biopsychosocial model does not explicitly address spirituality, but spirituality is entangled with the biological, psychological and social aspects of the matrix. The chapter discusses the secular context within which psychiatry is generally seen to be practised (at least in the Western world), the perceived tension between science and religion that it often evokes, the nature of psychiatry as concerned with the study and treatment of mental illnesses, and the way in which these illnesses affect our self-understanding and identity as human beings.

This illustrates the theme of patient-centred spirituality by way of two case studies: one of a clinical encounter of the author with a patient in which neither spirituality nor religion was explicitly mentioned, and another in which the author was asked to see a patient because of a specifically religious concern. The first of these is interpreted in light of the work on spirituality in psychotherapy undertaken by Jeremy Holmes who, in turn, takes up the thinking of Donald Winnicott about transitional space. Spirituality is concerned with an ability to adopt a viewpoint outside oneself and to develop humility and a ‘negative capability’. The published views of patients suggest that spirituality/religion are explicitly important to many, even in a secular country like the UK, and that they would like them to be taken into account in treatment. It is proposed that there is ‘no such thing as a patient’, only encounters between human beings, one of whom is professionally identified as a physician (psychiatrist) and one as a patient. The authenticity of the human encounter, albeit within certain professional constraints, forms the basis for an effective therapeutic alliance.

It is proposed that spirituality and psychiatry, commonly held to be separate concerns, are in fact deeply entangled and inseparable. Meaning-making, an important concern of spirituality, is important to human well-being and needs to be taken more seriously by psychiatry. The damage done by historical antagonisms between psychiatry and religion needs to be undone by affirmation of spiritual concerns within psychiatric practice and by closer partnerships between psychiatry and faith communities. Professional boundaries need to be understood not as protecting psychiatry as secular space (which many religious patients find hostile to their spiritual concerns) but as protecting safe therapeutic space within which psychological recovery and spiritual growth may occur. Psychiatrists need to develop an interest in clinical theology, as a way of understanding the ordinary theological concerns of patients (including their ‘atheologies’). Psychiatry needs to be more spiritually attentive – to shed light on what patients desire spiritually and psychologically – rather than focussing only on the metaphorical shadows of psychopathology. Psychiatry needs to keep spirituality in mind.

Psychiatrists have responded nationally and internationally to the growing scientific evidence on spirituality and psychiatry and to concerns about bad professional practice, by developing good practice guidelines/policies and by way of continuing professional development initiatives (special interest groups, conferences, etc.). Professional boundaries have historically been understood as keeping psychiatry, as a secular concern, separate from patients’ spiritual and religious concerns. However, as earlier chapters demonstrated, this is unrealistic in light of the entanglements of spirituality and psychiatry, and unlikely to be helpful for many patients. It does not address the importance of religion to patients worldwide or the transition in Western countries from a secular to a post-secular age. The Jungian concept of temenos is taken up as a way of understanding boundaries as protecting safe therapeutic spaces for psychological and spiritual transformation. Boundaries in clinical practice are thus created not to keep the psychological and spiritual domains separate but to protect a safe psychological and spiritual space within which positive therapeutic change may occur.

Broader debates about possible ways of addressing the tensions between science and theology/religion have not often been applied to psychiatry, and yet it is to a large extent scientific research on spirituality and mental health over recent decades that has generated current interest in the importance of spirituality to psychiatry. The four models of relationship between science and religion, developed by Ian Barbour – conflict, independence, dialogue and integration – each have their correlates in the literature on spirituality and psychiatry. However, in clinical practice it is the ‘ordinary’ theology of patients that assumes greater importance than the formal, or academic, theology of philosophical debate. As an example of the importance of a kind of ordinary theology which has been subjected to scientific research, the concept of God images is explored. It is proposed that, in the course of assessment and treatment, a kind of ‘clinical theology’ is needed, in which psychiatrists take into account inner representations of God and other ordinary theological beliefs which inform understanding of a patient’s illness and spirituality.

Psychological therapies are another focus for entanglement with spirituality. Prayer has caused concern in the literature, particularly in respect of boundary issues arising when clinicians pray with patients, but the nature of prayer is explored here rather as a way of giving attention to things that are most desired. Scientific evidence suggests that prayer is a form of positive religious coping for patients. Mindfulness, with its roots in Buddhism, is widely applied as a secular spiritual intervention that is helpful in a range of mental health conditions. Silence has long been recognised as a significant and meaningful phenomenon within psychotherapy, but also has its place in contemplative spiritual practices. A theme running through these three practices is that of careful attentiveness, in which spiritual and psychological concerns become entangled. Good clinical practice requires careful attention-giving, so there is a sense in which treatment planning in psychiatry can be considered a kind of prayer, understood as careful attentiveness to what is most desired by patients. Examples are drawn from Christian, Islamic and Buddhist spirituality and practice.

This chapter presents key quantum mechanics principles essential for understanding quantum computation. The postulates of quantum mechanics, mixed states, and density matrices are introduced, along with the Stern–Gerlach experiment’s role in illustrating quantum behavior. Topics such as quantum coherence, entanglement, and the EPR paradox are covered to clarify the fundamental distinctions between classical and quantum systems. Measurement is explored with an emphasis on positive operator-valued measures (POVM), a key concept in understanding quantum state collapse. These principles provide a foundation for studying quantum computation and are essential for understanding qubit behavior, quantum information processing, and subsequent algorithmic structures.

This chapter introduces quantum computation by comparing classical and quantum computers. Core concepts including qubits, superposition, and entanglement are introduced, setting the stage for deeper exploration. Various quantum computing models are summarized, with a focus on the circuit and topological models. The chapter explains why quantum computing is necessary, especially for tasks beyond classical computing’s limits. It discusses existing quantum platforms and provides an overview of their capabilities and limitations. The chapter also offers a brief historical perspective, touches on computational energy efficiency, and forecasts a quantum future where quantum and classical computing work in tandem. This groundwork provides essential insights into quantum computation’s potential and upcoming chapters’ explorations of algorithmic and theoretical principles.

Why is Robinson Crusoe’s island insect-free, when evidence suggests that Defoe was aware of their importance to thriving ecosystems? Following Amitav Ghosh’s arguments in The Great Derangement, the chapter explores how human-insect entanglement would have impacted a character like Crusoe. On the one hand, a variety of insects would have proved debilitating as they invaded his body and his dwelling space. Crusoe’s sense of sovereignty would have been sorely compromised by many pernicious creatures. On the other hand, insects would also have made his island livable. Insects not only pollinate and make human agriculture possible, but they also remove rotting flesh and other decaying matter. However, including insects in the representation would mitigate any novelistic purpose committed to the construction of a mythic, self-determining, self-enclosed, and autonomous hero like Crusoe. In this omission of entanglement, the world of the human becomes the place where the insect is not.

How are insects both visible and invisible? To return to the eighteenth century is to see the moment when they were assigned to entomological science but not to literary forms like the realist novel. The results of this dual movement include the separation of man from animal and human from non-human, leading us to think of ourselves as distinct from the natural world. This book addresses how the rise of the novel, contemporaneous with emerging entomology, shaped a sense of the “real,” as well as the “real” human conditions of terrestrial existence. The theoretical underpinnings for the argument include animal studies, material ecocriticism, and critical insect studies, with recourse to critics such as Jane Bennett. Key concepts include horizontal thinking, vibrant materiality, entanglement, symbiosis, and holobiont. The chapter closes with the words of Ed Yong, acknowledging the vital natural networks in which we find ourselves.

This chapter explores the early life of the unique Jewish-Arab, Hebrew-Arabic journal Mifgash-Liqa’, meaning “Encounter” or “Meeting” in both languages. Originally founded in 1964 by Sephardi writer Yehuda Burla, Yemenite Jewish writer Mordechai Tabib, and Palestinian Israeli scholar Mahmud Abbasi, it was revived by Palestinian Israeli poet and translator Muhammad Hamza Ghanayim fourteen years after its first discontinuation in 1970. In the 1980s, Mifgash-Liqa’ witnessed more profound literary, cultural, and artistic encounters between Israel’s Hebrew and Arabic speakers and with the Arab World, in an era when Mizrahi and Palestinian Israelis were finding their voices.

The chapter argues that, beyond providing publication opportunities for marginalized writers in Israel, Mifgash-Liqa’ aimed to create Israeli literature through translation and by blurring the boundary between Hebrew and Arabic literature. Examples include The Israeli Monologue by Salman Natour and A Locked Room by Shimon Ballas. Borrowing Juelietta Singh’s notion of “entanglement,” the chapter highlights an inclusiveness that abandons the desire for mastery over oneself or others. The journal’s editorials and texts embody the call for a radically different imagination, for coexistence in a yet unforeseeable future, for possibilities beyond identity politics, for what it means to be Israeli.

Chapter 14 is entirely devoted to the electron spin and an introduction to quantum entanglement. The first part deals with the groundbreaking discovery of spin, its introduction into quantum formalism, and some of its most important effects on atomic spectra, notably the anomalous Zeeman effect. Historically, spin has been considered as an angular momentum that particles can have by the mere fact of their existence, which is called "intrinsic" and does not require any explanation. To address this shortcoming, Section 4 presents a possible explanation for the origin of electron spin as a result of its interaction with the vacuum field. Section 5 introduces the entangled system of two particles with spin, which provides an opportunity to discuss, necessarily schematically, the Schrödinger cat and the Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen thought experiment, as well as the Bell inequalities.

Buildings frequently change over their lifespans as they are adapted to new needs and affected by damage and decay, yet our approaches to architectural history often fail to account for the material and cultural effects of interventions on existing structures or to pursue the critical questions they raise about temporality and urban environments. The book’s Introduction orients readers to diachronic approaches to architectural history, that is, beyond the moment of initial construction, oriented to the perspective of historical actors. In recognizing moments of architectural revision and rebuilding as inflection points, it stresses the importance of accounting for architectural fabrics composed of variously dated elements and of examining the ways that architectural change shapes audience perception of the site’s history and their own era’s relationship to it. Close examination of two exceptionally long-lasting structures, the Pantheon in Rome and the Hagia Sophia/Ayasofia in Constantinople/Istanbul present a compelling contrast to most modern forms of architectural restoration and illustrate central themes of the book. The chapter situates study of historical architecture within current approaches to cultural time and to material culture and places architectural change in dialogue with text-based approaches to Roman temporality.

Like a puppy playing with the long stick which is the risk-uncertainty conundrum, we chew energetically on the risk end, letting the uncertainty end drag in the dust. The stick is shaped, I argue, by Newtonian humanism. It combines the scientific and humanist stances that have co-evolved in modern times, constituting a commonsensical, internally inconsistent, worldview. And that view bends the analysis of the political world toward controllable risk, sidestepping or silencing unruly uncertainty.