Aleteia’s advice for J.K. Rowling and her “God-shaped vacuum”

In recent days, J.K. Rowling — best known to many as the creator of Harry Potter — has opened a window onto something deeply personal: her struggle with faith. In a post on X (formerly Twitter), Rowling laid bare a faith-question that many of us carry but few voice so publicly. The courage required is considerable — not least because when you share your beliefs, people pay attention. Sometimes they cheer you on. Sometimes they turn away.

Here is the heart of Rowling’s reflection:

If you'd like to read the full message you can see it here:

There is a kind of bravery in Rowling’s admission. It’s not often that someone of her literary stature, someone so used to certainty in the worlds she creates, states plainly that in the realm of faith she is holding space for the unknown. To say “I don’t know,” to say “I’m still looking,” to say “I need evidence” — these are positions that risk disapproval, misunderstanding, even loss of fans.

It is a vulnerability rare in public life, especially in an age of social media where statements are often required to be sharp-edged, decisive, polished.

Rowling’s past willingness to speak out on controversial matters has already cost her. Yet this different kind of unknowing — it doesn’t announce itself with grand affirmations or polemics, but with honest questioning — carries its own peril and its own weight. It is a reminder that belief, real belief, isn’t always about certainty. Sometimes it is about the searching: about being unafraid to ask the questions that might not be fully answered in this life.

Rowling points out that she has changed her mind on many things — gender ideology, nature vs nurture, cannabis, assisted dying — each time because of life experience, personal exposure, reflection, evidence.

This is something many of us come to see: that beliefs formed in youth, or under cultural pressure, often shift as we grow, suffer, laugh, engage, witness. Indeed, age (if we allow it to) brings a humility of perspective. With years comes better vantage of complexity, of unintended consequences, of the gap between theory and lived life. What once seemed obvious begins to feel more contingent; what once was unthinkable reveals itself differently in a new light.

Rowling is modelling a generosity of mind: being open enough to let evidence, personal experience, even intellectual inquiry inform one’s beliefs. Not necessarily to abandon them, but to temper them, to refine them, to acknowledge their uncertainties. That openness doesn’t weaken belief — it tends to deepen it, if the journey is honest.

The phrase “God-shaped vacuum” has echoes in Christian spiritual literature (e.g., Blaise Pascal’s “God shaped-vacuum” or “God-shaped void”), suggesting a yearning or a place in the human heart that seeks its fulfillment. Rowling’s admission — that she senses such a vacuum inside but doesn’t know what would fill it for her — resonates with many people, religious or not.

So what might it look like to respond to that question? How to answer someone who senses this void, who is willing to be persuaded by “clear, concrete evidence,” and yet remains unconvinced?

Here are some reflections, drawn from Christian tradition and pastoral insight, that might help her — or anyone in her shoes — grapple with that vacuum:

It is often the lived lives of others that make faith more tangible. Hearing people speak honestly of doubt, of transformation, of encounters they could not rationalize but which became real for them: those stories can illuminate what abstract arguments do not. Rowling, who is a master of narrative, may find this particularly compelling.

The Church has long wrestled with questions like existence of God, meaning, suffering, ethics. Thinkers from Augustine and Aquinas to modern apologists have built arguments from first causes, from morality, from the existence of consciousness or beauty, from human reason. These don't always feel decisive — some remain more compelling than others — but they offer frameworks in which a seeking person can situate their questions.

Sometimes faith is not won by logic alone, but by experience: moments of awe, of beauty, love, community, suffering, joy that feel as though they come from beyond ourselves. Practices like prayer, retreats, pilgrimage, sacramental life (for Christians), service to others, even just visiting a beautiful church — these can open up space in the soul for what is unseen, even if they don’t offer forensic proof.

It’s okay to live with unanswered questions. Many saints and thinkers did. In fact, believing without seeing is itself an act of faith (as Rowling recognizes). Not rushing is part of maturity: not closing the door to possibility, not locking the mind so firmly that no evidence could ever shift it.

For many believers, the tradition of faith, the community of worship, shared rituals provide a scaffolding for faith. They don’t always answer all questions, but they offer a stable ground in which one can explore, fail, doubt, reaffirm. They offer accountability, shared wisdom, history.

Rowling’s post to millions of people is a reminder to all of us: that belief isn’t static. It is formed, deformed, re-formed. It is tested, stretched, refined. And that maybe strength doesn’t always lie in knowing all the answers, but in having the courage to live with some uncertainty while continuing to seek truth.

It also reminds us not to judge others (or ourselves) by whether they seem to have it all figured out. Some have firm faith; others are in between. Some are locked in certainty; others are still discerning. But all of us are on a journey — if we are willing.

J.K. Rowling has stepped into a kind of vulnerability many fear — exposing that inner vacuum, naming it, admitting that she’s not certain. That takes humility, bravery, perhaps suffering. It costs something: risk of criticism, risk of disappointment. And yet, there is something beautiful in it.

For those who believe, it is an occasion to meet others where they are; to share what they cherish—not to force, but to invite. For those still asking, it is a sign that doubt need not be shameful, that questioning is part of the journey. Perhaps this “God-shaped vacuum” is less a problem to be solved instantly than a longing to be attended to.

Of course, we could also recommend to the author -- or anyone questioning their faith -- that she could read Aleteia on a regular basis to help her learn more about the wonders of Catholicism!