I’ve been toying with the idea of process. One manifestation of this concept is explored in Rupert Sheldrake’s morphic resonance: a theory that facilitates an evolutionary connection across time between organized patterns of activity based on similarity.
The idea begins as so many do, with a thread that stretches back to Plato’s forms. Eternal archetypes hovering in some ideal space, casting projections as shadows of themselves to form the elements of our messy world.
The forms serve a what can be likened to a frequency or station that we as individuals can tune into to help guide us toward form. Very much in line with Carl Jung’s concept of a collective unconscious, a field where patterns don’t just sit static but evolve, shaped by a history of habits resonating across time.
The concept is not limited to the psychological but expands throughout the mechanical and material world as well. A hydrogen atom snapping together the same way for 14 billion years not because it’s blindly following a script, but because it’s tuned into a frequency, a form that’s been humming since the Big Bang. Humans follow suit, mirroring their ancestors in body and disposition, not just through genes but through a kind of cosmic echo. It’s not about cranking out data like a hard drive or tallying a ledger; it’s about dialing into a signal that’s already out there. This framework rewires how we see the mind, memory, and phenotypic expression, and it ties into the missing heritability puzzle, Eric Kandel’s memory quest, quantum biology’s revelations, and the strange edges of parapsychology and UAP disclosures. Let’s unpack it slow and steady, with a bit more meat on the bones.
Morphic resonance, at its heart, is Sheldrake saying there’s a field a shared memory bank that doesn’t live in one place but ripples everywhere. He’s got this calm way of laying it out: your mind isn’t a factory spitting out original thoughts; it’s a receiver, catching waves from this field. Memory’s not a stack of Polaroids stuffed in your brain it’s a frequency you tap into, built from the habits of everything that’s come before. Even phenotypic expression your height, your freckles, the way you laugh– is not straight gene dump. It’s your body syncing with a signal, a form refined over generations, like Plato’s ideal human blueprint brought to life. The hydrogen atom’s a perfect analogy: it doesn’t reinvent bonding; it resonates with a pattern etched deep in cosmic history. We’re not isolated data machines; we’re part of a chorus, pulling down notes from a tune that’s been playing forever.
Start with the mind. We’re taught it’s this self-contained engine neurons firing, thoughts popping out like widgets on an assembly line. Sheldrake flips that. In his view, the mind’s more like an old radio, tweaking the dial to pick up stations. Those stations? They’re the morphic field, humming with the collective habits of human thought. When you solve a problem or daydream about dinner, you’re not generating it solo you’re tuning into a pattern, a frequency that’s been strengthened by every mind that’s wrestled with the same thing. It’s why ideas sometimes hit multiple people at once, like Newton and Leibniz stumbling onto calculus in sync. The field’s there, whispering forms, and we’re just the receivers.
Memory’s where it gets stickier. We’ve all got this image of the brain as a filing cabinet every birthday, every heartbreak tucked into a neuron somewhere. Eric Kandel, a titan in neuroscience, spent decades chasing that idea. His work with sea slugs showed how learning tweaks proteins and synapses, earning him a Nobel in 2000. His book In Search of Memory details how experiences leave traces in the nervous system. But here’s the hitch: for all his brilliance, Kandel never pinned down a physical spot where memory lives. No hard drive, no material vault just hints of processes, not storage. Sheldrake steps in with a shrug: maybe that’s because there’s nothing to find. If memory’s a frequency in the morphic field, your brain’s not holding it—it’s pulling it down. That moment you aced a test or forgot your keys? It’s a signal, resonating from the past, shaped by the habits of countless others. Kandel’s hunt stalls because he’s looking for a box when it’s really a broadcast.
Phenotypic expression’s another beast. Science has long leaned on DNA as the master code your genes dictate your eye color, your build, your odds of going bald. It’s a tidy story, but then you hit the missing heritability problem. Since the Human Genome Project wrapped in 2003, we’ve got the map, yet huge swaths of traits height, disease risk, even personality quirks don’t fully track with the genetic data. Studies like those from the Wellcome Trust in 2010 pegged heritability gaps for stuff like height at 80%, but only 10% showed up in the genes. Sheldrake’s got an angle: maybe it’s not all in the double helix. Morphic resonance suggests your body’s tuning into a field, a Platonic form of “human” that’s more than just your parents’ DNA. Like the hydrogen atom sticking to its 14-billion-year-old trick, you’re echoing ancestral patterns shape, disposition, the works. Identical twins can grow apart one’s a beanpole, the other’s stocky because they’re picking up slight shifts in the same ancient signal. Phenotype’s not a solo data set; it’s a remix of a frequency we’ve all been humming.
Quantum biology tosses in a wild card. For ages, we thought quantum weirdness entanglement, superposition was too fragile for the warm, wet mess of life. Then came the surprises: photosynthesis in plants uses quantum coherence to grab light, as shown in Greg Engel’s 2007 work at UC Berkeley. Birds navigate with quantum effects in their eyes, per Klaus Schulten’s research in 2000. If reality’s got this connected underbelly, Sheldrake’s field starts looking less like a hunch and more like a bridge. Roger Penrose, the physics legend, amps it up with his microtubule hypothesis, cooked up with Stuart Hameroff in the ’90s. They argue consciousness isn’t just neurons it’s quantum vibrations in tiny tubes inside cells. Those vibrations might link to the morphic field, bending time in ways we barely grasp. Precognition, foreknowledge it’s not a crystal ball; it’s your mind catching a future habit, a memory-to-be resonating back through the forms. Penrose’s 1989 book The Emperor’s New Mind hints at this, tying quantum states to something beyond the classical brain.
That’s where parapsychology slips in, shedding its old taboo. Sheldrake’s been poking at it for years experiments like his 2003 study on dogs sensing their owners’ return, clocking a 50% hit rate when chance said 25%. Ky Dickens’ Telepathy Tapes, a 2020s project, digs into real people claiming mind-to-mind links, with stats that nudge past coincidence. Dean Radin’s 2018 meta-analysis of telepathy trials pegs the odds against chance at billions to one. Penrose’s microtubules could be the hardware, letting you tune into someone or mankind’s collective hum. If forms guide habits across time, your mind might snag a signal from tomorrow, a resonance of what’s brewing. It’s not fringe anymore; it’s edging into the light, with journals like Frontiers in Psychology giving it a nod by 2025.
The UAP community has stirring the pot too, unearthing declassified gems. The CIA’s Stargate program, shuttered in 1995 but spilled in 2004 FOIA docs, had remote viewers like Joe McMoneagle mentally scouting Soviet bases, hitting 60-70% accuracy on targets verified later. Morphic resonance fits: if the field’s a web of habits, you could tune into a distant place or mind, physical and psychological threads woven together. The 2017 Pentagon UAP leaks, pushed by folks like Lue Elizondo, hint at more—psi ops, consciousness studies buried in black budgets. It’s not just lights in the sky; it’s humans tapping into ancient forms, amplified by a signal Sheldrake’s been tracking. The 2021 ODNI report on UAPs dodged psi, but the chatter’s there hundreds of pages on RV and psionics floating in FOIA limbo by March 2025.
So, morphic resonance, rooted in Platonic forms, reframes it all. The mind’s not a thought factory; it’s a receiver, pulling from a field of habits. Memory’s not a hard drive Kandel’s empty-handed because it’s a frequency, not a file. Phenotype’s not a gene ledger he heritability gap shrinks when you see traits as tuned-in echoes, like hydrogen’s eternal dance. Quantum biology and Penrose’s microtubules sketch the how; telepathy tapes and UAP files show it live. Sheldrake’s not proving it in a lab tomorrow he’s handing us a lens. That hunch before the phone rings, the way your body feels like your grandpa’s? It’s not random. It’s the old hydrogen trick resonating with what’s been and harmonizing a frequency for the future.