Archaeological finds, linguistic patterns and psychological studies all point to animism’s deep roots in human experience—so much so that it feels almost baked into the DNA of belief. Stone-age burial sites from Europe to Australia, dating back some 40,000 years, often include personal belongings or ochre sprinkled over the body, hinting at a conviction that the departed retained a spirit worth honoring. Cave paintings of animals with abstract symbols aren’t just art; they suggest a sense of kinship or even dialogue with non-human beings.

By the 19th century, Edward Tylor coined the term “animism” after surveying traditions across the globe—from the rain-making rites of West Africa to the guardian-spirit shrines of pre-Columbian America. More recent cross-cultural databases confirm that over 90 percent of the world’s societies have beliefs assigning spirits or intentional forces to elements of nature—rocks, rivers, mountains, the wind itself. Languages often reflect this: many indigenous tongues mark animate and inanimate nouns with distinct grammar, as if the very structure of speech carries an animistic bias.

Developmental psychologists have their own chapter in this story. Experiments show toddlers instinctively attribute life and purpose to moving shapes, a tendency far stronger than the later, more analytic mind. Paul Bloom’s work at Yale reveals that children, left to their own devices, default to an “agency-first” worldview—one where every object has intentions or feelings until told otherwise.

Today’s environmental movements—like the “Rights of Nature” laws in Ecuador and New Zealand’s recent granting of personhood to the Whanganui River—echo ancient animism in a modern key. Treating ecosystems as sentient community members has become a powerful tool for conservation and climate action. Clearly, the impulse to see nature as alive and imbued with spirit isn’t a quaint relic; it’s a near-universal lens through which humanity keeps looking at the world.