Merlin Sheldrake: “What we’re blind to, we tend to take for granted – we ignore it, or we destroy it”

Can you tell me how your fascination with mycorrhizal fungi began?

“I started thinking about fungi as a child, in a fairly informal way – just a general curiosity while exploring outdoors. But my real interest in mycorrhizal fungi began at university, when I was studying plant sciences. Some lecturers would mention them in passing, but always as a kind of side act to plants. That struck me as odd. The more I looked into them, the more I realised how central they are to plant life. And I thought: if they’re this important, why haven’t I heard more about them? That question stayed with me – and it ended up shaping the direction of my research. From there, my fascination just kept growing.

One of the things that interested me most was how the relationship between fungi and plants opens up entirely new biological possibilities. Together, they can achieve things neither could manage alone. They come from entirely different kingdoms of life, yet they’ve evolved ways to collaborate, and their relationships have persisted over hundreds of millions of years. This deep, evolutionary relationship underlies much of life on Earth – including our own.”

What makes these fungi so vital to life?

“Around four or five hundred million years ago, the algal ancestors of plants began moving onto land from freshwater habitats – and they did so with the help of fungal allies. These fungi could navigate the soil and gather nutrients, which they shared with their algal partners in exchange for carbon-rich sugars and fats produced through photosynthesis. That partnership made the evolution of land plants possible in the first place. 

All land plants today descend from those early associations, so in a very real sense, fungi made plant life possible – but that’s just the beginning. Over time, plants reshaped the planet, creating the biosphere we live in today. And fungi have been there throughout. Of course, fungi can cause many problems for plants in the form of diseases. But they also feed plants, boost their resilience by protecting them from pests and pathogens, and help them survive droughts. These fungi are ecosystem engineers: creating soil, binding it together, and helping regulate the Earth’s atmosphere by drawing carbon underground. They’re central players in the global ecology.”

And yet, we’ve overlooked them for so long…

“Yes, fungi are still comparatively  understudied. They’re a kingdom of life, but haven’t received a kingdom’s share of attention. Part of that is historical – it wasn’t until the late 1960s that fungi were even recognised as their own kingdom. Before then, they were seen as lower plants, so anyone studying fungi would be sidelined in the less glamorous corners of botany departments. That meant less funding, fewer students, fewer professors – and a disciplinary bias that still persists. The other challenge is practical: fungi are just difficult to study. Even with the right grants, labs and personnel, they’re hard to access. Most of them live hidden below the surface, out of sight and out of reach – and that invisibility deepens our ignorance.”

What is the consequence of this ignorance?

“What we’re blind to, we tend to take for granted – we ignore it, or we destroy it. There’s a kind of fungal blindness, a mycorrhizal blindness, and it’s led to all sorts of oversights. Take conservation: we set aside land to protect ecosystems, but rarely think about what’s happening below ground. In agriculture and industry, we design technologies without considering soil life – often disrupting or even destroying underground ecosystems without realising it. Yet these fungi are vital to global ecology. They’re one of the most powerful tools we have to tackle the climate and biodiversity crises – but too few people are pulling that lever. They’re like a library of ways to rise to the challenge of living, with so much to teach us about navigating the interconnected crises we now face.”

For starters, fungi play a crucial role in carbon capture.

“Exactly – they move around 13 billion tonnes of CO₂ into the soil every year. But how does that actually work? In their symbiotic relationship, fungi help plants absorb key nutrients from the soil – like phosphorus and nitrogen. In return, plants provide them with carbon-rich compounds, such as sugars and fats produced through photosynthesis. That’s the fungi’s fuel – they use it to power themselves, just as we use food for energy. 

These fungi live in and around plant roots, sending out thread-like networks – known as mycelium – deep into the soil. As plants share carbon with their fungal partners, it flows into these networks, helping to build fungal structures. Some of that carbon leaks into the surrounding soil, feeding other organisms; some remains locked within the fungi themselves, which form sticky, living threads that bind soil particles together. Through this ongoing exchange, carbon moves into the soil – and crucially, held there. Fungal networks stabilise the soil and produce glue-like compounds that are hard to break down, helping to keep the carbon stable over longer time periods.”

What about biodiversity?

“Mycorrhizal fungi sit at the base of the food webs that sustain much of life on Earth. Without them, the ecosystems we depend on wouldn’t exist. In the soil, they act as living infrastructure – weaving networks that countless organisms rely on. These networks form highways for bacteria, and help create the conditions that support a rich microbial world, from nematodes and springtails to earthworms. Above ground, they nourish trees, grasses and crops, which in turn feed insects, birds and mammals. They even help regulate the mix of gases in the atmosphere. All of this has cascading effects on the stability of ecosystems – and on the biodiversity rooted in these hidden alliances.”

Yet, there’s a major mismatch between the areas we protect and the places where these critical fungal functions actually occur: 90 percent of mycorrhizal fungi hotspots are currently not protected… It’s a clear example of what happens when we overlook life underground. If we’re not paying attention to these organisms, it’s no surprise they’re missing from conservation strategies. But it’s a sobering reality – one that should galvanise action to better include underground ecosystems. Because if we don’t change how we treat our soils, 90 percent of them will be degraded by 2050.”

How can we turn the tide?

“One way to start paying attention to mycorrhizal fungal communities is by creating global maps – showing who’s living where and what they’re doing in different environments. This is part of the work of SPUN (Society for the Protection of Underground Networks), that I have been privileged to be a part of. We have maps of ocean currents, vegetation, climate and geology – tools that help us understand the planet as an interconnected system and guide our efforts to protect it. Mapping fungal communities is a crucial next step: it makes visible the hidden lives beneath our feet. But simply describing them isn’t enough. The idea is that these maps can support the conservation, protection and restoration of underground ecosystems – to help us work with fungal networks in land repair and ecosystem regeneration, and enable us to understand how these strategies should differ from place to place.” 

Can we talk about some of these threats to mycorrhizal fungi?

“There are many threats. Building cities, urbanisation, concreting over soil – all of that is obviously bad news for living soil communities. Deforestation is another major issue, since many fungi live in partnership with forest trees – remove the trees, and their fungal allies vanish too. Desertification is another threat: as soils erode and topsoil is lost, there’s simply less space for fungi to live. 

Then there’s pollution. Fungicides kill fungi outright, but inorganic fertilisers, herbicides and pesticides also disrupt the delicate relationships fungi form with plants. The exchange between them relies on mutual need – a plant won’t trade carbon for phosphorus if the soil is already flooded with it. Overloading the soil with synthetic nutrients can break that balance, leading to a disruption of the symbiosis. 

Ploughing is another major factor. The soil is a fantastically complex ecosystem, and tillage disrupts its structure. Everything living in that soil has to reset – to re-establish itself and find stability. For fungi, this means regrowing networks that had previously been in place. Compaction from heavy machinery makes things worse, squeezing out oxygen and water from the pores fungi and other organisms need to live. And even the crops we choose to plant play a role: many modern varieties have been bred to respond to chemical inputs, not to form high-functioning fungal partnerships. In some cases, we’ve created crops that are very poor symbionts – they’re not very good at engaging, even when fungi are present.”

What would an agricultural system with fungi at its foundation look like?

“It would look a lot like the practices often associated with regenerative agriculture: minimal soil disturbance, keeping the ground covered with cover crops, and avoiding leaving soil bare. It would mean reducing – and in the long term eliminating – the use of inorganic fertilisers, and relying more on organic inputs, applied only when plants actually need them, rather than following the ‘spray and pray’ approach, as it’s sometimes called. You’d also prioritise crop diversity: planting a broader mix of species, including varieties specifically bred with symbiosis in mind, rather than those bred without it. There’s a lot more to say, but broadly speaking, it’s about shifting from an extractive mindset – in which we take from the soil without giving much back – to one that is regenerative and restorative.”

In this case, maybe we should be more like fungi: symbiotic, interconnected, decentralised…

“Ha, maybe up to a point. But we’re talking about an entire kingdom of life here – and it’s easy to forget just how many different ways there are to be a fungus. I’m not sure we’d want to model our systems on the zombie fungi that take over insects. Fungi are opportunistic: they live where they can, how they can. And many cause problems for us, traits we probably wouldn’t want to replicate. But yes, at that broader level – decentralisation, symbiotic collaboration, interconnection – there are certainly lessons to be learned.”

They are full of potential too. 

“Fungi are chemical wizards. They produce all sorts of compounds we’ve found incredibly useful – from antibiotics to immunosuppressants that make organ transplants possible. That role is well established, and it’s still evolving. But their potential goes far beyond medicine. Any time you grow a plant – in forestry, farming or gardening – you’re also cultivating fungi. So working with them in these systems is essential, and it opens up all kinds of possibilities.

Then there’s their ability to break things down. We already use that at both local and industrial scales – fermentation, for instance, is a very old science and ancient art. A variation of that is using fungi to break down pollutants, by inviting them to compost the things we treat as waste or environmental threats. That field shows real promise – including efforts to degrade plastics. And then there’s food. Fungi can be eaten, as mushrooms or in their mycelial form, and there’s growing interest in fungal foods as sustainable, nutritious options. They offer a way to feed people that’s both light on the planet and rich in nutrients.”

How do you see the trend of companies using fungi to create things like biodegradable packaging – or even living coffins made from mycelium?

“I think it’s great. When you grow these mycelium materials, you’re diverting agricultural waste – things like crushed corn stalks – and turning what would otherwise be a liability into something useful. These materials can be broken down, composted, and don’t create the kind of persistent pollution we see with conventional alternatives. Of course, producing them still requires infrastructure – facilities, electricity and so on – so they’re not footprint-free. But the footprint is much smaller than that of traditional materials. My brother and I run a fermented hot sauce company, and we use mycelium packaging for our bottles, it’s fantastic.

That said, we do need to be mindful of how we bring fungi into our economies. Often, it means growing large quantities of a single fungal strain, which can lead to monocultures – much like in modern agriculture. But that’s not inevitable. There are ways to avoid it. Overall, I think the benefits of these technologies far outweigh the risks.”

What are you currently focusing on in your research?

“Right now, I’m particularly fascinated by how fungi process information – how they solve problems without a brain, or any central control. Their networks are constantly shifting, reshaping themselves in response to the world around them. Despite having no fixed form or command centre, they manage to find remarkably effective solutions. So I’ve been exploring how they integrate signals, respond to changes, and make decisions – all through a decentralised, dynamic system.

I’ve been part of a project led by Toby Kiers and Tom Shimizu, which recently resulted in a paper in Nature – it even made the cover – sharing the first results from a new research platform we’ve developed. It uses an imaging robot and advanced analysis techniques to observe mycorrhizal fungi in much greater detail. We’re deep into that work now, and so are others – but there’s still an enormous amount we don’t understand. Discoveries made in petri dishes rarely translate neatly to what’s happening in the soil, which is a far more complex environment. There are many layers to fungal behaviour that we simply can’t replicate under lab conditions. That’s part of what makes fungi so thrilling to study: you’re always just half a step away from a discovery that can shift how we see life itself. I find that energising.”

You’re also involved with the More Than Human Life Project. Why is it so important that we begin to see the natural world as ‘more than human’?

“In dominant modern cultures, we’ve developed a kind of species narcissism: we’ve become blind to the many different ways there are to be alive. Of course, we share the planet with countless other beings – many of which have been around far longer than us. But when our stories centre on autonomy, individualism and human exceptionalism, we end up ignoring those lives, and in doing so, we risk undermining our own.

Part of the work, then, is to loosen the grip of that narcissism – to start noticing the lives unfolding all around us, and to see them on their own terms, not just through the lens of human utility. That’s why I find the term ‘more than human’ so helpful: it gestures beyond narrow, human-centric narratives and opens space for a richer, wilder sense of connection. It’s not just a concept – it’s a posture, an attitude, that invites deeper engagement with the living world.

A core aim of the More Than Human Life Project (MOTH) is to explore how our legal systems might evolve to include more-than-human life. Today’s frameworks are overwhelmingly anthropocentric – and often only serve certain types of human lives in specific contexts. They’re ill-equipped to address the messy, entangled challenges of our time. So MOTH brings together a diverse group – judges, scientists, Indigenous leaders, lawyers, poets, artists and musicians – to imagine how law might be re-rooted in ecological reality.”

What are the most profound lessons fungi have taught you?

“I’m much more aware now of the flows, fluxes and relationships that make my life possible – and more attuned to the idea of life as a process unfolding over time. Take the body, for instance: today, it’s made of entirely different matter than it was a few years ago. I’m a field of stability through which matter passes. It’s easy to say that, but it’s a powerful realisation – one that can shift how we think, feel and imagine. I’ve definitely felt that shift.

Another lesson fungi have taught me is that there are countless ways to be alive – so many strategies for solving problems, for rising to the challenge of living. That’s astonishing. There are many ways to be a fungus, just as there are many ways to be human. And despite the best efforts of the powerful to convince us that the systems we live in are fixed, natural or inevitable, fungi remind us there are always alternatives – different ways of living, of organising. Tapping into that vast reservoir of possibility – that deep creativity at the heart of life – can help us reimagine and rebuild systems that have become destructive, not only to the rest of the living world, but to human lives as well. I think that’s crucial, especially now, in a time of crisis and transformation.”

Lastly, when you walk through a forest, what do you see that others might miss?

“I feel like I’m walking on the surface of an ocean of land – always conscious of the depths beneath me. I often think of plants as the visible outgrowths of mycorrhizal fungal associations. What we see above ground is really just the surface expression of what’s happening below. And that shift in perspective changes everything. It draws me into a much larger forest – one I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise.”

Original publication date: 22nd of July 2025. Latest update: 15th of September 2025.