THE ATHEIST WHO PRAYED TO GOD
In 1988, a young college teacher had a spontaneous mystical experience that transformed his perception of the world and his career. “I was sitting in my office, which has a marvelous view of the campus gardens,” said Kevin, “when I suddenly felt as though a blanket of intense silence had fallen over the scene. Then I had the sense that I was intimately connected to everything—the sky, the trees, the grass, even the garden walls. It was as if everything in the universe was in its proper place. Immediately, I was filled with a sense of peacefulness that I had never known before. I even remember saying to myself, ‘So this is what those Eastern mystics were talking about.’ The experience stayed with me for weeks.”
Kevin told me that the experience never happened again. Still, he felt that it changed his life in significant ways. “Prior to the experience, I only had a passing interest in religion, but since that time, I’ve been fascinated by the mystical traditions of the world. And even though more than twenty years have passed since that initial experience, it feels like yesterday when I think about it.”
The research literature suggests that most people, when they have such experiences, become more spiritual, but this did not happen to Kevin. Instead, he went from being an agnostic to a devout atheist. “All I can tell you is that in that moment, I felt absolutely certain that when I died, that would be the end of it. Nothing. No afterlife, no spiritual dimension, no God. And the feeling left me elated. Later, I rationalized that if I were to accomplish anything significant, I only had this one life to do it in. I couldn’t sit back and passively wait for ‘it’ to happen. If my life was going to change, if I was to become happy, then I’d have to take complete responsibility for bringing it into being. No god was going to intervene.”
The experience catapulted Kevin into a decade of research into the nature of religious experiences. He also began to explore a variety of Eastern and Western meditation techniques, many of which led to other peak experiences and insights, but none of them ever gave him the sense that a spiritual realm existed. “I wish I believed in God—I really do—but my experience doesn’t support it. So I tend to see God as a psychological function of the mind, though I must admit that I am rather envious of those who do believe. I think it makes life easier to have that kind of faith.” . . . .
Kevin had responded to an invitation I had circulated to several atheist organizations to participate in our research studies. Kevin interested me for three reasons: he was an atheist, he meditated regularly, and he often had experiences that were similar to those described by those who have maintained long-term spiritual practices. He’s exactly the sort of person I wanted to interview and scan. But why would I study atheists? After all, atheism is not a religion; it is a thought system that reflects a disbelief in theological and God-oriented premises. For me, atheism raises the question of whether there are neurological differences between those who believe in God and those who do not. After all, a strong disbelief can influence a person’s thinking and behavior as much as a strong belief, and there should be a way of exploring how such differences affect the brain. Since evidence suggests that religious affiliation modestly improves health, studies on atheism might raise the question of whether or not an inherent disbelief in God carries with it any physiological or psychological risks. These are some of the questions that I hoped could be explored in our lab. . . .
Kevin told me that the experience never happened again. Still, he felt that it changed his life in significant ways. “Prior to the experience, I only had a passing interest in religion, but since that time, I’ve been fascinated by the mystical traditions of the world. And even though more than twenty years have passed since that initial experience, it feels like yesterday when I think about it.”
The research literature suggests that most people, when they have such experiences, become more spiritual, but this did not happen to Kevin. Instead, he went from being an agnostic to a devout atheist. “All I can tell you is that in that moment, I felt absolutely certain that when I died, that would be the end of it. Nothing. No afterlife, no spiritual dimension, no God. And the feeling left me elated. Later, I rationalized that if I were to accomplish anything significant, I only had this one life to do it in. I couldn’t sit back and passively wait for ‘it’ to happen. If my life was going to change, if I was to become happy, then I’d have to take complete responsibility for bringing it into being. No god was going to intervene.”
The experience catapulted Kevin into a decade of research into the nature of religious experiences. He also began to explore a variety of Eastern and Western meditation techniques, many of which led to other peak experiences and insights, but none of them ever gave him the sense that a spiritual realm existed. “I wish I believed in God—I really do—but my experience doesn’t support it. So I tend to see God as a psychological function of the mind, though I must admit that I am rather envious of those who do believe. I think it makes life easier to have that kind of faith.” . . . .
Kevin had responded to an invitation I had circulated to several atheist organizations to participate in our research studies. Kevin interested me for three reasons: he was an atheist, he meditated regularly, and he often had experiences that were similar to those described by those who have maintained long-term spiritual practices. He’s exactly the sort of person I wanted to interview and scan. But why would I study atheists? After all, atheism is not a religion; it is a thought system that reflects a disbelief in theological and God-oriented premises. For me, atheism raises the question of whether there are neurological differences between those who believe in God and those who do not. After all, a strong disbelief can influence a person’s thinking and behavior as much as a strong belief, and there should be a way of exploring how such differences affect the brain. Since evidence suggests that religious affiliation modestly improves health, studies on atheism might raise the question of whether or not an inherent disbelief in God carries with it any physiological or psychological risks. These are some of the questions that I hoped could be explored in our lab. . . .
CAN FANTASIES HEAL?
Kevin does not believe in God, so I was quite bewildered when he told me that one of his favorite healing meditations involved an image of God. “I like to visualize the image that Michelangelo painted on the Sistine Chapel ceiling, of a compassionate wise old man with a flowing white beard. I imagine that I am being filled with a healing white light that enters my body from above.” Kevin informed me that he originally learned about this technique from Carl Simonton’s research with cancer patients. Similar guided imagery techniques are used in various psychotherapies and spiritual healing groups, with substantial evidence demonstrating that guided imagery has psychological and physiological benefits, especially when used to treat pain, anxiety, and depression.
For Kevin, God was merely a fantasy, but this presented a unique opportunity to see how Kevin’s brain might process such an image. We know that if you imagine yourself eating a fudge brownie, you can taste it, because there are parts of your brain that do not distinguish between imagination and reality. But since Kevin doesn’t believe in the reality of God, different circuits should be activated. As I have pointed out in previous chapters, the repetitive focus upon a specific image or concept tends to make it seem more real, but this does not seem to be the case with Kevin. “No matter how long I meditate, I never get the sense that God is real.” The question naturally arises: could some people be born with a biological inclination towards spirituality, and others not? Recent genetic research points to this possibility. . . .
For Kevin, God was merely a fantasy, but this presented a unique opportunity to see how Kevin’s brain might process such an image. We know that if you imagine yourself eating a fudge brownie, you can taste it, because there are parts of your brain that do not distinguish between imagination and reality. But since Kevin doesn’t believe in the reality of God, different circuits should be activated. As I have pointed out in previous chapters, the repetitive focus upon a specific image or concept tends to make it seem more real, but this does not seem to be the case with Kevin. “No matter how long I meditate, I never get the sense that God is real.” The question naturally arises: could some people be born with a biological inclination towards spirituality, and others not? Recent genetic research points to this possibility. . . .
ARE ATHEISTS LACKING A SPIRITUAL GENE?
Accumulating evidence suggests that genetic factors may account for a substantial percentage of the individual differences in religious attitudes, interests and values. In his book, The God Gene, Dean Hamer, the director of the Gene Structure and Regulation Unit at the National Cancer Institute, argues that spirituality is an instinct and that spiritually inclined people—specifically, those who claim to have self-transcendent experiences—are more likely to share the gene, VMAT2, that codes for a specific receptor in the brain. Others have suggested that a spiritual or self-transcendent proclivity would probably involve multiple genes, including genes related to the dopamine and serotonin neurotransmitter systems in the brain. However, even if there is a genetic correlation with spiritual and transcendent proclivities, single genetic factors may only have a relatively small effect on a person’s behavior, considering that our biology is governed by the simultaneous interaction of tens of thousands of genes. It is a huge speculative jump to say that a specific gene is responsible for a specific behavioral tendency or belief.
Although various studies support some relationship between genes and religious ideation, one’s religious affiliation—along with the specific beliefs a person chooses to embrace—is largely culturally and socially transmitted. This means that genes do not turn a person into a Muslim or Hindu or Catholic, for these are matters relating to child rearing, social norms, and an individual’s freedom to choose. On the other hand, more general aspects of belief, such as religious fundamentalism, have been correlated with genetic factors. Again, this does not mean that innate behaviors and attitudes cannot be changed, for many studies have shown that genetic tendencies can be overridden easily by cultural, environmental, and social factors such as education. For example, geneticists have found that a religious upbringing seems to inhibit—especially in boys and men—genetic tendencies that allow some individuals to express impulsive behavior and emotions that could potentially lead to destructive acts.
One further possibility that I have argued is that the universal aspects of religion and spirituality such as love, compassion, and feeling connected to something greater than the self, are a part of every human being. But as with any human trait, we each have varying predispositions and abilities. The result is that some people can feel highly spiritual while others do not. .
Although various studies support some relationship between genes and religious ideation, one’s religious affiliation—along with the specific beliefs a person chooses to embrace—is largely culturally and socially transmitted. This means that genes do not turn a person into a Muslim or Hindu or Catholic, for these are matters relating to child rearing, social norms, and an individual’s freedom to choose. On the other hand, more general aspects of belief, such as religious fundamentalism, have been correlated with genetic factors. Again, this does not mean that innate behaviors and attitudes cannot be changed, for many studies have shown that genetic tendencies can be overridden easily by cultural, environmental, and social factors such as education. For example, geneticists have found that a religious upbringing seems to inhibit—especially in boys and men—genetic tendencies that allow some individuals to express impulsive behavior and emotions that could potentially lead to destructive acts.
One further possibility that I have argued is that the universal aspects of religion and spirituality such as love, compassion, and feeling connected to something greater than the self, are a part of every human being. But as with any human trait, we each have varying predispositions and abilities. The result is that some people can feel highly spiritual while others do not. .
THE ATHEIST BRAIN AT WORK
After Kevin completed a series of interviews and questionnaires, we took him into a hospital examination room, where he rested quietly ten minutes. We then injected him with a radioactive tracer. Ten minutes later, we took him for his baseline scan. This takes about forty-five minutes, during which time Kevin fell asleep. This is not unusual, but Kevin had had a difficult time sleeping the night before. “Too much excitement,” he explained.
When the baseline scan was complete, I compared it to those we had taken of the nuns and Buddhist practitioners. I knew that any conclusions I might draw would have to be considered cautiously, since Kevin was the first and perhaps only atheist subject we’d be analyzing. After all, how many atheists do you know of who meditate to an image of God? However, the argument has also been made that the data from individual case studies are as important as the information gathered from group studies, for they can highlight qualities that are unique within an individual’s brain. Large studies tend to generalize data by excluding the anomalies and extremes that may have significant relevance when studying the nature of the human mind. For example, if you were conducting a full-scale study on intelligence and creativity, you’d normally exclude statistical extremes. In essence, you’d be eliminating the Einsteins and Mozarts, since qualities of genius would be unusual compared to the norm. By studying exceptional individuals at both ends of the spectrum, we can begin to map a fuller range of human potential.
In several significant ways, Kevin’s baseline scan turned out to be different from our other participants’ scans, for he had higher activity in the prefrontal cortex than both the Buddhist meditators and the nuns. Frontal lobe activity plays an important role in mediating attention and controlling emotional feelings, and Kevin’s brain seemed to be functioning in a highly analytical way, even when he was in a resting state.
If we make the assumption that atheism is a learned attitude that goes against the general beliefs of society (which would certainly be the case for Kevin), then I would argue that it takes a lot of cognitive work to embrace an atheistic point of view. Furthermore, I suspect that a significant increase in frontal lobe activity would slow down neural activity in those parts of the brain that have the biological propensity to perceive alternative dimensions of reality. Kevin’s personal experience confirms this possibility for he told me that although his mind was relatively quiet as we did the baseline scan, he was still filled with thoughts about the experiment. “My mind is going all the time, thinking and imagining all kinds of things. My main reason I meditate is to turn the damn thing off.” . . . .
Kevin also knew how controversial this experiment would be, and like most people, he was somewhat concerned about having his beliefs made available to others. Even though he knew we would take all steps to insure his anonymity, going against the social norm, as I explained in Chapter 6, stimulates a neurological impulse to hide opposing views.
The nuns also had expressed excitement in participating in a study about prayer, yet they did not show the degree of activity seen in Kevin’s scan. First of all, prayer is a widely accepted behavior, especially for a nun, so there would be no social dissonance to confront. Furthermore, the activity they were going to engage in complemented their system of beliefs, which is maintained by the frontal lobes. For an atheist, focusing on an image that contradicts one’s beliefs could evoke two types of neural responses: one being an increase of negative emotional activity in the limbic system, which would potentially slow down frontal lobe activity; the other being an increase in frontal lobe activity that would maintain a framework of disbelief. This is what we may be seeing in Kevin’s highly active frontal lobes, for a predominance of frontal lobe activity can also suppress the wider range of positive emotional experiences that I believe are essential to embrace spiritual perceptions such as God.
When compared to the nuns and Buddhists, Kevin also had lower activity in the hippocampus and right caudate, which are both associated with emotional responses. This might suggest that people who do not believe in God may exhibit decreased emotional range, at least when encountering religious stimuli. Kevin said, however, that he is often filled with a sense of peace and awe when entering churches and other sacred places. At first, his statement seemed contradictory, but then I discovered that Kevin spends a great deal of time visiting art galleries, museums, and historical buildings whenever he travels.
This suggests that Kevin’s emotional reaction is based on nonreligious cues, such as the architectural beauty of the building or the aesthetic quality of a piece of religious art. It isn’t the religion that turns him on, it’s the aesthetics.
When the baseline scan was complete, I compared it to those we had taken of the nuns and Buddhist practitioners. I knew that any conclusions I might draw would have to be considered cautiously, since Kevin was the first and perhaps only atheist subject we’d be analyzing. After all, how many atheists do you know of who meditate to an image of God? However, the argument has also been made that the data from individual case studies are as important as the information gathered from group studies, for they can highlight qualities that are unique within an individual’s brain. Large studies tend to generalize data by excluding the anomalies and extremes that may have significant relevance when studying the nature of the human mind. For example, if you were conducting a full-scale study on intelligence and creativity, you’d normally exclude statistical extremes. In essence, you’d be eliminating the Einsteins and Mozarts, since qualities of genius would be unusual compared to the norm. By studying exceptional individuals at both ends of the spectrum, we can begin to map a fuller range of human potential.
In several significant ways, Kevin’s baseline scan turned out to be different from our other participants’ scans, for he had higher activity in the prefrontal cortex than both the Buddhist meditators and the nuns. Frontal lobe activity plays an important role in mediating attention and controlling emotional feelings, and Kevin’s brain seemed to be functioning in a highly analytical way, even when he was in a resting state.
If we make the assumption that atheism is a learned attitude that goes against the general beliefs of society (which would certainly be the case for Kevin), then I would argue that it takes a lot of cognitive work to embrace an atheistic point of view. Furthermore, I suspect that a significant increase in frontal lobe activity would slow down neural activity in those parts of the brain that have the biological propensity to perceive alternative dimensions of reality. Kevin’s personal experience confirms this possibility for he told me that although his mind was relatively quiet as we did the baseline scan, he was still filled with thoughts about the experiment. “My mind is going all the time, thinking and imagining all kinds of things. My main reason I meditate is to turn the damn thing off.” . . . .
Kevin also knew how controversial this experiment would be, and like most people, he was somewhat concerned about having his beliefs made available to others. Even though he knew we would take all steps to insure his anonymity, going against the social norm, as I explained in Chapter 6, stimulates a neurological impulse to hide opposing views.
The nuns also had expressed excitement in participating in a study about prayer, yet they did not show the degree of activity seen in Kevin’s scan. First of all, prayer is a widely accepted behavior, especially for a nun, so there would be no social dissonance to confront. Furthermore, the activity they were going to engage in complemented their system of beliefs, which is maintained by the frontal lobes. For an atheist, focusing on an image that contradicts one’s beliefs could evoke two types of neural responses: one being an increase of negative emotional activity in the limbic system, which would potentially slow down frontal lobe activity; the other being an increase in frontal lobe activity that would maintain a framework of disbelief. This is what we may be seeing in Kevin’s highly active frontal lobes, for a predominance of frontal lobe activity can also suppress the wider range of positive emotional experiences that I believe are essential to embrace spiritual perceptions such as God.
When compared to the nuns and Buddhists, Kevin also had lower activity in the hippocampus and right caudate, which are both associated with emotional responses. This might suggest that people who do not believe in God may exhibit decreased emotional range, at least when encountering religious stimuli. Kevin said, however, that he is often filled with a sense of peace and awe when entering churches and other sacred places. At first, his statement seemed contradictory, but then I discovered that Kevin spends a great deal of time visiting art galleries, museums, and historical buildings whenever he travels.
This suggests that Kevin’s emotional reaction is based on nonreligious cues, such as the architectural beauty of the building or the aesthetic quality of a piece of religious art. It isn’t the religion that turns him on, it’s the aesthetics.
UNUSUAL THALAMIC ASYMMETRY
Kevin also had substantial asymmetry in his thalamus in his baseline scan (the left side being more active than the right), which was very similar to the asymmetry we found in the nuns, Buddhist practitioners, and Pentecostal practitioners. We typically do not see this in the “normal” population. Since the thalamus is a key relay of neuronal information in the brain, I have hypothesized that the asymmetry might be associated with long-term meditation processes. Since Kevin has been meditating for nearly thirty years, his resting scan supports this hypothesis. However, it is also possible that Kevin was born this way. If this were the case, then it might explain why Kevin is “driven” to explore religious themes and spiritual practices, even though his other cognitive processes reject a spiritual cause. Long-term longitudinal studies would be needed to assess the validity of either perspective, which means that we are decades away from making more definitive statements about the biology of spiritual experiences and beliefs.
My findings also suggest that thalamic asymmetry may be associated with a predisposition to have powerful experiences while meditating, and as our experiment progressed, I discovered that Kevin could indeed evoke altered states of consciousness that had a powerful effect upon his brain. For the religious person, this helps to validate the reality of a spiritual realm, and to keep that sense alive throughout the day. Thus, for the believer, this ongoing thalamic activity provides a more realistic sense of his or her faith. For an atheist, a powerful transcendent experience might only reinforce his belief that altered states of consciousness can be generated within the mind. . . .
My findings also suggest that thalamic asymmetry may be associated with a predisposition to have powerful experiences while meditating, and as our experiment progressed, I discovered that Kevin could indeed evoke altered states of consciousness that had a powerful effect upon his brain. For the religious person, this helps to validate the reality of a spiritual realm, and to keep that sense alive throughout the day. Thus, for the believer, this ongoing thalamic activity provides a more realistic sense of his or her faith. For an atheist, a powerful transcendent experience might only reinforce his belief that altered states of consciousness can be generated within the mind. . . .
Newberg's and Waldman's research into the neuropsychology of Nuns, Buddhists, Pentecostals, and atheists provides the first model for explaining why certain beliefs - be they political, romantic, religious, or emotional - take on a semblance of reality that is so strong that the brain has no choice but to perceive those beliefs as real. If you meditate or obsess on anger, then the world becomes a hostile environment. But if you intensely focus on compassion, kindness, and trust, then the world becomes a gift, and your ability to cope with the stresses of life increase dramatically and become a physiological part of your brain. What you believe not only affects your health, it also changes your perception of the world.
