Fingerprints of God (39 page)

My story tells me that we are guided by moral laws, laws that are written in our hearts and genes. It tells me that some behaviors are better than others, some ways to live are more enduring and purposeful. I cannot prove a moral law but I do know instinctively that diving into a rushing river to save a drowning man is nobler than running off to find a rope. There is a hierarchy in morality that is universal—self-sacrifice is everywhere feted and murder is everywhere condemned—but the hierarchy is not derived from physics. It arises from an internal place, a “God-shaped vacuum in the heart of every man,” as Blaise Pascal had it, and while that may testify to a moral universe, it is the job of faith to explain the mystery in words that an ordinary person can comprehend. The God who loves math also loves stories, because in the story of faith, the created finds the heart of the Creator.

I end with the question that launched my journey:
Is there more than this?
Yes, I believe there is, and the new science of spirituality buttresses my instinct. Science is showing that you and I are crafted with astonishing precision so that we can, on occasion, peer into a spiritual world and know God. The language of our genes, the chemistry of our bodies, and the wiring of our brains—these are the handiwork of One who longs to be known. And rather than dispel the spiritual, science is cracking it open for all to see.

Of course, these are only my conclusions. But I am not alone in this. This impulse animated the mystics and gave voice to believers down the centuries.

For you formed my inward parts,
the Psalmist wrote.
You knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

We have all about us the fingerprints of God.

It takes a village, it turns out, to write a book. I am astonished at how many people generously offered their help and guidance.

I am indebted to my unsurpassed agent, Rafael Sagalyn, who took a risk on a first-time author with an offbeat topic. Rafe was there at every critical juncture: He stepped in when my book needed to be reshaped and (along with Shannon O’Neill) lent me his flawless editorial guidance. He soothed me when I was upset, and reveled even in small victories. Soup to nuts, Rafe made this book happen.

Jake Morrissey, my editor at Riverhead, believed in this book from the start. He spurred me to write my own story—territory far outside my comfort zone—and on occasion talked me off the ledge. Jake’s wit and cheerful intellect made the whole endeavor a pleasure. Thanks, too, to Sarah Bowlin, who graciously answered my tiniest questions.

I owe much to Jeff Goldberg, one of the most talented writers in my generation, and an impossibly nice guy. Jeff
offered
to read my manuscript and spared me from clichés and other embarrassments.

There are many people who contributed to the research, with little or no credit in these pages—but without their efforts, this would be a thin endeavor. My thanks to Kelli Cronin, a resourceful researcher who volunteered her services, and to Mary Glendinning at NPR, who is simply priceless. Rachel Guberman spent countless hours working with me for a pittance; without her, this book would have not been completed before 2020.

I interviewed many scientists, some of whom are featured in the book. Others, however, spent hours explaining the science to me, which was no small task. My huge thanks to Patrick McNamara at Boston University, who shared years of research with me; Dave Nichols at Purdue University, who explained the neurochemistry; Rick Doblin, who knows all about psychedelic research; geneticist and twins researcher Lindon Eaves at Virginia Commonwealth University; epileptologist Alan Ettinger at North Shore-Long Island Jewish Health System; neurologist Steven Schachter at Harvard University; psychologist Michael McCullough at the University of Miami; Grace Langdon, who walked me through the quantum physics; and Solomon Katz at the University of Pennsylvania and the Metanexus Institute, who is at the vanguard of research into spiritual experience.

Elsevier, the finest scientific publisher in the world, granted me free access to all of its journals for two years; I simply could not have completed the research without its generosity. Mary Ann Liebert Publishers allowed access to its journals as well.

I owe much to my friends at NPR, including Bill Marimow, former Vice President for News (and now editor of
The Philadelphia Inquirer
), who instantly granted me a leave of absence, and Ellen Weiss, current Vice President for News, who graciously held my job open during that year. My thanks as well to Steve Drummond and Cindy Johnston, my NPR editors, who looked the other way when I dragged myself into the office after early-morning bouts of writing.

Nothing can be done without friends and family, and in this, I am rich indeed. One person has inspired me for nearly thirty years. Fred Stocking, my Shakespeare professor at Williams College, told me to “consult my stomach” when I write. He urged me to consider not only whether the story I am telling is accurate, but also whether it rings true—to ensure it reflects not just facts but also my conscience. This has been my goal during my quarter-century of journalism, and in writing this book.

My “small group” has been a bedrock of support, bumping along with me through every valley and helping me negotiate every cliff: Nelda Ackerman, Michelle Brooks, Caroline Comport, Kelly Cowles, Cherie Harder, Jody Hassett Sanchez, Shawn Walters. I am fortunate to count you as my dearest friends.

As for my family, what can I say about Mom, who listened breathlessly to the accounts of my findings every single day? You inspired me and questioned me, and your genuine interest encouraged me to believe that perhaps a few people would read my book. My dad, Gene Bradley, and his wonderful wife, Nancy, never ceased to be excited about this project. To my sister-in-law, Katherine, who loved the idea from the start, read through the early, dismal drafts, and offered spot-on editorial guidance, thank you. To my brother, David, who has always seen more ability in me than I see in myself, you will always be my
kuya
. And thanks to the world’s greatest nephews, Spencer, Carter, and Adam, who listened to my exploits around the dinner table.

I am blessed with an extraordinary stepdaughter, the beautiful and brilliant Vivian Grace Hagerty, who gives me great joy and who made some sage comments on the manuscript—not bad for a then thirteen-year-old. Surely the person to whom I am most indebted is my husband, Devin, who told me to take risks, to write that proposal, to take that leave of absence, to blaze through the research and writing in little more than a year.You comforted me when I cried after that little peyote episode, laughed at my “God helmet” stories, and edited my manuscript line by line.What can I say? You are a rock star.

CHAPTER 2. THE GOD WHO BREAKS AND ENTERS

1
Sophy Burnham,
The Ecstatic Journey
(New York: Ballantine, 1997).

2
Here is Saint Paul’s description to the Corinthians: “I will go on to visions and revelations from the Lord. I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven. Whether it was in the body or out of the body I do not know—God knows. And I know that this man—whether in the body or apart from the body I do not know, but God knows—was caught up to paradise. He heard inexpressible things, things that man is not permitted to tell” (2 Corinthians 12:1-4).

3
The Revelations of Divine Love in Sixteen Showings Made to Dame Julian of Norwich
, trans. M. L. Del Mastro (St. Louis: Liguori Publications, 1994), chapter 27.

4
William James,
The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature
(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1985; originally published 1902), p. 3.

5
Ibid., p. 138.

6
Ibid., p. 124.

7
Ibid., p. 415.

8
Ibid., p. 422 (italics mine).

9
Ibid., p. 461.

10
J. H. Leuba,
The Psychology of Religious Mysticism
(New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1925). For an excellent summary of spirituality and science, see B. Spilka et al., eds.,
The Psychology of Religion: An Empirical Approach
(New York: Guilford Press, 2003), pp. 291-98.

11
Sigmund Freud,
Civilization and Its Discontents
, trans. J. Strachey (New York: W. W. Norton, 1961; originally published 1930).

12
Émile Durkheim,
The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life: A Study in Religious Sociology
, trans. J. W. Swain (London: Allen & Unwin, 1915).

13
R. M. Bucke,
Cosmic Consciousness: A Study of the Evolution of the Human Mind
(Hyde Park, N.Y.: University Books, 1961; originally published 1901).

14
C. G. Jung,
Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious
, in H. Read, M. Fordham, and G. Adler, eds.,
The Collected Works of C. G. Jung
, trans. R. F. C. Hull, 2nd ed. (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1968; originally published 1954), vol. 9, part 1, pp. 3-41.

15
A. H. Maslow,
Religions, Values, and Peak Experiences
(Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1964).

16
John B. Watson, “Psychology As the Behaviorists View It,”
Psychological Review
20 (1913): 158-77.

17
The polls were reported in
Nature,
April 3, 1997, 435-36, and July 23, 1998, 313.

18
W. Miller,
Quantum Change
(New York: Guilford Press, 2001).

19
Ibid., p. 83.

20
Ibid., p. 85.

21
I heard a lot about orgasm in my research. Sophy Burnham told me: “I’d wake up, just with radiance running through my body. It was as if I’d been made love to by God.” Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee, a Sufi mystic I interviewed, was more explicit. “The Sufis would say that the external relationship between two people is a pale reflection of the relationship between lover and beloved,” he explained. As I listened to Llewellyn, it struck me that his words and his faraway tone reflected something, well, erotic. “If you really practice mediation, and you’re taken along that path, you experience a much more enduring bliss. It’s very sexual but it’s beyond sexual. The orgasm doesn’t happen in the sex tracts, but happens in the heart. And that is unbelievable. You have experiences of cosmic love and cosmic bliss. And rather than lasting for a moment, it can last for hours. It is a quite wonderful experience.” I was dumbfounded. “How many people can achieve that?” I blurted. Llewellyn burst out laughing. “It’s what mystics long for, that ecstatic union with God,” he said, not really answering my question, but I suppose I did not expect him to give me numbers. “It is very, very erotic, but it is much deeper than that. It’s what lovers long for.” Of course, the mystics of old alluded to this. Consider Teresa of Ávila, whose erotic notions of God were immortalized in a statue by Bernini. In one of her mystical states, she wrote, she encountered an angel; he was not tall, but very beautiful, and his face was “aflame.” “In his hands I saw a long golden spear and at the end of the iron tip I seemed to see a point of fire. With this he seemed to pierce my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails. When he drew it out, I thought he was drawing them out with it and he left me completely afire with a great love for God. The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by the intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.” Teresa of Ávila,
The Life of Saint Teresa by Herself
, trans. J. M. Cohen (New York: Penguin, 1988), chapter 29. Why, I thought, would a spiritual experience give a thousand-watt jolt to the body? The answer is simple—and, happily, it opens the door for scientists to explore. We are, after all, physical beings. If there is such a thing as a veiled reality, how else are we to experience it except physically, with our synapses firing and our brains activated and our hearts racing? Given our makeup, is it really surprising that spiritual virtuosos might enjoy a little afternoon delight?

22
Miller,
Quantum Change
, p. 106.

23
National Opinion Research Center, University of Chicago, “Spiritual and Religious Transformation in America: The National Spiritual Transformation Study” (report prepared for Metanexus Institute, Philadelphia, June 2005). To find out just how present “God” is for the average American, I called up Tom W. Smith at the National Opinion Research Center. In June 2005, he and his team of researchers completed their twenty-fifth General Social Survey. They had interviewed 1,300 people at length about their spiritual journeys. For most in the survey, that spiritual experience was relatively tame: being “born again” in a Baptist church, feeling moved by a sermon, or inspired by a hymn when singing in the church choir. It could be an “aha” moment, often in the wake of a death or a tragedy, when people turn to God. But some described less run-of-the-mill events. “For some people, angels played the trumpet,” Smith observed with admirable restraint. “We got every standard litany of change: God talking to them, floating, out-of-body experiences, near-death experiences, tunnels with light.” According to Smith’s research, 18 percent of Americans reported experiences that could be listed on the pages of the
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders
; hearing God talking to them, floating outside their bodies, dying yet remaining conscious, contacting or being contacted by the dead, feeling a supernatural “jolt” and seeing a light (in a tunnel or otherwise), seeing a spirit, having a physical sensation of God. Are all these people crazy? Am I crazy, since I have experienced some of those phenomena myself? A century ago, these people might have been candidates for the asylum, or lobotomy, or both. But in recent decades, studies have found that people who experience mystical states are quite stable. They are better educated than the average American, wealthier, and relatively mature (in their forties and fifties). Psychological testing reveals that they tend to be open to new experiences, have a breadth of interests, and are innovative, tolerant of ambiguity, and creative. True, they are more easily hypnotized and prone toward fantasy. But when you pass a mystic walking down the street, she probably won’t be muttering obscenities. Chances are she’s healthy and smiling. As pollster, author, and priest Andrew Greeley put it, “Mystics are happier. Ecstasy is good for you.” See M. A. Thalbourne, “A Note on the Greeley Measure of Mystical Experience,”
International Journal for the Psychology of Religion
, 14(3): 215-22.