Fingerprints of God

"And it will be interesting also to keep an eye on the functioning of the human mind, or brain, and its valiant and often pathetic efforts to comprehend the nature of things."

It's ironic that I became aware of Fingerprints of God (Barbara Bradley Hagerty, 2009) by reading a physicist's snark about it. Had said physicist actually read the book, he might have come away not with "convincing empirical evidence for the soul's existence", but with an enhanced appreciation for how simple fluctuations in brain activity can dramatically alter our perceptions of what is 'real'.

I'm going to quote the next bit out of context because I think it illustrates the point...

"When the prefrontal cortex malfunctions, you have a sense of calm, serenity, peace, joy, and painlessness. When the primary motor cortex malfunctions, you can't move. When the postcentral gyrus malfunctions, you can't perceive touch or sensation. When the parietal cortex malfunctions, you can't perceive where your body ends and the universe begins, making you feel at one with the universe. When the angular gyrus malfunctions, together with muscle spindles, you can believe you are moving or flying." (p. 224)

Fingerprints of God examines everything from peyote to the God helmet in a quest for answers about the journalist-author's own mystical/spiritual experiences, evoking memories of an earlier book - Rational Mysticism (John Horgan, 2003). What is striking about Fingerprints of God is that the author weaves in her own honest questioning (not outright dismissal) of her Christian Science upbringing/beliefs.

While atheists may be tempted to bypass this book because it does not present its data as an outright refutation of the existence of God, I think that would be a mistake, as the scientific data itself is thorough and worth the read. The author does present (and subsequently question) the idea that God may have designed our brains to be able to communicate with Him. That idea is problematic for at least two reasons. First, it suggests that God has somehow chosen/favored those among us who have more of these mystical/spiritual mental experiences. This seems incompatible with most ideas about a God who loves all of His children/creations. The idea that one/some is/are 'chosen' generally leads to painful social division, rather than promoting social harmony, which also seems incompatible with a loving God.

Second, it ignores the fact that there are many similar types of experiences (hallucinations, etc) , which no one (except possibly the percipient) would argue are from God, and which result not in positive and pro-social attitudes and behaviors but in the exact opposite. Where does one type of experience stop and the other begin, and how can we tell the difference? Perhaps it is best to simply judge the worth of such experiences by the actions that they produce.

I see the data presented in this book as being relevant to humanism in the following ways...

• What we experience as humans is fairly constant most of the time, but it is possible to go beyond our ordinary range of spacetime-limited experience in ways that produce meaningful and dramatic physical and psychological changes, and therefore our definition of what it means to be 'human' must accommodate those types of experiences.
• When we can pinpoint with such accuracy how deviations in brain activity can give rise to life-altering and belief-shifting experiences, it becomes necessary to consider the ethics of permitting or withholding such experiences, both in terms of individual rights and larger social impact.

And as to any spirituality to which such experiences might speak, I think that such a spirituality should be defined by questions rather than answers. What am I really? What is really out there? Such a spirituality is a journey rather than a destination. Where a destination says 'I am here and you are not', a journey will say 'Share with me what you know. Walk with me awhile.' A destination implies that one can stop, but a journey is ongoing. A destination implies territory that must be defined and defended, but a journey is a group of companions that changes as one moves along. Such a spirituality embraces inquiry and rejects dogma. It is a state of being, not a doctrine.

“Now, when I say this, you could accuse me of being a mystic. And I am, but of a very ordinary kind. I don’t doubt that some people throughout history, and some living today, have heard voices and seen visions. But my mysticism involves no access to other realms, only the deeper experience of this one. Mine is the mysticism of everyday life, of the heaped laundry and the bruised toe, of overcooked broccoli and dew-spangled leaves, of sunrise and sorrow, laughter and linguine, music and mold. This every day mysticism requires no special powers, only imagination, a doting and practiced attention to the ordinary and a willingness to be surprised by grace.”