Mystical awe often originates in inexplicable experiences that transcend the expectations of the default self. Experiences like James’s with nitrous oxide or Reverend Jen’s upon first entering the sacred space of a church. Or for Mark Twain, a dream of his younger brother’s death; two weeks later his brother would die in a riverboat accident, and be buried in Twain’s suit as he had dreamed. Or inexplicable visions, such as those of Bernadette, a desperately poor girl living near Lourdes, France, in the nineteenth century, who had eighteen visions of the Virgin Mary in the darkness of a cave that led her to discover a spring whose waters had healing powers (today five million people make the pilgrimage to Lourdes each year to be healed by those waters). In survey research, most people report having had such inexplicable and extraordinary experiences: they have sensed the presence of God or spirits, or heard the voice of God, or felt that remarkable turns of fate are guided by Divine forces. On two different occasions in my early months of grief, I distinctly felt Rolf’s large hand on my back.
Mysterious experiences like these require explanation; our minds are impatient with the unexplained. This tendency to explain has given rise in different cultures to spiritual belief systems about illnesses, bodily sensations, sounds and sights, and mysterious forms of consciousness, like dreams or hallucinations. To pick one of many examples, the rich tradition of ghosts, demons, goblins, and spirits in Japan—known collectively as yōkai
This thesis lies at the heart of the scientific study of religion and spirituality: that we rely on ancient cognitive systems to transform extraordinary experiences into beliefs, images, descriptions, and stories about the Divine. We attribute unusual experiences to the intentions and actions of an extraordinary actor, in this case a deity or deities. An earthquake becomes a god shaking the earth. Remission from cancer is the intervention of God. Moved by wild awe, ten-year-old Malcolm Clemens Young felt that God had given him the beauty of moonlight on a lake.
Our sensory systems shape inexplicable experiences into perceptible, supernatural forms. When we’re in the dark, or looking at clouds, or taking in the swirling lines of bark on trees, or marveling at the geological patterns in rocks, regions of our brains may lead us to perceive faces where they are not, and these we take to be images of God. Our deep-rooted tendency to hear the human voice may lead us to hear the Divine in an exceptional wind or an awesome thunderstorm. When alone in an eerie or strange place, most likely at dusk or in the dark, we may feel seen, or touched, or even embraced, by God—reflecting the activation of our ancient attachment-related tactile system. Out of mysterious experiences, our minds construct a sense of the Divine, an all-powerful being that is watching us, hearing us, speaking to us, and embracing us.
As mystical awe unfolds, the default self dissolves, a shift in self-awareness that William James called “surrender.” This has been found in studies in which through different means people are led to feel mystical awe, and activation in the DMN is observed with measures of brain response. These studies find that the DMN is quieted when Carmelite nuns recall a mystical experience, devout people pray in the lab, religiously inclined individuals contemplate the Divine, or meditators engage in contemplative practice. Mystical experiences not only deactivate the default mode network; they also activate cortical regions involved in experiences of joy and bliss. When overtaken by mystical awe we may feel goose bumps, tear up, tremble, or shake. We may bow or look upward and raise our arms to the sky, vestiges of seeking embrace. Sometimes we even call out, or quietly observe
This experience of mystical awe, this spiritual humus, is deeply shaped by culture, history, place, and ideas of the times. A geographical landscape and local flora and fauna will influence the metaphors, images, and beliefs that are our representations of mystical awe. Mount Fuji’s majesty gave birth to a sect of Buddhism that worshipped it, shaping the practices and beliefs of that spiritual community. The well-chronicled mystical experiences of Aua, an Iglulik Inuit, were colored by his frozen, barren physical environment and a reverence for other animals that harsh food scarcity can bring.
