The Church of Neuroscience

Some years ago the New Yorker published an excerpt from David Brooks book, The Social Animal: The Hidden Sources of Love, Character and Achievement. The article is thought provoking and inspiring; the following paragraphs are an excerpt:  

During the question-and-answer period, a woman asked the neuroscientist how his studies had changed the way he lived. 

“I guess I used to think of myself as a lone agent, who made certain choices and established certain alliances with colleagues and friends,” he said. “Now, though, I see things differently. I believe we inherit a great river of knowledge, a flow of patterns coming from many sources. The information that comes from deep in the evolutionary past we call genetics. The information passed along from hundreds of years ago we call culture. The information passed along from decades ago we call family, and the information offered months ago we call education. But it is all information that flows through us. The brain is adapted to the river of knowledge and exists only as a creature in that river. Our thoughts are profoundly molded by this long historic flow, and none of us exists, self-made, in isolation from it.

“And though history has made us self-conscious in order to enhance our survival prospects, we still have deep impulses to erase the skull lines in our head and become immersed directly in the river. I've come to think that flourishing consists of putting yourself in situations in which you lose self-consciousness and become fused with other people, experiences, or tasks. It happens sometimes when you are lost in a hard challenge, or when an artist or a craftsman becomes one with the brush or the tool. It happens sometimes while you’re playing sports, or listening to music or lost in a story, or to some people when they feel enveloped by God’s love. And it happens most when we connect with other people. I've come to think that happiness isn't really produced by conscious accomplishments. Happiness is a measure of how thickly the unconscious parts of our minds are intertwined with other people and with activities.”

It is a beautifully written description and feels bone true. I wonder if there is anyone who hasn't experienced an occasion, not counting sexual activities, in which you are inexplicably transported to a state of euphoric well-being while completely drug free. In a religious context, such ecstatic moments are more calculated and less surprising, though certainly not guaranteed. But I am remembering several serendipitous experiences from some years back that did not involve sex, drugs, rock and roll or religion.

I was traveling with a bus load of anonymous classmates, and sitting beside a woman I knew who was more than an acquaintance but not really a close friend. Julia was very bright and led an interesting life, but she was also rather staid and humorless. The trip was part of an adult education class; I think we were supposed to be studying various eco-systems along our route. Julia was quite serious about it while I was mostly fulfilling a course requirement for my teaching credential. Our group was staying overnight at a pleasant but no frills rustic retreat center, and we were joined there by at least two or three more bus loads of complete strangers. I'm an introvert by tendency and this would not normally be a duck to water situation, but as we began to pile off the bus, a sense of joyful well-being began bubbling up in my mind. Like being pleasantly tipsy without the accompanying drop in IQ and inhibitions.

Dinner was served school lunch cafeteria style with everyone sitting on benches at long tables. The conversation wasn't memorable but I was a happy extrovert, just delighting in everyone's presence. After dinner and clean up, Julia retired to her room to read. This was not a luxury resort; there were no casinos, bars, TV's, or round the clock shopping opportunities. There was a large room filled with round tables where people had gathered to play card games. I'm not particularly good at card games. My brother insisted I play card games with him during the long summer vacations of our childhood. He always won which was a major negative feedback loop for me that I never bothered to overcome. But this night was different.

The quietly euphoric state stayed with me as I joined right into a game of heart's and played cards for hours. I don't remember winning, but I experienced a deep feeling of affection for everyone and that exuberant mood continued until I went to sleep. It was gone when I woke up. 

Another similar experience comes to mind. 

I attended a protest rally and march where the police were prepared to escort thousands through the streets of Seattle, but given the imponderables of such events, only several hundred of us gathered at the designated park. Policemen on motorcycles and on bikes were conspicuously present; it seemed like they outnumbered the marchers. The mood was friendly. We had a permit and the police were not in riot gear.

We, the people, were cold and wind-chilled as we listened to the speakers and milled about taking photos of each other. Our signs and banners were like umbrellas that are threatening to turn inside out with the gusts. As a former school teacher, I know how difficult it can be to hold the attention of a crowd, be it several hundred shuffling about in preparation for a march or thirty kids waiting for recess. The speakers lacked spirit or charisma and we were getting weary of photographing each other.

Having endured the preliminaries, we were grateful when the march began. A Dixieland band had suddenly emerged, and costumed march leaders had taken to their stilts. The motorcycle policemen started their engines and turned on their flashing lights; they roar out in the lead. Bicycle policemen pumped the hills with us and kept our stragglers contained. Traffic stopped and the sidewalk crowd was obviously entertained by the spectacle; ubiquitous cellphone cameras record our proud moment.

The sun made a brief appearance, the band played When the Saints Go Marching In and I began to dance up the street, holding my banner high for the benefit of the curious audience on the sidewalks and in the halted cars. My mood had switched abruptly from just pleasantly entertained to joyful exuberance; a much heightened Mardi Gras state of mind. I can't plan for, or force this alluring state of mind to appear, but like the neuroscientist in David Brook's story, I honor this deeply human experience.