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Why are you a believer?
More and more people are discovering why - don't you want to know too?
 
I dont think it reduces feelings of spirituality in any way to understand that they are based in brain processes, just as it doesnt diminish my love for someone to know that the feeling is caused by brain activity. Why should it? I know how a piano works, but it doesnt detract from my appreciation of Mozart.
 - Paul Brooks, neuropsychologist and author, The Times, Dec 2006

 
 

Religion a Figment of Human Imagination

Humans alone practice religion because they're the only creatures to have evolved imagination.

Andy Coghlan
New Scientist
May 2008

That's the argument of anthropologist Maurice Bloch of the London School of Economics. Bloch challenges the popular notion that religion evolved and spread because it promoted social bonding, as has been argued by some anthropologists.

Instead, he argues that first, we had to evolve the necessary brain architecture to imagine things and beings that don't physically exist, and the possibility that people somehow live on after they've died.

Once we'd done that, we had access to a form of social interaction unavailable to any other creatures on the planet. Uniquely, humans could use what Bloch calls the "transcendental social" to unify with groups, such as nations and clans, or even with imaginary groups such as the dead. The transcendental social also allows humans to follow the idealised codes of conduct associated with religion.

"What the transcendental social requires is the ability to live very largely in the imagination," Bloch writes.

"One can be a member of a transcendental group, or a nation, even though one never comes in contact with the other members of it," says Bloch. Moreover, the composition of such groups, "whether they are clans or nations, may equally include the living and the dead."

Modern-day religions still embrace this idea of communities bound with the living and the dead, such as the Christian notion of followers being "one body with Christ", or the Islamic "Ummah" uniting Muslims.

Stuck in the here and now

No animals, not even our nearest relatives the chimpanzees, can do this, argues Bloch. Instead, he says, they're restricted to the mundane and Machiavellian social interactions of everyday life, of sparring every day with contemporaries for status and resources.

And the reason is that they can't imagine beyond this immediate social circle, or backwards and forwards in time, in the same way that humans can.

Bloch believes our ancestors developed the necessary neural architecture to imagine before or around 40-50,000 years ago, at a time called the Upper Palaeological Revolution, the final sub-division of the Stone Age.

At around the same time, tools that had been monotonously primitive since the earliest examples appeared 100,000 years earlier suddenly exploded in sophistication, art began appearing on cave walls, and burials began to include artefacts, suggesting belief in an afterlife, and by implication the "transcendental social".

Once humans had crossed this divide, there was no going back.

"The transcendental network can, with no problem, include the dead, ancestors and gods, as well as living role holders and members of essentialised groups," writes Bloch. "Ancestors and gods are compatible with living elders or members of nations because all are equally mysterious invisible, in other words transcendental."

Nothing special

But Bloch argues that religion is only one manifestation of this unique ability to form bonds with non-existent or distant people or value-systems.

"Religious-like phenomena in general are an inseparable part of a key adaptation unique to modern humans, and this is the capacity to imagine other worlds, an adaptation that I argue is the very foundation of the sociality of modern human society."

"Once we realise this omnipresence of the imaginary in the everyday, nothing special is left to explain concerning religion," he says.

Chris Frith of University College London, a co-organiser of a "Sapient Mind" meeting in Cambridge last September, thinks Bloch is right, but that "theory of mind" – the ability to recognise that other people or creatures exist, and think for themselves – might be as important as evolution of imagination.

"As soon as you have theory of mind, you have the possibility of deceiving others, or being deceived," he says. This, in turn, generates a sense of fairness and unfairness, which could lead to moral codes and the possibility of an unseen "enforcer" - God – who can see and punish all wrong-doers.

"Once you have these additions of the imagination, maybe theories of God are inevitable," he says.


Why children become so attached to toys and comfort blankets

Psychologists link beloved object to intuitive belief. Study shows most will not swap for identical item

Steven Morris
March 9, 2007
Guardian

Children become emotionally attached to cuddly toys, blankets and even smelly old scraps of material because they intuitively believe they possess a unique essence or life force, psychologists said yesterday. In a study that will surprise few parents, it was found that children preferred their cherished comfort blankets or favourite raggedy bear over duplicates apparently identical in every way.
The results suggested that even very young children invest in such objects intangible qualities that cannot be replicated.

The study compared the reaction of the children to that of art enthusiasts who prefer an original to a copy that is identical in every way.

Previous studies have shown that up to 70% of young children develop strong attachments to objects such as toys or blankets. The phenomenon tends to be confined to the western world, where children usually sleep apart from their parents at an early age.

Bruce Hood, of the University of Bristol, and Paul Bloom of Yale University in the US, decided to try to find out why.

Parents were asked to bring children aged three to six into a laboratory with their "attachment object" or if they had no such object, a toy or doll that they liked.

To count as an attachment object, the child had to regularly sleep with it and have had it for at least a third of his or her life.

The children were shown what they were told was a "copying machine" - in reality a conjuror's cabinet made up of two boxes. The doors of the two boxes were open and a green block put into one of them. Then the doors shut, an experimenter twiddled some knobs and the first box buzzed.

A few moments later a buzz came from the second box. The doors of both boxes opened to reveal a green block in both of them - the experimenter had slipped an identical block into the second box.

Then the experimenter asked the children if they would let the objects they had brought in be copied. They could choose if they wanted the new one or the old one back. All of those with "non-attachment" objects allowed them to be copied and almost two-thirds decided to keep the "new" object - in fact, it was their own object.

Of the 22 children who did have attachment objects, four stubbornly refused to allow them to be copied at all. Of the 18 who did let their precious items be copied, only five opted to have the "duplicate".

At the end, all children were shown how the illusion worked so they knew they had their original item back.

Prof Hood said the experiment showed that children believe that in addition to the physical properties of their objects, there was some other quality to them that cannot be copied.

He said: "If there was a machine which copied a favourite object in every way down to atomic level, we would still prefer the original. It has an essence to it. This experiment suggests this is an intuitive process.

"We anthropomorphise objects, look at them almost as if they have feelings. The children know these objects are not alive but they believe in them as if they are."

While the tendency to sleep with a comfort blanket is thought to be largely a western trait, Prof Hood said believing objects had an essence was not. Some eastern beliefs centre on all things having a life force and some cultures find it difficult to live in other people's homes because they feel there is something intangible left of the previous people in them.


Brain stimulation creates shadow person

Swiss scientists say they've found electrical stimulation of the brain can create the sensation of a "shadow person" mimicking one's bodily movements.

physorg.com
21 Sep 2006

Olaf Blanke and colleagues at the Federal Polytechnic School of Lausanne say their discovery might help shed light on brain processes that contribute to the symptoms of schizophrenia, which can include the sensation that one's own actions are being performed by someone else.

Doctors evaluating a woman with no history of psychiatric problems found stimulation of an area of her brain called the left temporoparietal junction caused her to believe a person was standing behind her.

The patient reported that "person" adopted the same bodily positions as her, although she didn't recognize the effect as an illusion. At one point in the investigation, the patient was asked to lean forward and clasp her knees: this led to a sensation that the shadow figure was embracing her, which she described as unpleasant.

The finding could be a step towards understanding psychiatric affects such as feelings of paranoia, persecution and alien control, say neuroscientists.

The discovery is reported in a Brief Communication in this week's issue of the journal Nature.


Why 'imaginary voices' are male

A university research team says it has discovered why most people "hearing voices" in hallucinations say they hear male voices.

By Sean Coughlan
BBC News education reporter
13 July 2005

Dr Michael Hunter's research at the University of Sheffield says that male voices are less complex to produce than female.

As such, when the brain spontaneously produces its own "voices", a male voice is more likely to have been generated.

Among both men and women, 71% of such "false" voices are male.

'False perception'

"Psychiatrists believe that these auditory hallucinations are caused when the brain spontaneously activates, creating a false perception of a voice," says Professor Hunter of the university's psychiatry department.

"The reason these voices are usually male could be explained by the fact that the female voice is so much more complex that the brain would find it much harder to create a false female voice accurately than a false male voice," he says.

Such imaginary voices are typically likely to be middle-aged and carry "derogatory" messages.

The research, published in NeuroImage, shows how the brain interprets information from human voices - and how female and male voices activate different parts of the brain.

"The female voice is more complex than the male voice, due to differences in the size and shape of the vocal cords and larynx between women and men, and also due to women having greater natural 'melody' in their voices.

"This causes a more complex range of sound frequencies than in a male voice," says Professor Hunter.

These gender differences in voices trigger responses in different parts of brain - and as the male version is simpler, both men and women who hear voices, are on average more likely to produce a male-sounding voice.

The research says that "auditory verbal hallucinations" are a symptom of schizophrenia and "occur in 40% to 60% of patients who suffer from the condition".


Ghosts in a machine
What is it that triggers the brain to produce a religious experience?

Jerome Burne investigates
March 05, 2005

Jim lives in California and hes into an extreme sport. But hes not testing his limits with gravity or exhaustion. His equipment consists of a darkened room, a blindfold, heavy-duty earplugs and eight magnetic coils, linked to a PC and attached to his head with a Velcro headband.

Jims arena is inner space. The envelope hes pushing is consciousness, using a set of experiences more commonly thought of as religious or spiritual. The coils and computer program, known as a Shakti headset, transmit magnetic pulses that stimulate regions of his brain linked with altered states of consciousness. At various times over the past year, Jim claims to have had out-of-body experiences, felt a state of oceanic bliss and sensed presences near by.

Next weekend the inventor of the Shakti headset, Todd Murphy, will be one of the speakers at the Religion, Art and the Brain festival in Winchester, along with Sufi dancers, the music of John Tavener, psychologists, neuroscientists and pharmacologists. The focus of their talks will be: The evolution, experience and expression of the religious impulse what triggers the brain to produce it and why?

For years brain researchers shied away from exotic experiences such as hallucinations, near-death experiences or intimations of the divine, on the grounds that there was no way to study them scientifically. But as consciousness has become an academically respectable topic, it has become harder to ignore altered states. If memory and imagination can be linked to the activity of groups of neurons, couldn t the experience of being at one with the universe just be the result of brain cells firing?

Traditionally, one of the ways to stimulate these experiences has been with hallucinatory or psychedelic herbs and drugs a route that has been declared legally off-limits for individuals and researchers since the 1960s. But that is changing, too. Recently licences have been granted in the USA to study the medical benefits of using such outlawed drugs as Ecstasy and the peyote mushroom to treat psychological conditions such as post-traumatic stress disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder.

It may be a sign of the times that just before Christmas the US Supreme Court ruled that members of the New Mexico branch of a Brazilian church, Uniao Do Vegetal, should be allowed to use the hallucinatory herbal concoction ayahuasca in ceremonies. Ayahuasca has long been used by South American shamans and is renowned for the snake visions it induces.

The poet Allen Ginsberg tried it in the 1950s in an attempt to expand his consciousness. I rushed out and began vomiting, he wrote, all covered with snakes, like a Snake Seraph, coloured serpents in an aureole around my body, I felt like a snake vomiting out the universe.

Uncovering how a complex chemical stew triggers something as specific as serpentine visions would be a daunting scientific challenge, let alone identifying precisely which regions of the brain were involved. But for at least 100 years neurologists have been recording the bizarrely detailed altered states produced by very specific activity in the brains of epileptics. Recently, observations on epileptics have provided clues to the neural mechanism underlying out-of-body experiences (OBEs).

I was in bed and about to fall asleep when I had the distinct impression that I was at ceiling level looking down at my body, began an article in the British Medical Journal last December. According to the author, Olaf Blanke, a the Swiss neuroscientist, 10 per cent of people experience OBEs but because epileptics, who have them as part of their seizures, keep on having them, it is possible to identify the brain regions involved. He concluded that they are the results of an interference with the tempro-parietal junction of the brain. This is the place, on both sides of the head, where two brain regions controlling vision and spatial awareness meet.

The discovery that the uncontrolled firings of neurons in epileptics brains can trigger a range of altered states inspired Dr Michael Persinger, a neuropsychologist at the Laurentian University in Ontario, to see if he could replicate them in his laboratory by stimulating subjects temporal lobes with magnetic impulses. He designed and built Room C002B, otherwise known as the Heaven and Hell chamber, back in the mid-Eighties , in which over 1,000 subjects have now been induced to experience ghostly presences.

Persingers chamber one of whose visitors was the British arch-atheist Professor Richard Dawkins (he experienced nothing) is what might be called a mainframe version of the portable Shakti equipment that Todd Murphy will be demonstrating at the conference.

What others have experienced in Room C002B depended on their cultural or religious beliefs. Some saw Jesus, the Virgin Mary, Muhammad, or the Sky Spirit. Others, with more than a passing faith in UFOs, tell of something that sounds more like a standard alien-abduction story.

The radical element of the Shakti headset is that it puts brain stimulation back in the hands of the individual rather than being something done to people in a lab. This may be the way of the future. As an American chronicler in this field, John Horgan, has remarked: Trying to understand mystical experiences without having one, is like a eunuch trying to understand sex.

So far Murphy has sold about 100 headsets at about 130 each, including accessories, mainly to men aged 40 to 60 who are interested in general consciousness exploration. Most of them are not looking for extreme experiences like Jim. Instead, Murphy says: They just want to feel better or to deepen regular spiritual practices like meditation.

Apparently, this particular route to religious experience isnt so popular with women, who make up only about 15 per cent of his clients.

Now that religious experiences are edging into mainstream neuroscience, theories about what is going on are coming thick and fast. Dr Andrew Newberg, of the University of Pennsylvania School of Medicine, for instance, believes that the patterns of activity that show up on the brain scans of people praying or meditating fit well with the sort of experiences they report.

The deeper the meditation, he says, the more active are the areas involved with both attention and powerful emotions. At the same time, an area at the back of the brain that orients you in time and space quietens down. The result is that the boundaries of the self fall away, creating an intense feeling of being at one with the universe, he says.

So the big question for the conference becomes: Is the whole human range of spiritual and paranormal experiences no more than unusual patterns of brain activity? Persinger and Murphy seem to disagree on this one.

Persinger was quoted recently in Time magazine as saying that: God is an artefact of the brain, while Murphy, interviewed for this article, was keen to emphasise that his aim was to enhance spirituality, not to replace it.

Rita Carter, a scientific advisor to the festival and author of a popular book on neuroscience entitled Mapping the Mind, has described an occasion when she became at one with the gas fire and then the whole room and finally the entire universe. So was this no more than unstable temporal lobes in the same way that epilepsy is thought to be caused by instability in the brain or was there more to it than that?

What researchers are finding is that there seem to be common brain pathways underlying all transcendental experiences, she says. Its the cultural interpretations that vary. But whats really challenging is that the research evidence is very strong that what we think of normal everyday reality is actually a construction of the brain.

However, it is quite clear that the brain is also able to construct a version of reality that is quite unlike the survival-orientated normal, one. Now why on earth should it have evolved to do that and why is our culture so dead set against exploring it?


Further reading: Rational Mysticism: Dispatches from the Border between Science and Spirituality, by John Horgan (Mariner Books)
 
Tests of faith

Religion may be a survival mechanism. So are we born to believe?


Ian Sample
Thursday February 24 2005
The Guardian

First for some figures. Last year, an ICM poll found 85% of Americans believe that God created the universe. In Nigeria, 98% claimed always to have believed in God, while nine out of 10 Indonesians said they would die for their God or religious beliefs. Last month, a survey by the market research bureau of Ireland found 87% of the population believe in God. Rather than rocking their faith, 19% said tragedies such as the Asian tsunami, which killed 300,000 people, bolstered their belief. Polls have their faults, but if the figures are even remotely right they illustrate the prevalence of faith in the modern world.

Faith has long been a puzzle for science, and it's no surprise why. By definition, faith demands belief without a need for supporting evidence, a concept that could not be more opposed to the principles of scientific inquiry. In the eyes of the scientist, an absence of evidence reduces belief to a hunch. It places the assumptions at the heart of many religions on the rockiest of ground.

So why do so many people believe? And why has belief proved so resilient as scientific progress unravels the mysteries of plagues, floods, earthquakes and our understanding of the universe? By injecting nuns with radioactive chemicals, by scanning the brains of people with epilepsy and studying naughty children, scientists are now working out why. When the evidence is pieced together, it seems that evolution prepared what society later moulded: a brain to believe.

One factor in the development of religious belief was the rapid expansion of our brains as we emerged as a species, says Todd Murphy, a behavioural neuroscientist at Laurentian University in Canada. As the frontal and temporal lobes grew larger, our ability to extrapolate into the future and form memories developed. "When this happened, we acquired some very new and dramatic cognitive skills. For example, we could see a dead body and see ourselves in that position one day. We could think 'That's going to be me,'" he says. That awareness of impending death prompted questions: why are we here? What happens when we die? Answers were needed.

As well as providing succour for those troubled by the existential dilemma, religion, or at least a primitive spirituality, would have played another important role as human societies developed. By providing contexts for a moral code, religious beliefs encouraged bonding within groups, which in turn bolstered the group's chances of survival, says Pascal Boyer, an anthropologist turned psychologist at Washington University in St Louis, Missouri. Some believe that religion was so successful in improving group survival that a tendency to believe was positively selected for in our evolutionary history. Others maintain that religious belief is too modern to have made any difference.

"What I find more plausible is that rather than religion itself offering any advantage in evolutionary terms, it's a byproduct of other cognitive capacities we evolved, which did have advantages," says Boyer.

Psychological tests Boyer has run on children go some way to proving our natural tendency to believe. "If you look at three- to five-year-olds, when they do something naughty, they have an intuition that everyone knows they've been naughty, regardless of whether they have seen or heard what they've done. It's a false belief, but it's good preparation for belief in an entity that is moral and knows everything," he says. "The idea of invisible agents with a moral dimension who are watching you is highly attention-grabbing to us."

Childish belief is one thing, but religious belief is embraced by people of all ages and is by no means the preserve of the uneducated. According to Boyer, the persistence of belief into adulthood is at least in part down to a presumption. "When you're in a belief system, it's not that you stop asking questions, it's that they become irrelevant. Why don't you ask yourself about the existence of gravity? It's because a lot of the stuff you do every day presupposes it and it seems to work, so where's the motivation to question it?" he says. "In belief systems, you tend to enter this strange state where you start thinking there must be something to it because everybody around you is committed to it. The general question of whether it's true is relegated."

While some continue to tease out the reasons for the emergence of religion and its persistent appeal, others are delving into the neuroscience of belief in the hope of finding a biological basis for religious experience. As a starting point, many studies focused on people with particular neural conditions that made them prone to experiences so intense, they considered them to be visions of God.

At the University of California in San Diego, neuroscientist VS Ramachandran noticed that a disproportionate number of patients - around a quarter - with a condition called temporal lobe epilepsy reported having deeply moving religious experiences. "They'd tell me they felt a presence or suddenly felt they got the meaning of the whole cosmos. And these could be life-changing experiences," says Ramachandran. The feelings always came during seizures, even if the seizures were so mild, they could only be detected by sensitive electroencephalograms (EEGs). Between the seizures, some patients became preoccupied with thoughts about God.

Ramachandran drew up three explanations he thought might explain why the patients with epilepsy seemed so spiritual. First, he considered that the upwelling of emotion caused by the seizure might simply overwhelm, and patients made sense of it by believing that something extremely spiritual was going on. Second, the seizure might prompt the left hemisphere to make up yarns to account for seemingly inexplicable emotions. The ability of the brain's left hemisphere to "confabulate" like this is well known to neuroscientists. Third, he wondered whether seizures disrupted the function of part of the brain called the amygdala which, among other tasks, helps us focus on what is significant while allowing us to ignore the trivial.

Ramachandran decided to test a couple of patients using what is called the galvanic skin response. Two electrodes are used to measure tiny changes in the skin's electrical conductivity, an indirect measure of sweating. In most people, conductivity goes up when they are shown violent or sexual pictures, or similarly loaded words. In the test, Ramachandran found that patients with temporal lobe epilepsy responded very differently from others. Violent words such as "beat" and sexual words produced not a flicker, but religious icons and the word "God" evoked a big response.

With only two patients involved in the study, Ramachandran says it is impossible to draw any conclusions, but if the results stand up to future testing, it might indicate that seizures in the temporal lobe strengthen certain neural pathways connected to the amygdala, meaning we attribute significance to the banal objects and occurrences. "If those pathways all strengthen indiscriminately, everything and anything acquires a deep significance, and when that happens, it starts resembling a religious experience," he says. "And if we can selectively enhance religious sentiments, then that seems to imply there is neural circuitry whose activity is conducive to religious belief. It's not that we have some God module in our brains, but we may have specialised circuits for belief."

At the University of Pennsylvania, radiologist Andrew Newberg has cast a wider net to scan the brains of people performing all manner of spiritual activities. By injecting radioactive tracers into the veins of nuns, Buddhists and others, he has constructed brain maps that show how different practices affect neural processing. "What comes out is there's a complex network in the brain and depending on what you do, it is activated in different ways," says Newberg. "If someone does Tibetan Buddhist mediation they'll activate certain parts of their brain, but if you have a nun praying they'll activate slightly different parts, with someone doing transcendental mediation activating other areas again."

Newberg uncovered the neural processing behind the religious experience of "oneness" with the universe. Blood flow drops off in the parietal lobe, a brain structure that helps us orient ourselves by giving us a sense of ourselves. "We think this latter step is critical," says Newberg. "What seems to be happening is that as you block sensory information getting into the parietal lobe, it keeps trying to give you a sense of self, but it no longer has the information to do so. If that happens completely, you might get this absolute feeling of oneness."

Newberg has been criticised for his investigations into the essence of spiritual experience - the most vehement attacks coming from atheists. "Some people want me to say whether God is there or not, but these experiments can't answer that. If I scan a nun and she has the experience of being in the presence of God, I can tell you what's going on in her brain, but I can't tell you whether or not God is there," he says. Religious groups point out that there is more to religion than extreme experiences. It is a criticism Newberg acknowledges. "The problem is, the people who have these experiences are so much easier to study," he says.

As neuroscientists unpick the biological mechanisms behind religious experience, others are considering what to do with the information. At Laurentian University, Todd Murphy and Michael Persinger are developing devices they think can stimulate parts of the brain to enhance spiritual experiences. Others see the possibility for drugs designed to boost spirituality. Newberg says this would be underpinning a practice that has existed for hundreds of years with scientific understanding. "If you talk to a shamen who takes a substance so they can enter into the spirit world, they don't think that diminishes the experience in any way," he says.

Intriguingly, many scientists, while stressing that they have set out to explore religion rather than disprove its basis, say that no matter what they uncover about the nature of spiritual experiences, mass religious belief will continue. The fastest growing religions in the US are the Mormon church and Scientology, both popular, according to Boyer largely because they are new. In other parts of the world, more fundamentalist religions succeed because they give a clear vision of the world.

"For two centuries, there's been competition between churches and in the free market of religion, the products get better and better as people want different things," says Boyer. "Will science be the death of religion? As neuroscience, it's interesting to see how brains can create very strange states of consciousness, but in terms of threatening religion, I think it'll have absolutely no effect."

Further reading

Darwin's Cathedral , University of Chicago Press, ISBN 0226901351

David Sloan-Wilson argues religion is evolution at work

Religion Explained ,Vintage, ISBN 0099282763

Pascal Boyer on religion as a tool for social integrity

Brain-wise  Bradford Book, ISBN 026203301

Patricia Smith Churchland on the neural basis of religion

What Is Good? ,Weidenfeld & Nicolson, ISBN 0297841327

AC Grayling on humanity's search for a moral code
 
We are the final frontier

Copernicus, Darwin, Crick and Watson changed the way people see themselves. Ian Sample asks leading scientists what comes next

Ian Sample
Thursday February 10, 2005
Guardian

Humans have always thought of themselves as special, and with good reason. As far as we know, we are alone in the universe in churning out great works of art and literature, in formulating the laws of physics, and in creating the spectacle that is morris dancing.

But our view of ourselves as the pinnacle of life has suffered huge blows at the hands of science. Every now and again comes an idea so revolutionary that it rocks the foundations on which our hubris is built.

At the University of San Diego, California, VS Ramachandran, director of the Centre for Brain and Cognition, points to three major upheavals in scientific thinking that have served to remind us that we are not so special after all. First came the Copernican revolution in the 16th century. The Polish astronomer Nicolaus Copernicus argued that the Earth was not at the centre of the solar system. Instead, he relegated our planet to one of many orbiting the sun.

Copernicus wasn't the first to come up with a heliocentric model of the solar system, but his description was backed up with mathematics that meant it was taken far more seriously. "At once, the whole notion that Earth was special was rendered obsolete and that must have been pretty humbling," says Ramachandran.

If Copernicus ruffled feathers by saying the Earth wasn't special, Charles Darwin got personal more than 300 years later by implying that humans weren't special either. With the publication of On the Origin of Species, Darwin promoted his theory of evolution via natural selection, immediately suggesting that humans were just another kind of animal. "It meant we weren't the crowning glory of evolution, we were just hairless apes that happened to be slightly cleverer than our cousins," says Ramachandran. "It was a great shock. Victorian women fainted when they heard about it."

Nearly a century later, two Cambridge-based scientists, James Watson and Francis Crick, unravelled the structure of DNA. According to Ramachandran, it led to a further challenge to human arrogance. We were, in short, simply vessels of self-replicating molecules, whose only purpose was to pass them on to another generation.

So what's next? What will be the fourth revolution? And will it, like those before, force us to question once more what it means to be human? To find out, Life put the question to some of the world's top scientists.

The leading candidates for the next revolution are enthralling, depressing and mind-boggling. Seth Shostak, of the alien-hunting Seti organisation in California, believes that we will become the first species to invent our successor, intentionally demoting ourselves to intellectual second fiddle. Others say we will finally understand the workings of the mind, and with it grasp fully the nature of self. Michio Kaku, a theoretical physicist at the City University of New York, believes that we will discover parallel universes, perhaps floating just inches away from our own. Elvis Presley might even be alive and well in one of them, he says. The Oxford University neuroscientist Susan Greenfield sees a bleak future. We will see a melding of man and machine, she says, leading to the demise of the individual.

Whatever shape the next revolution takes, it may help humans to understand their condition rather than knock it down further. "The big question is why these revolutions don't make us profoundly sad. We're reduced to bags of chemicals with no free will, living on a normal planet, but people still find that exciting," says Ramachandran. "I think it's because with greater understanding, we see ourselves as part of some grander scheme. We're part of something larger than ourselves and once we identify with that, it is not degrading, it's ennobling."

'We will invent our successors'
Seth Shostak, senior astronomer, Seti Institute, California


The amount of computing power you can buy for 1,000 doubles every 18 months. It's hardly speculative to declare that by 2020, your desktop will have more operational horsepower than a human brain.

Many people who work in the field of machine intelligence believe that, with the right arrangement of hardware and software, you really can build a thinking machine. Not just a device that beats everyone at chess: a machine that can write fiction, do physics research, or be amusing at parties. If you doubt this, then you are forced to concede that there's something miraculous going on under our hats. Is there some good reason that one organ of the body - the one in your skull - has a function that can't be replicated? That's hubris of a fine sort; a kind of self-defence concocted by the very organ under examination.

It strikes me as likely that, sometime this century, we will build a thinking computer. That machine will run the planet. Competitive pressures will ensure this (if we don't have a machine running our society, we'll fall behind those that do). We will no longer be the smartest things on Earth. Our mantle of superiority will be donned by our own creations.

Then what? Will the machines get rid of us? A machine that dwarfs our intelligence might regard us as we regard budgies or goldfish: diverting. Our role as second intellectual fiddle may be to serve as pets for the sentients in charge.

All of this would be dismaying enough if it were merely a science fiction story. But I suspect that the first steps will be taken by mid-century. We could well be the last generation of humans to dominate Earth.

'We will understand the human mind'
John Sulston, founder of the Sanger Institute, Cambridge


Along with the late Francis Crick (see The Astonishing Hypothesis), and many others, I expect that in the coming century we shall understand in a general way how the human brain gives rise to what we perceive as the human mind. The solution will be interesting, very complex, but not in the end mysterious. It will be a great philosophical challenge to take on board, but we shall succeed because of our tremendous ability to adapt.

We should not be humbled by any of these revolutions. We should rather feel, first, a modest pride in our ability to achieve such understanding, and more importantly, a huge sense of collective responsibility in what we do with it. A humility that disclaims responsibility for its actions is dangerous, and offers a real risk that our wonderful journey of exploring the universe will be cut off just as we are beginning in earnest.

'The existence of parallel universes'
Michio Kaku, theoretical physicist, the City University of New York


The next revolution will be proof of the existence of the multiverse. Think of fish in a very shallow pond. They live in a two-dimensional world and feel comfortable swimming forward, backwards, left and right. But there are other ponds, and in some they could swim up and down, too.

Physicists believe that we spend our lives in a little pond of three dimensions, thinking smugly that's all there is, but there are other ponds out there. These universes might be right next to us, perhaps hovering inches above our own.

Some of these universes could look just like ours. I've been asked if Elvis Presley is alive in one of these parallel universes and it cannot be dismissed. Maybe Elvis Presley is still alive in a parallel universe and, as outrageous as it sounds, we physicists actively discuss these kinds of questions. It's mind-boggling.

'We will change our genetic makeup'
Norbert Gleicher, director of the Centre for Human Reproduction, Chicago


The next revolution will come from a combination of huge advances in genetics and stem cell research. It will lead to a more egalitarian society.

Assuming that all humanity has access to these advances, everybody will benefit from regenerative medicine, which means we'll cure disease at an accelerated rate, we'll live longer and finally we'll be able to affect our genetic makeup. Once we can affect our genetic makeup we'll become more similar to one another because everybody will want the same thing.

We are not at the point yet where we can define genetically what makes Michael Jordan the greatest basketball player that ever lived, but theoretically, in the not too distant future, we'll understand what it was in the genetic makeup that made him such a talent. While genetics is not everything, we will be in a position to say that if somebody has these genes, that person's ability to jump or play music, or do other things will be advanced.

Once we identify the genetic background for any kind of human capability, we can, at least theoretically, manipulate the genetic makeup of humans by substituting that genetic background into the makeup of the person. It raises huge ethical issues.

There are strong voices in the community who do not wish mankind to achieve these abilities. But we're in an accelerated evolutionary phase and I don't think it can be stopped.

'We will find out if we are alone'
Colin Pillinger, head of planetary and space sciences, Open University


The question I think we have the best chance of answering is, are we alone?

Only 17% of people believe that we are unique; the other 83% believe that we can't possibly be the only ones. Look at the elements that are most abundant in the cosmos: hydrogen, helium and oxygen, making the most common compound water. Next come carbon and nitrogen. So, four out of the five most common elements throughout the cosmos can make the organic compounds we all know and love. That says to me that life is an accident waiting to happen. We would be completely and utterly arrogant to think that life hasn't originated elsewhere in this great cosmos.

What would be really fascinating would be if we were to go to another planet and find life based on another code, other than DNA. That would really be wiz-bang stuff.

How can we answer the question? We have to rule out receiving a message at one of our radio telescopes saying: "Excuse me, hello, we're calling from somewhere in the distant universe to let you know we're here."

We don't have the telescopes to check for life on planets round distant stars, so the first step is finding out if there is life in the solar system. How long until we discover that? In 2009, if they let me launch Beagle 3.

'Humans become a collective intelligence'
John Barrow, professor of mathematical sciences and author of The Infinite Book, Cambridge University


We as a species have entered a new phase of evolution with the appearance of the world wide web. We share information collectively. You can find out almost anything you want to know at the click of a button, and this happened suddenly, nobody predicted it. This is a collectivisation of human information.

Once you start to act with other people, you can do things you couldn't do as an individual. You become a connected intelligence and just like joining computers together, that increases your effectiveness and power. Most people rely on the web for information to the extent that the memorisation of facts and figures and information is no longer required. In some ways, it's probably not a good thing, but it's how it is. For scientists, it means the world is now one giant research group.

'We'll understand thoughts and feelings'
Steven Pinker, professor of psychology, Harvard University


My choice would be what the late Francis Crick called "the astonishing hypothesis" - the idea all our thoughts and feelings consist in physiological activity in tissues of the brain, rather than in an immaterial soul. Thinking is neural computation; wanting and trying are neural cybernetics (feedback systems, like your thermostat). All this means that humans are not special in having an essence that is separate from the material universe. It means no life after death. That, in turn, means no divine rewards or punishments in a world to come. It means that our minds, not just our bodies, were descended from those of apes and shaped by the morally indifferent forces of natural selection. It means that responsibility can't be equated with the notion of free will, if free will is conceived as autonomous choice utterly disconnected from any chain of cause and effect. It means that we may acquire new technologies to enhance mood, memory, thinking and personality by chemical means. It will take some time for many people to readjust their notions of meaning and morality to this revolution from cognitive neuroscience and evolutionary psychology.

'The end of the individual'
Susan Greenfield, neuroscientist, Oxford University


The merging of carbon and silicon systems, such as the growing of neurons in integrated circuits, could be the next revolution. It would challenge our whole notion of living versus innate things. Many new technologies could lead for the first time to a "de-individualisation". Up until now, especially in the west, there's been an emphasis on nurturing the individual. This rise and rise of the individual might be the natural consequence of 20th century so-called progress, but the new revolution will challenge that for the first time. If you're constantly in front of a computer screen, you're the passive recipient of lots of information. You're just a consumer, living at that moment, having an experience, pressing buttons and reacting, but not having a life narrative any more. You're not defined by your family, or by what you know, or by specific events in the real world, because most of your time is spent in cyberspace. So what are you? Could it be that we just become nodes on a much larger collective thought machine?

'What if God lives in a part of our brain?'
Nancy Rothwell, neuroscientist at Manchester University


The previous revolutions haven't necessarily made our place less significant. We are just discovering the complexity of the natural world. The fact we can begin to understand these concepts at all shows how advanced we are.

A breakthrough would be in understanding the complex functions of the brain, emotions, consciousness and imagination and how they are formed. We might even find that there is a biological basis for religion. Suppose we discovered that God "lived" in a particular part of the brain, and that religion was a biological function which had evolved to help us through difficult times. It's not impossible. For some, it would be fascinating and curious, for others it would just be dismissed. But others might find it very difficult indeed - it would shake their world.

'What it means to be a person'
V S Ramachandran, director of the Center for Brain and Cognition at the University of California at San Diego


The next revolution will be understanding the organ that made all the previous revolutions possible. Your mind, your ambitions, your love life, even what you regard as yourself, all of it is the activity of little wisps of jelly in your head. Once we figure out the code, that's going to be a big revolution and another humbling experience. The ultimate triumph of the human mind is to understand what the mind is.

We'll understand what it means to will an action, what it means to be a person, what is the self. People say that if you know all that, it'll be terrible, but just because you know the rules, it doesn't mean that you can predict what everyone's going to do. That may happen some day, but in the next hundred years, we'll just know the ground rules. Knowing the laws of physics doesn't tell you exactly how a wave is going to break when it hits the shore.

How did the mind emerge from this jelly? Once we figure that out, we'll have a more mature understanding of the relation between mind and brain, and the nature of the self, which I think is the last great frontier.

'Conscious machines'
Igor Aleksander, professor of neural systems engineering at Imperial College London


I think the next big revolution will be machine consciousness. There are buzzes in our head which are neurons firing away to give us a sensation of the world and our place within it. There must be a way of replicating that.

The assumption that as soon as you've made a conscious machine, you've made an evil machine, is absolute rot. If a machine is truly conscious, it'll be conscious of missions it's been given. A conscious machine will be aware of its own mission without worrying too much about trying to take over the world.

If we come up with something that's conscious, it'll be unimpressive. The things we'll build, even if they have mechanisms of consciousness inside them, may not be that much better than what we have around already. But if you take the classical idea of the mind and the body, that's going to take a knock. It seems the majority of people think consciousness is something intractable, that we can never understand it. I think we can. Certainly in 10 to 15 years' time, anyone who says consciousness is so mysterious, no science will ever touch it, will look a fool.

'Higher dimensions'
Lisa Randall, theoretical physicist, Harvard University


We might find out there are more than three dimensions of space. What is special about three dimensions? We've found that space can have higher dimensions in some places and lower dimensions where we are, so three dimensions might just be a peculiar property of where we are.

It's possible that there are extra dimensions and that we live on an object called a brane, which is a membrane in higher dimensional space. Just like a bead on a wire that can only move in one direction or the other, it could be that the three dimensions we see are special because they're the dimensions along the brane we are on.

We're extremely close to finding out if extra dimensions exist. At Cern, the Large Hadron Collider will look for particles which will be evidence of those extra dimensions. A lot of people will struggle with what it means to have extra dimensions. You can't see them, you can't experience them, so, to some extent, everyone will be disturbed by it. One amazing thing is that this expands your imagination.

'Humans are less miraculous than we thought'
Stephen Wolfram, creator of Mathematica and author of A New Kind of Science


The sets of rules, or programs, underlying how humans work are no more sophisticated than the ones occurring elsewhere in nature.

Nowadays, the most common assumption about the special status of humans is that it must be something to do with the level of intelligence or complexity that we exhibit. Intuition tells us that getting the kind of seemingly sophisticated, rich behaviour we see in humans and society must take a lot of fundamental rules and ideas. But this may not be the case.

In a computational view of the universe, everything is run according to set fundamental "programs", analogous to computers carrying out the rules contained in software programs. But while software programs might be very complex with several million lines of code, the programs in nature could be very simple - maybe one line or less.

Even these simple programs seem to produce essentially the same richness that you would expect in vastly more complicated programs and in the kind of things that happen in nature. There's a whole universe of these possible simple programs and we have only had experience with, and studied in detail, a very small collection of them.

If it's possible to get so much from so little, we get to hold in our hands the very rules of the universe. Which means that there's nothing about the universe that is fundamentally beyond human understanding.

On the other hand, it perhaps seems a little unfortunate that there's nothing more. There's nothing miraculous that can go on in our universe or, more importantly, in humans.

Interviews by Ian Sample, David Adam, Alok Jha and Simon Rogers

Three lessons in humility

Science has a way of painting God out of the picture, and putting humankind in its place. Nicolas Copernicus launched the Copernican revolution in about 1530: Galileo continued it; Isaac Newton completed it more than a century later. It began innocently, when Copernicus tried to make a timetable for the positions of the planets. The calculations added up best if he assumed that the sun was the centre of the universe and that the Earth, like Mars, Venus and Jupiter, was just another planet. This upset the Ptolemaic scheme, which for more than a thousand years placed the Earth at the centre. Christian theology also had the Earth at the centre. So Copernicus offended both the Catholic Church (which listed his book as banned until 1835) and the reformer Martin Luther. Cosmologists now talk of the Copernican principle, which is that there is nothing special about planet Earth, in space or time. Humans are just little specks of sentience on an accidental planet in a corner of the cosmos.

The Darwinian revolution, too, was a 100-year story, and it began long before Darwin. Religious orthodoxy called for a young universe, specially created with its present inhabitants. But miners, canal engineers and natural philosophers kept finding puzzling evidence of creatures that existed long before human history.

Geologists such as Hutton and Lyell proposed an ancient Earth, subject to continuous change. Charles Darwin (and Alfred Russel Wallace, quite independently) went a stage further: life itself was ancient, and subject to continuous change, in which random mutations in inheritance were selected or dismissed by the pressures of the environment. This, too, shocked some churchmen. But humans now see themselves as just another evolutionary by-product, cousin to the apes.

The clinching proof of this has been in the DNA revolution, launched 50 years ago. Where did these mutations happen and how were they transmitted? In 1953, James Watson and Francis Crick began to crack the riddle. They revealed the structure of a long molecule, detectable in almost every living cell, which spelled out the genetic code. Comparison of DNA in living humans provides clues to ancestral kinships. It also confirms that all life is linked to one last universal common ancestor.

Science has exposed the machinery of creation, and taught humans a lesson in humility. None of this, however, yet explains why the universe began, or how and why life started in the first place, seemingly only on one planet.
 
'We Can Implant Entirely False Memories'

Laura Spinney on our remembrance of things past...
The Guardian - UK, 12-7-3

You were abducted by aliens, you saw Bugs Bunny at Disneyland, and then you went up in a balloon. Didn't you?

Alan Alda had nothing against hard-boiled eggs until last spring. Then the actor, better known as Hawkeye from M*A*S*H, paid a visit to the University of California, Irvine. In his new guise as host of a science series on American TV, he was exploring the subject of memory. The researchers showed him round, and afterwards took him for a picnic in the park. By the time he came to leave, he had developed a dislike of hard-boiled eggs based on a memory of having made himself sick on them as a child - something that never happened.

Alda was the unwitting guinea pig of Elizabeth Loftus, a UCI psychologist who has been obsessed with the subject of memory and its unreliability since Richard Nixon was sworn in as president. Early on in her research, she would invite people into her lab, show them simulated traffic accidents, feed them false information and leading questions, and find that they subsequently recalled details of the scene differently - a finding that has since been replicated hundreds of times.

More recently, she has come to believe that lab studies may underestimate people's suggestibility because, among other things, real life tends to be more emotionally arousing than simulations of it. So these days she takes her investigations outside the lab. In a study soon to be published, she and colleagues describe how a little misinformation led witnesses of a terrorist attack in Moscow in 1999 to recall seeing wounded animals nearby. Later, they were informed that there had been no animals. But before the debriefing, they even embellished the false memory with make-believe details, in one case testifying to seeing a bleeding cat lying in the dust.

"We can easily distort memories for the details of an event that you did experience," says Loftus. "And we can also go so far as to plant entirely false memories - we call them rich false memories because they are so detailed and so big."

She has persuaded people to adopt false but plausible memories - for instance, that at the age of five or six they had the distressing experience of being lost in a shopping mall - as well as implausible ones: memories of witnessing demonic possession, or an encounter with Bugs Bunny at Disneyland. Bugs Bunny is a Warner Brothers character, and as the Los Angeles Times put it earlier this year, "The wascally Warner Bros. Wabbit would be awwested on sight", at Disney.

Elizabeth Loftus' research has obvious implications for the reliability of eyewitness testimony. And it was as a result of her findings that in 1994 she co-wrote her book, The Myth of Repressed Memory, and took a strong stand in the recovered memory debate of the 90s, for which she was reviled by those who claimed to have uncovered repressed memories of abuse - alien, sexual or otherwise.

The American Psychological Association (APA) now takes the line that most people who were sexually abused as children remember all or part of what happened to them, and that it is rare (though not unheard of) that people forget such emotionally charged events and later recover them. But it states that, "Concerning the issue of a recovered versus a pseudomemory, like many questions in science, the final answer is yet to be known." And the debate simmers on. Several new lines of evidence suggest that the interaction between memory and emotion is more complex than was thought. Powerful emotions, it seems, can both reinforce and weaken real memories. We may be able to actively degrade painful memories. And false memories, once accepted, can themselves elicit strong emotions and thereby mimic real ones.

To try to tease apart these complex relationships, the psychologist Daniel Wright and his colleagues at the University of Sussex have been looking into what it is that makes some people more susceptible to false memories than others. On average, studies show that around a third of those subjected to the "misinformation effect" wholly or partially adopt a false memory, but it seems to depend on both the person and the memory. Alan Alda swallowed the hard-boiled egg story, to the extent that he declined to eat one at the UCI picnic, but he wasn't taken in by Bugs Bunny in Disneyland. In one study published last year, 50% of volunteers were persuaded they had taken a ride in a hot-air balloon when they had not. But when Kathy Pezdek of the Claremont Graduate University, California, tried to make people believe they had received a rectal enema, she met with almost universal resistance.

Amid all this variability, Wright's group did find one significant correlation - though it was not dramatic: those who were more vulnerable to false memories also tended to suffer more frequent lapses in attention and memory. The trouble is, he says, "People who have been traumatised also tend to score higher on tests of lapses in memory." Their traumatic experiences may contribute to their forgetfulness, but their forgetfulness may lay them open to memory distortion - so true and false become harder to disentangle.

Among the symptoms suffered by victims of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) are chilling flashbacks. But, says Michael Anderson of the University of Oregon, "People who suffer PTSD represent a very small fraction of the people who experience trauma. The great majority of people who experience trauma never develop PTSD and eventually are able to adapt in the face of these events." He argues that they do so by suppressing the memory, and that this suppression gradually erases it.

Two years ago, Anderson's group showed that people who deliberately try to keep a word out of their mind find it harder to recall later than if they had not suppressed it. Counter- intuitively, this form of forgetting seems more likely to occur when people are confronted by reminders of the very memory they want to avoid. Anderson says an extreme example of this might be a child who is forced to live with an abusing care-giver, and must put the memory of abuse to one side in order to interact with that care-giver. "If people continue to work at it, the amount of forgetting grows with repetition and time," he says.

At the annual meeting of the US Society for Neuroscience in New Orleans last month, Anderson's group presented new data on how this "motivated forgetting" might arise in the brain. When people tried to suppress memories for certain words while having their brains scanned in a magnetic resonance imaging machine, not only did the researchers see a dampening of activity in the hippocampus, a structure known to be critical for memory formation, but the frontal cortex was highly active. Since the frontal cortex is important for conscious control, they believe that neurons here may be suppressing the representation of the unwanted word in the hippocampus, and in the process impairing its memory.

However, Anderson admits that his experiments ignore the effect of a memory's emotional intensity on a person's ability to suppress it. And there is plenty of evidence that memory for emotionally charged events can be enhanced - albeit at a cost. Also last month, Bryan Strange of the Wellcome department of imaging neuroscience at University College London and colleagues showed that people were more likely to remember a word if it was emotionally arousing - "murder" or "scream", say - than if it was neutral. And the words most likely to be forgotten were neutral ones presented just before emotionally arousing ones. The effect was more pronounced in women than in men, and both the enhanced memory for the emotional word and the forgettability of the preceding neutral one could be reversed by dosing the volunteers in advance with the drug propranolol.

Propranolol, a commonly prescribed beta-blocker, interferes with the neurochemical pathway thought to be responsible for making emotionally arousing events more memorable - the beta-adrenergic system - and it has already been used experimentally in the treatment of patients with PTSD. In one study, published in October, Guillaume Vaiva of the University of Lille and colleagues offered prop- ranolol to victims of assault or motor accidents shortly after their traumatic experience, and then invited them back for psychological testing two months later. On their return, almost all the patients exhibited some symptoms associated with PTSD, but they were twice as severe among those who had not taken the drug.

The finding that propranolol can be effective at blocking memory when given after an event as well as before is important because, as Loftus explains, "In the real world you can't be there to exert your manipulations right at the time an event is happening, but you can get on the scene later." It has been proposed that propranolol should be offered to victims of rape as a standard measure to prevent them developing PTSD. But could it also be used to erase false memories - for instance, "recovered" memories of alien abduction - that nevertheless elicit all the physiological responses associated with harrowing, real memories?

"If the formation of false memories depends on beta-adrenergic activation, then it would seem very possible that propranolol administration could affect them," says the UCI neuro- biologist Larry Cahill, who has also investigated the effects of the drug in PTSD patients. But Ray Dolan of UCL, a co-author with Bryan Strange of the study on memory for emotional words, points out that not all false memories have a common basis. If they are interpolations into gaps in memory, such as the gap that opened up before the presentation of an emotionally arousing word, or possibly the gap into which Alan Alda inserted a memory of having over-indulged in eggs, then it is conceivable the drug would work. But, says Dolan, "Other classes of false memory, for example, where the memories are fantasies or out-and-out fabrications, would be immune to propranolol."

The idea of doctors having the power to wipe the memory clean sends shivers down many people's spines. False memories could safely be erased, perhaps,
assuming there was a reliable way of differentiating them from true ones. Although brain-imaging techniques highlight some differences in patterns of brain activation when a person recalls a true as opposed to a false memory, these are statistical differences only. "We are so far away from being able to use these techniques to reliably classify a single memory as being real or not real," says Loftus, "Yet that is what the courts have to do."

True memories, too, can get out of control and become destructive, leading to PTSD and other anxiety disorders. But they start out as an important self-defence mechanism - teaching you, for instance, that too many hard-boiled eggs are bad for you. Erasing them completely could be dangerous.

In the end, says Loftus, it will come down to personal choice. "What would you rather be in the world, sadder but wiser, all too well remembering the horrors of your past and feeling depressed, or perhaps not remembering them very much and being a little happier?"

Further reading

The Myth of Repressed Memory by Dr Elizabeth Loftus and Katherine Ketcham, 1996 paperback (St Martin's Press, New York). ISBN 0312141238

American Psychological Association website with links to questions and answers about memories of childhood abuse: www.apa.org/pubinfo/

Suppressing unwanted memories by executive control by Michael C Anderson and Collinn Green, Department of Psychology, University of Oregon, 2001 (Nature, 410 [6826], 366-9)

------------------------------------

Neuroscientists admit that by administering beta-blockers like Propranolol, they can induce false memories in susceptible people, particularly those who have suffered a traumatic experience, (torture) leaving them "open to memory distortion - so true and false become harder to disentangle" but for what purpose?

I can't think of a single positive application for 'False Memory Syndrome' except perhaps - "doctor, make me imagine I tried on a size 10 dress today, and it fitted" - which would be a real confidence booster for fat ladies. It could be used to suppress recollections of a distressing ordeal, but that is not healthy, it is far better to confront your psychological demons.

However, I can think of numerous scenarios where a false memory could be implanted for sinister reasons, such as - I was molested by Sai Baba, when I wasn't, aliens abducted me, when they didn't, or I killed two schoolgirls, when I haven't! It could also account for many other misconceptions like, why Neil Armstrong is convinced he set foot on the lunar surface - or why George Bush thinks Saddam Hussein was responsible for September 11th.

Elizabeth Loftus, a UCI psychologist explains, "In the real world you can't be there to exert your manipulations right at the time an event is happening, but you can get on the scene later" - when a patsy is in custody and subjected to "treatment" like Ian Huntley, who was a perfect candidate, having previously had a nervous breakdown after wrongful arrest for rape and is now on trial for murder.

"We can easily distort memories for the details of an event that you did experience and we can also go so far as to plant entirely false memories" says Loftus, "we call them rich false memories because they are so detailed and so big." Mind-control has come a long way since Nazi concentration camp experiments, in fact, all the way to South America with Dr. Mengele and into the USA via the CIA's Operation Paperclip, where it is now respectable medical practice.

This means that anyone could be made to admit to anything and no "confession" can ever be trusted again. So, maybe Bali's "laughing bomber" wasn't so funny after all - or Moazzam Begg's ridiculous admission from Camp Delta, of having planned to spray the Houses of Parliament with anthrax, because it is so far-fetched and would be no easy feat for an ordinary father of four from Birmingham.

With 'False Memory Syndrome' at the disposal of "evil geniuses" we are all "Slobodan Guantanamo" now! Therefore, when you see my face on the front page with the Headline: - "I PLOTTED TO THROTTLE THE QUEEN" (with my bare hands, at her next walkabout) think twice - before congratulating me. Nothing is what it seems and everything is a lie.

Hazel
 


Demon Haunted Brain
SKEPTIC  March, 2002

By Michael Shermer

Occasionally one of my monthly columns in Scientific American ("Skeptic") draws an extraordinary amount of mail. The March column, entitled Demon-Haunted Brain, is one of those. The general criticism was that just because apparent paranormal phenomena can be replicated through brain stimulation of various types does not mean that the paranormal phenomena are not real. Here is the column, or you can just go to http://www.sciam.com and download it there (along with the latest column on cloning entitled "I Clone" that includes my analogue to Asimov's three laws of robotics in the "three laws of cloning"; as well as all past columns)

If the brain mediates all experience then paranormal phenomena are nothing more than neuronal events

Five centuries ago demons haunted our world, with incubi and succubi tormenting their victims as they lay asleep in their beds. Two centuries ago spirits haunted our world, with ghosts and ghouls harassing their sufferers all hours of the night. Last century aliens haunted our world, with grays and greens abducting captives out of their beds and whisking them away for probing and prodding. Today people are experiencing out of body experiences, floating above their beds, out of their bedrooms, and even off the planet into space.

What is going on here? Are these elusive creatures and mysterious phenomena in our world or in our minds? New evidence indicates that they are, in fact, a product of the brain. Neuroscientist Michael Persinger, in his laboratory at Laurentian University in Sudbury, Canada, for example, can induce all of these experiences in subjects by subjecting their temporal lobes to patterns of magnetic fields (I tried it and had a mild out-of-body experience).

Similarly, the September 19, 2002 issue of Nature, reported that the Swiss neuroscientist Olaf Blanke and his colleagues discovered that they could bring about out-of-body experiences through electrical stimulation of the right angular gyrus in the temporal lobe of a 43-year old woman suffering from severe epileptic seizures. In initial mild stimulations she reported "sinking into the bed" or "falling from a height." More intense stimulation led her to "see myself lying in bed, from above, but I only see my legs and lower trunk." Another stimulation induced "an instantaneous feeling of 'lightness' and 'floating' about two meters above the bed, close to the ceiling." 

In a related study reported in the 2001 book Why God Won't Go Away, researchers Andrew Newberg and Eugene D'Aquili found that when Buddhist monks meditate and Franciscan nuns pray their brain scans indicate strikingly low activity in the posterior superior parietal lobe, a region of the brain the authors have dubbed the Orientation Association Area (OAA), whose job it is to orient the body in physical space (people with damage to this area have a difficult time negotiating their way around a house). When the OAA is booted up and running smoothly there is a sharp distinction between self and non-self. When OAA is in sleep mode--as in deep meditation and prayer--that division breaks down, leading to a blurring of the lines between reality and fantasy, between feeling in body and out of body. Perhaps this is what happens to monks who experience a sense of oneness with the universe, or with nuns who feel the presence of God, or with alien abductees floating out of their beds up to the mother ship. 

Sometimes trauma can trigger such experiences. The December 2001 issue of Lancet published a Dutch study in which of 344 cardiac patients resuscitated from clinical death, 12 percent reported near-death experiences, where they had an out-of-body experience and saw a light at the end of a tunnel. Some even described speaking to dead relatives. Since our normal experience is of stimuli coming into the brain from the outside, when a part of the brain abnormally generates these illusions another part of the brain interprets them as external events. Hence, the abnormal is thought to be the paranormal. 

These studies are only the latest to deliver blows against the belief that mind and spirit are separate from brain and body. In reality, all experience is mediated by the brain. Large brain areas like the cortex coordinate imputes from smaller brain areas such as the temporal lobes, which themselves collate neural events from still smaller brain modules like the angular gyrus. This reduction continues all the way down to the single neuron level, where highly-selective neurons, sometimes described as "grandmother" neurons fire only when subjects see someone they know. Caltech neuroscientists Christof Koch and Gabriel Kreiman, in conjunction with UCLA neurosurgeon Itzhak Fried have even found a single neuron that fires when the subject is shown a photograph of Bill Clinton. The Monica neuron must be closely connected. 

Of course, we are not aware of the workings of our own electrochemical systems. What we actually experience is what philosophers call qualia, or subjective states of thoughts and feelings that arise from a concatenation of neural events. 

It is the fate of the paranormal and the supernatural to be subsumed into the normal and the natural. In fact, there is no paranormal or supernatural; there is only the normal and the natural--and mysteries yet to be explained.

It is the job of science, not pseudoscience, to solve those puzzles with natural, not supernatural, explanations.
 

Michael Shermer is publisher of Skeptic magazine ( www.skeptic.com ) and author of Why People Believe Weird Things, now in a revised edition.
 


Religion And The Brain
From Newsweek magazine, 14 May 2001
(Go to www.msnbc.com/news/566079.asp to see the associated images and interactives)

In the new field of neurotheology, scientists seek the biological basis of spirituality. Is God all in our heads?

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One Sunday morning in March, 19 years ago, as Dr. James Austin waited for a train in London, he glanced away from the tracks toward the river Thames. The neurologist—who was spending a sabbatical year in England—saw nothing out of the ordinary: the grimy Underground station, a few dingy buildings, some pale gray sky. He was thinking, a bit absent-mindedly, about the Zen Buddhist retreat he was headed toward. And then Austin suddenly felt a sense of enlightenment unlike anything he had ever experienced. His sense of individual existence, of separateness from the physical world around him, evaporated like morning mist in a bright dawn. He saw things “as they really are,” he recalls. The sense of “I, me, mine” disappeared. “Time was not present,” he says. “I had a sense of eternity. My old yearnings, loathings, fear of death and insinuations of selfhood vanished. I had been graced by a comprehension of the ultimate nature of things"
 

CALL IT A MYSTICAL EXPERIENCE, a spiritual moment, even a religious epiphany, if you like—but Austin will not. Rather than interpret his instant of grace as proof of a reality beyond the comprehension of our senses, much less as proof of a deity, Austin took it as “proof of the existence of the brain.” He isn’t being smart-alecky. As a neurologist, he accepts that all we see, hear, feel and think is mediated or created by the brain. Austin’s moment in the Underground therefore inspired him to explore the neurological underpinnings of spiritual and mystical experience. In order to feel that time, fear and self-consciousness have dissolved, he reasoned, certain brain circuits must be interrupted. Which ones? Activity in the amygdala, which monitors the environment for threats and registers fear, must be damped. Parietal-lobe circuits, which orient you in space and mark the sharp distinction between self and world, must go quiet. Frontal- and temporal-lobe circuits, which mark time and generate self-awareness, must disengage. When that happens, Austin concludes in a recent paper, “what we think of as our ‘higher’ functions of selfhood appear briefly to ‘drop out,’ ‘dissolve,’ or be ‘deleted from consciousness’.” When he spun out his theories in 1998, in the 844-page “Zen and the Brain,” it was published not by some flaky New Age outfit but by MIT Press.

Since then, more and more scientists have flocked to “neurotheology,” the study of the neurobiology of religion and spirituality. Last year the American Psychological Association published “Varieties of Anomalous Experience,” covering enigmas from near-death experiences to mystical ones. At Columbia University’s new Center for the Study of Science and Religion, one program investigates how spiritual experiences reflect “peculiarly recurrent events in human brains.” In December, the scholarly Journal of Consciousness Studies devoted its issue to religious moments ranging from “Christic visions” to “shamanic states of consciousness.” In May the book “Religion in Mind,” tackling subjects such as how religious practices act back on the brain’s frontal lobes to inspire optimism and even creativity, reaches stores. And in “Why God Won’t Go Away,” published in April, Dr. Andrew Newberg of the University of Pennsylvania and his late collaborator, Eugene d’Aquili, use brain-imaging data they collected from Tibetan Buddhists lost in meditation and from Franciscan nuns deep in prayer to ... well, what they do involves a lot of neuro-jargon about lobes and fissures. In a nutshell, though, they use the data to identify what seems to be the brain’s spirituality circuit, and to explain how it is that religious rituals have the power to move believers and nonbelievers alike.


OUTSIDE OF TIME AND SPACE
       
What all the new research shares is a passion for uncovering the neurological underpinnings of spiritual and mystical experiences—for discovering, in short, what happens in our brains when we sense that we “have encountered a reality different from—and, in some crucial sense, higher than—the reality of everyday experience,” as psychologist David Wulff of Wheaton College in Massachusetts puts it. In neurotheology, psychologists and neurologists try to pinpoint which regions turn on, and which turn off, during experiences that seem to exist outside time and space. In this way it differs from the rudimentary research of the 1950s and 1960s that found, yeah, brain waves change when you meditate. But that research was silent on why brain waves change, or which specific regions in the brain lie behind the change. Neuroimaging of a living, working brain simply didn’t exist back then. In contrast, today’s studies try to identify the brain circuits that surge with activity when we think we have encountered the divine, and when we feel transported by intense prayer, an uplifting ritual or sacred music. Although the field is brand new and the answers only tentative, one thing is clear. Spiritual experiences are so consistent across cultures, across time and across faiths, says Wulff, that it “suggest[s] a common core that is likely a reflection of structures and processes in the human brain.”

        There was a feeling of energy centered within me ... going out to infinite space and returning ... There was a relaxing of the dualistic mind, and an intense feeling of love. I felt a profound letting go of the boundaries around me, and a connection with some kind of energy and state of being that had a quality of clarity, transparency and joy. I felt a deep and profound sense of connection to everything, recognizing that there never was a true separation at all.

That is how Dr. Michael J. Baime, a colleague of Andrew Newberg’s at Penn, describes what he feels at the moment of peak transcendence when he practices Tibetan Buddhist meditation, as he has since he was 14 in 1969. Baime offered his brain to Newberg, who, since childhood, had wondered about the mystery of God’s existence. At Penn, Newberg’s specialty is radiology, so he teamed with Eugene d’Aquili to use imaging techniques to detect which regions of the brain are active during spiritual experiences. The scientists recruited Baime and seven other Tibetan Buddhists, all skilled meditators.

       
TESTING FOR THE TIMELESS AND INFINITE
       In a typical run, Baime settled onto the floor of a small darkened room, lit only by a few candles and filled with jasmine incense. A string of twine lay beside him. Concentrating on a mental image, he focused and focused, quieting his conscious mind (he told the scientists afterward) until something he identifies as his true inner self emerged. It felt “timeless and infinite,” Baime said afterward, “a part of everyone and everything in existence.” When he reached the “peak” of spiritual intensity, he tugged on the twine. Newberg, huddled outside the room and holding the other end, felt the pull and quickly injected a radioactive tracer into an IV line that ran into Baime’s left arm. After a few moments, he whisked Baime off to a SPECT (single photon emission computed tomography) machine. By detecting the tracer, it tracks blood flow in the brain. Blood flow correlates with neuronal activity.

The SPECT images are as close as scientists have come to snapping a photo of a transcendent experience. As expected, the prefrontal cortex, seat of attention, lit up: Baime, after all, was focusing deeply. But it was a quieting of activity that stood out. A bundle of neurons in the superior parietal lobe, toward the top and back of the brain, had gone dark. This region, nicknamed the “orientation association area,” processes information about space and time, and the orientation of the body in space. It determines where the body ends and the rest of the world begins. Specifically, the left orientation area creates the sensation of a physically delimited body; the right orientation area creates the sense of the physical space in which the body exists. (An injury to this area can so cripple your ability to maneuver in physical space that you cannot figure the distance and angles needed to navigate the route to a chair across the room.)


SELF AND NOT-SELF

       The orientation area requires sensory input to do its calculus. “If you block sensory inputs to this region, as you do during the intense concentration of meditation, you prevent the brain from forming the distinction between self and not-self,” says Newberg. With no information from the senses arriving, the left orientation area cannot find any boundary between the self and the world. As a result, the brain seems to have no choice but “to perceive the self as endless and intimately interwoven with everyone and everything,” Newberg and d’Aquili write in “Why God Won’t Go Away.” The right orientation area, equally bereft of sensory data, defaults to a feeling of infinite space. The meditators feel that they have touched infinity.

I felt communion, peace, openness to experience ... [There was] an awareness and responsiveness to God’s presence around me, and a feeling of centering, quieting, nothingness, [as well as] moments of fullness of the presence of God. [God was] permeating my being.

      
This is how her 45-minute prayer made Sister Celeste, a Franciscan nun, feel, just before Newberg SPECT-scanned her. During her most intensely religious moments, when she felt a palpable sense of God’s presence and an absorption of her self into his being, her brain displayed changes like those in the Tibetan Buddhist meditators: her orientation area went dark. What Sister Celeste and the other nuns in the study felt, and what the meditators experienced, Newberg emphasizes, “were neither mistakes nor wishful thinking. They reflect real, biologically based events in the brain.” The fact that spiritual contemplation affects brain activity gives the experience a reality that psychologists and neuroscientists had long denied it, and explains why people experience ineffable, transcendent events as equally real as seeing a wondrous sunset or stubbing their toes.

       
PINPOINTING SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE
       That a religious experience is reflected in brain activity is not too surprising, actually. Everything we experience—from the sound of thunder to the sight of a poodle, the feeling of fear and the thought of a polka-dot castle—leaves a trace on the brain. Neurotheology is stalking bigger game than simply affirming that spiritual feelings leave neural footprints, too. By pinpointing the brain areas involved in spiritual experiences and tracing how such experiences arise, the scientists hope to learn whether anyone can have such experiences, and why spiritual experiences have the qualities they do.


I could hear the singing of the planets, and wave after wave of light washed over me. But ... I was the light as well ... I no longer existed as a separate ‘I’ ... I saw into the structure of the universe. I had the impression of knowing beyond knowledge and being given glimpses into ALL.

      
That was how author Sophy Burnham described her experience at Machu Picchu, in her 1997 book “The Ecstatic Journey.” Although there was no scientist around to whisk her into a SPECT machine and confirm that her orientation area was AWOL, it was almost certainly quiescent. That said, just because an experience has a neural correlate does not mean that the experience exists “only” in the brain, or that it is a figment of brain activity with no independent reality. Think of what happens when you dig into an apple pie. The brain’s olfactory region registers the aroma of the cinnamon and fruit. The somatosensory cortex processes the feel of the flaky crust on the tongue and lips. The visual cortex registers the sight of the pie. Remembrances of pies past (Grandma’s kitchen, the corner bake shop ...) activate association cortices. A neuroscientist with too much time on his hands could undoubtedly produce a PET scan of “your brain on apple pie.” But that does not negate the reality of the pie. “The fact that spiritual experiences can be associated with distinct neural activity does not necessarily mean that such experiences are mere neurological illusions,” Newberg insists. “It’s no safer to say that spiritual urges and sensations are caused by brain activity than it is to say that the neurological changes through which we experience the pleasure of eating an apple cause the apple to exist.” The bottom line, he says, is that “there is no way to determine whether the neurological changes associated with spiritual experience mean that the brain is causing those experiences ... or is instead perceiving a spiritual reality.”

       
PRODUCING VISIONS
       In fact, some of the same brain regions involved in the pie experience create religious experiences, too. When the image of a cross, or a Torah crowned in silver, triggers a sense of religious awe, it is because the brain’s visual-association area, which interprets what the eyes see and connects images to emotions and memories, has learned to link those images to that feeling. Visions that arise during prayer or ritual are also generated in the association area: electrical stimulation of the temporal lobes (which nestle along the sides of the head and house the circuits responsible for language, conceptual thinking and associations) produces visions.


Temporal-lobe epilepsy—abnormal bursts of electrical activity in these regions—takes this to extremes. Although some studies have cast doubt on the connection between temporal-lobe epilepsy and religiosity, others find that the condition seems to trigger vivid, Joan of Arc-type religious visions and voices. In his recent book “Lying Awake,” novelist Mark Salzman conjures up the story of a cloistered nun who, after years of being unable to truly feel the presence of God, begins having visions. The cause is temporal-lobe epilepsy. Sister John of the Cross must wrestle with whether to have surgery, which would probably cure her—but would also end her visions. Dostoevsky, Saint Paul, Saint Teresa of Avila, Proust and others are thought to have had temporal-lobe epilepsy, leaving them obsessed with matters of the spirit.

        Although temporal-lobe epilepsy is rare, researchers suspect that focused bursts of electrical activity called “temporal-lobe transients” may yield mystical experiences. To test this idea, Michael Persinger of Laurentian University in Canada fits a helmet jury-rigged with electromagnets onto a volunteer’s head. The helmet creates a weak magnetic field, no stronger than that produced by a computer monitor. The field triggers bursts of electrical activity in the temporal lobes, Persinger finds, producing sensations that volunteers describe as supernatural or spiritual: an out-of-body experience, a sense of the divine. He suspects that religious experiences are evoked by mini electrical storms in the temporal lobes, and that such storms can be triggered by anxiety, personal crisis, lack of oxygen, low blood sugar and simple fatigue—suggesting a reason that some people “find God” in such moments. Why the temporal lobes? Persinger speculates that our left temporal lobe maintains our sense of self. When that region is stimulated but the right stays quiescent, the left interprets this as a sensed presence, as the self departing the body, or of God.

I was alone upon the seashore ... I felt that I ... return[ed] from the solitude of individuation into the consciousness of unity with all that is ... Earth, heaven, and sea resounded as in one vast world encircling harmony ... I felt myself one with them.


Is an experience like this one, described by the German philosopher Malwida von Meysenburg in 1900, within the reach of anyone? “Not everyone who meditates encounters these sorts of unitive experiences,” says Robert K.C. Forman, a scholar of comparative religion at Hunter College in New York City. “This suggests that some people may be genetically or temperamentally predisposed to mystical ability.” Those most open to mystical experience tend also to be open to new experiences generally. They are usually creative and innovative, with a breadth of interests and a tolerance for ambiguity (as determined by questionnaire). They also tend toward fantasy, notes David Wulff, “suggesting a capacity to suspend the judging process that distinguishes imaginings and real events.” Since “we all have the brain circuits that mediate spiritual experiences, probably most people have the capacity for having such experiences,” says Wulff. “But it’s possible to foreclose that possibility. If you are rational, controlled, not prone to fantasy, you will probably resist the experience.”

       
MEASURING SPIRITUAL FORCE
       In survey after survey since the 1960s, between 30 and 40 percent or so of those asked say they have, at least once or twice, felt “very close to a powerful, spiritual force that seemed to lift you out of yourself.” Gallup polls in the 1990s found that 53 percent of American adults said they had had “a moment of sudden religious awakening or insight.” Reports of mystical experience increase with education, income and age (people in their 40s and 50s are most likely to have them).

Yet many people seem no more able to have such an experience than to fly to Venus. One explanation came in 1999, when Australian researchers found that people who report mystical and spiritual experiences tend to have unusually easy access to subliminal consciousness. “In people whose unconscious thoughts tend to break through into consciousness more readily, we find some correlation with spiritual experiences,” says psychologist Michael Thalbourne of the University of Adelaide. Unfortunately, scientists are pretty clueless about what allows subconscious thoughts to pop into the consciousness of some people and not others. The single strongest predictor of such experiences, however, is something called “dissociation.” In this state, different regions of the brain disengage from others. “This theory, which explains hypnotizability so well, might explain mystical states, too,” says Michael Shermer, director of the Skeptics Society, which debunks paranormal phenomena. “Something really seems to be going on in the brain, with some module dissociating from the rest of the cortex.”



THE NEURAL BASIS FOR RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE

       That dissociation may reflect unusual electrical crackling in one or more brain regions. In 1997, neurologist Vilayanur Ramachandran told the annual meeting of the Society for Neuroscience that there is “a neural basis for religious experience.” His preliminary results suggested that depth of religious feeling, or religiosity, might depend on natural—not helmet-induced—enhancements in the electrical activity of the temporal lobes. Interestingly, this region of the brain also seems important for speech perception. One experience common to many spiritual states is hearing the voice of God. It seems to arise when you misattribute inner speech (the “little voice” in your head that you know you generate yourself) to something outside yourself. During such experiences, the brain’s Broca’s area (responsible for speech production) switches on. Most of us can tell this is our inner voice speaking. But when sensory information is restricted, as happens during meditation or prayer, people are “more likely to misattribute internally generated thoughts to an external source,” suggests psychologist Richard Bentall of the University of Manchester in England in the book “Varieties of Anomalous Experience.”

Stress and emotional arousal can also interfere with the brain’s ability to find the source of a voice, Bentall adds. In a 1998 study, researchers found that one particular brain region, called the right anterior cingulate, turned on when people heard something in the environment—a voice or a sound—and also when they hallucinated hearing something. But it stayed quiet when they imagined hearing something and thus were sure it came from their own brain. This region, says Bentall, “may contain the neural circuits responsible for tagging events as originating from the external world.” When it is inappropriately switched on, we are fooled into thinking the voice we hear comes from outside us.

Even people who describe themselves as nonspiritual can be moved by religious ceremonies and liturgy. Hence the power of ritual. Drumming, dancing, incantations—all rivet attention on a single, intense source of sensory stimulation, including the body’s own movements. They also evoke powerful emotional responses. That combination—focused attention that excludes other sensory stimuli, plus heightened emotion—is key. Together, they seem to send the brain’s arousal system into hyperdrive, much as intense fear does. When this happens, explains Newberg, one of the brain structures responsible for maintaining equilibrium—the hippocampus—puts on the brakes. It inhibits the flow of signals between neurons, like a traffic cop preventing any more cars from entering the on-ramp to a tied-up highway.

       
‘SOFTENING OF THE BOUNDARIES OF THE SELF’
       The result is that certain regions of the brain are deprived of neuronal input. One such deprived region seems to be the orientation area, the same spot that goes quiet during meditation and prayer. As in those states, without sensory input the orientation area cannot do its job of maintaining a sense of where the self leaves off and the world begins. That’s why ritual and liturgy can bring on what Newberg calls a “softening of the boundaries of the self”—and the sense of oneness and spiritual unity. Slow chanting, elegiac liturgical melodies and whispered ritualistic prayer all seem to work their magic in much the same way: they turn on the hippocampus directly and block neuronal traffic to some brain regions. The result again is “blurring the edges of the brain’s sense of self, opening the door to the unitary states that are the primary goal of religious ritual,” says Newberg.

Researchers’ newfound interest in neurotheology reflects more than the availability of cool new toys to peer inside the working brain. Psychology and neuroscience have long neglected religion. Despite its centrality to the mental lives of so many people, religion has been met by what David Wulff calls “indifference or even apathy” on the part of science. When one psychologist, a practicing Christian, tried to discuss in his introductory psych book the role of faith in people’s lives, his publisher edited out most of it—for fear of offending readers. The rise of neurotheology represents a radical shift in that attitude. And whatever light science is shedding on spirituality, spirituality is returning the favor: mystical experiences, says Forman, may tell us something about consciousness, arguably the greatest mystery in neuroscience. “In mystical experiences, the content of the mind fades, sensory awareness drops out, so you are left only with pure consciousness,” says Forman. “This tells you that consciousness does not need an object, and is not a mere byproduct of sensory action.”

For all the tentative successes that scientists are scoring in their search for the biological bases of religious, spiritual and mystical experience, one mystery will surely lie forever beyond their grasp. They may trace a sense of transcendence to this bulge in our gray matter. And they may trace a feeling of the divine to that one. But it is likely that they will never resolve the greatest question of all—namely, whether our brain wiring creates God, or whether God created our brain wiring. Which you believe is, in the end, a matter of faith.

(c) 2001 Newsweek. Inc.


 

In Search Of God
From New Scientist magazine, 21 April 2001

Are our religious feelings just a product of how the brain works? Bob Holmes meets the researchers who are trying to explain our most sacred thoughts

EINSTEIN FELT IT. It's what draws people to church, prayer, meditation, sacred dance and other rituals. Chances are you've felt something like it too--in the mountains, by the sea, or perhaps while listening to a piece of music that's especially close to your heart. In fact, more than half of people report having had some sort of mystical or religious experience. For some, the experience is so intense it changes their life forever.

But what is "it"? The presence of God? A glimpse of a higher plane of being? Or just the mystical equivalent of dj vu, a trick the brain sometimes plays on your conscious self? At some level, of course, all our thoughts and sensations--however unusual--must involve the brain. Indeed, experiments on the brain have led neuroscientists to suggest that the capacity for religion may somehow be hardwired into us. If so, why do people's religious experiences differ so profoundly, moving some so deeply while leaving others cold?

Andrew Newberg, a neuroscientist at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, has been fascinated by the neurobiology of religion for more than a decade. He admits it's an awkward role for a scientist. "I always get concerned that people will say I'm a religious person who's trying to prove that God exists, or I'm a cynic who's trying to prove that God doesn't exist," he says. "But we try to approach it without bias." Earlier this month he published a book, which lays out the most complete theory to date of how mystical or religious experiences can be generated in the brain.

Together with the now deceased Eugene d'Aquili, a colleague from Penn, Newberg was keen to study the sensations that are unique to religious experiences but shared by people of all faiths. One of these is the sense of "oneness with the Universe" that enthralled Einstein. The other is the feeling of awe that accompanies such revelations and makes them stand out as more important, more highly charged, and in a way more real than our everyday lives.

But Newberg realised that rare, fleeting revelations would be almost impossible to study in the lab. It meant he had to ignore the one-off experiences that strike out of the blue and focus instead on meditation and prayer--sedate, but at least reproducible.

Through a colleague who practised Tibetan Buddhism, Newberg and d'Aquili managed to find eight skilled meditators who were willing to undergo brain imaging. The volunteers came to the lab one at a time, and a technician inserted an intravenous tube into one arm. Then the volunteer began to meditate as normal, focusing intently on a single image, usually a religious symbol. The goal was to feel their everyday sense of self begin to dissolve, so that they became one with the image. "It feels like a loss of boundary," says Michael Baime, one of the meditators and also a researcher in the study. "It's as if the film of your life broke and you were seeing the light that allowed the film to be projected."

Hidden in the next room, Newberg and d'Aquili waited. When the meditator felt the sense of oneness developing--usually after about an hour--they would tug on a string. This signalled the researchers to inject a radioactive tracer through the intraveno