Showing posts with label reality sandwich. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reality sandwich. Show all posts

Friday, 26 September 2014

Mediumship & Folk Models of Mind and Matter



By Jack Hunter, Reality Sandwich    Blog Ref http://www.p2pfoundation.net/Multi-Dimensional_Science
                
The following is excerpted from Talking with the Spirits: Ethnographies from between the Worlds, edited by Jack Hunter and David Luke, published by Daily Grail Publishing.
Introduction
This chapter explores the role of experiences with trance and physical mediumship in the development of folk models of mind and matter, at a non-denominational spiritualist home-circle called the Bristol Spirit Lodge. Mediums and sitters often claim that mediumship has led them to understand the world differently, and to appreciate that the standard materialistic view of science is inadequate as an all encompassing model of reality. Certain key themes and concepts have emerged from my informants’ experiences with mediumship that hint at alternative models of understanding the relationship between mind and matter, including the idea that bodies are permeable, that matter is essentially non-physical, that consciousness is far more expansive than our normal waking state would lead us to believe, and that persons are multiple, can survive death, and may be influenced by external spiritual entities.
To begin, we will briefly examine the anthropological debate over spirit possession,  taking a quick tour through the various theoretical models developed to account for the existence of this human phenomenon. This will be followed by an introduction to the history of Spiritualism, and in particular to physical mediumship, in order to give an idea of the kind of spirit mediumship that forms the basis for discussion in this chapter. The chapter will conclude with an analysis of extracts from ethnographic interviews with members of the Bristol Spirit Lodge.
Ethnographic Parallels
Ethnographic parallels of spiritualist mediumship can be found in the many varieties of what are loosely labelled ‘spirit possession’ traditions (Schmidt & Huskinson, 2010; Dawson, 2011), and what I.M. Lewis refers to as ‘ecstatic religions’ (Lewis, 1971), which occur, in one form or another, in almost all human societies. Spirit possession can be broadly defined in Janice Boddy’s terms as:
…the hold over a human being by external forces or entities more powerful than she. These forces may be ancestors or divinities, ghosts of foreign origin, or entities both ontologically and ethnically alien… (Boddy, 1994, p. 407)
The term ‘spirit possession’ is used quite broadly to refer to a set of related, though not  necessarily identical, phenomena (Lewis, 1988, p. 24), including both the belief that spirits can involuntarily occupy the body of an individual, causing illness, and the voluntary incorporation of spirits, ancestors and deities for social and ritual reasons. This voluntary incorporation is usually referred to as ‘mediumship.’ The discussions that follow in this chapter are primarily concerned with the voluntary incorporation of spirits.
The belief that the body can be temporarily inhabited by non-physical beings is particularly widespread. Erika Bourguignon (1973), in a cross-cultural study of 488 widely distributed societies selected from a compendium of ‘adequately described cultures’ (1973, p. 11), determined that ninety percent of her sample societies utilised some form of institutionalised altered state of consciousness, and that seventy percent of the sampled societies associated such states with the notion of spirit possession (Bourguignon, 1973, pp. 9-11; 2007, p. 375). Of course, there are important differences between the world’s various spirit possession traditions, which, like all human practices, differ in their cultural expression, but all share the common theme of utilising altered states of consciousness, of one form or another, as a means to interact with the ‘spirit world’ and the divine (Dawson, 2011, p. 9).
The Euro-American Spiritualist movement was, and is, therefore, part of a much wider human phenomenon, but while anthropology has been predominantly concerned with investigating spirit possession practices in Non-Western societies, there has been a distinct lack of research into contemporary Euro-American spirit mediumship (see Gilbert and Meintel in this volume, Nelson, 1969; Skultans, 1974 and Emmons, 2008 for notable exceptions), and even less on contemporary trance and physical mediumship. The research presented here, and elsewhere (Hunter, 2011; 2012a; 2012b; 2013) is intended to help fill this gap in the ethnographic record.
Theories of Spirit Possession
Anthropological investigations of spirit possession practices have usually tended towards the dominant explanatory frameworks of functionalism, pathology (psychological and medical), performance studies, and, more recently, cognitive science and neurophysiology. (Stoller, 1994, p. 637; Dawson 2011). We will now briefly examine some of these approaches, before outlining the methodological approach employed in this chapter.
Functionalist interpretations generally hold that spirit possession performs an essential function for the social group within which it is practiced. Lewis (1971), for example, has argued that spirit possession rituals often serve as ‘thinly disguised protest movements directed against the dominant sex’ (or, indeed, any other dominant group), because during the period of possession the possessed is ‘totally blameless’ for their actions; ‘responsibility lies not with them, but with the spirits’ (1971, pp. 31-32), allowing the socially repressed to vent their frustrations publicly. Functionalist analyses of spirit possession in this vein have been very popular amongst anthropologists and have been applied to numerous societies worldwide (Giles, 1987, p. 235). These include accounts of the Zar possession cult of Northern Sudan (Boddy, 1988), spirit possession amongst the Digo in Southern Kenya (Gomm, 1975), amongst Brazilian mediums (Fry, 1986), in the case of spontaneous epidemics of spirit possession in Malaysian factories (Ong, 1988), and even in a Spiritualist home-circle in 1960s Wales (Skultans, 1974).
Psychoanalytic approaches to spirit possession are less widespread, but are perhaps best represented by Gannanath Obeyesekere’s (1984) seminal study of spirit possession in Sri Lanka. Obeyesekere interpreted possession as a symptom, along with other symbolic bodily expressions (for example the matted hair of priestesses), as outward symbols of repressed negative life experiences. Psychoanalytic interpretations of spirit possession emphasize ‘past traumatic and distressful experiences’ in the lives of the possessed (Budden, 2003, p. 28), and suggest that the behaviours and psychological sensations associated with the possession state are symbolic symptoms of the unconscious repression of such negative life experiences.
The association of spirit possession with pathology has been a persistent and widespread theme in anthropological and other social-scientific analyses (Csordas 1987; Zingrone, 1994, pp. 102-103; Emmons, 2008, p. 72). Specifically, spirit possession has been associated with epilepsy (Carrazana et al., 1999; Jilek-Aall, 1999), nutrient deficiency (Kehoe & Giletti, 1981; Bourguignon et al., 1983, p. 414), psychosis (Goff et al., 1991), and dissociative identity disorder (Braude, 1988; Taves, 2006, p. 123). From this perspective, then, spirit possession is understood as a symptom of underlying pathology, indeed spirit possession has even been controversially classified as a culture-bound syndrome in the DSM-IV (Lewis-Fernandez, 1992; Cardena et al. 2009).
Cognitive approaches to spirit possession have been gaining increasing traction within anthropology, primarily following the lead of pioneering work by Stewart Guthrie (1980; 1993) and Pascal Boyer (2001) on cognitive approaches to supernatural belief. Specifically, the work of Emma Cohen (2008) has been particularly influential. Cohen discerns two primary forms of spirit possession: pathogenic possession, in which possession by spiritual beings is understood to be the underlying cause of illness, and executive possession, being the deliberate, and desired, incorporation of spirits, often called spirit mediumship. Cohen suggests that the cognitive processes underlying pathogenic possession are the same as those normally involved with the ‘representation of contamination,’ while the cognitive faculties involved in executive possession usually deal with ‘the world of intentional agents.’ From this perspective, then, spirit possession is nothing more than the misinterpretation of otherwise normal cognitive schema.
While it is undoubtedly true that each of the approaches outlined above provides insight into the sociological functions and psychological underpinnings of spirit possession experiences and practices, it is also fair to say that none of them is able to provide a complete explanatory model of spirit possession. Functionalist models frequently fail to take into account the experiences and understandings of the possessed themselves (Bowker, 1973; Boddy, 1988, p. 4), and do not always correspond with the ethnographic facts (Wilson, 1967; Rasmussen, 1994, p. 76). Similarly, cognitive approaches have been criticised for their reduction of particularly complex social and experiential phenomena to highly specific, not to mention speculative, cognitive processes (Halloy, 2010). Pathological interpretations also fall short of the ethnographic reality, with mediums often displaying fewer signs of mental illness than non-mediums in a variety of different cultural contexts (Moreira-Almeida et al., 2008, p. 420; Roxburgh & Roe, 2011, p. 294), and preliminary neurophysiological research suggests that there are significant neurophysiological differences between possession states and pathological states, such as epilepsy (Oohashi et al., 2002; Hageman et al., 2010).
Methodological Orientation: An Experiential Approach
The approach employed here, then, will not begin from the assumption that spirit possession is a pathological condition, and nor will it assume that mediumship is a purely social-functional phenomenon (though it undoubtedly does perform social functions). Furthermore, rather than attempting to reduce the complexity of spirit possession to specific cognitive and neurophysiological processes, the research presented here seeks to take the first-hand experiences of fieldwork informants seriously, at face-value, in order to explore what such experiences might tell us about their world-view, and the development of specific folk models of mind and matter. I use the term ‘folk’ here to refer to models of understanding the mind and matter built upon personal experience, inference and intuition, that is how models of mind are formed from personal experience (Berlotti & Magnani, 2010, p. 252). This emphasis on experience falls neatly in line with what folklorist David J. Hufford has called the experience-centred approach. Hufford argues in favour of the ‘experiential source hypothesis’ (ESH) as a tool for investigating ‘supernatural’ beliefs and experiences. The ESH breaks away from the more widely accepted cultural source hypothesis, which holds that paranormal experiences and beliefs arise from the diffusion of specific cultural ideas, in favour of the notion that supernatural beliefs might have their origins in real-life experiences, regardless of whether such experiences are genuinely ‘paranormal’ or not. Hufford writes:
The primary theoretical statement of the [experience-centred] approach might be roughly summed up as follows: some significant portion of traditional supernatural belief is associated with accurate observations interpreted rationally. This does not suggest that all such belief has this association. Nor is this association taken as proof that the beliefs are true [...] (Hufford, 1982, p. xviii)
So the idea here, in the context of the Bristol Spirit Lodge, is that their ‘ethno-metaphysics’ (Hallowell, 2002, p. 20), comprising their folk-models of consciousness, is founded upon rational interpretations of experiences had during séances and in the process of mediumship development. That is not, as Hufford states, to say that such experiences are genuinely of a paranormal nature (though they could be), but just to suggest that their experiences have validity in themselves, and that such beliefs are not to be lightly brushed aside as necessarily irrational or unfounded (Turner, 1993, p. 11; Bowie, 2013), indeed they may be able to tell us something of interest about the nature and phenomenology of human consciousness, and about the relationship between consciousness and the physical body (Peres et al., 2012; Hunter, 2013a).
A Brief History of Spiritualist Mediumship
The Spiritualist movement has many historical predecessors in the form of, amongst other historical seers and prophets, the Eighteenth Century Swedish mystic and scientist Emmanuel Swedenborg, whose journey’s through the spirit world while in a trance state seemed to pre-empt the Spiritualist movement by almost a century (Van Dusen, 1994). The craze for animal magnetism, also known as mesmerism, in the early Nineteenth Century also pre-empted, and was eventually subsumed by, the Spiritualist movement. Patients undergoing mesmeric treatments often seemed to exhibit extrasensory powers while in the mesmeric trance (Inglis, 1989, pp. 46-60), and some even claimed to be in contact with spiritual beings.
The Spiritualist movement, as a distinct phenomenon, however, didn’t officially take shape until March 31st 1848 when, in the small town of Hydesville in New York State, the home of the Fox family became the locus of some unusual psychokinetic activity (Doyle, 2006; Pearsall, 2004, pp. 29-33; Melechi, 2008, p. 161; Byrne, 2010, p.18). The Fox’s were plagued by perplexing anomalous bangs and knocks on the walls and ceiling of their modest wooden house. In an effort to make sense of what was going on the two youngest sisters of the family, Kate and Margaret, began to address the knocks as though they were being produced by an invisible intelligence. The sisters soon realised that they could communicate with this apparently invisible agent through a simple code of knocks, one for ‘Yes’ and two for ‘No,’ and in this way discovered that the mysterious knocker was the spirit of a pedlar by the name of Charles Rosma, who had been murdered in the house some years before the Fox family moved in (Bednarowski, 1980, p. 213; Gauld, 1982, p. 3; Taves, 1999, p. 166; Pearsall, 2004; Stemman, 2005, p. V; Blum, 2007; Warner, 2008, p. 221; Byrne, 2010; Moreman, 2010, p. 161). This would come to be known as the ‘spiritual telegraph.’
News of the Fox sisters and their apparent ability to communicate with invisible spirits spread rapidly across the United States and Europe leaving a trail of individuals discovering their own ability to communicate with the dead (Nelson, 1969, p. 5). By 1853, only five years after the movement’s birth in New York State, Spiritualism had become a religion, and spread across the Atlantic to secure a firm foothold in Britain with the establishment of the first Spiritualist Church in the small town of Keighley in Yorkshire (Doyle, 2006, p. 84; Nelson, 1969, p. 91). Before long the manifestations of spirit communication began to diversify, evolving from simple question and answer sessions with knocks, through experiments with Ouija boards and automatic writing to full trance communications utilising deep altered states of consciousness, and eventually to the alleged materialisation of spirits from the mysterious semi-physical substance known as ‘ectoplasm’ (Moreman, 2010, p. 161).
The earliest form of Spiritualist mediumship, comprising raps and knocks, evolved into what would later be called ‘physical mediumship,’ defined by Jon Klimo as the purported ability of certain mediums to ‘channel unknown energies that affect the physical environment in ways that can be directly experienced by persons other than the channel’ (Klimo, 1987, p. 200). Perhaps the most influential innovator in early physical mediumship was the Scottish-born American medium Daniel Dunglas Home (1833-1886). After an early life allegedly filled with spiritual visions and premonitions, Home conducted his first séance at the age of eighteen and swiftly gained a reputation as a powerful medium. By 1856 Home was conducting séances in Britain. Séances with Home were said to feature a wide range of inexplicable phenomena, from communications with spirits while the medium was in a deep trance state, to the materialisation of hands and heads, and the levitation and apportation (spontaneous appearance) of objects. In 1868 he performed his most famous paranormal feat – the levitation of his body horizontally out through a third-story window at Ashley House in London. (Doyle, 2006, p. 99; Lamont, 2006, pp. 185-187).
In 1874 Home’s mediumship received further support with the publication of a positive report by physicist Sir William Crookes. Using specially designed laboratory equipment Crookes tested Home’s ability to change the weight of physical objects and to play tunes on an accordion suspended out of reach in a cage (Lamont, 2005, pp. 204-207; Alvarado, 2006, p. 142; Melechi, 2008, pp. 198-200). Arthur Conan Doyle considered Home to be something of a virtuoso in that he was proficient in four different forms of mediumship: the direct voice (whereby spirits communicate verbally independent of the medium), trance mediumship (whereby spirits communicate verbally through the body of the medium), clairvoyance (the ability to see visions of the spirit world, the future and distant locations) and physical mediumship (the ability to psychically manipulate physical objects) (Doyle, 2006, p. 106). Home’s abilities form the core phenomena of physical mediumship, even today.
Owing to numerous exposures of fraudulence, especially after the foundation of the Society for Psychical Research in 1882, physical mediumship slowly declined in popularity to be replaced with somewhat more refined forms of clairvoyant and trance mediumship, which came to be known as ‘mental mediumship’ (Neher, 1990, p. 207). Three of the most influential and rigorously investigated mental mediums, Leonora Piper (1857–1950), Gladys Osborne Leonard (1882-1968) and Eileen J. Garrett (1893-1970), would enter into a deep trance state during which ostensible spirits would communicate through their inert bodies giving apparently veridical information under controlled conditions to sitters and psychical researchers alike. This is referred to as ‘trance mediumship.’ Today, Euro-American society is perhaps most familiar with ‘platform mediumship.’ This is the kind of mediumship that you will find in the Spiritualist churches, as well as on television programmes and theatre stages, and is often referred to as psychic or clairvoyant (or clairaudient, clairsentient, etc.) mediumship. Platform mediums do not usually enter into a trance state (at least not a particularly deep one), and the spirit communications they receive are often highly symbolic, requiring interpretation by both the medium and the person to whom the message is directed.
By the late 1950s physical mediumship was virtually extinct in the United Kingdom, though there were several exceptions including the physical mediumship of Helen Duncan (1897-1956) and Minnie Harrison (1895-1958), amongst a few others. It wasn’t until the 1990s that an interest in physical mediumship returned to the popular consciousness (Foy, 2007).
A reinvigorated interest in physical mediumship developed after the publication of Montague Keen and David Fontana’s The Scole Report by the Society for Psychical Research in 1999, and the popularised version The Scole Experiment, also published in the same year. Montague Keen, one of the parapsychologists who investigated the group on behalf of the Society for Psychical Research, outlines the basic claims made about the Scole experiments, he writes:
Based on two years of regular séances, the Group’s chief claims were that they had established contact with a ‘team’ of spirit communicators [...] These had been accessed through [...] a husband and wife team, both of whom entered swiftly into deep trance, remaining thus throughout the proceedings, of which they retained no conscious recollection. The purported discarnate contacts had facilitated the manifestation of spirit lights, moved furniture, created apports (objects appearing from no known source and by no known means), displayed shadowy figures described as angelic forms, and produced films, allegedly employing a novel form of energy not involving the traditional ectoplasmic extrusions [...] (Keen, 2001, pp. 167-168)
Regardless of whether or not the phenomena witnessed at Scole were genuinely paranormal, the popularisation of the case led to the emergence of new experimental home-circles devoted to the development of physical mediumship, with circles often employing séance procedures influenced by the Scole group’s set-up (Hunter, 2012). It was at one of these new private home-circles that my main fieldwork informant, Christine, first became acquainted with mediumship.
Into the Field: Contemporary Trance & Physical Mediumship in Bristol
The Bristol Spirit Lodge was established in 2005 as a centre for the development of trance and physical mediumship when Christine, who describes herself as a mother and housewife in her mid-sixties, became convinced of the reality of spirit mediumship following a physical mediumship séance at Jenny’s Sanctuary, a well known Spiritualist circle in Banbury. She had been invited to the séance by a friend and, not knowing what a physical mediumship séance was, decided to go along to find out. During the séance, conducted in a plain room with about 30 sitters, Christine saw bright lights floating and flashing around the séance room, heard numerous disembodied voices, whistles and loud bangs coming from all corners, witnessed a ‘partly materialised something,’ and, to cap it all off, heard a voice that she recognised as belonging to her deceased father. In a short self-published autobiography Christine describes the profound effect of this séance experience on her worldview:
I now had no option but to believe that something very serious was happening. I felt sick with the sudden shock [...] I knew I couldn’t ignore reality [...] There are no boundaries. We simply cannot see all that exists. I needed to somehow persuade my mind to accept this fact completely; otherwise I would close my mind, whilst at the same time knowing that my previous belief was incorrect. I had believed that when we died we were dead. I needed to get a grip if I was to learn from the experience that had been offered to me [in] the séance [...] at Banbury (Di Nucci, 2009, pp. 23-25)
Prior to her life-changing séance experience, Christine claims that she was uninterested in religious and spiritual matters, jokingly describing herself as a ‘devout atheist.’ She claims no psychic abilities and recalls only two possible paranormal experiences from her youth. She does recall an invisible friend she had during a period of family disruption, but interprets this as nothing more than a ‘psychological crutch,’ seeing no reason to consider it a hint at her future interest in spirit mediumship. She was, however, particularly interested in the developments of modern science, having read Stephen Hawking’s popular A Brief History of Time (1988), and journalist Lynn McTaggart’s pop-science (some might say pseudoscientific) book on quantum physics and consciousness, The Field (2001). Her autobiography describes how she attempted to interpret the experiences she had while in the séance room through the lens of her interest in science, which she has characterised as a ‘DIY house-wifey awareness of science’ (Interview with Christine, 25/02/2013). She now has a great enthusiasm for mediumship, a fact alluded to by the sheer amount of time she spends in her Lodge with developing mediums – by now she has taken part in over one thousand séances.
The Lodge itself is a wooden shed in Christine’s back garden. Originally, while still based in Bristol, the Lodge was constructed, using £2,000 of her savings, according to simple rules recommended by Ron, the circle leader at Jenny’s Sanctuary. It was important to Christine that the Lodge be built with love, and that it be imbued with positive emotions. To this end all the materials used to construct it were blessed, kissed and treated with great respect. It was important to Christine that the Lodge only be associated with ‘positive energies,’ so as to avoid the risk of attracting negative entities during séances. The Lodge was aligned so that the séance cabinet, a curtained off corner of the room in which the medium sits while in trance (a direct descendant of the spirit cabinets used by physical mediums in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth centuries), was located in the North corner, a position deemed conducive to the flow of vital ‘energies’ necessary for the successful development of physical mediumship.
All mediums at the Lodge are working towards the manifestation of various physical phenomena including levitation, transfiguration (the appearance of spirit faces over the face of the entranced medium), ectoplasmic materialisation, dematerialisation of the body and psychic surgery, and all of this under the direction of their discarnate spirit teams. However, due to the difficulties associated with the production of such seemingly outlandish phenomena (which only highly developed mediums are allegedly able to produce), the majority of séances held in the Lodge are trance sessions, during which the medium enters into a trance state and allows members of their spirit team to communicate with the sitters (Gauld 1982:29). Spirit teams at the Lodge generally consist of between six and sixteen individual spirits with distinctive and consistent characters, ranging from children who died in the Nineteenth century, Victorian undertakers, through Native American chiefs and Chinese philosophers. Individual members of each medium’s spirit team are usually differentiated through the use of distinctive bodily postures and exaggerated vocalisations that allow them to be recognised as distinct personalities (Hunter, 2013b), and each spirit usually works towards the production of a specific physical phenomenon, depending upon their own interests. This emphasis on trance mediumship, or channeling (Klimo, 1987; Brown, 1997), locates the practices of the Bristol Spirit Lodge firmly within the remit of the anthropological debate over spirit possession (Lewis, 1988, p. 24).
Mediumship and the Development of Folk Models of Mind & Matter
As we have already seen, the Lodge was established specifically so that Christine could apply her ‘house-wifey DIY knowledge of science’ to understand the experiences she had during the séance in Banbury. Mediumship development at the Lodge can, therefore, be thought of as an on-going experiment in which both mediums and sitters construct their own understandings of the nature of consciousness and reality. The following extract from an interview with Christine demonstrates how belief at the Lodge is not a fixed position, but rather represents an ongoing process of learning, interpretation and re-interpretation. Indeed, in a recent interview Christine explained how she has a problem with the word ‘belief’ being applied to her, explaining how she thinks she is ‘generally mistrusting’ and that without evidence she has ‘difficulty believing in anything.’ Her conclusions about the nature of mind and matter, therefore, are founded upon her own experiences with mediumship. She says:
[Mediumship] expands the thinking. It certainly expands the possibilities. I wasn’t thinking any of this when I started six years ago. You learn all the time, I mean I’m doing three, four, Séances a week and have over a thousand Séances with all different people, all different mediums and all different situations. I am fascinated by it still. I am not one least bit satisfied that I’ve learned anything. I want more! Yeah, I want more and more and more. Because it’s just a bigger subject than any other I’ve hit on (Interview with Christine 16/06/2012).
A few of the key ideas that, according to my interview data, have arisen from this experimental process of experiential learning include the idea that consciousness can survive the death of the physical body, that personhood is partible, that the body is permeable, that reality is non-physical, and that consciousness is a fundamental property of the universe. We will now explore these themes through extracts from interviews with members of the Bristol Spirit Lodge.
Interview Extracts and Commentary
The following extracts are taken from interviews with mediums and sitters at the Bristol Spirit Lodge between 2011-2013, and have been transcribed directly from audio recordings. Through looking at some of the ideas concerning the nature of consciousness and the body, as well as descriptions of interactions with spiritual beings, it is hoped that we will begin to see the emergence of key features of the ethno-metaphysical system of the Bristol Spirit Lodge.
1)    Survival of Consciousness after Death.
In this extract from Sandy, a nutritional therapist in her late forties and medium at the Lodge, describes how her experiences developing mediumship over the past four years, have led her to a firmer understanding that personal consciousness survives the physical death of the body:
Um, I’m much more relaxed [...] I’ve been able to think about what I believe in. It never occurred to me before, I just didn’t think about it. And, uh, it’s changed the pace of my life. It’s changed, um, my knowledge of continuation, after we’ve died, and it’s given me comfort in that way. The funny thing was before it ever happened, um, I knew my brother and my grandmother still existed, but it never occurred to me that anybody else did either. Because they were the only two people I knew who’d died, then I knew they were still about, but that’s as far as I’d ever thought it, I’d never looked into any of it ever, I’d just never considered any of it ever (Interview with Sandy 23/03/2011).
It was only after being introduced to mediumship by Christine, and subsequently developing trance mediumship herself, that Sandy came to realise that consciousness survives after the death of the body. Similarly, in this quotation from Emily, a 33 year old mother of two and office worker who has recently begun to develop physical mediumship, explains how her experiences with mediumship have led to a reassurance of her own belief in survival:
I think it has proven that there is more to ‘life’ and I guess I’m not worried about death [...] I also feel like I am contributing to getting the message and something evidential ‘out there’ to help people believe in the reality of continuing life, as I believe this to be, and come closer to understanding what exists around them. I feel that it’s amazing and it should be shared! (Interview with Emily 12/02/2013).
Emily first became seriously interested in mediumship following a health scare that prompted her to question the possibility of life after death. Her experiences with mediumship development have helped to diminish her concerns about dying.
2)    Spiritual Augmentation
One of the most interesting ideas that has emerged, in my opinion, is that spiritual beings can be useful, that they can actually help in everyday life in a variety of ways. I refer to this as an augmentation. In her study of Afro-Cuban Spiritism, for example, Diana Espirito Santo argues that mediumship is a ‘type of partnership between a person and a series of spirits’ and that the ‘person’ of the medium is a ‘meeting-ground for the unique abilities of each of the spirits belonging to her spiritual cordon’ (Espirito Santo, 2011, p. 102). Spirit mediumship can be thought of, therefore, as a process whereby the medium’s person is expanded through the incorporation of other spiritual beings, thus creating what could be considered a composite, or multiple, personhood. Here Sandy explains how the spirits help her to keep a clear mind, assisting in the recall and implementation of knowledge and information:
[The spirits] help me keep a clearer mind, and therefore I am able to make better decisions. I can utilise information that I’ve got [...] I did a degree in nutritional medicine, years ago I was a nurse and a mid-wife, and there’s a lot of information in my head somewhere, but I can actually tap in on information that I’ve not used in years and years and years [...] the knowledge is mine but it can be used more efficiently (Interview with Sandy 23/03/2011).
Simlarly Christine explains how she interacts with her spirit guide Fuzzy Critter (also known as FC). Fuzzy Critter plays an important role in the organisation of the Séances at the Lodge, and directs Christine on occasion in order to get the ‘energies right.’ She explains:
As time when on in trusting Fuzzy Critter, and these telepathic voices, I did get to a point where I knew it was separate from me [...] It was a separate personality. The words he uses are better than mine [...] his language is different to mine [...] His general way of working, it’s not me, in fact sometimes I’ll argue with him [...] I have a sense, he seems to approach me from this side of my shoulder, this side of my head [left]. I, in my own mind, feel that he’s a bit like a fluffy owl siting on my shoulder [...] Sometimes it’s annoying if I’m doing housework and he wants to communicate with me, and I get this feeling. It’s a bit like having something playing with your hair, or whispering in your ear when you’re trying to do something (Interview with Christine 18/11/2009).
For Sandy and Christine, then, spiritual beings provide a practical service through giving advice and helping to focus lines of thought and inspiration, perhaps echoing the classical notion of the daemonic muse. Transpersonal psychologist Alex Rachel has even gone so far as to speculate on the possibility that human consciousness has evolved along side, and under the symbiotic influence of, non-physical entities (Rachel, 2013). Christine recently explained the importance and practicality of this symbiotic relationship between spirits and the living, and how the modern world has forgotten something fundamental:
Mankind [is] missing something that is their natural right [...] The world is crap and we are missing a link that we are entitled to [...] Ancestors can offer their advice, their support, for real (Interview with Christine 25/02/2013).
3)  Porous Bodies and Field-like Selves
These kinds of experience appear to hint at a model of personhood that is somewhat different to the usually assumed ‘Western’ model of the person, which Clifford Geertz defines as:
[...] a bounded, unique, more or less integrated motivational and cognitive universe, a dynamic center of awareness, emotion, judgment and action organized into a distinctive whole and set contrastively against other such wholes and against its social and natural background (Geertz, 1974, p. 31)
Experiences with mediumship would appear, therefore, to lead towards a different perspective on the nature of the person, one that has classically been labelled a ‘Non-Western’ model of personhood, which is contrasted with the Western model, as outlined above, in that the person is conceived as porous and susceptible to the influence of external agents (Steffen, 2011; Smith, 2012, p. 53). This conception of the person as porous comes across most strongly in Lodge members’ descriptions of the body. Christine says:
I think we just flow through each other. Or, we’ve got very blurred edges, we appear to be solid, but only our eyes are seeing this solid, this light reflection which causes us to appear solid. We’re not. So, our boundaries aren’t where we think they are. We are here to experience whatever this is, this life-form, this stage of life is. We are here [...] to experience, or to perceive things as solid and individual and it’s a very little tiny part of a very big life. I think. Possibly (Interview with Christine 16/06/2012).
Christine conceives of the boundaries of the person as extending beyond the confines of the physical body, which itself only appears to be solid. According to this perspective the  ‘solid’ and the ‘individual’ are, to a certain extent, illusionary. With a porous body, then, it is possible for things to flow in and out of the person. Anthropologist Fiona Bowie has characterised this through describing the body, in the context of Spiritualist trance séances, as a ‘shared territory, holding the physical life-force of the medium and the conscious intelligence of visiting spirits’ (Bowie, In Press, p. 14). In further discussions, Christine has described her model of consciousness as being somewhat ‘like an onion,’ that is ‘a whole split into millions and trillions of consciousnesses that can act together’ (Interview with Christine 25/02/2013). This kind of pluralistic understanding of consciousness and the person recurs throughout the ethnographic literature (see, as one such example, Roseman on the structure of the self among Senoi Temiar, which is described as consisting of ‘a number of potentially detachable selves’ 1990, p. 227).
Here, as another example of understanding the body as permeable, Emily describes the sensation of spirit beings moving into her ‘personal space’ as she waits to go out into the Lodge to practice her mediumship:
Then usually around the table while we are waiting for the start I will feel a presence around me kind of like an enveloping feeling, the first thing I feel is as if a friend is standing unseen nearby. I have an awareness of there being someone there, near me, that is a friend. I then feel them come closer into my personal ‘space’ in some quiet gentle way (Interview with Emily 13/02/2013).
Emily’s description of a sense of presence, unseen but felt, suggests a model of the self as a non-physical field expanding outwards, into which other entities can pass. In this extract from an interview with another medium, Rachael, who has been attending the Lodge for just over one year, she explains how before developing mediumship she would frequently experience unusual, and often unpleasant, sensations of spirits moving through her body. She explains:
When they actually make a personal entrance into your body, that’s pretty bizarre. It would normally happen, um, in the middle of the night I’d wake up and there was something, it’s a sort of odd feeling, it’s like, um, if you can imagine taking off a polo necked jumper, but from inside yourself. It’s like something’s pulling, it’s kind of gone in, and then it’s kind of pulling out, and it’s, oh, I can’t explain it, but it’s the weirdest, weirdest feeling. But it’s quite horrible [...] It happened, um, on about three occasions through my thirties, and in the end I got talking to a medium and she said it sounds like a spirit entity in you, or something passing through you, and she said to contact the local Spiritualist church, but, I did that, but nobody there seemed to feel the same kind of thing: with mental mediumship it all seems to be outside of the person coming in through the mind and talking, it wasn’t, with me it’s a very physical thing [...] (Interview with Rachael 16/06/2012).
For Rachael the process of developing mediumship allowed her to come to terms with experiences that had previously been disturbing. Where once the experience of spirits moving through her body had been unpleasant and spontaneous, it is now both deliberately induced and enjoyable. She explains how mediumship development has made her ‘soft and squidgy’ and ‘more open to other people’ (Interview with Rachael, 25/02/2013).
There is also a belief amongst Lodge members that the physical body itself can, on occasion, dematerialise completely. This extract from a report by Jerry (a regular sitter and developing medium at the Lodge), on witnessing a physical mediumship demonstration, describes his difficulty in coming to terms with the apparent dematerialisation of the medium’s physical body:
I’ve been trying to think of words to adequately describe what I felt and saw, but it’s impossible really. I was sitting next to the cabinet, so when I was asked by Yellow Feather to move in front of the cabinet I was able to do this quite easily, despite it being in blackout conditions at the time. When Yellow Feather asked me to feel the chair, where [the medium] had been sitting, he wasn’t there! His chair was empty! The spirit team had, they said, dematerialised him. I found this hard to believe. But [the medium] is a big lad and I was sitting right beside the cabinet, and no-one walked past me. So where was he? (Jerry, October 2011)
All of this seems to suggest that the classical anthropological distinction between Western and Non-Western personhood conceptions is incorrect, and that there are huge variations in the way that consciousness and the body are understood and experienced even within a single ‘dominant’ culture. This is not the same as saying that the members of the Bristol Spirit Lodge necessarily partake of a socio-centric conception of the self, as perhaps exemplified by the frequently cited example of Japanese notions of an ‘interdependent’ self ‘as part of an encompassing social relationship [in which] one’s behavior is determined, contingent on, and, to a large extent organized by what the actor perceives to be the thoughts, feelings, and actions of others in the relationship’ (Markus & Kitayama, 1991, p. 227). It is not this kind of social-self concept that I am referring to, because in most cases the members of the Lodge appear to possess what might be considered a normal ‘Western’ notion of the self in terms of kinship relationships and everyday social interactions. Where they differ is in the porosity of the self: the belief that the self can be influenced by non-physical entities, that the physical body is not permanently bounded and may be entered by non-physical beings as well as, on occasion, dematerialising completely, and that the self can leave the physical body during altered states of consciousness. What we seem to be dealing with, then, is a greater degree of intra-cultural variation in experiences and concepualisations of self and body than the standard Western/Non-Western dichotomy seems to allow for (Spiro 1993, pp. 144-145), and this calls for further investigation (Lillard, 1998).
4)    Panpsychism
The final aspect of this ethno-metaphysical system that I want to touch upon is the notion of ‘panpsychism,’ broadly defined as the idea that consciousness is inherent in all matter (Velmans 2007:279). Here Christine explains her understanding that even seemingly inert tables possess an element of consciousness:
It’s funny because [...] I think that table has an element of consciousness in it. I think it belongs to something. I think it’s part of something. I think it’s got vibrations. It’s got a something. I don’t know how aware it is, but people, or certain psychics, can pick up the memory of that table – the history of that table, the tree it belonged to. You know, if you get sensitive enough you can do all that stuff. I can’t, but it has a being, a something. That table does! If that’s got consciousness, that’s it, it’s beyond me, it really is beyond me where it starts, where does it come from? I don’t know where it comes from, I haven’t a clue, and it gets more and more complicated as you look into it and wonder about it [...] I don’t know what consciousness is and I’ve got no idea. I don’t know where it comes from. I definitely, I think it’s everywhere, but, everything is conscious to different degrees [...] maybe it collects together and becomes stronger. I don’t know (Interview with Christine 16/06/2012).
Christine’s experiences assisting the development of mediums at the Bristol Spirit Lodge have ultimately led her to an understanding of consciousness as a fundamental property of reality, and as ubiquitous throughout matter. This understanding has emerged from a combination of anomalous experiences in the séance room, and the metaphysical teachings of the spirits she converses with through entranced mediums. For Christine, séance phenomena are an expression of the fact that matter and energy are the same thing. Consciousness, as an aspect of physical existence, therefore, must also be energy, and so consciousness must be present in everything to a greater or lesser extent. She explains how mediumship is simply the ‘energy of people that have died interacting with the energy of people who are alive’ (Interview with Christine 25/02/2013).
Preliminary Conclusions
The often cited distinction between so-called ‘Western’ and ‘Non-Western’ models of the self and person appears to represent a dichotomy that does not fit with the ethnographic data (La Fontaine, 1985; Spiro, 1993). To assume that there is a neat divide between ‘bounded’ and ‘porous’ models of the person, and to suggest that these represent discrete ‘Western’ and ‘Non-Western’ categories, is an oversimplification of something that is far more fluid and varied. Experiences with mediumship development in sub-urban Bristol, for example, have led my fieldwork informants to develop models of personhood that would classically have been defined as ‘Non-Western.’ What we appear to be dealing with, therefore, is a much greater degree of intra-cultural variation in understandings about the nature of consciousness and its relation to the body than the standard dichotomy seems to allow for, and this variation derives, to a large extent, from personal experience (Luhrmann, 2012, xxii).
In the context of the Bristol Spirit Lodge, mind and matter are causally interconnected and frequently overlapping. Discarnate, non-physical, spirits can interact with physical bodies, and the material world can be influenced by conscious intention, for example in the practice of psychic surgery. Ectoplasm represents a half-way substance between the physical and the non-physical: it is believed to be extruded from the physical body so that it can be manipulated by non-physical spirits. The human body can, on occasion, even be dematerialised completely under the influence of spiritual entities, and consciousness can exist beyond the confines of the physical brain. All of this suggests a hugely different conception of the nature of the ‘self’ to the often assumed ‘bounded, unique…distinctive whole’ (Geertz, 1974) of the Western notion of the self. 
To conclude, it is clearly important to take experience seriously in the study of folk-psychology, ethno-metaphysics and supernatural belief. Through attempting to understand the experiential foundations of belief in, for example, survival of consciousness after death, the permeability of the body and pluralistic models of the self, we can move towards a more nuanced understanding of different cultural and sub-cultural systems. Ideas that might, at first glance, appear outlandish need not necessarily be classified as irrational or unscientific, but can be understood as logical conclusions drawn from first-hand personal experiences interpreted rationally (Hufford, 1982; Turner, 1993; Bowie, 2013). Once we are able to move beyond the hegemonic dismissal of alternative modes of understanding the relationship between the mind and the body, we open ourselves up to a much wider range of possibilities regarding the nature of consciousness (Cohen & Rapport, 1995, p. 13; Samuel & Johnston, 2013).
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Thursday, 25 September 2014

The Brain as Filter: On Removing the Stuffing from the Keyhole

 



[We are] Peeping Toms at the keyhole of eternity. But at least we can try to take the stuffing out of the keyhole, which blocks even our limited view.
—Arthur Koestler, Janus: A Summing Up.1

Our sense organs and our brain operate as an intricate kind of filter which limits and directs the mind's clairvoyant powers, so that under normal conditions attention is concentrated on just those objects or situations that are of biological importance for the survival of the organism and its species?…?As a rule, it would seem, the mind rejects ideas coming from another mind as the body rejects grafts coming from another body.
 —Cyril Burt (1883-1971) Professor of Psychology University College, London.2
 
Our body has two life-sustaining filters, the liver and kidneys. Our five-pound liver traps toxins and other substances that enter the body and neutralizes them in quick order. When it is functioning at peak capacity, it can filter two quarts of blood a minute. Our fist-sized kidneys also are sophisticated filters. Each day they process approximately 200 quarts of blood, reabsorbing valuable elements and filtering out around two quarts of wastes and extra water, eliminating them via the ureters and bladder. But perhaps the body's most efficient filter goes largely unnoticed: our brain.
In his book The Doors of Perception, which helped galvanize the counterculture of the 1960s, novelist Aldous Huxley wrote, “[E]ach one of us is potentially Mind at Large. But in so far as we are animals, our business at all costs is to survive. To make biological survival possible, Mind at Large has to be funneled through the reducing valve of the brain and nervous system. What comes out at the other end is a measly trickle of the kind of consciousness which will help us to stay alive on the surface of this particular planet.”3
Huxley, like Henri Bergson, Ferdinand Schiller, William James, and others before him, believed the brain functions as a filter, normally shutting out perceptions, memories, and thoughts that are not necessary for the survival and reproduction of the organism. Rather than producing consciousness, these observers believed the brain largely eliminates it, diminishing what consciousness is capable of revealing to us. As astrophysicist David Darling says in his book Soul Search, we are conscious not because of the brain, but despite it.4
Frederic W. H. Myers (1843-1901), the British classical scholar, poet, and philosopher, advanced a sophisticated filter theory of brain function that was endorsed by his friend and colleague William James, the Harvard physician and psychologist who is widely considered the founder of American psychology. James, with his superb capacity for metaphor, suggested that the brain acts as a lens or prism that filters, reduces, redirects, or otherwise alters incoming light in a systematic fashion.5 But James didn't consider lenses or prisms as the ultimate metaphor for the brain. As University of Virginia psychologist and consciousness researcher Edward F. Kelly states in his analysis of Myers' views, “Subsequent advocates of transmission or filter models have tended naturally to update this basic picture with reference to emerging technologies such as radio and television” that serve as the filter instead of lenses or prisms.6

Unstuffing the Keyhole

Throughout history people have used an astonishing variety of methods to overcome the brain's filter and increase the “measly trickle” of awareness that results. Poets and artists are among those who have tried most ingeniously to clear the keyhole.
James Merrill, Pulitzer winner and one of the greatest American poets of the 20th century, used a Ouija board for this purpose, assisted by his long-time friend David Jackson. “The board goes along at a smart clip, perhaps 600 words an hour,” Merrill reported. By this means Merrill would communicate, he said, with dead friends and spirits “in another world.” The messages would be transcribed letter by letter, then Merrill would edit and rewrite the transcriptions. Asked if he could have written his great poems without the help of the board, he replied, “It would seem not.” How did the process work? “[T]he point?…?[is] to be always of two minds,” Merrill explained. “You could think of the board as a delaying mechanism. It spaces out, into time and language, what might have come to a saint or a lunatic in one blinding ZAP. Considering the amount of detail and my own limitations, it must have been the most workable method?.?…?[It has] made me think twice about the imagination?.?…?Victor Hugo said of his voices that they were like his own mental powers multiplied by five.”7
Some artists simply surrender to the unconscious and trust it to cleanse the filter and maximize their creativity. A notable example is the famous French psychic Hélène Smith, whose real name was Catherine-Elise Müller (1861-1929). During the last two decades of her life, Smith devoted much of her time to painting. Eventually, her art attracted significant attention, including that of André Breton and the surrealists. Most of her paintings are on Christian themes. Philosopher Michael Grosso considers her work “well-composed, smoothly executed with defined images that exude a surreal religiosity that compares favorably with the paintings of Frida Kahlo.”8 Others consider her art in the tradition of inspired religious painters such as William Blake.9 At her death in 1929, the Geneva Art Museum sponsored a retrospective of her work.10 Here's how she said she did it:
On the days when I am to paint I am always roused very early — generally between five and six in the morning—by three loud knocks at my bed. I open my eyes and see my bedroom brightly illuminated, and immediately understand that I have to stand up and work. I dress myself in the beautiful iridescent light, and wait a few moments, sitting in my armchair, until the feeling comes that I have to work. It never delays. All at once I stand up and walk to the picture. When about two steps before it I feel a strange sensation, and probably fall asleep at the same moment. I know, later on, that I must have slept because I notice that my fingers are covered with different colors, and I do not remember at all to have used them.11
The legendary poet William Butler Yeats used an unusual method of increasing “the measly trickle,” resulting in some of the most inspired poetry and prose of the 20th century. In A Vision, he declared that his recent “poetry has gained in self-possession and power.”12 Yeats stated that he owed this change in his work to “an incredible experience” that took place on October 4, 1917, when his wife, Georgie Hyde-Lees, surprised him by attempting automatic writing. As Grosso describes the scene, “Profound and exciting utterances came forth, and an unknown writer (or writers) said: ‘We have come to give you metaphors for poetry.' Thus, commenced an extraordinary partnership in creativity that Yeats pursued with his wife for three years?…?[T]he?…?script was the product of a joint effort, transcending them both, who were more like secretaries to the psychological entity whom they jointly produced.” A total of some 50 copybooks of automatic script were produced, which Yeats mined in producing some of his most majestic works.8

Outsider Art

Some of the most dramatic examples of the use of altered states of awareness to bypass the brain's filter mechanism are seen in so-called “outsider art,” which includes “the work of children, primitives, the incarcerated, the elderly, folk art, art brut, psychotic art, and generally all forms of art and image-making produced by the untaught, the culturally deprived, the isolated, and the marginalized.”13
An outstanding example is Adolf Wöelfli (1864-1930), who was an institutionalized paranoid schizophrenic for most of his life. Growing up in poverty, abused both physically and sexually as a child and orphaned at age ten, Wöelfli was given to violent acts and sexual aggression. He spent much of life in solitary confinement in the Waldau Clinic in Bern, Switzerland, a psychiatric hospital.
In 1899, while hospitalized, he spontaneously began to write and draw. Walter Morgenthaler, a doctor at the Waldau Clinic, recognized the uniqueness and quality of Wöelfli's drawings and wrote a book about him in 1921, which first brought him to the attention of the art world.
Wöelfli's output was huge. As philosopher Michael Grosso reports, “From 1908 to 1930 he worked on a massive narrative?…?a mixture of authentic personal history and cosmic fantasy, a carefully unified whole, woven together with prose poetry, illustrations, and musical compositions. This mentally incompetent madman left behind him 45 volumes, 16 notebooks, altogether 25,000 packed pages, along with hundreds of drawings that now hang next to the work of Paul Klee in Switzerland.”8 His accomplishment is even more astonishing, considering his access to only the barest essentials. He would often trade small works with visitors to obtain pencils, paper, and other materials. Morgenthaler:
Every Monday morning Wölfli is given a new pencil and two large sheets of unprinted newsprint. The pencil is used up in two days; then he has to make do with the stubs he has saved or with whatever he can beg off someone else. He often writes with pieces only five to seven millimetres long and even with the broken-off points of lead, which he handles deftly, holding them between his fingernails. He carefully collects packing paper and any other paper he can get from the guards and patients in his area; otherwise he would run out of paper before the next Sunday night. At Christmas the house gives him a box of coloured pencils, which lasts him two or three weeks at the most.8
Wöelfli incorporated an idiosyncratic musical notation into his art. This started as a purely decorative effort, but later evolved into real compositions that he would play on a trumpet he made out of paper. His musical works evoked wide interest. Professional recordings have been produced commercially, and free downloads are available.14
The French Surrealist André Breton described Wöelfli's work as “one of the three or four most important oeuvres of the twentieth century.”15 Wöelfli said he had no idea how he did it. Somehow, this amazing man, under the most meager conditions, managed to increase the brain's “measly trickle” to a raging torrent.
Voices and Guides
Some individuals describe what in today's terminology might be called personal assistants or coaches that guide one's decisions invisibly, from behind the curtains of consciousness, helping the individual to overcome the everyday strictures imposed by the brain-filter.
Socrates was guided throughout his life by a daimon, an intelligent inner voice, in matters large and small. “What makes Socrates so extraordinary is that he seems to have perfectly fused his conscious critical intellect with his subliminal daimon,” says Grosso. “In the vast majority of human beings, the two are almost always thoroughly disjointed and disconnected, often at great emotional and spiritual cost.”8
The daimon or inner guide sometimes has a voice of its own, as in the case of Joan of Arc, the virgin teenager who led France in its struggle against England in the Hundred Years War. Joan was guided by subliminal messages and voices throughout her brief life. These were sometimes associated with lights and visions of the saints. The voices began to speak to her at age thirteen, telling her to pray and go to church. Eventually, they nudged her to save France, and provided her with advice on military strategy and tactics. She could summon the voices with prayer. They kept her company during the court proceedings when her accusers charged her with witchcraft. They even predicted the exact time of her death.
An intelligence that is more profound than the rational, individual self appears to await us if we learn to access it. Sometimes it seems to meet us halfway, in the form of guides, daimons, voices. In other instances, as with Merrill and Yeats, the informants are more impersonal.
This fusion of the individual mind with a greater intelligence is often experienced as an inspiration that lifts the individual above the immediate concerns of ordinary existence. Integrity of purpose becomes more important than life itself. Thus, Socrates asserted that death and martyrdom are not a bad thing. When Joan temporarily recanted her mission, her voices urged her to recant her recantation. Earthly affairs and life itself were important, but they were trumped by higher values, meaning, and purpose, as revealed by the greater intelligence.
I am not suggesting that everyone who hears voices and claims a direct line to higher wisdom has accessed a valid depot of information. Mental illness is real. I am suggesting, however, that claimants such as Merrill and Yeats should be listened to.
Where have the voices gone? Apparently they are still around, should we care to listen. In a survey in the 1980s of 375 college students focusing on auditory hallucinations, 71% reported they had experienced vocal hallucinations in waking life. Thirty percent reported auditory hallucinations as they were drifting off to sleep, and 14% reported vocal hallucinations as they were waking up. Almost 40% had heard their name called while outdoors. Eleven percent heard their name being called from the back seat of their car, while a similar percentage said they had heard God speak “as a real voice.”16
The fact that the term “hallucination” is used in questionnaires such as these indicates the engrained skepticism in our culture toward these matters. Creative individuals such as Merrill and Yeats, however, are not concerned with the way in which researchers describe the source of their inspiration. Call it Factor X, for all they care. Is their experience real or imaginary? Does it originate in their unconscious or from another dimension? They do not struggle with such questions. What matters is that the filter has become porous, the reducing valve has been opened wide, and the measly trickle has become a flood.
The higher intelligence so diligently sought by creative individuals is not an encrypted information bank that is accessible by only a few. Any password will do. An entry method such as voices and Ouija boards may seem jejune or even repellent to some individuals, who may prefer instead the simple experience of reverie, a sunset, a line from Emily Dickinson or the final sizzling chord of The Beatles' “Hey Jude.” Entry to a higher intelligence is not exclusive. In it, elitism does not apply.
Nor is the experience confined to poets and artists. Scientists also frequent this domain, and when they do they often speak of a source of creativity and insight that lies beyond their individual capacities. The eminent German physicist and philosopher Baron Carl Friedrich von Weizsäcker understood this, saying, “[In any great discovery] we find the often disturbing and happy experience: ‘It is not I; I have not done this.' Still, in a certain way it is I — yet not the ego?…?but?…?a more comprehensive self.”17

Negative Hallucinations

Why is it so difficult for some individuals even to entertain the possibility of a higher intelligence that might transcend the workings of the physical brain, while others see it as self-evident? A hallucination is an experience involving the perception of something not present. It's a perception without a stimulus. But there's a flip side to hallucinations that philosopher Stephen E. Braude calls a “negative hallucination,” an experience in which something present is not perceived.18 Negative hallucinations are quite common. We call them blind spots.
An example is the well-known video of someone in a gorilla suit walking across a basketball court as the ball is being passed between the players. Viewers are instructed to keep their eye on the ball. The majority of individuals seeing the video for the first time are blind to the gorilla, although it is in plain sight.
I'll never forget my experience in viewing this video for the first time. When the video ended, we viewers were asked, “How many of you saw the gorilla?” I hadn't a clue what the question even meant. A gorilla? Then, the video was replayed, and there was the gorilla slowly striding across the basketball court, plain as day. (Try it for yourself, at — but because you're in on the trick, it won't be a fair trial.)
Psychologist Daniel Simons, who with colleague Chris Chabris invented the experiment, says, “Normally people can't believe that they missed it. On occasion, they've accused us of switching the video. The intuition that we would notice [the gorilla] makes it jarring for people to realize they didn't.”19, 20
Negative hallucinations can be harmful, even lethal. An example Simons gives is texting while driving, which, evidence shows, is more dangerous than driving drunk.21 The texter can't see her limitations, although she is living them.
A gorilla on a basketball court is so incongruous we screen it out of our visual experience. Just so, for many individuals a magnificent dimension of intelligence operating beyond the physical brain and body is so unlikely that it is never suspected and never sensed. Because its existence is considered impossible, any evidence to the contrary must be bogus, and anyone who claims otherwise must be delusional. At this point the brain-filter has kicked in, and negative hallucinations have become the norm.
Examples abound in the prickly debate about the nature of consciousness. Consider the following comment of materialist philosopher John Searle, of the University of California, Berkeley:
Consciousness?…?is a biological feature of human and certain animal brains. It is caused by neurobiological processes and is as much a part of the natural biological order as any other biological features such as photosynthesis, digestion, or mitosis?…?[Any other] world view is not an option.?…? Anyone who has had even a modicum of scientific education after about 1920 should find nothing at all contentious or controversial in what I have just said [emphasis added].22
Theoretical astrophysicist and author David Lindley also sees nothing beyond our material self. He asserts:
We humans are just crumbs of organic matter clinging to the surface of one tiny rock. Cosmically, we are no more significant than mold on a shower curtain.23
I find breathtaking the unyielding certainty and presumptuousness in statements of this sort. I suggest that in both instances negative hallucinations and selective blindness may be working. It is the sort of thing described by the spiritual teacher Ram Das: “When a pickpocket looks at a saint, all he sees is pockets.”24 Just so, when a materialist looks at humans, all he sees is matter.
Concretization
There are no sure-fire formulas for loosening of the brain's filter function. Even when props and aids are used, as with Merrell and Yeats, access remains what it always has been—a matter of being, not doing. One sets an intention, then ushers the conscious mind out of the way. That is why the most spectacular manifestations of the overcoming of the brain's restrictions—revelations, epiphanies, creativity, discovery—occur when the discursive, striving, rational mind has been bypassed through reverie, meditation, dreams, or some other nonactivity. Muscular, aggressive, ego-oriented approaches do not work. Selfish entry—trying to access a higher intelligence in order to get something—is akin to burglary. Alarms get triggered, and the delivery system shuts down. One approaches the higher dimensions respectfully, acknowledging a source of wisdom and intelligence greater than one's own. One then waits patiently, and is grateful for what is given.
This process thrives on uncertainty, unpredictability, and freedom. It is open to possibilities of an endless variety. The surest way to doom a fruitful outcome is to concretize the methods of entry, turning them into a rigid formula.
This is the curse of our age. When something is shown to be effective in any domain of life, Web sites and bestsellers erupt overnight that reduce the process to a few easy steps or a one-week plan, often with a money-back guarantee and celebrity endorsements.
Concretization is an attempt to reduce uncertainty, which we abhor. But when we concretize something, we close it off to life, and it ceases to unfold in life-affirming ways. In our attention-deficit culture, we want a sure thing now. We are suckers for approaches that squeeze the life from things. When they disappoint, as they invariably do, we move on to the Next Big Thing.
A current example of concretization is yoga, which evolved in ancient India as a discipline for obtaining spiritual insight and tranquility. We have narrowed it down to a form of exercise that has become wildly popular. An effort is now underway to make it an Olympic sport. In one proposal, each yogi would have three minutes to do seven poses, five of which would be mandatory. They would be graded by a panel of judges on strength, flexibility, timing, and breathing.25 What would Patanjali, who founded yoga in India more than two millennia ago, think?

The Source

One of the most intensive scientific explorations of how to overcome the filters that shield us from greater awareness has been conducted at the Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research Laboratory. For more than three decades, Robert G. Jahn, former dean of engineering at Princeton University, psychologist Brenda Dunne, and an exceptional team of scientists have explored ways in which subjects can nonlocally and mentally influence the function of an array of electronic, mechanical, optical, fluid dynamic, and nuclear random event generators, as well as acquire information remotely, as in remote viewing, bypassing the physical senses. These abilities require subjects to skirt the limitations imposed by the brain—Huxley's “reducing valve,” which Jahn and Dunne call the “neurological grid and control center” that produces the “measly trickle” of information we ordinarily perceive.
The findings of the Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research have led Jahn and Dunne to assert, “[T]here exists a much deeper and more extensive source of reality, which is largely insulated from direct human experience, representation, or even comprehension.” They call this domain the “Source.” As they say in their book Filters and Reflections,
[W]e reject the popular presumption that all modes of human information processing are completely executed within the physiological brain, and that all experiential sensations are epiphenomena of the biophysical and biochemical states thereof. Rather, we?…?regard the brain as a neurologically localized utility that serves a much more extended “mind,” or “psyche,” or “consciousness” that far transcends the brain in its capacity, range, endurance, and subtlety of operation, and that is far more sophisticated than a mere antenna for information acquisition or a silo for its storage. In fact, we?…?contend that it [extended mind, psyche, consciousness] is the ultimate organizing principle of the universe, creating reality through its ongoing dialogue with the unstructured potentiality of the Source. In short, we subscribe to the assertion of [astrophysicist] Arthur Eddington nearly a century ago: “Not once in the dim past, but continuously, by conscious mind is the miracle of the Creation wrought.”26
Or as the eminent consciousness researcher and philosopher K. Ramakrishna Rao says, “The cognitive structure [the brain] does not generate consciousness; it simply reflects it; and in the process limits and embellishes it. In a fundamental sense, consciousness is the source of our awareness. In other words, consciousness is not merely awareness as manifest in different forms but it is also what makes awareness possible.”27

Beyond the Filter

I regard consciousness as fundamental. We cannot get behind consciousness. –Max Planck, Nobel Prize in Physics, 1918.28
The fallback position in modern neuroscience is that filter theories sell the brain short. The brain makes consciousness, most scientists believe, rather like the liver produces bile or the pancreas secrete insulin. There is no Source, no higher intelligence. All intelligence, all consciousness, originates in (and dies with) the physical brain. But an increasing number of science insiders and philosophers consider this view to be neuromythology—a faith-based ideology with no empirical foundation. As professor of philosophy Robert Almeder, of Georgia State University, says,
Where in the scientific literature, biological, neurobiological, or otherwise, is it established either by observation or by the methods of testing and experiment, that consciousness is a biological property secreted by the brain in the same way a gland secretes a hormone??…?There is no scientifically well-confirmed?…?belief within science that consciousness is a biological product of the brain. We do not see the brain secrete consciousness in the same way we see a gland secrete a hormone. Consciousness is nothing like a hormone.29
Almeder's comment exposes the poverty of our current understanding of the origins of consciousness. As such, we are in no position to dismiss concepts of a Source, higher intelligence, or brain filters. Our ignorance is sometimes admitted. In considering how consciousness might arise from some physical organ such as the brain, Harvard experimental psychologist Steven Pinker acknowledges, “Beats the heck out of me. I have some prejudices, but no idea of how to begin to look for a defensible answer. And neither does anyone else.”30
Some neuroscientists suggest it is time we looked beyond the brain for greater understanding of our own minds. For example, neuroscientist Mario Beauregard, of the University of Montréal, author of Brain Wars,31 says,
I stand firmly against the inclination of certain neuroscientists and philosophers toward neuro-reductionism, i.e., the reduction of human beings to their brains?…, and posit that the brain is necessary but not sufficient to explicate all the human psychological features?…?In my view, persons are conscious, perceive, think, feel emotion, interpret, believe and make decisions, not parts of their brains. To attribute such capacities to brains [has been called] the “mereological fallacy” in neuroscience, i.e., the fallacy of attributing to parts of the brain attributes that are properties of the whole human person.32
One of the great filtration feats of the modern brain is the denial of evidence that it is a filter and that consciousness is capable of functioning nonlocally beyond the brain and body. Despite the skeptics' monotonous mantra that there is no evidence for such, hundreds of books and thousands of scientific articles now affirm the nonlocal, space-time independence of consciousness.
Among the books that are accessible to laypersons and professionals alike are Peter Russell's The Global Brain,33 David Lorimer's Whole in One,34 Nick Herbert's Elemental Mind,35 Huston Smith's Beyond the PostModern Mind,36 David Bohm's Wholeness and the Implicate Order,37 David Darling's Soul Search,4 Robert G. Jahn and Brenda J. Dunne's Consciousness and the Source of Reality,38 Rupert Sheldrake's A New Science of Life,39 Lynne McTaggart's The Field,40 Ervin Laszlo's The Akashic Experience,41 and Science and the Akashic Field,42 Menas Kafatos and Robert Nadeau's The Conscious Universe: Parts and Wholes in Physical Reality,43 and The Non-Local Universe,44 Dean Radin's The Conscious Universe,45 and Entangled Minds,46 Stephan A. Schwartz's Opening to the Infinte,47 Pim van Lommel's Consciousness Beyond Life,48 Charles T. Tart's The End of Materialism,49 Russell Targ's Limitless Mind,50 and The Reality of ESP,51 Elizabeth Lloyd Mayer's Extraordinary Knowing,52 Chris Carter's Parapsychology and the Skeptics,53 Mario Beauregard's Brain Wars,31 Edward F. Kelley and colleagues' Irreducible Mind,5 Eben Alexander's Into the Afterlife: A Neurosurgeon's Near Death Experience,54 my forthcoming book The One Mind,55 and many, many others that are too numerous to name.
As this evidence continues to accumulate from experimenters and labs around the world, the ideological fixation on the physical brain—our “neurologically localized utility,” our reducing valve, our filter—will eventually yield to an expanded view of consciousness that recognizes the Source, or however we wish to language the collective, transpersonal, nonlocal dimension of consciousness. As this happens, the conceptual filter within conventional science will likely gear up to work overtime. It will continue to obscure and deny evidence that it is a filter. But when filters clog and cease to function, they should be cleansed, replaced, or discarded. When this happens within neuroscience, as it eventually will — when we remove the stuffing from the keyhole — the Source will be recognized and we will wonder how we could have been so blind.
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Image by katerha, courtesy of Creative Commons licensing.

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