In a book entitled Why God Won't Go Away: Brain Science and the Biology of Belief, neurologists Andrew Newberg and Eugene D'Aquili argue (from no particular religious viewpoint) that genuine mystical experiences are not the product of confused or hallucinatory minds. Their research suggests how normal neurological function, specifically the softening of the sense of self and the absorption of the self into some larger sense of reality, occurs when the brain's orientation area is deprived of neural input. Blocking neural flow can be brought on willfully, by such practices as meditation or contemplation.
The authors wonder aloud how it is that the brain would be evolutionarily wired for these transcendent experiences. They conclude that the neurobiological roots of spiritual transcendence show that an absolute unitary being is plausible, if not probable. Of course this doesn't prove God exists, but it does make a strong case that there is more to human existence than sheer material existence. Our minds are drawn by the intuition of this deeper reality, of this utter sense of oneness where suffering vanishes and all desires are at peace.
Naturally Christians are not surprised by this. We take as axiomatic that truth experienced in religion and reflected upon in the theological disciplines will be typically consistent with the findings of biological science. All truth is God's truth.
The Bible says little explicitly regarding mystical occurrences per se, but in 2 Corinthians 12, the apostle Paul himself does narrate his own experience of being "caught up" into "the third heaven" (to use the Jewish cosmological terminology) or "paradise." It's interesting that Paul applies the third person to describe his experience. Most scholars agree that Paul does this so as not to be perceived as boasting about it. Moreover, Paul labels it a vision or revelation from the Lord, something God did rather than something Paul caused on his own. However, Paul does not cite the experience as either normative or authoritative, but as personal and particular. It bolsters and strengthens his faith rather than authenticating it. Paul does not know how it happened, whether whole bodily or just neurologically, but he knows God knows, and that is enough for him. Far from a written off mirage, Paul carried this experience in his memory as strength for his sojourn on earth.
Granted, most of us are not mystics; but still, there may occur mystical moments in our lives where faith seems easy, your connection to God more vivid, your capacity for love expanded, your aptitude for obedience greater, your fears and anxieties diminished. Eckhart insisted that such moments need not be so rare, especially if you're open to them. And they should not be relegated to so-called mountaintop experiences either. In fact, mystical connections to God come in times of deep sorrow too.
I remember when my congregation suffered the sudden, tragic death of a healthy 42-year-old husband, father of three, and friend whose effervescent faith and personality infused all with whom he came in contact. As we grieved his death, there persisted alongside what can only be described as undeniable light and lightness. Rather than inconsolable sorrow, even from his widow and brother, there was felt a sort of strange envy. Imagining a loved one to be in heaven offers comfort to grief; but knowing a loved one loved God with his whole heart offers power to press on. "Truly it is in darkness that one finds the light," Eckhart said, "so when we are in sorrow this light is nearest of all."
By faith, the Spirit of Christ dwells in you, which means that everything has its aim in the final purposes of God. The mystics teach that we must therefore receive all things, both the enjoyable and the unbearable, as intended by God and somehow be grateful for it all. Meister Eckhart wrote that, "If the only prayer you ever say in your whole life is 'Thank you' that would suffice."
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