Knowing God

 

Through telepathy, music, a powerful high,

     under the circumstances of discomfort, weariness

in life—God is known

through discordant tunes, hard drugs and a psychic man's word.

 

         It his insightful book, The Splendid Feast of Reason (University of California Press, 2001), S. Jon Singer celebrates the marvelous human virtue of rationality. He views rationality as "a vital and exhilarating part of life, a part that is too little appreciated in the society at large." The flip side is that rationalists must live in, and cope with, a decidedly irrational world, so Singer suggests that "rationalists should reveal their identities and come out of the closet, even if the world around them disparages their powers of reason."

         Singer is unsympathetic to irrational beliefs that are widely and deeply held in modern Western society. He explores primitive peoples' pre-scientific views of the external world, particularly how and why they "came to devise the myths and religions that brought their formidable and hostile world into an anthropomorphic focus." In this process he notes that according to a Gallup poll taken in 1980, some 50% of Americans believed that God created man within the past 10,000 years; another 41% believed that God created man before this time, and only 9% believed the scientific evidence, that man appeared on Earth by an evolutionary process. Since the theory of evolution is as well established as is the atomic theory of molecular construction or the wave/particle theory of electromagnetic radiation, Singer argues that 9% or less of Americans can be considered to be rationalists. As stated by Oscar Wilde, "Science is the record of dead religions." Regardless of whether science proves a religious postulate true or false, it then leaves the realm of religion and enters the realm of science.

         Singer, a confirmed atheist, discounts religious belief simply as irrational, not worthy of intellectual consideration. And from a scientific standpoint, he's right! If we can't prove, or even provide evidence for the postulates of a religious faith, why should we retain them? The thousands of religions that have appeared on Earth during the history of the human species profess doctrines that conflict in virtually every claim regarding (1) the origins of the world, the biosphere and mankind, (2) the existence of multiple gods, one god or no god, (3) reincarnation, heaven and hell or an elevated spiritual state, and (4) the nature and existence of spirits, devils and ghosts. Based on these conflicting claims, why shouldn't we reject all religions except as sources of intellectual amusement?

          Maybe we should reject religion as hocus pocus, but some individuals have had personal experiences that have convinced them beyond a shadow of a doubt that a higher being does exist. Perhaps we should pay attention to these modern prophets. Perhaps the prophets of today can tell us something of the prophets of the past whom we idolize and to whom we pray. The experiences of our modern day prophets should be important to everyone, because religion influences the mental states, feelings, and actions of so many people. Historically, religious people have fought wars and sacrificed their lives for their beliefs, and this situation has not changed. We can be sure that men and women will continue to sacrifice themselves, and even justify killing others to defend their beliefs.

         In my 60-year life, I've had the privilege of knowing three highly intelligent people who have met God. All three were Roman Catholic. Blake was one of my best friends during my freshman year of college. Michael was a close friend for about a year during my early years as an assistant professor at UCSD, and Gary was an acquaintance, and then a colleague who worked in my laboratory after I'd become an established member of the scientific community. In this essay I'll relate their stories of how they met God.

 

Blake

         Blake was beyond a doubt the most profoundly religious person I've ever met. I once asked him, "Blake, do you ever question the existence of God?" and he answered, "Yes, I question his existence a hundred times every day, and the answer is always the same. He exists."

         At a young age, Blake chose to enter the Catholic seminary as his one and only goal was to become a priest. The seminary provided him with the only education he knew. Why he subsequently changed his mind and entered the University of California at Berkeley as a freshman music major is an interesting story which I'll relate presently.

          Blake and I first met while taking a UC class on music harmony and composition. Our teacher was the French/Cuban composer and professor, Anais Nin-Culmell. Anais wrote traditional classical music, not liking much of the contemporary music being produced at American Universities. He liked to tell us: "Franz Liszt believed his tone poems were the music of the future, but he was wrong. Johann Sebastian Bach was the music of the future!" And how right he was!

        There were about 30 music majors in the class, and as it was my first semester, I had few acquaintances and was anxious to meet as many as my fellow students as possible. Surprisingly, in spite of the fact that we subsequently became close friends, Blake was one of the last students I came to know. He had a way of blending into the woodwork and becoming invisible. He dressed unobtrusively, always sat in the back of the room, was quiet, and never spoke unless addressed. When I later mention this fact to him, he said it was a technique he'd learned at the seminary.

Blake had an incredible memory which he claimed resulted from his seminary training. The priests would take the class out into the town, and when the boys would approach an appropriate store window, they'd be told to close their eyes. With all the boys facing the window, they'd be allowed to open their eyes for five seconds before closing ‘em again. Upon their return to the seminary, they'd be asked to recall all items in the window. Similar exercises were a part of their regular training program.

         Blake had other qualities of note. Unlike most people, when he looked at you, he looked you straight in the eyes. You got the impression he was intensely interested in you. He was penetratingly perceptive and fun to engage in conversation about a wide range of topics. He particularly enjoyed discussions about music and the spirit of man. He was the first truly religious person I'd ever really gotten to know well. However, he no longer aspired to become a priest; instead it was his goal to become a composer. What had caused him to change his mind? He told me the following story.

Prior to entering UC, while still in the seminary, Blake had begun playing the organ, and one day he composed a short organ piece, which he liked and learned by heart. His priest heard it and asked about its origin. Blake proudly told him it was his own composition whereupon the priest suggested that he play it for the congregation on a Sunday morning. The idea of playing in public thrilled but frightened Blake, so he practiced the piece hundreds of times before selecting a performance date. When the time finally came, Blake was incredibly nervous. He went to the organ, sat down on the bench and promptly blacked out. When he woke, he found himself on the floor with his priest and several others standing over him. He asked, "Where am I? What happened?" And the priest told him: "You played your piece perfectly and then fell off the bench." Apparently, he had played the piece in an unconscious state.

During the time he was unconscious, God came to Blake and told him he was to become the greatest composer the world had ever known. It was then that Blake decided to leave the seminary and attend the University as a composition major. He was following God's directives.

Blake was musical, but not extraordinary. After two years as a music major, he left the university, wiser but discouraged. He got married and went into the family business. He told me he was getting married so he could love God through his wife. All I can say is, that if it was God who spoke to him during his moment of truth, telling him he was to be the world's greatest composer, God played a pretty nasty trick on him.

 

Michael

I met Michael on the beach in Encinitas. He proved to be highly intelligent and interesting, and we became friends. His background, which he only gradually revealed to me, was different from that of any of my other acquaintances as you'll soon learn. He was a pot smoker, smoking more than anyone I'd known before or have known since, and we sometimes smoked together. Some of the stuff he'd get was laced with something awfully potent, and I'd be high with just one puff. Although I've had some truly memorable pot experiences on other occasions, I never once experienced anything out of the ordinary while smoking with Michael.

Michael was devoutly religious, having been raised Catholic. By his own confession, his mother had been fanatically religious, and although Michael thought of himself as being more moderate, there was no doubt about the intensity of his convictions. He firmly believed he was the Michael in the Bible who was to come. One day he related his most significant religious experience to me. He'd had an intense longing to meet God, and in discussions with a friend, he learned he could do so through the use of peyote. This drug, he was told, would lead him to God. Michael got a substantial quantity of raw peyote and went into the Sierras to have his experience. He repeatedly chewed portions of the bitter tasting root, swallowed it, and after some delay began to throw up. While lying on the ground writhing with pain, a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard walked over to him, looked down and smiled. Then, without saying a word, he continued on his way.

Michael was absolutely convinced this man had been God. The experience had, in his words: "changed me for life." Although I didn't tell him so, it seems to me that the man he'd met was probably a hiker who happened by, saw Michael, naturally assuming him to be drunk, and left him alone to recover.

Michael later told me that, unbeknownst to him at the time, the amount of peyote he'd taken was enough to kill most ordinary humans. Since he survived the experience, he reasoned he must be supernatural. I always wondered if the peyote had not permanently damaged some part of his brain. It may have been the effects of the drug rather than the encounter with God that changed his life forever.

Only a few years before I met Michael, he'd been one of the wealthiest and most successful drug dealers in Encinitas. Encinitas was then just a small town. Many of the residents owned nurseries and grew flowers. When you entered the town, the sign along Highway 101 read: "You are entering Encinitas, the flower-growing center of the world." However, privately, Encinitas was known as the cocaine center of the world. Michael once told me that it was his mission in life to bring drugs to the populace as a means to achieving God. He never referred to the fact that he'd incidentally made millions by doing so.

Michael's drug dealing days were a thing of the past. He'd been busted and lost everything: his houses, his several Mercedes, and his money. He had to report periodically to the authorities so they knew of his whereabouts. Otherwise he was free to do as he wished.

How our friendship ended is another interesting story. With two of my students, Michael and I took a bike trip from Monterey down Highway 1 to San Luis Obispo. Probably because of his drug use, Michael didn't have the stamina to bike distances, but he was a capable painter. So while the three of us would bike, Michael would drive some 20 miles ahead of us and paint a landscape until we caught up with him. If he wasn't finished, he'd remain there while we biked on ahead, catching up with us later. At one point, we stopped at a cafe for lunch, and I inadvertently mentioned Michael's shady past to the students. I'd thought nothing of it as we'd all become good friends with no apparent reason to be careful in conversation. Michael however, infuriated with me, got up and slugged me. In retrospect, he was justified in being angry, as I'd promised him I'd never reveal the details he'd disclosed to me. Although I recognized my mistake, I couldn't easily forgive him for his violent reaction. It was the end of our friendship. I've often wondered what became of him.

 

Gary

I met Gary under very different circumstances. A full bearded, shabbily dressed man appeared one day in my office in the Muir Biology Building at UCSD, asking for a job. He showed me his curriculum vitae which revealed an amazingly impressive past. He'd received his Ph.D. at Harvard in computer programming and subsequently worked in the laboratories of several Nobel Prize winners. In conversation he was brilliant. Anyone who carried on even a cursory discussion with him would quickly recognize his superior intelligence. I was duly impressed, and as he'd done his thesis work in bioinformatics, a field that our laboratory emphasized, I very seriously considered offering him a position. I called his thesis professor at Harvard who confirmed Gary's unusual talent, but mentioned that something must have happen to him after he left Harvard.

Further delving revealed, much to my surprise, that Gary had never published his thesis work; in fact, he told me it was his primary goal to complete and update that work so it could be submitted for publication. I explained to him, that if he were to work as a paid employee in my lab, he'd have to work on topics related to the research for which we'd received federal funding. Unfortunately, he found this work of little interest and clearly wanted to emphasize his one primary goal. Recognizing his remarkable intellectual potential, I offered him access to our computer facilities as well as a subsistence level salary.

By this time, I'd learned that this bearded man was homeless and penniless. Although such characteristics are normally suspect, I'd previously employed students and staff who had serious problems elsewhere with excellent results. I prided myself in understanding and successfully working with eccentric but brilliant scientists. So I took a chance.

Gary worked in my lab for several months, and during that time, I learned more and more about him. Remarkably, he professed to have abilities lacking in most of the human population. For example, he could communicate directly with God, and did so frequently. He could also read the minds of certain individuals, not everyone, not me for example (I tested him in this regard). Moreover, these people with whom he'd communicate would similarly know his thoughts. Such mental telepathic communication is rare among individuals, he explained, but is exhilarating and satisfying. He was one of a select few. He was absolutely certain of the veracity of his experiences.

Now as a scientist, I knew that no such form of communication had been documented in the scientific literature in spite of fairly extensive efforts to do so. Nor had it been proven that any individual could communicate with Gods or spirits! However, there've been many such claims, and I well knew that science has much to discover, particularly about complex biological organs such as the human brain. As I was intensely interested in parapsychology and prided myself in having an open mind, his claims interested me.

Gary wanted me to join him for a get-together in the park where I could meet the colleagues with whom he could communicate. Upon learning that all of them were homeless, and in spite of my genuine interest in parapsychology as well as Gary and his friends, I politely declined. I've always believed that cowards are likely to live longer than brave men.

Further conversations with Gary revealed why he had never published anything. ‘They' were out to prevent him. I asked him who ‘they' were. At first he seemed annoyed with my question, but then he told me ‘they' were the government. I pointed out that the government not only paid me to publish, they also gave me research grants for this purpose. Such arguments didn't alter his conviction one iota that the government had prevented him from publishing over the previous 10 years.

Then one day, Gary phoned me from jail. He'd been arrested for vagrancy. He asked me for help in contacting his family. He gave me the names and phone numbers of his father and brother. I spoke with his father who lived in Escondido. I learned that his family was well-to-do and well-educated, and that his brother was a successful businessman. Gary's father expressed his appreciation at my willingness to try to help him but seemed dubious that I'd make a difference. A feeling of hopelessness was evident. Gary was a schizophrenic who refused to take his prescribed medication because of his paranoia and because it deprived him of his exceptional powers of communication.

As time passed, it became clear that Gary would never be productive. He began threatening some of the female students in the lab, and their emotional and physical safety was, of course, my responsibility. I had to dismiss him. Months later, Gary approached me again for a job, but I refused him. He seemed to understand and left my office quietly, without further question. I haven't seen him since. Although he'd made my students uneasy, he was always civil to me, never losing his temper, and my own personal experiences with him were mostly positive. It seemed like a dreadful shame to waste his exceptional potential.

I've now related the beliefs and stories of three pious men, all of whom had told me of their firsthand encounters with God. I have singled them out because they are the only people I have known who have told me with conviction that they have met God. We've also discussed the rational views put forward in Jon Singer's perceptive book. Which of these four men do you find most convincing? Which of the men would you prefer to rely on for guidance? As I've interjected my opinions and responses throughout this essay, it should already be clear with which man I identify. Yet over 90% of Americans identify with the views of the other three. I leave you to draw your own conclusions.