From NPR, this is Hidden Brain, I'm Shankar Vedantam. When Jessica Langaman was 12, she had a favorite TV show. This is a little embarrassing to admit, but I was crazy about Star Trek. Space, the final frontier.
One day, several of the actors came to my own town, so I begged my mother to take me, and I walked up to a table, and there was Leonard Nimoy. Standby to be my... It was Mr. Spock, the cerebral star of the show, always calm, everlogical.
For years, Jessica had felt a deep kinship with Spock, and now he was, right in front of her. And of course I knew every angle of his face. I knew the curve of his ears. I knew everything about him, or so I felt.
And when I put my notebook down for him to autograph, he looked at me with complete blank, non-recognition. And I was so confused in that moment. I knew him so well, but he did not know me. Danny Martinez understands what it's like to feel a deep connection to someone who doesn't know you.
I tell you I don't respect anyone, you know? Oh my God, Rodney Dangerfield. I'm in the last week my wife, she signed me up for a bridge club, I jump off next Tuesday. I remember when Rodney Dangerfield died, I cried, like I had lost my grandfather, and no one could understand why I would care so much.
Eric Pallileo says his connection with a singer named Anoni was transformational. He still remembers the moment he first heard her song, Ghost. He was 15 at his home in Texas. All of a sudden...
I remember just sitting on the couch and like not really knowing even how to react. It was so overwhelming. The ordinary became extraordinary. It's just like a dramatic shift in the way that you're seeing the world, and that couch wasn't just the couch, and that room just wasn't just the room in this house.
Actually, I had a meaning to it now. Psychologists sometimes refer to such emotional connections as parasocial relationships. One-way relationships. In some ways, they are akin to the imaginary friends that children have.
As we grow up, we are told to set such relationships aside, to tuck our stuffed animals away in a closet. Clinging to imaginary companions can suggest that you are lonely, or maladjusted. But what if there is more to these relationships than we realize? This week on Hidden Brain, the thin line between the imaginary and the real.
Growing up, Megan Lincoln was different from other kids. She tried to hide it, but her secret always came out. Like when her teacher would make everyone go around the room reading aloud from a book. And then you would read as much as you wanted, and then you would say, done, and then you would say someone else's name, and then they would pick up from there.
So that would be a more experienced experience in my life, because I didn't know when the person was going to be done, and when my name was going to be called. So I would sit there trying to figure out how I could get out of the classroom, because I couldn't read. It made her feel ashamed. She had workarounds.
She would watch the movie instead of doing the reading, or choose the book that had the most pictures, or simply figure out a way to get out of the classroom. That was her best strategy. Just try to escape. When all the other kids were exchanging their homework for another student to grade, she would raise her hand, and say she had to go to the bathroom.
Yeah, I would stay there forever. I would slowly walk to the bathroom, and then I would hang out there, wash my hands a lot, look in the mirror, just do whatever I could to waste time. But one teacher, Ms. Doyle, noticed Megan getting frustrated when she tried to read.
And so one day she pulled me aside, and we were just talking about life, and talking about how I was not dumb, really defining dyslexia for me, and then telling me that there were other people in the world who were dyslexic just like me. And you know, she told me Winston Churchill, she told me Walt Disney, she told me Albert Einstein and Tom Cruise. And told me Cher. Ladies and gentlemen, Sonny and Cher.
Something clicked in Megan's imagination. Cher started popping up in my head all the time. She didn't know why. I mean, I loved Sonny and Cher.
I loved their variety show. They were funny. I have a photograph plan. Sonny, you know the only thing wrong is your photographic mind.
What's that? It never developed. If you look at Cher, and she goes on stage, she's not quote unquote, your stereotypical normal person. When are they Cher and Luca?
She doesn't care if she's wearing this weird old black outfit with like, you know, where her guys are showing, and she's got these crazy traits on. She doesn't care what people think about her. I want to thank my mom because when I was really young, my mom said you're not going to be the smartest. You're not going to be the prettiest.
You're not going to be the most talented, but you're going to be special. And I think as a young girl, not feeling confident of who I was, having someone who was so strong really made me feel that, why should I care what people are saying about me in the classroom? One day, the Cher in her mind did something she hadn't done before. She talked to Megan.
It was Cher. It was her voice. It was her recognizable Cher voice. She was as real to me as my friend next to me.
I couldn't see her. I could just hear her. And then it was real. It was her.
After this happened a few times, Megan got used to it. She said, okay, it's Cher. She's talking to me. She'd only talked to me when I was feeling dumb or insecure.
And if I was feeling insecure for something that was not school or reading or writing specific, her voice wouldn't appear. Now, when Megan's anxiety swirled in, Cher would offer encouragement. The one thing I always remembered her saying to me is, if you think you are dumb, then you think I am dumb. And I am not dumb.
And then she would tell me to go back to reading or go back to trying to write something. And when she tried to hide out in the bathroom, Cher wouldn't let her. I remember her telling me that it was smelly in the bathroom. Why are you sitting in a smelly bathroom?
She's like, you're better than this. Go back and take that test. Confront the test. It'll be much better than sitting here in the smelly bathroom.
And I would take my deep breath and I would walk out and I would smile, you know, and I'd probably curse her out a little bit and I'd go back into that classroom and take that test. I never felt dumb after that. After her secret friend helped her for a few years, Megan started to feel more confident. And that's when Cher's voice disappeared.
It's kind of like Mary Poppins. The kids no longer needed her. Something in my head just told me I didn't need her. And she left.
Maybe she went to someone her person said, who needed her. I don't know. Today, Megan has multiple degrees, a successful career. She's figured out how to manage her dyslexia.
But she's been reluctant to tell people how Cher helped her. It sounds kind of strange. You know, who hasn't her voice? It sounds like some celebrity.
Only crazy, still. I just tell people I love her. Megan misses the comfort of Cher's voice. Every now and then, she tries to recreate it.
But it's me making her voice. It's different. You know what I'm saying? It wasn't her voice.
Yes, it wasn't myself. I know it really wasn't her. But I also didn't feel I was wise enough to be as wise as she was to me. The voices we hear, the secret friends we have, they often don't seem like mere extensions of ourselves.
Megan said Cher seemed to be braver than she was, wiser than she was. The Cher and Megan's head knew things that Megan didn't know. How is this possible? How can one part of the mind know something that another part of the same mind does not know?
When we come back, we explore this question in another domain. We look at people who hear not the voice of a singer or a celebrity. But the voice of something much bigger. I mean, fundamentally, the story of God was a story about the human imagination.
The human capacity to take seriously the sense that the world that we see before us is not all there is of the world. This is Hidden Brain. I'm Shankar Vedantu. As a young person, Tanya Lerman did not believe in God.
I couldn't understand how people could believe in an omnipotent, omniscient, maker who would allow people to suffer so much. It seemed logically incoherent to me. She was known among her peers as an atheist. She even wrote about it in an op-ed for her school newspaper.
Her friends came up with their own version of the headline. The tagline among my friends was that, "'Lure person does not believe in God.' I mean, it was called, "'Lure person' because I was also a feminist and a lure man. That was the way my friends referred to me." Tanya's parents were also actively questioning the idea of religious faith. They had grown up in devout homes.
Her mother's father was a Baptist minister. Her father's father was a Christian scientist. But her father had become a determined atheist. At one point in college, he actually ceremoniously burnt his membership card to the mother church in Boston.
Her mother kept going to church, but loved to read books by Sam Harris, the atheist neuroscientist. You know, my mother also was torn. It's just kind of wanted to believe that it was...she found it logically tough. Although her dad disapproved, Tanya's mom took her to church every Sunday.
Tanya found herself fascinated by how smart, good people could reach very different conclusions about God and religion. And I wanted to understand more about how things became real to people. And how people came to decide that God was real, or they came to feel that the world was organized in a particular way. As Tanya grew up, she thought briefly about becoming a psychiatrist.
Her dad was a psychiatrist, but eventually settled on a different profession. Anthropology. If psychiatrists have a set of descriptions about what constitutes normal behavior and assess when and how much people deviate from those norms, anthropology demands that you suspend judgment, that you try to understand people on their own terms, from the inside out, rather than from the outside in. Anthropologists are in some ways little amoebas.
We're trying to ask what it feels like to live in somebody else's world. And there's an anthropologist called Clifford Gertz who said that, before you judge, you need to understand, and that that was the kind of moral impulse of our field. I think the people who become anthropologists want, they're curious about what it's like to walk in someone else's shoes. And I think that you don't do that well if you have a pretty clear view from the outside of what that other world is like.
Tanya realized she was drawn to this approach. She wanted to immerse herself deeply with people whose frames and norms were different from her own. At some point, you need to come to a kind of moral reckoning with the world that you are looking at and your sense of who you are in your own world. But I do think that when you, to the extent that you can, when you let go of who you are and you try to become different, you see and feel things differently.
In the spring of 1983, when she was 23 years old, Tanya decided to put this idea into practice. She was in England doing her PhD in anthropology. She focused her field research on a group of people who believed they could cast spells and perform magic rituals. Tanya the rationalist was personally skeptical of these claims, but she had made a commitment to listen openly, without judgement.
She had tended to retreat with about 50 practitioners at a beautiful, remote, manor house. The leader of the group was Gareth Knight. Tanya looked like Merlin, the wizard. And he had the big shock of white hair and he had flowing robes.
I mean, you know, this was Harry Potter land before Harry Potter. The goal of the weekend was to encounter what Gareth called contacts. He said contacts were highly evolved human beings, no longer tethered to their bodies, who could offer guidance. They were like wise, invisible people.
And so he would just talk about them as if they were friends. He would, you know, stride up and down before the group of 50 people and talk about, you know, how we're going to do a big ritual event. Gareth explained that he would guide them through a spiritual exercise using a mystical set of pictures, a temple, a priestess, a hermit. He lit four candles and told everyone to close their eyes.
They were now aboard a ship, he told them, and they were going to accompany him to another world. And what this man did during the weekend was to, in effect, tell story after story about these pictures in a way that he wanted us to experience these pictures as if we were living in a dream, as if we were going down a river and we were on a boat together and we would get it, we'd get at the boat and we'd look up and we'd see a temple and there was the priestess and the priestess looked like. And he wanted us to experience those stories as if they were happening. Tanya had only planned to record the experiences of the group, but as she imagined the stories along with them at that initial retreat and subsequent meetings, she found that her own impressions were becoming a vital source of data.
Over the first three or four months, it occurred to me that my mental images were becoming sharper, that they were becoming richer. She started attending the group's weekly dream interpretation class and she began to keep a dream diary. And my dreams were becoming vivid and dripping with symbolism. I remember having this dream at one point in which what I knew was my soul was swimming across a river in a thunderstorm to scramble up the other side on this bank of mud and I kept falling back and then I'd go forward and I remember waking up and thinking, oh my goodness, I'm having different kinds of dreams and that was a dream about my soul.
It was like the work she was doing was changing the way her own mind worked. It was changing what she saw in the world, how she experienced the world. The world felt as if it was becoming more connected, which felt like I was having these synchronicities, things would, you know, I'd walk into the green grocer and the green grocer would say something that I'd been thinking about. And so I would have these experiences and over the course of the year, you know, I really saw myself change, felt myself change.
When I spoke to her, Tanya thought back to another moment when the line between the real and the imaginary became blurred. It was only during her field research and she was in a train to meet Gareth Knight for the first time. She was reading a book about magic and mysticism. It was called Experience of the Inner Worlds.
And it was about the experience of power and this idea of a power outside of me that was present and kind of there in the world, it was kind of new to me. The book was esoteric and complex and she strained her mind to understand it. On the capitalistic tree of life framework, we see a method of theosophical classification that's able to take in the concept of both creator and the creation. This is not so evident.
And he was talking about Tibetan this and capitalistic that and white light light light. And I remember kind of chess trying to understand the sentences and concentrating so hard and there were people around me talking and trying to really focus on the book. Right then, she started to feel hot. I began to feel power, like an electrical charge that seemed to move through me, starting at above me and moving through my body and going into the floor.
It was strong and it was vivid and I felt fantastic. I felt more alive. I felt completely alert, seemed like all of my senses were incredibly sharp. And as I was feeling this way, I'm trying to figure out what was going on.
I looked over and there were whistles of smoke coming out of my bag. A battery powered bike lamp she had stored in her bag was melting. It's like, the battery was melting and these bicycle lights. Now, there are two ways to think of this.
You can see Tanya's thoughts about power melted the battery. Or you can say, huh, interesting coincidence. But the point is, if you put yourself in a frame of mind where you expect unusual things to happen, you're more likely to see unusual things happen. The time she spent with Gareth and the others taught Tanya something very important about the imagination.
It's a skill. You can improve it. Make it sharper. You can practice it.
And when you do, remarkable things follow. There's all kinds of things that people experience. But what I can say is that the more time you spend doing what I would call inner sense cultivation, the more likely you are to report these events. That people have these moments in which, in effect, what they're imagining breaks forth into the world.
As you did more research, Tanya realized there was a profound disconnect in the way people think about the imagination today and the way they used to think about it in earlier times. I think the emphasis on the imagination as something that is obviously not material emerges with a secular world, with a sense that what is real is the stuff that we walk on and the things that we see that everybody else can see. And that what is other is not that real stuff. Tanya went on to become a professor of anthropology at Stanford University.
In 2002, she began some new field work focused on another group of people, Evangelical Christians who wanted to develop an intense personal relationship with God. They were practicing what she calls inner sense cultivation. And I was interviewing some young blonde Southern Californian who's kind of like her hair would swing back and forth. She looked like she belonged at the beach.
And I was asking her all these pedantic questions. And at one point, she said, you know, if you want to understand God, just have a cup of coffee with him. Other people told her similar things. The way to make an abstract, invisible entity real in your life was to do things with that entity that you would do with a spouse or a co-worker.
But what people would say is that you needed to get to know God the way you would get to know somebody when you went out for coffee with them. You became a friend of the person. You asked about their life. They asked about your life.
You had it back and forth. You learned to know each other. You learned to trust each other. And that's how you should get to know God.
It was like what you had learned in London during the dream sessions, some 20 years earlier. They're using very similar kinds of what I would call spiritual practices. They were inviting people to use external symbols, props, and internal images, stories in order to allow the person to enter a world which is not the world of the day to day and to come to experience that world as if it is present, as if it's real. Tanya met people who said they had practiced these techniques so often that they could interact with God as if God was a living, breathing person.
Ever the skeptical scientist, Tanya decided to see if the things she was hearing from evangelical Christians were reproducible in a scientific experiment. She randomly assigned some Christians to practice prayer that involved imagining a very intense personal relationship with God. She had them read a story from the Bible in which Jesus was represented in different forms, for example as a baby, a shepherd, or on the cross. Then she asked subjects to interact with Jesus in their minds using all of their senses.
Sight, sound, smell, touch. Here's an example of one set of instructions related to the Bible's 23rd Psalm which says, the Lord is my shepherd. See the shepherd before you. See his face, his eyes, the light that streams from him.
He turns to walk and you follow him. Notice his cape. See the heel over which he leads you. Feel the breeze over the grass.
Smell its sweetness. Listen to the birds as they sing. Notice what you feel as you follow this shepherd. Tanya invited the volunteers back after a month.
She asked them what had happened in their minds in the intervening weeks. People in the imaginative prayer group responded very differently than people in the control group. So I found that people in the prayer group were more likely to say that their mental images were vivid. They were more likely to say that God felt more like a person to them, that they were more likely to have gotten angry at God or become playful with God.
They were also more likely to say that they had a moment when they had heard God speak in a way that could hear with their ears or they had seen something that wasn't materially real in the world, where they'd had some vivid sense of God's presence. They were more likely to say that they'd had an experience as if what had to be experienced in the mind had somehow broken free and it was experienced with the senses, as if it sort of jumped outside of them, the mind world barrier and was felt by them in the world. It was like what happened to Meghan. The share she imagined in her mind became share.
It was share. It was her voice. It was her recognizable share voice. As people consciously exercise their imaginations, their imaginations stopped feeling like imagination.
I would ask people whether God was like an imaginary friend and people would always correct me. People would say, oh no, he's not imaginary. Then they talk about him as if he was kind of like an invisible being who walked by their side and who put his arm around their shoulders. People would tell me about sitting next to God on a park bench and they were talking to him about their life and they were asking him about his life.
And people they did that. People told Tania that they experienced the same curious sensation that Meghan experienced with share. The voice of God inside their heads may have sprung from an exercise of the imagination, but it somehow seemed to stand apart from their own minds. It seemed to know more than they did.
It seemed to know them better than they knew themselves. It became a source of comfort, of guidance. People would, in effect, take bits and pieces of the best parts of their relationships with other people and they'd kind of weave them together so that in this, what you might almost call, play therapy. They are interacting with these different parts of God and then kind of changing their understanding of God and then talking about God.
And so they're always working on their God concept. What does it look and sound like to work on your God concept? How do believers distinguish the voice of God from their own hopes and dreams and desires? And what lessons can these imaginings hold for all people, religious and non-religious?
When we come back, we go to California to meet one of the Evangelical Christians at the church where Tania did her fieldwork. We find out how he trains himself to hear the voice of God. This is Hidden Brain, I'm Shankar Vedanta. It's a beautiful morning in Palo Alto, but then again, it's always a beautiful morning in Palo Alto.
Alex Van Reesen shakes my hand and tells me I remind him of Jennifer Aniston. He doesn't know either of us, but it feels like he does. I found it ironic that you're doing an episode on people that you think you know, but you don't know. And I realize I'm living that experience this morning by meeting you, Shankar.
We're meeting at the offices of the Vignette Church in Palo Alto. Alex used to be a pastor at the church and is now a member. Before we head inside, he pulls from the trunk of his car a black metal box. It has silver hatches and a combination lock.
Alex is a big guy, but he strains as he carries the box into the office. He puts it down at his feet and pops the locks. Inside are about 30 carefully numbered large notebooks. Sort of narrow rules.
They're like the notebooks you take notes in and almost in science class. They're very narrow because I write small. And so I have all the journals that I've ever had since 1984. Alex tells me that whenever he's worried or angry or wants to figure out something in his life, he takes out a notebook and asks God, more specifically Jesus, for guidance.
It's what he did after he became lead pastor and was feeling overwhelmed. In small, neat handwriting, Alex carries out a dialogue, a question and answer session in which he takes on the role of both himself and Jesus. It's one part therapy, one part prayer. He starts with his own side of the conversation.
I had a hard time getting up this morning. I wanted to stay in bed. I think I was just starting to feel comfortable in this role as the lead pastor of the church. I feel stirred up, anxious, worried.
Jesus asks me, what's another time you felt like this? And I say, well, I'm noting that I've not felt like this for a while. I have moments, but in general, my life is pretty solid. If that gave me hope that things were really changing for me, then hearing this news and getting all stirred up internally makes me wonder whether I'm growing at all.
Jesus says, I'm at work in you and I'm bringing transformation. You know that I'm about changing people. I have so many questions. Is Alex imagining what Jesus would say?
What he thinks he would say? Is he actually hearing a literal voice talking in his ear? Alex says it's not like he just flips a switch and Jesus comes up on his internal radio station. It's a conscious mental practice that has deepened over the years.
It's like he imagines what a wise therapist would say and then he says it to himself. I mean, I even as I'm reading this and I haven't read this for a while, some of the questions sound like things like, you know, how do you feel about that? A lot of them are questions that Jesus asked me to go deeper with what I'm feeling. But he says there are things that Jesus can tell him that a therapist never could.
He can make promises, promises like, I'm with you. Like when you feel alone or you feel really trapped, I think that there's promises like, I have a place for you when you're making a decision and you feel really torn and you don't know which way to decide and you go, I will help you. Alex says he was first brought to this way of thinking by a dramatic moment of personal connection with Jesus. And I was in this worship hall, probably like two or three thousand people at this event.
And all of a sudden I felt a hand on my shoulder. But I didn't look around. We were in the midst of worship. And then very close to my ear, I heard a voice whisper into my ear, things that I had never told anyone.
It was a voice, a literal mere voice. The voice seemed to know of mean and hurtful things that Alex had done to other people. I was like, how could somebody know these things? I think he also mentioned that I know that your life has been hard.
I know it pains you that your mother died at childbirth, that you didn't have a close relationship with your biological siblings. And he said, I know these things and I love you and I'm with you. And so the minute he stopped speaking, I turned around and there was no one there. Alex used an analogy to describe what his conversations with Jesus were like.
It sounded curiously to me like the language Tanya Lerman used to describe what anthropologists do. It had to do with the power of slowing down, listening attentively and then finding yourself seeing things, noticing things that you might have missed. An analogy I like to use is the difference between driving to your home and walking to your home or riding a bicycle and all the things that you see in your neighborhood when you walk, that you don't see when you drive because you're going so fast. And I think that a lot of what we're trying to do in our service and in really our lives is to create space that for God to speak because we believe he's speaking.
We believe he's present, but we just don't create the space. And when we create the space, most times, but not always, he'll say something. So how does Alex tell the voice of Jesus from his own voice? He told me that members of the church regularly listen to each other's accounts of what Jesus told them.
They'll tell each other, yeah, that sounds like Jesus. Or they'll say, no, that doesn't sound right. Alex invited me to listen in on one of these group sessions. We got in his car to go meet a couple of other church members.
So we pick up some food of the way, what do we do? Well, we're talking about that. How hungry are you? Where are you at?
As we drove, Alex told me that the voice of Jesus had helped him during one of the most traumatic moments in his life. In the late 1990s, Alex and his wife, Susan, were trying to have children. They had trouble conceiving, so they looked into adoption. Eventually, they learned about a beautiful baby boy, just two days old.
The baby seemed healthy and happy. They brought him home and named him Joshua. But 10 days later, baby Joshua started to lose weight, and it became clear that something was very wrong. Alex and Susan took him to the emergency room and then to the intensive care unit.
After 17 terrifying days, our doctor told Alex and Susan the news. Their son had a rare disease that might leave him severely disabled. She said that he might never live an independent life. She sat down and she went, he could be completely blind.
He could have cerebral palsy. He could have a very little brain function. He could have no mobility, no ability to speak. She just kept going and going and going, and it was just like everything in the kitchen sink.
I just remember feeling utterly devastated, meaning I was just so, so sad. There was an overwhelming sense of what have we gotten ourselves into. Like, will I have what it takes to really go the distance with this? Alex thought back to an adoption contract they had signed.
It left room for the parents to change their minds. Alex was 39 years old and his life already fell so full. He had a job in campus ministry which took up more than 50 hours a week. A disabled child felt like more than he could handle.
He told Susan about his feelings. She told him. If Joshua come to us through biological means, if we had had a special means baby biologically, there's nowhere to take that baby back to, right? In other words, no one comes to you and goes, we'll take your baby back.
And I think she was like, there's no returning here. God was in this and he has a purpose for this. A few nights after that conversation, Alex went out to a park near their home. He looked up at the sky, searching for answers.
And I sat on a bench and I said, look, God, this scares the living day lights out of me. I don't know, are we supposed to give him back? Do you want us to keep him? I was just looking at the stars and all of a sudden, it was one of those senses.
I didn't hear an audible voice outside my head, but I heard very clearly, you know, I bring children into people's lives all sorts of ways. This is the way I brought Joshua into yours. Until, like that, I was like, okay, I'm in. And I haven't doubted it since.
So this is Susan's mother's place? Yeah, okay, buddy. Yep. Really man, Marky, come.
We're at Alex's mother-in-law's condo. Two other members of the Vineyard Church show up soon after. My name is Terrence Magno. I'm a software engineer.
My name is Suzanne Magno, and I am the Director of Worship and Administration at Palo Alto Vineyard Church, and I'm married to Terrence. They explain to me what a group prayer session looks like. It's called a soaking prayer because everyone in attendance is said to be soaked in God's presence. The person they're praying for, the pre-he and the pre-yours, all try to channel what Jesus might say.
By inviting Jesus into their minds, they hope to make him vivid, to make him a participant in the conversation. By deliberately exercising their imaginations, by suspending disbelief, they hope to make the invisible real. When I first started to pray in this way, it was difficult to discern, is this my imagination? Or did God give me this?
And I'll be honest, like, I still doubt. We gather together in a quiet room. The lights are low. Alex pulls up chairs from the dining table.
He straddles the chair sitting backwards, his arms crossed on the backrest. Terrence and Suzanne face him so that the three of them are sitting in a triangle. So, God, we just invite your Holy Spirit to come. So come, Holy Spirit.
Terrence asks Alex what he wants to talk about. Alex has a friend that he calls Steve, has wronged him, and he's not sure how to let it go. I don't want to carry this anger around. I don't want to chew on it anymore.
So I confess that I do have a hard heart towards Steve, and I don't want good for him. Suzanne and Terrence ask Alex if it's okay for each of them to place a hand on a shoulder. Alex says yes. His head is resting on his forearms.
His eyes are closed. So as you give that to God, Alex, what's Ernie? Anything new or rising from that? Your feeling?
I think I was more just sitting in how struck I was, that what I wanted was, you know, to build up anger and frustration at this person. I'm not struck by that. So I think I'm kind of sitting in that, I don't know, realization. Suzanne says she sees something.
I saw you at a tree stump that has already been cut, right? It's just a stump, and you had an axe, and you're angry, and you're like raising your fist at God in the sky. And you're like, why do I have to be here? You know, I keep, you know, you're tired.
You just keep hacking with this axe, and you're just tired, and you don't want to be there, but somehow you're there. Tarrin says he can see something too. There's just this picture I'm getting of, sort of you are seated, you know, like a front porch or a stoop of an apartment building, or house, and Jesus is sort of sitting next to you and has his hand over your heart. But the interesting thing about the picture is that his heart is broken.
Alex takes in what Tarrin and Suzanne have told him. The metaphor of the porch doesn't spark anything inside him, but Suzanne's image does. Alex runs with it. He says he sees Jesus into the picture.
I see him standing there next to me while I'm wacking away at the stump, and he's standing there, you know, he's relaxed. And I just keep going at it, and I ask him, Jesus, is there something you want to say or you want me to do? He sits down, he's kind of cross-legged. He sits down and goes, do you want me to take over?
And I'm not sure. I don't know what taking over means from him. And I'll say yes. Yes, Jesus.
I'm not worried or afraid about that. Go ahead. I'll let you take over. So I hand him the axe, and he puts it down.
He invites me to sit down next to him. I think he's pretty very sane. Well, I think he says, this isn't for you to carry. When the soaking prayer is over, Alex genuinely seems to be at peace.
I ask Tarrin and Suzanne how the comfort they have given Alex is different than the comfort that a friend or a psychotherapist might offer. I think this is a very therapeutically similar technique, but I think if it weren't for the voice of God, I would not have received the tree trunk image. I mean, yeah, I did see something like that in a movie, but I think God used that picture. He said, here, this applies, right?
And so I think when you add God into the picture, there's a knowing of the person's life and inner workings that as a friend we may not know. So I think for us, and my God to speak into Alex's problem is kind of like a really great prescription. It's like the perfect prescription that could be given to someone who's in pain. Too often, religious and non-religious people get hung up on questions of what is real.
Did Jesus actually speak to Suzanne? Did he actually tell Alex to put down the axe? Or did Alex imagine it? Now, there are times when questions like, is this real and did this actually happen are useful?
If God tells you to go kill someone, it's worth asking if God is actually doing the talking. But when you are looking for a way to put down a long-held grudge or suffering from a cute shame because you can't read, it seems silly to question the comfort offered by the voices in our heads. For some of us, those voices can be religious. For others, they can be the voice of a beloved TV character or a close relative who has died.
The human capacity for imagination is one of the greatest gifts of the brain. Our imaginings can certainly lead us astray, cause us to see things we wish to see instead of seeing reality for what it is. Those concerns are well-founded, but they should not lead to a narrow absolutism. Sometimes, amazing things can happen when we allow ourselves to listen to our secret friends.
This week's show was produced by Laura Corral and Parth Shah and edited by Tara Boyle and Jenny Schmidt. Our team includes Thomas Liu, Reina Cohen and Luci Guaba. A special thanks this week to all the voice actors in our show, Kevin Beasley, Jason Fuller. Our unsung hero this week is Stacey Goers.
She is the senior product manager for podcasts at NPR, and she is the go-to person for putting out fires and solving all kinds of problems. Without her, our show might not reach your ears. Thank you Stacey. For more hidden brain, you can follow us on Facebook and Twitter.
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Details and ticketing information can be found at events.hiddenbrain.org. Again, that's events.hiddenbrain.org. I'm Shankar Vedantam, and this is NPR.