Neuroscience and the Mystical Brain: ASC and the Unconscious

In recent decades, neuroscience has begun to illuminate what happens in the brain during mystical experiences and other altered states of consciousness (ASC). These findings form an important bridge between the first-person reports of mystics and the third-person measurements of science. In this chapter, we review key insights: how practices like meditation or prayer, and substances like psychedelics, affect brain activity; what neural correlates have been identified for experiences of unity, ego-dissolution, or transcendence; and how these states tap into the unconscious processes of the mind. We also consider illustrative case studies, such as a clinical neurology narrative and historical accounts, showing how brain changes can induce mystical states.

One fruitful line of research uses neuroimaging (fMRI, EEG) to study practitioners of meditation or individuals undergoing spiritual experiences. A landmark study by Mario Beauregard (2006) scanned Carmelite nuns recalling a profound mystical union with God. It found activation in a network of brain regions including the frontal lobes (attention, intention) and temporal-parietal areas (orientation and sense of self), suggesting that intense prayer involves heightened focus and a changed self-other relationship. Another line of research by Andrew Newberg and others observed that during deep meditation or prayer, activity in the brain’s parietal lobe (specifically the orientation association area) tends to diminish, which correlates with the meditator’s reported loss of spatial boundaries between self and surroundings. In other words, when people feel “at one with the universe,” the region that normally helps you orient your body in space and distinguish self from environment shows decreased activity. This provides a compelling neural correlate for the unity experience.

Furthermore, Default Mode Network (DMN) – introduced earlier as a network linked to self-referential thinking and mind-wandering – has garnered attention. Research on psychedelic states by teams like Robin Carhart-Harris has shown that compounds such as psilocybin, LSD, and DMT tend to disrupt the normal synchronization of the DMN. In one study, participants who had the most intense “peak” mystical experiences under psilocybin exhibited the greatest reductions in DMN connectivity, particularly between key hubs like the medial prefrontal cortex and posterior cingulate cortex​.
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov.
This breakdown of the brain’s default self-network aligns with their subjective reports of ego-dissolution and unity. As one paper summarized, “patients who scored highest on mystical experiences had the greatest decreases in [functional connectivity] in DMN regions such as the PCC”​
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov, and these neural changes were associated with positive outcomes like increased openness or mood improvements​pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. The implication is that the sense of self may be a neural process that can be dialed down, releasing a state of consciousness less constrained by personal identity and more expansive.

Neuroscientists like Judson Brewer have similarly found that experienced meditators can suppress DMN activity (especially the PCC) during certain meditations, which correlates with states of “effortless awareness” or non-dual consciousness. Thus, different methods – pharmacological and non-pharmacological – converge on the idea that quieting the egoic-processing network opens the door to mystical states.

Another intriguing set of findings comes from lesion studies. A study led by Jordan Grafman (2017) examined Vietnam War veterans with brain injuries and found that lesions in the frontal and temporal lobes (areas associated with inhibitory control and contextual integration) were linked to increased likelihood of self-reported mystical experiences​. Essentially, damage to parts of the brain that normally keep perception and emotions in check seemed to open people to unfiltered, unitary experiences. Grafman described it as suppressing the “brain’s inhibitory functions,” opening a “door of perception” that increases mystical-type experiences​. This echoes the famous idea of Aldous Huxley (inspired by Bergson and others) that the brain is a “reducing valve” that filters a broader cosmic consciousness, and that psychedelics or certain conditions lift the filters.

Now, turning to the unconscious: Many mystical or creative insights seem to emerge from beyond the veil of conscious thought. Depth psychology (Jung, Freud) long posited that the unconscious mind is a vast repository that sometimes speaks in symbols (dreams, visions). Modern neuroscience suggests that much of our brain’s activity is indeed non-conscious, with conscious awareness being just the tip of the iceberg. During altered states, the usual top-down control (often by frontal regions) can relax, allowing unconscious material to flood consciousness (hence the vivid imagery in dreams or psychedelic visions). Stanislav Grof’s work with LSD in therapy found that people often relived forgotten memories or archetypal imagery, which he interpreted as accessing deeper layers of psyche when ordinary ego defenses are lowered.

A striking case study illustrating unconscious processes yielding mystical experience is that of Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, a neuroanatomist who experienced a severe hemorrhagic stroke in her left hemisphere. As described in her book My Stroke of Insight, when her left brain’s language and linear thinking shut down, she entered a state of euphoric peace and unity: “a sense of oneness with all life” and loss of the boundary of her body​s. She could not distinguish where her arm ended and the space around her began. This came with a feeling of blissful expansiveness — effectively a spontaneous mystical experience caused by a brain trauma. Remarkably, Dr. Taylor reported that afterwards she became more creative and compassionate, feeling deeply interconnected with others​. Neuroscientifically, her stroke knocked out portions of her analytical and language centers in the left cortex, silencing the “voice” of the ego and conceptual mind. The right hemisphere, which is more holistic and present-moment oriented, dominated. This case is a dramatic confirmation that our sense of isolated self is very much tied to specific brain functions – and if those are interrupted, what can emerge is akin to what mystics describe: a “nirvana” state of unity and peace​.

Another example comes from clinical temporal lobe epilepsy (TLE), where some patients (like the famous case of Dostoevsky) report ecstatic auras or profound spiritual feelings during seizures. TLE can induce hyper-connection of networks and release of memories, sometimes generating a sense of life review or cosmic understanding in a matter of seconds – a sort of involuntary mystical experience. Neuroscientist V.S. Ramachandran even speculated about a “God module” in the temporal lobe, though it’s more likely a network phenomenon than a single module.

Psychedelic research, now undergoing a renaissance, systematically documents mystical-type experiences in volunteers. For example, a controlled study at Johns Hopkins found that around 60-70% of participants given a high dose of psilocybin under supportive conditions had experiences that met criteria for a complete mystical experience (unity, sacredness, noetic quality, etc.), and these were associated with “sustained positive changes in attitudes and behavior” months later​pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov
Participants often described it as one of the most meaningful events of their lives. The therapeutic potential is notable: trials show psilocybin-assisted therapy can alleviate depression, anxiety (especially in cancer patients), and addiction, apparently by catalyzing these profound shifts in perspective​
pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov. One hypothesis is that ego-dissolution and a sense of connection reset the brain’s rigid negative patterns (like breaking out of depressive rumination by literally “loosening” entrenched networks).

Neuroimaging on psychedelics complements meditation findings: in addition to DMN disintegration, there is usually an increase in global connectivity – the brain communicates more freely across regions that normally don’t talk as much.
​pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov
This higher entropy brain state might correlate with the fluid, hyper-associative quality of psychedelic consciousness and possibly with the “ineffable knowledge” that users report (sensing patterns or meanings they find hard to articulate). Indeed, one study noted increased brain entropy correlating with “meaningful and mystical experiences” under psychedelics.
​pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov.

Importantly, neuroscientists like Grafman caution that correlates in the brain do not invalidate the reality or significance of mystical experiences.
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Whether these states are “brain-generated illusions” or windows to a deeper reality remains a philosophical or personal question. Neuroscience can tell us how it happens (e.g., “activity in region X decreases”), but not necessarily what the ontological status of the experience is. For example, if a monk feels united with divine consciousness, the fMRI might show his parietal lobe going quiet, but that doesn’t settle whether he “really” contacted a divine reality or simply had a subjective experience produced by neurons.

From an integrative perspective, one might consider the brain as a filter or facilitator of consciousness. The evidence that reducing certain brain activity (via lesions, strokes, psychedelics, meditation) can enhance conscious experience in some dimensions (like unity, intensity) lends a bit of support to the filter hypothesis – the brain normally constrains our mind to a survival-focused bandwidth, and loosening those constraints reveals a broader, perhaps pre-existing, mode of awareness. This resonates with the mystical notion that the divine or the One is always here, but our ordinary mind obscures it.

The unconscious mind also comes into play in mysticism through phenomena like visions, voices, or automatic writing in spiritual contexts. Are these communications from a higher realm or from one’s own unconscious? Psychologically, one could say prophets and mystics externalize the unconscious as angels or gods speaking. Conversely, a spiritual view might assert they tapped into a collective unconscious or genuine spiritual entities. Neuroscience currently would lean to internal origins, but it remains humble before the profound content of such experiences.

In closing this chapter, we see that neuroscience does not dispel the mystery of consciousness, but it offers fascinating clues about the mechanisms that accompany mystical states. Key points are: mystical experiences have identifiable neural correlates (e.g., DMN suppression, parietal deactivation, hyper-connectivity); they often involve atypical brain dynamics that differ from normal waking consciousness; and inducing such states (through practice or substances) can have lasting positive effects on personality and outlook.
​pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov​
The unconscious is likely deeply involved – mystical experiences might arise when unconscious processing intrudes into awareness or when the conscious ego is silenced allowing a broader unconscious intelligence to surface.

As we proceed, we’ll take these insights and consider the role of language and communication in relation to these ineffable states. If mystical experiences are so profound yet often indescribable, how do people communicate them? How does language shape or limit consciousness? The next chapter turns to communication theory, language, and direct apprehension, examining the paradox of trying to express the inexpressible and how different traditions navigate that.

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Language, Communication, and Direct Apprehension

One of the hallmarks of mystical experience, noted by William James and many others, is ineffability – the sense that the experience defies expression in words​. Mystics often find normal language inadequate to convey what they have seen or felt. This raises important questions: what is the relationship between language and consciousness? How does communication shape our understanding of reality, and what are its limits? Is there a mode of knowing or “direct apprehension” that operates beyond symbolic language? In this chapter, we explore these questions by looking at both philosophy of language and mystical literature, as well as insights from communication theory.

Language is our primary tool for sharing experiences and knowledge. It encodes concepts, categories, and relationships that our culture has developed. According to the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis in linguistic anthropology, the structure of language can influence or even determine how we think and perceive (linguistic relativity). For instance, having certain color words may make one more sensitive to those color distinctions. In the context of consciousness, if our language lacks words for certain subjective states, we might overlook or misinterpret them. Mystical states often get labeled vaguely as “ineffable” or “indescribable bliss,” which, while honest, do not convey much to someone who hasn’t had the experience. It’s as if our normal vocabulary, geared toward external objects and social interactions, falters when turned inward to describe pure consciousness or unity with the divine.

Philosophers of language like Ludwig Wittgenstein contemplated the limits of language. Wittgenstein’s famous line, “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent,” suggests that if something lies outside the realm of logical propositional language, trying to speak of it may be pointless. Mystics often embrace paradox or poetry to hint at what can’t be directly stated. Zen Buddhism is particularly known for its use of paradoxical questions (koans) and negation to jolt the mind out of ordinary patterns. A koan like “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” deliberately frustrates rational thought, potentially sparking a direct insight beyond conceptual thought. Zen emphasizes that enlightenment (satori) is not a concept to be understood but an experience to be had, often saying it is a “direct transmission outside the scriptures” – pointing to mind directly rather than through words.

Sufism similarly leans on poetry (e.g., Rumi, Hafiz) and metaphor to communicate the love of the divine, which straightforward theological language might not capture. Rumi often resorts to the language of love and drunkenness to symbolize the ecstasy of union, effectively using familiar human experiences as analogies for the spiritual. Yet he also says that once intoxicated with God, “tongue becomes dumb;” there is a recognition that words can only circle an experience, not encapsulate it.

From a communication theory perspective, every act of communication requires a shared code and context. Mystical experiences, by contrast, are often deeply personal and context-breaking. How does one communicate an experience of timelessness to someone whose every experience has been time-bound? Or an experience of seeing “all is one” to someone accustomed to parsing the world into discrete objects? The mystic can either abstract and generalize (which risks trivializing the experience) or use evocative, indirect language hoping to trigger a similar intuition in the listener.

Some traditions rely on symbolism or myth to convey transcendent truths. For example, Hindu philosophy speaks of Ānanda (bliss), Sat (being/reality), Cit (consciousness) as attributes of Brahman. These terms guide thought but ultimately one is told Brahman is beyond description: “neti, neti” (not this, not that). The apophatic (via negativa) approach in Christian mysticism also instructs that one can only say what God/consciousness is not, stripping away all positive descriptions to approach an unspoken truth. This is a kind of philosophical silent communication – using language to go beyond language.

Interestingly, developmental psychology of language in children shows that before language acquisition, infants still have conscious experiences (colors, sounds, comfort, discomfort) but they do not categorize or narrate them. In a sense, they live in a world of direct experience which adults later interpret to them with language (“This is called blue, that feeling is hunger”). Some meditative practices attempt to return to a pre-conceptual mode, observing raw sensations without labeling. The idea is to experience “what is” without the mediation of concepts – a form of direct apprehension of reality.

Direct apprehension refers to knowing something by acquaintance rather than by description. The philosopher Bertrand Russell distinguished “knowledge by acquaintance” (e.g., knowing the taste of pineapple by having tasted it) from “knowledge by description” (e.g., knowing about the molecular structure of pineapple or hearing someone describe its taste). Mystical knowledge is often claimed to be of the acquaintance type regarding ultimate reality (knowing God by union, not by theology). One cannot learn such knowledge from second-hand accounts; one must “taste” it oneself.

However, communication is still vital for mystics – to guide others to that personal revelation. Thus, many mystical teachings use indirect communication: stories, parables, or dialogues that gradually lead a student to a realization. Consider Plato’s dialogues (while not mystical in the religious sense, they often pointed to truths via dialectic conversation). A fictional symposium conversation, for instance, can allow multiple viewpoints to play off each other, and the reader gleans a deeper understanding that is not handed to them as a formula but reached through engagement.
 

Let’s illustrate with a dialogue-based section:

(Interlude – Fictional Symposium Excerpt)

Host: Welcome, friends, to our symposium on ineffable knowledge. We have a linguist, a mystic, and a neuroscientist at the table. Our question: Can the highest truths be spoken?

Linguist: Language can extend to anything, if we’re creative. We coin new terms, use metaphors. Perhaps mystics just need a better vocabulary.

Mystic: smiles There’s an old saying: explaining a mystical experience to someone is like trying to explain colors to a person born blind. No matter what words you use, without the sight, it won’t truly register.

Neuroscientist: Indeed, certain experiences must be had. But as a scientist, I rely on communication – if it’s totally private, how do we share or verify it?

Mystic: We share by presence and practice, not by concept. For example, sitting with my teacher in silence sometimes taught me more than any lecture. There was a direct mind-to-mind influence, I’d say.

Linguist: That sounds mystical indeed, metacommunication beyond explicit words. Perhaps body language, mirror neurons, subtle cues?

Neuroscientist: It could be unconscious communication, yes. Or just the person’s interpretation of an internal experience triggered by the context.

Mystic: And yet, when the disciple is ready, a simple gesture or a single word can trigger enlightenment, precisely because it’s not about the word, but the state of openness cultivated in silence.

Host: So, is the consensus that language is both indispensable and inadequate? We need it to guide one another, but the final leap is beyond words.

Mystic: Well put. The finger pointing at the moon is not the moon, as the Zen saying goes. But without the finger, many might never look up.

This imagined conversation highlights how communication about consciousness often involves more than declarative statements. Tone, context, the credibility of the speaker, and the preparedness of the listener all matter.

Communication theory also tells us that meaning is co-constructed. The listener’s interpretation completes the communicative act. Thus, mystical scriptures or poems might “come alive” only for those who have had certain experiences, because those readers supply the experiential referent for the words. To others, the text might seem impenetrable or hyperbolic. This is one reason mystical schools sometimes keep teachings esoteric or use initiation – a gradual unveiling ensures the student has the requisite experiences or practices to understand the teaching beyond the surface level.

Another aspect is the role of symbol and ritual as non-verbal communication. A Zen tea ceremony, or a Sufi dance (whirling), communicates an entire worldview wordlessly. They impart a sense of mindfulness, unity, or devotion without a lecture. Neurobiologically, ritual and rhythmic activities may synchronize participants’ brain states (through shared movement, breathing, etc.), fostering a kind of intersubjective union, a group consciousness experience (as Durkheim noted in collective effervescence).

At a more theoretical level, we might consider semiotics (study of signs) and how mystical experiences often challenge the usual signifier-signified relations. In normal language, words (signifiers) point to things or concepts (signifieds). In mystical utterances, sometimes the signifier is used not to denote something separate but to evoke an identity: e.g., when a mystic says “I am the Truth” (as Mansur al-Hallaj did, saying Ana’l Haqq), it’s not a semantic assertion in the ordinary sense, but an expression of a state of unity (identity of self with ultimate truth). Listeners who interpret it as a normal claim (“I, person X, am truth”) get confused or even consider it heresy, whereas in mystical context it’s a non-dual realization being voiced.

Finally, the notion of “direct apprehension” bears on epistemology: can we know some things without mediation? Many mystical traditions say yes – one can know God or the Absolute by being it, since the deepest Self is already one with it (Advaita’s claim that Ātman is Brahman means knowing Brahman is not via about-ness but via identity). This is a kind of knowledge-by-identity. It’s akin to how in a dream, one might merge with an ocean and thereby know what the ocean “feels like” from inside. It’s radically first-person and non-transferable through communication.

Yet, interestingly, across cultures mystics reading each other’s accounts often nod in recognition. A Zen master reading Meister Eckhart might say “Yes, he understood.” This suggests there is some universal core that, while ineffable, is at least mutually intuited by those who have been there. They might use different language (Buddha-nature vs. Godhead, etc.), but they can parse through the cultural dressing to the experience behind it.

In summary, language and communication are double-edged in the science of consciousness. They are the tools by which we construct shared understanding and build theories, yet they are also sources of potential misleading reification (we mistake the word for the thing, the menu for the meal). A mystical science must therefore be careful in terminology, perhaps coining new terms or repurposing old ones (like qualia, noetic, nondual) to discuss subtleties. It also might integrate non-verbal methods (meditation instructions, guided experiences) as part of its pedagogy, acknowledging that some knowledge comes through doing or being, not just talking. This bridges into the next chapter: if language has limits, one way to transcend those is through development – developing the mind to higher stages that perhaps can articulate or cognize what earlier stages could not. Thus, we turn to developmental consciousness and how higher stages of psychological growth might intersect with mystical insight.
 

Developmental Consciousness:
Kegan, Maslow, and Mystical Union

Human consciousness is not static across the lifespan – it develops. Psychologists like Robert Kegan and Abraham Maslow have provided stage models of adult development that go beyond childhood, suggesting that adults can evolve through qualitatively different ways of making sense of self and the world. Intriguingly, the highest stages in these models begin to sound reminiscent of spiritual or mystical perspectives. In this chapter, we examine how post-conventional developmental psychology connects with the idea of mystical union or enlightenment. We draw parallels between Kegan’s stages of meaning-making, Maslow’s concept of self-transcendence, and descriptions of unity consciousness in mystical traditions. We also consider research suggesting that transformative experiences (like psychedelic-induced ego death or deep meditation) might accelerate movement to higher developmental stages.

Robert Kegan, a developmental psychologist, outlined a theory of how people’s “orders of consciousness” evolve. In simplified terms, Kegan describes: Stage 3 (the “Socialized Mind”) where an individual is embedded in interpersonal relationships and societal expectations (one’s identity and thinking are shaped by others’ opinions and the norms one has internalized); Stage 4 (the “Self-Authoring Mind”) where a person develops an internal ideology or personal framework – they can step back from given roles and values and define their own, becoming more autonomous and self-directed; and Stage 5 (the “Self-Transforming Mind” or “Interindividual”) where one can step back from and hold multiple frameworks, seeing the limits of any one system, and is capable of dialectical thought and integrating contradictory systems. Kegan’s Stage 5 is particularly interesting: the self-transforming mind no longer identifies wholly with any single self-concept or ideology. It is comfortable with paradox, with interdependence, and has a kind of humility and openness to continual transformation.

Only a small fraction of adults reach Stage 5, according to Kegan – it’s a post-conventional stage (beyond the conventional societal equilibrium). The qualities of Stage 5 – tolerating ambiguity, seeing self as a fluid process rather than a static entity, feeling part of a larger whole – resonate strongly with descriptions of mystical consciousness. At this stage, a person might say, “I have my viewpoints and identities, but I am not defined by them; I am part of a bigger system of relationships and I can see truth in many perspectives.” Mystical traditions similarly speak of not identifying with the ego, seeing through the illusion of a separate self, and feeling unity with others or the cosmos.

Interestingly, it’s been observed (anecdotally and in some studies) that individuals at Stage 5 often report experiences of self-transcendence. Some research cited by enthusiasts of Kegan’s model suggests that Stage 5 adults had frequently engaged in self-transcendent practices or experiences (e.g., meditation, psychedelic journeys, etc.). In one excerpt, it's noted that Kegan found many Stage 5 individuals “had dabbled in self-transcendent experiences: often beginning with psychedelics and, after that, making meditation, martial arts, and other state-shifting practices central in their lives”​. This implies a link between experiential transcendence and the consolidation of a more advanced stage of meaning-making.

Abraham Maslow, famous for the hierarchy of needs, initially placed self-actualization as the pinnacle of human motivation (the drive to become one’s fullest self). However, Maslow later recognized a higher motivation beyond self-actualization, which he called self-transcendence​. Self-transcendence is the desire to go beyond the self, to see unity and help others find fulfillment, and it often involves spiritual or peak experiences. Maslow studied “peak experiences” – moments of intense joy, creativity, and insight, often with a loss of time/space self-consciousness – and found that self-actualized individuals frequently had these, but he came to think that transcenders (those aiming beyond their own selfhood) might turn peak experiences into a plateau or ongoing way of being. He defined peak experiences as “feelings of limitless horizons opening up, the feeling of being simultaneously more powerful and more helpless than ever, filled with ecstasy, wonder, and awe, and the loss of placing in time and space...”​bigthink.com. This description is practically interchangeable with descriptions of mystical rapture​bigthink.com.

Maslow noted that self-actualizers often had a nondualistic thinking – they could appreciate the sacred in the mundane, the unity in diversity. Towards the end of his life, he wrote about “Being-cognition” (B-cognition) as opposed to deficiency-cognition: B-cognition is an unitive perception where the world is seen as whole, and the self as connected to the whole. He even wrote a paper about “The plateau experience” describing a more sustainable version of the peak, which sounds akin to a stable enlightened perspective.

Thus, Maslow’s forgotten pinnacle, self-transcendence, aligns with spiritual traditions where the goal is not just a healthy ego but going beyond ego to identify with something greater – whether that be the cosmos, God, or the Tao. In Table 7.1 below, we map these developmental concepts alongside mystical ideals: