The Secret Life of Hamel: July, 2009 Posts

Author's Note: In order to have my monthly summaries make sense, I have decided to begin and end each blog posting with complete thoughts. In some cases, this may mean repeating sentence fragments from last month's post, or stealing a line or two from the following month's Twitter tweets. I do this under the continuing delusion that anyone cares.

A fellow student once asked Hamel if he found the pronounced scar on the professor’s chin disconcerting. Hamel thought about the question, realized that he’d never even noticed the scar, and then replied Yes, but not that much. Hamel took a close look at the professor during the next class: the scar was probably an inch in length, ugly and red, and virtually impossible to miss. Seeing it, in a sense for the first time, Hamel grasped the obvious: he’d never really looked at the professor’s face before, at least not with the slightest bit of interest or attention.

Six weeks of classes, three times a week, 50 minutes per class. And never, not once, did such a pronounced facial disfigurement make an impression on Hamel’s consciousness. Given such disregard for his professor, combined with his lack of interest in the course, it was unusual that Hamel paid close attention to the “peak experiences” lecture. It was the premise that intrigued him, the idea that life could and should be lived, not as a continuum of existence, but rather a series of highlights, “peak” moments, which could last from minutes to several days or longer, and during which a human being experiences life to the fullest.

Admittedly, Hamel’s professor had a different take on this phenomenon from that espoused by other, more published philosophers. The “big boys” — Hamel’s professor always referred to well-known philosophers this way — universally described peak experiences in highly positive terms. They wrote about joyous moments, occasions of intense happiness, feelings of profound wonder and awe.

According to these thinkers, the catalysts for such experiences were similarly connected with “goodness”: deep meditation, overwhelming feelings of love, gazing at a stunning piece of art, or a wonder of nature, or hearing and being moved by a wonderfully uplifting piece of music.

Hamel’s professor told his students that he believed all of these phenomena could be described as “alpha generators” and that the peak experiences they brought on could be called “white peaks.” Yet, he argued, just as there seemed to be a polar opposite for everything in Nature, the same was true of peak experiences. In addition to white peaks, the professor explained, there are “black peaks”, experiences similar in intensity, similar in their dramatic impact on the individual living in those moments, but brought on by negative, “omega” generators or incidents of profound evil, horror or despair.

Serial killers, he stated, often experienced an intense, almost transcendental euphoria at the moment of taking a human life.

He went on to explain that peak experiences — at least of the white kind — could also be brought on by certain drugs, and that controlled experiments were often conducted to induce the phenomena and give researchers further insights into their nature and their impact on individual subjects. But here is the big idea, the professor concluded, spreading his arms wide for dramatic emphasis: “Peak experiences don’t just define our lives — they ARE our lives. Within our psyches, we all yearn for these zenith moments — they are our only connections to true happiness and real satisfaction as human beings. Most people,” he continued, “don’t understand this at all. In fact, most of you,” he said as he looked intently at each member of the class, “will live your lives unfulfilled, and not know why."

The young woman next to Hamel raised her hand tentatively. The professor turned his head, stared at her, but did not respond.

The professor continued. “In fact, most of you,” he pronounced, “will die wondering and wishing and wanting because you will never have given yourselves a chance to live.” The professor, clearly enjoying his delivery, paused for dramatic impact. He ran his hand through his hair, glanced down at his watch, stared out the window for a moment. Then he concluded, almost whispering, with a theatrical intensity. “But some few of you will leave this classroom today. . . and begin a search. Class dismissed.”

The professor turned away and began to gather books from his desk. He did not look at any of his students. The class sat in awkward silence.

Someone sitting close to Hamel murmured, “What an arrogant ass.” Hamel nodded slowly in agreement. Yet, the professor’s lecture made him feel uncomfortable somehow, as if, hidden within his comments to the entire class, the professor had placed some special truth, some important precept for Hamel to consider. Not purposefully, of course. Hamel knew that, on a personal level, he was insignificant to the professor; Hamel was not even sure if the professor knew his name.

Yet, something in the professor’s remark had triggered an unusual response in Hamel. Over the past several days since the lecture, Hamel had replayed the class in his mind again and again.