I’ve been trying to find the word to describe a particular phenomenon. The feeling is when you hear something for the first time, and it immediately and permanently changes your worldview. It’s similar to a flashbulb memory, but it’s knowledge rather than memory.

This is more like knowledge you’ve been primed to receive, with the background experience to solidify it, until you hear it distilled into an ultimate truth. For example, a mentor once told me, “I can’t teach or manage for ambition. By the time I meet an employee, nature and nurture have already conspired to give them some amount of ambition and hustle.” Hearing that felt like knowledge I’d never forget, that I’d always believe, both new and not–like I’d already sensed a version of it but couldn’t articulate it. But now, with the clarity my mentor provided, I’ll never lose that insight. It’s like pulling back the curtain on a ground truth, seeing it for the first time in its axiomatic clarity. What’s the word for that profound, transformative experience?

I asked ChatGPT, and it couldn’t come up with anything specific, but coined a phrase, “intimate resonance.” I like the phrase, but still felt like there must be an existing word that was closer to this feeling. I asked Claude, which first suggested “epiphany.” Which is close, but somehow smaller, and not personal enough. Epiphanies don’t always feel profound and direct. I asked Claude to try again.

“Ah, I see, there’s an even more specific term that captures that deeper, personal resonance you’re describing – “satori.”

Satori is a term from Zen Buddhism that refers to a profound, intuitive understanding or sudden spiritual awakening. It goes beyond just an epiphany or realization of a truth. With satori, there is a very personal, intimate connection and recognition of the truth that is being revealed. The key elements of satori that fit your description are:

1. It’s not just an intellectual understanding, but a deep, almost visceral recognition of the truth.
2. There is a sense of the truth “clicking” on a personal level, like it was always there waiting to be discovered.
3. The knowledge immediately feels integrated and embodied, not just an abstract concept.
4. It produces a profound shift in perception and worldview that feels permanent and transformative.

This feels exactly like the feeling I’ve been trying to describe, and searching to name. I’d like to learn more about satori in the context of Zen Buddhism.

PS–Score one for Claude 3 … on this particular task, their free model seems to outperform ChatGPT’s paid model. This makes me want to explore Claude 3 Opus, their Pro version.

In The Varieties of Religious Experience (1902), psychologist William James wrote:

It is true that we instinctively recoil from seeing an object to which our emotions and affections are committed handled by the intellect as any other object is handled. The first thing the intellect does with an object is to class it along with something else. But any object that is infinitely important to us and awakens our devotion feels to us also as if it must be sui generis and unique. Probably a crab would be filled with a sense of personal outrage if it could hear us class it without ado or apology as a crustacean, and thus dispose of it. “I am no such thing,” it would say; “I am MYSELF, MYSELF alone.

James is saying that we resist pointing the intellect at matters of the heart, or in this case the spirit. He goes on to say that although this reaction is normal, it’s unnecessary. We can separate the “existential” analysis (what is the thing, where does it come from, how does it behave) from the “value” analysis (is it good or bad). In the end, the value analysis for mental states is intuitive. We can tell the good states from the bad. We don’t need to prove it with science. But in his time, people twisted themselves in knots trying to find anatomical or otherwise deterministic support for arguments that were, at bottom, value-judgments. And people still do this today.

More from James:

Medical materialism seems indeed a good appellation for the too simpleminded system of thought which we are considering. Medical materialism finishes up Saint Paul by calling his vision on the road to Damascus a discharging lesion of the occipital cortex, he being an epileptic. It snuffs out Saint Teresa as an hysteric, Saint Francis of Assisi as an hereditary degenerate. George Fox’s discontent with the shams of his age, and his pining for spiritual veracity, it treats as a symptom of a disordered colon. Carlyle’s organ-tones of misery it accounts for by a gastro-duodenal catarrh. All such mental overtensions, it says, are, when you come to the bottom of the matter, mere affairs of diathesis (auto-intoxications most probably), due to the perverted action of various glands which physiology will yet discover. And medical materialism then thinks that the spiritual authority of all such personages is successfully undermined.

In short, the most moving, inspiring, devout, holy people in history—people he calls “religious geniuses”—likely all would have been diagnosed with a mental disorder today. And their suffering was real. But the results of their feelings, the impact of the world, and our judgments of their value, are not pathological.