Zen and the Brain

About ten years ago there emerged a most remarkable book,

• James H. Austin, Zen and the Brain (MIT, 1998).

The author is a neurologist cum Zen practitioner, and the book itself is a fascinating glimpse both into the science of brain and neural biochemistry, and into one man’s inner experience of Zen meditation and the “peak” experiences (kensho) which may accompany committed practice. From the preface:

Aldous Huxley called mankind’s basic trend toward spiritual growth the “perennial philosophy.” Herein, I take a different perspective. To me, the trend implies a dynamic, intimate perennial psychophysiology. It is a series of processes, slowly evolving, that culminate in defining moments of extraordinary character. What are such “peak” experiences? How could they both profoundly enhance, yet simplify, the workings of the brain? This book summarizes the latest evidence.

This is also the story of one neurologist’s personal quest and professional search. These two paths converge in ways that lead to one straightforward thesis: awakening, enlightenment, occurs only because the human brain undergoes substantial changes. Does prior meditation help the brain to change in this direction? If so, how? This subject is explored throughout the book.

To me, the book had something of the character of feeling its way into new territory, and I’d be interested in learning more about what has come of the science in the last ten years. (Although I admit that I found the “neurologizing” pretty hard going — Austin is a graceful writer and a fine expositor, but the science is presented at a pretty detailed, technical level, far beyond my competence to judge.) It also reminded me of another book at the crossroads between neuroscience, phenomenology, and Buddhism:

• F.J. Varela, E. Thompson, and E. Rosch, The Embodied Mind: Cognitive Science and Human Experience (MIT Press, 1992)

not because of any explicit mention of this line of thought, but because of the intensely phenomenological descriptions of Zen experience that Austin presents. Here, I have to say that I really admire Austin’s courage in probing and describing unusual “states of mind” (from his personal experience) in such a detailed, concrete way: experiences which are usually simply passed off as “ineffable” — beyond description. [I mean, of course all that's true -- but all the more reason to admire Austin's effort!] Here, let me give an excerpt (from Chapter 94, The Feel of Two Hands): “… On one occasion, I felt this latent tactile world leap out by itself. It did so, unannounced, in the following manner.”

On an average morning, after 25 minutes of zazen, I will shave and casually rinse my face. Then, eyes closed, rubbing rhythmically with both hands, I’ll dry it off with a towel. It’s an old routine, overlearned for decades. I am not thinking at the time, nor will I be paying any special attention to the way messages from either hand enter my sensate consciousness.

So at first, nothing about this particular Saturday morning seems any different from any other. Around 7:30 A.M., five minutes after zazen ends, I shave, rinse my face in my hands with cold water, pick up a towel, and then start to dry my face as usual. Suddenly, for the first time ever, I really feel my hands. Abruptly, during toweling, my tactile sensations are enormously enhanced. Perception increases dramatically on the right hand and shades off around the elbow. On the left, it increases perhaps one third that much and extends above the wrist. Only the sense of touch is enhanced, as it is elicited by the towel in my hands. The way the towel feels on contact with my face is the same as usual. I still retain all the usual distinctions between myself as subject and the towel as object. Vision, hearing, and other sensate experiences are unchanged. My hands are as strong as before. No fingers are jerking (as they might if this were some kind of seizure).

Astonishing, delicious perception! How much richer this tactile experience is than ordinary feeling! The episode lasts perhaps five or ten seconds, then gradually fades over a second or two.

“Never before, or since, has my tactile sense so vastly expanded. For five or ten seconds, I was witness to acute touch perceptions which sober estimation placed as being amplified perhaps fifteen times more than usual. These were perceptions that one usually tunes out. What had released them?” There follows several pages of speculation on what had transpired neurologically.

And, speaking now to Vishal’s post Enlightened Teachers, Austin’s book is also moving testimony to his Zen teacher, Nanrei Kobori-Roshi, and the towering state of mind attained by this modern-day master.

I would enjoy hearing other reactions to this book.