The Brain in Meditation, Part 1

Buddhism has frequently been compared to a clear crystal that shines in the color of the surface it is placed on. While its nature remains unchanged and unaffected by the background, its appearance depends on the context in which it is situated. This ability to adapt—combined with the fact that the historical Buddha Shakyamuni could give a vast amount of teachings and advice pitched to the different levels of expectations, wishes, and insights of his students—has led to an impressive variety of Buddhist schools and traditions. For centuries these traditions have been practiced within the cultural and social context they evolved in, but the last century experienced their unprecedented spreading over the Western world. It is probably fair to say that by now in every major Western city, one could encounter exponents of all main Buddhist approaches and receive advice on using their specific methods.

From this situation the interesting question arises as to what Western Buddhism is going to look like. In what color is the clear crystal going to shine? First significant changes and patterns are becoming apparent (e.g., a diminishing role of monastic traditions and an increasing reliance on transparent, non-hierarchical structures, where spiritual authority is referred back to observable achievements and qualities, as the convincing display of wisdom and active compassion). In this article, I am going to focus on one particular aspect of the encounter of Buddhism and Western culture: the meeting of Buddhist insights with modern science, which I understand as the authoritative world view on which Western societies rely. More specifically, I want to ask how this encounter is reflected in the understanding of meditation practices, the practical core of any Buddhist path.

A particularly diverse overview of the encounter between Buddhism and science is provided in the recent book Buddhism and Science: Breaking New Ground, edited by Alan Wallace. In this collection of essays, various authors analyze the intersection between Buddhism and science from their own perspective or discipline, and thus offer a kaleidoscopic impression of this encounter. Within one chapter of this book, the Buddhologist José Ignacio Cabezón characterizes the development of the relation between Buddhism and science in terms of three historically successive but overlapping modes: conflict/ ambivalence, compatibility/identity, and complementarity. The first mode, conflict/ambivalence, is largely related to colonialist times when Asian Buddhists perceived Western science as being to a large extent enmeshed with unwanted European colonialism and the imposition of an ideology that would ultimately undermine the existing Buddhist world view. There were, however, some exceptions. For instance, individuals like the 13th Dalai Lama attempted to modernize their countries by introducing education in theoretical and applied science. During this time, the prevailing Western view of Buddhism was that of a cultural curiosity to report on, but not a competing world view with which to seriously engage.

A larger engagement with Buddhist views was then reflected in the mode of compatibility/identity. Here the first real contact between Buddhism and science took place. Cabezón argues that what happened during these first encounters is typical when two very different cultures or traditions meet. “The first reaction is to treat the culturally other in terms of the culturally familiar.” One extreme of this perspective would be the claim that, indeed, Buddhism is science, that the objects of investigation, results, aims, and methods of both are identical. The other end of the continuum is represented by the view that both share common concerns, reach similar conclusions, have similar aims, or utilize analogous methods. While individual views may vary between these two poles, within this mode of interaction, the common denominator is that Buddhism and science are seen as sharing a large amount of similarity rather than difference. An early proponent of this was Olcott, who in his Buddhist Catechism, published toward the end of the nineteenth century, claims that Buddhism and science teach evolutionism, that both propose development from an “imperfect lower, to a higher and perfect condition” governed by universal “laws,” the “law” of karma in the case of Buddhism and the “law of motion” in the case of science. In more general terms, during the second half of the nineteenth century the lack of dogmatism in Buddhism was perceived to be in marked contrast to traditional Christianity, and the critical spirit found within Buddhism was seen as compatible with the rationalism, empiricism, and free-thinking of this period. Furthermore, the systematic, empirically verifiable Buddhist path was taken as a convincing model of moral perfection in the spirit of Immanuel Kant’s philosophy, where rigorous application of the methods of reasoning was believed to be the key to moral behavior.

Entering the next mode of discourse, complementarity, the focus shifted from what science and Buddhism have in common to the question of how they can complement each other, a view characterized by the recognition of differences and similarities. The idea of complementarity of science and “Eastern Mysticism” (especially Hindu, Buddhist, and Taoist) has been expressed in Fritjof Capra’s influential work The Tao of Physics, where Capra encourages the dynamic interplay between mystical intuition and scientific analysis. While his writings still emphasize the similarity between the traditions, the physicist Mansfield goes a step further by proposing a synergistic model of interaction where science and Buddhism have implications for each other. In his chapter on time and impermanence in Wallace’s Buddhism and Science, he writes (p. 306):

“I hope to show that understanding a little about time in modern physics helps us more deeply appreciate some of the most profound ideas in Buddhism. Furthermore, I will also suggest that some appreciation of middle way Buddhist ideas could aid in the development of physics. Thus a non-trivial synergy between these two very different disciplines is possible, one that results in deeper understanding and more compassionate action.”

Clearly, science and Buddhism are here perceived as spheres with the potential of synergistic cross-fertilization.

However, it cannot be assumed that this perspective is commonplace, either within the scientific community or among Buddhists. It is an interesting observation that, apparently, the majority of proponents of this complementarity view are in fact individuals at the intersection between the two spheres, not Buddhists or scientists, but often scientists and Buddhists, scientists with a strong dedication toward a certain Buddhist tradition. This is particularly obvious within psychology and the cognitive neurosciences, where many Buddhist scientists propagate the view that Western science has been concerned with the exploration of the material universe, whereas Buddhism has been concerned with developing an “inner science,” with understanding and modifying the mind, and that at the moment in time both views meet and can complement each other. Research inspired by this perspective often focuses on the processes underlying Buddhist meditation as well as its effects and benefits.

A recent dispute within the neuroscientific community, however, highlights that these new developments do not only attract praise. The announcement that the Dalai Lama would deliver a talk on the neuroscience of meditation at the prestigious annual meeting of the Society for Neuroscience was met with criticism by a significant number of society members, who demand that science preserves its independence from religion and politics it fought for so strongly and should thus not invite a religious and political leader to speak at their meeting. While being independent from religious or political influences and dogmas is of crucial importance for science to reach conclusions free of any particular bias, by insisting on a complete separation one would throw out the baby with the bathwater and miss out on what might be gained by the encounter. This may be particularly true for the relation between Buddhism and science, as both appear to be sufficiently similar to allow an exchange of ideas and understanding. I have mentioned already that Buddhism receives appreciation for its freedom from dogma and for its skepticism that does not exclude a critical view toward the Buddhist teachings themselves. Buddha’s advice to the people of Kalama, retold in the famous Kalama Sutra, brings home this attitude very well:

“Do not rely upon what has been acquired by repeated hearing; nor upon tradition; nor upon rumor; nor upon what is in a scripture; nor upon surmise; nor upon an axiom; nor upon specious reasoning; nor upon a bias toward a notion that has been pondered over; nor upon another’s seeming ability; nor upon the consideration, ‘The monk is our teacher.’”

This understanding is still alive in Buddhism and is probably one of the reasons why it is attracting a growing number of people in the West. The Danish Lama Ole Nydahl, who has been establishing Buddhist centers of the Karma Kagyu lineage of Tibetan Buddhism during the last thirty years, explains in his popular introductory text The Way Things Are very explicitly (p. 41):

“After his [Buddha’s] much quoted statement that he could die happily, having given all the advice that benefits beings, he added something that makes his example perfect for our times. ‘Now, don’t believe anything just because a Buddha told you, but check everything for yourselves. See if the teachings fit with your experience and be your own guiding lights.’ As science gets more Buddhist with every new discovery, making the following statement may be risk free: If there were a point where the teachings were evidently wrong, and science right, one should trust science. Buddha himself would want this.”

This non-dogmatic openness for scientific evidence is not only expressed by Western teachers of Buddhism but can also be found in statements and writings by the 14th Dalai Lama. But how far does this alignment of science and Buddhism go? Are there more similarities in support of the idea that the synergistic cross-fertilization we have been talking about may really work?

To address this question, I would like to refer to the Oxford English Dictionary. It defines science as:

“A branch of study which is concerned either with a connected body of demonstrated truths or with observed facts systematically classified and more or less colligated by being brought under general laws, and which includes trustworthy methods for the discovery of new truth within its own domain.”

To what extent are these hallmarks of scientific rigor compatible with Buddhist principles?

Science is characterized by a systematic classification of observed facts. In Buddhism, the abhidharma represents a systematic presentation of relevant areas of knowledge, including philosophy, epistemology, psychology, and meditation theory. To give only one example, it includes a systematic classification of states of mind—or mental events (Skt. samskara)—that is presented in much detail. Interestingly, these mental events are classified according to their influence on human development. There is a group of omnipresent mental events, then there are determining mental events, positive mental events, basic disturbing emotions, secondary disturbing emotions, and changeable mental events. All these are described and explained in much detail as to how they arise, in which way they arise, etc. This is only one of many possible examples, showing that systematic classification is a central aspect of Buddhist doctrine.

The next point is that science is concerned with general laws and principles, and I would like to add that they have to be testable as well. Here, again, we will find that Buddhist theories of mind and consciousness are very well defined and make very clear predictions that can be tested, as long as one can apply the methods in an appropriate way. In the same way as science relies on trustworthy methods that have to be acquired by rigorous training through experts, also within Buddhism the training of methods is stressed, and advancement in mastering them is described in minute detail. One of the major differences between Buddhism and science then is the reliance on very different sets of methods. While the vast majority of methods employed by science focus on the material world, consisting of observing and measuring its response to experimental manipulation, Buddhist methods predominantly focus on the observation of experiences, on a refined analysis of states of mind. Despite the obvious difference in actual methodology, both disciplines offer a host of methods that can be learned by anybody who is prepared to invest the time and energy to master them.

When talking about scientific experiments, another aspect that needs to be fulfilled is replicability. An experiment that is carried out by one group of scientists must be performed and described in a way that other, independent groups of scientists can repeat the experiment and replicate the outcomes. Otherwise, experimental results would not be accepted as reliable. Here it is interesting to see that the laws and principles described by the historical Buddha have been tested and confirmed, replicated, by countless meditation masters over the last 2,500 years. I am aware that a statement like this usually raises the question as to how we can be sure that what these great meditation masters report and agree on really is true, really are observed facts. The answer is that one needs a certain degree of trust and confidence in the honesty of these masters, at least as long as one cannot make these observations for oneself. But in this respect, I would argue, science presents us with a similar dilemma. Also science relies on experts, extensively trained over many years, to observe, scrutinize, and report their observations. Although the vast majority of Western society has never seen sub-atomic particles, we accept the idea that what we experience as solid matter in fact is predominantly space with a few rapidly moving particles in between. In a similar way, many Buddhists have never experienced a completely liberated state of mind, but do trust those masters who, after extensive training and subsequent confirmation of their qualities by their own teachers and other established authorities in the field, explain these states. It seems to me that in Buddhism as well as in science, the integrity of the individual and of the whole process of acquiring and disseminating knowledge is of central importance. Accordingly, various methods are in place for enforcing and maintaining this integrity. The response to cases where the integrity is lost highlights this issue particularly well. The scientific community, for instance, is currently struggling with an increase of incidences of academic misconduct, where scientists fabricate results to secure funding for their research or to be able to publish in prestigious journals in an attempt to further their reputation and career prospects. Also, Buddhism time and again has seen authority misused for personal or economic reasons. About 950 years ago, the famous Tibetan accomplisher and poet Milarepa exposed and criticized leaders of religious centers who were motivated by personal or economic benefit. In one of his vajra songs he exposes one particular Buddhist teacher ¹:

As already mentioned, one important aspect of maintaining the integrity and authenticity within Buddhism is to rely on a seal of approval given by other, already established Buddhist masters. In line with this, one important criterion would be that a Buddhist master is part of a transmission lineage that is accepted as being authentic. I see this as one of the major reasons why Buddhism puts so much emphasis on the existence of unbroken transmission lineages that reach back in time to the historical Buddha. Complementing this aspect, various Buddhist texts describe very clear benchmarks for assessing the qualities of a Buddhist master and encourage scrutinizing these masters thoroughly. The famous Jewel Ornament of Liberation, a standard text of Tibetan Buddhism composed about 900 years ago by Gampopa, the foremost student of Milarepa, classifies spiritual masters into four categories based on the spiritual realization of the individual. The “lowest” category, for instance, is ordinary spiritual masters, who should possess eight, four, or at least two qualities. The eight qualities are: 1) to possess the positive behavior of a bodhisattva ⁴, 2) to be learned in the teachings of the bodhisattvas, 3) to possess realization, 4) to possess compassion and kindness, 5) to be fearless, 6) to be patient, 7) to be indefatigable in mind, and 8) to be able to use language expertly. If one were talking about only two qualities, then these would be to be expert in the teachings of the Great Way (synonymous with the bodhisattva teachings) and under no circumstances to abandon one’s bodhisattva promise. Obviously, a very high standard is expected from a spiritual master, from somebody who is authorized and qualified to guide students in their development and give authoritative information about the states and qualities of mind. The criteria are closely linked to the general aims of Buddhism, which are condensed very concisely in the following quotation from Lama Ole Nydahl’s introductory text:

“When people asked Buddha why and what he taught, he replied: I teach because you and all beings seek happiness and try to avoid suffering. I teach ‘the way things are.’”

These few words, attributed to Buddha himself, not only highlight a commitment to the truth, to “the way things are”—a commitment we do also expect from science—but they also clearly define the purpose of his teachings, the aim to benefit all beings. While ultimately we would expect that science also serves these goals—and I surmise that this is the motivation for societies to spend significant amounts of their money on it—we usually do not see them expressed in such pragmatic and condensed words. Although we would not expect a scientist to prioritize the benefit of sentient beings over their own benefit, they certainly should be trained and educated in their particular discipline; and we particularly expect them to be committed to academic integrity that is not compromised by personal opinions, beliefs, or other interests.

To sum up, in science as well as in Buddhism we see a deep commitment to discovering the truth, both relying on well-established principles that imply integrity and honesty. A major difference between both spheres is that the efforts are directed in almost opposing directions. Science is concerned with understanding the “outer,” material world, whereas Buddhism is concerned with revealing the inner processes that can lead to suffering or happiness.

The achievements of science help us improve the outer living conditions with sometimes breathtaking developments— just think about the benefits of medical treatments or the opportunities that transport and communication technologies offer. Buddhism, on the other hand, focuses on improving our experiences, our states of mind, acknowledging that ultimate happiness does not primarily depend on the outer conditions we create.

Psychology, the scientific investigation of mind, is where both spheres meet and overlap. Especially areas concerned with the nature of mind and consciousness—or the newly evolving branch of Positive Psychology that sets out to investigate the causes of happiness and well-being—promise an exciting exchange that is already starting to take shape. A natural starting point for such exchange seems to be the scientific investigation of meditation. On the one hand, it is at the core of Buddhist practice. On the other hand, it possesses features that are similar enough to more common objects of investigation with which psychology is usually concerned and thus lends itself to the application of well-established scientific procedures.

Within the Buddhist context, the term “meditation” is used either to denote the specific methods of mental training that are applied, or to refer to the states of mind to be achieved by these methods. Similarly, the scientific investigation of meditation may either focus on meditation as method or on the states of mind it is supposed to bring about. Obviously, both are closely related; but the difference is that one is more process-oriented, while the other is outcome-oriented. Furthermore, we might look at meditation either from a psychological or physiological perspective, although this distinction falls away more and more as many branches of psychology increasingly explain mental states and functions in terms of underlying physiological structures and processes. Especially the cognitive neurosciences draw from both domains, trying to understand experience and behavior in terms of underlying brain processes. This rapidly expanding area of research brings together expertise from a large variety of disciplines, including mathematics, computer science, physics, biology, neurology, and psychology.

Physiological effects of meditation have been studied long before the cognitive neurosciences were established as a discipline. As early as 1937, Kovoor Behanan, an Indian graduate student in Psychology at Yale, published a book considered to be the first empirical study of yoga and meditation. In this study he describes the increase in oxygen consumption due to several yogic breathing exercises. Soon, various other studies followed, which included electrocardiography and pulse recording. The first studies that directly zoomed in on brain activity in meditation surfaced in the late 1950s and early 1960s and were carried out on Indian yogis and Japanese Zen practitioners. The only viable method available in those days was electroencephalography, which records rhythmic, electrical activity of the brain. By this time, it was well established that different states of alertness and wakefulness are reflected by distinct, rhythmic EEG patterns, and looking for changes to these rhythms in relation to meditation was an obvious first approach to this topic.

Already these early studies suggested that different types of meditation might have very different effects. One strand of research focused on the process of dehabituation. Buddhist teachings often refer to the freshness of experience, where every moment is experienced as new. This phenomenon was tested in habituation experiments that use so-called alpha blocking as an indicator as to whether habituation occurred or not. Generally, the alpha rhythm is a rhythmic brain activity in the range of 8 to 14 Hz (i.e., 8 to 14 EEG peaks per second), which is predominant when people are in a relaxed state, especially with closed eyes. When during such a relaxed state a stimulus—such as a single click sound—occurs, immediately the alpha rhythm is suppressed or “blocked,” thus the term alpha blocking. However, when the same stimulus is repeated a few times, the alpha blocking is reduced and ultimately does not occur anymore. This reduction of alpha blocking is understood as an indicator of habituation. Studies using this phenomenon showed that experienced Zen meditators indeed were not prone to alpha blocking (i.e., did not habituate to the repetitive stimulus). These results were seen to support the claim that this type of meditation leads to freedom from “perceptual averaging,” where the individual maintains a heightened state of perceptiveness. Hindu yogis, on the other hand, who may remain in a trance-like inner absorption during their meditation, differed from the Zen meditators in that they habituated more rapidly and completely. Some of the researchers thus concluded that different types of meditation practice might produce different spiritual results.

With more sophisticated technologies for scanning the active brain being available and more knowledge about brain activity already accumulated, more results from meditation research emerge. A recent study, for instance, claims that meditation makes people happy. This is supported by evidence that participants of a mindfulness training program showed a change in their EEG pattern that is consistent with a more positive mood. However, these studies are by no means conclusive, and critics point out methodological shortcomings. Overall, these developments seem to imply that meditation research is maturing and moving toward more scientific rigor.

With this first part of my essay, I have tried to describe the position of meditation research within a wider framework that describes the intersection between science and Buddhism. In the next issue of Buddhism Today, I will pick up this thread and analyze more closely what we know about the relation between the brain and meditation and will ask what the relevance of this knowledge might be—for both Buddhists and scientists.

1. In Drinking the Mountain Stream: Songs of Tibet’s Beloved Saint, Milarepa, Wisdom Publications, 1995, p. 129 -130.  

2. The eight worldly concerns or worldly dharmas are: praise and blame, fame and shame, gain and loss, pleasure and pain.

3. Circle feast (Skt. Ganacakra) is a specific ritual for establishing or deepening the connection between student and teacher involving food and drink.

4. A bodhisattva is somebody who has developed the enlightened attitude and promised to use their life to benefit sentient beings until all are liberated from suffering.