The Interface of Buddhism and Science: Will it alter a tradition?

Jeff Walker

Buddhism is dynamic: when it comes to a new land, the tradition changes and it changes the land.  As Buddhism comes to the West, and converses with science, this trend continues.  However, collaboration with science presents an unprecedented issue, the possibility of invalidation.  My research focused on two projects interfacing Buddhism and the mind sciences- the Shamatha Project and Neurophenomenology. 

To set the context for these projects, I begin with a brief description of Buddhism’s migration across Asia.  I then discuss role of science in bringing Buddhism to the West in the late nineteenth-century, which set the precedent for the contemporary dialogues between Buddhism and science.  I further illustrate how the cultural context of the mid twentieth-century influenced the nature of Western interest in Buddhism, and that scientific interest in meditation reflected this trend as well. To conclude, I suggest that this collaboration may lead to the invalidation of foundational beliefs of one of the traditions.  However, if approached with careful attention and wholesome motivation, the interface of Buddhism and science presents an opportunity to progress toward a healthier society and a deeper understanding of human experience.

Buddhism in Diaspora

With any sort of dispersion—of people outside of their native land, or of a concept from its point of origin—there comes a point when one can say that, that which has dispersed has been removed from its original context.  This sort of dispersion seems to be the essence of diaspora.  By adapting to and changing its new landscape, the dispersed will become part of the new place.  The history of Buddhism is marked by diaspora; the ideas of Buddhism shaped the people, and the people shaped the ideas of Buddhism.

In the sixth century B.C.E., Siddhartha Gautama gave his first teaching to a small group of former disciples in the Deer Park at what is now Sarnath in Northern India.  In this sermon, he presented the foundations of Buddhist thought: the Middle Way, the Eightfold Path, and the Four Noble Truths.  Gautama, now called the Buddha, taught for the remaining forty five years of his life.[1]  By 200 B.C.E Buddhism had made its way to Southeast Asia, and by the fifth-century A.D. Buddhism had spread across Asia to China and Japan.[2]  The first dissemination of Buddhism into Tibet did not occur until the sixth-century A.D.  By this time, the three main traditions- the Hinayana, the Mahayana, and the Vajrayana- were recognizable in the various localities.[3]  There also existed, and still exist, many sub-schools within the three traditions, each uniquely adapted to its cultural context.

The current situation in the United States is unprecedented.  Never before have so many schools been represented in one place.  For example, one can sample a different Buddhist tradition in each of the five boroughs of New York City: Pure Land/Zen in Brooklyn, Sri Lankan Theravada in Staten Island, Korean Kwan Um School of Zen in Manhattan, Chinese Ch’an in Queens, and Thai Theravada in the Bronx.[4]  In a single month, one could attend retreats from different traditions each weekend.  The West is a veritable buffet of Buddhist traditions, but it was not always this way. 

At one time there was no knowledge of Buddhism in the West.  Through the efforts of a few nineteenth-century Buddhist reformers, the ideas of Buddhism began to travel to the West in the late nineteenth-century.  By that time science had gained substantial cultural currency and was causing people to question the prevailing authority of Christianity.  These Buddhist reformers recognized this.  In an effort to facilitate understanding and acceptance of Buddhism, many of these nineteenth-century reformers attempted to show that Buddhist ideas were in accordance with those of science. [5]  At the 1893 Parliament of the Worlds Religions, Anagarika Dharmapala “launched into a favorite theme of the nineteenth-century Buddhist reformers: that it was Buddhism, not Christianity, that could heal the breach between Science and religion.”[6] 

To argue concordance with science, these reformers emphasized a few features of Buddhism: the fact that Buddhism does not hold any idea of a creator, and its focus on empirical verification rather than reliance solely on textual or didactic authority.  Dharmapala, in his presentation at the Parliament, even drew parallels between evolution and the ideas of karma and dependent origination.[7]  This sort of presentation resulted in two things: first, it aided in planting the seeds of Buddhism in the West; and second, it set a precedent for an interdisciplinary conversation between Buddhism and science.  These arguments for congruence in the ideas of Buddhism and science continued to develop over the next century, but the focus of reformers shifted from attempting to establish Buddhism in the West toward a collaboration of Buddhism with Western science.  Thupten Jinpa, a contemporary Tibetan scholar, explicates the current argument for collaboration:

The following key features of Buddhism—its suspicion of any notion of absolutes, its insistence on belief based on understanding, its empiricist philosophical orientation, its minute analysis of the nature of mind and its various modalities, and its overwhelming emphasis on knowledge gained through personal experience—all make it easy for Buddhism to be in a dialogue with a system of thought that emphasizes empirical evidence as the key means of acquiring knowledge. [8]

In recent years, the dialogue between science and Buddhism has split into two main branches: one with the mind sciences, and another with physical sciences.  For the remainder of this paper I focus on the conversation between Buddhism and the mind sciences.

Meditation and the Decontextualization of Buddhism in the West

The role of science and technology as defining characteristics of the Western world becomes more apparent with each passing year.  Because of this, as Buddhism becomes embedded in the West it will come in contact with science.  Very often, the practice of science requires that the phenomena under investigation be taken out of its context for the sake of isolating it from all confounding causes that might contaminate the conditions of the experiment being conducted.  Images appear in popular media, as well as in scientific journals, of saffron robes protruding from an fMRI or of a monk with electrodes perched atop his head.[9]    In migrating across Asia, then in coming to the West, and now interfacing with science, Buddhism has experienced its own sort of decontextualization. 

The wave of spiritual immigration that began in the late 1950s and continued into the 1960s and 70s saw a species of Buddhist practice that differed greatly from the forms of Buddhism in Asia.   Many, disillusioned by Western materialism, traveled to Asia to learn about its spiritual traditions, of which Buddhism was only one.  They then returned to the West, bringing those traditions with them, and in doing so, transforming the traditions that transformed them.  Today, many Americans would be surprised to learn that there is more to Buddhist practice than meditation.  This is because meditation is central to Buddhism in America.  Devotional aspects of the tradition that remain central to Asian practitioners often failed to imprint upon their Western counterparts.  The reasons for this are manifold, wrapped up in the socio-political ethos of the times, but to begin to understand why this may have happened, one could examine a group directly involved in the exchange; let us call them the substance-driven spiritual seekers.

            Stephen Batchelor writes: “It is undeniable that a significant proportion of those drawn to Buddhism and other Eastern traditions in the 1960s . . . were influenced in their choice of religious orientation by experiences induced by experimentation with psychoactive substances . . .”[10]  Seeking a context for experiences with chemically-altered states, which many characterized as religious or mystical, these individuals very often looked to the spiritual traditions of Asia: Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism, etc.  Buddhism had come to the West before, but the degree to which it gained a foothold this time was unprecedented.  Many of these individuals were captivated by the idea of altered states and viewed meditation as a means to achieve such states.  Buddhist teachers speak of common obstacles in the meditative path; one such obstacle is attachment to certain meditative states.   As attachment, according to Buddhism, is a fundamental cause of suffering, teachers encourage their students to go beyond the appealing meditative states and focus instead on the trait changes that come from sustained practice.  Of course, everyone who sought Buddhism at that time was not attracted by the prospect of altered states, and it is crucial to note that Buddhism took many beyond the appreciation of those state effects to which they were initially attracted.  These individuals came to appreciate the various changes that came with extended practice.  The history of scientific interest in meditation also reflects this trend.

            At its outset, research on meditation focused on the state effects of meditating, but has progressed further to an interest in trait effects of practice.[11]  One can think of a state effect as what happens while one meditates, and trait effects as the results of sustained practice.  For instance, early research focused on whether practicing a certain type of meditation can serve to induce relaxation, or, as Andrew Newberg outlined in his book The Mystical Mind, what happens in the brain during a “peak experience” induced by meditation.[12]  Recent research seeks answers to questions such as whether continued practice can make one happier, or whether meditative practice can change the structure of the brain.  Matthieu Ricard, a Tibetan Buddhist monk trained in molecular biology, claims that the answer to the first question is yes in his book appropriately named Happiness; Sarah Lazar suggests an answer to the second question in her 2005 Neuroreport paper, “Meditation experience is related to increased cortical thickness.”  Most recently, the Shamatha Project, a longitudinal investigation of the effects of intensive meditation on attention and emotional regulation, continues this trend by going far beyond the investigation of only what happens in the brain while a person meditates. 

The Shamatha Project

Presently, at the University of California at Davis, neuroscientist Cliff Saron is directing a project that, among other things, seeks to investigate the claim that attention can be improved through intensive meditation training.  Unprecedented in its longitudinal design, the project, aptly named the Shamatha Project, will explore the effects of three months of Shamatha training in a retreat setting on attention and emotional regulation, as well as the physiological correlates of these two processes. 

Shamatha refers to a genre of techniques designed to improve one’s attention.  Although marginalized in contemporary Buddhist practice, these techniques are thought to be fundamental to the efficacy of more advanced practices in a variety of Buddhist traditions.[13]  Realizing the importance of attentional training, many experienced Western-Buddhist practitioners initiated in more advanced practices within the Tibetan tradition are returning to the fundamentals that Shamatha provides.  It is easy to imagine why techniques designed to cultivate the attention would be crucial to any sort of meditation practice, or any activity for that matter.  Upon sitting for the first time, the beginning meditator will immediately notice how easily the mind wanders.  However, one does not need to be a Buddhist practitioner struggling with a scattered mind to appreciate the potential value of training the attention.  As the number of diagnoses for Attention Deficits rises each year, one can easily appreciate the potentials of non-pharmaceutical interventions for such disorders.  

While speaking about the faculty of attention in his Talks to Teachers William James states: “I am inclined to think that no one who is without it naturally can by any amount of drill or discipline attain it in a very high degree. Its amount is probably a fixed characteristic of the individual.”[14]  Granted, James was reflecting on what was known in the psychological literature of the late nineteenth century, but one finds little in the contemporary psychological literature to contradict his claim. Does this mean that we can do nothing about disorders of attention but depend on the latest prescription?  Not necessarily.  Not finding something is not the same as finding its nonexistence.  The paucity of literature on the plasticity of attention could be an indication of a cross-cultural oversight.  In the West, where the vast majority of these studies have been conducted, we lack a tradition focused on cultivating the attention. Places where such traditions have thrived for thousands of years, like Tibet, lack the scientific framework to quantify and report such abilities.  As a scientific effort to investigate efficacy of contemplative mind training, the Shamatha Project bridges these two traditions by placing contemplative practice in a scientific framework.  

The Shamatha Project is investigating plasticity—of attention, of emotional regulation, and of the human brain.  Just as James doubted the plasticity of attention, neuroscientists doubted the plasticity of the human brain.  Scientists did not discover that the human brain changes structure through adulthood until 1998.[15]  Not only is the structure of the brain plastic through adulthood, but meditation experience has been associated with increases in plasticity.[16]  Also foreign to Western science was the idea of emotional training, as Matthieu Ricard puts it, the idea that happiness is a skill that can be learned.[17]   Neuroscientist Richard Davidson and his colleagues at the University of Wisconsin at Madison have found the ratio of left-to-right asymmetry in the activity of the frontal cortices to be a predictor of one’s “affective style,” or one’s long term approach to emotional events.[18]  Even in resting state, monks with long-term meditation experience show greater left-frontal activation than controls lacking meditation training, suggesting they have a more positive affective style; or, in non-technical terms, they are happier.  Other researchers have found that long-term meditators have abilities beyond those of non-meditators.[19]  These incredible findings have profound implications, but to show that they are indeed the result of meditative training, researchers must do longitudinal studies—hence the Shamatha Project.

Unique in its longitudinal design, the Shamatha Project represents an opportunity for researchers to go beyond the investigation of state changes that might occur during meditation, to investigate trait changes that result from intensive meditation training.  Over the course of two three-month retreats, participants will practice Shamatha and the Four-Immeasurables to cultivate attention and positive emotions, respectively.  Before, during, and after the retreats, participants will engage in a variety of tasks designed to measure their capacity for attention and emotional regulation.  Researchers will also collect biological indicators of neuroplasticity and immune function.  Ideally, the project will add to the literature of attention, emotion, and neurophysiology.

If the interface of Buddhism and science has the potential to contribute to our understanding of the nature of attention and emotion, it is not a great leap to think that it may also have the potential to contribute to our understanding of the nature of conscious experience, to which attention and emotion contribute a great deal.  Buddhist texts claim that, if practiced correctly, Shamatha systematically cultivates two faculties of attention: stability and vividness.  Former monk and Buddhist scholar Alan Wallace uses the analogy of a telescope to illustrate the importance of these two faculties: “the development of attentional stability may be likened to mounting one’s telescope on a firm platform; while the development of attentional vividness is like highly polishing the lenses and bringing the telescope into clear focus.”[20]  Just as astronomers’ measurements would be inadequate without firmly mounted telescopes with well polished lenses, contemplatives’ observations of their mental processes suffer without stability and vividness of attention.  Through cultivating these two faculties of attention—stability and vividness—Shamatha could, in principle, be developed as a remedy for methodological obstacles in the scientific study of conscious experience.[21]

Neurophenomenology

Philosopher David Chalmers states succinctly that the “task of a science of consciousness . . . is to systematically integrate two key classes of data into a scientific framework: third-person data, or data about behavior and brain processes, and first-person data, or data about subjective experience.”[22] Through recent advances in neuroscience—noninvasive techniques for observing neural dynamics in real time such as fMRI and EEG—researchers can gather third-person data and correlate it with processes of consciousness.  On one hand, much of the neuroscience community works under the assumption that mental states are reducible to brain states.  By this logic, it is only through studying the brain that any progress will be made on the problems of consciousness.  On the other hand, some researchers take the view that there might be something to gain from taking first-person data into account.  These researchers acknowledge that neither first nor third-person data in isolation provide an adequate account of experience. Therefore, these researchers call for a global perspective that “requires the explicit establishment of mutual constraints” between first and third-person data.[23]  However, the problem of how to gain reliable accounts of subjective experience remains a central methodological obstacle.

First-person methods were absent from the majority of the history of modern science for good reason.  The generation of first-person data is not an easy task, but can be broken down into two stages: introspective observation, and the reporting of the observed.  In his Principles of Psychology, William James illustrates the difficulty of introspective observation by likening it to “seizing a spinning top to catch its motion, or trying to turn up the gas quickly enough to see how the darkness looks.”[24]  And, psychologists have known for a long time that subjective reports are often inaccurate.[25]  Furthermore, as a discipline, science strives for epistemic objectivity; researchers take great pains to purge experiments of any tinge of subjectivity.[26]  However, when it comes to the scientific study of conscious experience, an inherently subjective phenomenon, first-person data must be taken into account.  But how can progress be made if the two elements involved in generating first-person data—sustained introspective observation and accurate reporting of those observations—seem to be essentially flawed?

While James’ notion of the initial difficulty of introspective observation seems correct—an attempt at sustained and focused introspection will be immediately met with rapid streams of thought and distraction—this difficulty may not be insurmountable.  Sustained and focused introspection requires sustained and focused attention.  According to James, each individual’s capacity for attention is fixed.  But again, this may be a matter of cross-cultural oversight.  Contemplative mental training in attention is a cornerstone of 2,500 years of Buddhist traditions.  Philosopher Evan Thompson outlines the argument for the utility of contemplative training as a research tool in the neuroscience of consciousness:

 . . . it stands to reason that people vary in their abilities as observers and reporters of their own mental lives, and that these abilities can be enhanced through mental training of attention, emotion, and metacognition.  Contemplative practice is a vehicle for precisely this sort of cognitive and emotional training.  On the other hand, it stands to reason that mental training should be reflected in changes to the brain structure, function and dynamics.  Hence, contemplative practice could become a research tool for developing better phenomenologies of subjective experience and for investigating the neural correlates of consciousness.[27]

 Those who accept this view are beginning to explore an approach to the neuroscience of consciousness called Neurophenomenology.  “The working hypothesis of Neurophenomenology is that phenomenological accounts of the structure of human experience and scientific accounts of cognitive processes can be mutually informative and enriching.”[28]

The idea of plasticity attained through mental training is fundamental to Thompson’s argument.  Although Thompson takes the efficacy of mental training as a given, Western scientific traditions are not easily persuaded.  Ideally, the Shamatha Project will begin to bridge the gap between a tradition that accepts mental training based on 2,500 years of experience, and another tradition that must read about it in a respectable peer-reviewed journal before considering its value. 

Cross-cultural exchange:  Objectification of Buddhism, Validation, and the Ethical Implications of Science

As the practice of Buddhism becomes an object of scientific interest, both as a focus of study and a methodological tool,  those involved in the interface must pay close attention to issues of integration.  When working with foreign traditions issues of translation come into play.  Collaborations must also be approached with mutual respect.  Without consideration for such issues, researchers run the risk of misinterpreting results, insulting subjects, wasting time and money, and ruining chances for further research. 

Cross-cultural research presents a number of difficulties; measures that have been developed for one population can not always be applied to another.  Cliff Saron illustrates an example of this difficulty with a task designed to measure emotion: if an image of ice cream flashes on the screen, a Westerner would presumably respond positively, but the response of a Tibetan yogi unfamiliar with ice cream would be much more equivocal.  Furthermore an attempt to adapt a well established task to a new context may render it unintelligible to researchers familiar with it in the previous context.[29]  Research involving meditation presents interesting cross-cultural as well as cross-tradition issues.

Researchers should be knowledgeable enough to specify and understand exactly what form of meditation they are attempting to study.[30]  If the nature of the research is neuroscientific, this requires that the researcher be conversant in two disciplines: the contemplative tradition, as well as neuroscience.  Would this necessitate that the researcher be a practitioner himself?  Alan Wallace argues affirmatively, that in order to have adequate direction regarding the study of meditation, one must have personal experience with the practice.  This makes sense in behavioral studies where it is crucial to develop measures relevant to the phenomenon under investigation.  In order to do this one must be intimately familiar with the phenomenon.  The counter argument is that such familiarity threatens scientific objectivity.  A similar debate manifests itself in university Departments of Religious Studies:  Does a practitioner of the tradition have access to knowledge about that tradition that is otherwise unknowable, or does being a practitioner threaten ones validity as a scholar?  On one hand, a scholar/practitioner has the unique perspective of an insider, but this perspective may also entail the biases of an insider.[31]

The Shamatha Project represents an effort to empirically test the claims of Buddhism with the tools of Western science.  From one perspective, this could be interpreted as a statement that the traditions of Buddhism are without validity until they are tested within the scientific tradition.  To some extent this may be the case with Buddhism in the West, which currently lacks the examples of truly accomplished adepts that pervade the traditions of Buddhism in Asia.[32]  Remarking on how adepts in the Tibetan tradition have illustrated the efficacy of its techniques Alan Wallace comments: “Going back to the time of Padmasambhava, Sakya Pandita, Milarepa, Tsongkhapa, right on into the twentieth century—it's worked!.”[33] Lacking such examples, the Western world turns to the authority of science to validate Buddhist practices.  Superficially it may seem as though science is the dominant tradition, and, in order to be recognized as legitimate, Buddhism must have a scientific seal of approval.  However, to understand the situation in its entirety one must examine intentions of the researchers, as well as context of the researcher. 

The Shamatha Projects seeks to evaluate the claim that mental training can improve attention and emotional regulation, which could be viewed as an implementation of skillful means motivated by the desire to alleviate suffering.  If the Shamatha Project can prove the efficacy of these practices to the point that the scientific community might take further interest in them, then these practices could be developed as interventions for attentional as well as emotional deficits.  Beyond the potential to alleviate suffering, the Shamatha Project offers a prospect for the refinement of the ability to observe subjective experience, and thus brings researchers one step closer to completing what cognitive neuroscientist Chris Frith calls “a major programme in 21^st century science.”[35]

Contemporary Western society seems plagued by depression and attention deficits.  The nineteenth-century Buddhist reformers recognized the legitimatizing force that science held in the West and so do many of those involved in the interface of science and Buddhism today.  But science alone cannot provide a way to a better world.  As the Dalai Lama puts it in The Universe in a Single Atom:

The central question—central to the survival and well-being of our world- is how we can make the wonderful developments of science into something that offers altruistic and compassionate service for the needs of humanity and the other sentient beings with whom we share this earth.[34]

The Shamatha Projects seeks to evaluate the claim that mental training can improve attention and emotional regulation, which could be viewed as an implementation of skillful means motivated by the desire to alleviate suffering.  If the Shamatha Project can prove the efficacy of these practices to the point that the scientific community might take further interest in them, then these practices could be developed as interventions for attentional as well as emotional deficits.  Beyond the potential to alleviate suffering, the Shamatha Project offers a prospect for the refinement of the ability to observe subjective experience, and thus brings researchers one step closer to completing what cognitive neuroscientist Chris Frith calls “a major programme in 21^st century science.”[35]

In essence, the integration of contemplative methods in neurophenomenology represents the utilitarian use of contemplative training.  It is the utilization of traditional techniques devoid of traditional context, although Neurophenomenology itself can not avoid being placed within the context of the contemporary science-religion dialogue.  However it does not fit neatly within any of the prevailing modes of this dialogue.[36] It represents a case where contemplative methods are employed, and integrated with scientific methods to probe human experience in a way that neither of them could accomplish alone. 

Thompson describes the approach as “one of ‘mutual circulation’” each domain is respected as having its own “degree of autonomy – its own proper methods, motivations, and concerns – but they also overlap and share common areas.  Thus, instead of being juxtaposed, either in opposition or as separate but equal, these domains can flow into and out of each other, and so be mutually enlightening.”  Thompson continues: “Thus, Neurophenomenology intersects with religion not so much as an object of scientific study, as it is for the cognitive science of religious beliefs and behaviours, but rather as a repository of contemplative and phenomenological expertise.”[37]  It is through this sort of collaboration, in which both traditions have a chance to contribute, that will prove most fruitful.  Rather than one dominating, or having both exist in isolation, through contributing the strong suits of each—third-person methods of science, and first-person methods of contemplative practice—both traditions have the opportunity to shed light on reality.

The nature of consciousness is one topic on which these two traditions stand in sharp contrast.  Many scientists would self-identify as scientific materialist, and thus assume that consciousness depends only on the physical realm. On the other hand, as indicated by the belief in reincarnation and reports of extrasensory perception Buddhism holds that consciousness is not ultimately physical.  In speaking about this issue the Dalai Lama has said “The key issue here is to bracket out the metaphysical questions about mind and matter, and to explore together how to understand scientifically the various modalities of the mind.”[38] Although these views can be put aside for the time being, if the collaboration between Buddhism and science proves successful and does begin to answer questions about the nature of consciousness, neither tradition can escape the possibility that its fundamental metaphysical assumptions might be invalidated. 

Both the Shamatha Project and the project of Neurophenomenology are in their infancy.  For now it is important that the metaphysical assumptions of the collaborating traditions be left aside, and effort be focused on respectful interaction and mitigating the issues that might arise in such cross-cultural collaboration.  There is a growing recognition within the scientific community, as well as society in at large, that science is just another human activity.  Hopefully, an acknowledgment of the ethical implications of this activity will follow.  As the Dalai Lama has said:

Science’s power to affect the environment, indeed to change the course of the human species as a whole, has grown great.  As a result, for the first time in history, our very survival demands that we begin to consider ethical responsibility not just in the application of science but in the direction of research and development of new realities and technology as well.[39]

The researchers working on the Shamatha Project have the alleviation of suffering as one of their main motivations.  Imagine a world where this is the rule rather than the exception.  With the intentions of Buddhism and the skillful means of science, the interface of them both may change the world for the better.

Acknowledgements

The inspiration for this research came from Professor Jan Willis’ course Buddhism in America.  I would like to thank Professor Willis for all her support.  I would also like to thank Cliff Saron, Alan Wallace, and all of the people working on the Shamatha Project for giving me the opportunity to work with them this summer.

This research was made possible by a grant from the Freeman Foundation.

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