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Reviewed by Esther Sternberg
(Originally published in Science Magazine)

As one would expect from Buddhist practice, the 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso, believes that there is a place for compassion in all aspects of life, even within the hallowed halls of science. In his most recent book, "The Universe in a Single Atom: The Convergence of Science and Spirituality," he uses logic and specific examples to build a case for adding compassion, a broader view, and some degree of subjectivity into what many see as the otherwise sterile, reductionist practice of modern science. But how can this be done? In his far-ranging treatise, the Dalai Lama explores this question as it applies to physics, neuroscience, genetics, and ethics. Using a classic Buddhist approach, he does not provide answers, but--through comparisons and contrasts of Buddhist analytic thought and the scientific method--challenges us to think of our own solutions.

We all know that the scientific method relies on observation, analysis, interpretation, and ultimate conclusions. Those not trained in Buddhist philosophy, however, may not be aware that (as we learn from the book) the same process applies to Buddhist thought. The principal difference is that whereas science starts with an "objective" observation, in Buddhist philosophy, subjective observations are primary. As the Dalai Lama explains, expert meditators are trained to be acutely aware of every momentary sensation, whether arising from the external physical world or the interior landscape of the mind and body. They are then trained to systematically analyze the source of these feelings, to interpret them, and to come to a conclusion using "three methods of verification--experience, inference, and a reliable authority." The author underscores that this process of reasoning is common to the scientific method, although the Buddhist concept of empirical experience also encompasses "meditative states as well as the evidence of the senses."

The Dalai Lama repeatedly decries the excessive reliance on objective and concrete measures in science to the exclusion of the subjective. Although such measures provide a foundation of rigorous modern science, one might indeed question whether scientific observations are truly objective. There are several points at which subjectivity enters the scientific process, including recognition of an event as worthy of study and the moment of insight and understanding. Both are colored by the subjective experience of the observer. Anecdotes abound regarding scientific discoveries in which intuition played a central role in discovery. There is August Kekule's dream of a snake that had seized hold of its own tail, which he claimed had led to his hypothesis of the structure of benzene. Another example is offered by Jonas Salk's story of his discovery of polio vaccine. After laboring fruitlessly for months in his basement laboratory, Salk suddenly solved the problem while in a monastery in Assisi. So convinced was he that the contemplative time he spent in this quiet mountain sanctuary contributed to his discovery that he subsequently (with the architect Louis Kahn) designed the Salk Institute to provide quiet contemplative spaces where scientists could think and work uninterrupted. Perhaps what the Buddhist approach could add to the scientific process, therefore, is an admission by practitioners of science that subjectivity is not all bad and that indeed it can facilitate the process of discovery.

One might conclude that when applied to understanding consciousness, this approach raises the question of whether the object of study--the mind--can accurately assess itself. Modern neuroscience would debate this point, hence the reliance on objective observations derived from quantitative measures of electrical impulses, blood flow, and biochemical changes in different brain regions during different cognitive, behavioral, and emotional conditions. But, the Dalai Lama points out, this currently favored approach, while comforting in its concreteness, still does not explain how thoughts and emotions arise. Whether the author's suggestion that subjective evaluation of the mind by the mind will help to solve the problem remains to be determined.

Is there a place for compassion in science? This is a harder question to answer. Instead of attempting to do so himself, the Dalai Lama challenges us to consider where compassion might fit into the scientific process. At first glance, it would seem hopeless to think that Buddhist compassionate thought could possibly find a place in science, given the radically different goals and approaches of these two world views. The Dalai Lama tells a story that alludes to this difference. A man wounded by a poisoned arrow refuses to allow the surgeon to pull the arrow out but asks numerous questions about the origin of the arrow: "the caste, name, and clan of the man who shot the arrow; whether he is dark, brown, or fair; whether he lives in a village, town, or city; whether the bow used was a longbow or a crossbow … and so forth." Like the stricken man, some basic scientists--those who dismiss observed phenomena in the absence of explanatory mechanisms--would demand to know everything about the arrow (its source, etc.) before acting on the problem. In contrast, the Buddhist approach would emphasize the final and more practical goal of healing the wounded, without necessarily exploring every facet of the problem before doing so.

This divergence between these two world views reminds me of a similar tension that exists between clinical medicine and basic biomedical research. In fact, given their similarities, it is easier to imagine contributions from Buddhist philosophy enhancing clinical practice than basic science. Both the philosophy and the practice rely on subjectivity and intuition--e.g., in clinical practice, making a diagnosis. And compassion clearly plays an important role in clinical medicine, no matter how grounded the treatments are in modern scientific and technical advances. In this sense, perhaps one helpful guide to applying insights gained from Buddhist thought to modern science may lie in the way science and clinical medicine have managed to find a way to comfortably co-exist and complement each other's approaches--albeit not without some tensions arising from their different goals and analytic methods.

For many, the most contentious feature of the book may be the author's position as the Dalai Lama. Had the book been written by someone else, it might have been considered a thought-provoking treatise that explores some of the most challenging problems we face regarding the place of science in society. But the book is written by a spiritual leader of millions, one who is not only the ultimate symbol of Buddhism but, its followers believe, the reincarnation of its founder. The very fact that the Dalai Lama chooses to comment on science is already considered by some to be controversial, as evidenced by the protests to his presentation of a keynote address at the recent Society for Neuroscience meeting in Washington, DC.

But in fact, the book falls in the long tradition of treatises by great religious thinkers whose discussions of age-old questions shaped and extended the philosophical scope of their religions. The rabbis of 400 A.D. in Tiberius, whose similar questions and debate led to the compilation of the Talmud, would surely have agreed. So would the Christian philosopher-monks of the 13th century, such as Thomas Aquinas, and Martin Luther. Indeed, if its spiritual leaders do not continue to ask and attempt to answer such questions in light of new discoveries, a religion risks becoming ossified and losing its relevance to modern society.

The Dalai Lama makes this point in his discussion of the Buddhist view of Earth and its relation to celestial bodies, whose "sizes, distances [etc.] are flatly contradicted by the empirical evidence of modern astronomy." He suggests that "Buddhism must abandon many aspects of the Abhidharma cosmology," citing the Buddhist dictum that "to uphold a tenet that contradicts reason is to undermine one's credibility; to contradict empirical evidence is a still greater fallacy." This point is sure to be controversial for those who hew more rigidly to Buddhist tradition. The Dalai Lama, however, does not limit his controversial proposals only to the side of Buddhism. Many scientists may disagree with his plea for including subjectivity and compassion in science. Furthermore, although he clearly supports Darwin's theory of evolution as "a coherent account of the development of life on this planet and the various principles underlying it, such as natural selection," he questions some aspects of the theory. Strict Darwinians may balk at his proposal that the theory falls short on several counts, mainly in its lack of explanations of the origin of life and the origin of "sentience" or consciousness, although the author bolsters his arguments with ample logic. Healthy debate, however, does not require agreement. It simply requires a continuing dialogue, open-mindedness, respect, and thoughtful consideration of other points of view. This is certainly consistent with Buddhist philosophy.

In sum, The Universe in an Atom presents a thoughtful plea for scientists to not only delve deeply into a subject but to also stand back and take a broader view of the impact of their discoveries on society--and in so doing, to add compassion to their quest. If we are able to take up the Dalai Lama's challenges, science and society will certainly be the better for it.