James H. Austin is an “inquisitive neurologist” (p. 130) and accomplished “skeptical clinician” (p. 11) now in his late eighties (p. 124) who has practiced Zen meditation in the Rinzai tradition (nonverbal) for decades. Having published four books on similar topics before, which he quite frequently references in this “slender volume” (p. xvii; 81) for the sake of brevity and “background information” (p. xv), he now goes about his mission by offering “a warm welcome‐hospitality with open arms” so as to leave a legacy (p. 175). He, thus, candidly challenges the scientific research community (see pp. 120, 168, 176f), testifies to his personal “spiritual Path” (p. 5), answers articulated questions, and gives straightforward advice to readers whom he addresses as “you”; all this reflects his still active involvement in conducting retreats and seminars (see, e.g., pp. 100, 194). But the book is more than just that. Since a “neurologist's job is to stop brain damage” (p. 73), Austin also explores brain functions in their relation to the training of proto‐conscious attentional skills to form “loving kindness” (p. 65) and “unbounded kindliness” (p. 92) through a “Living Zen practice” (p. 182; see also pp. 83–89). Convinced that such “long‐term meditative practice … cultivates higher societal values and authentic meanings beyond our sense of Self” (p. 171), he invites readers to cultivate “the clarity of mindfulness” (p. 185) by daily meditative exercise, albeit explicitly stating that this “does not necessarily mean Buddhist meditation” (p. 73).

Three short items—a Preface, Acknowledgements, and “By way of a personal introduction” section (pp. xiii–xxi)—precede the five parts of the book followed by brief remarks (“In closing,” pp. 183–185), four appendices (A–D, pp. 186–200), extensive notes (which include bibliographical references; pp. 201–249) and a detailed index (pp. 250–273). The parts, which contain fifteen numbered, clearly structured chapters of varying length, are arranged along a temporal trajectory. Beginning with “Looking far back into the distant past” (I, pp. 3–48), trailed by “Looking back into earlier centuries of the Common Era” (II, pp. 51–70), “Sampling recent reports” (III, pp. 73–96) and “Looking out into the distance above the horizon” (IV, pp. 99–151), the journey terminates at “Peering into the future” (V, pp. 155–182). Besides five anatomical and functional illustrations of the brain supplemented by the same number of color plates one also finds special pages inserted before each section depicting visual representations of a Bodhi tree leaf (p. 1), a swallow (p. 49), the human brain (p. 71), the treble clef (p. 97), and the resolved nine‐dot problem (p. 153). Such design of the opening pages, along with the visual allusions in the phrasings of the parts’ headings, indicates that the book is as much about sensual realization by sight and sound of the (natural) world around (see p .184 and especially Appendix A: “The forest as a sanctuary for re‐creation,” pp. 185–189) as it is about providing information and stimulation. The latter is also epitomized with epigrammatic aphorisms of numerous authors from across times, religions, and disciplines appearing at the beginning of each part and the opening of chapters. While the dust jacket illustration and the writing style show the author as an experienced Zen meditator who occasionally succeeds in avoiding speaking of himself in the first person singular (non‐Self), the careful attention Austin pays to explaining concepts and technical terms reveal him as a seasoned teacher who skillfully blends the informative with the narrative.

All this sharing of insights and experiences, of stories and reflections, of knowledge and research pivots around the ultimate goal of Zen meditation, namely to attain kensho or satori, that is, that brief state of intense awareness during which “all body‐mind boundaries of one's former Self vacate the scene,” where “every primal fear”—including the fear of death (see p. 179)—“drops out” and all “sense of time dissolves into an awesome impression of eternity (achronia)” (p. 59; see also p. 190). Such “deep awakening” is “infused by a direct, authoritative impression” that the respective “experiential perceptions are Reality,” making consciousness undergo “a shift at its core, not at its surface” (p. 93). The content of this ineffable, paradoxical “emptiness‐fullness” experience (p. 11), which Zen masters have labeled “thusness” or “suchness” (p. 59), Austin describes with the “ancient Sutra phrase ‘just this’” (p. 21; see also, e.g., pp. 194–195, 11, 62). Austin's unique contribution, however, consists in claiming that, based on the neuroplasticity of the human brain, “the innate neural expressions of kindness, intuition, compassion, and gratitude can become embodied subconsciously in … everyday activities” (p. 185) by long‐term meditative practice ultimately leading to “the gradual transformations of character”; that is, a “slow process of subconscious ripening” which meditators “who happen to drop into major awakenings along this Path can accelerate” (p. 92). While the “deep mechanisms” of the Zen‐brain's workings “still seem obscure” they “might,” however, “have some potential to shed light on issues of paramount interest to humanity in general” and bring some healing to “a planet suffering from a litany of Self‐inflicted woes” (p. 142).

These daring hypotheses certainly will be contested, because they imply basic categorical assumptions not shared by everyone. One among these is the assumption that kensho discloses “Reality” (which Austin pointedly distinguishes from ordinary “realness”; see p. 94). While the subjective intensity and certainty of this experience are not questioned, the revelatory quality of this reality might well be, because what is “real” requires critical—and thus articulated—clarification among all who are part of it. An individual's experience, even if all‐embracing, stays with that person. It does not give a clue what “reality” is to others, especially not to those who cannot afford to join the privileged elitist circles which cultivate focused introspection in secluded settings over the long term.

Another basic issue is the appeal to “Self‐lessness.” Austin plays with the ambiguity of the term making it oscillate between its moral (selflessness) and epistemological connotations (see pp. 18, 23, 192–193). In Buddhism the “Self” as awareness of being an individual person is seen as the root cause of all suffering which has to—and can—be overcome by following the “Path,” that is, the teaching of the Buddha. However, negating the self and dissolving the boundaries of a conscious individual goes against fundamental convictions regarding human existence as perceived in Western cultures, convictions that reach at least as far back into the distant past as do the utterances of the Buddha. The well‐intended goal of Living Zen for authenticity and global, unbounded lovingkindness notwithstanding, dissolving personal identity in a systematic way also runs the risk of making people ignore their personal accountability for responsible action in the world.

Finally, the reviewer noted to his surprise that the human brain is described in spatial terms throughout. Reference is made to “upper” and “lower,” to “inner” and “outer,” to “frontal” and “anterior,” to “lateral,” “dorsal,” and “temporal” locations only. What about the evolution of the human brain? An evolutionary perspective would allow to speak of “older” and “newer,” of “basic” and of “evolved” sections and thus to discriminate between distinctively human capacities processed in the cortex and neo‐cortex and those more basic ones of the brainstem shared by all mammals and vertebrates. Far from being trivial, this observation goes to the heart of the argument which advocates the reconditioning of brain functions at their core, the limbic system, so that neither emotions (see p. 119) nor words (see, e.g., pp. 75, 86) get in the way of kensho. What will be the repercussions for mental and emotional health?

Raising these concerns in no way diminishes the profound contribution James H. Austin makes to the interdisciplinary dialogue of science and religion with this book. These concerns, rather, speak for the soundness of arguments advanced by an author who authenticates his mature views by a lived meditative practice while being fully aware that “meditation is no panacea” (p. 87). This is what makes his cause accessible for meaningful and serious discourse.