The Transcendent Brain: Spirituality in the Age of Science, by Alan Lightman, addresses that area where, to put it in the terms of many public debates, religion meets science. That is a bit of a simplification, both of the arguments and of what Lightman does here, but for many readers that is how they are coming to this topic. Lightman will have plenty of readers who disagree with some or even most of his viewpoints, but he presents his research and ideas in ways that won't offend readers even if they disagree. In other words, he respects where others are coming from and genuinely tries to understand.

In coming to the topic, he looks primarily at those areas where humans have, through our time here, attributed events and feelings we couldn't explain to some higher power, all the way down to how we can understand what has commonly been called a soul. We are treated to a wonderful historical survey of thoughts on the matter as well as where Lightman stands on them. In presenting perspectives other than his own, he chooses examples that are well-formed and considered and not those that simply come down to "have faith." So he doesn't take the easy, and less interesting, way out, he engages with the ideas.

I would recommend this to anyone who likes to think about how these transcendent moments and these "universal" concepts (soul, for example, by various names) fit into how one views the world and life. I would recommend, no matter how you feel about the topic, that you bracket your ideas and let Lightman present his argument, consider it carefully before bringing your preexisting ideas back into discourse with them. Otherwise, you may as well only read books you know you already agree with.

Reviewed from a copy made available by the publisher via NetGalley. ( )

There are experiences of things seen that have never left me. Green trees filled with thousands of white egrets during spring migration. A Green Heron in tandem flight with a jet just taking off from an airport. The majesty of Niagara Falls. The view of the ocean from the cliffs of Mt. Desert Island. The stars scattered across the heavens that made me feel small. The eerie coolness and dusk of a solar eclipse. The Northern Lights over Lake Superior. The colors of autumn trees, the exuberant colors of flowers visited by butterflies and bees.

It is not only nature that leaves indelible marks. Last year we saw the Van Gogh in America exhibit at the Detroit Institute of Art. Half way through the exhibit, my emotions took over and I cried. Cried for the beauty I was seeing, cried for the artist who captured these images. And, often at the Detroit Symphony Orchestra concerts I feel a chill run up my spine, my heart exploding, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Transcendent moments are mysterious. Alan Lightman begins The Transcendent Brain with the story of watching an osprey nest until the fledglings flew off. He writes, “I found that I was shaking, and in tears. To this day, I don’t understand what happened in that half second. But it was a profound connection to nature. And a feeling of being part of something much large than myself.”

Alan Lightman describes himself as a Spiritual Materialist. A materialist understands that matter is all that exists. A spiritual person is concerned with the spirit or soul, things that can’t be reduced to atoms. Lightman contends that our spiritual nature arises from our biological nature.

He takes us through the historical understanding of the soul, starting with Moses Mendelssohn, a brilliant polymath who presented a science-based, logical proof of the existence of the soul. He then turns to the Ancient Egyptians who believed in a duality of souls, one housing the personal, and another a part of the universal. He looks at the Greeks and Saints Augustine and Thomas Aquinas, and then Descartes and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, and finally to Andrei Linde who sees the universe as in eternal creation.

Lightman next turns to the history of Materialism, from Ancient Greece and Rome, delving into Lucretius who wrote about atoms which could not be created or destroyed, and who thought that the soul was also material. On the other side of the world in China, Wand Ch’ung disputed the existence of an afterlife, contending that the “souls of the dead are dissolved”. He notes the conflict between vitalism and mechanism; is there a mysterious life force, or are we mere material machines? He looks to physics as proving the world is only material.

He argues that consciousness, the “I-ness” we experience, arises from the material brain, presenting studies and experiments. Other creatures on Earth had large brains and show thinking and even awareness of death, indicating there are levels of consciousness. Consciousness arises from the material brain. This is a long chapter, and one I am still processing.

Lightman argues that spirituality arises from the material brain. He respects those who align transcendent moments with a belief in God. But he holds a nonreligious spirituality that he believes has evolved for evolutionary benefit. Our affinity to nature and its beauty arose from our deep dependence on understanding the physical world. Our interconnectedness and need for community arose to ensure our survival. The human love of beauty arose from attraction to healthy mates, but he walks us through how beauty is mathematical.

Artists lose themselves during the act of creation; the creative transcendent is well described by Lightman. Perhaps it arose out of a need for discovery, exploring the outer world, and looking inward to discover new connections to the world.

Society is split: some people think that science offers solutions and truth, while other feel that scientists are an elite group threatening their beliefs. Understanding the world through science does not negate human experiences of awe.

The concluding paragraphs left me moved. Lightman sees beauty in knowing that his atoms will return to the ongoing creation of the world, connecting him to both the past and the future. It is, frankly, what I had believed since I was a young woman. Many times while reading this book, when he spoke of death, a chill went up my spine. At seventy years of age, realizing the brevity of life has brought anxiety. I think how I will be forgotten, my life losing its meaning. But reading those lines, the grace and hope of them, were affirming. I need to reaffirm living with the mystery.

Thanks to A. A. Knopf for a free book. ( )