The sensation that things are smaller, or closer, than they actually are. See also “macropsia”.

Terri Schiavo is dead. May she rest in peace.

Her death, however, does not seem to have put an end to the anticonstitutional looniness on the part of certain politicians and leaders of the religous right, seemingly eager to prove their level of cortical activity is even lower than hers was. But what was really driving these “pro-life” people? Could their motivation have been more than mere crass politics? After all, national polls showed huge majorities in favor of Congress keeping its nose out of the case and letting Terri die, and we all know these guys watch the polls…

I posit that what drove them to such fervor in keeping Terri alive was a deeply rooted personal fear of death.

Not content to live in private torment with their inner demons, these emotionally stunted political and religous “leaders” then proceed to inject their own terror of dying into the body politic at large, amplifying and aggravating the fear of death reverberating throughout our society. True to their conservative roots, they fear all change, but above all that most dramatic change when life comes to an end.

Bad breath around the zen center can be a real problem. As Dogen put it in the “Sen-men (washing the face)” fascicle of Shobogenzo:

Monks and lay people throughout the country have terribly bad breath. When people speak from two or three feet away, the stench from their mouth is difficult to bear.

Yes, I know the feeling. Dogen’s solution was the willow twig, a kind of brushing and flossing device combined, traceable back to India. You take a twig about the size of your little finger, chew one end into fine fibers, then use that end to clean your teeth. Specifically, you rub the twig over the front and back of your teeth; wash and rinse; repeat; next polish and wash the base of the teeth, above the gums; then carefully scrape clean the gaps between the teeth; wash again; finally, scrape your tongue three times..

There’s a verse, of course, for before you start:

Holding the tooth cleaner in my hand / May I vow with sentient beings / To attain the right Dharma / and purity spontaneously.

And then one for when you’re done:

Using the tooth cleaner each morning / May I vow with sentient beings / To attain teeth strong enough / to gnaw away all passions.

Dogen was apparently entering a semi-obsessive/compulsive period of his life when he wrote this fascicle. Not only did he counsel disposing of the twig in a particular way after use, but after throwing it away, you were supposed to snap your fingers three times.

In any case, as usual Dogen was far ahead of his time. 750 years later in the west, we’re seeing an strong focus on oral hygiene and a number of new products. My favorite product is the Reach Access Daily Flosser (pictured). My dentist informs me that it may not be quite as effective as using old-fashioned floss you hold between your fingers, but it’s a lot easier to use. (I’ve seen a motorized product as well, but that seems like overkill.)

[Essay on willow twigs by Christine Homitsu White]

Every Westerner exposed to Kanjis immediately senses their topological nature. But this inherent aspect of Kanjis is still not reflected in any fontographical computing model. Bob has now put on-line his unique, if dated, survey of research into models of Kanji topology (PDF, 612K).

These days fMRI is used to figure out what parts of your brain light up when doing everything from meditating to taking a crap, so why not take a peek at the neurophysiology of reading Chinese characters? That’s what a group of Taiwanese researchers did in this study (warning, long, boring PDF). Strapped into the big fMRI machine, the hapless subjects peered through a mirror at pairs of huge Chinese characters projected at their feet, attempting to determine if they were homophones, a task requiring the so-called orthography-to-phonology mapping, or identical shapes, a purely geometric task. This paper comes complete with those de rigeur pictures of brains with their activated red and orange areas (the one here showing people at work on the homophone task).

The only problem is, I can’t figure out what their conclusions were:

While the left occipitotemporal region, left dorsal processing stream, and right middle frontal gyrus constitute a network for orthogrpahic processing, the regions of the left premotor gyrus, left middle/inferior frontal gyrus, medial frontal cortex, and the left temporopariental region work in concert for phonological processing of Chinese…The engagement of sets of regions for different levels of Chinese orthographic and phonological processing is consistent with the notion of distributed parallel processing. Our knowledge of characters arises from concurrent interaction between orthographic, phonological, and semantic processing.

Well, OK.

As an aside, I’m fascinated by this excerpt from the paper:

Engagement of the left post-central gyrus, medial superior frontal gyrus (SMA, spatially extended to cingulate cortex), thalamus, and cerebellum was mostly due to subjects’ voluntary movement of right index and middle fingers in response to the tasks.

Now tell me, what were those folks doing wiggling their fingers in that big old fMRI machine?

Overall, this is an intruiging topic, but I am dismayed by the scientific level of this paper. Whatever happened to the good old scientific method stuff—having a hypothesis, making predictions, and designing experiments to validate them?

Pachacuti (Wikipedia) was the legendary ninth Inca and architect of Incan civilization. Given the magnitude and success of his undertaking, I like to think of him as the originator of many modern management techniques. From this perspective, let’s take a look at his approach, specifically as it involves building.

Building was a theme running throughout Pachacuti’s reign—building symbols and ceremonies, temples and other edifices, and even entire cities.

After his initial victory over the Chancas, Pachacuti needed to set some quick priorities on what to focus on next. He wanted to find something doable and visible. His decision was to concentrate on building a fabulous temple in Cuzco. He named the temple Coricancha, or “Temple of Gold”.

600 years later Coricancha remains a prominent feature of Cuzco. It is a quick walk, just a few hundred yards, from the Plaza de Armas. The temple’s massive walls of stone, towering 20 feet high and joined with the legendary Incan precision, stand silently today just as they did when built and certainly will 600 years in the future, or probably 6,000. The Dominicans built the clumsy Monastery of Santa Domingo around and above the ancient temple. But they were either unwilling, or more likely unable, to destroy it. So modern-day visitors like ourselves can still ponder the essence of Incan civilization in those very temple chambers in which Pachacuti offered prayers and sacrifices to his God. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.

Why a temple? The decision to make this his first major project reveals the sharp thinking typical of Pachacuti. He could just have easily decided to make it his first priority to tighten up his organization, or expand his empire, or strengthen the economy. But he knew that whatever initiatives he undertook in the future would all require both that he have unquestioned legitimacy and authority, and that the nation have great confidence in itself. That is why he chose to first build a huge temple as a highly visible symbol of his power, his devotion to his God the Sun, and the entire civilization in the region around Cuzco. At the same time the existence of the new temple, with Pachacuti as chief worshipper, bestowed unquestioned legitimacy on him. In essence, he was legitimizing himself, a neat trick.

The temple was a large project for the Incans at the time. But remember that they had available the huge amount of booty they had won during the battles with the Chancas. So in a sense the emple project was a way for Pachacuti to take the ownership of the process of managing the disposition of the fruits of war.

At the same time, though, the temple project was small enough hat it could be completed in just four years. So the temple’s construction would be a quick win. It would establish in everyone’s eyes the ability of Pachacuti to lead. And it would also place beyond doubt the ability of the whole Incan nation to successfully execute such projects.

Finally Pachacuti knew that the temple would be indispensable for the future projects he had in mind. For instance, the presence of the temple lent much of the necessary authority for consolidating the nearby tribes.

Hands-on management at its best

Pachacuti displayed his very hands-on style during the temple construction. He selected the site himself. He personally designed the temple using cords to indicate its dimension. He visited quarries near Cuzco to inspect in person the stones to be used in the construction. During the building, he visited the site to monitor progress. Sometimes he himself would pitch in to help with the actual building work.

The temple that you as a tourist visit today is shorn of all decoration. We are told, though, that when the temple was first built it was adorned with fabulous amounts of gold and silver. We know that Atahualpa specifically mentioned Coricancha’s gold to Pizarro as one way he hoped to make his ransom. The first three Spaniards to see Cuzco reported that “The buildings were sheathed with gold in large plates”. With crowbars, they removed 700 plates each weighing 4 1/2 pounds, worth $15,000,000 at today’s gold prices. Inside, there was a band of gold eight inches wide running around the entire building at roof level. There were uncountable statues and other decorations, including the amazing garden. This garden had tiny corn plans with stems of silver and ears of gold. Of course, during the looting of 1533 all these items were melted down by the Spaniards.

Staffing and funding

As a great manager, Pachacuti knew that his job was not done when the temple was built. He needed to staff and fund the temple as well.

Pachacuti wrote a job description for COO which called for someone older, honest, and trustworthy. He then filled that job. Pachacuti set the initial headcount plan for the temple at 700. He filled 500 positions with young Incan girls. He ordered them to stay permanently inside the temple like cloistered nuns. These girls were called mamacona in Quechua. (Mama means mother.) The other 200 were men called yanacoma (yana meaning “retainer”). They were responsible for generating income for the temple. They did this by farming lands which Pachacuti endowned the temple with.

It turns out that Coricancha was not the first temple built by the Incas. In fact, a temple already existed on the very same site. This temple had been named “Inticancha”, or “Temple of the Sun”. But ancient Incan correspondents report that this previous temple was a crude affair, nothing more, really, than a group of stone huts. In his decision to build a much grander temple on the site of the older one, we can again see Pachcuti’s thinking at work. He simultaneously honored and validated the work of those who had gone before him, while greatly extending and redefining it.

Coricancha was actually much more than just a temple, as Pachacuti also knew when he ordered it built. It also served as a template for the approach to symbol-building in other provinces. Eventually, all major provincial capitals had their own Temples of the Sun serving as a symbol for their region and a focus for their religious energy. As Pachacuti no doubt intended, the Temple of Gold successfully served as a highly visible and distinctive symbol of the reign of the Incas until the tragic fall of their civilization.

Like many great empire builders, Inca Pachacuti continued his building activities through his reign, building massive structures throughout his kingdom. The majestic fortress of Macchu Picchu is believed to have been built during his reign as well. According to some accounts Pachacuti was also responsible for starting the construction of the huge fortress above Cuzco, with its trademark monolithic stones arranged in zig-zag rows, called Sacsahuaman.

This article is part of an upcoming book on Pachacuti’s management style. Interested publishers may contact me at rtm at gol dot com.

Is divine love related to human love, and if so how? Can studying human love perhaps provide useful clues about the neuroscience of divine love?

After all, Sister Diane, one of the Carmelite nuns whose “unio mystica” state was neuroimaged by Mario Beauregard, as reported here ,

compares her love for God to the way two people love each other. When they fall in love, they feel a physical rush. They blush. They feel tingly. That, she says, is the kind of love young nuns feel for God when they experience unio mystica. But over time, the love deepens and matures.

But what do we know about the neural basis of human love? In a new fMRI study of teenagers in love, reviewed in the New York Times, scientists found:

[Love] is closer in its neural profile to drives like hunger, thirst or drug craving, the researchers assert, than to emotional states like excitement or affection. As a relationship deepens, the brain scans suggest, the neural activity associated with romantic love alters slightly, and in some cases primes areas deep in the primitive brain that are involved in long-term attachment.

Brain scans of 17 love-struck college kids revealed activity in the caudate nucleus, a basal ganglion thought to be the primary site of initiation of movement (and implicated in Parkinson’s Disease), and the ventral tegmental area in the brain stem, an area of the mammalian brain that takes care of most basic unconscious functions, like eating, drinking, and eye movements, operating by producing and shooting dopamine, the so-called “reward ” chemical, throughout the forebrain.

Perhaps, then, divine love is also mediated by these subcortical areas. Have they been implicated in any neuroimaging studies of religious experience? If not, is that possibly related to the fact that divine love is a particularly Christian phenomenon, and therefore something we might not see in meditating Buddhist monks? The answers could form the basis for what I call “comparative neurotheology”, the study of how religions differ in terms of their neurological framework.

Hirozen is the little Japanese spot in a strip mall at Orlando and Beverly in West Hollywood, a five-minute drive from our house. Although it was once one of our favorites (I even talked them out of a Hirozen shirt which I still have), inexplicably we hadn’t visited them for probably two full years until our visit last night.

Hiroji Ohbayashi, the owner and chef, has been busy innovating and creating and—still—cooking, as he was last night. The Today’s Special menu is a cornucopia of old and new favorites, brilliantly walking the line between traditional and modern. We’ve always loved the sweetish Nasu Soboro (Eggplant with Ground Chicken), a simple old Japanese pub dish that Hirozen does gloriously; Bob thinks it’s just the right thing to go with sake. Zucchini Flower Tempura is a deserved favorite.

At the table next to us sat a beautiful lacquered black platter with luscious broiled chicken pieces, a tower of tempura, and elegant mounds of hijiki and Japanese potato salad. I discreetly asked the waitress what that was and nearly fell off my chair when she told me it was the “teriyaku tempura combo plate”. Only Hiro could take the tired old stereotyped combination plate from Japanese restaurants in the 60s and update it this vigorously and sophisticatedly and humorously. I spent so much time gazing longingly at it that I almost forgot to ogle the would-be starlet picking it at with her studio executive boyfriend. Seized by a sudden craving for the hijiki and potato salad, I strong-armed the waitress into bringing me a small sample.

Lately we’re stuck on sashimi platters whenever we eat Japanese and here we went for a simple plate of striped bass, kampachi, and aoyagi, which was presented perfectly and was astonishingly fresh. We also had the shiitake stuffed with grilled tuna, a festival of contrasting flavors and textures, your Japanese izakaya staple “ika natto”, and another old favorite, crab meat chile relleno with salsa. We washed this all down with some perfectly serviceable warm sake. It’s winter, after all.

I hear that Hiro is spending time consulting for Japanese restaurants opening up in Las Vegas and elsewhere. That’s great for them and him, but I sure hope he doesn’t stop innovating and cooking great food at his fine little ten-table restaurant, without doubt one of the finest Japanese eateries in our beloved city of angels.

The last line of Dogen’s famous verse starting To study the Way is to study yourself (see previous post) is often omitted when quoting it—probably because people can’t figure out what the heck it’s supposed to mean, even after (or especially after) being “translated” into English.

One translation is No trace of enlightenment remains, and this traceless enlightenment is continued forever.

The Japanese is go-shaku no kyuukatsu naru ari, kyuukatsu naru go-shaku wo chouchoushutsu narashimu. Breaking down goshaku, “go” is “englightenment” while “shaku” is traces, tracks. Kyuukatsu is more difficult. Some commentators say it means not existing, while others follow more closely the meaning of kyuu (to rest).

The Tanahashi translation is No trace of realization remains, and this no-trace continues endlessly. But both it and the first translation suffer from problems beyond the question of the correct translation of either goshaku or kyuukatsu. For instance, the first translation has traceless enlightment is continued forever, whereas the Japanese can only be read the non-existent traces of enlightenment (are continued forever). Neither translation captures any nuance of chouchoushutsu (lit. long-long-emerge), which to my mind has almost a “pulsing” feeling, much more dynamic than “continue”. Both translations also are plagued by the fact that they do not connect to the preceding sentences.

My translation is based on reading a number of commentaries in Japanese, and interpreting the kyuukatsu in the direction of “resting”, as follows:

Once you’ve realized this, the process by which you did so will, laying itself aside, resonate on and on.

In a recent blog entry, Hokai Sobol maps the steps of Dogen’s famous syllogism:

To study the Way is to study the self.
To study the self is to forget the self.
To forget the self is to be enlightened by all things.
To be enlightened by all things is to remove the barriers between one’s self and others.

to the stages of the Buddhist tradition.

Interesting. But we must tread carefully when dealing with poor English translations of Dogen.

The word translated as “study” is “narau”, which, like many Japanese words, has a broader sweep of meaning than its counterparts in a Western language. Some of its nuances, in addition to “study”, include “learn” and “follow” and “master”, with a hint of “by imitating someone”. Here I’ll go with “follow”.

Next, the Japanese that was rendered as “To xxx is to yyy” in the translation above is “xxx to iu wa, yy nari”. Although subject to interpretation, the “to iu wa” part has the flavor of a definition—that the first part is a verbal construction, whose real content is given by the second part. The syntax here does not really support that Dogen is describing temporal stages of development. It seems that he’s really trying to correct misconceptions people have about, or amplify on, what xxx really is. I therefore prefer the construction “xxx’ing really means yyy’ing.” But that’s just one of a dozen ways to express this.

Then, we have the word “self”, a translation of the Japanese “jiko”. Many translators automatically translate this as “the self”, but I prefer the friendlier “yourself”. Beware, though, that Dogen often also uses this term in subject/object dichotomies.

Moving ahead, we have “enlightened by all things”, for which the Japanese is “manpou ni shou-seraruru”. “Manpou” is indeed often translated as “all things”, and you should consult a Buddhist dictionary for its myriad nuances, but the word which evokes the same nuance in modern English speakers is “reality”. As for “shou-seraruru”, this “shou” is indeed commonly used for enlightenment, but also “prove”, “validate”, “establish”. Personally, I don’t know what it means to “be enlightened by something”; do you? It could be “hear the testimony of reality”, but I’ve chosen the simple “trust reality”.

The “remove barriers between one’s self and others” part is most tricky of all. As currently translated, it sounds like some kind of international friendship program. The Japanese here is “jiko no shinjin oyobi tako no shinjin wo shite, totsuraku seshimuru nari”. Note that the English translation has also completely omitted the “shinjin”, lit. “body and mind”, which follows both “jiko” (your own self) and “tako” (the self of others), and is at the heart of what Dogen is saying here!

The “oyobi” connecting “jiko…” and “tako…” is clearly an emphatic “and”, and cannot possibly mean “between”.

“Totsuraku” is the famous “cast off” or “fall away”, so most translators would immediately render this as “cast away body and mind of your own self and that of others”, but that has many problems, not least of which is that it doesn’t mean anything. Dogen teaches that there is not distinction between body and mind, so how could he be telling us to cast them off? What does it mean to cast off your body anyway? My reading is that he is telling us to cast away that distinction. In other words, “shinjin” is not “body and mind”, but “body vs. mind”.

Overall, then, I’d translate this famous paragraph as:

Following the Buddha Way really means following yourself.
Following yourself really means forgetting yourself.
Forgetting yourself really means trusting reality.
And trusting reality really means not setting your body against your mind, nor the bodies of others against their minds.