The Boundary of Self
The human being carries with them the undoubted assumption that they themselves are a single and distinct being within a world of other beings and things. However, this makes less and less sense the more the intellectual mind explores the world which contains it. Through scientific inquisition, the boundary between self and other becomes increasingly difficult to define. As the universe reveals its true colors, we find that the transition from self to other is more analog than digital, more continuous than discrete.
An initial obvious boundary is the skin. We are a sack of flesh for which we are responsible. We are the being, and the rest of the world is our domain… but did you know that roughly every 7 years the entire body replaces its matter through cellular growth and metabolism? This means that what was external, the food, water, and air consumed, becomes internal and essential components of the being. Additionally, there are 10x as many (370 trillion) cells in or on your body – many essential for your survival – which belong to bacteria, fungus, and other microbial creatures. What is self in a situation like this?
Perhaps we shall define the self as the set of DNA which is copied among all 37 trillion of our cells. This is our undeniable fingerprint, and it belongs only to us… but how does it account for the birth of a child as the product of parents? The DNA is not invented but instead borrowed and transferred into the new being. A new and unique combination, yes, but never made from scratch. Further, did you know that the gene which produces mammalian placenta originated as a virus? Similar to how HIV embeds its genome into the cells of its infected host, an ancient plasmid integrated into some pre-mammalian creature which ultimately gave rise to an entirely new branch of life. There is no clear identity in our DNA.
Let’s step away from the wacky objective universe and focus on the simple truth of experience. I am me and I am not the world because I am seeing through my eyes, listening through my ears, tasting through my mouth, and so on. My conscious experience is and always has been mine. You can remove my legs and I am still me. You can remove a memory through drugs or alcohol, but when I wake up, I’m still me. You even may destroy components of my personality or cognitive ability through legions or brain injuries, and I am still me. I may appear different to others, but I have always been me.
This even comes into question when the depths of psychological assumptions are toyed with. Meditation can separate the observing mind from the thoughts until something fascinating happens, the “me” observing the experience has seemingly nothing to do with the sack of flesh that normally defines it. There are things happening to the sack of flesh, but they are no more stimulating than the things which happen to another sack of flesh. The sensations fade away into an echo of dreamlike spirals of experience. By changing which parts of the mind we identify with, we arrive at the same result as the scientists, which is that there is no clear or obvious boundary between the self and the other.
While we spend most of our day rested comfortably in the stability of embodiment, there are occasional experiences when we take ourselves so far away that we arrive at the same destination of perplexing nonduality. For the scientist and the mystic to arrive in the same place, after both venturing away on their productive exploration, is a fascinating result. It leaves us wondering why we spend so much time protecting the identity of self in its conflict with the other.
With Love,
Michael
