There's No Line Between You and Me

Blogging is bad for the soul.

I'm sinking into deep meditation, a shiny-warm feeling of peacefulness beginning to pervade my core, spreading outwards toward my hands, my fingertips, and my toes. My chest rises and falls, rises and falls, rises and falls.

"I feel my mind merging with the mind of..."

Shh.

I shake my head involuntarily, as if the thought will jar itself free and float away, off into nothingness. Silence.

I feel the weight of my body, a weight made up of trillions of cells, each on their own mission, unthinking but knowing, fueling and refueling and reproducing and expiring, all in perfect harmony. None them aware of their intricate organization, not in the least aware of their own importance. All in perfect faith.

"Sorites paradox: How many cells before I am no longer a body? One less? Two less?"

Shh.

"... a million less?"

Shh!

I giggle at my mind's playful rebellion. I wonder what I must look like on the outside; if yogis ever giggle in the middle of their meditations. I decide that they must.

*******

I often marvel and how we're always talking about the same thing. Last summer I read The God Delusion, Richard Dawkins's infamous plea to contemplate the beauty and the mystery of life. Look at the cell. Just try to comprehend the complexity of this universe - think you can do it? Try. Please.

At least, that's how I read it. I remember thinking that Deepak Chopra must be thrilled with the book; that it was one more piece of evidence for unity, that science is yet again demystifying what we intuit to be true, that spirituality and science will culminate in the same description of the same world. Pantheist - that's what Dawkins called the person who saw God in every particle, in every breeze, in the elegance of the galaxies.

Despite the book's title and intent, very little of it had to do with God; his attempt was rather to inspire within the individual an almost religious respect for the brilliance of the world around us, rather than needing a belief in a "master plan" to satisfy our desire for wonder, excitement, or meaning.

I feel this way, too, but still I feel the need to "know," to "intervene," to "prepare." It's instinct, perhaps, more than a residual effect of faith: faith doesn't teach us to know; it doesn't pretend to give you an answer. Faith only teaches you to listen, to trust.

Imagine a skin cell, for instance, trying to comprehend its place in the organism. I assume it can't attempt such things, but if for the sake of argument it could: would a skin cell ever gain enough perspective to see the entire organism? Could it understand the magnitude of such a being, or fathom its finite but vital role in this being's life? Could it ever be in a position to understand the being's complex web of social relationships, of the intensity of its emotions, of the love it can feel, or the pain? Could it even begin to wonder about the being's own curiosity and awe regarding its own place in the universe?

Of course not. Even if a single cell had the apparatus necessary to think such thoughts, it could never step back far enough to ask the right questions.

Do we think that we can? Can we ask the right questions, and go about finding the answers? I don't know. Intuitively, I want to say no, but I think it's unwise to doubt the curiosity, ingenuity and audacity of the human spirit.

Deepak Chopra didn't like the book. In fact, he wrote quite the missive damning the book to all sorts of hell. I was unhappy, feeling like I was forced to choose between the awe of quiet and the awe of mind, but still knowing that all roads lead to Rome, as they say.

All Roads Lead to Rome

Let's assume we have two choices, or perspectives. Choice One: the universe, or at least what we know of it, is part of an intentional system. Choice Two: the universe is intentionally inert, and the only organisms that make up meta-organisms (or intentional systems) are the individual cells of that organism as well as some meta-organisms that are also perceivably part of a greater structure, such as mushrooms, Aspen trees, and coral. Considering that each meta-organism is composed of trillions of individual cells (and I won't do the math on this one), the odds of you - you right there - laying claim to the pinnacle of the organism is, crudely put, trillions of trillions of trillions to one. Nearly impossible, really. Completely impossible if you consider humanity and our social structure as a whole.

But probability is not why we're having this discussion, we're wondering if the universe had a Creator, which in my terminology means that there is some force - a higher intelligence or what have you - that intended on the universe's existence, AND is in some way invested (possibly a poor choice of words) in the cumulation of the universe's activity. If the Creator merely created and lost interest, in other words, that would go in Choice Two. And if the universe itself is Creator, that goes in Choice One.

I say it doesn't matter which you choose, and here's why:

1) If the universe is an intentional system, its intention is necessarily greater than ours. Laws of physics and human behavior will all fall under this intentionality, and unfold accordingly. Ultimately, events are out of your control.

2) If the universe is intentionally inert, the laws of physics and the laws of human behavior will play out according to their deterministic beginnings, an inevitable free-fall of circumstance which, while not steered by intention, is still outlined according to the physically possible. That is, things won't frequently "just happen." At any rate, events are out of your control.

This still gives us room to adopt a philosophy: attribution theory of meaning, nihilism, whatever you feel like. There's wiggle room because we see that either way we're unable to see what's going on; knowing the intentional stance of our world frankly doesn't help us much. Rationality doesn't provide the answer.

The only answer, then, is to live a life of your own purpose. You can know, for instance, that if there is a greater force governing your life, you are at every single moment fulfilling its deepest desires, your interactions and your purpose entwining with every other soul, bringing each other closer to the goal. You can also know, then, that if there is no inherent purpose and no inherent meaning, that you are your own Creator, here to play and experience and generate a life worth living.

And that's how that works.