Who Are We? Maybe Not Who You Think

“Who Are We? Maybe Not Who You Think”

“Who
in the world am I?” asked Alice (in Wonderland). “Ah, that’s the great
puzzle!” The question may make you wonder about taking time to ponder
such philosophical babble. The answer is usually defined by what you can
control. A reply might be, “I can wiggle my toes but I can’t move the
legs of the table.” The dividing line between self and nonself is taken
to be the skin. This is reinforced every day of our lives – every time
you fill out a form: I am ___ (your name here). It’s such an integral
part of our lives that the question is as unnatural as scrutinizing
breathing.

Years ago I published an experiment (“Science,” 212,
695, 1981) with Harvard psychologist B.F. Skinner (the “father” of
modern behaviorism) showing that like us, animals are capable of
‘self-awareness.’ We taught pigeons to use a mirror to locate a spot on
their body which they couldn’t see directly. Although similar behavior
in primates is attributed to a self-concept, it’s clear there are
different degrees of self-awareness. For instance, we didn’t report in
our paper that the pigeons attacked their own reflection in the mirror.
Biocentrism suggests we humans may be as oblivious to certain aspects of
who we are as the pigeons.

We are more than we’ve been taught in
biology class. Everyday life makes this obvious. Last weekend I set out
on a walk. There was a roar of dirt bikes from the nearby sandpit, but
as I went further into the forest the sound gradually disappeared. In a
clearing I noticed sprays of tiny flowers (Houstonia caerulea) dotting
the ground. I squatted down to examine them. They were about a
quarter-of-an-inch in diameter with yellow centers and petals ranging in
color from white to deep purple. I was wondering why these flowers had
such bright coloring, when I saw a fuzzy little creature with a body the
size of a BB darting in and out of the flowers. Its wings were
awkwardly large and beating so fast I could hardly see their outline.
This tiny world was as wondrous as Pandora in Avatar. It took my breath
away.

There we were, this
fuzzy little creature and I, two living objects that had entered into
each others’ world. It flew off to the next flower, and I, for my part,
stepped back careful not to destroy its habitat. I wondered if our
little interaction was any different from that of any other two objects
in the Universe. Was this little insect just another collection of atoms- proteins and molecules spinning like planets around the sun?

It’s
true that the laws of chemistry can tackle the rudimentary biology of
living systems, and as a medical doctor I can recite in detail the
chemical foundations and cellular organization of animal cells:
oxidation, biophysical metabolism, all the carbohydrates, lipids and
amino acid patterns. But there was more to this little bug than the sum
of its biochemical functions. A full understanding of life can’t be
found only by looking at cells and molecules. Conversely, physical
existence can’t be divorced from the animal life and structures that
coordinate sense perception and experience (even if these, too, have a
physical correlate in our consciousness).

It seems likely that
this creature was the center of its own sphere of physical reality just
as I was the center of mine. We were connected not only by being alive
at the same moment in Earth’s 4.5 billion year history, but by something
suggestive- a pattern that’s a template for existence itself. The bug
had little eyes and antenna, and possessed sensory cells that
transmitted messages to its brain. Perhaps my existence in its universe
was limited to some shadow off in the distance. I don’t know. But as I
stood up and left, I no doubt dispersed into the haze of probability
surrounding the creature’s little world.

Science has failed to
recognize those properties of life that make it fundamental to our
existence. This view of the world in which life and consciousness are
bottom-line in understanding the larger universe- biocentrism-
revolves around the way our consciousness relates to a physical process.
It’s a vast mystery that I’ve pursued my entire life with a lot of help
along the way, standing on the shoulders of some of the most lauded
minds of the modern age. I’ve also come to conclusions that would shock
my predecessors, placing biology above the other sciences in an attempt
to find the theory of everything that has evaded other disciplines.

We’re
taught since childhood that the universe can be fundamentally divided
into two entities – ourselves, and that which is outside of us. This
seems logical. “Self” is commonly defined by what we can control. We can
move our fingers but I can’t wiggle your toes. The dichotomy is based
largely on manipulation, even if basic biology tells us we’ve no more
control over most of the trillions of cells in our body than over a rock
or a tree.

Consider everything that you see around you right now
– this page, for example, or your hands and fingers. Language and
custom say that it all lies outside us in the external world. Yet we
can’t see anything through the vault of bone that surrounds our brain.
Everything you see and experience- your body, the trees and sky- are
part of an active process occurring in your mind. You are this process,
not just that tiny part you control with motor neurons.

You’re
not an object- you are your consciousness. You’re a unified being, not
just your wriggling arm or foot, but part of a larger equation that
includes all the colors, sensations and objects you perceive. If you
divorce one side of the equation from the other you cease to exist.
Indeed, experiments confirm that particles only exist with real
properties if they’re observed. Until the mind sets the scaffolding of
things in place, they can’t be thought of as having any real existence -
neither duration nor position in space. As the great physicist John
Wheeler said, “No phenomenon is a real phenomenon until it is an
observed phenomenon.” That’s why in real experiments, not just the
properties of matter- but space and time themselves- depend on the
observer. Your consciousness isn’t just part of the equation− the
equation is you.

After she left the pool of tears, the
Caterpillar asked Alice “‘Who are you?’ This was not an encouraging
opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, ‘I- I hardly
know, Sir…’” Perhaps the Hookah-Smoking caterpillar, sitting there on
his mushroom, knew that this unusually short question was not only rude,
but difficult indeed.”

- http://www.huffingtonpost.com/

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Robert
Lanza, MD has published extensively in leading scientific journals. His
book “Biocentrism” (co-authored with astronomer Bob Berman) lays out
the full scientific argument for his theory of everything.