The Bounds of Our Selves

If you make yourself really small, you can externalize virtually everything.

Daniel Dennett

Dennett’s quote is a favorite of mine, as it seems to capture much of the nuance of the free will discussion in just a few words. As a proponent of “free will” (at least of the type of free will that he describes as “worth wanting”), Dennett is making the point that the amount of control ascribed to “yourself” is entirely dependent on how (and at what level) you define “yourself”. If all actions are attributed simply to neurons firing or particles interacting (i.e., making yourself really small), there’s no “you” left to have free will. However, if actions are instead attributed to you (i.e., if the definition of “you” subsumes neurons firing and particles interacting), “free will” naturally follows. Philosophers have a tendency to “make [themselves] really small” in arguments against free will, prompting Dennett’s many books on the subject – but few lay people fall into this line of thinking. A really small “I” fits poorly with both our biology and culture, and as such is generally relegated to the domain of philosophy. However, the possibility of “making yourself really small” does raise the interesting question of what happens when you move in the opposite direction; what does it look like to make yourself really large? If you make yourself really large, can you internalize virtually everything?

From a logical perspective, it is certainly possible to redefine “I” to be more inclusive; after all, there are no true dividing lines between our selves and the rest of the world. Just as making oneself really small only requires removing neurons and particles from our definition, making oneself really large only requires that we add in the rest of the world to our definition. The real question is whether this is a tenable view to take.

Eastern philosophy argues that it is. Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese monk, summarizes the position in characteristic style:

Imagine, for a moment, a beautiful flower. That flower might be an orchid or a rose, or even a simple little daisy growing beside a path. Looking into a flower, we can see that it is full of life. It contains soil, rain, and sunshine. It is also full of clouds, oceans, and minerals. It is even full of space and time. In fact, the whole cosmos is present in this one little flower. If we took out just one of these “non-flower” elements, the flower would not be there. Without the soil’s nutrients, the flower could not grow. Without rain and sunshine, the flower would die. And if we removed all the non-flower elements, there would be nothing substantive left that we could call a “flower”. So our observation tells us that the flower is full of the whole cosmos, while at the same time it is empty of a separate self-existence. The flower cannot exist by itself alone.

We too are full of so many things and yet empty of a separate self. Like the flower, we contain earth, water, air, sunlight, and warmth. We contain space and consciousness. We contain our ancestors, our parents and grandparents, education, food, and culture. The whole cosmos has come together to create the wonderful manifestation that we are. If we remove any of these “non-us” elements, we will find there is no “us” left.

The Art of Living by Thich Nhat Hanh

We see the same types of thought patterns arising out of psychedelic experiences. As Paul Stamets, a prominent American mycologist puts it:

Mushrooms have taught me the interconnectedness of all life-forms and the molecular matrix that we share. I no longer feel that I am in this envelope of a human life called Paul Stamets. I am part of the stream of molecules that are flowing through nature. I am given a voice, given consciousness for a time, but I feel that I am part of this continuum of stardust into which I am born and to which I will return at the end of this life.

How to Change Your Mind by Michael Pollan

Upon inspection, externalizing virtually everything and internalizing virtually everything seem to be two sides of the same coin. Both schools of thought are drawing attention to the idea that there’s no “I” separate from everything else; the difference is simply whether oneself is part of that everything. A philosopher arguing against free will would have no disagreements with Thich Nhat Hanh about the way the world manifests – both would agree that, at the lowest level, the universe can be viewed as particles bumping into particles, and that there are no inherent borders between any parts. However, while the philosopher sees no room in this world for himself, or his “I”, Thich Nhat Hanh does; in fact, he identifies with the entirety of it.

Interestingly, both these ideas seem to sit an equal distance from the typical framing of oneself consisting of one’s own body and mind. I’m reminded of the political horseshoe theory – it seems the various positions regarding definitions of self also fit on a horseshoe, with “internalize virtually everything” and “externalize virtually everything” sitting at opposite ends of the horseshoe but quite close to each other in space.

Extending the analogy further, we can even imagine a certain “gravity” acting on the horseshoe, which drags people down to the bottom from either peak. It’s hard to externalize our bodies and minds or to internalize beyond them, as both biology and culture constrain us. Viewing oneself as being, rather than a specific being, is not a biologically productive view to take (which is perhaps why psychedelic drugs are often required to see the world that way); nor is the opposite approach of viewing oneself as essentially non-existent (even the most ardent detractors of free will can’t shrug off the conception of having a self in the day-to-day). 

That’s not to say that all reside at exactly the same place on the horseshoe. Some, whether by practice or disposition, do seem to have an ability to consistently experience the world in a meaningfully different way. Looking at the life of Thich Nhat Hanh, for example, it’s clear that he really did see the world as deeply interconnected, and to a certain extent felt his self to be more broad than just his body and mind. He wasn’t simply redefining the word “I” – he was actually (to however small degree) experiencing the sensation of being an “I” differently. I imagine the character of experience of people who “makes [themselves] really small” may also vary, though again it’s difficult to say to what degree.

I’m not sure what the main takeaway should be from this line of thinking. One conclusion is simply that it’s possible for different people to experience the sensation of having an “I” differently, but that seems trivial, if not tautological. Another conclusion is that the limitations of words are meaningful, and as a result we quickly lose explanatory power when attempting to bucket highly abstract concepts like “I” under a single label. Even for seemingly simple concepts like “flower” this issue can rear its head if we look deep enough – for example, can we say exactly which elementary particles make up the flower? At a certain point, concepts even of highly physical “objects” become statistical. Language, while incredibly useful, is far from complete (I’m reminded of the inherent incompleteness of mathematics). It seems important to remember that fact – even if it’s not possible to perfectly capture it with words!