The Unknown

Approaching the core self through the limits of science, from Chapter VI: I

While previous chapters do offer insight into the human being in wholeness — to an extent sufficient for further reading — I am of the mind they still miss the core question we will focus on: “Who am I?” As the entire healing journey is about encountering and embracing the self with love, we need to know what we are actually talking about.

Well, I didn’t help myself much by adding this chapter to Dimensions. Why. Because no one has demonstrably proven what our I is, or where our I is sitting while observing what is going on in our lives. I anticipate much stumbling upon the limits of my (and general) knowledge, and upon my attempt to blend science and faith in a structured, coherent way. And frankly — you will be reading only my opinion. Honest, supported by science, studies, experience, but still subjective — as no one knows. Thus, I do not apologize, I am accepting my own challenge, and I am inviting you into this stumbling.

Scientific Approach

As I was talking about the spirit and the spiritual realm in the previous chapter, I would now like to focus on what science has to tell us. First, I need to clarify — when I refer in this chapter to science or the scientific approach, I mean the materialistic science. This is only for simplicity, so please do not get confused, as theology is also a science.

Over the last decades, neuroscience discoveries about the brain have advanced at an extraordinary pace. There are numerous mind-blowing findings about how the brain functions, how we think, how we make decisions, and much more. I would like to share some of them with you, although not as a neuroscientist but as a curious observer. Even though they will not reveal what the I (in neurological terminology, the core self) is, they provide invaluable insights into the complex construction and functioning of the human mind, and how fragile our perception of self is.

I would like to begin with a well-known case from the mid-nineteenth century, when a certain Mr. Gage suffered a terrible accident that literally tore away part of his frontal brain. Mr. Gage survived; however, his personality changed. From a kind man, he became an arrogant, rude, vulgar person, eventually losing all his friends. He lost the part of the brain that tells us — do not say this, it is not nice, it will hurt people.

Numerous similar cases have been described in which people experienced various brain alterations, whether from accidents, infections, or tumors, and consequently changed their behavior (perhaps the easiest example is that of Alzheimer’s patients with loss of restraint). Some lost a natural ability, such as decision-making or creativity, while others suddenly gained a new ability (presumably because some of their brain centers became unblocked). We also know that our mood easily swings with hormones or brain chemistry (so-called neurotransmitters and neuromodulators). By stimulating certain brain centers, we can trigger a person to involuntarily move their hand (not so surprising), but we can also trigger a person’s will to move their hand. We can also induce an out-of-body experience, or make a person feel extreme pain without experiencing any suffering (without affective appraisal), and ultimately — under general anesthesia — we altogether shut consciousness off. Yet there is something even more intriguing.

In cases of severe epilepsy, our two brain hemispheres may be surgically disconnected (they are connected by the so-called corpus callosum), resulting in an interesting dissociation in which each hemisphere has its own processing of information, distinctly separate from the other, and handles certain tasks autonomously. As consciousness and decision-making are distributed between the brain hemispheres, now each hemisphere operates semi-independently. Because the left hemisphere has the benefit of speech (it contains the speech centers) and dominates in planning and initiating actions, it naturally assumes the primary role in guiding behavior. But the right hemisphere also processes the inputs and, although it generally supports the left hemisphere, it can also — unfortunately only with the left hand — respond to events, either by action (a different approach to the situation) or by writing. And yes, the two hemispheres can communicate — as they normally constantly do via the corpus callosum — except now, outside the brain, for example through writing. Hence, split-brain cases illustrate our everyday reality.

For a more complex understanding of how the brain functions, we now assume that there are perhaps not merely two hemispheres, which constantly communicate and decide what to do and how to do it, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. We assume there are numerous interconnected centers, each with its own agenda and priorities, constantly exchanging information via an extensive neurological network to balance emotions, thoughts, behavior, or action, resulting in a single integrated outcome. I can imagine the amount of subconscious information, each center adding its objectives, blending into one outcome — no wonder we sometimes act without having a clue why. Sure, some (sabotaging) little part of our brain (the “scamp-center”) knew (let’s roast him a bit). By monitoring the final blend of this whole spectrum of entwined little selves, we get a spectacular image of how our mind (or, in neuroscientific terminology, the narrative self) works, what processes are happening inside our brain, how we learn, feel, evolve, change, or what influences us. While neuroscience does not provide an answer to what the core self is, it offers a detailed image of our narrative self, our mind, one of the hidden dimensions of the human being.

Limits

So why bring up science when we simply returned to the topic of the mind. Primarily, because science is searching for the core self in the brain while still studying the narrative self, the mind. But, more importantly, because science is showing us where the core self, the I, is not. In this way, it gradually creates the contours of the core self per exclusionem, which I view as being very close to — if not equivalent to — the spirit.

If we generally look at science, it basically observes reality, analyzes it, and synthesizes it into systematic, logical structures, rules. It describes natural phenomena, from cells to the universe, proposing explanations that lead to uncovering and understanding truth. However, the solidity of scientific truth begins to dissolve as it approaches its limits. Not only in the comprehensive explanation of the core self, but generally in the convergence of the macro- and micro-universe, scientific theories increasingly rely on inferred but unverified axioms and plausible yet unproven hypotheses. Science relies on its own belief system. There is no way I would underestimate any scientific theory — I am just reflecting on their limits.

Let me propose why I perceive that the limits of science also draw the contours of the spiritual dimension.

First, we should perhaps question why the spiritual dimension would hide in the scientific void. Well, I do not think it hides. It exists in perfect harmony with the universe, nature, much as the spirit exists in perfect harmony with the body and the mind. Existing in a different dimension (nowadays no longer science fiction) — it likely has its own principles. Similarly, as a two-dimensional world could only guess at and infer a third dimension based on hints, but never measure it, I see no reason why it should be different between our dimension and the spiritual dimension itself.

Second, I do not believe that the spiritual dimension or the spirit will ever be directly scientifically proven, but it will remain one of those plausible yet unproven hypotheses. I do not believe that the spiritual dimension will ever be measurable, because the moment it enters the material world, it would be rated, assessed, judged, and thus lose one of its main qualities: unconditionality and, consequently, freedom. If it possesses any intelligence, it will not allow that to happen.

I would add that I find the principles of the spiritual dimension are those that we call the truth; in that sense, as we are reaching the limits of science, we are actually approaching the truth we seek.

Hence, science helps us understand the truth not only by describing the known, but also through its limits: the unknown.

Knowing the I

So what is the I? Admittedly, as I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, no one really knows. The approaches are just as colorful as those regarding the spirit: whether viewed as the soul that reincarnates, a flow of energy, the spirit connected to the spiritual realm, or the essence of consciousness. And all can be true, or none.

I can offer you my belief, which is that the I, the core self, our true identity, is the spirit itself. I will further elaborate on this; regardless, most importantly, it does not matter what I believe. I will do my best to draw those contours without filling in too many details, though some basic structure — for the contours not to collapse — will be necessary.

Essentially, all we need to get closer to the truth — to the authentic I — is to reach from the known to the unknown, transcending the self and crossing our limits in any preferred way closest to our understanding of transcendence, material or spiritual.

Drawing closer to love, peace, truth indicates we are on the right path — reaching transcendence — and our I will start glowing.

And knowing who am I is the core of healing.

Next, we will look at the I within the wholeness of the human being.

**From the chapter I of the tetralogy Spiral.**