The Dharma in DNA - Book Summary

Unveiling the intersection of science and spirituality

Imagine a world where two seemingly disparate realms—biology and Buddhism—converge to offer a harmonious perspective on the human condition. This isn't a work of fiction but the intriguing premise that unfolds within "The Dharma in DNA," where science meets spirituality on common ground. Dee Denver, a scientist with a pragmatic outlook, finds his beliefs upended when the words of the Dalai Lama pierce through his skepticism, sparking an exploration into the parallel principles shared by molecular biology and ancient Buddhist teachings.

It was 2004, and Denver entered the hall without expectations, his worldview firmly grounded in empirical evidence and a stack of Richard Dawkins' books cementing his scientific convictions. Yet, in an unforeseen twist of fate, the Dalai Lama's discourse reverberated with a logical cadence, striking a chord with the molecular biologist. Ideas about the self and the transient nature of existence, which the Tibetan leader articulated with spiritual nuance, mirrored the themes Denver encountered in his own scientific inquiries.

This epiphanous moment set Denver on an intellectual odyssey, uncovering the surprising ways in which Buddhist philosophy and the study of life intersect, threading a narrative that links two paths once thought to diverge. In this exploration, we'll delve into the core concepts underpinning this synthesis, revealing how our understanding of humanity is enriched when viewed through the dual lenses of biology and the teachings of the Buddha.

Embracing science without sacrificing spirituality

Venture into a tale that has been passed down through generations, a narrative woven into the fabric of Western civilization and underpinning its ascent to modernity. This is a tale of inventiveness, observation, and the rational spirit inherited from the Greeks, who, before the term even existed, practiced empiricism—laying the philosophical foundations for scientific discovery. Their legacy continued through the Roman Empire, which harnessed this empirical knowledge to forge an age of unprecedented technological prowess.

History, however, is cyclical. After this bright era, a mantle of religious dogmatism settled over the land, and a period of rigid orthodoxy ensued. The thinkers of the past who had freely explored the natural world were now overshadowed by the dictates of religious authorities. Yet, the steadfast march of time would see the rekindling of the flame of inquiry. By the time Charles Darwin's groundbreaking "On the Origin of Species" saw the light in 1859, the perceived rift between religion and science seemed unequivocally drawn, with many viewing Darwin's evolution as the nail in the coffin for religious doctrine.

This is, of course, a condensed simplification. Such historical summaries often validate the notion that religion and science sit at two ends of a spectrum, offering conflicting worldviews. Consider the classic dilemma: if evolution is driven by natural selection, what becomes of divine creation? Can one reconcile the image of humanity bearing the divine imprint with the scientific assertion of our evolutionary heritage?

Distinguished figures have navigated this conflict with varying philosophies. Richard Dawkins dismisses religious assertions as unworthy of scientific consideration, suggesting that they have no place in rational discourse. Stephen Jay Gould, on the other hand, views science and religion as realms that address different questions: science deals with the empirical, while religion grapples with moral and existential concerns. Here, each holds a candle to illuminate distinct areas of the human experience.

However, this "science versus religion" paradigm starts to fray upon closer inspection. What if there were a religion that sidestepped the concept of an eternal soul? What if it, instead, aligned more closely with the evolutionary ideas of change and impermanence? This is where Buddhism enters the stage, exceptionally different from soul-centric religions like Christianity, Judaism, or Islam. Buddhism eschews the notion of an unchanging essence, much like Darwin's theories bypass the soul. Here, academia poses a compelling question: does the friction between science and religion dissolve when viewed through the prism of Buddhism? Could there be a more harmonious relationship between these two domains than previously perceived?

Understanding the self as a symphony of elements

Step into a time long ago, when a wise Buddhist monk named Nagasena crossed paths with Menander, a Greek king known for his quest for knowledge. Picture them in northeast India around 150 BCE, engaged in a conversation that would strike at the heart of Buddhist philosophy—a discourse that would challenge the very notion of identity.

King Menander was curious about this monk famed for his wisdom. Upon meeting, he inquired about the monk's name. Nagasena was the response, but the monk quickly clarified that this name was merely a convenient label for something far more complex. Puzzled, Menander pursued further: if Nagasena was not found in his name, then in what part of him did his essence reside? The monk's reply was a deft denial of each suggested component—hair, skin, body, feelings, perceptions, impulses, consciousness.

Where, then, was the being called Nagasena that the king had come to see? Nagasena presented a thought-provoking analogy, likening his self to a chariot. Just as a chariot isn't solely its axle, wheels, frame, or yoke, neither is Nagasena any single part of his body or mind. The term "chariot" serves as a catch-all term for a collection of components intimately joined; "Nagasena" serves a similar purpose, representing an assembly rather than an isolated entity.

Here we delve into the core Buddhist concept of anatman, or nonself. There is a recognition—a knowing—that this assembly we call the self certainly has a presence, can interact, take up space, ask questions, and so on. But when we seek to pinpoint the self as a solitary, immutable essence within this assembly, we come up short. In Buddhism, the self is not a fixed entity; it is a dynamic ballet of interacting parts.

When the Buddha addressed humanity, he didn't speak of solid, unchanging beings, but rather of five skandhas or aggregates: matter (our physical form), sensations (the experiences we filter through the body), perceptions (the categorizations we assign to sensations), mental formations (our desires, aversions, thoughts, and emotions), and consciousness (our awareness of these physical and mental elements).

The synergy of these skandhas generates what we perceive as a consistent identity—an illusion of permanence in an impermanent dance. Yet why, then, after defining the self in these terms, do Buddhists assert anatman—that there is no self? The answer lies in the impermanent nature of these elements. The physical body changes, sensations come and go, desires evolve, and our conscious reflection mirrors the constant flux of the world around us.

Every facet of what we call the self is in flux. If we cling to a static vision of self—say, our physical beauty or our immediate success—we find ourselves in conflict with the inescapable transience of life. It's this refusal to accept constant change, this fixation on the illusion of permanence that cradles suffering. By recognizing that our identity is not a static thing, but a process in continuous transformation, we open ourselves to a more profound understanding of personhood and a path away from suffering.

The mirage of the self in the realm of science

We've been contemplating the Buddhist perspective, which contends there is no immutable self or soul—just a constellation of shifting elements. But what happens when we shift our gaze from the spiritual to the empirical? Does science uphold the notion of a stable self, or does it reveal a different picture?

The recognition that what we consider the "I" is an intricate network of nerve cells and molecules was ignited by Francis Crick's discovery of DNA, an insight he deemed the "astonishing hypothesis." This concept would later echo in the words of biologist David Barash, who spoke of a shift in roles—bodies downgraded and genes elevated—uprooting the classic view of an individual self contained within a corporeal boundary.

Now, let's muse over DNA from an evolutionary standpoint. We often identify ourselves with our unique reflections in the mirror, crediting natural selection with our existence. However, this process acted on our ancestors' genes, with our bodies as vehicles for DNA. But, crucially, genes do not act alone. They are influenced by an array of factors: diet, environment, experiences, and so much more. This nexus of interactions means that genes are not a deterministic script; they're part of a living, breathing play that unfolds in real-time.

Complex interactions, as Richard Dawkins proposed, render the idea of an absolute effect of genes nearly nonsensical. Take identical twins as an example—two individuals with the same genetic disposition toward depression may experience life vastly differently, shaped by the contrasting strokes of environment and circumstance on the canvas of their lives.

What we unearth is a realm teeming with activity and change. The body becomes an arena where cells, molded by natural selection, engage in a ceaseless dance. But this dance doesn't endow us with a concrete concept of self. Indeed, DNA is part of the perpetual motion of transformation—entwined with our experiences, it eludes the fixed identity we might seek within it.

Once more, we loop back to the beginning—no self, or in Buddhist terms, anatman. Philosophy and science, in their quests, have converged at a crossroads where the self is not a solitary entity but a collection of processes and interactions. In this meeting of minds, Buddhism and biology resonate harmoniously, presenting a worldview where change is the only constant, and life is but an array of transient patterns. As mathematician Norbert Wiener astutely observed, we are not static beings but rather "whirlpools in a river of ever-flowing water," momentarily taking form only to dissolve once again into the fluid journey of existence.

A harmony of insights from the lab and the temple

The narrative that usually unfolds between science and religion is one of ceaseless antagonism, a chronicle punctuated with disputes and discord. Yet, if we sift through the annals of time, we might find not just a truce but a fascinating synergy, particularly between the thoughtful realms of Buddhism and biological science. In the exploration of the self and the principles of impermanence, the apparent adversaries unexpectedly converge, revealing a kinship that defies historical skepticism.

This intersection is replete with valuable lessons about the fluidity of existence and the intricate nature of our being. Biology, with its empirical precision, echoes the Buddhist doctrine that what we perceive as the "self" is an ever-evolving tapestry of processes rather than a static, isolated entity. Together, these disciplines extend an invitation to view the human experience through a lens that celebrates interconnectedness and gracefully acknowledges the truth of change—linking age-old wisdom with contemporary understanding.