A Biological Identity

It was about two years ago that my biology professor first informed me that I, like all of us, was mostly bacterial in nature. In our hygiene-conscious world we often take a view that we are 'here' and those pesky germs are out 'there', somewhere. This is not actually the case. All of us are actually composed of far more bacterial cells than the cells we would consider to be our own. One could make an argument that our own cells make up far more of our mass. Yet still our bodies are under a endless state of "infection", and there's essentially nothing we can do about it. To really wipe out the 'infection' would be to kill ourselves. And this is not even to begin speaking of viruses, which are totally ubiquitous.

Yogurt companies are making a good deal of profit off of this lately. Now they have coined the term 'pro-biotic' to stamp on their products, which conveniently allows them to raise the price about 30 cents per cup. All this really means is that they've not hired a team of scientists to verify that every batch of yogurt they make actually does contain the variety of bacteria that have been proven to contribute to health. Chances are you can buy any yogurt and they will contain equal amounts of the same bacteria . . . but no scientists have verified this. Thus you are denied the honor of paying more.

Nonetheless, it still seems quite common that all-too-many people in our world carry an idea that we are somehow independent of germs, and that our goal in life should be to rid ourselves and our environments of as many germs as possible. Biology tells us that this is highly ironic, and slightly stupid.

In scientific perspective, our bodies are not isolated entities at war with germs, but rather are precise and integrated ecosystems of germs. These 'ecosystems' are regulated by our own immune systems. They are kept within tight parameters. It is when these parameters are overrun that we come down with an infection, but rest assured that the germs that cause such infections are already present in your body right now. And, they have probably been present for a long time (possibly a very long time). Thus the goal of hygiene is not to keep germs away, but to keep them in the right spots and keep their population levels steady.



Germs, being universally present, end up playing very important roles in our health: not just in their potential for negative infections, but also in maintaining our normal everyday function. They make nutrients accessible for our bodies, and carry out countless chemical processes that are still being discovered all the time. These chemical processes are vital for us to be ourselves . . . whatever that means. So, then, why do I think it is important to bring all this up?

Because, I am fascinated by the implications of such boring facts in regard to the idea of human identity. What does it mean when we speak of "ourselves", when our selves are not completely distinct from the world outside? Most of us live in a context (cities) where we are trained to forget that 'from the dirt we were made, and to the dirt we shall return.' We live in a world where ecosystems are conquered by ingenuity, and we generally identify ourselves as distinct from nature-at-large. At least until we get a sore throat and are reminded that we are ecosystems in ourselves.

As I will explain later, I think many of our myths about our position in the world betray us. But I think that our bodies (the more we understand them) teach us the most about our world; a world that defines us more than we will ever understand. This is not intended to exclude God, but in essence to start over in our discussion of him (inasmuch as that is ever possible). Every generation of every culture starts with the world as they know it, and then hears the subtlety of divinity somewhere within that understanding.

Our world is delicate, and nuanced. It is marked by an unfathomable multitude of factors that keep each other in check. Unquestionably, this is as applicable to the individual as it is to nature in general.

I think for many scientists this leads to a hopeless nihilism because it all seems so predictable, and to some extent meaningless. But, I think it can lead just as readily to a mystical congruity of hope and fear. For when life is considered in this light, it certainly seems much more precarious and fleeting; yet for that, precious and undeserved. Life, for me, is so much harder to define because of science, but still it is valuable. Yet, I'll save my plea for theism for another day.

These mundane realities have become my starting point for theological reflection. They mark the reason I struggle so much with religious ideas: I feel compelled to see the world of religion and the world of science speak to each other honestly.

Simply to bring it to a point, I'll explain one difficulty that arises for me. Much of the religious eschatology I have heard throughout my life speaks of a day when the world will be freed of disease. I certainly long for this day as much as anyone. Only we speak as though this will happen by wiping out evil (illness) from the face of the earth. Here is where it becomes problematic. We speak of evil as a force needing to be destroyed, but at least when it comes to disease, more often than not, it is a force that needs to be brought into harmony. Our desire to destroy disease led the past few generations to hand out antibiotics like candy. This has saved many lives, but as diseases become resistant to these drugs we are now facing the threat of these diseases taking more lives than they have saved.

At least in terms of earthly consequences, I find the harmony myths are far less catastrophic than the myths of final vindication. This applies to identity as much as anything: our self-understanding can be informed by the world, and in turn can define our world's future.

This terrifies me, and fills me with awe.

Prelude

"What for instance in the old model of physics was (and still is) a solid, easy chair appears in the new atom-model as a kind of empty space with atoms and molecules whirling and dancing about inside it. An 'outsider' hearing about this for the first time, will either shake his head in disbelief - or angry protest - over such a new-fangled aberration, since the chair's solidity seems perfectly obvious - or never dare sit on a chair with a quiet mind again."
- Schillebeeckx

Science requires frequently that we accept things on faith. It often says things that are quite ridiculous, as our Belgian Padre points out. Chairs, like walls, rocks, and softball bats, are solid. We handle them tangibly, see them visibly, and trust them to hold up our weight when we sit on them. So, when a scientist explains that they are almost completely composed of empty space, the average person understandably will utter an obliging "Sure. . ." and ignore the scientist until he returns to the realm of sanity.

In the classroom discussions of scientific insights are tedious, but I find them worthwhile as they at least offer hope of practical application. The greatest challenge I face week to week is reminding myself that the things I'm learning might one day result in restoring some person's health. Still, it is not an easy task. I've now obtained a novice's level of understanding of quantum theory, uncertainty, evolution, genetics, blah, blah, blah. Yet, even with my basic level of understanding of such things, it seems that most people outside science who make any attempt at speaking about these delve into fantasy and science fiction even when they don't mean to. I find myself still commonly wearing the layman hat when listening to these ideas, even though I don't have to do so. Even after achieving a slight degree of scientific enlightenment, I find myself looking at people discussing science, and want to interject with an aloof, "What the hell are you talking about?!" Once a layman, always a layman? At least in attitude perhaps.

Thus, I am always apprehensive about putting scientific monologues on this blog. No doubt theology can be equally as esoteric as science, but for whatever reason, I am much more comfortable offending people with boring theology than boring science.

Lately though, I've found that I am thinking in circles theologically. Nothing is really breaking new ground for me, so the few attempts at writing I have made lately seem to merely rehash things I've said previously. I might post them anyway, but once I realize they are redundant I lose all motivation to finish the post. I have conceded that if I am to keep writing, and certainly if I am to keep writing honestly, I am going to have to bore you all with science. It is my sincere desire that this does not careen off into half-baked, quasi-scientific gibberish. I feel that lately I have noticed a few meaningful connections between what I've learned the past few years and life-in-general. I hope to put a few of those into words.

Consider this my intro for the posts that I think I might soon write. Theological science . . . or maybe scientific theology. I can't decide.

Consider yourselves forewarned.