The life of an individual, of humanity as a whole, of all living nature on planet Earth, of the Solar System, the cosmos, and perhaps the universe as a whole can be understood as dynamic systems. What makes a system dynamic? Essentially, changes in its state and the rules that govern those changes. A dynamic system can be studied discretely as a sequence of successive “cross-sections”: a series of static states containing certain variables and connected by a temporal scale.
The evolution of a system over time can be represented as a trajectory through its state space, and its entire history as a collection of “cross-sections” of the same system together with the relations between them. (In another model, time itself could also be incorporated into the structure being described rather than treated merely as an external parameter. But we will deliberately leave that model aside for now.) One important property of time is the resolution of its scale: it allows us to determine how frequently to take “snapshots of reality” for different systems, distinguishing relatively stable parameters from variables that change at different characteristic rates.
Thus, a dynamic system can be represented as a static structure of higher dimensionality.
When we watch a film recorded on physical film stock, we experience it as continuous motion. Yet the film itself contains only a finite number of frames, rapidly replacing one another and thereby producing the impression of continuity.
This suggests a hypothetical model in which reality itself is discrete—figuratively speaking, like an enormous library containing an infinite number of film reels.
Within this paradigm, dynamics is not a property of any individual state, but of the transition between static states.
If we assume that time is discrete, then within a given temporal interval there can be only a finite number of “snapshots” of reality; if time is continuous, the set of possible “snapshots” becomes infinite.
Where Do We Draw the Boundary of the System?
The next question arises immediately: which variables should be included in such a “cross-section”?
If we are studying a human being, should we take into account only what that person consciously perceives?
Probably not. A person may be unaware of processes occurring within their own body. They may fail to notice certain thoughts, emotions, and internal reactions; they may not distinguish every sound or register many of the details unfolding within their visual field. But the fact that these processes are not consciously perceived does not prevent them from affecting the person’s state.
If our object of study is the human being as an organism and a psyche, then both conscious and unconscious physical and mental processes should be included in the description of that state.
Everything else can initially be treated as the environment of the system.
A human being does not exist in isolation. They are directly affected by air temperature, sunlight, rain, the season, and the physical space in which they live.
Something happening in another city or on another continent may be entirely unknown to a person and nevertheless alter their life indirectly through a chain of interconnected events.
Earth is part of the Solar System. Solar activity influences processes on Earth. A meteorite originating far beyond the boundaries of the system we initially chose can enter it from outside and radically alter its state within seconds.
The system therefore becomes a multilevel network of overlapping systems.
A person simultaneously belongs to bodily, familial, informational, economic, ecological, and planetary systems.
The boundary of a model is not the boundary of causality.
We can conditionally study a limited system and place everything beyond it into the category of “force majeure, circumstances beyond our control, miracles, and magic.” In other words, we can agree in advance that certain variables have been excluded from our map—but their exclusion from the model does not mean that they cease to affect the system. Naturally, the wider the boundaries we choose, the larger the body of data involved. Any holistic description of a system within a particular boundary will therefore remain a special case of some wider frame of reference.
The Causal Efficacy of Information and Subjective States
When a human being is treated as a system, the relevant domain includes not only objective physical reality but also the psyche. And a psychological influence does not have to be consciously perceived in order to have an effect.
A person may know nothing about an event and still find themselves inside its consequences. Moreover, many intermediate links may exist between the event itself and the person’s resulting state.
Consider the widespread broadcast of some piece of news affecting large numbers of people. People become frightened, and their behavior changes. Among them lives someone who has heard nothing about the news, yet that person now finds themselves inside an already altered system. They are highly likely to pick up on the tension of those around them and, for reasons they cannot identify, begin to feel anxious themselves. And the original news report may even turn out to be false.
What affects the person, then, is no longer the original event but the state of other elements within the system—a state produced by information about an event that either lies outside the boundaries of the system under consideration or never occurred at all.
Thus:
When we study the system we call “a human being,” information therefore becomes an integral part of that system. The objective and the subjective cannot be treated here as two causally isolated domains: the subjective state of one person becomes an objective feature of the environment of another.
Expansion of Consciousness as Expansion of the Accessible Region of the System
Many practices within traditional teachings are aimed at increasing awareness.
Yoga, concentration, contemplation, the cessation of inner dialogue, deep meditation—all of these can be understood as ways of changing how much of the system becomes accessible to the observer.
Ordinary consciousness is extremely selective. An enormous number of processes unfold simultaneously, yet only a small fraction of them enters the field of explicit awareness.
Practice gradually changes this boundary.
A person begins to notice the body where previously it went unnoticed. To detect an emotion as it arises, before it turns into action. To observe a thought instead of automatically identifying with it. To notice relationships between their own state and the state of the surrounding environment. What once merely acted upon them now becomes observable.
In this sense, the “expansion of consciousness” is not necessarily the acquisition of something new, but an expansion of the region of reality accessible to awareness.
But at this point another transition begins.
At first:
Then:
But as observation continues, thoughts are no longer the only things that become objects of awareness. Emotions, bodily sensations, memories, reactions, and even the very sense of having a personal identity become observable.
Then:
And we can go further still.
If there is an observer and there is something observed, then the very distinction between the two can itself become apparent.
But by whom?
Time as the Position of the Observer
At this point we can return to our original description of reality as a dynamic system.
If reality is represented as a collection of static states and the relations between them, time appears to be the entity that causes those states to arise one after another.
But what if the sequence is already part of the structure, while movement is connected only with the observer’s position relative to it?
Instead of:
we could imagine the existence of the entire structure:
within which the point of observation changes.
The fundamental question then takes a different form:
Why does consciousness experience an ordered sequence of static states as a flow?
In ordinary consciousness, past, present, and future appear almost self-evident as properties of reality. Yet in deep meditation, the experience of time can change together with the mode of observation itself. The present moment ceases to feel like an infinitely thin boundary between a past that no longer exists and a future that does not yet exist; instead, a sense of being “outside time” may arise.
And so the question of time gradually becomes a question about the observer.
We began by trying to construct a map of a dynamic system. We then discovered that the boundaries of that system depend on the position from which it is observed. Next, we saw that a vast part of the system affects the subject while remaining outside conscious awareness. Practices of awareness begin to expand the domain of what can be observed. Yet in the process, more and more of what was previously called “I” moves to the side of the observed.
Thought becomes an object.
The body becomes an object.
Emotion becomes an object.
Personality becomes an object.
Finally, the very division of the world into observer and observed becomes an object.
And if even this division can be seen,
what lies beyond the observer?