The Dharma in DNA

The Dharma in DNA Plot Summary

Introduction

The rain became the tree. Water molecules in the air condensed into droplets, falling onto heart-shaped leaves. These drops danced their way down leaf tips, joining more liquid pooling in the soil below. The water transformed into a trickle that careened between particles of earth and encountered fine root fibers. The thirsty threads absorbed the water, which then coursed through the tree's vessels, up from the roots hidden underground. The water flowed through the trunk and branches, arriving in the leaves. Pores in the leaves opened, and the liquid transformed into gas. The water molecules were now again part of the air, temporarily, before condensing into falling droplets once again. This dance between water and tree mirrors the journey of Dee Denver, an evolutionary geneticist whose scientific career was transformed after encountering Buddhist philosophy. What began as a chance attendance at a temple dedication ceremony featuring the Dalai Lama evolved into a profound exploration of how ancient Eastern wisdom might complement modern Western science. Through personal stories, scientific research, and philosophical inquiry, we discover how the boundaries between apparently separate realms—biology and Buddhism, science and spirituality, self and other—may be more permeable than we've been taught to believe. As we follow this journey across continents and concepts, we witness how the principles of impermanence, non-self, and interconnectedness can reshape our understanding of DNA, evolution, and ultimately, our place in the living world.

Chapter 1: Water and Awakenings: My Journey into Buddhist Thought

In the early 2000s, Dee Denver was at the pinnacle of scientific achievement. His dissertation research on mutation rates in DNA had been published in both Science and Nature, the two most prestigious scientific journals in the world. With a steady diet of coffee and a hypercompetitive attitude, he navigated academic science with fierce determination. His growing fame expanded beyond technical literature to popular media, with his discoveries featured on National Public Radio and incorporated into textbooks. Denver was obsessed with getting credit and attention for his work, motivated primarily by his ego and the joy of proving others wrong. Then in 2003, while working as a postdoctoral fellow at Indiana University, Denver attended a temple dedication ceremony on a whim. He had purchased tickets at a local Tibetan restaurant simply because he'd overheard that Muhammad Ali would be there. Denver knew little about the Dalai Lama, the famous Buddhist monk who would be speaking. Seated far from the stage with a thick tent pole blocking his view, Denver grew restless and annoyed, regretting his decision to attend. His mind wandered to experiments waiting in his lab. But then something unexpected happened. The Dalai Lama began speaking about impermanence—how all phenomena in the universe are transient and unstable. The monk emphasized that things should only be believed if they were tested for truth. This statement stunned Denver. It sounded like science, not some "hokey Eastern religion" as he had presumed. The possibility entered Denver's mind that the Dalai Lama's thinking might actually be rooted in logic rather than superstition. That evening, Denver visited a bookstore and purchased a book by the Dalai Lama. This marked the beginning of a profound transformation. Over the following years, he continued his scientific career while secretly reading Buddhist texts at night, fearing career repercussions if colleagues discovered his growing fascination with Eastern philosophy. Meanwhile, Denver and his wife decided to form a family through adoption, eventually welcoming two children from Ethiopia. Despite his obsession with studying DNA inheritance in his professional life, Denver was completely unconcerned with passing on his own genetic material. The intersection of these life experiences—as a geneticist, as a student of Buddhism, and as a white father of Black children—created a unique perspective. Denver began seeing connections between Buddhist concepts like impermanence and non-self with scientific understandings of DNA and evolution. What had started as a chance encounter with Buddhist thought evolved into a comprehensive exploration of how ancient wisdom might inform modern science, and how science might validate Buddhist insights about reality.

Chapter 2: Trees of Wisdom: Buddhist Core Principles and Their Scientific Parallels

The Buddha's enlightenment under the Bodhi tree was a pivot point in his life and for the world. Born a privileged prince named Siddhartha Gautama around 500 BCE, he lived a sheltered life of luxury until he ventured beyond the palace walls and encountered suffering in the form of illness, old age, and death. Shocked by these realities, Siddhartha abandoned his royal life to seek understanding. After years of austere practices that nearly killed him, he adopted a "middle way" approach, sitting in meditation under a fig tree until he achieved enlightenment. After his awakening, the Buddha spent 45 years teaching what he had discovered. Central to his teachings were the Four Noble Truths: the truth of suffering (dukkha), the truth of its origin (craving and attachment), the truth of its cessation (nirvana), and the truth of the path leading to cessation (the Noble Eightfold Path). The Buddha taught that all phenomena are impermanent (anitya), lack inherent self-nature (anatman), and exist within a framework of mutual causality called dependent arising (pratityasamutpada). Years after Denver's initial encounter with Buddhism, he experienced another pivotal moment during a visit to his in-laws in Colorado. While hiking through snow-covered forests, his father-in-law explained that many aspen stands shared underground root networks, meaning that trees appearing as separate individuals above ground were actually part of a single organism below. "You can follow a root from one tree trunk, and it leads to another trunk in the same group," his father-in-law explained. "But it's hidden underground, so you can't see the connection." This insight struck Denver profoundly. The aspens perfectly illustrated the Buddhist concept of anatman (non-self) – the idea that seemingly separate entities lack inherent, independent existence. Just as the apparently distinct aspen trees were actually interconnected parts of a single organism, the Buddha taught that our sense of being separate, autonomous "selves" is an illusion. Similarly, the concept of pratityasamutpada (dependent arising) was evident in how each aspen tree existed only in relationship to the entire system of roots, soil, water, and sunlight. Denver began to see parallels everywhere between Buddhist teachings and his scientific understanding of life. The DNA he studied professionally was also characterized by impermanence—constantly changing through mutation and recombination rather than remaining fixed and stable. The boundaries between organisms, once thought to be clear and distinct in scientific classification, were increasingly recognized as permeable through processes like horizontal gene transfer, where DNA moves between different species. These scientific findings seemed to validate core Buddhist principles that had been taught for over 2,500 years.

Chapter 3: Intersections: Where Buddhist Thinkers Meet Biologists

In the late 1800s, as Darwin's theory of evolution sent shockwaves through Western societies, Buddhist thinkers recognized parallels between the Buddha's teachings and this new scientific understanding. Anagarika Dharmapala, a Sri Lankan Buddhist reformer, challenged colonial Christian powers by highlighting how Buddhism, unlike Christianity, was compatible with evolutionary theory. In his 1924 essay "Evolution from the Standpoint of Buddhism," Dharmapala wrote: "The teachings of the Buddha are very little known in the west, and now that science is making great strides it is proper that Americans should know of the attitude that the Buddhist takes regarding the Darwinian exposition on the origin of species." Across the ocean in Japan, a reclusive Buddhist scientist named Minakata Kumagusu spent years studying slime molds in forests near a Shingon shrine. These fascinating organisms defied European taxonomic systems—sometimes appearing as individual cells, sometimes merging to form a single organism visible to the naked eye, and later transforming into stationary fruiting bodies with completely different shapes. Kumagusu saw these slime molds as living demonstrations of Buddhist principles of impermanence and interconnection. In 1903, he created a diagram called the "Minakata Mandala" to illustrate an alternative to the linear cause-and-effect framework of Western science, proposing instead a Buddhist-inspired model of mutual causality. In more recent times, the Dalai Lama has engaged directly with Western scientists through his Mind and Life Dialogues. During a 2002 gathering focused on "The Nature of Matter, The Nature of Life," the Tibetan Buddhist leader questioned scientists' characterization of DNA mutation as a "purely random" process. From the Buddhist perspective of dependent arising, where all phenomena arise due to multiple interacting causes and conditions, the idea that mutations occur randomly seemed incomplete. The Dalai Lama suggested that what scientists call "randomness" might actually indicate "some kind of hidden causality" not yet understood. Western biologists have increasingly recognized similar parallels. Denis Noble, an Oxford professor who developed the first mathematical model of the human heart, criticized the "selfish gene" theory popularized by Richard Dawkins and explicitly connected his systems biology approach to the Buddhist concept of anatman (non-self). In The Music of Life: Biology Beyond Genes, Noble wrote: "For 2500 years [non-self] has been part of the aim of Buddhist meditation... And, as such, it contains no possibility of conflict with science." These intersections reveal a fascinating convergence between ancient Buddhist wisdom and cutting-edge biological understanding. What makes this dialogue particularly valuable is that Buddhism and biology arrived at similar insights through entirely different methodologies—one through introspective meditation and philosophical analysis over millennia, the other through empirical observation and experimentation in recent centuries. Rather than contradicting each other, these distinct approaches to understanding reality seem to be arriving at complementary truths about the nature of life.

Chapter 4: Molecules and Impermanence: Testing Buddhist Hypotheses Through DNA

Can the Buddha's insights from 2,500 years ago be tested using modern scientific methods? Denver decided to investigate this question by formulating three specific Buddhist hypotheses about DNA, focusing on anitya (impermanence), anatman (non-self), and pratityasamutpada (dependent arising). Would scientific evidence support or falsify these ancient propositions? First, Denver examined DNA's physical structure. The iconic double helix, emblematic of DNA's supposed stability, proves remarkably dynamic under scrutiny. At high temperatures, DNA's strands separate entirely. When placed in different solvents besides water, DNA loses its helical structure completely. Furthermore, while textbooks present DNA as composed of four fixed nucleotides (A, C, G, and T), these components constantly undergo chemical modifications inside cells. The cytosines in our DNA become methylated as part of normal cellular regulation, while guanines undergo oxidative damage from cellular metabolism. The four letters representing DNA in textbooks are merely convenient abstractions of molecules that exist in perpetual flux. Even more striking was an experiment from 1962 where scientists observed hydrogen atoms in DNA exchanging with the surrounding water environment in less than three minutes—the fastest measurement possible with their equipment. This meant the very atoms composing DNA were constantly being replaced, blurring the boundary between the molecule and its environment. As Denver noted, "In the snap of a finger, light atoms from the solvent completely replaced all of the DNA molecule's original heavy hydrogens." Denver next investigated DNA's supposed role as the exclusive molecule of heredity. While DNA serves this function in many organisms, RNA viruses like HIV transmit genetic information without DNA. Even in cellular organisms, epigenetic inheritance occurs through RNA molecules and proteins. Recent research revealed that sperm cells transfer RNA molecules during fertilization that influence embryonic development. Prion proteins, responsible for diseases like mad cow disease, can self-replicate and transmit across generations without DNA involvement. These findings challenge the idea that DNA has any inherent "self-nature" as the singular molecule of inheritance. Perhaps most compelling was the evidence regarding DNA's role in determining identity. The myth that all cells in a human body contain identical DNA proves false under examination—each cell harbors hundreds of unique mutations. Sex determination, often attributed to XX and XY chromosomes, frequently follows more complex patterns. Temperature determines sex in many reptiles, while diverse chromosome arrangements beyond XX and XY exist in humans. Race, despite persistent misconceptions, has no meaningful genetic basis. These findings undermine the notion that DNA provides any fixed, inherent foundation for identity. Throughout Denver's investigations, the Buddha's ancient insights withstood scientific scrutiny. DNA displays the impermanence (anitya) taught by Buddhism, lacks any inherent "self-nature" (anatman), and functions within a framework of mutual causality (pratityasamutpada) rather than linear determinism. The molecular evidence, gathered through centuries of rigorous scientific inquiry, aligns remarkably well with principles articulated through meditation and philosophical analysis over two millennia ago.

Chapter 5: Identities Without Self: DNA, Race, and the Illusion of Fixed Categories

In 2010, three years after adopting his children from Ethiopia, Denver attended a National Science Foundation grant review panel in Washington, DC. After a grueling day evaluating research proposals, the review committee gathered at an Italian restaurant for dinner. As Denver watched a TV showing Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie with their multiethnic adoptive family, a fellow scientist leaned over and whispered, "Isn't that just so pathetic?" The man proceeded to ridicule international adoption, wondering why celebrities would "waste their time on those defective children when offspring of their own would certainly be remarkable." Stunned and enraged, Denver excused himself to the bathroom. Later that night in his hotel room, he cried—not just from the offensive comment, but from his own inability to defend his family. "I felt weak and impotent," he recalled, "so ashamed that I retreated to the bathroom instead of confronting that jerk. I reflected on the fact that I didn't even know how to defend the beautiful and altruistic act of adoption, and my beautiful family." This painful experience highlighted how deeply our society clings to biological essentialism—the belief that genetic inheritance determines fundamental worth and identity. This mindset extends beyond personal interactions into scientific discourse, where "race" has been treated as a biological reality rather than a social construct. Denver examines the history of "scientific racism," where researchers like Samuel George Morton in the 19th century claimed to find evidence of racial differences in skull measurements. Later analysis revealed how Morton's biases influenced his measurements—he packed "Caucasian" skulls more tightly with measuring seeds than "negro" skulls, producing the results he expected. Modern genomic evidence thoroughly debunks biological conceptions of race. When researchers analyzed nearly 39 million variable DNA positions among 369 people from Africa and Eurasia, they found no absolute genetic differences between populations. Even the common misperception that males universally have XY chromosomes while females have XX proves misleading. Various natural chromosome arrangements exist beyond this binary, and in many reptile species, temperature rather than chromosomes determines biological sex. When Denver and his wife traveled to New Zealand years later, they visited a wildlife sanctuary where their son Amani became fascinated with a rare tuatara, an ancient reptile whose sex is determined by temperature rather than genetics. As Amani gazed at the tuatara, other visitors passed by, and Denver noticed a woman looking confused at their multiracial family. "She looked around a little bit, presumably seeking out Amani and Hirut's parents," Denver writes, "and then looked back at me, the slightly bewildered look still on her face. When we made eye contact, I raised my right eyebrow and widened both eyes. Her look transformed into sudden awareness and embarrassment." These experiences illuminated for Denver how Buddhist understanding of anatman (non-self) applies to our concepts of identity. Just as DNA lacks any fixed, inherent nature, our identities—racial, sexual, personal—exist not as inherent essences but as dynamic processes arising from countless interdependent causes and conditions. The categories we use to define ourselves and others are conventional labels rather than ultimate truths. This understanding doesn't deny the very real social consequences of these categories but reveals their contingent rather than inherent nature. By recognizing the emptiness of fixed identity categories, we might loosen the grip of biological essentialism that has caused so much suffering throughout human history.

Chapter 6: Bodhi Science: A Compassionate Framework for Scientific Inquiry

During a sabbatical at Maitripa College, a Tibetan Buddhist institute in Portland, Denver experienced an unexpected teaching moment. The college's spiritual leader, Yangsi Rinpoche, was discussing the concept of emptiness using a teacup as an example. "The cup is green only because I see it as green," the monk explained. "It is not green all by itself, from its own side. So, it is empty." Denver, forgetting the rule about waiting until the end of class for questions, raised his hand and mentioned that approximately 10 percent of men are color-blind and would see the cup as muted yellow rather than green. This comment sparked a rich classroom discussion about perception, genetics, and reality. A color-blind student confirmed he often had to "fake it" when others discussed colors. Denver explained the X-chromosome basis of color-blindness and how having two X chromosomes (typically in women) provides genetic redundancy that reduces color-blindness frequency. The conversation illustrated how perception shapes our understanding of reality—the "cup" exists differently for different observers. This insight aligned perfectly with the Buddhist teaching that phenomena lack inherent existence "from their own side." From this and similar experiences, Denver developed what he calls "Bodhi Science"—an approach to scientific inquiry grounded in four Buddhist qualities: selflessness, detachment, awareness, and compassion. This framework addresses problems endemic to modern scientific culture, where ego-driven competition often distorts the pursuit of knowledge. As Denver notes, "We scientists want our names on the research articles, and we want our names to be first. We want the credit. We want the attention and respect of our science peers and of the world. We thirst for prestige." Bodhi Science begins with acknowledging that scientists are not separate from their research but intimately connected to it. Rather than pretending to be purely objective observers, Bodhi scientists recognize how their motivations and biases shape their questions, methods, and interpretations. They practice detachment from hypotheses, willing to let go of cherished ideas when evidence contradicts them. The Japanese geneticist Moto Kimura, who developed the neutral theory of molecular evolution, became so attached to his theory that, according to a colleague, "Criticisms were regarded not as challenges that might lead to refining or broadening the theory, but as personal affronts." Awareness—cultivated through mindfulness practices—helps scientists maintain open, receptive minds capable of recognizing unexpected discoveries. Louis Pasteur famously said, "Chance favors only the prepared mind." Buddhist meditation practices offer proven methods for developing this mental preparation. Finally, compassion transforms scientific motivation from ego-driven achievement to alleviating suffering. Rather than pursuing prestige or profit, Bodhi scientists ask how their work might benefit all beings. This approach not only produces better science but also prevents the slide into pseudoscience, where attachment to ideas overrides evidence. As Denver reflects, "Pseudoscientists suffer from grandiose senses of self, severe hypothesis attachment disorders, and extreme narrowmindedness. Compassion, the fourth quality of Bodhi science, is not a consideration for pseudoscientists." By integrating Buddhist wisdom with scientific methodology, we might create a more ethical, accurate, and beneficial approach to understanding our world.

Summary

At its heart, The Dharma in DNA reveals a profound convergence between ancient Buddhist insights and modern scientific discoveries. Through Denver's journey—from ego-driven geneticist to contemplative scientist and adoptive father—we witness how principles like impermanence, non-self, and interdependence illuminate our understanding of life at all levels. The DNA that seems so fundamental to our identity proves to be in constant flux, exchanging atoms with its environment and varying between cells in our own bodies. The boundaries we draw between organisms, species, and races reveal themselves as conventional designations rather than ultimate realities. Even our most cherished scientific theories show themselves to be empty of inherent existence, valid only within specific contexts and perspectives. Perhaps the most transformative insight from this intersection is how it might reshape scientific practice itself. The Bodhi Science framework offers an alternative to the hypercompetitive, ego-driven culture that dominates much of modern research. By acknowledging that scientists are not separate from their objects of study, practicing detachment from hypotheses, cultivating awareness through contemplative practices, and grounding research in compassion rather than achievement, we might create a science that not only discovers truth but also alleviates suffering. Like the aspens sharing a common root system beneath the snow, we are all connected in ways invisible to ordinary perception. When we recognize this fundamental interconnection, we transform not just our understanding of DNA, but our relationship to all life.

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Dee Denver

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