madeline may write

Ernest Hemingway* here, reporting the truth that “Existence as we know it is made possible by boundaries.”

We are truly made from Milton’s “one first matter all,” and whether you call it stardust, DNA, or something more divine, the fact is that matter has coalesced—we have coalesced—as the result of complex processes (or as someone told me lately, as the result of highly developed immune systems), but in spite of that common origin, our very essence is in our dividedness. We may be the same matter, but the fact that my atoms are mine is important. It is key. We (the collective) are not merely an amorphous mass; we are not one continuous matter. We are matter divided and adjacent. We are contiguous. The very pleasure of existence comes from the frustration of complete unity. Our identities come from division; bonding comes from division; sex comes from division. And yet, we are still part of the same ‘something.’

Speaking of that “one first matter,” I have to point out that For Milton, it would probably be stardust, since he thought all things were part of the same spectrum. DNA, pertaining only to certain living things, is not nearly all enough for him. It is much too limited, a manifestation of matter and nothing more. On the other hand, I think the DNA model offers an interesting way to look at our contiguity (DNA, so closely tied to life, seems so much more divine, so much more vital, than the lifeless atom… although I’m sure a physicist would argue this point). We are the same in that we are all tests—on the part of DNA—in the pursuit of the perfect being (replace ‘DNA’ with ‘God’ if it suits you). Our difference comes from how we do, and don’t, fulfill that pursuit. We are all different, scattered along the chain of being, either more or less evolutionarily viable than one another. We are part of the same matter, but different. We are as close as we can be to one another, but with crucial distinctions. We are DNA, God, whatever, in pursuit of perfect being. Each of us is but a humble trial in the scheme of Creation. But each trial follows a separate path.

I wish I could remember where I read this—it was in some essay or another about Milton’s Paradise Lost—but what I do remember is the author describing human sex as compared to angelic sex. It strikes me as a brilliant example of why contiguity (our common, yet distinct, DNA) is so special, especially when held up against more platonic models of relationships. The angels, though capable of the most pure and complete merges (what might be called ‘continuity’ rather than ‘contiguity’), nevertheless know nothing of human relations. Human relations are not about becoming one being, but about experiencing—in the truest, most raw, most visceral and carnal sense—the boundary between creatures. Our relationships are about throwing ourselves repeatedly against a wall. It is as much about gaining closeness as about highlighting that thin line of difference. We may feel like one soul, one body, but the fact is we are—and will always be—separate creatures. Viewed in some lights it is a depressing inevitability, but from a certain perspective it is also… thrilling. There is no other word. Why else would we keep throwing ourselves at the same damn wall? We value our own distinctiveness. Relationships are a remedy against loneliness, but also a way to exist as independent entities in a close situation of contiguity. Literally, we can become like stones in the great temple of existence: self-contained but too close for even a slip of paper to pass.

As I said: existence as we know it is made possible by boundaries. Made possible, and given its spectacular and unique flavor, its allure, its excitement, its life. If were truly one—if we could ever merge that completely—we simply wouldn’t be human. Let the angels have their more ‘perfect’ unions. I’ll stick to our peculiar earthly model, platonic or not.

*Not really. EH is, shall we say, an alter ego of mine, reserved for certain moods and certain occasions. Use your imagination; I won’t correct your assumptions if you’re wrong.