Be Nobody (15 page)

The realization that the “somebody self” is
just an idea
should come as really good news. If there were
essentially
a unitary, independent, and unchanging individual self, it would be, well, unchangeable. But luckily, as we've seen, there is no such self. And so it's a good thing that
we are not really the somebody we think we are
.

But, then again, you could equally say that
we are just the somebody we think we are
, and that's all the “somebody” any of us is. It's the conceptualization of somebody that makes us that somebody—and really nothing more than that. As one ancient Indian text puts it, “The one who thinks he is free is free; the one who thinks he is bound is bound. It is true what they say: Y
ou become what you think
.”
⁶

To say that the “somebody self” we usually desperately clutch to is illusory is not the same as saying it doesn't exist at all. The individual self does, of course, exist . . . but only as an idea, a concept, a label. As philosopher Julian Baggini puts it, “The idea of the self as a construction is one that many want to resist, because it seems to imply that it is not real. But of course constructions can be perfectly real.”
^VIII

And there are different kinds of constructions or conceptualizations of the self, some more beneficial than others. The belief in a unitary, independent, and unchanging self; or the conviction that there really is an all-powerful Captain Kirk self—these are not helpful concepts. Besides the fact that there's no findable “Waldo,” the very idea of a self like this leaves us feeling either paralyzed (how could we change such an unchangeable self?) or frustrated (Captain Kirk's commands so often go unheeded!).

The “somebody self” is just like the room we talked about above. The room has four walls, and there's no room without the four walls, but “room” is just a name and a concept that arises due to the empty space enclosed by the walls. And it's just the same with the individual self:
it's nobody that makes somebody possible
.

We're nobody apart from thinking that we're somebody, and when we stop thinking we're somebody, we're left with really nobody. This observation points us to the true methods for “self-improvement,” which we'll investigate at length in the next chapter.

The question is not
whether
our individual sense of identity exists. It obviously does; we hear that little voice inside our heads pretty much constantly. The crux of the matter is
how
such a self exists—and how we could improve it.

By recognizing that we're nobody (that is, that we're not a hard-wired somebody who exists essentially and unchangingly), we have the possibility of conceptualizing ourselves as a
better somebody
—a more contented, happy, and fulfilled person.

And by doing so, we will have moved closer and closer to the Great Itchlessness we all desire.

Action Plan: Scratching the Itch

Stop for five or ten minutes each day and pinpoint your biggest desires, your most persistent itches. First identify what it is that you want. Is it more money, a better house or car, or a new iPhone? Or is it an improved relationship with your partner, your family members, or with someone at work? Maybe it's more recognition and popularity, or a holiday in Bermuda. Or perhaps it's losing a few pounds or feeling healthier.

Once you've identified the itch, focus on what you hope will be the outcome if the itch gets scratched—on what you think would happen if you actually obtained what you desire. See if you can't get to the realization that what, in fact, you wish for is actually just contentment—the end of the itchiness itself.

Then revisit the particular desire you've identified. Would getting what you want really bring about the hoped-for satisfaction, or would it just provide some partial and temporary relief from the wanting? While we may not be able to achieve contentment immediately, this action plan helps us train ourselves to be more aware of what it is we really desire.

I.
 Overachieving, type-A personalities who are obsessed with their careers might recall that God's curse for humanity as he kicked Adam and Eve out of the Garden was to cause man and woman thereafter to work for a living and look after their children, instead of granting us a permanent holiday.

II.
 There are some exceptions. For stories of how ignorance originated in the Hindu and Buddhist texts, consult Wendy Doniger O'Flaherty,
The Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980).

III.
 Another indication that people are not
essentially
the way they sometimes appear to be is that they don't
always
seem to be that way. Sometimes angry people appear angrier than at other times, and sometimes they don't appear angry at all. If the angry person were
essentially
an angry person, he or she would
always
be an angry person, to exactly the same degree. For an “angry person” would always be that and couldn't essentially be that and something other than that at the same time. Isn't that what “essentially” means, after all?

IV.
 In some Indian texts, the Sanskrit word
atman
is used differently than it is here in the Yoga Sutra and in many Buddhist scriptures. Elsewhere it is synonymous with the “true self” as opposed to an individual, egoistic self (which is sometimes designated as the
jiva
to contrast it with the
atman
).

V.
 The latest research in the neurosciences is validating the ancient Buddhist observations. As one recent summary puts it, an unchanging and continuous self, a “unifer” self, and an “agent” self (similar to the “Captain Kirk self” talked about later in the book) are all “mistaken beliefs” or “illusions” that “do not withstand scrutiny.” See the special issue of
New Scientist
magazine, “The Self: The Greatest Trick Your Mind Ever Played” (February 2013). See also Julian Baggini,
The Ego Trick: What Does It Mean to Be You?
(London: Granta Books, 2011).

VI.
 There are neuroscientists nowadays who believe that the mind's activities—consciousness, thought, emotions, and so forth—can be reduced to the brain and its firing of neurons. While only a few researchers would be so reductive as to say there is absolutely no difference between the mind and the brain (most still acknowledging some sort of “ghost in the machine”), there does seem to be a trend toward the position that ultimately there are
only
physical parts to our being. While such a reductive view of the self does not accord with the assumptions of any of the world's spiritual traditions—indeed, it is the
opposite
of a belief in anything
spiritual
—it has no bearing on our argument here: Are we
one
thing (even if it's just a purely physical thing, just the body) or
many
?

VII.
 The “witness self” spoken of here can be distinguished from one of the two “birds” we encountered in the passage from the Upanishads quoted toward the end of chapter 1. The “bird” who looks on impassively as the other “bird” (the individual self) eats and engages
with the world, is the true Self—the ocean as opposed to the individual wave; our nameless true nature, not you say your name-to-yourself.

VIII.
 Baggini has coined this term “ego trick” to describe the play between the self we think exists and the conceptualization of the self that does exist: “The Ego Trick is not to persuade us that we exist when we do not, but to make us believe we are more substantial and enduring than we really are. There may be an illusion as to
what
we really are, but not
that
we really are.” Julian Baggini,
The Ego Trick
, 41, 152.

There is only one corner of the universe you can be certain of improving, and that's your own self.

——Aldous Huxley

If the individual self is, at bottom, nothing but a conceptualization of the self, then one important part of the spiritual quest will be to improve that self-conception. While there may not be a findable
essential
“somebody self” to ameliorate—and, remember, the real, oceanic “nobody/everybody” butterfly self is in no need of improvement at all—the personal self that does exist can and should be developed into a better edition.

As we noted toward the end of the last chapter, it is precisely
because
we are not stuck with the somebody we think we are now that we can upgrade ourselves into a more self-satisfied model.

And there's nothing wrong with wanting to become a better somebody. Indeed, without a desire like this, we'll never get to the point where the Great Itchless State becomes possible, and where the peace and tranquility of
being nobody
can be fully experienced and appreciated.

Because it's possible, we should definitely strive for self-improvement. Because we're all really, deep down, nobody,
everyone has the potential to become a different somebody
. We can choose to continue to embrace a depressed, discontented, and perpetually itchy sense of self, or we can work toward creating a joyful and fulfilled personal identity that is nourished by the deep reservoirs of our true identity.

We can change. We can better ourselves. We can create a happier iteration of the self to replace the needy, greedy, twisted version that's driving us crazy. But self-improvement will be achieved not through trying to be
more special
than others, either through foolish pride or through laying claim to an exceptional status due to our suffering.

It's worth repeating: There's nothing inherently wrong with being “self-interested.” It's crucial to build a good, healthy sense of the individual self—not as the final goal but as a necessary platform for the higher work of joyful self-transcendence and integration with the world around us.
Enlightened
self-interest entails wising up to what will really work to bring about an untroubled and contented personality, somebody who's ready, willing, and able to be less self-obsessed and self-centered.

Remember, it's not really “self-improvement” if it's all about you.

•  •  •

The “somebody self” is an artifact of how we presently regard ourselves. And this, in turn, depends on the kind of past we think we had (for
we are who we think we once were
) and our expectations, hopes, and fears about the future (
we are who we think we will become
). The conceptualized “somebody self” is found at the nexus of two times—the past and the future—that themselves only exist as ideas within the present mind.

This “somebody self” is the product of moral training and positive self-development—or the lack thereof. There's a huge difference in the self-perception of someone who has cultivated humility, modesty, and an unselfish and charitable attitude toward others and that of someone who is driven by inborn (and reinforced) selfishness, vanity, pride, and aggressive competition with others.

We've seen in the last chapter that we
can't change the present in the present
. Captain Kirk can't just dictate that things change at will in the moment, nor can any inner witch or genie work this kind of magic. This means that somebody can't just
in the moment
choose to be anybody; the “somebody self” can't
immediately
transform into somebody different. We can't go from zero (selfish, egotistical, and dissatisfied) to one hundred (humble, altruistic, and untroubled) in just a few seconds, or even a few days or weeks or months.

The lower, individual self is an idea of the self, but our self-conception is constantly in flux. This self, we could say, is a
process
, not a thing. To invoke a very common and ancient simile, the self is like a river—let's say the Mississippi. What we call “the Mississippi River” is not an entity or a thing; it is only a name we give to a particular flow of water—to a process. As Paul Robeson famously sings, “Ol' Man River just keeps rolling along.”

We mistake changing things for unchanging things. We assume that, because we have
a name
or
a concept
for “the Mississippi River,” the word and the idea must refer to some thing, when all it really designates is a flowing current, a movement, an activity.

Well, our sense of personal identity is just like a river. Every part of what we include in our idea of “me”—every physical and mental component of the self—is changing, moment by moment. The kind of idea I have about “me” deceives me. I think my concept of “me” refers to a unitary, independent, and unchanging entity, when all it denominates is a flow.

And so even what we mean by “me” changes over time, doesn't it? What Julian Baggini calls the “autobiographical self” provides a sense of continuity to the self: “The unity and permanence we feel over time depends on our ability to construct an autobiographical narrative that links our experiences over time.” “But,” Baggini goes on to observe, “individual experiences and sense of self at any particular time can vary enormously. What is more, the autobiographical self is very good at self-revision. In effect, we are constantly rewriting our histories to keep our inner autobiographies coherent.”
¹