The concept of "self" to which we implicitly refer when we say such things as "I was angry" and "I want that pistacchio ice cream cone so bad" is a conceptual fabrication on two fronts. First, it seems that most of us see our "selves" as being identical to a set of experiences. What makes yourself? A shiny car you drove past the old dealership? A house with not two but three bathrooms? A shiny iPhone you use to take lots and lots of pictures every day? The anger fit you had two days ago, or the blissful spark of joy? Are you any of these experiences? All of them? None? It would seem that whenever we use "I" to refer to ourselves, that "I" symbolizes a vast array of experiences and things that it has accumulated over the years, and which compose it as pieces compose a puzzle. And yet, when all those things fade, the "I" remains, hence the use of the past tense to refer to an experience or possession that used to be part of "I" but is no more.
Maybe the "self" is what is conscious of all these experiences; it is not the experiences. This is where language tricks us because I still have to refer to a "self that experiences" in order to make you understand what I mean. But the idea of a "self" that experiences is also a content of consciousness, and therefore it is not consciousness itself. As such, it cannot be that consciousness arises from the (construct of the) self, for the contents of consciousness are not what is conscious but rather what consciousness is conscious of. To put it yet another way, consciousness is that indescribable underlying layer which allows every conscious experience to arise, including the idea of a "self" of which we are sometimes conscious.
The second footprint of fabrication: if we search our minds for the self's address, all we find are dead ends! Be it brain structures or thoughts; there is no identifiable origin or residence for what we conventionally call "self." That is, no origin we can identify consciously. Is my self in my prefrontal cortex? Am I the thoughts that just made their way to the page?
Such a realization—that that which is aware of something is not the something—could help us relate to such shackling emotions as worry, anxiety, anger, and fear with more ease and equanimity. If that which allows us to perceive these emotions is not the same as these emotions, we just might learn to see them not as deafening thunder, but as passing storms.
I struggle to reconcile the proposition that "the self doesn’t exist" with its implications for the obvious psychological states for which we yearn. If we accept that the concept of "I" is illusory, what are we to make of love and compassion? Who loves? Maybe we still need to use the "I" language to communicate, including in intimate relationships. On the level of human convenience and ordinary experience, we need to use the concept of separate egos. But establishing regular reminders that the small "I" is not all there is might still be a good idea.
This raises questions on the importance of rituals whereby people "lose their selves" and their sense of time (think about concerts sports, mass).
The poet Wallace Stevens called the construction of the self "a necessary fiction." Is fiction all the more grand because we know it's not real? I sure hope so.
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