Knowing my interest in all things philosophical and Buddhist, my esteemed colleague and fellow former Target Ranger JW recently suggested that I might appreciate Sam Harris' interview of Jay Garfield. In fact, I enjoyed the interview so much that I've now read the book
that they discussed, and listened to a number of other Sam Harris
podcasts (or at least the parts he makes available for free). Garfield,
a professor of philosophy and Buddhist studies at Harvard has written a
lovely and accessible explanation of what the idea of non-self means, as well as what's at stake
in the debate about whether we have a self. About half the book is
devoted to philosophical arguments against the existence of a self, and
the other half to elaborating what Garfield thinks we gain in affirming that we are persons, not selves.
While this question of identity is the deepest philosophical water I
know of, Garfield does an admirable job of presenting everything in
terms that anyone can understand and appreciate. In terms of writing,
there's really only one slightly dense chapter when Garfield confronts
various advocates for a "minimal self"; the rest of the book is a breeze
to read. So let's hope his little book brings the idea of non-self to a
much bigger audience.
Before we discuss
the details, I want to mention some of the background that makes
Garfield's approach uniquely valuable. First, while we generally think
of anatta as a Buddhist idea, aimed specifically at the Hindu concept of
atman, Garfield is not himself a Buddhist. Or at least, while I don't know how (or if) he self-identifies spiritually, he does not
write
from the perspective of a practicing Buddhist, and the podcast revealed
that he is not even a meditator. This is a book of philosophy that
argues, like
all good philosophy, that we should change the way we
think about ourselves. Because it's not a practical
guide to
seeing non-self, written from the perspective that, should you look long enough, this is what you will
necessarily see or at least
should
see, it's much more useful in letting someone with a critical mindset
approach this concept on their own. The closest thing to this that I've
found within Buddhism would be the simplicity of Tejaniya's
teaching -- just try to be aware, and find out whatever you find there. While just
thinking that you are not a self may not change your experience as quickly or as deeply as
seeing
it 'firsthand', so to speak, this approach has the potential to reach a
much broader audience (though maybe these days there are more
meditators than students of philosophy). Second, Garfield's definition
of what counts as philosophy is refreshingly broad. He's as happy to
cite
Chandrakirti
as Hume. Nagarjuna and Heidegger comfortably inhabit the same
paragraph. He clearly doesn't subscribe to our sad, modern, Western
assumption that we should, in the name of 'science' and 'progress',
ignore most of the philosophy done in most of the world throughout most
of time. Non-Western philosophy is about as enlightening a term as
non-linear science and
non-elephant zoology.
While for years I was certainly guilty of tacitly making this
assumption, I have several shelves to prove that I've worked on
rectifying the problem over the past 5 years.
Garfield centers the book on the distinction between a
self and a
person. A
self is the imaginary inner
substance or individual
soul that we often identify with. It's the homunculus-like inner witness who watches the projection screen of the
Cartesian Theater. It's the thing that supposedly stands behind and
possesses
our mind and body and experience, while remaining separate from any of
these. We often pack all of our subjectivity, interiority, and identity
into this fixed dimensionless point outside of time and space,
separated from everything but itself. By contrast, a
person is a real entity
constituted through interaction with the world. Though Garfield doesn't put it quite like this, a person arises
in the manner of a vortex -- it doesn't preexist its instantiation in some realm of Platonic forms, but is
constructed and
changeable.
While it doesn't possess the (putative) reality of a metaphysical
substance, a person still has the ability to affect and be affected by
the world because it is
embodied in an organism,
embedded in a world, and
enacted in a society. In fact, affection (otherwise known as power) is the only definition of reality that makes sense.
From
the outset of the book Garfield draws the distinction between persons
and selves, explains how no matter what terms we use this is not a
merely linguistic distinction, and demonstrates how we often take
ourselves to be
selves instead of people. Then he spends most
of the first half of the book critiquing the many philosophical
arguments explaining why we
must have a self. It's a terrific
survey of a perennial philosophical issue. I found his arguments
against the self to be cogent and convincing, but then again he's
preaching to the choir in my case; it has been a long time since I
(intellectually) believed that
anything had an essence. His takeaway image is that belief in the self is a cognitive illusion just like to the
Müller-Lyer illusion -- even when we know it is illusory, we can't help seeing it this way.
While
this analogy provides a memorable shorthand, I don't think the word
"illusion" is appropriate here, given its implication of a contrast
between appearance and reality. It may sound like splitting hairs, but
I'd prefer to think of the self as an
effect, like a 'special
effect' in the movies, or an 'optical effect' like a rainbow. These
effects are as real and objective as anything can be, it's just that
following the rainbow does not take you to a pot of gold. As Nietzsche
explained,
the word "illusion" should simply be banned from metaphysical
discussion. Nothing is an illusion. Or everything is. But the middle
position is an incoherent conflation of what we were hoping to get from
the truth with 'the truth itself'. Everything, including the claim I am
making right now, has to be evaluated based on whether it is useful, or
perhaps more accurately said, based on
which one, which
type
of life, it is useful for. Naturally, this is also how we should judge
the question of whether we 'really' have a self or not. While I think
that it's fine to
argue against the existence of the self on
rational, logical, and empirical grounds, the idea that we're ever going
to 'prove' something one way or the other here strikes me as faintly
comic.
So while I thoroughly enjoyed the
first half of the book, I think it's actually the second half -- where
Garfield begins to discuss what kind of world we create when we think we
have a self, and what new kind we might create if we discarded this
notion -- that provides the stronger 'argument' against the existence of
a self. Because when you start to think about it, you realize that it
actually
sucks to be a self. The life of a self is completely
cut off from everything else. It exists only as a pure subjective
interior, endlessly beset by Cartesian doubt about whether its
experiences reflect real objects, and endlessly questioning whether
there is even any subject other than itself in this lonely universe.
Life with a self is life post the
zombie-apocalypse. It is another example what Nietzsche
called
the belief in an ascetic ideal -- a mode of living that preserves a
'pure' life only at the cost of diminishing it as far as possible. To
be a self is to shrink life to the transcendental vanishing point, which
then suddenly acquires the delusion of grandeur we call 'free will' -- a
will completely
separated from its power of acting. By contrast, life is a whole lot better as a
person. A person isn't
isolated from the world and others but only constituted in its
connection to them. Like
Simondon's individual, the person always has a
milieu, a context. Garfield points out how we often feel our best when we are immersed in this context during a
flow state. And he has an interesting chapter inspired by Vasudevi Reddy's
account of the way persons are
co-created
through the reciprocity of second-person perspective dialog (as opposed
to the solipsistic first-person perspective of the self). His point is
to show us that giving up on the idea of the self is not an
impoverishment of our existence but a
jailbreak -- we lose nothing but our chains.
But perhaps his most persuasive reason for changing our perspective on how we are constructed -- admitting that we
are
constructed -- is that it has major positive ethical implications. A
self is, of course, out for its self. It is exclusively, 'naturally',
and pretty much by definition, egotistical. A person, however, actually
can't be completely egotistical, since it cannot exist
alone. People
co-construct one another in a way that Garfield compares to actors in a larger drama. While this does not guarantee the harmony the
beautiful soul dreams of -- we are perfectly capable of constructing our self as the
enemy
of someone -- it does also open the door to the possibility of a
kindness and compassion that are not based on 'enlightened' self
interest. Thus Garfield connects the idea of non-self to the virtues of
the
brahmaviharas.
If we accept that we are all together constructing the world as we
construct ourselves, then we are apt to start wanting the same thing for
all the 'other' non-selves that we want for our 'own' non-self. This
is not because we think they are just like us in being little copies of
the universal transcendental Subject, but because we have ceased to be
sure exactly where we stop and they begin. Instead of desperately
holding on to our little life, we find that if we give it away, we get a
much
larger life in return.
Nihilism overcomes itself.
