I explored several times throughout the week the question of —
No, wait. Scratch that. Exploration of the possibility that “self is a construct” took place several times throughout this week —
No, wait. The constructed self explored its own ongoing construction several times this week…
Where do I stand with all this? Or, perhaps, what feelings and mindstates and intentional modes cohere in relation to this question?
The idea that “self is a construct” is a construct this self has become increasingly comfortable with, such that “I” wasn’t sure where to begin this week’s inquiry. The easiest place to start was through the familiar practice of taking a walk at work and exploring “how” and “where” the sense of self manifested — what it was like, what was involved in that, etc. As Jack suggested, this was related to looking for manifestations of a “witness,” or the feeling of “being a witness,” in the stream of experience. The “I” or self seemed to manifest in this way — a feeling of being present to or an observer of whatever was arising — but also in others: as the narrator (of past, present, and future).
At several points, when I noticed this position or constellation of experience arising, a moment of relaxation dawned and there was a loosening of ownership. This was something like moving from a 1-p perspective to a 3-p perspective: the “I” moment is seen as just one among many other moments, all arising together of their own accord. The “ownership feeling” itself was not owned, but “tossed up” on the currents of mind.
Jack had mentioned in the orientation that self can be seen as “that” which maintains or tries to create a sense of continuity. This opened up an inquiry into continuity for me. On the one hand, it was clear there wasn’t a strict continuity of “self” or “experience” — the sense of being a witness or actively directing or intending self came and went throughout the several meditative walks I took. Similar to watching a feeling and noting how many moments between moments arise and “pop” the continuity, the “walking and meditating self” was a sometime-appearance, cut through with other moments of memory, attention, inattention, sensation, etc (numerous times without any sense of being an agent or owner).
And yet there was continuity as well. On one walk, I was carrying something in my hand. After awhile, I became unconscious of carrying it, until I noticed it again. It hadn’t vanished, or fallen to the ground; it was still there in my hand. The “self” entered here as narrator, linking this moment to the last moment I was aware of holding the item, and then reconstructing the intervening time as a time in which “I carried this.” But this is a compelling story (the item still *was* there), so what sense is there in contesting it? Perhaps there isn’t a linear continuity, but there is a broad non-linear coherence of experiences and associations and moments.
Reflecting on the suggestion that self arises by “looking back” at experience, I noticed also that the self constellates as a custodian of should:Â it shows up as much in recollection as intention and projection.
While I found I could “erase” the sense of self somewhat by shifting more to a 3-p process view — “such and such is happening” — I wasn’t comfortable with the success of this practice being tied to the elimination of an aspect of experience. As construction, the sense of self can continue to arise without necessarily becoming obstruction.
What if self is a position or way of knowing time and space.
Karin, yes — great point? Who is to say?!
David, thank you … I really enjoyed savoring Ken’s fine words.
Earlier this week, I came across the following amusing (and horrific!) old Buddhist story which deals with this topic: self literally as a (Frankensteinian) construction…
“Once, a man who had been sent on a long journey found that he had to spend the night alone in a deserted house. In the middle of the night, a demon came in carrying a corpse on his shoulders, which he set down on the floor. Later on, another demon came in and began to berate him angrily, ‘That dead man belongs to me. How did it come to be in here?’
To this the first demon answered, ‘He is mine! I got him, and I brought him here myself!’
To this the second demon retorted, ‘I am the one who brought him in.’ And in this way the two demons fought over the corpse, and one grabbing and pulling it.
Then the first demon -— noticing our traveler witnessing all this -— said, ‘There is a man here whom we can ask.’ So the second demon began to question him, ‘Who brought this dead body in here?’
The traveler reflected, ‘These two demons are very strong; whether I tell the truth or whether I lie, I am sure to be killed by one or the other of them. So why not tell the truth?’ And he declared that it was the first demon who brought the corpse.
At that, the second demon got very angry, and grabbing the traveler’s hand, he ripped off his arm, and threw it on the ground. But the second demon took an arm from the corpse and attached it to the traveler’s body. In the same manner the traveler’s other arm, legs, head, and torso were ripped off, but replaced with corresponding parts taken from the corpse. Then the two demons together devoured the now dismembered original body of the traveler, and wiping their mouths, they went away.
The traveler then reflected, ‘I have just seen these two demons entirely devour the body that my mother and father gave birth to. Now my present body is entirely constituted by the flesh of another. Do I or do I no longer actually have a body? If I say I do, it is someone else’s body; if I say I don’t, there is nonetheless a body here that looks very real.’ And so reflecting, he become very troubled and was like one who has lost his mind.
The next day, he set off on the road again and arrived in the kingdom to which he was heading. There, near a Buddhist stupa, he saw a group of monks. All that he could say to them was to ask them whether his body existed.
The monks inquired, ‘Who are you?’
He answered, ‘I don’t even know if I am or am not,’ and he told them at length all that had happened to him.
The monks said, ‘This man has learned on his own the nonexistence of the Self; he will easily attain salvation.’ And turning to him they said, ‘Not just now, but from its beginning up until present, your body has all along been devoid of Self. It was only because of the coming together of the four basic elements that you thought, ‘This is my body.’ But there is no difference between your former body and that which you have today.’
In this way, the monks converted the traveler to the Buddhist Path; he cut off all defilements and attained arhatship.”
Hi Bruce,
Reading your assignment and the comments, including this great Frankenstein story, made me recall a philosophical piece by a dutch lawyer about the ”fundamental right to be inconsistent”. Although it is more than 20 years ago I read it, it left/leaves a big impression.
If a suspect is inconsistent in his/her story about what happened, this makes an conviction much more likely. This, when in reality it is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to be 100% honest to all questions someone can ask you and be consistent. Instead of training judge and jury to understand this, the suspects are trained to tell a consistent story rather then tell the truth. Same thing happens nowadays in Holland with asylum seekers. They are trained in telling a consistent story by their counselors, ignoring the chaotic, confusing reality of such a rigorous change of life.
And when giving a verdict, the judge or the official concerned, is also obliged to be consistent with what has happened. Like extrapolating a line in a chart. As if what happened shall not have unforeseeable consequences.
Sometimes it feels as the self is this judge about what is consistent. That the question about ownership of the self is referring to our barbaric history, when ownership was a matter of being able to defend what you have.
When you start your writing, you stop and say: no wait.. scrap that. Why this “no wait” before making a new, other statement? Maybe because there is a sense of accountability, a need to be correct in our statements, an imprinted and perhaps not always noticed urge to be consistent when writing, telling or noticing whats going on. And this does not seem to go away when changing to a third person perspective.
In carrying the item, then not noticing carrying it for some time, and then again noticing it, you say: what is the point of contesting (the story that you carried it even when not noticing). For me, this is an important question. Maybe one of the main questions concerning the self is this notion of contest?
Can we have a sense of self without the need for defense, a self that can let itself be inconsistent and by doing so can loosen the urge for ownership while gaining integrity and the ability to share reality with ”more subtle ‘knowing’ capacities may emerge which are not indexed into any ‘self’” (TSK p56)?
Hi Brother Bruce,
Hard to express just how much I enjoyed your practice notes on this assignment. I smiled as you integrated a little Integral practice as you engaged this TSK exercise, and the observation/experience of self manifesting in both reflection and intention. I particularly liked how you expressed this:
“…a moment of relaxation dawned and there was a loosening of ownership… The ‘ownership feeling’ itself was not owned, but “tossed up†on the currents of mind.”
The other day Ken McKeon sent me a poem he wrote called “Morning Riff”, that points to my recent “Funky Submarine Blues” post, and references our Viet Nam war memories we shared at the TSK retreat last August, and to my great surprise under the title it said: “For my brother Dave”. Suddenly, from an experience of a ‘moment of relaxing’ my ‘self’ came-out, puffed up like a sloop’s great billowing foresail. (:-) Ken said among other things: (Apologies for cutting up his beautiful poem)
“Taking up the beat, a friend’s note plays out…
Of a riff on one bright saxophone,
I mean that can clear space, bounce and say
The truth and here it is and gone, just like that.
The room is crowded, but a single strong blow
And so what you say holds true,
Mighty and wonderful for now, and then
Refreshments on a silver tray,
So early, so real,
So sip or gulp, take a bit,
Take a big bite,
And rip as you will…”
He then recalls some of the horrors of the war, the dead, napalm, destructions of worlds individual and shared, and how war continues in our world and in our minds. He points to not just the joys of life experience but the pain and suffering of all sentient beings. He suggests perhaps
“Simple straightforward serious or whimsical welcoming
In this great or small join-in world we have…
With all the children and all the grand this’s and that’s,
And all the in-between’s, everybody everywhere embraced,
Without exception, blossoms rising, blossoms falling,
Blossoms held, then released, so borne we might find each other,
In the moment held to care for, touch, enjoy, and then let go,
What will fade is always, and what to cherish, what to be, is now.”
And with this big coming-out self I feel your in-touch observations, Ken’s inclusive all-embracing words, and my personal rhythmic wonder-fullness, put-put-put-putting on… bubble-pop, fizzing away…
David
Hi Bruce,
reading your post another question is arising in my mind about the continuity of the constructed self: How does the “witness” of this moment know, that it is the same one as the “witness” witnessing an hour, a day, a week ago? Isn`t it marvellous? Karin