The Self : The Greatest Illusion

The Self: The Greatest Illusion

What is your self?

Oxford dictionary defines the self as “a person’s essential being that distinguishes them from others, especially considered as the object of introspection or reflexive action”. You. 

The self is basically considered to be the essence of you. 

It is your past,your future, your personality, your thoughts, your memories. 

As you lie in bed each morning, just woken up, with your eyes straining to make sense of your

surroundings and the nighttime’s haze slowly lifting from your mind, the first-person observer of reality reassembles itself to take on the new day. That first-person observer is your self.

Your self is many things indeed. But one thing it might not be is real.

The claim that the self does not exist seems erroneous, and even ludicrous. If your self isn’t real, who are you? Isn’t the doubt of the existence of the self, proof enough that the self does indeed exist?

As we try to make sense of it all, getting a grip on the true notion of the self is tricky. Thankfully scientists have amalgamated three fundamental beliefs about the self. First: the self is unchanging and continuous. Second: the self is the “unifier” of the world around us. Third: the self is an agent, meaning it thinks and acts. Two different models of the self, based on these three fundamental beliefs, have been determined: that of a string of pearls, and that of a rope.

According to the first model, the self is a continuous and constant element that runs through our life like a thread runs through the string of pearls. It is present at every moment of our lives yet is always unchanging. Our mood fluctuations, changes of opinions or tastes, symbolized by the pearls, have no effect on this thread of self.

However,the empirical evidence scientists claim so far on the self points towards the second model. Presumably, just as a rope is made up of a sequence of overlapping short fibres, the self would be a continuity of overlapping mental events.

Regardless of the chosen model, it is clear that the sense of self is an effortless, intuitive and axiomatic human experience. But it is nothing more than an intricate illusion.

The Buddhists were the first to assert that there is no unique individual self, by stating that everything is impermanent and the self is an illusion. In Buddhism, “suffering comes from craving, and the idea of the self is a craving for immortality”.

For the less religious, there is also empirical evidence that suggests the sense of self is no more than an illusion, no more than an elaborate construct of the mind.

But it seems to serve us well: the illusion is so anchored in us, and so useful to our reality, that it is impossible- and maybe even dangerous- to shake it off.

Claiming unhappiness

“ I claim the right to be unhappy.”  

By claiming the right to be unhappy, like the savage in Brave New World, I claim the right to live. “ I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.”

Nonsense you would say. Fool’s reasoning. No it isn’t and let me explain why.

Why would one refuse to live in a perfect society, with ideal happiness, comfort, safety?

Happiness is unreal and inaccessible, this is not a streak of teen pessimism, and it is true.

In order to obtain happiness, the real kind, the true kind, we would have to rid our world of what is the essence of all beauty: passion.

So much would have to be lost and destroyed.

All reflections would have to be abandoned, questionings proscribed, all sorts of introspection forbidden…all these lead to unhappiness.

Only imbeciles, who are in the end most intelligent, because they manage to be contempt with nothing, and do not look to question but simply accept things “ straight from the horse’s mouth”, are happy. As the French put it: “imbecile heureux”.

However we need passion, as tortured souls are the creators.

Without the reasons that lead one to dwell upon ending one’s life we would have no Macbeth, without decadence and broken passions no Baudelaire, without pain and fear no Scream.

You might argue that passions do nothing but consume. And, throughout Greek tragedies we witness heroes torn by ungodly passions and condemned for such behaviors by destiny. Passions are fatal, uncontrollable, but human.

We need them as much as we need despair to have hope, to learn to hate to be able to love, to know fear to become heroic.

Life is not a straight path, one with no crevasses; it is a combination of textures.

To reach the golden planes you have to climb the rocky mountains. It may sound naïve, and go ahead disagree, but is it not true?

We do have a right to happiness, and I believe this as much as I claim that I need, not want, but need unhappiness.

But, this does not mean we are given happiness, we have to find it and safeguard it.

Furthermore, we as a race are not made for happiness.

In order to be happy we would have to be reduced to animals, with no self-awareness, simply ruled by instinct and striving to fulfill satisfactions such as dominating the group, feeding and procreating.

To be happy you would have to be penciled into Brave New World, fully conditioned and “somified.”

Sure, you can go ahead and romanticize about true love and “happy forever afters.”

I would be the first one to fall for that, but don’t be fooled.

With love come many things: jealousy, fear, pain, hurt and loss, all this we accept for joy, comfort, dreams and the other.

Also, to be aware of happiness we need unhappiness.

It is impossible to have it any other way.

As conscious beings, we need to compare things to others, analyze our feelings and then draw conclusions.

For example how can I state that I’m happy today if it weren’t for many other factors?  

I wouldn’t say this if we hadn’t had another miserable day yesterday, if I hadn’t gotten a terrible mark, been late to class once again and fought over petty matters with a friend.

Today would be better not because of the comfy sweater I’m wearing or because I’m rested and not on the verge of starvation, but simply because I can confidently say that today was better than yesterday, therefore I’m happy.

But if every day was equally happy to the preceding, with constant abundance, surprises, ongoing comfort, no worries…well then that would lead to boredom.

Wouldn’t I then go looking for something else? Desiring for something to come and throw unbalance into a happy world, force me to act, fight and strive?

Maybe I say this because I don’t know any better, but if you disagree, neither do you.

Reality is not synonym of happiness, one could find refuge in drugs, but there effect is temporary, until they backstab you.

There is no escape from unhappiness, it is something we are forced to accept and overcome, and we console ourselves by believing it is necessary. Is it?

It is a question I, we, can’t answer until we know of another alternative, but for now we do need stimulation, trouble and impasses, which derive from unhappiness so we can live to find happiness.

By Victoria Taittinger