The Sense of Self

Perspectives from Science and Zen Buddhism

Richard W. Sears

• Publisher: Palgrave Macmillan
• Year: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781137563712
• Topic: Psicologia
• Subtopic: Psicologia clinica

At the heart of this book is one of the most ancient and profound question philosophers, spiritual seekers, and curious individuals have pondered since the beginning of history: "Who am I?". Advances in modern science, and access to Zen tradition, have provided us with broader and richer understanding of this topic. Over the chapters the author, a psychologist and Zen master, investigates how the brain fosters a sense of an independent self, situating his research in the contexts of neuroscience, ecology, evolution, psychology, and of the principles Eastern wisdom traditions. The book explores a broad range of insights from brain science, evolutionary biology, astronomy, clinical psychology, thoughts and emotions, mental health disorders, and Zen Buddhism. This book will appeal to psychologists, psychiatrists, social workers, counsellors, and researchers of Eastern traditions. General readers interested in the functioning of the brain will dis cover practical ways to integrate fascinating new findings on an age-old question into their everyday life.

© The Author(s) 2016

Richard W. SearsThe Sense of Self10.1057/978-1-137-56371-2_1

Begin Abstract

1. Who Am I?

Richard W. Sears¹

(1)

Center for Clinical Mindfulness & Meditation, Cincinnati, USA

End Abstract

Out of the blue, my six-year-old daughter at the dinner table recently asked, “How did I get to be me? I mean, how are you you Daddy, and you you Mommy, and I me? I mean I’m here, but how am I a different person here? How am I me? I just don’t understand it.” I said something about how she can plant a seed and watch it grow into a plant, and that she sort of was created with seeds that grew in her mommy’s tummy, and that she keeps growing. She then insightfully asked where the seed came from. I expressed my delight in her even asking such questions, but then attention quickly went to finishing her vegetables, and to the game she would play before bedtime.

As a clinical psychologist, I often work with people who are stuck in a struggle with their distressing thoughts. I teach them to notice their thoughts, rather than identifying with them, which relaxes the grip those thoughts have on the person. However, sometimes an insightful person will ask me, “If I’m not my thoughts, who am I?” I usually advise them to investigate this question further on their own, but here I will offer a number of perspectives on how to answer this age-old question.

In modern society, the average person rarely pauses to consider this, but “Who am I?” is a profound question that philosophers, spiritual seekers, and children have pondered since the beginning of recorded history. To answer this question, each individual human being struggles from his or her unique set of experiences or perspectives, and has been influenced by a particular culture or historical tradition.

To add to the confusion, we seem to live so many different lives. Even our names change over time. I am called different things by different people in my life: Ricky, Rick, Richard, Dr. Sears, Dr. Richard, Jishou, Watoshi, Thich Duc Lieu, Reverend, Venerable, and sometimes jerk. But as Shakespeare asked, what’s in a name? We might change our names when we want to feel more mature, or when we join a spiritual tradition. What we are called is also reflective of our role, such as Daddy, Honey, Sir, Son, Boss, Professor, or Teacher. Even saying I am “a human being,” is only a concept, an artificial method of classification.

With improvements in the instruments and techniques of science, and with the ability to immediately access information from around the world, we are at last beginning to be able to empirically investigate this ancient question in a more direct way.

The purpose of this book is to explore how the human brain, molded by our experiences from our environment and our culture, creates the sense of who we are. We feel ourselves to be isolated, independent entities, despite the fact that we cannot exist in isolation. Our bodies need such things as air, water, and a particular set of environmental conditions just as much as we need a heart and lungs. Despite this, most of us feel that we end at the boundary of the skin, and feel quite disconnected from the world around us.

Due to the profundity of the question of who we are, we will draw from a wide variety of disciplines. In addition to neuroscience (the study of the brain and nervous system), we will explore the context of this issue from the perspective of history, ecology, evolution, psychology, astronomy, and the teachings of Zen and other Eastern wisdom traditions.

A brief digression about my background may be helpful to set the context for our explorations in the following chapters. Ever since I was a young boy, I have been fascinated by science. I wanted to understand how things worked, and why things were the way they were. I was born shortly before the first moon landing, and became fascinated by astronomy. I built “space probes” out of cardboard boxes, string, and Legos. I did simple experiments with my chemistry set, and formed simple radios and metal detectors with my electronics kit. My next-door neighbor and I created a “bomb shelter” in our backyard to test what we hoped to be various incendiary concoctions, though fortunately none of them ever worked.

I found social interactions more challenging to figure out than science. I tried to pay attention to how people interacted with each other, as best my young mind could. I quickly learned that people were defined by what they did. I was often asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I first wanted to become a hockey player, but my mother was rather discouraging when she watched people beating each other bloody with their sticks on the ice. As my reading skills improved, so did my dreams of what I could become. Through the written word, I could explore the fascinating realms of outer space, the underwater adventures of Jacques Cousteau, and the medieval exploits of knights in armor.

By the time I turned 15, I fell in love with the martial arts. Here was a way I could develop confidence, stimulate myself intellectually, and defend myself against the omnipresent bullies, the bane of every school child. I religiously watched the television program Kung Fu, whose protagonist connected to the wisdom of the universe, and could defeat the most brutal of attackers.

In 1980, Stephen K. Hayes returned from Japan to promote the secret art of the ninja. Though the ninja were devastating martial artists, they used their arts as a way to find spiritual peace. Mr. Hayes’ books were full of descriptions of physical techniques, intelligent strategy, and inspiring philosophy that hinted at a great depth of secret wisdom. After I began studying with Mr. Hayes, I became connected to one of his mentors, Clark Jikai Choffy, in the mikkyo or “secret teachings” tradition of Buddhism.

When I received my first booklet on mikkyo, I was fascinated by the esoteric, or hidden knowledge of the Vajrayana, or “diamond path” tradition that had been passed down for thousands of years. I could tell immediately that although these teachings were influenced by the cultures in which they developed, this was not a collection of superstitious beliefs, but a carefully thought out system of deep and profound insights into the nature of the human mind.

As captivating as the teachings were, there was one point that my 15-year-old brain could simply not accept—the doctrine of “no-self.” How could I not have a self? It was my self that was reading the booklet! My ad hoc strategy was simply to ignore that particular teaching, and focus on the more interesting and inspiring topics.

Yet, the issue of self was not one I could continuously ignore. I used to laugh when I heard people talk about “finding themselves.” I thought I knew exactly who I was. But as I grew older, I began to recognize just how profound this question really was. How could I even begin to answer the question “who am I?” And am I really the me that I think that I am?

As a child, I would sometimes do things that seemed fun and exciting (I once used a 30-foot rope to slide down from a roof vent into my school), but if I was caught doing something I was not supposed to be doing, I was told, “That’s not like you!” This was confusing to my young mind. How could anything “I” did be “not like me”?

When I turned 19, I began to formally study the esoteric teachings with the author of that first booklet I had read on Buddhism. When I was 21, he matter-of-factly stated one day, “You know, if we were in Japan, considering all of the work we have done, you would have been ordained by now. I think I’ll ordain you and Stephen Hayes.” So, I felt honored to shave my head and receive the black robes of a priest, even though I did not feel comfortable with being called a “Buddhist,” since I was mostly just fascinated with learning all I could from a broad range of disciplines. I was also honored to have the opportunity to share this ceremony with Mr. Hayes, a man who continues to be my most inspiring mentor.

I got married and lived a fairly normal life, but on occasion I would teach a seminar on meditation and don my black robes. I was astonished at the deference that simple black cloth afforded me. At the youthful age of 21, people were asking me all manner of questions about personal and relationship issues. Fortunately, I retained enough humility to resist pretending that I knew all the answers, and I might have even helped a few people just by listening to their concerns.

After a time, however, I began to grow increasingly disillusioned with what I was studying. Though the wisdom contained in the teachings was quite profound, it was often confusingly intertwined with irrelevant cultural traditions. I found it odd that so many Westerners argued over minutiae of form, sometimes forgetting the teachings of compassion. I also found that these traditions often attracted people who were struggling with emotional issues, seeking an escape from their problems. While ultimately these teachings can provide spiritual peace, they were not developed to deal specifically with many of the problems of modern society.

It was at this point that I swung back to science, though I had of course never fully abandoned it. The profession of clinical psychologist seemed to be the most appealing to me, because it offered a wide range of topics to study, and it provided a variety of ways to help others. In my doctoral program, I eagerly consumed the recent research findings on the workings of the human brain. This endeavor took up so much of my time and interest that I began to let go of my interest in Eastern teachings.

Interestingly, the deeper I delved into the hard facts of science, and especially into the cutting edge of brain research, the more I was struck by how many similarities existed with the teachings of the ancient wisdom traditions. This led me back into the Eastern teachings in a new, reinvigorated way. In studying with Venerable Wonji Dharma, I received transmission as a Zen master. I had come full circle (perhaps several times), and began to clearly see that both perspectives complement each other.

We live in an exciting time. No longer are ancient wisdom teachings dispersed only in isolated caves. No longer must you have a doctorate degree to have access to the latest scientific research. With improved communication and availability of knowledge, I now believe that human beings are uniquely poised to understand both the “how” and the “what” of who we are.

When I recently went to a fundraising lunch with His Holiness the Dalai Lama, he told the head Tibetan monk of a local teaching center to partner with local scientists to produce some original scientific research studies when he came back in two years. The Dalai Lama is perhaps somewhat unique as a spiritual leader—he feels that if science disproves any of the teachings of Buddhism, the teachings should be modified. He believes that good science should be believed over mere authority or tradition. However, the Dalai Lama playfully smiles when he states that perhaps science will also have something to learn from the ancient wisdom traditions.

Just because science has limitations, it should not be dropped. Similarly, just because they are rooted in a cultural context, the ancient wisdom traditions should not be dismissed out of hand. Interdisciplinary studies is a growing field, one in which many universities now offer a Ph.D. degree. Integration will be important in advancing our knowledge, though it will also be important to do this skillfully. One of the most frustrating things I come across today is the attempt of someone in one discipline to take pieces of another discipline and jump to untenable conclusions. While exploratory attempts are useful, we must be comfortable challenging ourselves and others to support the ideas we present. I feel that my background in multiple disciplines gives me a unique point of view that might serve to stimulate further research and discussion.

I can think of no more fascinating topic than studying the self. The self is with us always. Everyone has one, though we identify the self differently in different cultures. In the Western culture, we tend to point to our chest when we ask someone, “Who me?” The Japanese tend to point to the nose when asking, “Who me?” The ancient Egyptians thought highly of the heart, but drained away the brain. An ancient Greek philosopher thought the brain was no more than a radiation system, a place the blood runs through to allow heat to escape.

An early idea, which is still held by many people subconsciously today, is that of the homunculus, or small person, living inside the skull, somewhere behind the eyes and between the ears (Watts 1966). Of course, this leads to an infinite regression. Who is inside the skull of the homunculus, and who is inside that skull?

Though few of us ever take the time to do so, it is very interesting to explore more deeply what we mean by “self.” When you say “I am,” who is this I? You say, as Alan Watts (1966) observed, that you are a person, or you are a parent, accountant, American, and so many other labels. However, certain things you say you have, like a body, thoughts, and feelings. Who is it that “has” this body?

In this book we will be doing a very strange thing. We will be selves in search of selves. How amazing it is that brains have evolved to the point where they can study themselves. As we will discuss in the chapter on Eastern wisdom traditions, Zen and other philosophical systems have always seen an inherent problem with a self investigating itself. As we look for the feeler of the feelings, the experiencer of the experience, and the thinker of the thoughts, we may get lost, confused, and misinterpret our findings. It is here that science and the ancient wisdom traditions have something in common. They both attempt to understand the nature of who we are in a systematic, empirical way. Although modern science will help us understand more about the self and the brain, the ancient Eastern traditions can help us interpret the findings, can help us make sense of what we discover, and can provide suggestions for how to integrate our understanding into daily life. In the view of Zen, when you are looking for yourself, it is like a sword trying to cut itself, or a tooth trying to bite itself, or a fingertip trying to touch itself. It is like walking around in search of your head—it has been there all along, and there was really no need to search in the first place, because the one searching is the would-be searchee. After intellectually uncovering what the self really is, our lives will go on just as they have, but the journey may just leave us with a bit more wisdom and understanding of our place in the world.

Throughout the course of this book, we will explore the following questions:

• What is the self?
• Why do I feel separate from the world?
• Why do I feel trapped in this body, even if I intellectually know I need my environment to live?
• Why does the sense of who I am feel continuous, even though I know I am a different person today than when I was a child?
• What is the role of the brain in the formulation of who I am?
• How am I connected to this vast universe?
• What are the social and societal influences on who I am?
• I have a new perspective—now what?
• How can this self change itself?

Science and philosophy are coming together to generate some very real answers to these age-old questions. Sometimes, however, clarifying the actual meanings of the questions can be more productive than trying to “answer” them. Consider the fact that questions come from ignorance and from misunderstanding. If my questions are misinformed, they may be moot, or the answers I get may be impossible to interpret. People throughout history have puzzled over how to solve problems that were not really problems.

For example, if I have only experienced being in a canoe, and I want to learn about a sailboat, I might puzzle, struggle, and ask questions about how to paddle the thing. I will end up exhausting myself and getting nowhere. If someone tells me to use the sail, assuming I have never heard of it before, I will be completely baffled by these words, and stuck on the importance of the paddle. Yet, if someone raises the sail, and operates it skillfully, the boat will seem to travel by itself. Similarly, if I let go of the struggle to understand a certain arbitrary definition of who I am, I may discover I was wrestling with the wrong question, and I can let go and operate smoothly through the rest of my life.

By learning more about how we define ourselves, we will come to find that certain aspects of our self-concept are cultural, and oftentimes somewhat arbitrary. In the light of deeper understanding, we may choose to identify with a greater sense of being, rather than feeling like a ghost trapped in a bag of skin.

Before conducting research and drawing conclusions, scientists must first be clear on their definitions, but this can be quite challenging when it comes to the self. What do we mean by “self?” How is this different from consciousness?

When St. Augustine of Hippo wrote about time, he said “When you don’t ask me, I know what it is, but when you ask me, I don’t know” (St. Augustine, Confessions, XI, 14). Likewise, we each have a sense of what we mean by “self,” but it is difficult to put into words. Herein lies a clue about our need to look more closely to understand who we are.

Clarifying what comprises our concept of self will facilitate our understanding. We will attempt to explore various aspects of the self throughout this book, and I will offer my own definition later, but we will begin with checking the dictionary. Merriam-Webster (2008) gives one definition of self as “the union of elements (as body, emotions, thoughts, and sensations) that constitute the indiv...