Of The 'I'

'Why 'Of The I'?'

While searching for a band name, we asked ourselves if there was a theme that connected all of our songs. Soon we realized that everything we talk about revolves, in some way or another, around the issue of the self; 'I' is the most central concept in our existence. There are two senses of 'I': in everyday usage, 'I' represents an illusory self - the 'ego'. This sense of identity is the basis for all interpretations of reality. Everything we experience is filtered through this 'I' and we have no idea what the world looks like without it. The second sense of 'I' is the true self, awareness, presence, whatever you want to call it (naming it is anyway futile task, as the Buddha saw, who refused to call it anything and instead just denied it). This basic awareness connects us all and is responsible for all existence, including that of the ego. Obviously I don't know all of this, and I assume that you don't either, but we have all had experiences that were between being and ego, and these experiences provide enough motivation to dig deeper.

Construction of the Ego

As we are born, our first experiences are (presumably) those of undifferentiated awareness. Since our minds aren't properly structured yet, there is no real interpretation but only perception. As soon as we learn that a particular sequence of sounds is our name, we begin to equate a word with who we are. A little later, we do the same with the word 'I'. Slowly, other thoughts appear and become part of the original I-thought. The next step is identification with possessions. 'When 'my' toy breaks or is taken away, intense suffering arises. Not because of any intrinsic value that the toy has - we will soon lose interest in it, and it will be replaced by other toys - but because of the thought of 'mine'. The toy has become part of our developing sense of self, or 'I' (Tolle, A New Earth, 29). As we grow up, we slip into gender-roles (and are forced into them) and begin to shape our identities in accordance with social class, physical appearance, race, views, interests, music and fashion tastes, etc. As more things are added to this ego-structure, we become increasingly convinced that these things are what we truly are.

The ego plays many roles: the rebellious punk, the successful business executive, the tough gangster, the teenage-emo, the housewife, the family guy, or the victim (people develop illnesses to remain in the role of the victim). These roles represent a misguided search for identity and are an expression of the need to be noticed. In many cases we define ourselves by the football club we support, the religious community we belong to, or the company we work for. Corporations are macrocosms of ego, branded with a certain identity, competing with others for more. As for us: ironically, the only way 'Of The I' can be a successful band is if we manage to convince our audience to become part of our collective identity.

Drive and Reactivity

The ego has an inherent drive to sustain itself. Success in strengthening it brings pleasure, while failure causes pain. Of course, success depends strongly on others; our self-worth is often determined by what people think of us. If we are praised, the ego is strengthened and we are happy, but if we are criticized, the ego takes a hit and it hurts (though it will quickly find a way to compensate). Obviously, this is all very personal. Since we have used our opinions, possessions, and beliefs to define who we are, when they are criticized, we are criticized. The ego is always ready: we become defensive, and without second thought, we react - either verbally or quietly in our heads. Mark Epstein offers a good characterization of our day-to-day minds:

'We are constantly murmuring, muttering, scheming, or wondering to ourselves under our breath: comforting ourselves, in a perverse fashion, with our own silent voices. Much of our interior life is characterized by this kind of primary process, almost infantile, way of thinking: I like this. I don't like that. She hurt me. How can I get that? More of this, no more of that.' These emotionally tinged thoughts are our attempts to keep the pleasure principle operative. Much of our inner dialogue, rather than the 'rational' secondary process that is usually associated with the thinking mind, is this constant reaction to experience by a selfish, childish protagonist. None of us has moved very far from the seven-year-old who vigilantly watches to see who got more.' (Epstein, Thoughts Without A Thinker, 110).

Thinking without Awareness

The voice in our head is rarely silent. It is a constant source of distraction that prevents us from being still and present in the now.

"Thinking without awareness is the main dilemma of human existence"
(Tolle, 32).

When I began my studies in philosophy, I was convinced that my professors, with all their acquired knowledge, would have to be some of the wisest and most fulfilled creatures I would ever meet. But soon I began to see that only very few of them had been successful in translating their intellect into real understanding. While the rest of them were all very clever and extremely skilled at breaking down reality into thoughts and concepts, they did not seem to have gained anything deeper from it. In fact, this very tendency seemed to prevent them from looking beyond and discovering real meaning. As Eckhart Tolle writes, thought can imprison us:

"The quicker you are in attaching verbal or mental labels to things, people, or situations, the more shallow and lifeless your reality becomes, and the more deadened you become to reality, the miracle of life that continuously unfolds within and around you. In this way, cleverness may be gained, but wisdom is lost, and so are joy, creativity, and aliveness. They are concealed in the still gap between the perception and the interpretation."
(Tolle, 26-27).

Deconstructing the Ego

How do we find this gap? How do we stop the incessant stream of thoughts to live, if only for a short while, in the present moment? How do we break the identification with our illusory self and discover this underlying awareness? As far as I can tell, it's ridiculously difficult. I also believe that we can probably only provoke this state of mind to a certain extent; I don't think it is a goal we can achieve by simply working hard enough for it. But there is a place to start. The ego's grip on us is loosened when we become aware of its workings - be it in meditation or during every day activities. By standing back from our busy mind, by creating a certain distance, by questioning the ego and recognizing the tricks it plays, by acting as a witness watching a spectacle (rather than an immediately involved agent), we can gradually make the 'shift from emotional reactivity to non-judgmental awareness' (Epstein, 113).

As difficult as this is, it provides an incredible relief. My experience of this is very limited but the few times I have felt it, it seemed more important than anything else. When my grandfather died, for example, although I felt sadness, these personal feelings were trumped by an urge to help out my family. This provided me with a huge relief and a deep sense of freedom: finally I could spend a few days without my usual worries and dedicate my attention to something meaningful.

Traps

Even experiences of this kind are often mixed with ego, however. The illusory self sets up traps that are hard to avoid. I spent a few summers in Buddhist retreats that always made me feel very peaceful and happy. Although I'm sure a big part of these feelings came from letting go, I now know that another part came from an ego delighted by its identification with a new, peaceful and spiritual person. I was proud to have released my self. Epstein offers a good description of this phenomenon: 'As meditation unfolds, the coarser aspects of the self, as personified by emotional upheaval or by the chattering mind, tend to become quieter, but more subtle attachments or identifications become visible in their stead. In this sense, meditation becomes rather like a labyrinth, with each new opening and each new perception about the self revealing yet another opportunity for attachment and release. What the meditator must keep confronting is her own capacity for conceit or pride, her own instinctive thirst for certainty, her own ability to co-opt the meditative process for narcissistic ends. Meditation is a means of indefatigably exposing this narcissism, of highlighting every permutation of the self-experience so that no aspect remains available for narcissistic recruitment.'