Understanding Not-Self (1) — Investigating Moment-to-Moment Experience
When I look for something about me that persists unchanged from birth to death, I find nothing
In what is seen, let there be just the seen. In what is heard, let there be just the heard. In what is sensed, let there be just the sensed. In what is cognized, let there be just the cognized. Then, Bāhiya, you will not be in that. When you are not in that, there is no you there. When there is no you there, then you are neither here nor there nor in between. This, just this, is the end of suffering.
— BUDDHA (from the Udana)
Knowing about my interest in Buddhism, friends occasionally ask me to explain the concept of not-self.
This conversation matters because it points to the core of the Buddha’s teaching.
One school of thought says that if you “get” not-self, then you “get” Buddhism.
There it is in the above quote: “This, just this, is the end of suffering.”
Sounds elegant and simple, right?
Unpacking what the Buddha meant, however, presents us with a series of dilemmas.
For one thing, talking about not-self is like talking about orgasms: No description matches the actual experience.
The Buddha spoke about not-self at length. But he emphasized that this teaching can only be understood via direct experience — that is, through the practice of meditation.
This process can take months or even years. Not-self is a teaching to explore repeatedly until it sinks downward from your intellect into your gut.
In this series I’ll offer some ways of talking about not-self that work for me. However, my aim is simply to reinforce meditation practice rather than replace it. All I can do is convey something about what’s it’s like to dwell inside this teaching.
Another challenge: Conversations about not-self generate strong feelings — often vigorous opposition:
You’re telling me that I don't have a self? That’s absurd. My sense of self is the most obvious thing in the world.
If I don't have a self, then everything I’ve ever done and accomplished in my life has just been a waste of time.
If I don’t have a self, then who was it that got up this morning, got dressed, and came here to meet you?
No self? Then who is it that’s born? And who dies?
This places discussions of not-self in the same category as conversations about politics, religion, or going vegan.
Proceed with caution.
Long ago I gave up any notion of trying to convince people of not-self. This way of seeing arises from practice rather than thinking. All I can do is suggest metaphors for this insight and invite you to do your investigation.
In fact, I’ll avoid the topic unless I sense that you’re open to a different point of view.
You are? Wonderful. Then let’s proceed.
Good discussions start with defining terms. So what is the self, any way?
I went online to search for a definition and got results such as:
the union of elements (such as body, emotions, thoughts, and sensations) that constitute the individuality and identity of a person (Merriam-Webster)
the totality of the individual, consisting of all characteristic attributes, conscious and unconscious, mental and physical (American Psychological Association)
the set of someone's characteristics, such as personality and ability, that are not physical and make that person different from other people (Cambridge Dictionary)
Scrolling through these paragraphs immediately raised red flags.
These definitions are all over the place. They’re filled with vague terms, and they often contradict each other.
Defining self is no walk in the park, even for psychologists.
This is unsettling.
And revealing.
Definitions of self do have one thing in common: They point to some aspect of our experience that persists continuously from birth to death.
Okay. This is good. Here is something that we can test.
The practice of meditation puts our moment-to-moment, conscious experience under the microscope. If we’re going to find something in ourselves that persists through a lifetime of constant change, then it’s here that we need to look.
According to the Buddha, the primary elements of experience are streams of sensations and thoughts. (He sometimes referred to an individual as stream.)
This aligns perfectly with my experience of sitting meditation — which is something that you can also try for yourself.
Sit down on your cushion and close your eyes. Take a deep breath and just sit still for a minute or two. Notice what happens.
For me, it’s like entering a dark movie theater with a screen at the front of the room. On the screen is a continuous stream of images and words — the contents of my mind.
In addition, I notice a stream of physical sensations: tingling, vibrating, pressure, warmth, coolness, and a host of others that defy verbal description.
That’s it. Just thoughts and sensations. I don’t find anything else.
Moreover, these streams are constantly changing. Thoughts tumble upon one another, arising chaotically from God-knows-where and then disappearing into the void. Same for physical sensations.
Watching this internal chaos over hours of sitting meditation really chips away at my sense of self.
That childhood experience which seems so central to my identity? It’s just a thought, a passing memory. Maybe it’s not even accurate. Maybe I can let it go.
That first romantic relationship which I thought would last forever? It’s another memory, a flicker of thought that disappears into darkness.
Even chronic aches and pains can break up. Through the lens of meditative self-observation, I discover that these sensations are not constant. In fact, they come in waves. They start out as relatively mild, crescendo to a peak, and then roll back like receding waves.
Sometimes I even see spaces between the waves, when thought and sensation are simply not present.
Who am I then?
Some people point to a third primary element of experience — the watcher, the witness, the one who watches thoughts and sensations arise and pass.
Okay, this seems like solid ground. We can stand here.
Not so fast, says the Buddha.
Actually, there’s no such thing.
This observer that you talk about? It’s just a thought, just a sensation. The observer also arises and passes.
For more about this, see Kenneth Folk on the three-gear guide to enlightenment.
I’ll summarize it for you: Take refuge in the witness. Then allow the witness to disappear.
Sound scary? Don’t worry.
You get to keep our sense of self. No one is telling us to get rid of it. In fact, we need a sense of self in order to carry out the tasks of everyday life.
Yes, the elements of experience undergo constant change, but not everything changes all at once. There truly is some continuity about us. It’s this fact — I'm guessing — that largely accounts for our ordinary sense of self.
So let’s hold our selfhood flexibly. Let’s see it as dynamic rather than static, as a useful tool for living rather than absolute truth.