Why are we afraid to look at ourselves
Why are we afraid to look at ourselves, why don’t we want to know what we are really like? Do we perhaps have some sort of an ideal of what we should be like, but, being human, we cannot quite manage it? Is it that we think we ought to be better than we are? Do we think that the self should be free from the characteristics which we dislike, in ourselves as well as in others? Undoubtedly this is the case, even in people who affect an attitude of: I don’t care what people think of me!
The reluctance to observe or to get to know oneself is, of course, caused by our close identification with body and mind, they constitute the personality, and the personality we believe to be the self. Therefore, we like to present this personality as pleasant and acceptable, not only to others, but to ourselves also.
But in the Vedanta philosophy we learn that the perishable body and mind are not the self, the real Self is pure spirit, undying and immutable. Consciously or unconsciously, the soul of man seeks unity, identity. Not knowing that his real identity is one and the same as the universal, cosmic consciousness, he seeks for it in the things he can feel, see and hear.
Although man believes that he is an independent, self-existing entity, he nevertheless seeks to have things in common with those he likes to belong to, often to the exclusion of others. The finite ego likes to think he is rather different, perhaps in some ways even a bit special. If he cannot convince himself that he is, he may like to think that his family or his country, or his group, or whatever he believes in, is special. Or else he may think that all that applies to others does not apply to him, and then that makes him special – to entirely dismiss and disbelieve what his forebears have believed in, to throw it all out just for the sake of it, for the desire to be different.
If he cannot be special in so far that he is competent or has some ability, accomplishment or other achievement, he seeks compensation and goes in the opposite direction, revolting against all that is normally held to be decent and orderly, and sees himself as being different by holding in disdain all these things; he then gets satisfaction out of that – for satisfaction is what everyone is after, everyone is in need of it. Everyone strives after physical and physiological satisfaction; hunger and thirst, desire for sleep, for rest, desire for entertainment, for culture – or its substitute – all clamour for satisfaction. There is also the need for psychological satisfaction – sympathy, appreciation, companionship, love.
But over and above these natural desires there is – in man – a craving for more. There is not only demand for more and more possession, there is also greater emotional greed. There was never a time when there were so many possibilities for the gratification of the senses. Advertisements are taking care that the pleasure drive is kept at full speed. We are told what to eat and why, what to drink and when, what to buy and where to go to borrow money. If we allow ourselves to be taken along with those who tell us what to do, how to behave, what drug to take, where to go and when to demonstrate dissatisfaction, we really surrender what little liberty we may have.
In the exuberance of youth people believe that excitement alone gives pleasure, that they must lose themselves in extrovert activities. Though they suffer the aftermath, the staleness and the following emptiness, yet they delude themselves in thinking that the solution is a repeat performance and that the heightening of the pleasures experienced will give further and greater pleasure.
Not until all this or at least a great deal of it has been experienced, together with the disappointments which follow, do they sit back and do some real thinking; but thinking is effort, and one may not be practised at it. But one could ask oneself some questions: “Am I really a free agent?” “Am I really free to select what I will do?”
I may be free to select my friends, my hobbies, how to spend my leisure hours, and within certain limitations I am free to do so. But am I free to select my thoughts, my feelings, my reactions, am I free to determine the course of my inner life? Can I make a choice by saying: “I shall not get upset, I shall not get overjoyed, nor disturbed in adversity, I shall not react unpleasantly!” But are my feelings and reactions up to me? And if not, why not? Is it not strange that when it comes to my very own, most intimate life, I am not free at all? This kind of self-questioning is the beginning of self-observation, leading to self-awareness, self-realization.
The identification with the personality – including feelings and emotion – produces all kinds of obstacles, such as pride and the sense of prestige, arising from the idea of ‘otherness’. This in turn brings about comparison, but comparison is only possible in the realm of duality, where the finite, relative self perceives differences. The sense of prestige is said to be the most cherished of all human prejudices, and man is ever at pains to protect and preserve his prestige.
To observe the inner life with its urges and desires is a well- known practice to followers of Buddhism, but seems to be designed for those who are already of a temperate nature and are able to lead a quiet life, away from provocation and worldly concerns. In such a life it may be easier to develop the spirit of detachment which is advocated in all religions, but a worldly life gives more opportunity for practice. Detachment means to look at the inner fluctuations as something not belonging to the Self, it demands the practice of disidentification from the personality, from mind, body and feelings.
But if I am not this compound of body and mind, what then am I? To disidentify from them, surely I must identify with something, otherwise I would be in a state of nothingness, which is impossible. Here Yoga differs from Buddhism. In Yoga, we seek and affirm identity with the real Self, the Atman of the Upanishads, who is of the nature of pure Being, pure Consciousness, pure Intelligence. In the Ashtavakra Gita, the sage addresses his mind thus:
“O Child, the net of self-identification with the body has imprisoned thee long enough. With the sword of the knowledge ‘I am Intelligence’ cut this illusion and be blissful.”
“Always contemplate the ever-fixed Intelligence, the non-dual Atman. Giving up all inner and outer identification of the Self with the not-self, abandon the notion of the individual self.”
This practice of affirmation of identity with the real Self, the Atman, should go hand in hand with the practice of disidentification. The affirmation has to be made, even if one is only dimly aware of what this Atman is. What stands in the way of preventing identification with the finite self, the ego, are the oscillations of feelings and reactions, of which we think they are ‘me’. Before we can expect to have thought or mind control, there must be a reasonable control of emotions – which does not mean suppression. If attacks of anger or any passion are suppressed, then that effort has to be repeated every time and takes up much energy.
To develop the habit of self-observation is a better and easier way to control or at least subdue unwanted emotions. To begin with one could start with one of the milder ones, such as irritation, which is a forerunner of other, stronger passions and emotions, and which besets everyone almost daily. A physical pain has a location somewhere in the body, but a mental pain of even a mild form can also be felt somewhere in the body, but is mostly overlooked; we put up with it and do not bother to find out exactly how and where it is felt. But it is possible to become alerted to this reaction and locate it physically. Perhaps there is only a slight vibration in the nervous system, but this vibration can be made the focus of attention.
In this practice we do not look for the ‘cause’. We forget about ‘he insulted me’, ‘she ignored me’, etc., and concentrate on the uprising reaction. We may insist that he or she ‘caused’ the irritation, but it is the ego who produces it. Nothing and nobody can compel me to react in any particular manner; it is myself alone who responds, and the nature of my response is of my own decision.
When taking up the position of the observer, we do not comment on what is being observed, nor do we argue with it. The observer remains entirely neutral and without judgement. If there is reluctance to even make an attempt to observe, then this reluctance would in itself be an excellent first exercise. Disidentification demands awareness of all reactions, whether it is resentment when being criticised or pleasure when being praised.
This attitude is not achieved all at once, but when persisted with, it becomes an effortless habit. A similar attitude should prevail when we experience a sense of failure in our meditation or maintain that ‘I am unable to meditate’. This thought of failure or any doubt about one’s abilities should be looked at as outsiders, they are the real ‘others’, they are the not-self.
The knowledge gained in the field of science and technology in this century is enormous and its further possibilities can be terrifying. It is of course fascinating to explore the outer universe, and time, trouble, great skill and much money are considered well worth while in this field, never mind the side effects and the possibility of making one great mess of this world of ours. The mind of man is also being investigated, up to a point and not with the same enthusiasm as is given to outer research, we are intrigued when analysts expose what they have dug up in the psyche of their patients, and we talk about ‘them’ as if we had nothing to do with ‘them’. But all mankind is one of ‘them’, including the analyst. Psychologists tell us that when people read for the first time about the findings in the process of analysing their patients, there are, roughly speaking, two types of reactions. The first one says: “Ah, is that what ‘they’ are like!” The second one says: “God forbid! If that is what I am like, then I don’t want to know about it!”
In cases like this, there is identification of a second degree, so to speak. The first reader’s reaction is to identify with the author, the second one with the subject under discussion. The mind links itself involuntarily with whatever presents itself to it at the moment, and is forever busy. Only when watching a play or a film are we handing over our feelings voluntarily, and even then the mind identifies with one or other of the characters, if only to a mild degree.
It is not claimed that there will be no emotional reactions, but they will lose their power and influence. What is gained by self-observation is not only detachment from reactions to ‘causes’, but also to one’s own shortcomings; we realize that none are exempt from egoistic tendencies – neither ‘they’ nor ‘me’. We look at them in quietness and give full attention to what really matters.
But it must be stressed that the ability to practice this kind of self-observation rests on the maturity of the conviction: “I am not this body-mind compound, I am not the emotional fluctuations, which come and go. I am the infinite, imperishable Self.”
Jonanna Bowes