Mudita Journal

Objectivism and the Self

March 17, 2003 · Filed under: Intellectual
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I just posted the following to Mudita Forum. I have endeavored to preserve the flow of the discussion as much as possible:

My thanks to Chris Sciabarra, Andrew Schwartz, and Damian M. for their responses to my request for information about an Objectivist definition of “self.”

From Chris’s posting (with many excerpts from Ayn Rand’s writings on the subject of the “self”) I glean that, although she expressed it in different ways, Rand does consistently identify the “self” with the mind, and particularly with the ability to think. I also appreciate Chris’s point that Rand’s concept of mind (and thus the “self”) is expansive, and includes “integrated aspects of perception, volition, focus, reason, abstraction, conception, and so forth.” The notion of an expansive Randian approach to the mind may well be true, yet my sense is that when Ayn Rand speaks of a person’s self or mind, she usually is very much occupied with the individual’s capacity for abstract thought.

Regarding Andrew Schwartz’s posting—and my own question about the categorical status of the “self” (i.e., whether it is an entity, action, or attribute)—the question of experiential phenomena is indeed an interesting one. At first blush, experiences such as “pleasure” seem not to fit into any of the categories.

While I am a specialist neither in epistemology nor in philosophy of mind, I do have some tentative thoughts on the subject. First, note that the nervous system, the organ of consciousness, is part of an entity: the body. Further, consciousness itself is typically characterized as a “faculty,” i.e., a capacity or ability to do something: to be aware. As such, it seems reasonable to conclude that consciousness is an action of the nervous system. Experiential phenomena such as pleasure may, in turn, be attributes of consciousness, specifying the particular quality of consciousness in question.

Incidentally, one shouldn’t get hung up on the grammatical form of the words. The fact that we typically use “consciousness” as a noun does not necessitate that it is an entity. In fact, it is quite common to talk about actions (such as the verb “to run”) in their noun form (e.g., “I went for a run this morning”). The word “consciousness” could be another instance of such usage.

This leads to my best guess about the ultimate category into which the “self” would fit: It is an attribute (or characteristic) of consciousness, which is in turn an act of the nervous system.

I want to reiterate, however, that I’m not an expert in this area, and my intention is not to produce definitive conclusions. Rather, I just want to point out that experiential phenomena may well be reducible to the three fundamental categories of entities, actions, and attributes; and that thinking in these terms may support our endeavor to pin-point the nature of the self.

Damian wins the prize for his quote from the “Objectivist Glossary of Definitions” (which I didn’t even know existed!). I have a lot of Objectivist definitions committed to memory, but I did not know that Rand offered this formal definition of self: “A man’s self is his mind—the faculty that perceives reality, forms judgments, chooses values.” So, according to Rand, the genus is “faculty” and the differentia is “which perceives reality, forms judgments, chooses values.”

Buddhist author Ken McLeod, in contrast, defines the self simply as: “your experience.” Damian points out, however, that it’s hard to directly compare these Objectivist and Buddhist definitions of self, since Buddhists commonly treat psychological insights as though they were metaphysical absolutes. This is quite true. I think it would be a mistake, however, to dismiss the conflict between the two as an artifact of different contexts or intentions.

One reason these disparate conceptions of “self” is important is that, in everyday life, it makes a difference with what we identify our sense of self. It is well-known that if a person identifies his sense of self with his nation (or his thoughts about the nation), then he is more likely to sacrifice his life in defense of the nation. Politicians and generals around the world rely on this tactic during times of war.

It is less well-known, but no doubt equally true, that if you identify your sense of self with a particular idea or a position in an argument, you are more likely to sacrifice your awareness during the argument, order to preserve your sense of self. How many times have you been in an argument and sensed that the person didn’t care about the evidence you were presenting? Doesn’t it seem like this is what’s going on? And how many times might we have been guilty of this error ourselves.

Rand is only a particularly eloquent exponent of a typically American (and probably world-wide) inclination: That of identifying the sense of self with one’s thoughts. Comparing ourselves to animals can embolden the association. (Animals share our capacity for direct experience, but—ah!—do they THINK? No!) And so we may identify our sense of self even more rigidly with our thoughts, as our distinct human heritage.

It is as though the other aspects of consciousness are regarded as less significant than the capacity for thought. Yet allowing such a dichotomy into our mind is dangerous, as it threatens to sever thoughts (and values, etc.) from their origins: The pure, clean data of awareness and first-hand experience.

Buddhists, of course, tell one to do the opposite. They say that, while thinking can be a lovely and incomparable tool, it is also, just as often, our curse. The over-use of thinking—no doubt even more common today than it was when the Buddha lived—can be a source of suffering, insofar as it draws us away from our experience, from our body, and from being present fully during our life. Anxiety and depression, for example, both typically involve the proliferation of maladaptive thought patterns.

And so, according to Buddhists, the proper relationship of the self to the mind is not that of symbiosis, but rather that of craftsman to tool: Abstract thought is a device to be used in appropriate circumstances. It is a tool for solving practical problems, developing long-range plans, and sustaining one’s livelihood. It is not a self, nor a place for the self to properly reside.

Carpenters don’t take their circular saw to bed with them, and enlightened humans (in the Buddhist view) don’t leave their thinking-mind running on auto-pilot in inappropriate circumstances—when they are supposed to be resting, enjoying a tangerine, observing the world, washing dishes, or going to sleep. Unlike insomniacs, these people know how to “find the off button.”

Many Objectivists—accustomed to believing that the world’s problems result from too little thinking rather than too much—are likely to be disoriented, if not offended, by this perspective. But rather than evaluating the perspective on a global scale, I would encourage people to experiment with it privately.

In my own experience, I am more likely to feel unhappy, defensive, or irritable when I am caught up in thoughts and mental habits, than when I am relaxed from a meditation session, which brings me the closest I’ve ever been to a Galt-like state of serenity and clear-mindedness. This is not a state of “no self,” but of self-as-experience. It is a state where the direct perception of reality, and appreciation for what is, is honored fully for its importance.

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