After years of going round and round with this topic, my conclusion is that both points of view are correct. There is a self, and there is not a self. I exist, and I do not exist. Both statements are true at the same time, and there is no paradox. Allow me to explain…

When Buddhist teachings say “there is no self,” I believe that they are being clever but unclear. They jump ahead without showing their work, which makes it hard for anyone else to see how they got there. If I taught math this way, by showing problems and answers without any steps in between, I wouldn’t be a very effective teacher, and my students would be rightly frustrated. The same is true for teaching Buddhism. A good teacher needs to help students move along the path to understanding.

The statement “there is no self” is elegant in its simplicity, but I believe a less concise statement would be far more useful. Based on my own forays into Buddhism, I suggest the following alternative:

ULTIMATELY, there is no FIXED OR SEPARATE self.

This statement is perhaps less elegant than “there is no self”, but it is also more clear. It means that, from the widest-possible perspective (i.e. ultimately), what we think of as the self has no existence that is concrete (i.e. fixed) or individually identifiable (i.e. separate).

Not being “fixed” means that we are dynamic and ever-changing, both physically and mentally. The person I am today is not the same as the person I was yesterday or will be tomorrow. My atoms are different, and my personality is different. Like a river, I have an identity, but that identity points to something that is never the same from one moment to the next. We can point at the self, just like we can point at the river, but we are never pointing at exactly the same thing twice. Both refer to a process more than a stable thing. The river is not static, and neither are we. When we really look at it, there is no fixed self.

Not being “separate” means that we are infinitely interconnected and interdependent with the rest of reality. Once again, this is true both physically and mentally. We may feel separate, but at a microscopic level, the physical boundary between my self and my surroundings is not so clear. Through the food we eat and the air we breathe, the cells of our bodies are renewed. Every atom comes from the world around us, and those atoms are constantly moving between us and the world.

At a mental level, we are equally permeable. Our senses take in information about the world, and that information changes us. Our personalities are built on our cumulative experiences with the world, and it is our personalities then determine how we respond to the world. The world shapes us, and we shape the world. We are infinitely interconnected, like drops of water in the ocean. When we really look at it, there is no separate self.

So, from this broadest of all perspectives, we have no individual identity called “self” that is fixed or separate. Rather, we are all one infinitely interconnected and interdependent process, and there is no distinction between any of us on this level. There is just the one event that is existence or reality. It is everything, and we are in it. We are it. There is no identifiable self. There are no things (plural) at all, only the one big thing that is everything. There is no individuality, no independence, no separateness, no choice, and no will. There is nothing apart from the one event.

I believe that this is what Buddhist teachings are trying to say, and I agree wholeheartedly. However, I also believe that this is not the end of truth. It is “merely” the ultimate truth, the ultimate reality, the biggest of all pictures. I sometimes compare this perspective to standing on a mountain, because it takes a lot of work to get there, but the view is amazing.

On a much smaller level, we do experience ourselves as individuals with bodies and minds that are relatively stable and separate. We experience ourselves as being independent and having the ability to make our own choices. This is reality as it appears, as it seems to be, and I would argue that it is not wrong. It is simply the “apparent reality” that we all live in most of the time. Building on our previous statement, I now suggest the following addition:

Ultimately, there is no fixed or separate self, BUT APPARENTLY, THERE IS A SELF.

This sounds contradictory, but it’s not. The critical point is in the distinction between ultimate and apparent reality. Ultimate reality is what is seen from that broadest of all perspectives, as described above. It is the highest truth, and it encompasses all other truths. Nevertheless, apparent reality seems more true in daily life, and sometimes, it may be more important and useful than ultimate reality. If ultimate reality is like standing on a mountain, then apparent reality is like living in a village far below.

Apparent reality is where we get to learn, grow up, make mistakes, fall in love, suffer loss, be afraid, and feel joy. The village can be horrible, but it can also be wonderful. Ultimate reality has almost none of that. Well, I should say that it has ALL of it, which is true, but ultimate reality lacks the same intensity. We can’t fully experience the horrors and wonders of village life while standing up on the mountain. We have to allow ourselves to settle back into apparent reality and become consumed by the experiences of the self.

If you are going to do something exciting or fun, you want to experience it as a self in apparent reality. It’s just better that way. Who wants to be emotionally detached from the intense thrill of falling in love or of watching your favorite team win the big game? I might even argue that the same is true for negative experiences. They hurt like hell, but nothing shapes us or teaches us more profoundly than suffering, and it would be unfortunate to deprive ourselves of those powerful experiences.

Ultimately, apparent reality may be an illusion, but it is also where we live. It is where consciousness exists. Ultimately, we may all be one infinitely interconnected and interdependent process, but perhaps that process can only experience itself fully through our consciousness down in the village. I’ve heard a very similar idea in the context of theology, with God creating humanity as a means to experience God. Regardless of which language you use, I think this idea can help us appreciate the value of apparent reality. Perhaps it is not our task in life to escape apparent reality and discover ultimate reality. Perhaps we exist to fully experience life in the village; to think, feel, learn, suffer, and grow. Perhaps we are built to be consciousness, not to escape it.

If awareness of ultimate reality limits our experience of life’s horrors and wonders, and perhaps even violates our basic purpose in living, then you might wonder why anyone would want to pursue it. Well, to answer this question, you only have to look at someone who is lost in the suffering of apparent reality.

We may be born into apparent reality. We may even be designed to live there. But life in the village is hard, precisely because we feel so fixed and separate. We can feel isolated, alone, small, powerless, insignificant, incomplete, and very mortal. We can feel like something is missing from our lives or from within ourselves. Nevertheless, most of us cling to the idea of a fixed and separate self. We want to believe that we are solid and autonomous. We fear the non-existence of the self just like we fear death, and through our fear and clinging, we suffer.

Awareness of ultimate reality removes the sharp edge from our suffering. It helps us to understand that there is nothing missing. We are not alone, because we are not separate. We are not powerless, because we are everything. We are exactly who we should be, and we are doing fine. There is nothing to be afraid of.

In the end, I believe it is good to seek ultimate reality, because it offers peace of mind, but you shouldn’t try to live there all the time. There’s just too much amazing stuff going on down in the village! If having one eye on the mountain allows you to be less afraid, then maybe that’s a good balance for getting the most out of life. Live in the village, but at some point, take the time to climb the mountain. Then, even when you’re back in the turmoil of the village, you can remember that mountain view and let go of fear.

Ultimately, there is no fixed or separate ANYTHING, but apparently, there is… And maybe it is good, even when it hurts.

Think of self-care as a table with five legs, one for each area. If all five legs are strong, then you can use the table for almost anything. You can set heavy boxes on it. You can build a house of cards on it. You can even stand on it. Of course, nobody’s table is perfectly solid all the time, because we all face limits (time, money, motivation, sickness, etc.) that make self-care difficult. Fortunately, even with a couple wobbly legs, your table can still do its job. However, there are limits.

The less solid your table becomes (i.e. the more areas of self-care that are weak), the greater the chance that it will become unstable at a critical moment. Imagine trying to build a house of cards on a table with shaky legs. Imagine the frustration of having the cards fall, not because of your unsteady hands, but because of your wobbly table. Now, imagine your frustration if that house of cards was actually a new relationship or a new career. If only you had taken the time to tighten up the legs of your table, perhaps your efforts would have been rewarded! This is why making time for self-care is so critical. Any improvement might make the difference between the cards standing and falling.

Let’s take a moment to look more closely at each leg of the table:

1. Nutrition – This leg includes anything that you take into your body: food, beverages, vitamins, supplements, medicine, alcohol, drugs, and so forth. All of these have a direct impact on body functioning and brain chemistry. Without the proper building blocks, the body and mind can’t maintain themselves effectively; and with excessive toxins, functioning can be impaired or damaged.
2. Sleep – This leg is about the amount, quality, and consistency of sleep. Unfortunately, sleep is not always under our control, as with insomnia or nightmares. Like the canary in the coal mine, sleep issues can serve as an early warning sign for other problems (e.g. anxiety or depression). Also, sleep patterns are often hard to correct once they get disrupted, so it is important to catch problems early.
3. Exercise – This leg is about physical activity, which impacts not only your physical fitness, but also your mental health. Exercise is one of the best ways to manage the physical symptoms of stress and anxiety. Ironically, exercise is also typically one of the first activities to be dropped during times of stress!
4. Pleasurable Activities – This leg includes activities that are fun and/or meaningful to you in some way. They can be social or solitary, and they can take almost any form (interests, hobbies, escapes, passions, creative outlets, connections to nature, etc.). They can also overlap with the activities of the other four legs. I think of pleasurable activities as being the most direct source of stress reduction, because they have such a profound impact on quality of life.
5. Supports – This last leg is about connections with individuals, groups, or communities. Human beings (introverts and extroverts alike) generally don’t function very well in prolonged isolation, and good supports provide the critical bonds that keep us grounded and balanced. However, in order to qualify as a good supports, we must actually use these people as supports! It is not enough to merely have people available to you.

After years of addressing self-care with clients, I have come to realize that all five areas have something to do with connectedness. Nutrition, sleep, and exercise involve connectedness with yourself (your health, your body, etc.), while supports involve connectedness with other people. Depending on the individual, pleasurable activities might involve connectedness with self, others, nature, or a sense of meaning, purpose, or spirituality. As each area of self-care is given more attention, connectedness deepens and health improves. Taken together, these areas of self-care seem to suggest that our foundation of health is really a foundation of connectedness… or interconnectedness. The longer I do this work, the more right that sounds.

When a smoke detector goes off, the first thing you do is look around to see what set it off. Maybe the battery is low. Maybe your dinner is making too much steam or smoke on the stove. Or maybe there is actually a fire. If is it a false alarm (i.e. no fire), you push the button to silence the alarm and move on with your day. If there is a fire, you either grab a fire extinguisher or call 911. You do something about the problem. What you don’t do is carry the blaring smoke detector around with you all day! That would obviously be pointless and stressful; and yet, that is essentially what many of us do with our guilt or worry.

A more effective approach would be to treat your guilt or worry like the smoke detector. When it goes off, the first thing you do is look around to see what set it off. In the case of guilt, you might ask, “What’s going on? Did I really screw up? Did I hurt someone in some way? Can I do anything about it?” In the case of worry, you might ask, “What’s going on? What am I worried about? Is the problem real? Is it certain or even likely? Do I have any control over it? Can I do anything about it?”

If you decide that the problem is real, the next thing you do is look for possible interventions. With guilt, you might apologize, make amends, or fix the situation in some way. With worry, you might take steps to minimize the possible dangers or negative outcomes. You heed the alarm and respond accordingly. That’s what alarms are for. Once you’ve taken all reasonable steps to address the problem, the alarm should stop, because it no longer serves any purpose.

If, on the other hand, you decide that the guilt or worry is a false alarm, or if the alarm has not stopped after you’ve intervened, then you run into a small problem. Unlike smoke detectors, your guilt and worry do not have a reset button. You can’t just turn them off by getting a broom and whacking a little box on the ceiling. You also can’t simply leave the room, because unlike smoke detectors, you carry your guilt and worry around with you. The only way to escape is to turn off the alarm, and the only way to do that is to clear the air. Like waving a towel in front of a blaring smoke detector, you have to look at the situation, remind yourself why you believe it is a false alarm, and be patient. At first, it may seem like an impossible task, but there is a skill to it, and you can get better.

Ideally, we can learn to avoid false alarms by training our guilt and worry to be more discriminating. This means challenging any guilt or worry that fails to serve a useful purpose. We can also learn to minimize actual problems by refining or disciplining our behaviors. This might mean being more careful with our comments or judgments, treating people with greater respect or compassion, or avoiding unnecessary risks. If we learn to reduce both false alarms and actual problems, we unlock the potential for a life that minimizes guilt and worry. The alarms are still there to protect us in an emergency, but they do not go off unless absolutely necessary.

As a final note, I should point out that living a life with less guilt and worry may lead to the perception by others that you don’t care enough. Some people wear their guilt and worry like badges of honor, as a sign of just how much they care. However, this seems dangerous to me, because it links being a good and caring person with carrying around lots of guilt and worry. That reality may be fine and good for some people, but I don’t want it for myself. It puts suffering on a pedestal, and there’s enough suffering in the world already.

Philosopher and author Alan Watts (1915-1973) described li this way:

Though the Tao is wu-tse (nonlaw), it has an order or pattern which can be recognized clearly but not defined by the book because it has too many dimensions and too many variables. This kind of order is the principle of li. . . . Li may therefore be understood as organic order, as distinct from mechanical or legal order, both of which go by the book. Li is the asymmetrical, nonrepetitive, and unregimented order which we find in the patterns of moving water, the forms of trees and clouds, of frost crystals on the window, or the scattering of pebbles on beach sand. . . . As soon as this beauty is pointed out it is immediately recognized, though we cannot say just why it appeals to us. When aestheticians and art critics try to explain it by showing works of art with Euclidean diagrams superimposed on them–supposedly to demonstrate elegance of proportion or rhythm–they simply make fools of themselves. Bubbles do not interest one merely because they congregate in hexagons or have measurable surface tensions. Geometrization always reduces natural form to something less than itself, to an oversimplification and rigidity which screens out the dancing curvaceousness of nature.
-Alan Watts, Tao: The Watercourse Way, 1975, pp. 45-46

Because it is a naturally occurring phenomenon, li does not require our intervention or control. Nature dances, and li is the beauty of that dance. As natural beings, humans have an innate ability to experience li, but we must first learn to be present and open to reality. I’m not talking about the over-processed reality in our heads, but rather the raw reality as it comes to us through our senses. So often, our rational minds get in the way, and so we must learn to turn down the volume on our thoughts. Only then will li become fully apparent.

Animals don’t need help with this, because they are not burdened with our reasoning abilities. As a result, they exist wholly within the patterns of li. Their relationships, interactions, and patterns of behavior are li. Human behavior gets hung up on mental constructs like expectations and control, and we lose contact with natural order. Through our thoughts and efforts, we actually destroy li. Imagine trying to intervene as a snowflake is forming, trying to make it turn out a certain way, and you will get an idea of the danger and futility of trying too hard. Li doesn’t need us to make it happen. In fact, it often can’t tolerate our efforts. It just needs us to participate in life and allow it to happen.

If li still seems difficult to grasp, consider a few more examples, and maybe it will become more clear. Li is the smoke of a candle spiraling and folding in on itself. Li is dust in a sunbeam. Li is clear water rippling in the wind on a sunny day. Li is sparkles of sunlight dancing across the surface of a body of water. Li is the northern lights, sunrises and sunsets, and the starry sky. Li is waterfalls, rapids, leaves on trees, and mountain ranges. Li is storms. Li is all weather. Li is the patterns within and across lifespans. Li is the chemistry between two people. Li is the cycle of life and death. Li is ecosystems. Li is solar systems. Li is also “the zone” experienced by athletes. Li is anytime we feel truly connected and caught up in the flow of life.

I will not speculate about how or why li occurs, because I do not know with any certainty the answers to those questions. My goal is simply to point out that li does occur, that it does so with great abundance, and that it is always available to us… as long as we don’t get in the way.

(10) Suffering = Feeling x Control
(12) Suffering = Stress / Coping

While the overall effect of reducing control may be positive, our formulas suggest that we can also reduce suffering by reducing stress and increasing coping. Reducing stress generally means taking some of the stressors off of our plates, while increasing coping means enlarging our plates through improvements in self-care and stress management. The goal, of course, is to have a plate that isn’t overflowing.

At this point, I would like to modify our control formula (10) to make room for another important variable, which is trust:

(13) Suffering = Feeling x Control / Trust

This new variable represents our degree of trust in self, others, and life. When we have trust, we are better able to let go of the feelings that contribute to suffering (e.g. doubts, fears, worries, and insecurities). Therefore, as trust goes up, suffering goes down, regardless of the level of control. However, as trust approaches zero, suffering approaches infinity.

Trust is an internal process related to how we see the world (i.e. our subjective perceptions), while control is more of a response or behavior. This means that we can address suffering through our behaviors (control) or through the personal perceptions on which they are based (trust). I believe the perception approach is more efficient in the long run, because increased trust will lead to fewer behavioral concerns. It’s a matter of treating superficial vs. underlying causes. A lack of trust causes suffering, and people often cope with suffering by increasing control, which then leads to further suffering. Both trust and control are related to suffering, but trust (i.e. perception) is the deeper issue.

If we add together the suffering derived from control and trust (13) with the suffering derived from stress and coping (12), we get a single formula for understanding suffering:

(14) Suffering = (Feeling x Control / Trust) + (Stress / Coping)

Just for fun, let’s call this our Unified Theory of Human Suffering. What it says is that, if we hold feelings as a constant, suffering goes up with increases in control and stress, but it goes down with increases in trust and coping.**

I assume that humans can never completely let go of control, so control can never reach zero. I also assume that stress can never reach zero, because stressors are inherent in life. Meanwhile, I assume that trust and coping have no such limits. At least in theory, we can lose our trust completely, and we can suffer a complete breakdown in coping. Here are my assumptions in mathematical form:

(15) Control > 0
(16) Stress > 0
(17) Trust ≥ 0
(18) Coping ≥ 0

If these assumptions are true, then suffering can never equal zero, because control, stress, and feeling are always present (i.e. greater than zero). The only way suffering can get close to zero is for trust to be very high compared to control and for coping to be very high compared to stress. Of course, all four variable are important, but no matter how much we try to reduce control and stress, a lack of trust or coping will always make suffering skyrocket!

In A Formula for Suffering (Part 3), we will conclude this exploration by looking at the role of expectations and walking through some examples to see how our formula might work in practice.

**I realize that these variables are not entirely independent (control is related to coping, stress is related to trust, etc.). I also realize that there is no single unit of measurement that could possibly quantify all these variables. These formulas are simply useful as tools for exploration and reflection.

(1) Suffering = Pain x Resistance
(2) Frustration = Pleasure x Grasping

The basic idea is that suffering results from resisting pain and grasping at pleasure. As resistance and grasping increase, suffering and frustration increase. As resistance and grasping approach zero, suffering and frustration approach zero. These ideas go back to the earliest teachings of the Buddha over 2300 years ago, especially his teaching on The Four Noble Truths.

In working with these formulas, I like to start with a few assumptions. First, I assume that frustration is a form of suffering. Second, I assume that pain represents any negative feeling (-Feeling), including both emotions and physical sensations, while pleasure represents any positive feeling (+Feeling). Finally, I assume that resistance and grasping are both forms of control. Resistance is control used to push something away, while grasping is control used to pull something in. Here are my assumptions in mathematical form:

(3) Frustration = Suffering
(4) Pain = -Feeling
(5) Pleasure = +Feeling
(6) Resistance = Control
(7) Grasping = Control

If we apply these assumptions to our original formulas, we get the following:

(8) Suffering = -Feeling x Control
(9) Suffering = +Feeling x Control

In other words, suffering comes from taking our positive or negative feelings and magnifying them through control (i.e. resistance or grasping). We can simplify these formulas by realizing that, regardless of whether feelings are positive or negative, the rest of the formulas are the same. Therefore, we can combine them into a single equation:

(10) Suffering = Feeling x Control

If we assume that feelings are an essential part of life, even the negative ones, then perhaps we can hold feelings as a constant. In other words, reducing feelings is not really an option, so if we wish to reduce suffering, we must focus on reducing the level of control.

The implications of this formula (10) are profound, because control is a widely accepted, even celebrated, approach to life. I’m not just talking about “control freaks”. I’m talking about anyone who resists or clings to certain feelings, and that includes just about all of us! If control actually produces suffering, then we must question its effectiveness as a coping strategy, no matter how popular.

The formula does offer a simple solution to suffering, which is to reduce control. Unfortunately, while this solution may be simple, it is far from easy. There may also be negative side-effects to reducing control. Letting go of control means reducing a coping mechanism for handling stress, and with fewer coping mechanisms, anxiety increases. Mathematically, we might say it this way:

(11) Anxiety = Stress / Coping

In this formula, the amount of anxiety is determined by the ratio of stress to coping. As coping goes down, anxiety goes up. If we assume that anxiety is yet another form of suffering, we get this:

(12) Suffering = Stress / Coping

So, by reducing control, which is also a form of coping, we reduce suffering in one way (10) but increase it in another (12). What is the net effect? I believe that humans are not very good at control, and as a result, control is not a very good coping mechanism. Therefore, the benefits of control (12) are limited. I also believe that control efforts cause a lot of damage, so the costs of control (10) are great. If my assumptions are accurate, then the net effect is that control causes more suffering than it prevents.

In A Formula for Suffering (Part 2), we will continue this exploration by considering the role of trust. We will also attempt to combine our equations into a single formula for understanding human suffering.

I often talk about emotions as a stream that runs through our consciousness. Sometimes it sparkles in the sunlight, sometimes it is dark or muddy, sometimes it gurgles playfully, sometimes it roars, sometimes it is only a trickle, and sometimes it swells into a raging torrent. Many of us try to manage or control the stream by building dams, but we fail to see the many perils of this approach.

First of all, humans are not very good dam builders. Streams are far more powerful than they look, and our dams tend to crack and leak all over the place. This is okay for children trying to dam a gutter with twigs, but the consequences are less innocent for adults trying to dam emotions. The resulting cracks and leaks can take the form of emotional outbursts and even physical symptoms, such as high blood pressure, ulcers, eye twitches, skin conditions, and so forth.

Second, dams don’t really solve the problem. In fact, dams always lead to more problems, because after a while, not only do you still have the stream, but you also have a huge reservoir or lake looming behind the dam. If the stream scares you enough to build a dam, how much more scary is an entire lake of emotion held back by a cracking dam? Unfortunately, we often don’t consider this risk. We commit ourselves to dam building (i.e. emotional control), and then we get stuck in the never-ended business of dam maintenance, too afraid of the reservoir to try anything else.

The alternative to dam building is simply to let the stream flow and trust that it will never sweep us away. We must go with the flow of our own emotions. Yes, streams are unpredictable, but they tend to be okay most of the time. Even if a big surge causes the stream to overflow its banks, it is not likely to do much harm, and most of the damage we do experience is caused by our own panic in the face of the surge. Kayakers, rafting guides, and surfers can attest to this truth. When it comes to both water and emotions, resistance is futile… and often harmful.

If you are not already in the dam business, I strongly suggest that you don’t start. Unfortunately, this is one of those lessons we often have to learn for ourselves. If you are in the dam business, here are some suggestions for getting out:

1. Let the dam leak. The only way to drain a reservoir is to let more water go downstream. This doesn’t mean blowing up the dam all at once, but it does mean resisting the urge to patch up every little crack.
2. Spend time observing the stream. When we stop indulging our fears and discomforts, when we bravely turn our attention toward our emotions, we eventually start to understand that the stream of emotions is not so scary or dangerous.

Emotions are an essential part of us, and they add all the flavor and color to life. To deny or repress emotions is to miss out on a huge aspect of living, so even if you could build the perfect dam, why would you? The costs far outweigh any benefits.

Metaphors are among my favorite tools for challenging perceptions, and in recent months, one metaphor I’ve found useful is comparing the mind to a magic mirror, in the spirit of Snow White or Harry Potter. We can use this mirror to reflect on the past, imagine possible futures, daydream, fantasize, worry, catastrophize, and plan. The magic mirror of the mind is a powerful tool, and it sets us apart from other species. However, the magic mirror also has the power to fascinate or mesmerize, to consume our attention so completely that we miss out on what is actually happening around us.

It is good to use the mirror to reflect upon and learn from the past. It is also good to use the mirror to ponder and plan for the future. But we must use great caution, lest we become entranced or obsessed with the mirror itself. If we spend too much time and attention on the mirror, we will have much less attention to devote to the present moment, and without sufficient attention, we may condemn ourselves to a distracted and less effective life.

As with most things, there is a balance to be struck. If we use the mirror too little, we may be present in the here and now, but we lose the benefits of reflection and planning, and we risk a thoughtless or reckless existence. If we use the mirror too much, we may not be thoughtless, but we risk missing out on the full bounty of life itself. Some people willingly embrace one extreme or the other, and that is their choice to make, but for most of us, I believe the greatest satisfaction comes from finding a middle ground. I also believe that most of us err on the side of overusing the mirror, often in response to doubts, fears, and insecurities. We do not trust life to bring us beauty, so we try to use our greatest tool to manipulate life. Unfortunately, by using the mirror as a tool for control, we often make a mess of beauty. By not trusting beauty to emerge naturally, we may actually create the realities we fear most.

The magic mirror should certainly be used, but only in moderation and only as a tool for understanding, not as a substitute for trust or a vivid life.