The Illusion of Self
Recently, I was scrolling through old pictures, and I found the picture from when I was a little kid. I took the picture and held it up to my face in front of a mirror, and I realized, wow, I look nothing like that kid in the picture. We don't have the same physical properties; our thoughts, ideas, and beliefs are different, and we certainly don't have the same memories.
But still, I know it's me. My brain sees the picture and creates a storyline that I was there, I am here, and I'll be somewhere else in the future, looking back, doing the same exact thing. This is the idea of self—the idea that there's something deep within us that remains fundamentally the same, even when everything else changes.
It's the idea that we can grow bigger, create new memories, lose old memories, change our thoughts and beliefs, but deep down, there's still something that remains fundamentally unchanged. The idea of self is one that has baffled pretty much everyone—scientists and philosophers alike—for centuries. Because, as easy as it is to describe, understanding why or how it works sits on the opposite end of the spectrum.
As humans, we experience a lot of different senses. We feel things, we see things, and we hear things. We have thoughts, we have feelings, and we have the ability to learn new things. But all of these things are separate experiences. So, at what point do all of these sentient properties become you?
As I continued scrolling through the photos, I came across pictures from elementary, middle school, high school, and everything after. All these photos looked completely different. When I think back to those times and the decisions I made, I would never make most of them right now. Yet, without a shadow of a doubt, my brain convinces me that I am still me.
The words "I" and "me" are more than just pronouns. They are the two ways we describe self. When we say "I," we talk about a being who is consciously aware of the present moment. So, I am reading this line on a script right now. On the other hand, when we describe self using the word "me," we're usually referring to a personal identity—who we think we are.
"Me" usually reflects who we are through the lenses of our past, present, and plans for the future. But we color our memories based on what we need to be in the present, and our plans for the future are always changing. How can there be a consistent being if everything that forms it changes?
We like to think of memories as simply playing back a video in our head of what happened in the past, but that's not what memories are. Memories are our brain's reconstruction of past experiences. We create these memories to fit the present narrative based on what we know now—how we describe "me" now—as well as our present needs and goals.
So, if you now think of yourself as a kind person, you're more likely to remember all the times you've been kind to people rather than the times you've been unkind. We form narratives about ourselves around how we want to be seen by others. We convince ourselves that we'll act and behave a certain way to fit that narrative, even when we're often mistaken.
If this is true and we can't trust our memories to give an accurate description of who we were in the past, then how can we have a self that exists through time? Aren't we just creating new selves every time this narrative completely changes? Think about it. It's not that the narrative continues down a different path; it changes completely such that what was no longer is.
And if what was can no longer be, then we cannot say that there is a self that persists through time. Rather, the idea of self is one that is constantly recreated by our brains when the need arises. This is what we refer to as the illusion of self. Contrary to what you might be thinking, this does not mean that we don't have a self. It simply means that it does not exist the way we think it does.
Our bodies are made up of a bundle of perceptions, sensations, and thoughts. Our brains try to make sense of the randomized nature of our being by creating a linear storyline: you were there, now you're here. It is this storyline of sorts that we describe as self. It's just the brain's way of...