Unselfing Your “Self”

The man in the looking glass, who can he be? The man in the looking glass, can he possibly be me? Man in the looking glass, have no regrets. The man who is wise, never forgets that life is worth living if once in awhile you can look in that looking glass and smile.

— The Man in the Looking Glass. Composed by Bart Howard. Sung by Frank Sinatra.

I was reading recently about a person in pursuit of his “authentic self.”

The implication is that if we can discover our authentic self that we will better understand who we are and follow a more enlightened path of self improvement and fulfillment.

We have been living in a generational time when we are consumed with the idea of the “self”. We awaken every morning and slide the closet door sideways and there on two slanted shelves are an array of masks. One shelf is labeled, masks that we put on ourselves. The other shelf is labeled masks that others put on us.

Each mask represents some version of the “selves” of our life. We love some of those selves — like the self that is confident and capable, that knows no fear. We are less excited about the self that feels depressed or anxious or easily wounded by the comments of another person.

There are different theories abut how many and what kind of selves exist in our lives. Williams James, the “Father of Psychology” in the 20th Century, categorized all of these selves into three different groupings — material, social, and spiritual.

Material is the easiest self to grasp, especially when we try to understand what it is that contributes to the formation of a self. Material relates to our physical self — from our body to what we wear to our mannerisms.

For example, my mom was tall. My dad was overweight from his childhood. I grew to be 6 foot, 4 inches and today at the age of 77 years I fight voraciously to keep my weight under control.

I knew little of my dad’s social or spiritual nature because of an automobile accident that caused his death when I was nine years old. He was described as a “gentle person” who sang in the church choir but seemed to have little ambition or distinction in his work life. A photo of him pumping gas at the Royal Crown station represents his work legacy — not that there is anything wrong with that.

I once tracked down his great aunt in a nursing home. She knew my family of seven children and was a hoot — a wonderful sense of humor and unafraid to speak her mind. When I asked her about my dad she acknowledged that he was a gentle man, but added that he was never much motivated in life. Any work ethic or achievement genes I had inherited in my “self” came from my mom who arose before sunrise to bake “elephant donuts” at the local bakery.

Ouch!

Of course, to be fair, there is more to an individual’s “self” than can be known by another person. There is much to know about my dad’s life story. Each of us must travel back in time to examine from childhood forward the people and the experiences that have shaped us. We look for clues as to our nature and merge that with nurture (or lack of it) to take account of the “self” and tackle the heavy questions:

Can you really develop a better “self”…one that will lead you to a life of fulfillment? Or, are we overdoing this emphasis on “self” and while we can equip ourselves with tools to navigate the chaos and the trauma and the so-called shortcomings in our lives, in the end we are who we are. We cannot bury that “self”, but we can accept it and find our bliss with it or in spite of it.

More radically, we can consider what moral philosopher and novelist Iris Murdoch advocates — the act of “unselfing”, a philosophy summarized succinctly by writer Maria Popova (themarginalian.org) where we step outside of the self and “accept imperfection as integral to goodness and how the beauty of nature and art leavens our most unselfish impulses.”

Murdoch writes, “The self, the place where we live, is a place of illusion. Goodness is connected with the attempt to see the unself, to see and to respond to the real world in light of a virtuous consciousness.”

Murdoch embraces nature and art and their beauty as integral to unselfing. She writes: Beauty is the convenient and traditional name of something which art and nature share, and which gives a fairly clear sense to the idea of quality of experience and change of consciousness.”

She explains, “I am looking out of my window in an anxious and resentful state of mind, oblivious of my surroundings, brooding perhaps on some damage done to my prestige. Then suddenly I observe a hovering kestrel (falcon). In a moment everything is altered. The brooding self with its hurt vanity has disappeared. There is nothing now but kestrel. And when I return to thinking of the other matter it seems less important. And of course this is something which we may also do deliberately: give attention to nature in order to clear our minds of selfish care.”

In other words, perhaps we should shift our minds from focusing on what to do with with our “self” and seek the goodness that comes from “unselfing” by connecting with the beauty of nature and art and the world that is out there, including, I would add, the numinous world.

There is a place for self examination, self awareness, and self improvement. But it can be illusory and over-indulged.

Better to take a breath. Lighten up. Experience and savor the beauty and the goodness of life. And, now and again stand in front of the looking glass and remind oneself that “life is worth living if once in awhile you can look in that looking glass and smile.”