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Ancient Wisdom for Modern Readers
How to Lose Yourself: An Ancient Guide to Letting Go
Inviting new translations of classical Buddhist texts about why the self is an illusion—and why giving it up can free us from suffering
From self-realization and self-promotion to self-help and the selfie, the modern world encourages us to be self-obsessed. We are even told that finding ourselves is the key to happiness. Better to lose yourself! More than 2,500 years ago, the Buddha argued that the self is an illusion—and that our belief in it is the cause of most, if not all, of our suffering. How to Lose Yourself presents lively, accessible, and expert new translations of ancient Buddhist writings about the central, unique, and powerful Buddhist teaching of “no-self.”
Drawn from three important Buddhist traditions, these essential Indian, Tibetan, and Chinese writings provide a rich sampling of the ways Buddhist philosophers have understood the idea that we are selfless persons—and why this insight is so therapeutic. When we let go of the self, we are awakened to the presence of all things as they truly are, and we let go of the anxiety, fear, greed, and hatred that are the source of all suffering.
Complete with an introduction and headnotes to each selection, and the original texts on facing pages, How to Lose Yourself is a concise guide to a transformative idea.
From self-realization and self-promotion to self-help and the selfie, the modern world encourages us to be self-obsessed. We are even told that finding ourselves is the key to happiness. Better to lose yourself! More than 2,500 years ago, the Buddha argued that the self is an illusion—and that our belief in it is the cause of most, if not all, of our suffering. How to Lose Yourself presents lively, accessible, and expert new translations of ancient Buddhist writings about the central, unique, and powerful Buddhist teaching of “no-self.”
Drawn from three important Buddhist traditions, these essential Indian, Tibetan, and Chinese writings provide a rich sampling of the ways Buddhist philosophers have understood the idea that we are selfless persons—and why this insight is so therapeutic. When we let go of the self, we are awakened to the presence of all things as they truly are, and we let go of the anxiety, fear, greed, and hatred that are the source of all suffering.
Complete with an introduction and headnotes to each selection, and the original texts on facing pages, How to Lose Yourself is a concise guide to a transformative idea.
1 pages, Audio CD
Published January 28, 2025
About the author
Gautama Buddha
226 books1,189 followersGautama Buddha (Sanskrit: गौतम बुद्ध) born as Prince Siddhārtha (Sanskrit: सिद्धार्थ) was a spiritual teacher from the Indian subcontinent, on whose teachings Buddhism was founded.
Gautama is the primary figure in Buddhism, and accounts of his life, discourses, and monastic rules are believed by Buddhists to have been summarized after his death and memorized by his followers. Various collections of teachings attributed to him were passed down by oral tradition, and first committed to writing about 400 years later.
The time of Gautama's birth and death is uncertain: most historians in the early 20th century dated his lifetime as circa 563 BCE to 483 BCE, but more recent opinion dates his death to between 486 and 483 BCE or, according to some, between 411 and 400 BCE. However, at a specialist symposium on this question held in 1988 in Göttingen, the majority of those scholars who presented definite opinions gave dates within 20 years either side of 400 BCE for the Buddha's death, with others supporting earlier or later dates. These alternative chronologies, however, have not yet been accepted by all other historians.
See also Siddhartha Gautama.
Gautama is the primary figure in Buddhism, and accounts of his life, discourses, and monastic rules are believed by Buddhists to have been summarized after his death and memorized by his followers. Various collections of teachings attributed to him were passed down by oral tradition, and first committed to writing about 400 years later.
The time of Gautama's birth and death is uncertain: most historians in the early 20th century dated his lifetime as circa 563 BCE to 483 BCE, but more recent opinion dates his death to between 486 and 483 BCE or, according to some, between 411 and 400 BCE. However, at a specialist symposium on this question held in 1988 in Göttingen, the majority of those scholars who presented definite opinions gave dates within 20 years either side of 400 BCE for the Buddha's death, with others supporting earlier or later dates. These alternative chronologies, however, have not yet been accepted by all other historians.
See also Siddhartha Gautama.
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Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews
April 24, 2025
Jay Garfield’s How to Lose Yourself is one of the latest entries (as of 2025) in the ongoing Princeton Press series, Ancient Wisdom for Modern Readers. I have read most of these books (31 and counting), and the quality of this one is just as high as all the others. The introduction and commentaries on the various texts are clearly written and very helpful, and the translations are crisp and accessible. What didn’t convince me in the case of this particular entry is the content. I have a problem with the sort of philosophy that borders on mysticism and devalues reason and argumentation—examples of which are most certainly not confined to the eastern traditions, by the way. For me reason certainly has limits, but it’s a fool’s errand to look for something “beyond” it and think one has thereby achieved wisdom. At any rate, Garfield divides the book into three sections: Early Buddhist teachings, Middle Way teachings, and Chan teachings. In a sense, this is also a progression from things I can get on board with to things that puzzle me, to finally things that have me scratch my head and say “what the hell?” And sure, it’s very possible that I just don’t get it because my thinking is trapped in scientistic western mode, though as I said, plenty of authors in the West also write similar, shall we say, cryptic philosophy. I’m okay with the notion that there is no self understood as some kind of permanent, immutable essence of a human being. Indeed, I completely agree, and find parallels to that notion in both Presocratic philosophy (Heraclitus) and modern neuroscience. But when we start pushing things and say that there is neither mind nor thinking, my mind (that is, my thinking ability) says: I don’t think so! By “mind,” by the way, I don’t mean a thing. I think of it rather as a verb, minding. Minding is what brains and nervous systems do, similarly to what breathing is what lungs do. But when I read the dialogue, near the end of the book, between “Master Verity” and his student, “Threshold,” I increasingly thought I was reading incoherent nonsense. There is, of course, no space here to expand on this, even a bit, so please look for a dedicated essay on this book coming soon at my Substack newsletter, Figs in Winter.
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June 11, 2026Reread. I initially read this in a class with Sol. I miss them so much. This was very soothing to return to.
March 4, 2026
Quick read (half the pages are in Sanskrit). Honestly I didn’t enjoy it much. Found it hard to follow and way too repetitive — got boring. The book is full of scattered passages and excerpts from conversations (which apparently is how buddhists present their arguments) which I didn’t like. Instead of building a coherent argument, it felt more like jumping between fragments and repeating the same argument over and over and over.
I also struggled with the core ideas. The book repeatedly emphasizes the concept that “there is no self,” but I never felt that the argument was clearly explained or developed in a way that made it convincing or relatable to me. It felt more like the idea was asserted over and over rather than carefully argued.
I’m still interested in exploring Buddhist philosophy in the future, but this wasn’t the best introduction for me. The conversational format and reliance on ephemeral quotes made it harder for me to grasp the ideas or see the bigger picture. For now, I’ll probably try a different approach or a more explanatory text if I return to the topic later.
I also struggled with the core ideas. The book repeatedly emphasizes the concept that “there is no self,” but I never felt that the argument was clearly explained or developed in a way that made it convincing or relatable to me. It felt more like the idea was asserted over and over rather than carefully argued.
I’m still interested in exploring Buddhist philosophy in the future, but this wasn’t the best introduction for me. The conversational format and reliance on ephemeral quotes made it harder for me to grasp the ideas or see the bigger picture. For now, I’ll probably try a different approach or a more explanatory text if I return to the topic later.
July 19, 2026
A very welcome read in what has been a rather slow year for me reading-wise. As attention seems to continue drifting away from me and I constantly feel anxious in the freefall that is graduating, the notion to not find, but "lose" the self is provocative, especially in the context of our "self"-obsessed world set out by the wonderful introduction.
My journey with Buddhism has been quite sudden, beginning with an introduction to comparative philosophy (which turned out to be a buddhist-platonic crash course) which quickly spiralled into 2 lovely courses on Buddhist philosophy and history. In the last year I've kind of found a lot of peace in just the study of these texts and stories alone. Instead of queer theory, comparative literature, and ecocriticism (like I was expecting), I spent year 4 immersed and genuinely challenged by Buddhist ideas -- from the four noble truths and arguments of no-self, to Santideva's gentle but radical conception of anger, to finally, Nagarjuna's arguments against philosophical knowledge itself (which, strangely, did bring me back to a queer theorist: Eve Sedgwick).
I'm not sure if the psychologically-focused tradition of Buddhism directly pushed me toward counselling and psychological help, but I've found a lot more comfort observing and attempting to love the habitual clusters of phenomena that I call me. Of course, there is that anxiety, the self-aversion, but like Thich Naht Hanh says: "the ocean of suffering is immense, but if you turn around, you can see the land”. Likewise there is a lot of joy that is also me; and I have been slowly recognising the joy I have reading, the thankfulness I feel toward "the soft animal of my body" (Mary Oliver), and mostly, the sheer excitement that passes through me when I am with my partner Jo.
The book begins with selections from the Pali canon that go through the central argument that Buddhist Philosophy makes: that what we think of as the self is not just inessential, but the pathological cause of all suffering (for which there is a cure). I remember being in class discussing some of these same suttas, and being annoyed of what I saw as their detatched and avoidant posture. This aversion probably comes from repeatedly hearing that I had to "放下" -- or let go of attachment -- which was not particularly helpful the last time I heard that advice. So, putting distance between these experiences by analysing the ideas themselves has brought unexpected closure to my undergraduate life, and to a long angsty teen period that clashed with my parents' spiritual crisis
In the second part of the book, we are guided by Tsongkhapa to realise that our self is neither our faculties, nor is it different. In other words, we are neither wholly determined by our experiences, nor are we wholly detatched and capable of standing above them. “When one says that somebody’s hand is injured and then cured, one would not say that they themselves were injured and then cured . . . because nobody would say, “the hand is me.” I use my (conventionally) hands to write this, to thumb through the pages of the book I'm reading, to reach out to things and to reach inward into emptiness. In that same way, I cannot be my experiences, but neither can I be not. Like the candle in the Milindapada, these experiences do frame (or pick out, in a mode different from the descriptivists) a kind of conventional identity -- "relying on it, the light shines all night."
I'm probably risking (which is, after all, the etymology of the essay) delusion, but Buddhism, known usually for its "no self"-obsession, offers some rather good ways of tending to said self and to its continual, codependent constitution. To its unthought relationship with memory, experience, and others. To its open-ness; an opening that is just as much aporia as permission, an "auto-" that is also as much a kind of ecology; its "eco-" (or oikos) a way of making home in the temporary. In its non-existence.
In this way Buddhism's aversive (and, if we believe the authors, subversive) nature gives us two ways of reading it. We can put it down and find something else, or we can tend to it, to both the prefix and the part after; the "verse", or turn. To notice its curve is precisely that bend in the river carrying the proverbial lump of foam floating on the river Ganges. To realise that letting ourselves go is less of an architecture than simple awareness of what is. To feel how annata, in its Chinese 无我 (wuwo), holds the mouth open as it never quite reaches a consonant, a softness like that 放 against the hardness of 摔 or even 脱. A letting-go rather than a violent-throwing-off of what is my otherwise redolent anger, coming back in waves and in green. I now realise how radical and hot it is to exercise what is in the end a kind of control.
A kind of compassionate detatchment. A lump of foam, closely looked-at by a couple of monks, "crossing/ over into himself, and back,/over, and back" (Sharon Olds) is stretching and occupying the present. Is empty.
My journey with Buddhism has been quite sudden, beginning with an introduction to comparative philosophy (which turned out to be a buddhist-platonic crash course) which quickly spiralled into 2 lovely courses on Buddhist philosophy and history. In the last year I've kind of found a lot of peace in just the study of these texts and stories alone. Instead of queer theory, comparative literature, and ecocriticism (like I was expecting), I spent year 4 immersed and genuinely challenged by Buddhist ideas -- from the four noble truths and arguments of no-self, to Santideva's gentle but radical conception of anger, to finally, Nagarjuna's arguments against philosophical knowledge itself (which, strangely, did bring me back to a queer theorist: Eve Sedgwick).
I'm not sure if the psychologically-focused tradition of Buddhism directly pushed me toward counselling and psychological help, but I've found a lot more comfort observing and attempting to love the habitual clusters of phenomena that I call me. Of course, there is that anxiety, the self-aversion, but like Thich Naht Hanh says: "the ocean of suffering is immense, but if you turn around, you can see the land”. Likewise there is a lot of joy that is also me; and I have been slowly recognising the joy I have reading, the thankfulness I feel toward "the soft animal of my body" (Mary Oliver), and mostly, the sheer excitement that passes through me when I am with my partner Jo.
The book begins with selections from the Pali canon that go through the central argument that Buddhist Philosophy makes: that what we think of as the self is not just inessential, but the pathological cause of all suffering (for which there is a cure). I remember being in class discussing some of these same suttas, and being annoyed of what I saw as their detatched and avoidant posture. This aversion probably comes from repeatedly hearing that I had to "放下" -- or let go of attachment -- which was not particularly helpful the last time I heard that advice. So, putting distance between these experiences by analysing the ideas themselves has brought unexpected closure to my undergraduate life, and to a long angsty teen period that clashed with my parents' spiritual crisis
In the second part of the book, we are guided by Tsongkhapa to realise that our self is neither our faculties, nor is it different. In other words, we are neither wholly determined by our experiences, nor are we wholly detatched and capable of standing above them. “When one says that somebody’s hand is injured and then cured, one would not say that they themselves were injured and then cured . . . because nobody would say, “the hand is me.” I use my (conventionally) hands to write this, to thumb through the pages of the book I'm reading, to reach out to things and to reach inward into emptiness. In that same way, I cannot be my experiences, but neither can I be not. Like the candle in the Milindapada, these experiences do frame (or pick out, in a mode different from the descriptivists) a kind of conventional identity -- "relying on it, the light shines all night."
I'm probably risking (which is, after all, the etymology of the essay) delusion, but Buddhism, known usually for its "no self"-obsession, offers some rather good ways of tending to said self and to its continual, codependent constitution. To its unthought relationship with memory, experience, and others. To its open-ness; an opening that is just as much aporia as permission, an "auto-" that is also as much a kind of ecology; its "eco-" (or oikos) a way of making home in the temporary. In its non-existence.
In this way Buddhism's aversive (and, if we believe the authors, subversive) nature gives us two ways of reading it. We can put it down and find something else, or we can tend to it, to both the prefix and the part after; the "verse", or turn. To notice its curve is precisely that bend in the river carrying the proverbial lump of foam floating on the river Ganges. To realise that letting ourselves go is less of an architecture than simple awareness of what is. To feel how annata, in its Chinese 无我 (wuwo), holds the mouth open as it never quite reaches a consonant, a softness like that 放 against the hardness of 摔 or even 脱. A letting-go rather than a violent-throwing-off of what is my otherwise redolent anger, coming back in waves and in green. I now realise how radical and hot it is to exercise what is in the end a kind of control.
A kind of compassionate detatchment. A lump of foam, closely looked-at by a couple of monks, "crossing/ over into himself, and back,/over, and back" (Sharon Olds) is stretching and occupying the present. Is empty.
February 17, 2025
In general, I like thesesmall Princeton press books. This was one of the best of the series that I’ve had the opportunity to read. Wonderfully translated and explained by Buddhist scholars.
The book us written in three parts. My favorite section ( Chan Teachings: part three) focused on meditative practices that struck a cord with me.
The book us written in three parts. My favorite section ( Chan Teachings: part three) focused on meditative practices that struck a cord with me.
Read
November 22, 2025This book was out of my league. Much of the writing was inaccessible to me. I just didn't get most of it.
& this is too bad, I suspect there is a lot in here worthwhile to consider.
The first part I got a lot out of. Not sure I absorbed the details, but there was plenty to sit with and ponder.
Part II and Part III. I have no idea what they are about. It seems like there has been a lot of bickering over the years about interpreting these texts.
The Sudden Awakening concept mention later in the book resonates with me. Essentially the suggestion is to stop assessing the world and just look at it.
Easier said than done. Even with something noncontroversial, how often do we let our judgment and preconceived opinions take precedence over what is happening before our very eyes. We see a condor in flight and start thinking about the species and the efforts to save it or its unique features and we miss the joy of seeing a condor in flight. (this is my example, book examples are far loftier)
So I wouldn't say this book is pointless, but I will admit that much of the book didn't make sense to me at all.
& this is too bad, I suspect there is a lot in here worthwhile to consider.
The first part I got a lot out of. Not sure I absorbed the details, but there was plenty to sit with and ponder.
Part II and Part III. I have no idea what they are about. It seems like there has been a lot of bickering over the years about interpreting these texts.
The Sudden Awakening concept mention later in the book resonates with me. Essentially the suggestion is to stop assessing the world and just look at it.
Easier said than done. Even with something noncontroversial, how often do we let our judgment and preconceived opinions take precedence over what is happening before our very eyes. We see a condor in flight and start thinking about the species and the efforts to save it or its unique features and we miss the joy of seeing a condor in flight. (this is my example, book examples are far loftier)
So I wouldn't say this book is pointless, but I will admit that much of the book didn't make sense to me at all.
May 8, 2025
This kinda hurt my head
November 8, 2025
New translations of classic Buddhist texts that examine the idea of the self or "I" in the Buddhist traditions. Worthwhile reading for students of the Buddhist philosophy.
October 29, 2026
A very good book for learning some of the basics of why there isn’t a self. I love that it included Pali, Tibetan, and Chinese texts to show the evolution of the truth of no-self.
Also it took so long to read it because I lost it (in my backpack of all places; it was always with me). It would normally only take a day or two to read. Will definitely return to this.
Also it took so long to read it because I lost it (in my backpack of all places; it was always with me). It would normally only take a day or two to read. Will definitely return to this.
Read
January 8, 2026Vraag me alsjeblieft niet om dit uit te leggen mijn hoofd tolt
Read
February 17, 2026translation is desatrous, but rings true
April 16, 2026
Closed the book with more questions than I had before.
March 6, 2026
"The mind can be likened to a wish-fulfilling gem that, although it also lacks a mind, is able to spontaneously produce various apparitions."
Great treatise on the concept of self.
Great treatise on the concept of self.
Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews