“In the Yogācāra model of the workings of consciousness, an individual mental stream that’s capable of conceiving of itself as a subject of experience does so by drawing on a subliminal repository of psychological information about itself while attending to its own mental states and preattentively experiencing itself as the conscious subject of this attentive activity.74 For example, suppose the thought, “I feel anxious,” arises in the mental stream. The thought comes about because there’s an implicit and involuntary propensity to experience certain situations as anxiety producing and certain body sensations as anxiety, attention is drawn to the elicited feeling of anxiety, and there’s a preattentive awareness of attending in this way. Yogācāra calls the subliminal repository of psychological propensities the “store consciousness” (ālayavijñāna), the attention to mental states “mental consciousness” (manovijñāna), and the preattentive awareness “mind” (manas). I’ll call them the mental repository, the inner mental awareness, and the preattentive mind. Whereas the inner mental awareness takes mental states—thoughts, emotions, and so on—as objects of attention, the preattentive mind provides the feeling of being a conscious subject. Given the presence of this feeling, whenever the inner mental awareness attends to a mental state, that state is experienced not as floating freely but as belonging to the mental stream. So, in our example, when mental attention is given to the feeling of anxiety, the anxiety appears not as belonging to no one but as belonging to the same mental stream as does the mental attention to it. In other words, from the inside perspective of the mental stream, the anxiety appears as “mine.” In this way, the preattentive mind functions as a base or support for the mental stream’s ability to attend to its own states (via the inner mental awareness) and to be aware of them precisely as its own—to feel that they are “mine.” At the same time, the mental repository—the store consciousness—functions as a long-term support for the preattentive mind. The mental repository contains all the habits, tendencies, and propensities of an individual being. Traditionally, it’s described as containing “seeds” or latent dispositions that eventually “sprout” or manifest in one’s mental life, given the right conditions. In modern terms, it can be described as a kind of data bank or repository of information belonging to an individual stream of consciousness, a “first-person mental file.”75 It ensures not only that there’s mental continuity across the gaps or breaks in ordinary consciousness but also that there’s mental continuity across the gaps or breaks resulting from certain deep meditative states known as “cessations.” In these states, any sense of being a conscious subject is said to disappear, and the body is sometimes said to enter a state of suspended animation.76 Indeed, the concept of the store consciousness was probably first introduced in order to account for the mental continuity across the gaps that cessations produce in the stream of consciousness.77 Although traditionally the store consciousness is said to carry on from one lifetime to the next, from a cognitive science perspective it makes sense to think of the concept of the store consciousness as pointing toward what today we know as the huge amount of cognitive and affective functioning going on in our bodies and brains beneath the surface and across the gaps of consciousness.78 We’re now ready to see how the self-designating error enters the story. The preattentive mind mistakenly designates the mental repository as a self by mistakenly attributing to the mental repository the role of being an “I” or ego that’s wholly present at each moment and that owns the mental stream.79 In reality, however, the mental repository is a subliminal data bank, not an ego, and it’s a constantly changing process, not a substantial thing. Hence the impression that there’s a self is a mental fabrication, and what the fabrication represents doesn’t exist. Since the preattentive mind is responsible for this error, the preattentive mind is also called the “afflicted mind” (kliṣ ṭa-manas). In its afflictive role, it doesn’t function merely as a mode of preattentive self-awareness; it functions also as the delusion that a substantially real self underwrites this mode of awareness. Consider again the thought, “I feel anxious.” This thought has a present-tense “I-Me-Mine” form and seems to refer to an inner self that has the feeling and accounts for the fact that the feeling feels like “mine.” “I-Me-Mine” thoughts can also take a self-projection form, such as “I am going to be so happy when I go on vacation,” “I can see myself at that meeting and I know it’s not going to go well,” “I remember being a shy and anxious kid,” and so on. Such thoughts seem to refer to one and the same inner self that existed in the past, exists now, and will exist in the future. According to Yogācāra, however, although the pronoun “I” in such thoughts seems to refer to or to designate a self, it doesn’t refer at all, for there’s no self to be its referent—no independent ego that was wholly present in the past, is wholly present now, and will be wholly present in the future. Such a self simply doesn’t exist; what exists is only the mental representation of such a self superimposed on changing mental and physical states. It follows that “I-Me-Mine” thoughts are never literally true, for there’s no self of which they could be true. Nevertheless, you habitually and involuntarily take yourself to be referring to your self when you think such thoughts. In this way, you’re caught in the grip of a deep and fundamental error. Although the enactive account of the self that I’m proposing is close in one way to the Yogācāra account, it also differs from it in another important way. Although I agree with Yogācāra that our sense of self or “I-Me-Mine” is mentally constructed, I don’t think it follows that there is no self or that the appearance of the self is nothing but an illusion. Although some illusions are constructions, not all constructions are illusions. The self is a case in point. To say that the sense of self is a mental construction—or rather that it’s a process under constant mental and bodily construction—doesn’t logically imply that there is no self or that the sense of self presents an illusion.80 As Jonardon Ganeri points out, the Yogācāra claim that the sense of self is an error doesn’t logically follow from the Yogācāra model of the stream of consciousness as dependent on a mental repository and as including both a preattentive awareness of itself and a mental capacity to bring attention to bear on its own states.81 Instead, we can take this model as contributing to an analysis of how the self—understood as a process and not a thing—comes to be constructed. Part of the issue here is whether, as some Buddhist and Western philosophers claim, thinking of a stream of consciousness as “mine” is an error, or in other words, whether experiencing the stream of consciousness from within as being “mine” is a delusion. I want to explain now why I think there’s a basic and natural sense of the “mineness” of experience that isn’t a delusion.82 Ordinarily, when you’re aware of a thought, emotion, perception, or sensation, you feel it as your own. For example, sitting in meditation, I suddenly realize I’ve been daydreaming about a planned yoga vacation in the Bahamas. I mentally note, “fantasizing,” and return my attention to the breath. Yet even though I note the fantasizing in an impersonal way—thinking, “fantasizing occurring,” instead of “I’m fantasizing”—there’s a basic way in which the fantasizing feels mine. I don’t mean in the way that the content of the fantasy feels mine when I inhabit the fantasy and identify myself with its main character. Nor do I mean in the way that it would feel were I to go on to identify with the fantasizing by thinking, “I always daydream when I try to meditate” or “I’m a great daydreamer but not a very good meditator.” Self-related processing proliferates in these thoughts, and meditation practice involves learning to notice how and when this happens, and how to disengage from it. What I mean by saying that the fantasizing feels mine is that it shows up as an event in my field of awareness and nowhere else. So too does the witnessing and the mental noting of both the fantasizing and the subsequent self-evaluation. All these mental events happen in this field of awareness here—the one that feels mine. This sense of mineness isn’t a function of where attention happens to be focused, for it’s more basic than selective attention. In particular, it can’t be based on introspectively attending to mental states or experiences and identifying them as mine. In order to identify something as mine, I need to recognize some characteristic property the thing has, know that the property pertains to me, and know that I’m the one identifying this property. But how do I know these things? In particular, how do I know that the act of identifying the mental state is my act of identification? If we say I know this because I can in turn introspectively identify this act, then we’re headed off on an infinite regress, because now I need to know that this second act of meta-identification is mine too.83 For example, suppose there’s some internal cognitive process that tags experiences with the self-referential label “mine” so that when I attend to an experience it feels like mine by virtue of my “reading” the label. This process will work only if I know that I’m the one reading the label. But if we say that the way I know that the reading of the label is my reading is by my reading another label that tells me the first reading is mine, then we’re facing a vicious infinite regress, because now I need to know that this second reading of this second label is also my reading, and so on. Similarly, for a mental state to seem mine when I attend to it, I need to be aware that I’m the one attending in this way and must already experience this awareness as mine. The upshot is that it can’t be right to say that what makes a mental state or experience appear as mine is that I attend to it and identify it as mine on the basis of some characteristic property or label. Rather, there must be a more basic, preattentive, and nonidentifying way that I experience the mental stream as mine.84 The preattentive mind in the Yogācāra account of consciousness plays precisely this role. For this reason, the preattentive mind can be described as a preattentive mode of self-awareness.”
“If the function of the term “I” isn’t to refer, then searching for a referent for the word, especially in the form of a thing or entity or substance, is misguided. It’s not the case that the job of the word “I” is to refer to a self and that the word fails because there is no self. Rather, the function of the term “I” is to enact a self. To think or say “I” is to engage in a self-individuating and self-appropriating form of I-making. One individuates oneself as a subject of experience and agent of action by laying claim to thoughts, emotions, and feelings—as well as commitments and social practices—and thereby enacts a self that is no different from the self-appropriating activity itself. Again, the self isn’t an object or thing; it’s a process—the process of “I-ing” or ongoing self-appropriating activity.89 Ganeri’s image is an enactive one—the self is a “whirlpool of self-appropriating action.”90 Candrakīrti belonged to the philosophical school of Madhyamaka founded by Nāgārjuna, and later Tibetan philosophers regarded him as one of the principal exponents of the subschool Prāsaṅgika Madhyamaka. His view of the self was different from the Yogācāra view;91 it is especially relevant to us today because it provides an important corrective to neuro-nihilism. Candrakīrti presents his view in the form of a commentary on Nāgārjuna’s chapter on the self—the text quoted at the beginning of this chapter—and he repeats Nāgārjuna’s basic argument: if the self independently exists, then it’s either really different from the mind-body aggregates or really the same as them, but since it’s neither, it doesn’t independently exist. On the one hand, if the self were really different from the five aggregates—form (registering), feeling (appraising), perception/cognition (stereotyping), inclination (readying), and consciousness (orienting or attending)—then it could be identified and described without reference to them, but it cannot be so identified and described. The self can be conceived of only in relation to the aggregates and as dependent on the aggregates. On the other hand, if the self were really the same as the aggregates, then the self and the aggregates would be conceived to have all the same attributes. But the self is conceived of and is experienced as one thing, whereas the aggregates are plural. Since the self can’t be conceived of in either of these two ways—as the same as or different from the aggregates—it can’t be a real entity, that is, an independently existent thing. But here’s the crucial point—Candrakīrti doesn’t conclude that there is no self. This would be to succumb to the nihilist extreme, which says that since the self has no independent existence, it has no existence at all. Instead, Candrakīrti concludes that the self is dependently arisen. In other words, the self exists dependent on causes and conditions, including especially how we mentally construct it and name it in language. Recall the Prāsaṅgika Madhyamaka idea that whatever is dependently arisen depends for its existence on a basis of designation, a designating cognition, and a term used to designate it. In the case of the self, the five aggregates are the basis of designation, the thought that projects “self” onto the aggregates is the designating cognition, and the pronoun “I” is the term used to designate it. Notice that this designation isn’t an ordinary referential one; it’s performative—it’s how the mind-body aggregates self-individuate as “I” and self-appropriate as “me” and “mine.” Since the self arises as a mental projection onto the mind-body aggregates, it’s not different from the mind-body aggregates in the sense of existing independently of them; it’s dependent on them as its basis. Yet the self isn’t the same as the mind-body aggregates, for it exists only in relation to the cognition that projects it, and what that cognition projects is the idea of a whole or unitary self, not an impersonal composite of mind-body processes. The self is like an image in a mirror. The image depends for its existence on the mirror—the mirror is the basis for the image—but the image isn’t one and the same thing as the mirror, nor is it made of the same stuff as the mirror, for as an image it exists only in relation to an observer. Notice that the mirror image, though observer-dependent, isn’t a subjective illusion. So too the self, though mind-dependent, isn’t a subjective illusion. Nevertheless, the way that the self appears does involve an illusion, even if it’s not the case that there is no self or that the appearance of the self is nothing but an illusion. The illusion—or delusion—is taking the self to have an independent existence, like taking the mirror image to be really in the mirror. Notice that the image as such isn’t an illusion; it’s the taking of the image to exist in the mirror that’s the illusion. Similarly, it’s not the appearance of the self as such that’s the illusion; it’s taking the self to exist independently that’s the illusion.92 Notice too that contrary to neuro-nihilism, the illusion isn’t that the self appears to be a self-substance. That view of the self is theoretical and doesn’t accurately describe our experience. The conception of the self as a substance isn’t a cognitive illusion; it’s a false belief that derives from philosophy (Descartes in the West and the Nyāya school in India), not from everyday experience. Neuro-nihilism mistakenly diagnoses our self-experience as being committed to a certain philosophical conception of the self and thereby overintellectualizes our experience. Candrakīrti, however, says that the fundamental illusion is that we take the self to exist by virtue of itself or by virtue of its own being, when in reality its existence is dependent. The illusion is cognitive and existential. Another important point is that undoing this illusion—through highly developed meditative concentration combined with acute analytical insight—doesn’t mean destroying the appearance of the self as independent; it means not being taken in by the appearance and believing that the self is independent. This ignorant and deep-seated belief, not the appearance of the self as such, habitually deludes us into thinking, feeling, and acting as if the self were independent.”