On the Paradox of Self and Non-Self

The notion of self is a strange one, isn’t it? The concept is squishy, meaning that when we try to understand what that word embodies or grab hold of the root definition, we find that it is remarkably ineffable. Naming things is hard, and there is a complexity in trying to define the concepts of self and non-self, considering how we define these terms may change with place and time, as well as if we are discussing it at a micro or macro level. Buddhist thought and the teachings of Yoga philosophy can give us a framework to understand these concepts. We also need to consider how Western culture and traditions define the self, since it seems this Western culture of capitalism and an individuated self has dominated much of the past century. I think most people’s definitions of self stem from the Western viewpoint, which is honestly a sad thought, with the pain and misunderstanding this era has ushered in. We have created this sense of being separated from each other when, in reality, nothing could be further from the truth. We are all connected. Breaking down the individual self is key to understanding this and seeing clearly and brightly.

In Western cultures, the term identity is often used as a shorthand for the self. Identity, as defined from the Greek terms meaning “sameness” and “repetition” (Matousek), can be understood as a pattern of thoughts, actions, and behaviors that are similar across different times and places. At this level of understanding, identity—the self—is a single entity. It is a human anyone can point to. They have a body, a job, maybe a partner, perhaps a dog (potentially both?), and people would say they are kind but drive too fast, they are generous but meek; they embody certain characteristics and attributes, which may or may not be intentional. You! You are a self. And me? Yes, I am a self, too. We all have this I-ness that we can point to. Yoga philosophy seems to support this idea, as this “term ‘self’ represents a person as an individual entity” (Iyengar 11). This is what is called the reified self, which is turning this abstract concept of self into a concrete, material thing. Matthieu Ricard, a Buddhist monk, describes it as “the dysfunctional superimposed self that we take as real and that we let rule our mind” (151). It may be a necessary self in a social context, because being able to give names and attributes to a person allows us to collaborate and conduct grand orchestras, raise the tallest buildings, create families, and attend universities that have persisted over centuries. This in itself is not the problem. What is the problem is when we attach our self—what Yoga defines as the Universal Self—onto these temporal states of being.

This is most apparent in our modern age, where a multitude of social profiles contain label after label as to how the individual identifies. Medical diagnoses are declared, genders proclaimed, alumni schools proudly displayed, each little hashtag a drilling down into a specific attribute and characteristic of the various selves that constitute this particular individual¹. Attributes coupled so tightly to one’s identity or ego foster a fragile, unstable self, a self-centered ego that is the center of their known universe. I gave up social media years ago, along with other services that leave me feeling disconnected and alone, because we become what we focus on and take part in, and this trend of declaring static attributes onto a malleable, morphable human felt problematic (not to mention the amount of free data each social profile gives to businesses, where it is used to commodify our humanity into exploitable consumer goods, e.g., our selves). Modern society seems to claim that we are these individual selves, that our ego and the way we view the world are the only way. Clinging to the self, to the identity of I, is holding on to something that doesn’t exist. The unrealistic idea that we are the sum of our attributes leads to suffering.

The self that I am has always been the self I do not want. I haven’t liked the default I-ness for much of my life. The outside world told me that I was wrong, that I wasn’t good or worthy of much, especially kindness, and I believed this wholeheartedly (I now understand that this was how I viewed myself, not the world’s view). I held a close identification with the self, the reified self, and the torture it caused is something I can only see in hindsight. The identification with my I-ness created so many issues, such as looking to others for my sense of validation or worthiness. If I molded my self into what they deemed as good or right, logically I would be good or right. Eventually, since my self was a carbon copy of whomever I was looking to for validation, the incarnation of that self would eventually do something incorrect or misgauge a need or desire, only to again be relegated to the heap of unlovability and unworthiness. However, this morphability that I unintentionally moved through points to the more solid truth: that who we actually are is “an interdependent stream of dynamic experience” (Ricard 159).

A healthy sense of self is the understanding that the self is nominal, only to be used as a naming convention. When we are concerned with the reified self, when we are concerned with how we are perceived in the world, we have a weak self, in the sense that we grasp too much to that identity. Through an imperfect and stuttering mindfulness practice, I have come to see how thoughts arise and pass, and they are not of my active making. This, in turn, has allowed me to see how the self, my self, has come and gone based on the whims of what the world requires of me, or more accurately, what I perceive as what the world requires of me. And I have remade myself time and time again, only to come to the realization that the self is a construct, a way of interacting with the world, a way of giving name to the current iteration of me. I believe this is what the Buddhists mean when they say non-self. It’s not that we don’t exist; it’s that we don’t maintain. We are not static. It is our nature—all nature—to change and move and morph into something else, repeatedly until death claims us. Ricard asks, “Why should we be so obsessed with protecting and pleasing the self at any cost?” (145). Why, indeed.

Now, in Yoga philosophy, there appears to be much more nuance with the definitions of self, leading toward antaratma, or the Universal Self. And the components that make up the self are many and various, such as citta, which is the “individuated consciousness” (Iyengar 50), and its cosmic counterpart cit, which is the subtle form of citta. Then we have asmitā, defined as pride or egoism, which occurs when we identify “the individual ego (the ‘I’) with the real soul” (Iyengar 23). The soul can also be the seer, which is p_uruṣa_. This intricate, convoluted dance of definitions and the multiple names for similar concepts is confusing to me. Reading Iyengar has been a practice in frustration and feeling stupid, rooting me in my small self. Add to this that one of the goals of Yoga philosophy is leading the practitioner to realize the divinity within them, which feels foreign and uncomfortable to someone who has a long history of self-flagellation and hatred (divinity, coming from a Roman Catholic upbringing, was reserved for God, not us sin-born humans). If the goal of these practices is to improve one’s life in the day-to-day, Yoga philosophy creates too many road bumps for this simple woman. Buddhist thought feels more natural to me, though the struggle to grasp what it means to be human in the modern world with a Buddhist understanding of the impermanence of everything is always ongoing and challenging.

It seems to me that the sweet spot is the middle path. That the individuated self is what makes life worth living. The joys and disasters of life are what make the sweetness of memories. Hardships endured, love lost, holding the hand of a loved one, a child’s joy, a dog’s loping through flat fields, the sunrise on a cold October morning, the sky lightening in the east, tendrils of pink, wispy clouds. These feelings can be the meat of life. Are these feelings only accessible to the nominal, egoic self? These feelings arise because they collide and coalesce with each other based on our personal histories and characteristics. Because, if at the higher plane of non-self, we are deconstructing ourselves into just pure awareness, where what we see and feel and observe are not separate from us, how do we not become blobs of unformed non-agency? In my mind, the view of non-self is that these moments are meant to be fully experienced and to be absolutely aware of what they invoke in me, while not clinging to the remnants of the feelings the experience generates. To fall in love, to suffer heartbreak, to live life to the fullest, it is imperative that we have these feelings. Oh my goodness, it is crucial. A life lived without emotion is cold and bleak to me, and I will take the heartbreak and self-hatred and fear because of the correlates I also get to experience. This is what it is to live a full life, is it not?

Perhaps the paradox between self and non-self isn’t that they are separate. This dualistic view isn’t accurate. We are the self and non-self at the same time, are we not? Humans pattern match and look to make clear what is cloudy so that we have a hazy heuristic for how the world works and our place in it. We are analytic and thinking beings, which allows us to create the world we inhabit. Perhaps the paradox is that in trying to understand and grasp at the belief that our egoic self is the only self, we forgot that we have the capacity to drop those self-imposed, false barriers. We can just let that sense of I go. Experience it all and then let loose of it, like a catch-and-release fisherman just partaking in the sport for pure enjoyment. Letting go of the self leads us to connection and the understanding of interdependence. “Inner strength does not come from having a reified ego and extreme self-centeredness but rather from inner freedom,” says Ricard (137-138). Inner freedom, in this context, is the knowledge that who I am is not unique, that there are billions of people over the course of human history that have felt the feelings I have, that have experienced hardship, or found joy in a simple cup of coffee. The inner freedom that comes from releasing that sense of permanence that we construct in our heads. I can sit here at this desk, looking out at frosted, fallen leaves, and know in my bones that my self is kin to your self. What comfort. What joy! Knowing this, how can I not operate in this world with anything other than kindness?

Works Cited

Iyengar, B K S. Light on the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. Thorsons Publishers, 2003.

Matousek, Mark. “Labeling Yourself.” Journaling for Insight, Waking Up, dynamic.wakingup.com/clip/CLAE5A0-CO9D641. Accessed 13 Oct. 2025.

Ricard, Matthieu. Beyond the Self: Conversations between Buddhism and Neuroscience. Allary Editions, MIT Press, 2017.

Footnotes

1. For many, giving labels to one’s identity on social networks is a way to declare one’s part in, and/or show support for, underrepresented or historically ostracized groups. As long as one continues to cling to the belief that attributes are identity, labeling might bring relief in the form of community and a sense of belonging. I want to make clear I am not demonizing nor deriding the practice. ↩