Indulgence

Suppose we translated that smooth-honed phrase, In the world but not of it, and rendered it as In the world but not indulging in it. Indulgence has the same functional meaning as identification. Taking the first, etymologists suggests that its root might be “in” plus the Proto-Indo-European root dlegh- meaning “to engage oneself.” Taking the second, it dates to the post-Renaissance period and means “make one with (the self)” or “regard as the same (as the self).”

These are difficult words because they are linked with attention. They arise when the attention is drawn reflexively by stimulus and allowed to “attach” to it without deliberation. Then both indulgence and identification are negative. But when the attention is affixed voluntarily to some object, we speak of concentration—a positive. Similarly, people laud spontaneity. Spontaneity comes in two varieties, however. The kind that’s “going with the flow” is an indulgence. But there is also spontaneous action that arises from arduous past efforts repeated so often and so conscientiously that they have become “second nature”; then the effort seems graceful, easy, and amazing. The second kind of spontaneity no longer requires the self, but not because it has been captured by some stimulus but because it is no longer needed at all.

Both concentration and high skill contain a subtle element of separation. The self is separate in concentration: it wants to see, without distraction, without emotional interference. In the good kind of spontaneity, it is no longer needed. So the separation is between the self and the world, as in the old saying above. This separation is absent when we are indulgent or identified.

Calling for this separation is a hard doctrine. Humanity wants it both ways, reflecting our intermediate state of semi-development. People are all for “going with the flow,” but not when that flow is a difficult divorce, the loss of a job, or a painful disease. Life, however, conveniently provides ample opportunities for practicing detachment. One can indulge in grief as well, but detachment, if practiced hard in good times, can be the spontaneous response.