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.

Eye in the Jungle

There is reality and then the cycling of mentation. The latter is largely a physical phenomenon. It is influenced by weather. We tend to be more cheery on a sunny day; our moods also reflect the overcast. The environment closest to us is that of our body, although we think of “the world” as starting beyond our skin. Not so. By far the most influential in shaping our mental states is that tiny—and I do mean tiny—portion of the world we carry about with us. We project the weather of this personal cosmos and then perceive that as the state of society, the state of the world.

It is possible to detach enough so that the difference—between ourselves and all else physical—turns visible. But it’s not habitual. The curious thing is that all habituation is of the physical variety whereas naked awareness always requires an act of the will. We can habituate ourselves to repeat actions or routines that wake us up, but, amusingly, no sooner are they really habits than they stop being effective. It’s very tough being real, easier to flow. And as we do, we like to say, It’s a jungle out there.

Sovereignty, Attention, Identification

I use the word “sovereignty” in a special, personal, technical sense to mean being centered, being attentively detached, ready for action, prepared, but above the fray. I’ve mentioned it on this blog before in the context of contemplation (link), saying that successful practice of contemplation produces a “feeling of sovereignty” in me. I’m not troubled by anything. In that state my troubles haven’t magically vanished—but they are spatially below me and cannot reach me.

This feeling is closely linked with attention—and is the very opposite of identification. A good example of identification in its raw but easily detectable form is watching my favorite baseball team, the Tigers, struggling. It’s the bottom of the ninth, the Yankees are at bat. The score is 3 to 2 in our favor. The bases are loaded. Two outs. The count is full, three balls, two strikes. I am a seething mass of the worst possible tensions. Sovereignty? Attention? Neither. I am a total slave of my lower being which is absolutely identified with the outcome of this game. But identification need not take this form. It tends to be our normal state. We’re just going with the flow, as the saying has it. And any little thing, arriving unseen from the edges of awareness—somebody’s statement, the telephone ringing, anything at all—can put me in a rage or a delight. Nobody at home, it turns out. To rise up from this state of waking sleep is, in a way, exactly like waking from a dream. There is a moment’s pause.

Genuine spontaneity—the admired kind, what pleases us when we behold it in the arts or in sports—arises from a fusion of sovereignty, thus presence, and attention—but in the midst of an action. The artist or the athlete is highly trained, disciplined, practiced, and alert. His or her attention is on the job at hand. And all those deliberate actions of training, study, practice, self-control, and so on have prepared the actor to act in a pure unity of intention, skill, and execution when events, unfolding with great rapidity, require instant reaction.

Identification is the ordinary state. Combating its sway is the banal but efficacious way of trying to become human. The spacesuits we now wear in this dimension—with which we are very, very identified—make the continuous achievement of sovereignty virtually impossible. But our ultimate well-being requires that we go there as often as we are lucky enough to remember to do so.