Exemption versus Accountability: to Rescind or Not to Rescind the self

I found one of the most salient topics addressed throughout Salzman’s Lying Awake to be the rescinding of the self—or, at least, the grappling with choosing to do so. Most evident in Sister John’s dilemma towards the end of the novel regarding whether her choosing to undergo surgery is an inherently selfish or inherently self-less act, the consideration that the self as a hindrance spiritual achievement is quite evident. As Sister John conceives of it, “[t]he foundation of religious life…is a commitment to look beyond oneself”(Salzman 142)—and to strip oneself “…of self-will and self-love…[is] a means of clearing away all obstructions to the love of [what is conceived of/believed to be] God” (139). Indeed, the very act of sacrificing one’s self to some higher entity (be it a god, another corporeal person, an idea/doctrine, etc.) implies that the existence of that self was/would otherwise be an obstacle to whatever devotion one is attempting to engage in. In other words, to rescind the self implies it is in some way, not entirely facilitating to whatever aim one has in mind. This is very similar to the yogic concept of the universal Self (purusha) versus the manifested self (prakriti): the upper case version is supposedly the non-physical “seer” or “true self;” whereas the lower-case version is the physical, tangible “self” that is tied to identity, body, and labels. The former is supposedly the basis of all consciousness, existence, etc., the latter is the individual manipulation of such life-stuff. Here, too, the latter (the lower case self) is seen as a hindrance to accessing/being in communion with the former (upper case Self). [In fact, the lower case self is said to be a delusion—inasmuch as the idea that one is individual and separate is a fallacy that humans maintain by seeking individuation and identity—a concept paralleled by Sister John’s acknowledgment, albeit during petit-mal temporal lobe seizure, that “self had been an illusion, a dream” (18).]

Granted, letting go of one’s self-concept—of one’s identity—grants anyone a certain degree of freedom, in that he/she is no longer tied down to a set script of how to function; however, is this rescinding-of-self truly the most ideal outcome? Of course, spiritually speaking, it is one of the ultimate goals—indeed, one of the necessities in order to “merge with” or “access” a higher state of consciousness (or, at least, to believe that such a process is occurring). Is this, as religious-devotees would have the world believe, the most advantageous pursuit or activity when day-to-day survival and optimal functionality is considered?

I think not. On many different levels.

For one, to rescind the self—to sacrifice all that pertains to one’s individual personhood—is to rescind one’s agency (or one’s sense of it, at least). Without agency (or a sense of it), there is no accountability. One—in the absence of a self—becomes not only powerless but exempt. Take, for instance, a newborn baby: it does not yet have a self; its very role in maturity is individuation: the formation of identity that separates it (gradually) from other objects (both other people and other things). A newborn baby is not chastised for soiling its diaper, vomiting in public, crying at the drop of a dime as it has not yet required the personal accountability inherent in a self. It is still exempt. Likewise, teenager is not expected to pay taxes, rent an apartment, or hold a steady job: he/she, though having formulated more of a “self” than a newborn baby, is still not fully individuated from his/her caregivers (at least, in typical instances) and thus remains exempt from that which fully individuated persons are expected to be accountable for. With self comes personal responsibility (including care for self and others); without self comes lack there of (take sickness, for example, wherein one is not “fully his/herself” and thus is exempt from activities which he/she would normally undertake until he/she is back to his/her normal self-state). Giving up everything you are to something outside yourself (i.e. Sister Joseph’s—along with the other nuns’—cataloguing every adversity as “God’s plan”) is rescinding your own free will and agency in the matter: it is rendering your effort inexistent. Personally, I see this as an easy way out.

This is not to say, however, that it is not noble to give yourself over to another entity. Indeed, self-sacrifice in its non-extreme form is rather enlightening and irrefutably helpful to the world at large: who can deny that the altruistic efforts of doctors without borders, or other such volunteer programs have reaped immense benefits for others’ survival (or that cliché “common good” we are all moralistically supposed to be striving for)? The problem does not lie in letting go of the self in order to acknowledge and assist others; it is extant in the inflexible and rigid fixation upon a total abolition of individuality—a complete and total refusal to be accountable to the world at large.

In fact, it is my (perhaps controversial) opinion that sequestering oneself in a cloister, away from the world at large is an inherently selfish act—a refusal to use one’s human capacities (i.e. communication), a forced ignorance of realities other than one’s own, and, ultimately, contradiction to survival itself (one person alone, devoid of other humans can only survive up to a point—indeed the human race cannot survive if there are not multiple persons, some of whom are propagating future generations).

Not only is it (ironically) selfish, but it is also (again, my biased opinion) pathological. Just as the exaggeration of any other natural human tendency to a non-adaptable and non-functional extreme renders such a tendency injurious, the exaggeration of the natural human tendency to be self-less mirrors the symptoms of psychosis: the false-attribution of agency to external sources (such as in paranoid schizophrenia), the notion that one has no self/is not inherently “real” and/or that the self is inextricably merged with and bound to external entities—and thus has no stability of its own (as in borderline personality disorder).

Of course, the counterpart to this, the exaggeration of the natural human tendency to foster a self (to be self-focused), also drifts into pathology. Examples of this extreme are narcissistic personality disorder, anorexia (the obsessive self-centered drive to remain thin at all costs—though, arguably also attributable to external influence in many cases), as well as, say, anal-retentiveness as postulated by Freud.

Yet again, then, the theme of balance arises, when the necessity of both selflessness and selfishness (or, in this case, rescinding of self and maintaining of self) is contrasted with the over-expression of one leading to the extreme disregard of the other.

Nevertheless, the caveat remains that a person’s identity inextricably lies within his/her degree of self-sacrifice or self-focus—just as that same identity may be colored by varying degrees of quirks along a normalcy-pathology spectrum. Balance may be optimal, but it may not be achievable—as Sacks addresses in his furtive seeking of the ideal titration of L-Dopa for his post-encephalitic patients. Indeed, if it was—and we all achieved it—the world would be quite a monotonous environment. Thus not only a balance of both opposites are necessary, but so too is a gradation of their display.

Essentially, what it boils down to is this: I don’t consider it admirable to forgo one’s life and live in a cloister, exempting oneself from all worldly obligations (at least not at this stage at my life). I do not, however, have any right to deem this choice wrong. I find solitude to be extremely self-centered—necessary, at times, but self-centered. [Note: I am extremely guilty of this self-centeredness…especially during conference time]. But hey, that’s just an opinion generated from the self I personally choose to cling to in an act of non-exemption—the self I have formulated and adhere to in my (sometimes unsuccessful) attempts to be “accountable.”