If we carefully analyze the aggregates of form, feeling, perception, and formation (rūpa, vedanā, saṃjñā, saṃskāra), anything we can see, feel, touch, or imagine—including consciousness itself—contains no entity that can be called a “self.” This is because the luminosity of mind is devoid of individuality or agency. Yet the mind, under the influence of ignorance (avidyā), mistakenly assumes that there is such agency. Once a sense of individuality and agency arises, afflictions (kleśa) inevitably follow. The moment individuality appears, a sense of loneliness emerges. Moreover, individuality is always bound up with insecurity: once an “individual” is established, there must be “others,” which brings about harm and being harmed, as well as the need for protection. This goes very deep, and it cannot be explained as concretely as before, because grasping at a self itself cannot actually be found.
In form—whether internal or external—you cannot find anything that can be called “I.” In feeling, you can only say “I am feeling,” yet feeling itself is not “I.” In perception, it is “I am thinking,” but perception itself is not “I.” In formations, it is “my mind is moving,” but the movement itself is not “I.” Consciousness is a kind of discriminative cognition. one might assume that the discriminator is “I,” yet the act of discrimination itself is not “I,” and even that supposed “I” which supposedly discriminates cannot be found.
There is fundamentally no such thing as a “self,” yet the mind clings to a sense of individuality and agency. What does this clinging mean? It does not mean explicitly thinking, “there is an ‘I’”—no animal thinks in this way, yet they still possess grasping at a self (ātma-grāha).
Take a rabbit as an example: its mind perceives this bundle of a body and instinctively seeks to protect it. When it encounters a wolf, its immediate reaction is fear and flight. Thus, once the notion of an “individual” is established in its mind, fear and insecurity arise. At that moment, the “individual” is simply this mass of flesh.
Within the complexity of human thought, this “individual” can also manifest as personality, self-esteem, and a sense of control. This sense of control appears as “I decide my own thoughts,” or the belief that only oneself can accomplish certain things, leading one to say, “I take responsibility for what I do.” And indeed, in a conventional sense, this is true—how could others take responsibility for your actions?
The mind functions in this absurd way. Originally, there is no individuality—if one returns to the fundamental nature, one realizes that the essence of all “individuals” are in fact one and the same. Therefore, upon returning to the essence, there is no selfishness: without individuality, how could there be selfishness, and toward whom? Nor is there any sense of control. Thus, when a Buddha benefits sentient beings, he naturally manifests in whatever way best suits them, in perfect accord with causes and conditions, free from dualistic discrimination or deliberate effort. There is no notion of saving others from a separate identity, because such sense of individuality does not exist—in the state of non-dual luminosity, none of this is present.
But ignorance does not accept this—it insists on imposing a heavy sense of individuality upon the mind. Once this sense of individuality and agency arise, insecurity and fabrication inevitably follow.
With a sense of agency comes the impulse to act: “I must do this, I must do that.” And with a sense of individuality comes insecurity.
For all sentient beings, what is most important? It is not something sacred or grand, but a sense of security. Why do we strive to make money? Because we fear that this “individual” we cling to will suffer. Why do we try to behave properly? Because we fear slander. Why do we cling so tightly to self-esteem? What is that self-esteem really worth? It is simply the fear that this individual will be harmed or not recognized. All our efforts—whether for career, love, or anything else—ultimately arise from insecurity. And wherever insecurity exists, there will inevitably be hope and fear.
Therefore, the state of realization in Dzogchen is described as free from hope and fear—because upon realization, the sense of individuality is relinquished: “Just relax—have some tea, eat a bun.” In the eyes of a Dzogchen master, there is often a quiet smile, yet one emotion remains difficult to abandon—compassion (karuṇā), vast and profound. For they see clearly that you are the same as they are, yet your ignorance leads you into endless and pointless struggling. Thus, they would say: “Stop all this—truly, we are the same.”
There are many technical descriptions of the manas: “grasping the perceiving aspect of the ālaya-vijñāna as the self,” or “grasping the aggregate of the five skandhas as the self,” and so on. Simply put, the mind continually assumes that there exists such an individual self, one that it directs and causes to act, separated from all other minds. This is called self-grasping (ātma-grāha). If the mind can cut through this attachment—dissolving both the sense of individuality and agency—then all suffering will come to an end.
—Excerpted and compiled from The Arising and Antidotes of Afflictions
This article is a preliminary translation draft and has not yet been reviewed or proofread by the speaker.
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