All human suffering—as well as the discomfort we inflict upon others—stems fundamentally from grasping at a personal self. For instance, some individuals possess strikingly assertive personalities, acting with utter disregard for the opinions of others. In truth, this is a form of arrogance, though they themselves may be entirely unaware of it. Self-grasping, of course, does not manifest solely as arrogance; it may equally express itself as aloofness, restraint, and other traits.
These seemingly disparate personality traits boil down to a single phenomenon: "playing oneself." Among our habitual tendencies (vāsanā), some are innate, while others are acquired in this life. Certain habits are universally deemed unwholesome by ourselves and society alike—such as laziness, cowardice, or pettiness. Other habits inspire praise and admiration from all quarters—such as generosity, integrity, or keen intelligence.
Some tendencies remain completely hidden from our awareness, such as hypocrisy or selfishness; still others are forcibly cultivated because they win social approval. This act of 'playing oneself' is sometimes a conscious strategy—expressing a particular trait because we recognize it yields gain—and sometimes an unconscious reaction, impelled by circumstantial conditions and spilling forth spontaneously. Yet regardless of its form, the root cause is invariably grasping at a personal self."
To be sure, "playing oneself" does not necessarily harm others. On a humanistic level, such individualism is actively encouraged, as humanism rests upon the fundamental ideal of natural rights, affirming human dignity and agency. Yet Buddhism and humanism are built upon entirely different worldviews. The Buddhist path by no means encourages "playing oneself," for the ultimate consequence of perpetually performing this role is endless saṁsāra. In this life, you may still play the part of "yourself"; upon descending to the hell realms, however, even the opportunity to "perform" collapses—leaving nothing but pure, unmitigated suffering.
This is not a demand that you immediately cease "playing yourself"—at our present stage, we simply lack the capacity to do so. Our very attempt to "not play ourselves" is often nothing more than performing the state of "non-performance." What, then, is to be done? First, observe the workings of your own mind, and steadily sustain your study, reflection, and practice. Over time, the mind grows increasingly clear and luminous. Eventually, the question of whether one is "performing" or "not performing" ceases to carry weight—the issue itself dissolves entirely. In the preliminary stages of practice, however, this remains genuinely difficult to accomplish.
Therefore, we must observe deeply the subtle operations of the personal self. At times, it manifests as self-flaunting; at other times, as self-concealment. Consider, for example, the modern buzz around "showing off" or "vying for the center stage." Why do such phenomena arise? Because the individual craves visibility. Conversely, "keeping a low profile" is merely another strategy of self-protection—knowing full well that "the nail that sticks up gets hammered down," one retreats quietly into a corner.
Similarly, when we communicate, manage affairs, or report to superiors, we calculate incessantly: What should be said? How should it be phrased? What should be emphasized, and what should be glossed over? On the surface, there appear to be countless practical justifications; at bottom, however, it is entirely a matter of shielding the "self."
Even within a spiritual community, this dynamic persists. During meals, some deliberately avoid sitting directly across from the teacher, terrified that once noticed, the focus of the conversation will be directed onto them.
If the "self" were absent, one would relax instantly. Yet this relaxation does not imply recklessness or irresponsibility. Free from the grasping at a personal self, there are no longer entanglements of gain and loss; far from shrinking back, one becomes more courageous in shouldering responsibility. From this, authentic joy naturally arises—a joy that naturally radiates to everyone around us.
Sometimes, a bodhisattva or spiritual master will deliberately play the role of an "executioner," employing fierce means to sever your self-grasping. Because we do not know how to uproot self-grasping on our own, they intentionally strike where it hurts—for without pain, we remain blind to where our attachments lie. If bodhisattvas refrained from acting as executioners and instead offered only pleasant, gentle comfort, they would surely be immensely popular. Why? Because those who harbor a personal self naturally adore others who appear free of it. Is this strange? At root, it still springs from self-interest.
Would someone who has truly eradicated the grasping at a personal self still "prefer those who are free of self"? Neither preference nor aversion applies. To such a practitioner, this is simply how things inherently are; the question itself no longer exists.
This article is a preliminary translation draft and has not yet been reviewed or proofread by the speaker.
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