Tami Simon
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Tami Simon
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
Alan Watts
The basis of all Indian philosophy—particularly the teaching of those books called the Upanishads, which are really the distilled essence of Hindu thought—the basis is called the Self. And this word, in Sanskrit, is Ātman, and that means ‘Self’ in the vastest possible sense, and the most inclusive sense of the word. It means ‘yourself,’ and it means also ‘self as such,’ ‘existence as such,’ the ‘totality of all being.’ And, of course, this is something that one cannot talk about in the sense of talking about it logically. You can’t talk about it. A poet can talk about anything, and the Upanishads are, very largely, poetry.
Of course, everything in the world—knives and forks, tables and chairs, trees and stones—are indescribable. Korzybski referred to the physical world as the ‘unspeakable world,’ which was really rather a funny name because it has two edges. It’s, of course, something you can’t say anything about—that is to say, it is ineffable—but it’s unspeakable also in the sense of the word meaning something taboo. And we shall see, as we go on, wherein that taboo consists.
But from the standpoint of logic we can’t say anything about everything, because in order to say something about something, and state it logically, you have to be able to put it in a class. Now, classes are intellectual boxes. When you play games like Animal, Vegetable, Mineral? you’ve got there three boxes. And when you come to think of it, you don’t know any one without another, because in order to have a box there must be what’s inside the box and what’s outside the box. And then, by this method of contrast, we can make a logical discussion about things. All words, therefore, are labels on intellectual pigeonholes.
But then, when you come to what fundamentally is, then you’re without a box and you can’t talk logically. Of course, you can distinguish ‘is’ from ‘is not,’ but only in a very limited way—as I can say, I have a pen in my left hand. I do not have a pen in my right hand. And from this we abstract the idea of ‘to be’ and ‘not to be,’ ‘is’ and ‘isn’t.’
But when we consider Being—with a capital ‘B’—this includes not only such ‘is’es as celestial bodies, but also such ‘isn’t’s as the space that encompasses them. And these two go together, as we shall see in more detail as the time goes on.
But now, a perfectly logical person would therefore say that the notion of the Self—the Ātman, as the fundamental reality in which everything else exists—is meaningless. And, of course, from a logical point of view it is. But at the same time, just because something cannot be put into a logical category does not indicate that it isn’t real. The Self, you see, bears somewhat the same relationship to the world as the diaphragm of the speaker in this radio bears to the music you’ve just been hearing. None of the music was about the diaphragm and nobody said anything about there being a diaphragm. The diaphragm, as such, didn’t come into the picture, and yet it was everything in the picture. All those different noises were vibrations of this thin film of metal. So, also, with your eardrum. So, also, with the apparatus of your eyes.
So one might ask, then—just as you say, Well, what is it on? What is the music on? Is it on tape, is it on a speaker, is it on a drum? Whatever the variations may be, we can ask the question, What are you all on? What is all this on? And the Hindus answer, It’s on the Self—like we say, This one’s on me. It isn’t that there’s only one Self in the sense that is taught in a philosophy called solipsism. Solipsism is the idea that you are the only person who exists and everybody else is your dream. Nobody can prove that this isn’t so, except I’d like to see a congress of solipsists arguing as to which one of them is really there.
It isn’t that; it’s more complex than that. It’s saying that the Self in each one of you is really, at root, one. Just in the same way that you have, all over your body, millions of nerve ends. Each one of those nerve ends is, as it were, a little eye—because all the senses are, fundamentally, one sense; they are various forms of touch. And the most delicate of the forms of touch is, of course, the human eye. Then the ear, and so on, down the list of the senses. Now imagine, then, every little nerve end is a little eye—and it gets its impression of the world, but it sends it all back into the central brain. Well, in a somewhat similar way, every person, every animal, every—what the Hindus call—sentient being; and even rocks are regarded as sentient beings in a very, very primitive form, right down to the lowest.
So all those forms that we see may be looked upon as the eyes that look out of one central Self. Only, of course, in the body—in the human body—we can see the connections between the nerve ends and the brain. It’s much more difficult to see the connection between one individual and another. If they’re married that’s a little bit closer. But just all us human beings rattling around, we’re not even rooted to the ground—like trees—and therefore it’s very easy for us to form the impression that I am only what is inside my bag of skin, and that my Self is a different Self from your Self. And we’re all, therefore, fundamentally disconnected. And so your apparent disconnection—the fact that you are not tied to other people with umbilical cords, or some kind of wiring that gives you one mind—nevertheless, we do have one mind. In the sense that, for example, all of us turn out to be approximately the same shape. Two eyes, two nostrils, a mouth, two hands, two legs, and so on.
A haiku poem—Japanese haiku—says, A hundred gourds from the mind of one vine. And so it is with people, and so it is with everything in the world. That’s just from a purely physical point of view. But going yet deeper, we find that it’s somehow a necessity of thought that there be some sort of a something which is the common ground of all these universes, all these galaxies, and that ground is the Self—as Hindus understand it, the Ātman.
Now, that’s quite a startling point of view, because what it’s saying is, you see, that you are basically the works.
The World as Self, Part 1: The Totality of All Being was written by Alan Watts.