Note: I originally wrote this in response to Molly’s post titled “(self) concept” which she seems to have taken down now. If it ever resurfaces I’ll add a link here.
Sometimes it seems like everyone on the internet is pretending. It's hard to believe that people mean what they say, especially when we know that there's good money to be made from engagement bait. Some days just scrolling through YouTube thumbnails and tweets can push me into a nihilistic cynical haze—is this really the internet we wanted?
It's not that people are all malicious in their quest for our attention, far from it. The feedback cycle drives itself: engagement bait naturally becomes popular, so people copy it hoping to capitalise on the popularity. Soon, the entire internet seems full of the same vapid idea replicated ad nauseam. So, what's the antidote? Authenticity. Don't say what gets clicks, say what you think. It seems stupid to do the opposite of what's popular if you're seeking popularity, but if you're trying to connect with people then the rules are completely different.
I'm far from alone in this realisation. We might not consciously know it but we all crave authentic connection to other humans. I suspect much of the anti-technology sentiment today stems from the artificiality of our experience online, and it's only getting worse. It seems, to me, more important than ever to share my honest feelings without a sales pipeline lurking at the end (FN: except asking you to subscribe to this newsletter, of course).
Unfortunately it's rarely that simple. It's easy to say you're being authentic, but how can you actually know? What is an authentic thought? What if my authentic desire is to blow up and act like I don't know nobody? Without a little context we're in danger of reducing authenticity to a buzzword.
If you've read many of my posts you'll know I'm a fan of Buddhist philosophy. One of the core lines of inquiry in Buddhism points to the self, specifically, who are you in actuality? Well, turns out if you keep tugging on that thread things get... confusing. If you look hard enough you'll realise there really isn't a stable definition of self to be found. At all. Much ink has already been spilled over this point so I'll let you investigate that claim as homework.
What does the illusory nature of the self have to do with posting online? Well, if we want to take authenticity seriously, we need to taboo our words and unpack the meaning of authenticity. This leaves us in a strange situation: if the self is a constantly changing illusion with unclear boundaries, then what exactly am I meant to be authentic to? How can I know what I think if I can't meaningfully define "I"?
Over the years I've burned countless brain cycles on these questions, to little avail. This year, as I continued to relax my grip on my ego, I found myself questioning whether making video games is actually what I authentically enjoy. This is where letting go of the self can be precarious: if you could be anyone, who would you be? Who should you be?
This precipitates an endless thought loop: Are games important? Do they make the world a better place? Should they be such a large part of my identity? Is it good to be a game developer? Why do I care about these weird digital worlds so much if they're ultimately pointless? They must be important somehow, right?!
The more I think, the worse it gets. How the hell are you meant to decide what to work on? What is worth my time?
This is all a wonderful demonstration of the limits of rationalism. When I'm making games, playing them or just watching someone else enjoy a game it's obvious: I love video games even if I can't logically justify why (also applies to software, art etc). Could I do more to help people? Obviously, you can always do more. This is my core objection to utilitarian ethics: in the real world nothing is simple as maximising variables, especially when it comes to what makes a good life. Giving up on a rigid idea of the self doesn't get rid of dreams, emotions and desires, it merely recontextualises them.
I think it's wise to question how you spend your time, but questions are more valuable than answers. Questions are eternal, answers are fleeting. They're outdated the moment you articulate them. I've reached too many summits only to realise I would prefer to climb a different mountain. I can bury myself in "shoulds", "goods" and "whys" but at the end of the day, if I'm paying attention, I know if I like what I'm doing or not. I don't know what the best use of my time is, I never have, and I'm slowly accepting that that's okay.
You can't make sense of everything, sometimes you have to trust your gut. I think, perhaps, that's what it means to be authentic.
Until next time,
Ben ✌️
Stuff I've been thinking about
How hardcore Meditation Transformed his Brain permanently | Daniel Ingram
"A Cloud Never Dies" biographical documentary of Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh