PDF Summary:No Self, No Problem, by Chris Niebauer

If you’re like most people, you have a pretty good sense of who you are and how you relate to the world. But everything you know about yourself is wrong—according to neuroscientist Chris Niebauer. In No Self, No Problem, he explains that your sense of self is nothing more than an illusion crafted by your storytelling left brain. While science is just catching on to how this works, Niebauer notes that Buddhism, Taoism, and Hinduism have been teaching something similar for thousands of years.

In this guide, we’ll follow Niebauer through a tour of your sense of self and the brain regions that bring it into being. We’ll also consider his advice for loosening your grip on the thoughts and judgments that make you dissatisfied with your reality. Along the way, we’ll explore what other scientists, philosophers, and artists have to say about who we are and what it means to be a person.

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Niebauer explains that the left brain uses two tools to create the narratives and sense of self that shape how we perceive our world: language and pattern recognition. We’ll look at the details of each of these next.

Language

The left brain is the dominant side of the brain for the use of language. It produces the internal monologue many people hear in their heads. Through this monologue—which sounds like “you” talking to yourself within your mind—your left brain gives a voice to your observations, thoughts, and judgments. These are all, by nature, subjective, and often wrong. But because the left brain puts them into language, they feel real.

(Shortform note: Not everyone has an internal monologue to shape their sense of self or reality. Psychologist Russell Hurlburt estimates that between 30% and 50% of people frequently have an inner monologue. In this monologue they hear themselves thinking in their mind, often talking themselves through a task or figuring out how to solve a problem. Hurlburt says most people who experience an inner monologue don’t hear it all the time and go through much of their day without hearing it at all. People who don’t hear an inner monologue think in different ways: For example, scientist Temple Grandin explains in Visual Thinking that people with autism may think by visualizing images, seeing patterns, or putting things into words—or in a mix of these.)

Because language makes them feel real, you usually don’t question the left brain’s explanations, whether in your inner monologue or in your thoughts and judgments. Niebauer argues this leads to negative experiences, like when your left brain convinces you your best friend is upset at you or talks you into believing you failed an exam, even though it doesn’t have compelling evidence for either story.

(Shortform note: Your left brain’s storytelling ability is great when the story your brain tells you corresponds with reality—but things can go wrong when the narrative diverges from the truth. This happens in obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD)—a person’s brain invents a story that convinces them something terrible will happen if they don’t do a very specific thing to prevent it. Or, in schizophrenia, people often hear hallucinated voices that originate in the left brain and its mechanisms for internal monologue. These seemingly external voices speak to them and often tell them what to do. The Collected Schizophrenias author Esmé Weijun Wang explains these hallucinations “kidnap the senses,” telling a convincing and often harmful story that isn’t true.)

Another way the left brain’s facility with language leads us astray is by convincing us the categories and labels it comes up with are real. Niebauer explains the left brain is so invested in the reality of the language it uses to describe the world that it sometimes thinks the abstractions and arbitrary categories it dreams up are real or definitive—but they aren’t. For instance, your brain might label the people in your life as “good” or “bad” and assume they’ll always act accordingly. But in reality, everyone’s behavior and moral character is nuanced—and most people believe that doing one good or bad thing doesn’t make someone a good or bad person.

(Shortform note: As Niebauer notes, language makes things feel real, and it shapes perception in surprising ways. For example, the human eye can see millions of different colors, and we use language to put them in categories, like “red,” “orange,” or “yellow.” If you know names for more shades of a color—red ochre, quinacridone red, vermillion, or madder—you can distinguish shades others might not. Knowledge of this effect seems to have led to a strange myth that the ancient Greeks couldn’t see the color blue because they didn’t have a word for “blue.” So when Homer describes the “wine-dark sea,” some readers assume the blue of the ocean didn’t register to the ancient Greek eye—overestimating language’s role in influencing how we see color.)

Pattern Recognition

Intrinsic to the left brain’s ability to produce language and construct categories is another key function of this half of the brain: its tendency to search for patterns. Niebauer notes that we see patterns everywhere, even where none actually exist. That’s what causes the left brain to separate things into categories, make judgments, and apply labels, often erroneously.

(Shortform note: Scientists call the tendency to see patterns in random events apophenia. Apophenia may arise from an overactive right brain, and it makes unrelated things seem connected. It helps us see images in Rorschach blots and create insightful metaphors—or makes us see ghosts and fall for conspiracy theories. Vladimir Nabokov explores apophenia in “Symbols and Signs.” The story follows the elderly parents of a man who’s institutionalized for seeing messages in everything, a real symptom of psychosis. Much of what happens in the story goes unexplained, which sends the reader scrambling to connect the dots—an unsettling experience that leaves some readers engaging their own apophenia to try to make sense of it.)

Niebauer says the tendency to search for patterns—and to find them, whether they’re real or not—contributes to our belief in the self. When the left brain looks at our thoughts, memories, and preferences, it looks for connections in these enormous sets of information. The pattern that emerges is the self. The self is wildly convincing to the left brain, but that doesn’t mean it’s real.

(Shortform note: Some experts say your brain uses patterns not only in the information it’s gathered about your thoughts—as Niebauer explains—but also patterns in its information about the outside world to construct your sense of self. In The Self Illusion, psychologist Bruce Hood says your sense of self is a little like the kind of optical illusion called an “illusory contour”—like the Kanizsa triangle. In this illusion, you see a bright white triangle even though there aren’t any lines outlining one because your brain “hallucinates” the triangle from the surrounding lines and shapes. Hood contends that similarly, your brain spins your sense of self out of negative space in the information about what you perceive to create a self-portrait of the perceiver: you.)

The Right Brain Lives In the Present Moment—But the Left Brain Doesn’t

While the left brain is constantly talking to itself—judging, sequencing, categorizing, and labeling everything we experience—the right brain approaches reality differently. Niebauer states that the right brain experiences the world without the constraints of language because while it understands language, it can’t produce language. Instead, the right half of your brain perceives the world more directly, without the filter of the left half’s narratives. (Shortform note: Experts say that when the right brain participates in processing or understanding language, it tends to focus on the emotional signals in language, versus the sounds and syntax the left brain focuses on.)

(Shortform note: Niebauer says that most of the time, the language center—the area of the brain that produces language—is located in the left brain, which leaves the right brain unable to produce language. This is true for an estimated 97% of people. But there are exceptions: A few people who are left-handed have language regions in the right hemisphere, and many people who are left-handed have some language capabilities on both sides of their brain.)

Niebauer explains that the right brain and the left brain are constantly sharing what they’re learning and doing. The left brain does this in words, which gives you the ability to consciously think about what you’re doing. But Niebauer notes that because the right brain can’t “speak” to the left brain in words, it leaves the left brain in the dark as to what it’s doing. So the left brain labels many of the activities of the nonverbal right brain “unconscious,” even ones that involve choice and complex thinking.

For example, if you decide to stand up and walk across the room, you have very little insight into how your brain makes it happen. The process feels unconscious because your right brain doesn’t narrate what it’s doing. Instead, it acts in the present, without explaining itself in a way that tells your left brain (and thus “you”) what’s happening behind the curtain.

(Shortform note: It’s not all bad news when you dig into the details of how the left brain and right brain communicate with each other. Psychologists say one of the interesting ways that the two hemispheres coordinate information involves a process that’s a bit like ping pong. Just as you and the player on the other side of the ping pong table fall into a rhythm—getting faster and more precise as you pass the ball back and forth—the sides of the brain also get better at passing information back and forth when you’re moving more quickly and need to make quicker decisions. Counterintuitively, the process is also particularly fast during rapid eye movement (REM) sleep—as if your left brain and right brain are playing ping pong while you sleep.)

While the right brain’s ability to think and act without language creates some odd effects in its collaboration with the left, it comes with benefits, too. Niebauer explains that the right brain’s ability to think without the constraints of verbal language gives us several kinds of nonverbal knowledge: intuition, emotions, plus a more holistic way of making sense of the world than the narrative-based method of the left brain.

(Shortform note: Scientists say we never stop thinking, but we don’t have conscious access to many of the thoughts and decisions our brains produce. As Niebauer suggests, that may be because many processes in the brain happen independent of language. We can do things like access memories, make plans for the future, reason about how to behave in social encounters, make moral decisions, feel intuition, and understand emotions without using the brain’s language system. But how? The Mind Is Flat author Nick Chater explains though language gives us a way to communicate—to ourselves or others—the conclusions of our thinking, it doesn’t contain the thinking itself. Thoughts come first, and language comes second.)

Intuition and Emotions

Our decisions are often influenced by nonverbal knowledge that comes from the right brain. That includes the kind of nonverbal knowledge we call “intuition.” As Niebauer explains it, intuition feels like having knowledge about something but not being able to articulate where this knowledge came from. That’s exactly how our intuitions come about: When the right brain sends information to the left, the left brain can’t place where it came from. So it calls it an intuition.

(Shortform note: You can understand intuition as a process where your brain uses your past experiences, along with information about your present situation, to inform your decisions. Niebauer identifies pattern recognition primarily with the left brain. But Switch Craft author and psychologist Elaine Fox writes that intuition, which is associated with the right brain, also relies on pattern recognition. She explains intuition arises from your brain’s ability to analyze patterns and probabilities before you consciously catch up. Intuitions are predictions about how what you’re currently experiencing matches up with what you’ve seen in the past. They can guide you toward better decisions when you use them alongside more rational kinds of decision-making.)

Intuition plays an important role in our emotions, which are also associated with the right brain, according to Niebauer. One emotion in particular—gratitude—both illustrates how the right brain sees the world and explains how the right brain’s way of seeing the world can dissipate the illusion of the self. Niebauer explains we feel something like the opposite of gratitude when we judge our experiences. The left brain labels them “good” or “bad,” and when we hold onto these judgments, they reinforce the illusion that we’re a separate “self” interacting with the world. But when we practice gratitude, the right brain takes over and we can accept reality as it is, without judging it, and appreciate what we experience in the present moment.

(Shortform note: There might be something to the popular advice to create a gratitude journal or find another way to remind yourself what you’re grateful for each day: Experts say your mental health depends less on what you experience, in objective terms, and more on what you choose to pay attention to. Neuroscientist Alex Korb, author of The Upward Spiral, says that practicing gratitude boosts your mental health by teaching your brain what to pay attention to. By acting on brain circuits related to mood, motivation, and resilience, gratitude helps your brain learn that finding the good in an experience is important—and that there’s value in learning to accept reality as it is, without the labels and judgments that shore up your sense of self.)

Seeing Things as Connected, Rather Than Separate

Niebauer explains that the right brain takes a holistic view of the world, enabled in part by emotions like compassion. Buddhists understand compassion as an ability to see how everyone is connected. So it’s no surprise that while your left brain considers you an individual separate from everyone else, the compassionate right brain can see everything and everyone as interconnected, rather than as separate entities.

(Shortform note: Buddhists explain that to their way of thinking, compassion comes from realizing you’re part of a larger whole and you and everyone else are interdependent. The concept extends beyond humans to suggest that all of life is interconnected. One way to think about this is to consider the people in your community, whom you can see not only as people sharing ideas and experiences but also as bodies interacting with each other. As essayist Eula Biss explores in On Immunity, a book about vaccination, the interdependence of our lives makes us vulnerable, whether to infectious disease or infectious ideas. But it also leaves us open to profound possibilities for connection and solidarity, two very right-brain experiences.)

The right brain’s ability to see connections means that while the left brain sees everything you experience as a series of separate events and focuses on specific observations or perceptions, the right brain views things holistically. Niebauer explains that the right half of your brain treats experiences and pieces of information as if they’re all connected to one another and develops comprehensive impressions rather than thoughts or judgments pinned to specific pieces of information.

(Shortform note: The idea that the right brain processes information holistically was first proposed by Roger Sperry, one of the researchers whose studies with split-brain patients Niebauer cites. Sperry’s experiments in the 1950s and 1960s showed the left brain to be analytical, rational, and verbal, and the right brain to be conceptual, holistic, and intuitive. Deep Knowing author Kim Hermanson says scientists still haven’t fully developed the ideas Sperry proposed. She explains that we tend to dismiss the capabilities of the right brain in favor of the skills of the left. But we need our right brains to feel connected to ourselves, to each other, and to the Earth—as well as to practice creative thinking that isn’t accessible to the left brain.)

Is the Left Brain or the Right Brain Correct? Why Does It Matter?

The evidence is looking pretty compelling that there’s a difference between your left brain and your right brain’s visions of the world. The left brain’s efforts to make sense of the world create your sense of self, and the right brain’s way of thinking pokes some big holes in the left brain’s story. But is that enough to throw out the narrative altogether? Niebauer contends another key piece of evidence from neuroscience research seems to rule out the existence of the self as an objective reality—and to show that believing the self is real causes us suffering we don’t have to experience.

While neuroscientists have identified regions of the left brain and right brain that seem to be responsible for specific tasks, Niebauer states that one region that so far remains conspicuously absent from our map of the brain is a center for the self. One crucial quality unites the cognitive functions—like language, face perception, or understanding others’ emotions—neuroscientists have mapped to specific parts of the brain: Because these cognitive tasks depend in part on specific brain regions, they seem to be performed the same way each time. Niebauer argues the task of creating the self isn’t consistent in the same way.

(Shortform note: It’s tempting to look for distinct regions of the brain, located in one or both hemispheres, that seem responsible for a given task, as Niebauer implies. But scientists say many functions don’t just take place in just one region of the brain, and the idea that regions operate as independent “modules” has been criticized as “modern phrenology.” Many scientists observe that typically, cognitive tasks require the coordination of networks of different brain regions. These interact with each other to perform processes that, as Niebauer notes, tend to happen roughly the same way each time. Some scientists compare the brain to an orchestra: Each instrument has a part to play, but it’s only in their collaboration that a symphony emerges.)

Niebauer argues that the fact that neuroscientists haven’t discovered a brain region responsible for our sense of self seems to confirm that the self doesn’t persist over time (or even exist in the brain) in the way we feel it does. He explains that in this way, neuroscience suggests the individual self isn’t a stable reality but instead is just an idea—just as Buddhism and other Eastern schools of thought have taught for thousands of years.

(Shortform note: Scientists have several theories about where in the brain the self arises, like the idea it originates in the self-related thinking of the default mode network and cortical midline structures (CMS), which we discussed earlier. Another theory says a region called the anterior precuneus gives us a sense of our physical self, creating a conscious “I” to accompany the “me” produced by the default mode network. Yet another hypothesis suggests the medial prefrontal cortex, a part of the default mode network, might create your sense of self by integrating what you know about your present and future selves. As Niebauer notes, scientists haven’t found conclusive evidence yet—but many do think you might find your “self” by looking at your brain.)

Niebauer also hypothesizes that consciousness, like the self, might not really exist in the brain, either: Instead, your brain might participate in a kind of “universal consciousness” present in all of us. Niebauer explains that just as we accept the illusion that we have a permanent and individual self, we also take it for granted that we have an individual consciousness, with our own perceptions and memories. But by holding on to these ideas, we prevent ourselves from entertaining the possibility that consciousness might not be something we have, but something we participate in, along with everyone else in the world.

(Shortform note: In Power vs. Force, psychiatrist David Hawkins describes universal consciousness as a kind of understanding or knowledge that everyone shares, somewhat like the “collective unconscious” Carl Jung proposed. Unlike Jung, Hawkins characterizes universal consciousness as both internal, in that we can access it within our own psyche, and external, in that it’s a single entity we all tap into. Hawkins contends that the most enlightened state we can achieve is one where we don’t see ourselves as individuals, but as extensions of the universal consciousness—a description of enlightenment that accords well with the teachings of Hinduism.)

So why does all of this matter? Niebauer explains accepting the self as real isn’t a harmless error, but often makes us anxious, unhappy, or dissatisfied in our lives. He notes that when we identify our sense of self (and our sense of reality) too strongly with our thoughts, feelings, and judgments, then we take those thoughts and feelings too literally.

When we believe what we’re thinking or feeling is literally true, then we assume that thoughts like, “I can’t do anything right,” or “Things will never work out the way I want” tell us something true or real about the world. So we experience what Buddhists call “suffering.” Suffering involves a sense of dissatisfaction with the way things are, either in the world around us or in our inner worlds. We experience it so much that it feels like an inescapable part of life.

(Shortform note: Niebauer argues the self isn’t real, but suffering is—a view shared by A Swim in a Pond in the Rain author George Saunders. Saunders, a longtime student of Nyingma Buddhism, explains that if we realized the impermanence of everything and the delusion of our “self-loyalty,” we wouldn’t experience the pain we feel when reality doesn’t line up with our expectations—the pain Buddhists call “suffering.” For example, Saunders explains that when we encounter something, whether a person or a paragraph, we have a visceral reaction to it. This reaction is real, and we only create suffering for ourselves when we try to deny it or change it. Instead, we have to look at our thoughts and feelings and just accept whatever we see.)

Niebauer contends that by working to loosen your grip on your traditional idea of the self, you can work toward the freedom from suffering that countless students of Buddhism have sought. And you can do that while still enjoying the ups and downs of daily life lived from the perspective of the self you’ve always known, an idea we’ll explore in the next section.

How Can You Change Your Perception of Yourself?

It’s one thing to know that believing too strongly that your thoughts and feelings are real—and that they create a sense of self that’s really “you”—is an error. It’s another thing to figure out how to go about changing the way you’ve always perceived reality. Fortunately, Niebauer can help. In the book, he provides a variety of short exercises and prompts to kickstart this process. In the section ahead, we’ll explore three of the most important strategies he recommends focusing on if you want to learn to take the stories of your left brain a little less seriously and build a happier life in the process.

Realize That Your “Self” Is Just an Illusion

The first step to letting go of the narrative your left brain constructs for you is simply to realize that the “self” you think you know (and are) is just an illusion. Seeing this illusion for what it is can help free you from the constraints of the identity you’ve built for yourself. This means you’ll be able to approach your life with more flexibility, adaptability, and openness to new experiences. For example, you might think of yourself as a city person. But if you let go of that identity, you’ll feel more willing to go beyond city limits and see what it would be like to travel to the country or spend a summer in the suburbs. By becoming more open to possibility, you stop letting an idea define what you do or limit the experiences you’re open to.

(Shortform note: It’s one thing to want to let go of your ideas about yourself—and another to figure out how to do it. In Waking Up, philosopher and neuroscientist Sam Harris suggests one way to transcend the illusion of the self is to cultivate a meditation practice. When you meditate, you can explore your consciousness in a way that helps you see through the impression that you’re defined by your thoughts and feelings. Harris says learning to meditate is a long journey, but enables you to experience consciousness without your thoughts, feelings, and memories intruding. The goal is to be present in the moment so you can look beyond your ideas about yourself and feel more open to the world as it really is—at least for a few moments at a time.)

Niebauer points out that once you understand that your sense of self is just an illusion, rather than something fixed and stable, you can realize the same thing applies to other people, too. It’s easy to stereotype people or to think you know what their personalities or tendencies are. But other people’s characters and inner lives are as complex and ever-changing as your own thoughts, emotions, behaviors, and temperament. Niebauer explains that knowing nobody else has a fixed self can help you practice empathy for others and feel grateful for what you experience with the people you love, without the burden of rigid expectations for what kind of person the other should be.

(Shortform note: Perhaps without realizing it, many of us fall into the implicit assumption philosophers call solipsism: the feeling you’re the only sentient being because you can’t prove that other people’s consciousnesses exist. Rational Mysticism author John Horgan says this skepticism of others’ consciousness is a reaction to our sense of solitude or isolation. It poses a barrier to practicing the empathy that Niebauer champions since it causes us to dismiss other people’s perspectives. But Horgan says that by using art to imagine others’ lives or by getting to know another person well, you can confront your solipsism and be more aware of other people’s minds—as complex and as ever-changing as Niebauer notes they are.)

Learn That You Aren’t Your Thoughts or Feelings

Niebauer explains that coming to understand the narrative of the “self” as an illusion can also set you on a path toward discovering one of the core insights of mindfulness: the idea that you aren’t your thoughts or feelings. (Shortform note: Mindfulness is a nonjudgmental awareness of the thoughts, emotions, and sensations you’re experiencing in the present moment. The idea is to learn there isn’t a “right” or “wrong” way for you to feel or think, and to accept the present moment instead of dwelling on the past or obsessing over the future. Structured meditation is one way to practice mindfulness; other techniques include focusing on your breathing or paying special attention to the present moment by engaging all your senses.)

According to Niebauer, if you can let go of the tendency to identify yourself with what you’re thinking or feeling, then you can observe your thoughts and emotions from a distance instead of accepting them as real. Then you can learn to handle them more objectively, which can reduce the stress and anxiety you feel in your everyday life. He recommends practicing mindfulness to cultivate the skill of being awake to everything you’re experiencing in the present moment, without trying to judge it, apply labels to it, or fit it into a neat narrative about yourself or the world. Rather than getting lost in past memories or future anxieties, you can strive to have lucid moments where you’re just experiencing the present.

(Shortform note: In The Happiness Trap, therapist Russ Harris explains that a core idea in Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT)—a mindfulness-based therapy that often parallels Buddhist ideas—is cognitive defusion. The first step in ACT is to become aware that your thoughts are just thoughts, and they don’t necessarily tell the truth about you or the world. The next step is to separate yourself from your thoughts, using cognitive defusion to recognize your thoughts as stories your brain tells you and nothing more. Practicing cognitive defusion means recognizing yourself as an observer of your thoughts, emotions, and judgments. As an observer, you don’t have any obligation to those experiences beyond simply acknowledging they exist.)

Choose the Middle Path

Niebauer explains that once you know, intellectually, that the self is an illusion, you can choose among three paths. The first path leads you right back to the status quo, where you identify yourself with the voice in your head and let your left brain tell you what story to believe about yourself and your world. At the other extreme, the second path leads you to a life filled with meditation training, mindfulness practice, yoga instruction, and prayer, where you dedicate your time to using these tools to try to transcend your narrative-based way of seeing the world.

The third path is what Buddhists call the middle path because it offers a compromise between the other two. Niebauer says that when you take this path, you still live your life letting your left brain construct its narratives and make its judgments. But you also cultivate the ability to take those stories less seriously. Likewise, while you might practice meditation, mindfulness, or yoga to exercise the muscle of seeing things with your right brain rather than your left, you also spend time just living your everyday life.

(Shortform note: Buddhists describe the middle path, or middle way, as a compromise between deprivation and indulgence, since neither of those paths leads to enlightenment. The middle path is full of possibility. Psychologist and Buddhist monk Jack Kornfield says it offers a middle ground between many of the opposites important to Buddhist thought: being and non-being, form and emptiness, free will and determinism, and attachment and aversion. He advises that to find this path, you have to practice mindfulness—and learn to trust life. The goal is to relate to the world not by removing ourselves from it altogether or losing ourselves in it completely, but by living in the reality of the present moment and being open to everything we experience.)

Choosing the middle path, as Niebauer describes it, is like allowing yourself to get caught up in a captivating novel, even though you know it’s just a story. From time to time, you’ll lose yourself in the action and feel the joys and disappointments of your life deeply. Other times, you’ll remember they’re all part of the story your left brain tells. You’ll be able to step back and watch as if from a distance, experiencing everything that comes your way without clinging too strongly to your left brain’s judgments of events and experiencing a much calmer and more open approach to life.

(Shortform note: Many people learn to find value in stepping back from their emotions. In The Faraway Nearby, Rebecca Solnit writes that when you distance yourself from your emotions, as Buddhism can teach you to do, you see patterns and connections among them. She says this isn’t indifference: It’s an ability to “see the thing as a whole, see all the islands and the routes between them.” Solnit contends that when you make connections among things you think, feel, and experience, you can find unexpected links between seeming opposites like uncertainty and hope. She believes that to hope is to embrace the unknowability of the world, as Niebauer advises: to expect we’ll be surprised by what we find when we open ourselves to life.)