Hobo Monks, Essentialist Humans, and Pleasure
For years scientists have known that context shapes our appreciation of things: we feel that expensive water tastes better, even though in blind taste tests we cannot distinguish; we report that adding vinegar to beer makes it taste worse, even though if we drink it BEFORE finding out that it has vinegar, we think it tastes better. We refuse to drink soup out of a brand new hospital bedpan, even though it might be cleaner than a restaurant bowl.
Why is this? Is it because people are not rational actors?
No. It has nothing to do with rationality. Our subjective experience is shaped by memory. As we experience something, it triggers ‘hooks’ into past memories, and each memory might have an associated emotion. The hospital bedpan will trigger disgust. However, zen masters can transcend this; they have built a skill to see things for what they are, instead of letting their mind wander into associations. Consider this story from the most excellent book, Zen Flesh Zen Bones:
Tosui was a well-known Zen teacher of his time. He had lived in several temples and taught in various provinces.
The last temple he visited accumulated so many adherents that Tosui told them he was going to quit the lecture business entirely. He advised them to disperse and go wherever they desired. After that no one could find any trace of him.
Three years later one of his disciples discovered him living with some beggars under a bridge in Kyoto. He at once implored Tosui to teach him.
“If you can do as I do for even a couple days, I might,” Tosui replied.
So the former disciple dressed as a beggar and spent the day with Tosui. The following day one of the beggars died. Tosui and his pupil carried the body off at midnight and buried it on a mountainside. After that they returned to their shelter under the bridge.
Tosui slept soundly the remainder of the night, but the disciple could not sleep. When morning came Tosui said: “We do not have to beg food today. Our dead friend has left some over there.” But the disciple was unable to eat a single bite of it.
“I have said you could not do as I,” concluded Tosui. “Get out of here and do not bother me again.”
One of the tenets of many Eastern spiritual practices (as espoused by new age groups) is that often times it is not just the thing that bothers us, but our emotions about the thing. For example, we can be annoyed and stressed about a stubbed toe, instead of just experiencing the throbbing for what it is. Oppositely, we can be happy about owning a t-shirt worn by a celebrity, because our happiness derives from not only the raw value we can get from the shirt itself, but from all of these emotions we experience from the shirt.
When we feel joy about possessing Barack Obama’s used necktie, it is because we feel that the tie bears his essence. Paul Bloom’s new book, How Pleasure Works, calls this vantage point “essentialism”: we project essences onto things that we perceive, and it’s a near-universal part of being human. The world might just be a bunch of random atoms, but our minds have learned to carve our perceptions into discrete objects. In order to explain these objects, we give them essences.
Let me give an example of essentialism in action. Imagine that your favorite pet has been magically duplicated. Would you want the duplicate, or would you prefer the original? Studies predict that you would prefer the original. Why? Because the new pet doesn’t have the “essence” of the old one… somehow, it’s just not the same. There’s a logical phylogenetic (evolutionary) explanation to this one: we want to make sure that we stay bonded to creatures with whom we share genetic interests.
So maybe the advanced human can transcend essentialism. You’d definitely have a “leg up” on people less conscious of their preferences. But then again, maybe you’d end up like the monk Tosui, who lived under the bridge.
Further reading: Zen Flesh Zen Bones, How Pleasure Works, Predictably Irrational.
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