Anatomy of Reflection

There is something distinctly disturbing about self-reflection--those of us who seldom take part in it or abstain from it find themselves in the grips of a confidence or bravery, and those who can’t but indulge in it regress into the depths of self-doubt. A sobered mind might dismiss this observation as coincidental, or might refrain altogether from such an inquiry because of inherent difficulties associated with dissecting any criteria for emotional distress, but the question nonetheless presents a profound opportunity for growth that cannot be denied, and it is a question which is only avoided by cause of fear--those with little to hide are more apt to inquire, and those with deep-seeded regrets will be equally averse. In the least, one’s aversion to the subject serves as an indication of their valuation of themselves.

The question of self-reflection must be distinguished from the subject of reflection at large. Reflection in general is posed in light of an other; if the subject of inquiry (ie the person being reflected upon) is a stranger, a neighbour, even a spouse or one’s child, matters of and observations concerning self-reflection, belief, doubt and abstinence all easily come to the forefront of our minds. In these instances it is easy to assume the reasons or contributing factors to the conduct of others, because any and all assumptions can be defended by they who propose them, and any arguments against such claims can be discredited by they who stand accused. But these numerous instances of abstraction are not in the realm of self-reflection; rather, they are solely mediums of discourse concerning others. And whatever opinions one holds are wholly inconsequential instances of guesswork predicated on the intentions, biases, and frames of mind of they who are inquiring.

Self-reflection is distinguished from the rest in that the figure of concern is the self, and the subject of reflection is truth--not truth in an empirical sense, and not truth in light of confirmation, but truth in light of oneself. One is the closest thing to their selves, being privy to the entirety of its beliefs, reasonings, fears, cravings, etc. There is an important distinction to be made between one and its self--the self is the one in being; the banker, mailman, lawyer, wife, gambler; it is the individual who wakes up late for work, who becomes impatient with their child, who prefers to eat their kiwis ripe, or sour. It is, in essence, that iteration of being which communes with life around it, which acts, thinks, believes, and corresponds with others. One, however, is more than its self. One is a grander body of being--the totality of that individual, personified perhaps in the moment, but never outside the light of the whole that it represents. One may, for example, be of the mind of a janitor for a time, but then more closely represent an artist in another. Similarly, an individual may be strongly religious in their youth, then come to atheistic resolutions as they age, or vice versa. That is to say, the self can and does, in any one moment of time, represent one modus of being or of belief, but this cannot be confused with the properties of the one, which is exempt from characterization.

The pain associated with self-reflection grows from the dissimilarities between the one and its self; an individual who transitions from one modus of belief to another is suddenly presented with a seeming paradox--they are at once in disagreement with themselves, and must seek a resolution. The pragmatic solution would be to conclude that one of the two systems of belief (ie that which was believed, and that which is believed) is naive, or otherwise incorrect. What undoubtedly happens is the one will conclude that the current self, that which is present, is altogether more informed than the latter, and thus is the correct frame of mind. This conclusion is inevitable--the human mind is in a perpetual state of self-affirmation; one is entirely unable to consider itself to be incorrect, and revolves suredly around its present system of belief. As such, in the act of self-reflection, should differences arrive, one is altogether forced to be at odds with itself, and must turn on itself in perpetuity. 

The alternative, however, demands more of the thinker, and risks the deterioration of certainty of the minds that entertain it. Given that one most definitely will find cause for disagreement with their selves--long past or recently past--one is presented with an opportunity for understanding its self as a whole; it would be fallacious to assume that a given self is correct, because each disagreement one has with its self is an indication to the contrary. In being of a different belief at different times, the self demonstrates its own limitations, and these limitations can be dissected, reviewed, and assessed. The procedure circumvents the conventional biases of a present instance of self in reflection: one does not therefore need to be in disagreement with a past self, for that past self was correct given its present. An obvious fallacy presents itself here, for one might be provoked into the belief that they cannot be wrong--on the contrary, what should be understood is that they could not but be wrong.

Reflection is not, therefore, an exercise that produces a result other than the diminution of one’s sense of correctness, but that is not to the detriment of the individual partaking in it. The revelation hiding behind the painful veil of reflection lies in the stunning truth that we are blind in a profound way--that the totality of our selves, the one, is altogether absent from experience but as an echo, as a byproduct of reflection, and that the self operates counter to its cause in its efforts of resolving its deficits through belief.

Reflection thus serves not as a means for the one to further understand itself, for at its furthest depths one discovers only the mechanism at fault for our blindness, and the proper totality that is the limitation of our perspective. Here, the question is diverted from concerning the self, to concerning the one: Is clarity for the self not a matter of determining the transcendental property of the one? And with respect to self-reflection, is it not, at its core, the search for the blindness we know we embody, but fear and resent? It comes as no surprise, then, that confidence is endowed upon those who so strongly believe in themselves--perhaps they know better than to inquire further.