We Should All Be Ideally Thoughtless
Do you question whether you’re correctly closing a car’s door or readjusting your glasses? Maybe you nearly always do it unconsciously, assuming they are just OK, until “proven guilty”, that is, until you have a reason to suspect them.
There is not enough time to question every one of our actions, thoughts, or beliefs. Instead, we continue thoughtlessly in our habits until something knocks you out of our complacency.
For example, after reading this post, you may become aware that you actually slam the car door, and nervously correct the position of your glasses. A sudden awareness would arise for what was hitherto done unconsciously, as when a friend draws your attention to the high pitch of your voice or the frequency at which you blink.
All perfect acts are unconscious and no longer subject to will.
— Nietzsche, The Will to Power
The consciousness of a man in action is unreflected consciousness — Sartre, Being and Nothingness
Awareness needs a motivator. There is too much going on for us to be aware of everything — breathing, blinking, the movement in space, the way we speak, etc. — all the time.
Some momentary need must set up a query, looking for an answer.
Becoming conscious of what you are doing hints at a possible or suspected issue; actions that are not dubious or suspect do not need to be made conscious.
So, although the simple question “what am I doing?” may sound benign, it is actually a form of self-doubt, and opens the door to critical self-reflection. It’s an internalised version of “what are you doing!?!” And just as children who are asked the latter are usually in trouble, to question your actions or thoughts is to subtly “accuse” them.
“Accuse” here should not be taken in the sense of social reprobation; rather, it is a more general concern or qualm, a question mark placed around your actions.
Any time you hesitate or doubt one of them, a tension — whether mild or severe — has already come into play. The same is in fact true for any question you might ask, no matter how intellectual or objective it sounds.
It always raises tension. A question asks to be put at ease. This is why people aren’t comfortable being asked incessant questions; they feel like they are being interrogated or accused.
And in a sense, they are right. Though it may not seem that way when phrased in gentle tones, the fact is that we only ask for an explanation for an action or event when we are not content to let it pass without a second thought. Something is off, demanding the extra energy and time to discover what is happening.
You are searching for something. Even pure curiosity represents a type of dissatisfaction that demands to be satiated. When left unaddressed, such as when you don’t find out how the best movie of the year ends, curiosity can cause inner tension. The same is true when you request a factual clarification.
To understand is a form of control: you attempt to interpret events to make you feel you have control over the situation, and you persist until it makes sense.
The answer to the question “Why did I do that?” is, therefore, a type of justification or relaxation of your qualms.
When you type on a keyboard, you are unaware of the detailed motion of your fingers, at least not in the same way as when you first learned to type. Only when you mistype or sense a potential misalignment of your fingertips does awareness of the details come to the fore. A tension causes you to be alert, pay attention, and become aware of your situation, actions, and even yourself.
To be aware is necessarily to realise anew, to learn something in the moment.
Its goal is to resolve a suspected problem, or at least to reassure the tension that nothing is actually wrong: “Did I really press the ‘O’ key? Yes, I did.”
Life is sweetest when one lacks sense,
for lack of sensation is a painless evil,
that is, until one learns to know joy or pain.
— Sophocles, Ajax
Free from all thoughts of ‘I’ and ‘mine’, a man finds absolute peace. — Bhagavad Gita
Thoughts of “I” do not cause a lack of peace, as suggested. Rather, self-awareness (the “I”) is generated by a pressing need or want — by a prior disturbance of inner peace.
If the disturbance is unexpected, then it will arrive suddenly, before you can prevent it. So you can no more forestall the creation of “I” than you can prevent yourself hearing a sound that you didn’t know was coming.
We see this same misunderstanding play out when we criticise friends for being overly “emotional” or reactive. “Ignore her” you might say; or “don’t think too much about it”. Both pieces of advice attempt to suppress awareness, and thus erase the tension. However, such doomed advice predictably fails since a passionate response is a necessary precursor to skill and self-control.
The word "passion" itself, and by extension "passionate," has a rich history tied to the idea of suffering, being acted upon, and enduring hardship. "Passionate" now describes someone who is filled with strong feelings, ardently devoted to something, or easily moved by strong emotions.
You cannot master something you have never encountered.
Total impartiality and level-headedness are fantasies.
At best, it is the endpoint of a long road of trial and overcoming. To suppress or ignore a passionate response before you have a chance to confront it is merely to flee from the challenge.
Only by facing those challenges over time do you discover — become aware of— their resolutions. You build up your history of overcoming by accumulating moments of conscious awareness. This catalogue becomes your world model: an understanding of your constructed world.
The man who acts never has any conscience; no one has any conscience but the man who thinks. — Goethe, Maxims and Reflections
The same relationship can explain the link between consciousness and conscience. Your wariness about having done the right thing (conscience) motivates your mind to notice your actions, and perhaps to try to correct them, or rationalise them. The mindless soldier who has no reason to hesitate or doubt is unlikely to be aware of any moral failings. Only from outside, from the perspective of a “conscious” person would those actions be regarded as defects.
As we expand our realm of concerns, we become aware of more things. As Nietzsche pointed out, this is the burden of those who are highly conscientious:
My brother, if you are fortunate, then you will have only one virtue and no more: thus you will go more easily over the bridge. Illustrious is it to have many virtues, but a hard lot.— Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra
Lucky people are simply less aware. Those whose every action succeeds need never learn how to address failure or even be aware that failure is possible. It is not that ignorance is bliss; rather, bliss leads to ignorance.
Consciousness itself is not the curse; conscious awareness represents the moment the tension is resolved; it is a salve on an inflicted wound. To denounce consciousness is like denouncing doctors for the existence of disease.
We may perhaps object that there are cases when becoming aware of your actions can lead to anxieties you didn’t previously have, and thus when ignorance would have been preferable. For example, realising that you have accidentally betrayed a close friend can cause you to lose sleep.
Imagine a person who could never become aware that his friends perceived his actions as a betrayal; such a person would certainly be socially disadvantaged.
Realising that your behaviour may be taken negatively allows you to correct it going forward. And once you have learned a pattern of self-restraint and careful circumspection that avoids causing issues, you can resume letting your mind play out its comfortable habits, including the new ones you just gained, without conscious awareness of what you are doing.
As with tying your shoelaces, every skill obtained through effort eventually becomes routine, so you can do it unconsciously. When there is no reason to be concerned anymore, then as far as you know, your actions are ideal — there is no longer cause for doubt or hesitation, no longer a reason to be aware of what you are doing. The thoughtless action is the one you have found to be best.