Selfhood. Philosophers from the Buddha (Thus, monks, any body whatsoever… Any feeling whatsoever… Any perception whatsoever… Any fabrications whatsoever… Any consciousness whatsoever that is past, future, or present; internal or external; blatant or subtle; common or sublime; far or near… is to be seen as it actually is with right discernment as: ‘This is not mine. This is not my self. This is not what I am’.) to David Hume (For my part, when I enter most intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some particular perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain or pleasure. I never can catch myself at any time without a perception, and never can observe anything but the perception.) to Elton John (Although I search myself, it’s always someone else I see) have debated its amorphous nature.

 Now Bruce Hood says the self is an illusion. Will Wilkinson says it isn’t. Is so! Is not! Rabbit season! Duck season! Personally, I think Spinoza had it right; we’re all modes of the one substance, temporary wrinkles in the universal fabric. Also, I would add that calling something an illusion is not the same thing as calling it an error.