This is a case where confirmation bias didn’t work. Both the academic-philosopher and the spiritual-seeker in me expected this to be as intellectually inspiring as it would be personally uplifting. Unfortunately, it was neither. I found the title intriguing and eagerly jumped in, even bought a few copies to share with friends. Despite these high hopes and happy anticipations, the further I read, the more I realized how much I disagreed with the author’s position—namely, that within each of us is a transparent or ordinary self to which one may “return” as long as we can “attend to ourselves as a non-judgmental, listener, observer, or mentor…” (p. 81) Moreover, Wicks argues that this requires “space” as well as “solitude”—particularly in Chapter Six on “alonetime.” In sum, if it is my “authentic” self that I seek, it appears that I must somehow manage to be an object to myself by myself. The title notwithstanding, The Tao of Ordinariness seems closer to Sinatra’s “My Way” than Lao Tzu’s “The Way,” more contemporary Cartesian Cogito than the kind of non-striving (wu-wei) self represented in Chuang Tzu’s metaphor of mind as mirror.

Although I enjoyed many of the quotes and anecdotes, I found this book sloppy as opposed to carefully scholarly, didactic rather than profound or poetic. For example, although it seems nitpicky, I had a hard time taking it seriously when it misidentifies author Anne Lamott as “LaMotte” and refers to Viktor Frankl’s account of his experiences as a Holocaust survivor as “Man’s Search for Inner Meaning.” (pp. 10, 184, and 185) In fact, there is no such subjectivist qualification in Frankl’s title. Yes, according to him, the will to meaning is essentially individual and determining what is or is not meaningful is a matter of personal choice. However, Frankl also argues that individuals always find themselves within a set of conditions—horizonal limits which are not subject to one’s will. So, even if these relatively minor errors can be chalked-up to poor editing, there are deeper ontological and practical problems that cannot be overlooked. Specifically, here are two issues that made it impossible to embrace Wicks’s main ideas and fundamental principles: One, the anti-Cartesian existentialist in me couldn’t accept the unabashed essentialism and reification of “the self.” Second, my Aristotelian and Confucian sympathies made it impossible to ignore the lack of any discernible social or ethical perspective. In both theory and practice, the admonition to value one’s “ordinary, unvarnished self” (p. 4, his italics) assumes an understanding of personal identity that is not clearly in evidence or, at the very least, is open to question. Equally questionable is the insistence that I must take time out to tune-in to my “inner mentors of ordinariness,” if I am to overcome “an identity, needs and a style of living…alien to my ordinary self.” (p. 168, my italics) 

First, the ontological problem: From Buddha to Buber, Hume to Hegel, there is a long history of philosophers and spiritual leaders grappling with the issue of personal identity. What is the soul? What does it mean to be an individual person? Does an enduring “I” or sense of “self” exist at all? While some ancient thinkers argue for the immortality of the soul—an immaterial entity capable of surviving the death of a particular physical body—others suggest that form cannot exist without matter and reject all notions of a permanent or transcendent soul. So too do modern and post-modern debates remain as to whether “I” represents anything substantial or is merely a fancy of fiction or a socially constructed concept. What it means to be self-aware or self-conscious is equally up for grabs, as is the question of whether or to what extent an individual human subject can be an object to himself. Am I most likely to find myself following Descartes’s method of introspection, concluding that the only thing I can be certain of is that I am an individual, disembodied “thinking thing”? Or, is the self I am seeking one which can only be revealed in an encounter with an “other” or others, a la Buber’s I-It-Thou? Or, as Hume insists, is the very idea of a distinct and enduring self more elusive than real?

According to Hume, “when I enter most intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble upon some particular perception…I can never catch myself at any time without a perception.” (Treatise of Human Nature, Part IV, Section VI) In many cases, such perceptions involve others, specific times or places, and so forth—even if only in memory. As Heidegger declares, “the world is always the one I share with Others. The world of Dasein is a with-world [Mitwelt].” (Being and Time, ¶ 26, his italics) On the other hand, Wicks’s account points to an acontextual, ahistorical, disembodied sort of self. This is most evident when he discusses solitude and “space” in the book’s final chapters—one of which is entitled, “Returning Home to Yourself…Again.” I don’t know what primordial state Wicks is referring to with this “again,” but the very notion of any home-alone ideal leaves me cold. Maybe it’s the challenges of writing this in isolation during the Covid-19 pandemic. Perhaps it’s constantly being reminded how crushingly lonely introspection is and how much I long to interact with others in messy, even painful or conflicted ways. If one accepts, at least hypothetically, the “self” of Heidegger’s Dasein, any concrete sense of “home” will depend not only on others but on “place” and time, rather than vague abstractions like “space” or the “home” inside my own head. To paraphrase Hume: I can never catch my “self” at any point without an impression of how much I am my father’s or mother’s daughter, grandparents’ grandchild, sister to my sisters, cousin to my cousins, somebody’s friend, colleague, co-worker, neighbor, intimate partner, a “dog-mom,” a Yankee as opposed to Southerner, an urbanite rather than a member of rural or small town America, etc. This leads to my practical and ethical concerns 

Having been raised by immigrants more Confucian than Cartesian, my resistance to this degree of individualism may be due to my cultural background as much as my academic training in philosophy. Either way, relational or dialogical accounts of personal identity seem more ethical and socially responsible. And, what’s so wrong with being skeptical about the intrinsic value of solitude? Not only is solitary confinement a form of torture in most parts of the world, solitary self-reflection is profoundly limited, perhaps even solipsistic. At the risk of being guilty of a different type of essentialism, I tend to agree with Aristotle’s description of human beings as fundamentally social creatures and that character formation depends on the cultivation of particular habits. What kind of person I become will depend on which habits I cultivate—not only as a child or when I am dependent on others but on whom I remain close to as an adult.

Wicks seems to acknowledge this himself, claiming that, “embracing ordinariness will require two other ‘softer’ virtues…humility and simplicity.” (p. 18, his italics) And, I agree. Still, how can we expect individuals to figure this out alone or without involvement with others? Isn’t the very concept of humility a relational one, something which presupposes being in-relationship with others? Perhaps Wicks is simply conflicted on this point. On the one hand, he argues, “parents and the other significant people in our lives projected some of their own needs and demands onto us; because of this, their acceptance was conditional.” (p. 83) OK, but so what or now what? The fact that others project themselves onto others, or that love comes with conditions, doesn’t mean persons don’t have choices. Just because, “we pick up styles of acting and negative or distorted messages about ourselves without even knowing it,” (p. 84) doesn’t mean one can’t consistently strive to be personally responsive and independent as mature adults. Becoming self-aware is, at least partly, to be mindful of and sensitive to this unavoidable reality—to make choices regarding which “projections” I will embrace as my own and with whom I will interact or be intimate. This appears to be something Wicks too is cognizant of: “[F]eedback from friends, family, and colleagues; as well as more structured interactions with therapists, counselors, mentors, coaches, or spiritual guides can be helpful ways of checking the accuracy of our view of ourselves.” (p. 86) Differently put, other people can be both the source of my misperceptions and enable me to “see” my “true face.” (p. 89) Yes! Welcome to the world of ambiguity and paradoxical possibilities! 

If Wicks had emphasized this point more strongly or explained in greater detail what he calls a “positive paradox,” (p. 88) I may have found his work as meaningful as I’d hoped. Instead, insofar as he tends to focus on human interaction in ways that are either superficial or oppressive to oneself, there are amoral and egocentric aspects here that I just can’t get over. And, even if he has a case to make, there is a very practical downside to it—one best expressed in an editorial entitled, “Unless You’re Oprah, ‘Be Yourself’ Is Terrible Advice.” (New York Times, Sunday Review, 6/4/2016) Here, Adam Grant claims that many of us need to remember that, while “authenticity” is worth striving for, “self-monitoring” is necessary and important as well—especially outside of intimate relationships. In the workplace, for example, one may “pay a price for being too authentic” (my italics). In sum, those of us who are not Oprah, and have to work with folks who have no interest in encountering our “true” selves, can’t afford the price that authenticity exacts. Nonetheless, Wicks exhorts us to embrace that individual “ordinariness” and “come home to yourself.” (p. 4) 

While I’m willing to leave the ontological and metaphysical questions aside, I’m incapable of letting go of the practical and ethical dilemmas, and I don’t see how a list of 30 bullet points (yes, I counted!) offering some kind of recipe for how to live “simply,” as my “true” and “ordinary” self, makes any sense at all. What my spirit longs for are personal and universal stories that convey a sense of belonging or remind me that I am always already in-community with others. I want tales that inspire trust and hope, provoke wonder about the world, engender curiosity about things outside myself and other human creatures whether or not they lead me to my “self.” I assumed The Tao of Ordinariness would be similar to works like The Spirituality of Imperfection: Storytelling and the Search for Meaning or Anne Lamott’s often humorous, deeply personal yet universally relevant anecdotes. 

Unlike some of my students, who get frustrated by the dearth of definite answers to philosophical questions, I’m impatient with pretenses to profundity and one-dimensional responses to complex questions regarding the human condition, meaning, and self-discovery. Perhaps this was because I was a naturally energetic and defiant child but one who also understood important things about my world—the places I belonged, the people who loved me enough (conditionally or otherwise) to curb some of that spontaneity and reckless self-expression, what my responsibilities were and weren’t, etc. These limiting conditions, rather than a chaotic boundlessness, allowed me the freedom to be who I was when young as well as the confidence to explore and continue becoming throughout my entire life. As Heidegger puts it, “Dasein is never more than it factically is, for to its facticity its potentiality-for Being belongs…” (Being and Time, ¶ 31, my italics) In conclusion, at no point have I ever experienced what Wicks repeatedly refers to as an “unvarnished” or “unadorned” self and find it neither possible nor desirable. Instead, it is that very varnish and adornment that makes each of us unique and uniquely a part of something much greater than our individual selves. 

Dr. Camille Atkinson, Coastal Bend College, TX.

Categories: Philosophical, Religion

Keywords: tao, wisdom