Ever since I firmly grasped self-centeredness in my own hands, I have become stronger than before, possessing the spirit of “what do they matter to me?”… My anxiety has completely disappeared, and I can now survey gloomy London with a relaxed heart.
Natsume Sōseki, My Individualism
Ever since I encountered the term “self-centeredness” in Natsume Sōseki’s My Individualism, the concept of subjectivity has lingered in my mind.
**Subjectivity is the individual’s experience and perception of the world.**Philosophically, subjective experience is the foundation of existence—as Descartes put it, “I think, therefore I am.”
I wouldn’t say I particularly lack subjectivity. I’ve always been unconventional, both in thought and experience. Yet this concept struck me immediately upon first encounter, keeping me up nights recently trying to understand it fully. First, because it perfectly encapsulates the cultural differences I’ve observed between East and West. Second, because it reveals something missing in my own framework—something about inferiority and transcendence.
Inferiority and Transcendence
I’ve always felt a deep sense of unworthiness, as if I don’t deserve the best things this world has to offer.
I remember late-night dorm room conversations in college about girlfriends. Back then, I was deeply anxious about meeting a girl’s parents, as though someone’s daughter raised for eighteen years was somehow being ruined by me.
Years have passed, yet this sense of unworthiness still shadows me.
I used to think my inferiority stemmed from constantly comparing myself to perfection—competing with an omniscient, omnipotent God, a battle naturally doomed to eternal defeat. So we square the circle, gradually approaching perfection. Though we can never reach it, we’re always on the path toward it. This is where my account name “Regular Heptadecagon” (正十七) comes from.
But is this really the case? What we call perfection is just a chimera—a patchwork creature cobbled together from the best qualities we see in others.
From my crude understanding of intelligence: an intelligence just two levels above yours would be unrecognizable and incomprehensible, even if placed right before you—much less something you’d worship and pursue. Similarly, our notion of perfection is nothing but deeply subjective imagination, with ourselves as the center and our understanding as the radius.
Why is our image of perfection a chimera, a polygon of different dimensions, rather than a single mountain peak? Because each dimension of this polygon reflects different expectations others have of us, manifested in our consciousness. So here’s what’s likely happening: though we claim to pursue perfection, what we’re really craving deep down is simply acceptance from others.
At its root, our sense of unworthiness may stem from having lived according to others’ expectations for so long—playing NPC-like supporting roles in their scripts, living the lives others expected of us, without true subjectivity of our own. Unable to declare from the depths of our being:
O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space—were it not that I have bad dreams.
Shakespeare, Hamlet
The Origins of Unworthiness
So how did this happen? When was this seed of unworthiness planted in me?
Was it my family of origin?
My European friends ask why I never go home for holidays. I tell them I can’t live peacefully with my parents for more than three days. But I don’t really buy theories about “family of origin” or “childhood trauma.” My parents were far from perfect, but looking back, my childhood was free and unstructured. Their laissez-faire, hands-off approach actually gave me freedom to exercise my own agency. Conflicts with my parents mostly emerged after I became an adult, and even those conflicts now seem like necessary catalysts for spiritual independence.
Was it society’s hierarchical culture?
I once read a brilliantly apt summary:
China’s universal value is bullying the weak and fearing the strong; China’s traditional wisdom is identifying who’s weak and who’s strong in the shortest time with the least information.
This can all be explained by survival-first philosophy and jungle society assumptions. But I fundamentally question this survival philosophy. Is such a life really worth living? Why is survival such a luxury for us that people must sacrifice everything else noble to secure it? This is also why I don’t think much of Liu Cixin—his Three-Body Problem is entirely about this survival philosophy. As someone astutely observed: others write space opera; he writes space Yu opera.
Conform or Rebel?
Should people conform to their nature or resist their instincts?
Our self-consciousness is the only proof we’ve lived in this world, and our subjectivity manifests through adventure and resistance.
True freedom is the attitude of pushing yourself back up after you’ve rolled to the bottom.
Some third-rate writer once said: “Life has three stages of growth: discovering you’re not the center of the world, discovering that no matter how hard you try some things remain impossible, and accepting your ordinariness and learning to enjoy it.”
I’d revise that and add one more:
Rediscovering your individual value and reclaiming center stage.
Natsume Sōseki beautifully described this journey from other-centeredness to self-centeredness in My Individualism:
Ah, here lies my path forward! I’ve finally excavated this road! When such an exclamation cries out from the depths of your heart, the weight on your chest will finally lift. For those troubled by fog along the way, I believe that no matter what sacrifices they must make, they should dig until they reach the ore deposit. When they arrive there, they’ll discover this is truly where they belong. I believe this is how one gains lifelong self-confidence and finally settles one’s heart.
Natsume Sōseki, My Individualism
Misunderstanding Individualism
When it comes to individualism, people often confuse it with egoism. Though they appear similar, the difference is vast. Egoism focuses only on maximizing one’s own interests and may harm others for self-benefit. Individualism, however, embodies a universal principle—it emphasizes individual freedom and rights while acknowledging and respecting others’ equal rights. Egoism leads to a war of all against all, a jungle society under dark forest rules; individualism can lead to a state where each person is free and fulfilled, without everyone becoming batteries serving the Matrix.
How to Practice Individualism
A crucial concept is separation of tasks.
All human troubles stem from interpersonal relationships. Wherever we go, we’re surrounded by others, living as social beings within webs of relationships, unable to escape this net of human connections. It seems only by gaining others’ approval can we feel valuable.
**But the path to freedom is one of not being approved.**The pursuit of approval kills freedom. A life spent trying to please everyone is profoundly unfree—and impossible besides.
When we try to please others, we implicitly assume that if we live and act according to their expectations, we deserve reciprocation—their approval and acceptance.
But this assumption secretly degrades others’ subjectivity, as if their wills can be manipulated by our actions, as if their wills are mere extensions of our own. As long as I give unilaterally, others should naturally reciprocate—so goes the logic.
Mutual benefit is certainly healthy in relationships, but it must be agreed upon by both parties. Unilateral giving while expecting return is, to some degree, emotional manipulation. This is common in unequal relationships—parents toward children, superiors toward subordinates.
All interpersonal conflicts arise from interfering in others’ tasks.
Separating tasks is the starting point of healthy relationships. We must begin by asking “whose task is this?” and separate our own tasks from others’. The criterion for distinguishing whose task it is: who will ultimately bear the consequences of the choice?
Regarding your own life, all you can do is choose the path you believe is best. How others evaluate your choices is their task—you simply cannot control it. Trying to interfere with or shoulder others’ tasks makes your life heavy and painful, and often produces backlash.
The Individual as Subject
From my experience, I prefer people with subjectivity. I once talked with a Dutch girl who told me Chinese people have a habit of trying to figure out what others think, then saying what others want to hear. This behavior itself is annoying—more so than honestly expressing yourself and saying the wrong thing—because you’re ignoring my will and guessing what I want based on your own assumptions, trying to decide for me what I should like.
I understand that some people do this out of respect, positioning themselves as subordinate, afraid of touching a nerve like servants attending an emperor. But I increasingly dislike this worldview of ranking people by status.
One problem with befriending someone with an inferiority complex is that they carry hierarchy in their hearts, and as their friend, they’ll drag you down to kneel with them. For example, Teacher Da has a distinction between officials and common people in his mind. When he acts inferior before officials, he drags me—a fellow commoner—down with him. But I don’t respect civil servants one bit. Or when we went to see tulips in the Netherlands and a passerby stopped some Indians from trampling the flower fields, I told my companion, “Let’s do the same if we see it.” He replied, “Too bad you’re not white.” I thought to myself, my heart is white.
This is why I increasingly like people who are fearless—at least you don’t have to worry about being dragged down to kneel.
People exist as powerless beings in this world. We want to escape this powerlessness, which gives rise to the universal desire for what Adler called “striving for superiority.”
Wanting to progress, pursuing an ideal state—these are understandable, even healthy impulses.
But striving for superiority means continuously moving forward yourself, not placing yourself above others.
Healthy feelings of inferiority don’t come from comparing yourself with others, but from continuous self-transcendence—pursuing your ideal self.
References
Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga, The Courage to Be Disliked 1.
Natsume Sōseki, My Individualism 1.
Kanji Izumiya, The Power of Depression(うつの力) 1.
Søren Kierkegaard, Philosophical Fragments, Concluding Unscientific Postscript