Sum, Ergo Sum: I am, therefore I am

 

The Nature of Belief and the Fundamental “I”

(“Where does belief originate ?” was the question my friend Sandeep Mall asked me on my article Credo, ero sum: I believe, therefore I am)

Belief can be understood as a form of long-term memory, deeply encoded within our neural architecture. Unlike fleeting thoughts, beliefs are stable mental constructs, reinforced through repetition, emotional significance, and lived experience. When a child repeatedly hears that hard work leads to success, each confirming experience carves this idea deeper into the mind, like a trail worn smooth by countless steps. Traumatic events, too, can instantly etch beliefs about danger or trust, shaping how we perceive the world for decades. This perspective invites a deeper question: where do these belief-memories originate?

The Origins of Beliefs

Beliefs arise from a dynamic interplay between what we’re born with and what the world teaches us:

Genetic Foundations and Predispositions: We don’t arrive with ready-made beliefs, but our biology nudges us toward certain ways of thinking. Studies of identical twins raised apart show surprising similarities in their outlooks, hinting that genes influence how receptive we are to ideas like faith or skepticism. One person might naturally gravitate toward spiritual frameworks, while another’s neurological makeup favors empirical evidence.

Developmental Formation: Beliefs take root in infancy, long before words emerge. Babies build “proto-beliefs” by recognizing patterns — perhaps a caregiver’s voice signaling safety — and predicting what comes next. These early impressions shape the developing brain, especially in regions like the amygdala (associated with emotional response) and prefrontal cortex (linked to reasoning), forming core beliefs about trust and self-worth that hum quietly beneath our conscious awareness.

Cultural and Environmental Shaping: As language blooms, children absorb their culture’s belief systems through stories, rules, and unspoken cues. Around ages 3–5, they grasp that others think differently — a milestone called theory of mind — unlocking the concept of belief itself. Adolescence ignites a profound questioning as abstract thinking matures, while adulthood refines beliefs through transformative experiences or quiet contemplation.

The Fundamental Belief in “I”

Of all beliefs, the sense of being a distinct, continuous self — the “I” — stands apart. It’s not merely one belief among many; it’s the stage upon which all others play out. Without an “I,” concepts of purpose or morality would drift unmoored. Yet, its origins remain elusive. While genetic predispositions, developmental processes, and environmental influences construct our beliefs, the sense of “I” seems to transcend them, emerging not as a product but as the space where these forces converge and unfold.

Neuroscience offers intriguing insights: a brain network called the default mode network, which activates during self-reflection, weaves the narrative self — the “me” that connects yesterday to today. The brain’s continuous predictive processing generates what might be called a “controlled hallucination” we experience as selfhood. This isn’t illusory — it’s a necessary narrative, not an immutable truth.

Picture this: I’m sitting quietly, watching my thoughts drift by like clouds across the sky. I feel like the observer behind them, separate from what I observe. But if I can watch that observer, who’s doing the watching? This question, contemplated by philosophers and mystics spirals infinitely, pointing toward something profound: the “I” isn’t an entity to pinpoint but the awareness illuminating the search itself. The everyday “I” — the observer — is a construction, distinct from the pure awareness that makes observation possible.

Contemplative traditions speak of consciousness without a center — “non-dual awareness.” In Buddhism, the fixed “I” (ātman) is recognized as a mirage that perpetuates suffering. When we lose something tied to this self-concept — health, love, status — anxiety flares because we’re grasping at what was never solid; everything flows together, like waves inseparable from the ocean. Advaita Vedanta offers a complementary perspective: the ego (ahamkara) represents the limited “I,” while the true self (Atman) is boundless, unified with Brahman, the universal consciousness. When we peel away the layers — “I’m not my body, not my thoughts, not my achievements” — what remains is pure awareness, the Atman.

Recognizing the “I” as a narrative opens a doorway to something vaster. Yet here lies a paradox: who relinquishes the ego if not the ego itself? In Zen, this would be considered a koan — a riddle transcending logical resolution. The ego doesn’t vanish through force of will; it dissolves when recognized as a shadow, not the light casting it. This isn’t about attaining a spiritual achievement — it’s about awakening to what has always been present, like noticing the vast sky that contains all clouds.

In a previous reflection, I proposed replacing Descartes’ “I think, therefore I am” (Cognito, sum ergo) with “I believe, therefore I am” (Credo, sum ergo) Now, I would venture further: belief itself is a narrative construction. “I am, therefore I am” (Sum, ergo sum) approaches the essence — existence itself, raw and unadorned.

Living with a Lighter “I”

Understanding the self as constructed doesn’t necessitate rejecting our lived experience. Instead, it invites us to hold the “I” more gently — employing it as a practical instrument while recognizing its provisional nature. This middle path allows us to engage fully in conventional reality without being confined by rigid identification with a separate self. Like a masterful actor who embodies a character while knowing they transcend the role, we can participate wholeheartedly in life without mistaking our temporary persona for our fundamental nature.

The deepest insight may not lie in tracing the origins of belief but in glimpsing the spaciousness beyond it. The constructed self, with all its beliefs and identities, arises within a more fundamental reality — pure awareness without center or boundaries. This doesn’t invalidate our human experience but situates it within something infinitely more encompassing. By loosening our attachment to the belief in a separate, permanent self, we don’t lose ourselves; we discover what we’ve always been — the luminous awareness within which all experience, including the sense of self, emerges and dissolves.