Is introspection healthy?

That may seem an odd question or, in today’s parlance, “weird.” Of course, self-awareness is helpful steering us through life. It’s useful to know what you like and don’t, what pushes your buttons, what irritants to avoid. “Know thyself!” exhorted the oracle of Delphi. Of course we should.

By we, I mean humans. For other creatures, introspection’s superfluous. They know who they are, no ifs, buts, doubts. Their language includes no subjunctive voice – would, should, could – or past or future tenses. Two roads never diverge for them in a yellow wood, just one, which they select. My canine sidekick Henry gets confused sometimes, but he knows his mind.

Humans need introspection to address a problem of our own making. Here-and-now isn’t our mind’s sole residence but one of several. Our minds relocate to yesterday, tomorrow, the tropics of maybe. We compare here-and-now to these other habitats, often to today’s disadvantage. We may wish we were somewhere or someone else. I ask Henry if he’s happy being a dog and he cocks his head quizzically. Why should he be happy – or unhappy? What else could he be but a dog?

Humans need self-supervision for self-management, so we don’t misdirect ourselves. But beyond that? How deeply should you delve into the mystery of you? Do you really need to know why you prefer chocolate to vanilla or smooth to harsh or tomorrow to today? Can you specify the wellspring of anger or tears? When roads diverge, can you explain why you chose this and not that or anatomize your regret? If your outlook’s sunny or saturnine, predictable or variable, do you know why?

Introspection is my obsession, the boundless curiosity that has taught me what I know. It enthralls me why I choose what I choose, feel what I feel. I’m sure you and I resemble each other, so whatever I learn about me will be true, more or less, about you. Our resemblance is proven by our ability to communicate with one another.

Pretty much all my consciousness is spent exploring myself and explaining what I think I’ve found. What do I think about politics – and why; about beauty – and why; about manners – and why; about God – and why? Why am I doing what I’m doing right now, seeing what I’m seeing, thinking what I’m thinking, saying as I’m saying? Each of these inquiries and their countless spawn opens chasms of ignorance. Follow any train of thought to its terminus and there’s a wilderness beyond.

Obsession is not intellect. It’s less fickle or malleable than intellect, more tyrannical in its demands. It may lead to one’s ruin but so what? – its rule is do or die. No sane person should self-scrutinize if they can avoid it. Do it if you must but only then.

One might imagine introspection led to clarity, calm, a more settled heart. Not in my experience. The more I know, the less. Doubts inspissate, not dissipate. Every yes is gnawed by a but, like oak beams by termites, weakening my frame. Posing too many questions can spook, leaving the inquisitive dangling in a vertiginous void. Ask Bluebeard’s bride.

Is introspection healthy? Enough is, to keep ourselves on track and out of trouble; too much, not. “Nothing in excess,” the Delphic oracle cautioned, as if to qualify her earlier advice.

I sometimes envy Henry his equanimity. But then I wonder, if I weren’t messing with my mind, how would I pass my time?