I am a classical guitarist. I was a senior executive at two of the world’s leading corporate branding firms. I am a father, belong to a major religious group, and have a political affiliation. I reside in Connecticut, have a birth certificate, a Social Security number, a driver’s license and a passport. Yet none of these things describes who I am. Nor, it turns out, would a similar listing of affiliations, preferences or even talents, explain who you are, either. Why? Because there is more to you and me than meets the eye.

Are companies different from us? Do their lines of business, products, services, cultures, or purpose reveal who they are? I believe not. Organizations are created by human beings and are similar to us in that they too have identities — unique, value-creating characteristics — that are deeper than what is obvious on the surface. 

Several decades ago I discovered what I believe human and organizational identity is all about, what its characteristics are, and what its significance is. When I first began digging into the nature of identity, I assumed I was finding something that was already obvious to everyone. But I quickly found out that what I was discerning had not already been published in any form. I saw how my ideas fit in relation to the ideas of Erik Erikson and Abraham Maslow. And yet what I had unearthed it turned out — and as I later described in my books — had originated with me. How did my comprehension of identity come about?

My insights revolve around all things visual: sight, vision, eyes, perception, seeing, discernment. That is how I grasp the world. I was born cross-eyed, and when I was four years old in 1954, underwent eye surgery to correct what was an almost-routine condition. From a medical perspective, the operation was a success. But on an emotional level, the operation resulted in deep trauma that penetrated my core, threatening to stay there forever.

I recall being on the operating table, looking around at the doctors, nurses and assistants who were moving about, preparing for the surgical intervention. Lying on my back, a cold, tingly fear crept up along both sides of my body. I reasoned that something must be wrong with me; after all, my parents had put me in this place for sick people. I was cross-eyed and that, I believed, wasn’t okay. I concluded it was my eyes that had gotten me into trouble. Suddenly, I saw my life in stark, black and white terms: fix my vision, fix myself.

I was tethered to the operating table, canvas straps pulled snug across my chest and pelvis. I watched in terror as the gas mask with its grotesque aroma of ether was brought to my face. My control over myself had been torn from me. In that instant, a question formed in my mind: What is so wrong with me that I must be changed from who I am? Suddenly, I became conscious of being alive, of simply being. It was as though an electric current was pulsing through my body, waking me to my own existence. A second later, feeling as though I was unable to breath, part of me escaped down a black hole — my “tunnel” to freedom and survival. As I disappeared, however, I pledged to myself that I would return; I would be back. A supposedly routine medical procedure had forced me to confront the question, Who am I? far sooner than I was prepared to.

Four decades later, in the summer of 1996, I was vacationing with my family at a ranch in Colorado. Sitting alone on the porch of our cabin, my mind drifted back to a conversation I had had with a colleague some months earlier. I was explaining my belief that there was more to the idea that every person is unique than that truism conveyed. My assertion wasn’t casual; I meant it literally.

There was more at work in the forces of human nature than we knew. It had to be that way, I reasoned, because people are born with identities that define who they are and, by extension, affect what they do with their lives. That conversation rolled around in my mind for well over an hour, as I watched the sun arc across the aspens behind our cabin. 

Suddenly, I understood what I had been struggling to say: There were natural laws that apply to all human beings, and that understanding these laws was the key to understanding our uniqueness and the potential it holds. This was my Newtonian moment — as if an an apple had fallen on my head. The revelation changed my life forever.

In the hours and days which followed, that insight absorbed nearly all of my energy. In my state of hyper-awareness, I sensed the concreteness of my own identity. I could almost feel it pulsating inside me. It was the ‘molten center’ of what made me, me. Not only did my identity seem tangible; it also appeared to contain a particular structure – a structure, I realized, that was somehow linked to the natural laws I had unearthed. I felt I was watching the bud of a rose open suddenly, unfolding its petals all at once to reveal that small, glowing center.

One’s identity, however, isn’t something to be unfurled, like a flower, in ways that expose its hidden parts. The opposite is true: identity is the most perfectly integrated expression of a human being, or an organization, there can be. That identity represents nothing less than the whole picture of who we are and what we are capable of becoming.

I understood that the structure of my identity illuminated not just its beauty, but its extraordinary power as well. If I could decipher my identity, I believed, I would discover the secrets it held – secrets about my special strengths and true passions, which would guide me in choosing which paths to follow and which ones to avoid.

A few days later, sitting by a river, I watched as the trees, the mountains, the cobalt blue sky and the late day sun combined to produce their natural splendor. From where I sat, it was easy to confirm that life is exquisitely beautiful, as far as the eye can see. But, it had taken a different kind of sight for me to recognize how beautifully ordered life is at the core of our beings, where the essence of our selves is found. Over time, the Laws of Identity have shown themselves to be universal, absolute, inescapable, and predictive — for companies as well as individuals.

My identity journey has been a challenging, adventuresome trek. It has been worth the trip, for I know who I am: I am Larry Ackerman and I am driven by the need to help people to see. To see the power of some actions and the futility of others. To see their innate potential as prescribed by their identity.

Having found a way to get to the truth of my own identity, I have been able to create methods for others to do the same, by applying the Laws of Identity to their lives.

Here are those laws — there are eight of them — and the question each one poses to every individual:

I. The Law of Being — Who am I?

An individual’s ability to live depends first upon defining one’s self as separate from all others.

II. The Law of Individuality — What makes me special?

A person’s natural capacities invariably fuse into a discernible identity that makes that person unique.

III. The Law of Constancy — Is there a pattern to my life?

Identity is fixed, transcending time and place, while its manifestations are constantly changing.

IV. The Law of Will — Where am I going?

Every individual is compelled to create value in accordance with his or her identity.

V. The Law of Possibility — What is my gift?

Identity foreshadows potential.