Feelings of Being Alive 9783110246599, 9783110246582

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Feelings of Being Alive

HUMANPROJEKT Interdisziplinäre Anthropologie Im Auftrag der Berlin-Brandenburgischen Akademie der Wissenschaften

herausgegeben von

Detlev Ganten, Volker Gerhardt, Jan-Christoph Heilinger und Julian Nida-Rümelin

De Gruyter

Feelings of Being Alive Edited by

Joerg Fingerhut and Sabine Marienberg

De Gruyter

Das dieser Publikation zugrundeliegende Vorhaben wurde mit Mitteln des Bundesministeriums für Bildung und Forschung unter dem Förderkennzeichen 01 GWS 061 gefördert. Die Verantwortung für den Inhalt dieser Veröffentlichung liegt bei den Herausgebern.

ISBN 978-3-11-024658-2 e-ISBN 978-3-11-024659-9 ISSN 1868-8144 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de.

© 2012 Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co. KG, Berlin/Boston Cover design: Martin Zech, Bremen Printing: Hubert & Co. GmbH und Co. KG, Göttingen ∞ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

Acknowledgments The present collection of essays approaches the issue of Feelings of Being Alive from a variety of theoretical as well as empirical approaches, ranging from philosophy and psychology to psychotherapy and history of art. It is partly based on presentations given at a workshop in 2010 at the Berlin-Brandenburg Academy of Sciences and Humanities. The workshop was the closing event of a research project dedicated to the Functions of Consciousness and gathered scholars from Europe and the United States. Additional authors have been asked to participate in the volume in order to broaden the range of perspectives. We would like to thank first and foremost the authors for contributing to this book. We also wish to thank everybody who attended the workshop for the fruitful dialogue and for participating as speakers, commentators, chairs, or organizers. This book owes much to discussions that have taken place in our research group, and we also wish to thank those of its members who did not write a paper: Felix Bermpohl, Katja Crone, Jan Kalbitzer and Martin Rechenauer. We thank Isabel Kranz and Jan-Christoph Heilinger, the coordinators of the group, for their advice and their encouragement to carry out this project. Many thanks go to Karsten Schöllner and Ulrika Carlsson for valuable help with copy-editing some of the English texts, to Yasmin Meinicke, Sonja Thiel and Patrizia Unger for their attentive proofreading, as well as to Christoph Schirmer and Florian Ruppenstein from De Gruyter for their assistance. We are grateful to Regina Reimann and Ute Tintemann for their help with all sorts of formalities. Thanks are also due to the Federal Ministry of Education and Research for generously funding our research and to its representative Wolfram Schütte for his support. Finally we would like to express our gratitude to Volker Gerhardt who, as the initiator and head of Functions of Consciousness, advocated the progress of our work for many years. Berlin, June 2012

Joerg Fingerhut & Sabine Marienberg

Contents Joerg Fingerhut & Sabine Marienberg How it Feels to Be Alive. Moods, Background Orientations, and Existential Feelings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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I. Feelings of Being Matthew Ratcliffe The Phenomenology of Existential Feeling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Jan Slaby Emotional Rationality and Feelings of Being . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Riccardo Manzotti An Externalist Approach to Existential Feelings: Different Feelings or Different objects? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Achim Stephan Existentielle Gefühle und Emotionen: Intentionalität und Regulierbarkeit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Alice Holzhey-Kunz Lebendigsein. Existenzphilosophische Überlegungen zur Zweideutigkeit eines Grundgefühls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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II. The Sentient Organism Thomas Fuchs The Feeling of Being Alive. Organic Foundations of Self-Awareness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Joerg Fingerhut The Body and the Experience of Presence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Fiorella Battaglia The Embodied Self and the Feeling of Being Alive . . . . . . . . .

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Contents

Arbogast Schmitt ‘Life Is (not Consciousness, but) an Immediate Act of the Intellect.’ What it Means to Be Alive and How We Feel it According to Aristotle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Eva-Maria Engelen Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins als einfache Form phänomenalen Bewusstseins. Ein aristotelischer Theorieansatz . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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III. Pragmatics and Semiotics Tanja Klemm Corpus animatum – Imago animata. Shared Image Practices in the Florentine Church SS. Annunziata in the Renaissance . . . . . . .

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Matthias Jung Hintergrunderleben und semiotische Generalisierung . . . . . . . .

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Sabine Marienberg Bilder des Todes und Formen der Lebendigkeit. Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins zwischen Empfindung und symbolischer Artikulation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Author Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Subject Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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How it Feels to Be Alive Moods, Background Orientations, and Existential Feelings

Joerg Fingerhut & Sabine Marienberg

That singular feeling, woven of pleasure and displeasure, stunned my senses – overwhelmed me – cannot possibly resist – I ate the herring! (Opinions of Murr the Cat, E.T.A. Hoffmann)

1. Introduction Within the literary tradition the longings of the subject – the movements of the soul, the predicaments of the heart, and the joys of the flesh – have long been a topos explored in all its depths and ramifications. This even extends to the ‘sense of sensing’, something that we maybe find ourselves in “before or beyond consciousness”, thus constituting that most fundamental way of experiencing represented by the experience of the cat Murr in E.T.A. Hoffmann’s famous novel (Heller-Roazen 2007, 19). Murr surrenders to all the enticing and thrilling events he encounters on his nightlong strolls along the rooftops and through the back alleys. He is able to do so and to experience life (and the herring) to its fullest. And he can’t help but wonder if his two-legged contemporaries, who are so engaged in higher forms of consciousness and thought, still have the same ability, share the same feelings of existence? Dedicating a book to Feelings of Being Alive, we find ourselves in the position of this existential cat, asking questions about what makes our experience of the world a lively one – or even an experience of life – and what might be the experience of ‘being alive’. It could be that these feelings are something we only experience in passing, as an ability to carry out an ongoing experiential process of registering changes in one’s mind, body or the world we engage in. Kant, in his Anthropology, famously characterized the experience of life this way, as a move-

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ment of the mind (Bewegungshandlung des Gemts): “To feel life, to feel pleasure is nothing else than to constantly feel that one is being driven on to leave one’s current state for another one”.1 Like pleasure, the feeling of being alive might be a state that cannot rest in itself, that would cease to be if consciousness just remained focused on one object. On this characterization it might not be a state in the narrow sense at all.

2. The contemporary interest in the phenomenon What are feelings of being alive? No current phenomenological description comes to mind. The topic seems to be one that has to be grown and developed anew and addresses a phenomenon that is not yet covered by any standard characterization. This is also why we decided to employ the plural ‘feelings’ in the title of this volume in order to encourage the contributors to address the potential variety of feelings instead of trying to pre-structure the debate by focusing on a purportedly singular feeling under which all kinds of phenomena are to be subsumed. It is also because of this lack of a standard description that interdisciplinarity is especially called for and constitutes a useful heuristic. All the more so since a theory that deals with novel concepts – or at least relatively uncommon ones – should draw from the wealth of phenomena provided by the discoveries of different disciplinary approaches in order to grasp its subject matter. We pursue this desideratum by accompanying the main body of the texts in this volume – written by philosophers by training and focusing on the philosophy of mind, emotions and life – with perspectives from psychology, psychotherapy, and art history. To get an initial grasp of our subject: feelings of being alive seem to address something basic in a living being, something that pertains to us as physical, sentient organisms. Whether it is experienced by every form of life or whether it is experienceable only by beings that are able to contrast it with other kinds of felt experiences is already an initial question worth attending to, along with further questions relating to its object: is it the aliveness of the organism, the different aspects of vividness of its mental states, or rather the experience of changes in the general background state an organism finds itself in? As a feeling it does not pri1

“Sein Leben fühlen, sich vergnügen, ist also nichts anders als: sich continuirlich getrieben fühlen, aus dem gegenwärtigen Zustand herauszugehen […]” (Kant 1798, 554). Translation into English by the authors.

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marily belong to the realm of the reflective – it is supposed to denote an experiential element rather than something cognitive – but it nevertheless is something that, according to many authors of this volume, gives us a sense of reality or even constitutes reality, a reality we bring forth or enact and in which we experience ourselves as actively partaking in. In this sense it is an existential feeling – one that defines our very take on the world – but at the same time it is a feeling that eludes us at one time or another in the everyday interactions with the world and others. All this taken together might already tell us something distinctive about the nature of such feelings: apparently they are not graspable in any neat distinction between attitude and content (as are prominent in the philosophy of mind, when e. g. describing the modality and content of a perception such as ‘hearing a knock on the door’ or ‘seeing a tree’) but rather constitute a prerequisite for the occurrence of other mental states, conditioning and accompanying them. One of the paradigms that will be discussed in this volume is the way such feelings can determine the background of what we experience and the way they color other mental states. This puts them in the vicinity of phenomena like moods and background feelings. That these feelings can be best studied (and mostly have been studied up to date) in cases where they tend towards extreme or intensified conditions is also due to the point that they are not naturally at the forefront of what we experience. They come into view and can be theoretically captured either when they are severely disturbed or even lacking to some extent, or else when they are intensified and refined as e. g. addressed in aesthetics and theories of art.2 There are pathological cases like Cotard’s Syndrome, where people present severe symptoms ranging all the way to the belief that they are dead or simply non-existent and vigorously come up with confabulations to refute all evidence to the contrary.3 The casuistry of a 42year-old female patient, reported in a textbook on delusions, might serve as an example of a loss of the feeling of being alive. She “experiences her hometown, a small village in the Alps, as ‘void of people’, ‘houses and the landscape as inanimate’ and literally grayed out. She her2

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The latter is not part of the present volume, but cf. Menninghaus (2009) in particular on the feeling of life and liveliness in aesthetic theories and on the topos of vivid representations and its redefinition in terms of the autopoietic organism and the experience of life in Kant’s Critique of Judgment (1790). See Hirstein (2005) who gives an overview of different kinds of delusions and the abilities of patients to integrate even the most ‘outlandish’ convictions into their normal frame of mind and world. Cf. also Bayne/Fernández (2009).

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self experiences being lifeless, powerless and out of this world, thus describing the setting of a depopulated and inanimate world (Wolfersdorf/ Heidrich 2010, 71 f.)4. Such losses are a general feature of several disorders related to depression, where subjects seem to be able to understand the affordances of the environment, the opportunities it offers – they also comprehend along with the instrumental means the projects to which those means might contribute to – but they do not experience those projects as related to themselves, or rather: they do not feel the power to engage in them anymore. But as much as such thorough examinations and descriptions of psychopathologies can help us to demarcate the phenomenon, they are not the main reason why moods, background feelings and – in their wake – feelings of being alive have taken on greater clarity and importance over the last decades. That we are increasingly able to approach these special mental phenomena in a theoretically as well as empirically informed and comprehensive way is largely due to three general developments that took place since the mid 20th century. We are going to sketch them as briefly as possible in the following paragraphs. First, there have been advances in theories of the emotional or affective brain in the neurosciences that introduced new kinds of studies and shifted the focus to non-cognitivist, motivational, and affective aspects of consciousness.5 It is fair to say that perceptual experience and cognitive phenomena had previously occupied a preeminent place in the scientific study of consciousness and to some extent still do today, and the emotional and affective ones still have to be integrated and their central importance acknowledged. In many of the theories concerned with the emotional brain and affective neuroscience, affective experiences are closely connected to survival systems and instinctive behavior (e. g. flight mechanisms) that are realized in more basic structures of the brain and are seen as constituting “the evolutionary bedrock of consciousness” (Panksepp 2007, 127). Yet, the focus here in most cases has been on emotions like fear, anger, disgust, guilt, jealousy, envy, pride and so on. And where moods, background experiences or experiences of vitality have received more than parenthetical discussion, there are still de4 5

Translation by the authors. Pathologies and disturbances of basic feelings or feelings of being also play a central role in Ratcliffe’s analysis of existential feelings (2008, chap. 5 – 7). To get a flavor and an overview of this kind of development cf. the monographs of Damasio (1994; 1999; 2010), LeDoux (1996) and Panksepp (1998).

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ficiencies in conceptual clarity and theoretical detail as well as with regard to experimental paradigms for empirical studies.6 Second, there is an increased interest in phenomenologically informed and more complex accounts of what we experience and how our experience is structured. This is to a large extent due to the rise of an enactive or embodied theory of the mind that has changed the view of perception and consciousness in the philosophy of mind. Many of the proponents of those views have rediscovered the writings and theories of Husserl and Merleau-Ponty (to name only two) and the phenomenological tradition.7 From a phenomenological point of view, consciousness and mental phenomena in general are not only structured by attitude and content but include the subjective experience as lived, as a dynamic changing whole realized by an organism embedded in a complex world. Consciousness, emotions, and feelings understood in this way cannot be studied as isolated states or under experimental paradigms focusing on a cognitive task apart from the situatedness in a world or from other mental states that influence them. This already starts at a fundamental level with the intricate temporal structure of consciousness, which sustains the episodes that just elapsed and is influenced in advance by the experiences that are expected to come.8 Phenomena like the experiential horizon and the ability to experience vivid change and the like call for a richness of phenomenological description that might prove necessary to get hold of the experience of being alive, as well. A third development that constitutes an important background for an understanding of feelings of being alive – and that also provides a theoretical framework for a philosophically sound theory of what might be their natural basis – are theories concerned with life and the living organism in general. Especially in the philosophy of mind there has been a vigorous debate as to whether there is an intrinsic connection or a deep continuity between phenomena of life and phenomena of mind. The question under dispute is: can mind be explained by refer6 7 8

The recent interest in ‘default modes’ and the ‘resting state’ in neuroscience might be hinting towards a way to approach such background phenomena more directly. See Callard/Margulies (2011) for an overview. Cf. Gallagher/Zahavi (2008) for an introduction to a phenomenologically oriented philosophy of mind. For a proper theory of the temporal structure of objects of consciousness in fine detail and complexity, see Husserl’s theory of retention, protention and presence. Cf. for example Husserl (1997).

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ence to the same organizational and structural properties as life?9 It seems that we are more likely to succeed in giving satisfying naturalistic explanations with regard to our experiential life from this angle than from the rather mechanistic paradigm that still drives most of cognitive neuroscience. Consciousness, despite the fact that it is related to and intertwined with several cognitive functions, seems to outstrip functional descriptions and can be hardly covered by a mechanistic account of the underlying neuronal machinery. What is important here is a twofold insight: firstly, we obviously cannot properly understand mindfulness in nature in its basic mode without relating it to the organism’s minimal concern to stay in existence, to carry on. Here we are already ascribing concern as such to even the simplest organisms (and sometimes even describing it as implemented in their organization); thus we ascribe something to these organisms that might help us to also explain elements underlying even complex mental engagements with the world. And, secondly, it might only be possible to understand experiential states and feelings in the way that they matter to the organism as a whole, and thus they might only be explicable with regard to the foundation of some form of a basic self.10

3. Emotions, moods, and existential feelings The three theoretical frameworks introduced in the last paragraphs in one or another way form the background for many of the contributions in this volume. Yet, for the question of how to characterize feelings of being alive – and how to distinguish them from emotions, background feelings, moods and the like – considerations more closely related to mental states and their taxonomies have to be taken into account. According to a prevalent position in philosophy, moods differ from emotions in that only the latter are states with an intentional object. They can be described in the form of, for example, ‘S fears x’, or ‘S ex9 See for example the enactive life-mind continuity thesis that is one of the topics of Evan Thompson’s (2007) Mind in Life and Thompson (2011a, b) and Wheeler (2011). 10 Beyond and besides biological foundations and phenomenological approaches, cultural elements and language also play an important role in the study of the phenomenon. They are not explicitly mentioned because these areas to our knowledge have seen no comparably general shifts and developments concerning the phenomenon of life and the experience of life.

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periences disgust towards y’. Eric Lormand holds that moods therefore constitute a different kind of psychological state whose general form can be captured in sentences like ‘S is in a happy mood’ or ‘S is in a beerdrinking mood’.11 Lormand is thus a representative of the theory that argues for distinct and separated psychological categories of moods and emotions, based on the fact that moods don’t have an intentional object. Emotion theorists like Robert Solomon (or more recently Peter Goldie 2000, 57, 143 f.) challenge this view of a lack of intentionality in moods and argue that moods have an object as well, but a more general or indeterminate one as opposed to the determinate objects of emotions: There are passions which need not even begin with a particular incident or object, which need not be about anything in particular; these are moods. The difference between an emotion and a mood is the difference in what they are about. Emotions are about particulars, or particulars generalized; moods are about nothing in particular, or sometimes they are about our world as a whole (Solomon 1976, 122; emphases in the original).

Carolyn Price (2006), who reads such passages as evidence for a continuum of moods and emotions in these theories, has pointed out that we can also identify objectless emotions, like panic and rage, and thus the line of demarcation between moods and emotions based on objects gets rather too blurry. Regarding moods we can conjecture that the problem Price hints at might be an even more basic one, because it is far from clear whether the object-talk or aboutness-talk with regard to moods is helpful in any way. What moods apparently do, rather, is to color or to stain every mental state we are in and as such their defining property is the influence they have on our ‘mental household’ in general (or the background they constitute for other feelings) without having an object.12 This concept of 11 Cf. the examples given in Lormand (1985, 385 f.): “[M]oods […] may be described by locutions of the following form: ‘(A) S is in a … mood.’ One may be said to be in a depressed, elated, anxious, serene, grave, or light mood. Many other adjectives may be used in A-sentences: for example, ‘good’, ‘bad’, ‘creative’, ‘inquisitive’, ‘book-reading’, ‘beer-drinking’, ‘friendly’, ‘lazy’, ‘energetic’, ‘capricious’, and ‘sluggish’.” 12 Even if emotions are not the main topic of this introduction, we would like to point out that Solomon’s view of the objects of emotions does not strike us as utterly convincing without further amendments, especially when it comes to distinguishing emotions by the specific kinds of objects they indicate. Other theories will carry us further in this respect. Cf. e. g. Prinz’ (2004) theory of

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moods can be seen in the passage by Solomon cited above, and even more so in the passage immediately following: Euphoria, melancholy, and depression are not about anything in particular (though some particular incident might well set them off); they are about the whole of our world, or indiscriminately about anything that comes our way, casting happy glows or somber shadows on every object and incident of our experience (Solomon 1976, 122; our emphasis).

Here moods are treated with respect to their function in setting the stage for other feelings and experiences13 – a background that in our view might turn out to be multifaceted and that thus should not simply be equated with basic evaluative elements. This needs to be emphasized since the above citation (“happy glows or somber shadows”) suggests that the range of possible moods is restricted to the positive and negative, to pleasure and pain; and it has sometimes even been suggested that this restricted range constitutes the basic phenomenology for emotions as well.14 This is also why, in our view, William James’ (1884, 202) notion of the “sounding board” – although he uses it to characterize the bodily basis of emotions rather than moods – more nicely captures the complex phenomenology moods have.15 One central point of reference with regard to the question of how moods possibly influence our engagement with and experiences of the world is Heidegger’s treatment of moods (Stimmungen) and attunements (Befindlichkeiten) in chapter five and six of the first part of Being and Time. Moods, according to Heidegger, are not merely a subjective layer or a distorted view of reality, but rather constitute the basic and uncircumventable mode of disclosure of the world. “The mood has already disclosed, in every case, Being-in-the-world as a whole, and makes it possible first of all to “embodied appraisals”, that considers – following Lazarus (1991) – core relational themes as the proper objects of emotions (like ‘making reasonable progress toward to the realization of a goal’ for happiness or ‘facing an immediate, concrete, and overwhelming physical danger’ for fright). With regard to moods even these kinds of objects do not seem to offer a way to determine what moods are about. 13 For an approach that argues that moods fulfill such a stage-setting as a function of them being high-order states, see Griffith (1997, chap. 10). 14 Helm (2001; 2009) suggests this. Solomon himself does not follow such a line of argument and rejects a categorization of emotion along the lines of positive and negative affect (Solomon/Stone 2002). 15 See also the variety of moods displayed in footnote 11 and the even more comprehensive characterizations in Ratcliffe (2005; 2008) that are partially also cited below (10).

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direct oneself towards something” (Heidegger 1962, 177; 1927, 137; emphasis in the original). The attunement to the world in moods is the most fundamental layer of interaction and participation with the things surrounding us. It is also the basic layer on which rational cognition and understanding rest.16 This goes well with Heidgger’s insight that the objects we encounter first and foremost matter to us – they are ‘zuhanden’ – and only derivatively do we perceive them as objects with physical properties. We are in states of concern with them and our whole existence is based on this affective background – our attunement – which is also the sense of our relationship with the world. Without it we could not understand and explain Dasein’s openness to the world. Yet we should not forget that the starting point of the existential analysis in Being and Time is something beyond that: the fact that humans can become problematic to themselves, that Dasein understands itself in its being. The care and concern humans have extends to themselves and to being in general and thereby they are not just beings among other beings (Sein unter Seiendem). Humans are able to question their status; their being and all being can be for them, as it is captured in the famous quotation: “Understanding of Being is itself a definite characteristic of Dasein’s being. Dasein is ontically distinctive in that it is ontological” (Heidegger 1962, 32; emphasis in the original).17 This specific understanding of being, as it is constituted in attunement and moods, has been one of the starting points for Matthew Ratcliffe’s treatment of what he calls “existential feelings” or “feelings of being”. It has been to a large extent due to Ratcliffe’s work (2005, 2008) that these topics have regained a broader interest and are treated in a larger context. This is also reflected in the fact that he is the most cited author in this volume. Ratcliffe’s thesis is that every experience takes place against a background of a more general sense of one’s relationship to the world. In these feelings of being, we find ourselves in a presupposed space of experiential possibility. What especially comes to 16 There are other layers of disclosure in Being and Time – understanding and discourse – that are seen as more active modes, but that are not independent of the primary mode of attunements realized in moods. 17 “Seinsverstndnis ist selbst eine Seinsbestimmtheit des Daseins. Die ontische Auszeichnung des Daseins liegt darin, dass es ontologisch ist” (Heidegger 1927, 12). See also Slaby (2008; this volume) for the unity of world-disclosure, awareness of self, and the qualitative modification of existence in Heidegger.

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the fore in his account is the role of bodily feelings, which adds an aspect that is not covered in the Heideggerian treatment of the topic. To include this bodily element, Ratcliffe picks up on the feeling theory of emotions that goes back to James (1884) and Lange (1885) who claim that emotions are basically bodily sensations or perceptions of bodily changes. The reference to the body is used to explain the specific phenomenality of emotions; without bodily arousal there is no emotion: But [the feeling] cannot exist without its bodily attributes. If from one terrified the accompanying bodily symptoms are removed, the pulse permitted to beat quietly, the glance to become firm, the color natural, the movements rapid and secure, the speech strong, the thoughts clear, – what is there left of his terror? (Lange 1912, 675).

Ratcliffe extends this analysis beyond the known catalogue of emotions and introduces a distinct kind of affective experiences that are not covered by existing categories but that are bodily based as well: existential feelings. These include ‘feeling alive’ and feelings of reality, which are very nicely depicted in an often cited list of the phenomena under scrutiny: People sometimes talk of feeling alive, dead, distant, detached, dislodged, estranged, isolated, otherworldly, indifferent to everything, overwhelmed, suffocated, cut off, lost, disconnected, out of sorts, not oneself, out of touch with things, out of it, not quite with it, separate, in harmony with things, at peace with things or part of things. There are references to feelings of unreality, heightened existence, surreality, familiarity, unfamiliarity, strangeness, isolation, emptiness, belonging, being at home in the world, being at one with things, significance, insignificance, and the list goes on. People also sometimes report that “things just don’t feel right”, “I’m not with it today”, “I just feel a bit removed from it all at the moment”, “I feel out of it” or “it feels strange” (Ratcliffe 2008, 68).

After what has been said so far, it should be clear that feelings of being alive, understood as feelings of being, have a peculiar double structure in being felt bodily states and providing us with a general form of access to the world. Thus the contemporary extensions of a feeling theory of emotions take these feelings to constitute a specific relation between the organism and the environment, defining thereby a field of study in its own right. Yet, within this field they address a phenomenon whose traits and functions, whose biological and cognitive contraints and whose interlacings with action and thought are still to be clarified

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and will be a center of theoretical effort in the philosophy of mind and emotions in the years to come.

4. The contributions to this volume This volume strives to give a more detailed understanding of the aforementioned aspects. The articles are grouped around three major themes. The first section discusses the relation just mentioned between the feeling element and the possible objects and the general disclosedness of the world through feelings of being alive. It does so with a strong focus on the concept of existential feelings. Part two is more closely concerned with discussing the functions of feeling alive for the sentient organism, examining its biological, experiential and conceptual prerequisites. The third group of texts focuses on the relation between the lived experience of being alive and its symbolic representability. It has been the intention of the editors of this volume and of the series to allow for the authors to express their thoughts and develop their theories in a language of their choice. Therefore some of the papers are in German, while most of them are in English. To give non-Germanspeaking readers a grasp of what is discussed in the German texts, all papers are accompanied by an English abstract.

4.1 Feelings of being In line with his earlier seminal works on the topic, Matthew Ratcliffe characterizes existential feelings as bodily felt possibilities of action and perception providing for our sense of reality and belonging in general. Our becoming aware of them seems to depend upon their dubiety – as when e. g. all of a sudden we feel unfamiliar with whatever comes towards us, excluded from interacting with others or unable to perceive our environment as real and inviting us to engage with it. Such impairments do not just have an impact on isolated possibilities of acting and perceiving but influence the whole realm of ways of finding ourselves in the world. The present article goes beyond Ratcliffe’s earlier treatments by introducing a further classification of existential feelings and by discussing their relations to conceptual thought. Instead of categorizing distinctive existential feelings with respect to their affective depth, he sets out for a scale of more or less profound disturbances of felt possibilities.

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An analysis of different grades of alterations is used to shed more light on how possibility spaces are internally structured. Concerning the interrelation of existential feelings and conceptual thought, the author states a significant asymmetry in their impact: while the former are highly influential for the form of conceptual thought as well as for the accessibility of narrative self-constructs (limiting their repertory along with the range of possible actions), the prospects for conceptually affecting and shaping existental feelings seem to be minimal. Jan Slaby supplements the phenomenological notion of background feelings with Bennett Helm’s theory of felt evaluations. Felt evaluations are affectively swayed ways of dealing with things that, as mental states of their own right, constitute a distinctive, i. e. emotional rationality. These non-inferential, felt forms of appraisal, which are inextricably linked to the notion of either pleasure or pain, can be seen as intentional affective states whose objects are constituted by certain values (like ‘danger’). As Slaby points out, however, felt evaluations are only comprehensible if we also consider the underlying existential feelings as an individual perspective from which they are carried out. Concurrently, in being linked to felt evaluations, existential feelings can be integrated in an overall structure of intelligible contents and thus might be conceivable as both intentionally focused and motivationally relevant. From a clear-cut externalist perspective, Riccardo Manzotti holds that existential feelings are not to be regarded as undirected background orientations that do not have any intentional object at all, but rather as entailing a particular object. Perceptions, feelings and moods differ from one another only with respect to the representational contents involved. In a critical examination of Ratcliffe’s interpretation of existential feelings as felt bodily states, he notes that the concepts of both ‘body’ and ’state’ are relative to epistemic standpoints and not as clearly defined as common understandings suggest: if, instead of subjective states, we speak of occurrences or events that take place between the subject and its surroundings, feelings can be seen as bodily ways of referring to a certain object in which feeling and object form a kind of dynamic unity. In the case of existential feelings, this unity affects the processes between the subject and its world altogether. Given that here we are dealing with the incessant unfolding of selfand world-determination in its entirety, it is hardly surprising that spotting the objects of existential feelings seems to be a complex and demanding task.

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Also Achim Stephan sees existential feelings not as lacking directedness, but as comprising a special kind of intentionality insofar as they inform the totality of our experiences in a specific way. Unlike Ratcliffe, he does not classify feelings with regard to different levels of situation dependency and different degrees of impairment. Rather, starting out from the assumption of various grades and intensities of the feelings themselves, he develops a rich taxonomy of fore- and background feelings with variable durations that facilitates a discrimination of moods, characteristic traits and atmospheric i. e. situational feelings. While all of the above can be theoretically distinguished, in practice they are highly interdependent. For existential feelings in particular he proposes distinguishing elementary from non-elementary ones, both of which texture the relations with the world and ourselves in different degrees: while changes in elementary existential feelings (as for example in the Capgras syndrome) affect our lives radically, non-elementary ones are still effective as background orientations but do not have such overarching consequences. Taking up what Ratcliffe formulated as an open question, namely to what extent existential feelings could be susceptible to manipulation and regulation, Stephan deems the regulation of attention to be the most promising strategy. Alice Holzhey-Kunz draws attention to the fact that it might be misleading to understand feelings of being alive as a primitive form of self-experience underlying and preceding all of an organism’s autoreferential relations. By doing this, we are missing exactly what makes these feelings uniquely human – and we forget that our human way of feeling alive is the only one accessible to us. In a therefore decidedly anthropological framework she questions the idea of feeling alive as something naturally given. Feelings of being alive can’t be taken for granted in the sense of a default mode: in contrast to Husserl’s natural attitude, our way of being in the world has to be seen with Heidegger as fundamentally fragile and ambiguous. Moreover, if we only see this ambiguity in negative terms – i. e. as a lack or loss of an allegedly normal and stable relation to the world – we deprive ourselves of the possibility to grasp the hermeneutical dimension of ever different forms of radically experienced unsettledness. Using the example of two clinical cases Holzhey-Kunz shows how such an hermeneutic approach to ways of ‘feeling precluded from life’ can be made therapeutically fruitful.

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4.2 The sentient organism In contrast to eliminative-materialistic theories, Thomas Fuchs specifies two elementary forms of experience, namely vitality and conation, as the constituents of the feeling of being alive. On the one hand vitality and conation are rooted in self-regulatory and adaptive processes concerning the living body in relation to its environment as a whole. On the other hand they are involved in the mental occurrences that accompany the organism’s interactions with the world – the lived body – which points to a relational structure of self-awareness. Feelings of being alive are in a way situated along a line between the system-theoretical and the phenomenological side of one and the same process, they inseparably link the life processes we undergo with our experience of what we feel and do. To feel consciously alive, he concludes, is therefore not something detached from organismic processes of self-preservation, but rather the unfolding of the organism’s relations to itself and to its surroundings on higher levels. Joerg Fingerhut dedicates his contribution to vividness or gradual presence in experience, a phenomenon that makes objects of experience more or less forcefully available to an organism. It is a basic feature of our consciousness as well as a part of our feeling of being alive. After introducing this sometimes underappreciated aspect, he discusses theories that attribute an essential role to the body in enabling and mediating such experiences. Specifically, he contrasts the notion of bodily interactions in sensorimotor theories (Noë, O’Regan) with the role of the selfmaintaining body in enactivism (Varela, Thompson). While the latter theory is based on a concept of the living body, the former focuses almost exclusively on the moving body. With these different concepts come different explanatory agendas. Sensorimotor theory explains the role of bodily interactions in constituting perceptual presence. Enactivism anchors experience in the value-laden processes of the organism. Since the latter concept also reveals structures that determine our conscious life, or so he argues, it should amend the sensorimotor explanation of presence. Fiorella Battaglia investigates existential feelings within the framework of a possible reconciliation of first-person and third-person perspectives. Her contribution aims at elucidating the relation between the feeling of being alive and the self by interpreting the former as a specific form of phenomenal experience. As the phenomenal consciousness of a living organism is intentional as well as motivationally effective

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through its hedonic character, it is both related to the world and to the embodied self – and could thus figure as a missing link between subjective experience and its scientific description. Battaglia counters dualistic restrictions by emphasizing that the self is always a feeling self which is functionally related to the organism and provides for survival and adaptation. Complementarily, the body has to be understood as the body of a phenomenally conscious subject, and the world as the space where (shared) subjective experience unfolds. A historical account is offered by Arbogast Schmitt, who investigates the Aristotelian equation of life and the performance of acts of distinguishing in thought. According to Aristotle, even sensations, rather than being passive states, consist in drawing distinctions between external objects and are thereby a kind of preconscious thinking. In thought or imagination we cannot create but only reflect upon these intuitive differentiations and gain insight in their criteria. However, the feelings of pleasure and pain that come along with all our sensations become even more intense when linked to intellectual activity. It is the act of distinguishing that induces pleasure and makes us feel alive, and this feeling is strongest during the most characteristic human activity, which is conceptualizing. Thus in contrast to e. g. the Kantian view of pleasure as the consequence of a vanquished pain – and of the feeling of being alive as caused by the impulse to change an unpleasant state – for Aristotle to feel alive represents an immediate quality that accompanies, in various measure, every act of discriminating and conceptualizing. The Aristotelian emphasis on the power of discernment is also at the center of Eva-Maria Engelen’s considerations about the necessary constraints for developing any kind of rudimentary self-awareness of ourselves as living beings. What preconditions, she asks, do we have to assume for not only being alive but also feeling so? Besides an elementary sense of possibility, movement and time, the ability to draw distinctions (and to relate the thusly found opposites to one another) plus a certain reflexivity appear to be indispensable. It is the sensation of mobility in relation to immobility or hindrance, the sensation of myself in relation to the environment, which constitutes the capacity to attribute our sensations to ourselves as a mutable but nonetheless persisting living unity.

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4.3 Pragmatics and semiotics To what extent Christian images in former times were perceived quite differently from a contemporary representational understanding is shown by the historically rich study of Tanja Klemm. Using the example of the ritual acts performed around an Annunciation fresco in the Florentine church of SS. Annunziata since the late 14th century, she demonstrates how the thaumaturgic image of Mary receiving divine life was anything but a mere pictorial account of the Biblical scene: what we find here is not a clearly definable opposition of an image and its beholder, but a lived participation in the act of conception (to be understood both physically and spiritually), and an involvement in embodied religious experience that reaches far into everyday life. If we analyze this pre-Cartesian relational experience in terms of contemporary phenomenological and enactive accounts, it seems to be the interactive or so-called second-person perspective that allows us to understand the shared moment of the becoming of life – experienced as animation no less then incarnation – as pervading the fresco and the devotees alike. Like Alice Holzhey-Kunz in the first section, but with a different focus, Matthias Jung raises the issue of uniquely human existential feelings. On the basis of an insightful overview of the developments in the field of emotion research he characterizes them as informed by both qualitative experience and our condition as symbolic beings: we can integrate the plethora of affective experiences we undergo because we are able to attribute them through linguistic self-referential acts to ourselves. And we further express and articulate them by means of body-based world-disclosing metaphors and by linguistically picking out certain aspects of an unarticulated manifold. In this complex interplay of feeling and semiosis, existential feelings are accessible and evaluable only in light of symbolic articulations. Comprising intersubjectivity as a specifically human background orientation, they exert power upon shared world views as well – an aspect apparently overlooked so far. However, this does not imply that comprehensive world views (including religion) reveal themselves as either fundamentally irrational or fully explicable in linguistic terms: while existential feelings are about possibilities in the most broad and undetermined sense, language is what relates them in an always partial and transitory way to the totality of our ways of finding ourselves in the world.

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Sabine Marienberg points out that the impact feelings of being alive have on world views and convictions is not a matter of one-directional influence. Ways in which we explicitly deal with questions of life (inseparably bound to questions of death) do also affect how and in how far we construe feelings of the body and abilities to engage with the world as symptoms of vitality or liveliness. However, rather than being determined by biological accounts of life, our notion of what it means to be alive is informed by what at any one time is considered to be e. g. a good, successful, just, or fulfilled life – and under which descriptions, narrations and figures life and death come along. As underlying, preintentional feelings that mostly go unnoticed, feelings of being alive can be seen as the becoming aware of the capacity to act while acting, a kind of intuitive assuredness in the moment of performance. In this perspective they can be understood rather as something we do than as something we feel. As feelings explicitly directed towards one’s own life (and as feelings we can refer to as feelings of being alive) though, they cannot be experienced without being symbolically articulated.

References Bayne, Tim/Fernández, Jordi (2009): Delusion and Self-Deception, New York: Psychology Press. Callard, Felicity/Margulies, Daniel S. (2011): The Subject at Rest: Novel Conceptualizations of Self and Brain From Cognitive Neuroscience’s Study of the ‘Resting State’, in: Subjectivity 4, 227 – 257. Damasio, Antonio R. (1994): Descartes’ Error, New York: G.P. Putnam. Damasio, Antonio R. (1999): The Feeling of What Happens. Body and Emotion in the Making of Consciousness, New York: Harcourt Brace & Company. Damasio, Antonio R. (2010): Self Comes to Mind: Constructing the Conscious Brain, New York: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Gallagher, Shaun/Zahavi, Dan (2008): The Phenomenological Mind An Introduction to Philosophy of Mind and Cognitive Science, London/New York: Routledge. Goldie, Peter (2000): The Emotions, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Griffiths, Paul E. (1997): What Emotions Really Are, Chicago, Ill.: University of Chicago Press. Heidegger, Martin (1927): Sein und Zeit, Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag. Heidegger, Martin (1962): Being and Time, Trans. John Macquarrie/Edward Robinson, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Heller-Roazen, Daniel (2007): The Inner Touch. Archaeology of a Sensation, New York: Zone Books.

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Hirstein, William (2005): Brain Fiction. Self-Deception and the Riddle of Confabulation, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Helm, Bennett W. (2001): Emotional Reason: Deliberation, Motivation, and the Nature of Value, New York: Cambridge University Press. Helm, Bennett W. (2009): Emotions As Evaluative Feelings, in: Emotion Review 1, 248 – 255. Husserl, Edmund (1997): Psychological and Transcendental Phenomenology and the Confrontation with Heidegger (1927 – 1931), Thomas Sheehan/Richard E. Palmer (Trans./Eds.), Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. James, William (1884): What Is An Emotion?, in: Mind 9, 188 – 205. Kant, Immanuel (1790): Kritik der Urteilskraft, in: Kants Werke. AkademieTextausgabe. Unveränderter photomechanischer Abdruck des Textes der von der Preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 1902 begonnenen Ausgabe von Kants gesammelten Schriften, Vol. 5, Preußische Akademie der Wissenschaften (Ed.), Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Kant, Immanuel (1798): Anthropologie in pragmatischer Hinsicht, in: Kants Werke. Akademie-Textausgabe. Unveränderter photomechanischer Abdruck des Textes der von der Preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 1902 begonnenen Ausgabe von Kants gesammelten Schriften, Vol. 7, Preußische Akademie der Wissenschaften (Ed.), Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Lazarus, Richard S. (1991): Emotion and Adaptation, New York: Oxford University Press. Lange, Carl G. (1885): Om Sindsbevaegelser: Et Psyko-Fysiologisk Studie, Copenhagen: J. Lund. Lange, Carl G. (1912): The Mechanism of the Emotions, in: Benjamin Rand (Ed.), The Classical Psychologists, Boston: Houghton Mifflin. LeDoux , Joseph (1996): The Emotional Brain. The Mysterious Underpinnings of Emotional Life, New York: Simon & Schuster. Lormand, Eric (1985): Toward a Theory of Moods, in: Philosophical Studies 47, 385 – 407. Menninghaus, Winfried (2009): ‘Ein Gefühl der Beförderung des Lebens’. Kants Reformulierung des Topos lebhafter Vorstellung, in: Armen Avanessian/Winfried Menninghaus/Jan Völker (Eds.), Vita aesthetica. Szenarien sthetischer Lebendigkeit, Zürich, Berlin: Diaphanes, 77 – 94. Panksepp, Jaak (1998): Affective Neuroscience : The Foundations of Human and Animal Emotions, New York: Oxford University Press. Panksepp, Jaak (2007): Affective Consciousness, in: Max Velmans/Susan Schneider (Eds.), The Blackwell Companion to Consciousness, Malden, Mass./Oxford: Backwell Pub. Price, Carolyn S. (2006): Affect Without Object: Moods and Objectless Emotions, in: European Journal of Analytic Philosophy 2, 49 – 68. Prinz, Jesse J. (2004): Gut Reactions, New York: Oxford University Press. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2005): The Feeling of Being, in: Journal of Consciousness Studies 12(8), 43 – 60. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2008): Feelings of Being: Phenomenology, Psychiatry and the Sense of Reality, Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Slaby, Jan (2008): Gefhl und Weltbezug, Paderborn: Mentis.

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Solomon, Robert C. (1976): The Passions, Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing. Solomon, Robert C./Stone, Lori D. (2002): On “Positive” and “Negative” Emotions, in: Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour 32, 417 – 435. Thompson, Evan (2007): Mind in Life: Biology, Phenomenology, and the Sciences of Mind, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Thompson, Evan (2011a): Precis of Mind in Life, in: Journal of Consciousness Studies 18(5 – 6), 10 – 22. Thompson, Evan (2011b): Reply to Commentaries, in: Journal of Consciousness Studies 18(5 – 6), 176 – 223. Wheeler, Mike (2011): Mind in Life or Life in Mind? Making Sense of Deep Continuity, in: Journal of Consciousness Studies 18(5 – 6), 148 – 168. Wolfersdorf, Manfred/Heidrich, Anke (2010): Cotard-Syndrom, in: Petra Garlipp/Horst Haltenhof (Eds.), Seltene Wahnstçrungen, Steinkopff: Darmstadt.

I. Feelings of Being

The Phenomenology of Existential Feeling Matthew Ratcliffe Abstract: This chapter sketches a phenomenological account of what I call ‘existential feeling’ (Ratcliffe 2005; 2008). Since I introduced the term, it has also been adopted by several others (e. g. Slaby et al. 2008; McLaughlin 2009; Stephan in press), sometimes in ways that differ slightly from my own usage. Hence one aim of the chapter is to offer an overview of my understanding of ‘existential feeling’, so that it can be distinguished from others. To do so, I start by suggesting that there is a distinctive form of affective experience that cannot be fitted into established categories. Use of the term ‘existential feeling’, I propose, allows us to focus our enquiries on a neglected and phenomenologically unified group of affective phenomena that would otherwise be split up and assigned to familiar categories such as ‘emotion’, ‘feeling’ and ‘mood’. Following this, I sketch a two-part phenomenological analysis of existential feeling. First of all, I suggest that the notion of ‘experienced possibility’ is central. Then I argue that something can be both a bodily feeling and, at the same time, an experience of worldly possibilities. A further aim of the chapter is to complicate my analysis in two respects: I sketch an account of affective ‘depth’ that applies to existential feeling, after which I raise (but do not fully resolve) some issues concerning the relationship between existential feeling and conceptual thought.

1. Existential feelings Emotions are generally regarded as intentional states, bodily feelings or a combination of the two, and moods as generalised emotions. Whereas one might be angry about something specific, such as being insulted, a mood is directed at a more encompassing state of affairs, perhaps even the world as a whole.1 There is a tendency in the philosophical literature to focus on a fairly standard inventory of emotions and moods, including anger, sadness, fear, joy, grief, jealousy, guilt, and so on.2 Consequently, a range of other emotional states, many of which do not have established names, have been neglected. Although the category 1 2

See Ratcliffe (2008, chap. 1; 2010b) for a more detailed discussion of such views. For an exception, see Roberts (2003), who addresses many kinds of emotion, including some that seldom feature in philosophical discussion.

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of ‘neglected emotional states’ is not itself phenomenologically unitary, many of these neglected phenomena do have something in common. They are not intentional states, directed at however many objects, and they are not feelings of the body or some part of it. Instead, they amount to a felt sense of belonging to the world. Whenever we are happy, sad or angry about something, we already find ourselves in the world. This phenomenological achievement can vary in structure, and its variants shape all our experiences, thoughts and activities. It is also inextricable from our sense of reality; alterations in the sense of belonging are frequently coupled with the complaint that things, people or the world as a whole seem unreal. These alterations are usually but not always described in terms of ‘feeling’: People sometimes talk of feeling alive, dead, distant, detached, dislodged, estranged, isolated, otherworldly, indifferent to everything, overwhelmed, suffocated, cut off, lost, disconnected, out of sorts, not oneself, out of touch with things, out of it, not quite with it, separate, in harmony with things, at peace with things or part of things. There are references to feelings of unreality, heightened existence, surreality, familiarity, unfamiliarity, strangeness, isolation, emptiness, belonging, being at home in the world, being at one with things, significance, insignificance, and the list goes on. People also sometimes report that “things just don’t feel right”, “I’m not with it today”, “I just feel a bit removed from it all at the moment”, “I feel out of it” or “it feels strange” (Ratcliffe 2008, 68).

Some of the above feelings take the form of brief episodes, whereas others are more enduring.3 I acknowledge that some are referred to in terms of familiar types of emotion, such as ‘guilt’ and ‘hopelessness’. Although we usually feel guilty about something specific or feel that a particular situation is hopeless, guilt and hopelessness can also amount to ways of being in the world, which permeate all experience and thought (Ratcliffe 2010b; forthcoming). However, although some ways of finding ourselves in the world are expressed in terms of familiar emotion categories, most are not. Furthermore, it is important to distinguish an intentional state of hopelessness or guilt from a form of guilt or hopelessness that constitutes the shape of one’s world – they are quite different in character. The sense of being there, immersed in a world, is not to be identified with experiences of something in the world. This point applies to intentional emotions more generally. When we see a bull running towards us and feel scared, we do so in the context of an already 3

Some persist for so long that they might be regarded them as character traits; a person can be habitually ‘detached’ or ‘out of touch’.

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given situation; we are already there. Hence, if we are to adequately distinguish, categorise and analyse those affective experiences that constitute how we find ourselves in the world, a technical term is appropriate. Because we are dealing with something that is felt and at the same time amounts to a sense of reality and situatedness, I have proposed the term ‘existential feeling’ (Ratcliffe 2005). Although philosophical discussion of emotion does not generally address the kinds of affective experience that I call ‘existential feeling’, the intimate association between feeling, how one finds oneself in the world and one’s grasp of reality is frequently conveyed in literature, where there are many detailed and nuanced descriptions of changes in existential feeling. For example: Meanwhile, the whole outside world disclosed itself as treacherously subjective. Neither good nor sinister, dull nor fascinating, luminous nor black, the exterior universe possessed no innate qualities, but was nightmarishly reliant on the grind of her interior lens. That the Boat Basin in Riverside Park would not, at least, remain a sublime and halcyon copse atrot with friendly dogs unnerved her, for the same Hudson walkway would transmogrify into a bleak and trashy strip, its dogs ratty and hostile, the vista of New Jersey grim and aggressively overfamiliar. Sweetspot as well could flip-flop overnight from tasteful clapboard haven to slick, elitist preserve for the spoiled rotten. Willy resented having responsibility for the fickle landscape outside her mind as well as in; there was no resort. As the seafarer craves dry land, she yearned for anything ineluctable and true, immutably one way or another. Instead Willy was smitten with the awful discovery that even the color of a lamppost was subject to her own filthy moods (Shriver 2006, 247 – 248).

There is a lot going on in this passage, and I do not propose to account for everything in terms of existential feeling. Even so, the passage does serve to illustrate the aspect of experience that I seek to convey. What we have here is something that is quite clearly ‘felt’. At the same time, it manifests itself as a way of relating to the world. However, to complicate matters, Willy’s relationship with the world is not constituted by a single, consistent feeling. Rather, her experience incorporates a sense of the transient and erratic nature of those feelings that once provided a consistent backdrop to experience and thought. This amounts to an existential feeling of contingency, uncertainty, insecurity, homelessness. When existential feeling remains stable, we might be oblivious to its role. But when it becomes changeable, a sense of changeability can itself amount to an altered sense of belonging. Willy inhabits a world from which stability and habitual trust in things are gone. With this, there

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is erosion of an ordinarily taken for granted public reality, of the sense that things reside in a world independent of her own experiences. Descriptions of altered existential feeling are also commonplace in first- and third-person accounts of the phenomenology of psychiatric illness. Sass (e. g. 1992; 2004; 2007) and Sass and Parnas (e. g. 2007) develop a phenomenological analysis of schizophrenia, which emphasises a change in the sense of reality and belonging. This existential shift, they maintain, is what makes possible the formation of delusional experiences with specific contents. Stanghellini (2004) similarly insists that schizophrenia involves an all-enveloping change in one’s relationship with the world and, more specifically, with other people. The same can be said of depersonalisation disorder, a condition where people complain that things look strangely unreal, that their bodies feel odd or even bereft of feeling and that they are somehow diminished or detached from the world (Simeon/Abugel, 2006; Colombetti/Ratcliffe, in press). Almost all first-person accounts of severe depression likewise convey a phenomenological change that amounts to ‘living in a different world’. It is not simply that one’s experience of however many entities is altered in some way – that what looked enticing now looks unappealing, what once seemed challenging now seems hopeless. Rather, there is a shift in the overall structure of world-experience. Consider this excerpt from a letter, quoted by Whybrow (1997, 23): It is like falling into a deep black pit; or being drawn down into a dark vortex led only by a pinpoint of light, which growing smaller and smaller, finally flickers and goes out. With it goes all feeling. […] It is a state of nonbeing; there is no cure, there is no illness. I was convinced that I was dead, emotionally dead. I have no words to describe this thing that was totally alien to my life experience. […] the closest I can come is that of a living void; of being condemned to life. And as the ability to live recedes, the most terrifying part of all is that it leaves a certain serenity.

The author of the letter is a woman suffering from melancholic depression. Her account illustrates themes that are common to almost all detailed first-person reports of severe depression. They convey the erosion of something that is ordinarily taken for granted, a sense of reality and belonging (Ratcliffe 2010b). The world of depression is thus, as the author says, “alien” to everyday experience; she has “no words to describe” what has happened to her. People with depression often complain that communicating their predicament to others is difficult or impossible:

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Such feelings are not easy to describe: our vocabulary – when it comes to talking about these things – is surprisingly limited. The exact quality of perception requires the resources of poetry to express. […] I awoke into a different world. It was as though all had changed while I slept: that I awoke not into normal consciousness but into a nightmare (Patient quoted by Rowe 1978, 268 – 70).

Many kinds of existential feelings are similarly difficult to describe. These feelings are not usually explicit objects of experience or thought – we tend to be pre-occupied by what is going on in the world, rather than with the backdrop against which those happenings are intelligible. Hence we only tend to notice existential feelings when they take on a form that is phenomenologically conspicuous and unusual. Even then, it is not possible to understand what is going on unless we also appreciate the phenomenological role that existential feeling more usually plays. If we fail to acknowledge that experience incorporates a background sense of belonging to a world, then we will inevitably misinterpret an alteration of that sense of belonging in terms of something else. This is not to suggest that we seldom talk about existential feeling. Although they are – for the most part – inconspicuous, pronounced changes in existential feeling are far from rare, and people do try to communicate them. But everyday discussion of existential feeling is often metaphorical and also vague. For example, one author writes of his experience of depression that “I felt like I’d been found incompetent and fired from my own life” (Steinke 2001, 64). Another way of conveying existential feeling is by referring to a cause that is reliably associated with a feeling of some kind, rather than attempting to describe the feeling itself. Hence we might talk of a bad case of jetlag, a nightmare hangover or a feeling of profound grief, all of which involve the world as a whole looking strangely different. Existential feelings are not specific to our relationship with the impersonal world; they are also ways of finding ourselves with other people. For instance, someone might complain of a pervasive feeling of disconnectedness from other people or that people only appear to them in the guise of threat (Ratcliffe and Broome, in press). The interpersonal aspect of existential feeling is evident from various descriptions in literature and also from accounts of anomalous experience in psychiatric illness. Consider this passage from a novel about the poet John Clare, who was incarcerated at High Beach Asylum: Stands in the wilderness of the world, stands alone, […] surrounded by strangers, trembling, unable, the sun heating him, his will breaking inside

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him, until he bursts out, “what can I do?” As though it were possible, he searches again the strangers’ faces to find Mary or Patty or one of his own children or anyone, but there is no warm return from them. They are alien, moulded flesh only, and they frighten him (Foulds 2009, 142).

The predicament described here does not just involve however many faces seeming curiously inanimate. It is a form that all the protagonist’s interpersonal experiences take on, an altered way of belonging to the interpersonal world. In summary, existential feelings have two distinguishing characteristics. First of all, they are ways of finding oneself in the world and with other people, which shape all experience, thought and activity. Second, they are – in some sense – felt. It might be objected that these two criteria do not get us very far. The claim that something is a way of finding oneself in the world might be evocative but it is also rather vague – what exactly is it to ‘find oneself in the world’ in the relevant sense? The ‘felt’ character of existential feeling also requires further characterisation. They are surely not ‘bodily feelings’, as they constitute a background sense of belonging to the world, rather than an awareness of how things are with one’s body. So how, then, are they ‘feelings’? Everyday discourse, along with descriptions of anomalous experience in psychiatric illness, excerpts from novels and the like, might help draw attention to a neglected aspect of our affective lives. And a technical term like ‘existential feeling’ might facilitate more effective reference to it. But reference is not description, and what we do not yet have is an adequate phenomenological account. In the next two sections, I will sketch the bare bones of such an account, by first emphasising the role of experienced possibilities and then arguing that ‘bodily feelings’ can incorporate more than just ‘feelings of the body’.

2. Possibility Existential feeling is centrally about having a sense of possibility. I did not make this sufficiently clear when I first introduced the term (Ratcliffe 2005). In my 2008 book, Feelings of Being, I explicitly emphasised experience of possibility. However, I could have further stressed the distinctive role that existential feelings play in determining the kinds of significant possibility we are receptive to. In this section, I will do so. The first step is to acknowledge that we do indeed experience possibilities. To make this point, I find it helpful to draw upon the phenomenolog-

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ical concept of a ‘horizon’, as employed by Husserl (e. g. 1973; 1989; 2001) and later by Merleau-Ponty (1962).4 Husserl starts with the observation that, when we perceive an entity such as a cup, it seems as though the whole object is somehow present to us, even though only some of its aspects are perceptually available. In order to account for this, he maintains that we do not merely perceive what actually appears to us at any one time. Perception of an entity also incorporates a sense of further possible perceptions and actions involving that entity. Husserl suggests that the various possibilities incorporated into our experience of an entity comprise a structured system, which he refers to as the entity’s ‘horizon’. Visual perception of an entity does not incorporate only possibilities for vision; the horizon of a perceived entity is inter-sensory (Husserl 1989, 75). For example, when one sees a cup, one also perceives the tactual possibilities it offers; the cup appears as something that can be reached and grasped with ease, and as something with a tangible texture. The possibilities we perceive are variably determinate. An entity might present itself as ‘having another side, the precise character of which is unknown’. Alternatively, something like a monochrome coffee mug might offer the more determinate possibility of being turned around to reveal a circular shape and a uniform colour. It is also important to emphasise the role of interpersonal possibilities. According to Husserl, the ability to experience something as there, as something that exists independent of my perceiving, is partly constituted by a sense of its accessibility to others. Even if it is not currently perceived or acted upon, it continues to incorporate the possibility of being perceptually and practically accessed by others (Husserl 1960).5 Perception of possibilities is not a detached, voyeuristic affair. It involves a structured system of non-conceptual bodily expectations (Husserl 1973; 2001). For the most part, the possibilities offered by things take the form of habitual certainties. As I walk across the street, I take for granted that the texture of the road will remain fairly constant, that I will not fall into a hole or sink into a bog. Such alternative possibilities do not feature as part of the experience. But anticipation can 4

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This not to suggest that phenomenology is the sole basis for such a view. For example, we could also appeal to complementary empirical findings (e. g. Declerck/Gapenne 2009). In addition, some recent work in analytic philosophy of perception seems to be converging upon much the same view (O’Callaghan 2011, 157). See Gallagher (2008) for a discussion of Husserl on the role of interpersonal possibilities in constituting our sense of being in an ‘objective’ world.

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also take the form of uncertainty or doubt regarding what something is or even whether it exists at all. If you walk home on a dark night and see a person-like shape in the woods, your experience of the entity as a person might incorporate a feeling of uncertainty. Then, as you get closer and the shape seems to change and fragment, there is doubt over whether you perceive an entity at all. Hence the horizonal structure of perception is not static; it is a dynamic system of habitual, non-conceptual expectations of various kinds, where expectations may or may not be fulfilled. The relevant possibilities are experienced as integral to the world. In order to understand existential feeling, we need to draw a distinction between instances of possibility, such as ‘this cup can be touched’ or ‘this cup has the potential to be seen by others’, and kinds of possibility, such as ‘tangibility’ or ‘being perceivable by others’. Experience incorporates various different kinds of possibility, which may or may not feature in the experience of a particular entity. It is important to stress how many kinds of possibility contribute to our experience of the personal and impersonal world. This becomes more apparent once we acknowledge that the horizonal structure of experience incorporates not only relations of practical and perceptual accessibility but also ways in which things appear significant to us or even enticing. Husserl (2001, 83 – 98) stresses that various possibilities do not simply present themselves as scenarios that we could actualise. Instead, they say to us, ‘actualise me’; they entice us. He adds that there is a continuum between those possibilities that are merely “open” and those that are “enticing”. However, we can complicate the analysis by observing that the category “enticing” does not identify a single kind of possibility. Things can entice us in various ways, by being fascinating, offering pleasure, being relevant to projects we care about, and so on. And there are further ways in which the world can incorporate a pull towards action; something can appear pressing, urgent or required.6 In these latter cases, a possibility need not be “enticing” in order to be something that disposes or even seemingly compels us to act in a particular way. However, we can broaden the account still further. Entities are perceived to matter in a range of different ways, where how something matters is to be understood in terms of the kinds of significant possibility that it offers. Something might appear as relevant or irrelevant to a proj6

Husserl’s discussion of enticing possibilities emphasizes how things draw us in perceptually and solicit further perceptual activity. However, I suggest that possibilities for goal-directed action can equally apperear ‘enticing’.

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ect, threatening, comforting, and so on. And something can matter without actually “enticing” us to act. Husserl acknowledges that the everyday world is not a realm of “nature-Objects”, but is instead populated by “value-Objects” of various kinds (1989, 29). Although he does not emphasise the role played by kinds of ‘value’ or ‘mattering’ in the horizonal structure of experience, I think that including them is both consistent with his approach and phenomenologically accurate. The kinds of mattering we are receptive to can be distinguished from more specific ways of finding things significant. A hammer ‘matters’ in the sense that it is ‘practically significant in the context of a project’, and it is practically significant in the context of the project of building a shed because it offers the possibility of ‘hammering’. It is the categories of mattering that I am interested in, rather than the particular projects and properties that determine whether or not a given entity is or is not experienced as mattering in those ways.7 But, even at this level of generality, there are many kinds of mattering. Various categories, such as ‘threat’ or ‘practical significance in the context of a project’ can be further broken down into several subcategories. A threat can be experienced as mild or severe, probable or improbable, distant or imminent, avoidable or unavoidable, shared or specific to oneself, and personal or impersonal in nature. When we add the possibilities offered by other people, from communion to humiliation, the kinds of mattering that the world incorporates increase considerably. We can also make further subdivisions between kinds of possibility on the basis of their interpersonal application: things can appear as ‘threatening to me and only me’, ‘threatening to all of us’, ‘threatening to them but not to us’, ‘practically significant for us’, ‘practically significant only to me’, and so on. Although I have not offered anything approximating a comprehensive taxonomy of experienced possibility types, I hope it is at least clear that many different kinds of possibility can be identified. And I propose that we analyse existential feeling in terms of them: existential feelings constitute a sense of the kinds of possibility that the world offers. For example, there is a difference between a specific entity, such as a cloud, lacking the possibility ‘tangibility’ and the absence of that possibility from experience as a whole. If everything ceased to offer the possibility 7

Hence having a certain existential feeling does not depend upon having specific bodily capacities that determine whether certain entities are significant in certain ways (such as cups being graspable). Bodily difference and bodily impairment do not therefore imply difference in existential feeling.

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of being touched or manipulated, if that kind of possibility were altogether removed from experience, then everything would seem curiously distant, cut off, somehow not quite there. Intentional states presuppose existential feelings. In order to experience an entity as threatening, enticing, accessible to others or relevant to a project, one’s world must accommodate possibilities of those kinds. In their absence, the associated kinds of intentional state could not be adopted. Existential feelings thus shape all experience, thought and activity, insofar as they determine what kinds of intentional state are amongst one’s possibilities. Hence we might describe them as “pre-intentional” rather than “intentional” (Ratcliffe 2010a).8 My use of the term ‘existential feeling’ thus differs, in one important respect, from that of McLaughlin (2009). Whereas he takes existential feeling to be a distinctive kind of intentional state, I treat it as a space of possibility that our repertoire of intentional states presupposes. A change in existential feeling might affect our sense of possibilities for perceptual and practical accessibility. For instance, first-person accounts of psychiatric illness sometimes involve complaints that everything looks intangible or two-dimensional. However, existential feelings are associated principally with the kinds of mattering that experience incorporates. In this respect, my analysis follows Heidegger’s account of moods (Stimmungen) in Being and Time. According to Heidegger, moods are not intentional states that encompass a wide range of objects. Rather, they are modes of Befindlichkeit, ways of finding oneself in the world. Moods, for Heidegger, constitute a changeable sense of being situated in the world. This, he says, is presupposed by the intelligibility of intentionally directed experiences, thoughts and activities: “The mood has already disclosed, in every case, Being-in-the-world as a whole, and makes it possible first of all to direct oneself towards something” (1962, 176, 137). A central characteristic of Befindlichkeit, in its various modes, is that it determines the ways in which things can matter to us and, therefore, the kinds of intentional state we can adopt. For instance, a being whose sense of belonging to the world did not incorporate the possibility of threat would be incapable of an intentional state of fear (Heidegger 1962, 176, 137). However, I refrain from using the term ‘mood’, as it refers to a range of different phenomena, not all of which play the role described 8

See also Strasser (1977, chap. 7) for the distinction between intentional and preintentional feelings.

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by Heidegger. I can be in a bad mood with someone, where mood is clearly an enduring and fairly specifically focused intentional state. Other moods are intentional states with a wider range of objects (for example, feeling grumpy about several things that have happened during a really bad week). Hence not all ‘moods’ determine the kinds of possibility we are receptive to, the kinds of intentional state we are able to adopt. Furthermore, many existential feelings are not referred to as moods. The German term Stimmung does not have quite the same connotations as ‘mood’. Nevertheless, it too fails to capture all of the relevant phenomena and only those phenomena. My departure from Heidegger is not merely terminological though. There are also some problems with his analysis. For instance, he restricts himself to a fairly narrow range of emotional states. In Being and Time, we have an emphasis on fear and Angst. In a slightly later text (Heidegger 1995), there is also a lengthy analysis of boredom (Langeweile). However, I have argued elsewhere that the range of existential feelings is much wider and, in addition, that ‘moods’ such as Heideggerian Angst may actually subdivide into a range of subtly different existential feelings. Furthermore, I have stressed that there is a need to account for the bodily dimension of existential feeling, something that Heidegger explicitly declines to comment on in Being and Time (Ratcliffe 2008, chap. 2; in press). In maintaining that existential feelings determine the kinds of mattering we are receptive to, I do not wish to imply a simple addition and subtraction model, where categories of mattering can be added or removed, leaving the rest of experience intact. First of all, it should be emphasised that the possibility space is holistic. The absence, addition, intensification and diminution of one kind of possibility will often, if not always, have wider implications. Suppose one lived in a world where everything appeared threatening, where what used to be a contingent possibility associated with only certain situations became the form of all experience. This would entail loss of other possibilities too, such as those of effortless practical engagement with things and comfortable communication with others. One’s more general sense of being in the world would thus be transformed. The structure of existential feeling is also diachronic in character. Suppose one belongs to a world where everything seems uncertain, where insecurity pervades everything. This need not be understood in terms of subtraction of a category such as ‘habitual certainty’ or addition of a category such as ‘insecurity’. An existential sense of uncertainty or insecurity manifests itself in the interplay between expectation and fulfil-

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ment, an essentially dynamic process. One might lose the sense of fulfilment ordinarily associated with habitual expectation, with the result that every occurrence takes the form ‘unexpected’ or ‘not right’. Alternatively, the form of expectation might change, with habitual certainty being replaced by uncertainty or doubt. In both scenarios, what is lost is the usual dynamic interplay between possibilities that present themselves as certain and their actualisation. In the absence of a certain kind of expectation and/or fulfilment, the whole process changes, and this altered process constitutes an existential feeling of not being quite at home in the world. The process whereby possibilities are presented and actualised could be disrupted in a range of other ways too. The most extreme scenario would be a complete loss of horizonal structure, where possibilities present themselves chaotically. Hence certain existential feelings are not attributable to the simple addition or subtraction of a kind of possibility. Rather, it is the structured, dynamic interplay between kinds of possibility that changes. The result can often be described more conveniently as the ‘loss’ of something from experience, such as a feeling of homeliness, or the addition of something, such as a pervasive feeling of unease. A range of sources serve to support the phenomenological account that I have sketched here. Amongst the most compelling, in my view, are the many first-person reports offered in the context of psychopathology and psychiatry. An analysis of existential feelings offers a plausible framework through which to interpret them, and is thus vindicated in the process. Consider, for instance, what Jaspers calls ‘delusional atmosphere’ or ‘delusional mood’, which involves a seemingly paradoxical state of affairs where everything looks the same as before but, at the same time, completely different: “perception is unaltered in itself but there is some change which envelops everything with a subtle, pervasive and strangely uncertain light” (1962, 98). It is not at all clear what has changed here and, in this respect, delusional mood is not unusual. All of us have had experiences where things look somehow strange and different, in ways that are difficult to pin down. Once we allow that experience incorporates various kinds of possibility, it becomes possible to explain how something could look exactly the same as it previously did and yet very different. The perceived properties remain intact but the kinds of experienced possibility habitually associated with them have changed. For example, a hammer that appeared utterly bereft of its usual practical significance could still appear black, with a metal head, and about 40 cm long. I suspect that many anomalous experiences

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take this form. This is not a matter of my simply imposing an analysis of existential feeling upon the relevant phenomena; in numerous cases, people explicitly describe changes in the kinds of mattering or possibility that experience incorporates. Consider the following passage from Autobiography of a Schizophrenic Girl, where the author, ‘Renee’, describes a short-lived return to reality: […] when we were outside I realized that my perception of things had completely changed. Instead of infinite space, unreal, where everything was cut off, naked and isolated, I saw Reality, marvellous Reality, for the first time. The people whom we encountered were no longer automatons, phantoms, revolving around, gesticulating without meaning; they were men and women with their own individual characteristics, their own individuality. It was the same with things. They were useful things, having sense, capable of giving me pleasure. Here was an automobile to take me to the hospital, cushions I could rest on. […] for the first time I dared to handle the chairs, to change the arrangement of the furniture. What an unknown joy, to have an influence on things; to do with them what I liked and especially to have the pleasure of wanting the change (Sechehaye 1970, 105 – 6).

The passage conveys a radical change in the structure of experience, which involves, amongst other things, a return of practical significance to the world. Things had lost their usual practical possibilities; they had ceased to matter in those ways. As the possibilities return to them, so does a sense of reality, something that was diminished or lost when the world was wholly devoid of practical meaning. What we also see here is an awareness of loss, which is especially salient during the transition between existential feelings. As mattering returns, Renee becomes acutely aware of what was missing from her world. Of course, loss of a kind of possibility from experience need not always incorporate a sense of loss. And perhaps, before these possibilities began to return, Renee had become largely oblivious to their absence. However, there are many cases where altered experience incorporates a conspicuous feeling of lost possibility. This is often reported in depression, where loss of hope, practical significance, pleasure and interpersonal connectedness can itself be painfully felt (Ratcliffe 2010b, 610). It is not just that one remembers things being different. The absence is there; part of the experience. What may happen here is that the habitual anticipation of various possibilities being actualised remains intact, whereas the capacity to actualise them does not. Hence experience is permeated by a sense of unfulfilled expectation and/or disappointment. For instance, although one might be incapable of finding things practically significant,

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one might retain expectations that depend, for their fulfilment, upon things appearing as they would if the world incorporated practical significance. So everything looks odd, somehow lacking. First-person accounts of depression also tend to report a pervasive sense of impossibility. For example: It became impossible to reach anything. Like, how do I get up and walk to that chair if the essential thing that we mean by chair, something that lets us sit down and rest or upholds us as we read a book, something that shares our life in that way, has lost the quality of being able to do that? […] You know that you have lost life itself. You’ve lost a habitable earth. You’ve lost the invitation to live that the universe extends to us as every moment. You’ve lost something that people don’t even know is. That’s why it’s so hard to explain (From an interview quoted by Hornstein 2009, 213). It’s almost like I am there but I can’t touch anything or I can’t connect. Everything requires massive effort and I’m not really able to do anything. Like if I notice something needs cleaning or moving, it’s like it’s out of reach, or the act of doing that thing isn’t in my world at that time […] like I can see so much detail but I cannot be a part of it. I suppose feeling disconnected is the best way to describe it (Patient quoted by Horne and Csipke 2009, 663).

The world appears as lacking certain kinds of possibility such as tangibility, practical significance and enticement to act. A sense of their absence amounts to a pervasive feeling of disconnectedness that shapes all experience, a radical shift in the sense of reality and belonging. As the description quoted by Hornstein indicates, these changes implicate something that we ordinarily take for granted, a sense of belonging to the world that we “don’t even know is”, thus making them difficult to convey to others.9 9

Many existential feelings also affect temporal experience. In a case of severe depression, where the world no longer includes significant possibilities, the predicament seems unchangeable, eternal. An experienced situation ordinarily incorporates a sense of its own contingency – the possibility of things being different in ways that matter. In the absence of this possibility, there is a change in one’s usual experience of temporal flow, which no longer involves the actualisation of significant possibilities or the kinds of anticipation associated with things mattering. One’s longer term sense of time is also altered in various ways, as events cease to be ordered around the pursuit of projects or goals. Hence the future lacks the potential to be significantly different from the past; it is just more of the same. For discussions of changes in the structure of temporal experience in psychiatric illness, see, for example, Minkowski (1970), Wyllie (2005) and Fuchs (forthcoming).

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By reflecting upon such predicaments, we can make an important distinction between changes in the form and content of experience, where only the former involve altered existential feeling. Consider someone who loses an important life project, such as a job that she cares deeply about. She might complain that the world looks somehow different, and it is easy to see why. Amongst other things, a whole system of practical significance focused around the job has collapsed, and the entities it involves therefore look somehow strange. However, the relevant experience could take two different forms. In one scenario, the person loses many instances of experienced possibility. She retains the capacity to encounter things as offering p, even though many things that used to incorporate p now lack it. An alternative scenario is where loss of the job somehow precipitates an existential change, where she not only loses token possibilities of type p but loses type p altogether; her world no longer includes the possibility of anything offering p. Only the latter is what I would call a change in existential feeling, a change in the form of experience that intentional states presuppose. The former is a change in the contents of experience, which could – in principle at least – leave the form unaffected. Matters are no doubt more complicated in practice, as it seems plausible to maintain that a change in content might somehow trigger a change in form, which could further affect content, and so on. Even so, it is important to draw a distinction between kinds of experience that can be described in similar ways but are in fact structurally very different.10 One way to do this is to distinguish ‘existential feeling’ from the broader notion of ‘existential orientation’, where the former relates to the kinds of possibility one’s world incorporates, whereas the latter also includes the core projects one is committed to. Hence it is existential feeling that determines whether one is able to find anything practically significant, but it is a concrete existential orientation that determines what one finds significant and in what way.11

10 I strongly suspect that current diagnostic categories such as ‘major depressive disorder’ (e. g. DSM IV) include both kinds of experience. Hence quite different predicaments are treated as one and the same. 11 I did not distinguish ‘existential feeling’ from ‘existential orientation’ in my 2008 book. However, I now think that it is important to do so. Otherwise, the term ‘existential feeling’ risks being confused with something broader. Thanks to Jan Slaby for drawing my attention to this issue.

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3. Feeling I have proposed that existential feelings play a distinctive phenomenological role. They constitute a changeable sense of reality and belonging, which can be construed as a possibility space. However, I have not said what plays this role. Just what are existential feelings? My claim is that they are bodily feelings. This might seem plain false, given that feelings of bodily states are distinct from a sense of belonging to the world. However, I suggest that bodily feelings in general are not just feelings of bodily states. Goldie (2000) distinguishes ‘bodily feelings’ from ‘feelings towards’, where the latter are feelings that have something other than the body as an intentional object. I agree that not all feelings are directed at the body or parts of it. However, I am inclined to reject a clear distinction between two kinds of feelings. Instead, I argue that most, if not all, bodily feelings are relational – they are seldom, if ever, directed exclusively at the body. Indeed, there are ‘bodily feelings’ that do not involve the body as an object of experience at all. Instead, the body manifests itself as that through which something else is experienced. Goldie (2009) has more recently moved in a similar direction, and acknowledges that many ‘bodily feelings’ are also ‘feelings towards’. If there is a disagreement between us, it concerns which feelings are exclusively ‘bodily’ – Goldie insists that at least some are, whereas I am not convinced that we should concede even this much. In order to convey the relational phenomenology of bodily feeling, it is helpful to reflect upon the experience of touch. When I run my hand along the surface of my desk, what I perceive is not a feeling in my hand but the texture of the desk. My hand is not wholly absent from the experience, but it is not simply a recessive object of experience either. Rather, it features as that through which I experience something else. The difference is illustrated by the well-known example of two hands touching, offered by Merleau-Ponty (e. g. 1968, 9).12 When you actively touch one hand with the other, only the touched hand is experienced as an object of perception. When you try to bring the other hand into focus, there is a kind of ‘gestalt switch’, as the perceiving hand becomes the perceived. It is not that a previously recessive object of perception becomes more conspicuous; the experience of a perceived hand is qualitatively different from that of a perceiving hand. It would be wrong, I think, to maintain that the perceiving hand is not experienced 12 Merleau-Ponty draws on Husserl’s discussion of touch in Ideas II.

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at all. After all, there is a considerable phenomenological difference between a touching hand and a numb hand (Ratcliffe 2008, chap. 3). Instead, it should be acknowledged that the body can feature in our experience as that through which we perceive something else. The term ‘bodily feeling’ is thus insensitive to a distinction between two kinds of bodily experience; the feeling body is to be distinguished from the felt body. One might object that touch differs from other kinds of bodily feeling, insofar as it depends upon physical contact between perceiver and perceived. Hence what applies to tactual feeling does not apply to feelings that are internal to the body. However, examples of distance touch, such as using a pencil to write or a cane to navigate, count against this. If you write on a rough surface with a pencil, you perceive the surface through the pencil, rather than the boundary between pencil and hand. What is perceived through touch need not be an entity in physical contact with the body. So it could be that other kinds of bodily feeling similarly contribute to the perception of entities external to the body. And I maintain that many of them do. Consider Sartre’s example of reading when you have tired, sore eyes: […] this pain can itself be indicated by objects of the world; i. e., by the book which I read. It is with more difficulty that the words are detached from the undifferentiated ground which they constitute; they may tremble, quiver; their meaning can be derived only with effort […] (1989, 332).

Before you reflect upon the pain, the sore eyes are not an object of experience – the pain manifests itself as how the words on the page appear. When the painful eyes become an object of perception, the experience is altogether different. We can thus distinguish between ‘noematic feelings’, where the body is a central or peripheral object of experience, and ‘noetic feelings’, where the body is that through which something else is experienced (Colombetti and Ratcliffe, in press). However, I suggest that there are also other kinds of bodily feeling, which play neither a noetic nor a noematic role. They constitute a sense of belonging to the world, in the context of which we have intentional states with noetic and noematic aspects. In other words, they are existential feelings. I think it is plausible to maintain that some forms of pain contribute to existential feeling. Even when a feeling of pain is at the forefront of awareness, it need not be exhausted by its bodily phenomenology. Some pains are, at the same time, integral to a sense of belonging to the world. To quote Minkowski (1958, 134):

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[…] pain evidently opposes the expansive tendency of our personal impetus; we can no longer turn ourselves outward, nor do we try to leave our personal stamp on the external world. Instead we let the world, in all its impetuousness, come to us, making us suffer. Thus, pain is also an attitude toward the environment.

The world thus ceases to appear as a realm of significant possibilities that entices us to act and instead becomes something before which we are passive. Scarry (1985, 35) goes so far as to say that pain can be “world-destroying”.13 Inextricable from the bodily phenomenology of pain, in its more extreme forms, is a loss of the ordinarily taken-forgranted world: [Pain] destroys a person’s self and world, a destruction that is experienced spatially as either the contraction of the universe down to the immediate vicinity of the body or as the body swelling to fill the entire universe.

I also maintain that certain kinds of tactual feeling contribute to existential feeling. There is a diffuse, changeable, background sense of touch, which ordinarily incorporates a partial lack of differentiation between body and world. This, I have suggested, contributes to a general sense of being situated in the world (Ratcliffe 2008, chap. 3). It is likely that many other kinds of bodily feeling contribute to existential feeling. Candidates include a range of feelings that do not have specific felt locations and are thus characterised by “diffuse localisation” (Slaby 2008). Amongst these, I would include feelings of balance and orientation, which can contribute to a more encompassing sense of being rooted in a world or dislodged. It is also important to emphasise the dynamics of feeling, as Sheets-Johnstone (2009) and Stern (2010) do, rather than regarding feelings as synchronic episodes that occur independent of our activities. Feelings emerge and develop in the context of our ongoing activity. Consider how a feeling of strangeness might develop as you wander around a place – patterns of anticipation are not met with fulfilment, amounting to feelings of unfamiliarity that serve to shape further activities, and so on. Absolutely central to existential feelings, I suggest, are diffuse feelings that are closely associated with or sometimes identical with action 13 See also Cole (2004, 8) for a first-person account that emphasises the same point. In his words, “my immersion in the pain was so consuming that the world, as an external place to calibrate myself in, and from, no longer presented itself to me”.

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dispositions and action readiness.14 We also find this emphasis in Husserl, who argues that perceived worldly possibilities are, in many cases at least, inextricable from bodily dispositions. He talks of the “affective pull of enticing possibilities”, where a bodily pull and a sense of something as enticing are inseparable (2001, 98). Husserl also emphasises “kinaestheses” in his account of the horizonal structure of experience, unthinking movements that contribute to perceptual activity: “We call these movements, which belong to the essence of perception and serve to bring the object of perception to givenness from all sides insofar as possible, kinaestheses” (1973, 83 – 84). Various kinds of kinaesthetic disposition are, for Husserl, integral to the perception of possibility. Hence a structured framework of bodily dispositions and bodily anticipation is also that through which the world is experienced. The body is a “medium” or “organ” of perception more so than an object of perception (Husserl, 1989, 61). We find the same emphasis on the inextricability of worldly possibilities and bodily feeling in the work of other phenomenologists, such as Merleau-Ponty and Sartre. For instance, it is central to Sartre’s account of how we experience others (Sartre 1989, Part Three, chap. 1), where a distinctive kind of bodily feeling amounts at the same time to an experienced loss of one’s possibilities, a loss that is one’s sense of being perceived by someone else. Drawing on Husserl and others, I suggest that changes in existential feeling involve changes in a diffuse, background sense of bodily dispositions, which are at the same time changes in the kinds of possibility that the world accommodates. I use the term ‘background’ to emphasise that existential feelings are presupposed by the possibility of intentional states, there in advance. However, this should not be taken to imply that they are always inconspicuous or tacit. An existential feeling can at the same time be an object of experience. Consider a feeling of extreme anxiety, where the whole world presents itself under the guise of threat and incorporates no sense of alternatives to that threat. The threat is the form of one’s world, rather than something attached to one of its contents, but the feeling is at the same time conspicuous and disturbing. The fact that one’s world takes this form can itself be something that is attended to and reflected upon, as can the bodily aspects of anxiety.15 14 These feelings are also discussed by Colombetti (2011). 15 The inextricability of bodily feeling from the structure of world-experience is further illustrated when we turn to the phenomenology of schizophrenia and depression. For example, Sass (e. g. 2004) proposes that an overall change in

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An existential feeling might affect one’s various behavioural dispositions differently in different contexts, even though the feeling can be said to persist across all these contexts. Thus it would be wrong to tie all the relevant bodily feelings too closely to current dispositions to act. It might be better to say that existential feelings dispose one to have certain kinds of behavioural disposition in certain contexts. Weakening the link between existential feeling and behavioural disposition in this way opens up the possibility of a very wide range of bodily feelings contributing to existential feeling. I am inclined to accept this – existential feelings may have many different ingredients, which interact in various ways, and some of these are more closely tied to specific forms of activity than others. Furthermore, it is important not to place too much emphasis on experienced possibilities for activity. There are also potential happenings – the world appears as a place in which events over which one has no control can happen, events that matter in a range of different ways. And there are possibilities that appear as available to others but not oneself – depression can involve a pervasive sense that ‘I can’t act’, rather than that everyone can’t. However, it is both coherent and – I think – plausible to maintain that bodily dispositions are equally implicated in feelings of passivity. Consider, for example, the experienced inclination to curl up and hide in the face of a physical threat that appears imminent and unavoidable, before which one feels helpless. Hence I maintain that (a) not all bodily feelings are simply feelings of the body and (b) several kinds of bodily feeling together constitute existential feeling. My case is primarily phenomenological (as is my interest in existential feeling) and does not require any firm commitment with regard to the neurobiological correlates of existential feeling. I am quite happy to leave others to piece the neurobiological details together.

bodily affect that occurs in schizophrenia is inseparable from a transformation of the experienced world, which is stripped of practically significant possibilities and appears oddly distant. First-person reports of depression similarly emphasise, time and time again, how altered experience of the body is bound up with a changed world (Ratcliffe 2009).

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4. Depths of feeling Existential feelings involve experience of the body, the impersonal world and other people. So the same feeling could be described in a number of ways. Take a pervasive feeling of unfamiliarity and strangeness – a sense of being slightly dislodged from everything and everyone. Someone with this experience might say, ‘my body feels strange’, the world seems strange’, ‘everyone looks strange’ or just ‘it feels strange’. When attempting to convey anomalous bodily feelings, she might say ‘I feel strange’ instead of ‘my body feels strange’. However, she could also use ‘I feel strange’ to refer to something different – an altered experience of self. Again though, it is likely that certain changes in the phenomenology of ‘self’ are inextricable from the other changes I have mentioned. For instance, it is arguable that a phenomenology of ‘core’ or ‘minimal’ selfhood is partly constituted by a sense of having various capacities and potentialities, which are at the same time reflected in the experienced world (Slaby, in press). Because the same existential feeling can be described in different ways, with reference to the body, self, self-world relation, impersonal world or social world, it is important not to double- or triple-count them. Here, I part company with Stephan and Slaby, who sketch a taxonomy of existential feeling that appeals to different “levels of growing situational specificity and increasing conceptual impregnation” (2008, 510). There is the most basic level, which includes feelings such as that of being alive. Then we have feelings such as unfamiliarity, followed by vulnerability, power and control. At the most specific level, there are feelings of being watched, overwhelmed and the like (2008, 510). I worry that categorisations like this reflect different descriptions of existential feelings, more so than different feelings. For instance, a world that appears strangely unfamiliar may do so because it is bereft of all practical significance. Hence it will also be bereft of enticing possibilities and thus amount to a loss of drive or vitality. This drive, one might argue, is integral to a sense of being alive. Furthermore, a feeling of passivity before the world could incorporate a feeling of vulnerability. This altered way of being in the world will also shape relations with others, which might seem overwhelming or uncontrollable. Thus what might look like isolable feelings are, in many cases, aspects of a unitary existential change – the levels are levels of description. I do not deny that some feelings of being vulnerable or overwhelmed are indeed more focused states. But, for me, these would be intentional states, rath-

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er than existential feelings that determine the range of intentional states one is able to adopt. So how should we categorise existential feelings? My suggestion is that we focus upon possibility. In order to offer a comprehensive account, we need (1) an analysis of the kinds of possibility that experience incorporates and then (2) a further analysis of ways in which that space could in principle change and does in practice change. (1) is a very substantial undertaking, which would generate difficult questions regarding the criteria and methods we employ to distinguish different kinds of possibility, how we might distinguish a good account of the phenomenological possibility space from a bad one, and whether there is a uniquely appropriate or correct account. However, we do not need to refrain from interpreting changes in existential feeling (2) until all the issues have been resolved and all the work of (1) has been done. Instead, we can explore altered existential feeling, in the context of psychiatry and elsewhere, in order to cast light upon the structure of the possibility space. Our understanding of that space can then inform further phenomenological enquiry. Hence I see the distinguishing and categorising of existential feelings as an ongoing task – we do the phenomenological work of charting the possibility space by engaging with ways in which that space is transformed. And we tackle various philosophical and methodological questions as we proceed. I do not subscribe to the view that there are ‘levels of existential feeling’. An existential feeling is a configuration of the possibility space that shapes all experience, thought and activity, and no configuration is ‘deeper’ or ‘shallower’ than another. Even so, I am not wholly opposed to a strata theory of the kind that Stephan and Slaby propose. Existential feelings do not differ from each other in depth. However, changes in existential feeling do. In order to understand how, it is important to make clear the relevant conception of affective ‘depth’. David Pugmire (2005) offers an account of emotional depth, which emphasises, amongst other things, the significance and breadth of an emotion’s content. So, for example, dismay that all one’s life projects are irrevocably futile is more profound than dismay that “one’s stamp collection cannot be completed” (Pugmire 2005, 31). According to Pugmire, some types of emotion are deeper than others and some tokens of a type or emotion are deeper than others. In all cases, depth involves the extent to which an emotion impacts upon one’s concerns: “depth depends at least on how much of a person’s life is affected by what evokes the emotion” (2005, 43). However, an account emphasising

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the centrality of an emotion’s content to life concerns is inappropriate in the case of existential feeling. Changes in existential feelings are not content-specific; they alter the range of intentional states that one is capable of in a way that is insensitive to content. An existential change that involved loss of any sense of threat from the world would not remove fear of x, y and z; it would remove the possibility of fear full stop. Hence, although I do not seek to challenge Pugmire’s analysis of the profundity of intentional emotions, what is needed for existential feelings is something different. My proposal is that one change in existential feeling is deeper than another if it has a more substantial effect upon the possibility space, on the range of intentional states that one is able to adopt. In many cases, it is difficult to assess the comparative degree of change. In others, however, it is fairly easy. Consider a loss of practical significance. This could take a number of different forms. For example, (a) the world might appear bereft of significant possibilities for oneself, whilst retaining such possibilities for others; (b) the world might appear as bereft of practical possibilities for anyone; or (c) one might even lose a sense of the world’s lacking something – the category ‘practically significant’ is completely lost, along with any sense that the world ever included that category. It seems clear to me that (b) is deeper than (a) and (c) is deeper than (b), as progression from (a) to (c) involves an increasingly profound transformation of the possibility space. I have argued elsewhere that we can develop depth analyses along such lines for other kinds of existential feeling, such as existential guilt and also hopelessness (Ratcliffe 2010b; forthcoming). However, when it comes to comparing the depth of very different kinds of existential feeling, matters become more difficult. Is a feeling of all-encompassing and warming familiarity a more or less profound shift in how we find ourselves in the world than a feeling of all-encompassing dread? In some cases, we may find that one feeling entails the other, but not vice versa, thus facilitating a priority claim. In others, it may simply be clear that the effect of one feeling upon the possibility space is far greater than that of another. The world described by Renee (Sechehaye 1970) is a place altogether bereft of practical familiarity and of the usual sense of reality, where people no longer appear as people but as mechanisms. This is quite clearly further removed from ‘everyday’ existential feeling than the world of, say, moderate depression. Even so, I acknowledge that many other shifts in existential feeling will be much harder to classify in terms of relative depth or profundity.

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6. Existential feeling and thought Something else that deserves further consideration is the relationship between existential feeling and conceptual thought. I have proposed that existential feeling determines the parameters of intelligible experience, thought and activity for a person. However, might one equally maintain that conceptual thought shapes existential feeling and that the relationship between the two is therefore one of mutual dependence? Take the case of first-person depression narratives. It seems plausible to suggest that the narrative a person constructs shapes how she interprets her depression or even how it is experienced, and therefore has at least some potential to influence the course of depression. Perhaps it also shapes the relevant existential feelings? Even if it does, existential feeling retains a distinctive kind of priority over conceptual and, more specifically, narrative thought. Existential feelings constrain not just the content but the form of the narratives one is able to adopt. For example, Good (1994) notes that most narratives, including illness narratives, oscillate between various points of view; they are open to diverse self-interpretations and alive with possibilities. As he puts it, “stories of illness and healing experience which represent quite distinct and often competing forms of composing the illness are present in narratives precisely because they maintain the quality of subjunctivity and openness to change”. However, he adds that this form is absent in “tragic and hopeless cases” (Good 1994, 155). The loss of possibilities from experience is thus reflected in the space of possible narratives. Granted, a narrative constructed against the backdrop of some existential feeling could, conceivably, act upon the feeling and reshape it. However, the narrative does not determine which kinds of feeling are currently intelligible possibilities for a person in the way that feeling determines the form of thought and, more specifically, autobiographical, narrative thought. Hence the dependence is not symmetrical. Existential feelings can similarly constrain the belief contents that a person is able to entertain. People with depression frequently report being unable to believe that they could ever recover, that it seemed utterly impossible. I have argued that this is because depression involves the removal of significant possibilities from experience. Hence one is no longer able to entertain the possibility of things ever being significantly different from how they are now. Recovery, involving just such a difference, thus seems impossible – one cannot even think it (Ratcliffe 2010b). But existential feelings not only affect which beliefs

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we are able to form; they also affect the structure of all one’s beliefs. In order to believe that p or believe that not p, one must have a sense of what it is for p to be or not be the case. However, a change in the sense of reality is a change in one’s sense of what it is to be or not be the case. With the loss of various kinds of possibility from experience, nothing seems to be the case in the way that it once did; the whole world is characterised by a lack of something integral to the real. So the modalities of belief are altered (Ratcliffe 2008, Chapters 2 and 7). This is not to suggest that existential feelings are impervious to the influence of conceptual thought. As already noted, the form and content of thoughts might be constrained by existential feeling, but this does not prohibit their subsequently affecting existential feeling. And phenomenological reflection suggests that this often happens (although some forms of existential feeling – such as those involved in very severe depression – may well be impregnable to conceptual influence). Take the case of distressing news “sinking in”. This might involve loss of various intentional state contents, such as believing that p, hoping for q, expecting r, and so on. After that, one gradually forms new hopes, new expectations and new projects, thus adjusting to a changed situation. However, profound disappointment or sorrow sometimes develops into something else. A series of disappointments can lead to gradual erosion of confidence, which affects how one meets further disappointments. Eventually, one can reach a state where something is lost from the world – a sense of the future as alive with significant and enticing possibilities, a sense that some things are worth striving for. What is gone is not just however many intentional states, but an existential feeling that cannot be summoned back at will. Although I have distinguished existential feeling from conceptual thought, I do not wish to imply that the two are extricable phenomenological components. I have already indicated that existential feeling is presupposed by the intelligibility of thought. However, this is not to suggest that one could strip away all thought, leaving behind an intact framework of existential feeling. The underlying form of experience manifests itself through our various experiences and thoughts. Hence I prefer to think of existential feeling as an inextricable aspect of our phenomenology, as opposed to an isolable component.16 However, it is a well-defined aspect. By analogy, we can attend to and describe one 16 I am grateful to Peter Hobson for pointing out to me the useful distinction between components and aspects of affective states.

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side of a coin, despite the absence of one-sided coins. That said, there are cases where the line between existential feeling and thought is blurred. It has been argued that, sometimes at least, the individuation of an emotion depends partly upon its linguistic interpretation (Campbell 1997; Colombetti 2009). I do not rule out the possibility that the same applies to existential feelings, that certain fine-grained distinctions made between existential feelings might be partly or wholly attributable to how they are interpreted. So the line between different existential feelings and different interpretations of the same feeling may, on occasion, be a very difficult one to draw. It becomes even more difficult once we acknowledge that existential feelings have a dynamic structure and that different interpretations have the potential to feed back into and reshape the relevant feelings.17 There are also cases where existential feeling and thought content are so closely related that what appears to be the latter is little more than an expression of the former. For example, this is evident in A Confession, Tolstoy’s autobiographical account of an existential crisis that would, these days, be diagnosed as severe depression. His despair is focused around the gradually emerging revelation that all life is irrevocably meaningless. It creeps up on him until the point where: “I felt that what I had been standing on had collapsed, and that I had nothing left under my feet. What I had lived on no longer existed; and there was nothing left to live on” (Tolstoy 2005, 14). What Tolstoy describes is a felt transformation in his sense of belonging to the world, which at the same time takes the form of (what seems to be) a revelation. We might say that an existential feeling crystallises into an articulate thought: I could not even wish to know the truth, for I guessed on what it consisted. The truth was that life is meaningless. I had, as it were, lived […] till I had come to a precipice and saw clearly that there was nothing ahead of me but destruction (Tolstoy 2005, 15).

His revelation that “life is meaningless” is not something that can be separated from how he finds himself in the world. Rather, it is the expression of an existential feeling, a sense of the world being irrevocably bereft of the kinds of possibility that one needs in order to go on liv17 See Stephan (in press) for an account of how existential feelings can be regulated. Stephan regards existential feeling regulation as more problematic than I do. He would, I think, reject the view that conceptual thought can causally influence existential feeling.

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ing.18 We find similar themes in the work of William James, who claims that felt ways of belonging to the world not only dispose us towards certain beliefs. In fact, our most fundamental religious and metaphysical convictions are only intelligible through those feelings: […] in the metaphysical and religious sphere, articulate reasons are cogent for us only when our inarticulate feelings of reality have already been impressed in favor of the same conclusion (James 1902, 74).

Hence, without the required feelings, we can fail to grasp a philosophical position; feeling contributes not only to a sense of conviction but also to our appreciation of the content of a view (Ratcliffe 2008, chap 9). The articulate position coalesces out of feeling and is, in part, an expression of feeling.

6. Conclusions In this chapter, I have sketched a phenomenological analysis of existential feeling. In the process, I have also outlined a conception of affective depth that applies to changes in existential feeling, and offered some brief reflections on the relationship between existential feeling and conceptual thought. I will conclude by mentioning three avenues for further enquiry. First of all, there is the formidable task of charting the kinds of possibility that experience incorporates, exploring variations in the structure of that possibility space and further clarifying its relationship to the feeling body. Second, there is the question of how existential feelings are regulated. I have indicated that some existential feelings can be affected by some conceptual thoughts and by specifically focused emotions, such as disappointment. But there is a great deal more to be said about the ways in which various existential feelings might be susceptible to forms of regulation (such as interpersonal interaction, pharmaceutical intervention, thinking in a certain way, or changing one’s situation).19 Third, further clarification is required of the relationships between existential feelings and conceptual thought. Are certain ‘beliefs’ 18 See also Wynn (forthcoming) for the view that certain ‘beliefs’, including – for many – a belief in God, are actually expressions of existential feeling. 19 There is a further issue that I have not touched upon here, which is closely related to that of regulation; the issue of whether, when and why an existential feeling is appropriate or inappropriate, where appropriateness could be understood in epistemic or medical terms. See Stephan (forthcoming) for a discussion. See also Ratcliffe (2008, Chapters 9 and 10).

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in fact existential feelings? And in order to really wonder whether life has meaning or why there is something rather than nothing, does one have to feel the meaning of the question? Indeed, could such questions be expressions of felt ways of belonging to the world?

Acknowledgements This chapter was written as part of the project ‘Emotional Experience in Depression: A Philosophical Study’. I am grateful to the AHRC and DFG for funding the project, and also to my collaborators on the project for many helpful discussions.

References American Psychiatric Association (2004): Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (Fourth Edition, Text Revision), Washington, DC: American Psychiatric Association. Campbell, Sue (1997): Interpreting the Personal: Expression and the Formation of Feelings, Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Cole, Jonathan (2004): Still Lives: Narratives of Spinal Cord Injury, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Colombetti, Giovanna (2009): What Language does to Feelings, in: Journal of Consciousness Studies 16, 4 – 26. Colombetti, Giovanna (2011): Varieties of Pre-reflective Self-awareness: Foreground and Background Bodily Feelings in Emotion Experience, in: Inquiry 54, 293 – 313. Colombetti, Giovanna/Ratcliffe, Matthew (2012): Bodily Feeling in Depersonalisation: a Phenomenological Account, in: Emotion Review 4(2). Declerck, Gunnar/Gapenne, Oliver (2009): Actuality and Possibility: On the Complementarity of Two Registers in the Bodily Constitution of Experience, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 8, 285 – 305. Foulds, Adam (2009): The Quickening Maze, London: Jonathan Cape. Fuchs, Thomas (forthcoming): Temporality and Psychopathology, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences. Gallagher, Shaun (2008): Intersubjectivity in Perception, in: Continental Philosophy Review 41, 163 – 178. Goldie, Peter (2000): The Emotions: A Philosophical Exploration, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Goldie, Peter (2009): Getting Feeling into Emotional Experience in the Right Way, in: Emotion Review 1, 232 – 239. Good, Byron J. (1994): Medicine, Rationality and Experience: An Anthropological Perspective, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Heidegger, Martin (1962): Being and Time, Trans. John Macquarrie/Edward Robinson, Oxford: Blackwell. Heidegger, Martin (1995): The Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics, Trans. William McNeill/Nicholas Walker, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Horne, Outi/Csipke, Emese (2009): From Feeling too Little and too Much, to Feeling More and Less? A Non-Paradoxical Theory of the Functions of Self-Harm, in: Qualitative Health Research 19, 655 – 667. Hornstein, Gail A. (2009): Agnes’s Jacket: A Psychologist’s Search for the Meanings of Madness, New York: Rodale. Husserl, Edmund (1960): Cartesian Meditations: An Introduction to Phenomenology, Trans. Dorian Cairns, The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Husserl, Edmund (1973): Experience and Judgment, Trans. James S. Churchill/ Karl Ameriks, London: Routledge. Husserl, Edmund (1989): Ideas Pertaining to a Pure Phenomenology and to a Phenomenological Philosophy: Second Book, Trans. Richard Rojcewicz/André Schuwer, Dordrecht: Kluwer. Husserl, Edmund (2001): Analyses Concerning Passive and Active Synthesis, Trans. Anthony J. Steinbock, Dordrecht: Kluwer. James, William (1902): The Varieties of Religious Experience, New York: Longmans, Green and Co. Jaspers, Karl (1962): General Psychopathology, Trans. J. Hoenig/Marian W. Hamilton, Manchester: Manchester University Press. McLaughlin, Brian (2009): Monothematic Delusions and Existential Feelings, in: Bayne, Tim/Fernández, Jordi (Eds.), Delusion and Self-deception: Affective and Motivational Influences on Belief Formation, New York: Psychology Press, 139 – 164. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice (1962): Phenomenology of Perception, Trans. Colin Smith, London: Routledge. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice (1968): The Visible and the Invisible, Trans. Alphonso Lingis, Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Minkowski, Eugene (1958): Findings in a Case of Schizophrenic Depression, Trans. Barbara Bliss, in: Rollo May/Ernest Angel/Henri F. Ellenberger (Eds.), Existence, New York: Simon and Schuster, 127 – 138. Minkowski, Eugene (1970): Lived Time: Phenomenological and Psychopathological Studies, Trans. Nancy Metzel, Evanston: Northwestern University Press. O’Callaghan, Casey (2011): Lessons from beyond Vision (Sounds and Audition), in: Philosophical Studies 153, 143 – 160. Pugmire, David (2005): Sound Sentiments: Integrity in the Emotions, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2005): The Feeling of Being, in: Journal of Consciousness Studies (12/8 – 10), 43 – 60. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2008): Feelings of Being: Phenomenology, Psychiatry and the Sense of Reality, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2009): Understanding Existential Changes in Psychiatric Illness: the Indispensability of Phenomenology, in: Matthew Broome/ Lisa Bortolotti (Eds.), Psychiatry as Cognitive Neuroscience, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 223 – 244.

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Ratcliffe, Matthew (2010a): The Phenomenology of Mood and the Meaning of Life, in: Peter Goldie (Ed.), Oxford Handbook of Philosophy of Emotion, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 349 – 371. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2010b): Depression, Guilt and Emotional Depth, Inquiry 53, 602 – 626. Ratcliffe, Matthew (in press): Why Moods Matter, in: Mark Wrathall (Ed.), Cambridge Companion to Being and Time, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ratcliffe, Matthew (forthcoming): What is to Lose Hope?, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences. Ratcliffe, Matthew/Broome, Matthew (2012): Existential Phenomenology, Psychiatric Illness and the Death of Possibilities, in: Crowell, Steven (Ed.), Cambridge Companion to Existentialism, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 361 – 382. Roberts, Robert C. (2003): Emotions: An Essay in Aid of Moral Psychology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rowe, Dorothy (1978): The Experience of Depression, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons. Sartre, Jean Paul (1989): Being and Nothingness, Trans. Hazel E. Barnes, London: Routledge. Sass, Louis A. (1992): Madness and Modernism: Insanity in the Light of Modern Art, Literature and Thought, New York: Basic Books. Sass, Louis A. (2004): Affectivity in Schizophrenia: A Phenomenological View, in: Dan Zahavi (Ed.), Hidden Resources: Classical Perspectives on Subjectivity, Exeter: Imprint Academic, 127 – 147. Sass, Louis A. (2007): Contradictions of Emotion in Schizophrenia, in: Cognition & Emotion 21, 351 – 390. Sass, Louis A./Parnas, Josef (2007): Explaining Schizophrenia: The Relevance of Phenomenology, in: Man C. Chung./ K. W. M. Fulford/George Graham (Eds.), Reconceiving Schizophrenia, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 63 – 95. Scarry, Elaine (1985): The Body in Pain: the Making and Unmaking of the World, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sechehaye, Marguerite (1970): Autobiography of a Schizophrenic Girl, New York: Signet. Sheets-Johnstone, Maxine (2009): The Corporeal Turn: an Interdisciplinary Reader, Exeter: Imprint Academic. Shriver, Lionel (2006): Double Fault, London: Serpent’s Tail. Simeon, Daphne/Abugel, Jeffrey (2006): Feeling Unreal: Depersonalization Disorder and the Loss of the Self, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Slaby, Jan (2012): Affective Self-construal and the Sense of Ability, in: Emotion Review 4(2). Slaby, Jan (2008): Affective Intentionality and the Feeling Body, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 7, 429 – 444. Slaby, Jan/Stephan, Achim (2008): Affective Intentionality and Self-Consciousness, in: Consciousness and Cognition 17, 506 – 513.

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Stanghellini, Giovanni (2004): Disembodied Spirits and Deanimated Bodies: The Psychopathology of Common Sense, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Steinke, Darcey (2001): Poodle Bed, in: Nell Casey (Ed.), Unholy Ghost: Writers on Depression, New York: William Morrow, 60 – 66. Stephan, Achim (2012): Emotions, Existential Feelings, and their Regulation, in: Emotion Review 4(2). Stern, Daniel (2010): Forms of Vitality: Exploring Dynamic Experience in Psychology, the Arts, Psychotherapy and Development, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Strasser, Stephan (1977): Phenomenology of Feeling: An Essay on the Phenomena of the Heart, Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press. Tolstoy. Leo (1882/2005): A Confession, Trans. Aylmer Maude, New York: Dover Publications Inc. Whybrow, Peter C. (1997): A Mood apart. Depression, Mania and Other Afflictions of the Self, New York: Basic Books. Wyllie, Martin (2005): Lived Time and Psychopathology, in: Philosophy, Psychiatry & Psychology 12, 173 – 185. Wynn, Mark (forthcoming): Renewing the Senses, in: International Journal for Philosophy of Religion.

Emotional Rationality and Feelings of Being Jan Slaby Abstract: This paper undertakes a comparison and theoretical unification of two recently proposed philosophical accounts of human affectivity: Bennett Helm’s theory of felt evaluations, centered on the idea of a sui generis emotional rationality as the standard of intelligibility of affective evaluation, and Matthew Ratcliffe’s phenomenological account of existential feelings (or ‘feelings of being’), which are encompassing affective background structures that comprise the foundation of all sorts of directed experiences – crucially including emotional and cognitive states. While these two proposals seem – at least on the surface – to focus on radically different aspects of our emotional lives, I will argue that they can (and should) be reconciled. While Helm is right in stressing and elaborating the intricate networks of emotional intelligibility, his approach needs to be supplemented by an understanding of affective background structures which form the indispensable starting conditions of an individual’s evaluative perspective on the world. Only a consideration of these affective backgrounds will give us the information needed to adequately reconstruct and assess an individual’s emotional evaluations as well as the evaluative judgments based upon them. Thus, overall, this paper works towards a philosophical synthesis so far rarely achieved. An analytical, rationality-based approach to the normative structure of human forms of life (Helm) is brought into alignment with the descriptively rich accounts of human experience offered by the phenomenological tradition (Ratcliffe). These two approaches are shown to converge in their underlying aim: To outline the contours of a descriptive metaphysics of personhood and to stress the importance and indispensability of affectivity within such an endeavor.

1. Introduction Two of the most intriguing and also most broadly useful theoretical approaches in the philosophy of emotions today are Bennett Helm’s theory of felt evaluations (1994; 2001; 2002; 2009) and Matthew Ratcliffe’s conception of existential feelings (2005; 2008). Helm’s approach is a consistent development of the premise that a person’s feelings, in their entirety, form a complex intra-rational structure – a structure that explains not just the feelings themselves but also the person’s behaviors, aspirations, evaluations, and ultimately the whole of the person’s life as it is consciously led. Helm does not shoehorn human feelings into any inde-

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pendently established model of rationality (such as epistemic or instrumental rationality) but rather shows that feelings present us with a distinct type of rationality: evaluative rationality or emotional reason (as per the title of his 2001 book from Cambridge University Press). Only within such a framework can we make sense of the central role that affectivity plays in a person’s life – and in particular this is the only way to explain how, and to what extent, we orient our lives towards what matters, i. e. how, as Charles Taylor (1985) puts it, we are subjects of significance. In contrast, rationality hardly gets any explicit mention in Ratcliffe’s conception. In Feelings of Being (2008), Ratcliffe offers a phenomenologically oriented description of a class of background feelings that have a wide-ranging influence on our relations to the world as well as on our attitudes and dispositions to act. Existential feelings are encompassing existential orientations that influence a person’s relation to the world prior to every directed relation to something specific. Ratcliffe provides a wealth of material that offers the reader a very clear picture of the central role existential background feelings play both in the lives of healthy people and in the pathologically altered experiences of the mentally ill. In the following I undertake to ascertain to what extent the initially very different-seeming positions of Helm and Ratcliffe can be brought together and whether a unified philosophical theory of the emotions can be developed on this basis. Such a synthesis would gather together several of the most important insights in the current philosophical work on human affectivity. I will show that the two conceptions, which I first contrast and then integrate, can be seen as the culmination of theoretical developments that seek in different ways to understand the distinctive evaluative relation to self and world found in emotions and feelings without artificially isolating this ‘affective intentionality’ from other personal comportments. The thoughts of both authors take them beyond an exclusive investigation of the emotions, confirming the impression that a well-conceived philosophy of emotion inevitably snowballs into a philosophy of personhood (Slaby 2008a). Before reconstructing Helm’s complex approach (2) and then comparing and enriching it with central elements of Ratcliffe’s phenomenological theory (3) I will begin with a brief sketch of the recent state of the discussion of philosophical conceptions of affective intentionality (1).

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2. The context: theories of affective intentionality For a long time the mainstream in the philosophy of emotion was defined by a sharp dichotomy between cognitivist and feeling-based approaches. However, some time ago several influential positions emerged that occupy a middle ground between the theoretical extremes. Authors such as Peter Goldie, Sabine Döring, and Robert Roberts as well as Bennett Helm and Matthew Ratcliffe, for all the differences in the details of their respective approaches, advocate a program that seeks to combine the strengths of both strands of the theory in a phenomenologically adequate manner. These authors agree with a key tenet of cognitivist theories insofar as they see emotions as intentional states that can be evaluated with regard to their epistemic correctness. When I feel fear, an aspect of my environment strikes me as threatening, and either that portion of the world really is threatening, in which case my fear is epistemically adequate, or it only seems threatening to me; in the latter case, my fear contains a misconception of reality, a cognitive error. Unlike proponents of classical cognitivism, these authors do not inflate this into the absolutist thesis that emotions are nothing but cognitive states, i. e. beliefs or judgments. Unlike a person’s conscious judgments, affective states often persist even though the person knows better. My fear can persist even after I have recognized the harmlessness of what I fear, whereas it is constitutive of judgments and beliefs that I withdraw them in light of pertinent contrary evidence – we cannot at the same time, consciously, hold both p and not-p to be true. Besides this characteristic passivity, cognitivism also fails to adequately account for the affective and hedonic character of emotions: emotions feel like something; they are, after all, feelings – this persuasive intuition was the bread and butter for feeling theories in arguing against cognitivism.1 The solution to this problem of emotionality, as Helm calls it (2001, 38 – 41), is decisive for the positions of the authors just named: to no longer conceive of the evaluative relation to the world and its affective components separately, but rather to locate the world-directedness inherent in emotions within the feeling itself. Goldie set the course with his description of feeling towards (2000, chap. 2; 2002). Döring (2007) speaks of affective perceptions, Roberts (2003) of concern-based construals and Helm of felt evaluations. What these different proposals have in common is to at1

And it is so to this day in some quarters – e. g., see Whiting (2006; 2009) for a recent defence of a feeling theory of emotion.

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tribute to feelings a unique type of relation to the world – an affective intentionality (Slaby/Stephan 2008; Slaby et al. 2011). This avoids both a phenomenologically inadequate intellectualization of emotions into cognitions and a downgrading of feelings into mere sensory states without intentional content. The idea of a specifically affective intentionality conveys that emotions are felt evaluations and as such stand on their own alongside cognitive states and purely physical sensations. Affectivity is accepted as a sui generis category of human world-directedness. This allows the philosophy of emotions, which tends to be analytically oriented, to catch up to a state of reflection achieved some time ago in the phenomenological tradition. In particular Heidegger’s discussion of moods and attunement in Being and Time and Basic Concepts of Metaphysics describes affectivity as an indissoluble unity of world-disclosure, awareness of self, and a qualitative modification of one’s own existence (see Slaby 2008a, chap. 5). Interestingly enough, with both theories discussed here we can trace a connection back to Heidegger, which already hints at how they might be brought together. Ratcliffe’s concept of existential feelings rather directly takes up and elaborates on what Heidegger calls attunement (‘Befindlichkeit’ in German). Thereby, he already moves into the midst of a very deep level of factors constitutive of personhood and human experience. Less obviously, Helm’s conception of felt evaluations takes up and develops a related idea of the early Heidegger’s: the rejection of a cognitivist understanding of intentionality, exemplified in Helm’s case by a view of the emotions that operates beyond the cognitivism/non-cognitivism dichotomy and thus is well-suited to dispense with the traditional representationalist understanding of intentionality. Helm’s view is similar to Heidegger’s in that it operates on a level of world-disclosure prior to the level on which it makes sense to distinguish between beliefs, desires and sensations.

3. Emotional rationality – the holism of felt evaluations Bennett Helm’s ideas can be seen as a contribution to a ‘descriptive metaphysics’ of personhood.2 The broad leading question is this: What are the minimal conceptual ingredients necessary to articulate our self-understanding as persons? The guiding idea is that persons are 2

I use this expression loosely in reference to P. F. Strawson’s philosophical orientation (see 1959).

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creatures whose existence is inherently concernful. For persons, something is at stake; their affairs mean something to them – something matters. The first of Helm’s central thoughts is that we cannot explain this basic dimension simply by referring to the category of desires, since without further explicating the concept of desire we cannot distinguish between a sense of ‘desire’ as merely functional goal-directedness such as found in thermostats and computers and desires in the fuller sense of the word. Only the latter imply an assessment of the desired as meaningful – as worth striving for (Helm 2001, 30 – 32) and thus link the content of the desire in some non-derived, non-instrumental way to the very being of the subject of that desire. Only ‘subjects of significance’ in this sense are true agents: their strivings can be understood as the pursuit of goals that they hold to be meaningful and thus qualify as genuine action (in contrast to mere behavior). In place of an unspecific conception of desire, Helm makes use of a generic concept of the affective state: felt evaluations. These are meant to be both feelings with a hedonic valence (pleasures and pains) and at the same time intentional states directed at aspects of the world: felt evaluations of something as good or bad. Emotions, bodily sensations, moods, genuine desires: Helm considers all these, all the affective states that a person usually displays, to be felt evaluations. And in the course of explaining the affective relation to significance by means of felt evaluations he brings rationality into play: felt evaluations continually demonstrate that persons are rational creatures. All of the exercises of a person’s faculties, all of her actualizations of her being a person, are subject to the conditions of rationality; they all take place in the space of reasons.3 I will now explicate further the relation that felt evaluations have to significance and also say something about the role of a specifically emotional rationality. Significance cannot be something radically independent of the constitution of feeling subjects, since whatever is significant for us obviously has to have something to do with ourselves. Thus significance (Helm usually refers to it as ‘import’) cannot just be a component of a reality independent of evaluating subjects, such that a person just has to correctly detect it. On the other hand this insight should not be taken as a blanket subjectivism: we have equally strong intuitions to the effect that our evaluations are not the only standard of what is significant and what not. Evaluations are also subject to standards of appropriateness; 3

Here Helm repeatedly refers to Donald Davidson’s postulate that rationality is a ‘constitutive ideal of the mental’ (cf. Davidson 1980; Helm 2001, 2).

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they can be in error and can often be criticized with good reason as inappropriate. Helm tries to account equally for both intuitions by taking feelings as a sui generis category of world-relation. Felt evaluations reveal value – they have a relation to significance, and yet on Helm’s account this relation cannot be conceived either within a cognitive detectivist model (significance as something that exists in the world independently of the constitution of feeling subjects) or within a non-cognitivist model of projection (significance as a mere ‘shadow’ of our subjective attitudes). Affective intentionality resists the prevalent schema according to which intentional states have to be either cognitive or conative.4 Instead Helm sees feelings as both affectively registering significance and at the same time first constituting that significance. Individual feelings can be seen as a correct or incorrect grasping of situationally manifest significance, but only insofar as the individual feelings are themselves elements of a more comprehensive pattern of systematically interconnected feelings. This explains how the actual significance of something does not depend on individual feelings and yet at the same time is not entirely independent of feelings as a whole. The whole weave of feelings in its entirety constitutes value. Thus the contrary intuitions of cognitivism and constitutive theories can be unified in a single conception. Let us take as an example a random emotion, e. g. my current fear of a pyromaniac stalking the campus of the University of Marburg with a stolen passkey and indiscriminately setting university buildings on fire. We can most clearly describe the theory of emotional rationality by taking note of the details that are necessary to fully comprehend my emotion. Since my office is full of valuable objects, i. e. a collection of rare and expensive books, I naturally fear for my office and the book collection it holds. The world-relation in my fear can be analyzed as follows: the material object (or target) of my fear, is the crazed arsonist – I fear him. I fear him because he represents a threat – this dangerousness of the target of fear is the formal object of my fear. Here ‘formal object’ means that each type of emotion is characterized by a certain value feature: just as fear necessarily refers to a threat or danger, anger refers to a vexation, 4

Helm calls this the cognitive-conative divide (2001, 4). He claims that adopting this basic distinction leads to unresolvable difficulties, such as the problem of moral motivation (Smith 1994). We could redescribe Helm’s claim in different terminology by saying that felt evaluations have neither the mind-to-world nor the world-to-mind direction of fit (2001, 4 – 8).

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sadness to a loss, envy to a good in another’s possession, shame to a flaw or a lapse of one’s own as noticed by relevant others, etc. – this is how the various types of emotions are formally individuated (see Kenny 1963). But we can differentiate the emotional relation even further, and distinguish the focus of an emotion from its material and formal objects. In my example the valuable contents of my office are the focus of my fear – it is only the significance of these things that explains why the arsonist represents a danger and thus an appropriate target of my fear. Because the things in my office are important, the fact that the arsonist might burn them up is something that I fear. I have to attribute significance to certain things, persons or goods for it to be understandable how certain other objects, persons or circumstances can be the formal objects of emotions – precisely because they have some positive or negative bearing on the objects I value (what is in each case the ‘focus’ of significance). This three-fold intentional relation of the emotions, comprising material object, formal object and focus, allows a more precise formulation of the basic idea of emotional rationality: I cannot have just any emotion, i. e. an emotion that stands in no relation to other prior and subsequent emotions with the same focus. Feelings are incomprehensible unless they are systematically embedded in a comprehensive pattern, since only such a pattern could show what the focus of the particular emotion is and thus in what sense its material object instantiates the formal object of a certain type of emotion. My fear of the arsonist exists in the context of my stable and rooted valuation of the objects in my office: there are the things that mean something to me, my valuable books, original editions that I painstakingly collected over years and paid a lot of money for, etc. Once we are given this background pattern of stable evaluations, which includes not just emotions but also desires, motivations and actions, my current fear of the arsonist becomes entirely understandable. And the absence of appropriate subsequent emotions would be just as odd as the lack of a back-story. My current fear commits me to quite specific subsequent emotions depending on the particular situation: anger that the police and university administration are not doing enough to stop the arsonist; annoyance at having stored so many valuable things in my office; hope that my office remains unscathed, etc., and finally happiness and relief when I learn that the perpetrator has been apprehended. Fear of a danger not followed by relief or happiness when the danger is averted would seem profoundly strange – we would no longer be certain whether it had actually been fear in the first

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place. Thus every emotion brings with it a normative requirement: the requirement to subsequently have evaluative attitudes that accord with the significance of the focus. Hence we have to conceive of feelings within a rational holism of evaluation – there are rational relations between our feelings, in the absence of which our emotional life would be incomprehensible.5 Helm consistently speaks of ‘commitments’, even if it might seem unusual to say, in the case of predominantly passive states, that the feeling person commits herself, in her feeling, to subsequently having other, quite specific and appropriate feelings. Felt evaluations resist the standard dichotomy between active performances (actions, judgments etc.) that the person bears responsibility for and passive occurrences (e. g. emotions as they are traditionally understood in the sense of ‘passions’).6 Thus Helm conceives the rationality of persons more broadly than usual in seeing a network of rational relations at work even in seemingly involuntary affects and sensations.7 This gives Helm’s theory of the emotions a central role in a conception of lived rationality. We should now be able to see more clearly how Helm construes the way in which the emotions function as both, detectors and constitutors of significance. Individual emotions are what achieves the detection of situational significance. Thus, individual emotions come in view as a receptivity for significance – the individual feelings make us aware of the fact that a certain object (the material object) has some positive or negative bearing, acutely or potentially, on something significant to us (the focus)

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6 7

This does not mean that such ‘outliers’ don’t happen on occasion – but in that case they are seen either as erratic impulses or intentional strays or else – more likely – as urgently in need of explanation. In any case we cannot be blasé about them. Thus here we could explain the concept of commitments with the concept of ‘normative requirements’, since this expression says nothing about the activity or passivity of the states it applies to. Helm doesn’t even stop short of bodily pains and pleasures – for him even these commit the feeling person to certain quite specific subsequent sensations, desires and motivations, and they can also only be characterized according to the scheme of target, formal object and focus. In other words: for Helm even bodily pains and pleasures are felt evaluations in the sense described here (cf. Helm 2002 and Slaby 2007a).

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in some relevant way (the formal object).8 We can speak here of concernbased construals, as Robert C. Roberts calls them (1988; 2003): emotions are apprehensions of states of affairs grounded in our concerns – something in the world is seen in light of our concerns and valuations and thus is seen as significant for us. Accordingly, emotions are subject to two standards of correctness: firstly they refer to some state of affairs in the world and can apprehend it correctly or incorrectly. Alongside this fundamentum in re they also have a fundamentum in persona: 9 an emotion typically manifests a concern of the person, so error is possible here as well – my emotion could make something appear significant to me that is not actually significant to me at all. In this case the relevant normative standard is not how the world is but rather the concerns I actually have. These concerns, in turn, are not independent of my emotions but rather consist in comprehensive, rational patterns of systematically interrelated felt evaluations with the same focus – these patterns are what constitutes significance. Thus individual emotions are characterized and individuated by means of their relation to significance, but significance is also seen as constituted primarily on the basis of emotions, as the focus of stable patterns of feeling. Having emotions means valuing certain things. And it is precisely the concrete implementation of this valuation – that has to be stable and consistent through time and across changing situational circumstances – that constitutes significance (thus Helm speaks of caring and valuing, 2001, 74). Patterns of rationally coordinated felt evaluations – as opposed to mere individual instances of feeling – are what achieves these valuations and thus constitutes value. Quite obviously, the explanation is openly circular: “In this way, our evaluative attitudes and import emerge together as part of a conceptual package, neither of which is prior to the other” (Helm 2001, 59). The central idea behind this way of explaining feelings is to reject any conceptual priority of significance over the emotions (objectivism) or of the emotions over significance (subjectivism) – feelings and significance are equally primal. This structure recalls the hermeneutic circle: this procedure would be viciously circular if there were an alternative explanatory resource that we could make use of without overstepping the limits of sense. Yet be8 9

“In this way, emotions are a kind of receptivity to import; indeed, their warrant normally depends on their targets and focuses having import, which means they can be right or wrong about that import”(Helm 2009, 253). I have borrowed this formulation from Jean Moritz Müller (2011).

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cause we cannot entirely transcend our evaluative practice and see it as a whole from the outside, we have no other option than to locate the source of value within the realm of our actual evaluations.10 What determines the appropriateness of the patterns of feeling themselves? What about the phobic who fears harmless things – does she thereby make the things actually dangerous? Do people all constitute their own private values with their individual patterns of feelings? Unless it gets qualified in some way, Helm’s approach runs the risk of leading to an exaggerated subjectivism. I cannot deal with this issue exhaustively here, but would like to at least sketch the rough outline of a solution to the problem of subjectivism. Individual patterns of feeling are normally anchored within overarching intersubjective patterns. A person’s evaluative perspective, the pattern of feelings in combination with the person’s value judgments, stable attitudes and conceptual commitments, is itself always the result of intersubjective influences, such that the attribution of value properties is essentially subject to criticism and approval on the part of an evaluative community. Thus this expanded notion of how value gets constituted gives a central role to a shared scheme of evaluative concepts. Like all concepts, evaluative concepts are based on the existence of a linguistic community using and shaping them, and hence by their very nature they transcend individuals’ subjective affective attitudes. Individual valuations would thus always also be beholden to the communally instituted patterns of felt evaluations.11 With these rational patterns and the idea of commitments to suitable subsequent emotions, does Helm not make emotionality into a bloodless system of abstract rational relations? No – for this is where the con10 This is how I reconstruct the background of Helm’s no-priority-view. Hence his conception satisfies John McDowell’s requirement in Mind and World, namely that an explication of the human relation to the world cannot be a sideways-on conception. See McDowell (1994, 35 f. and 82 f.), where among other things he attempts an instructive comparison with Otto Neurath’s famous boat metaphor. 11 Of course a lot more remains to be said about this intersubjective foundation of individual evaluative perspectives and about the role of evaluative concepts. It seems decisive to me that we conceive this affective constitution of significance as a thoroughly intersubjective affair from the very outset, so that there is, at least initially, no strictly individual affective intentionality. More recent investigations of the developmental psychology of socially mediated affective attention among newborns point in this direction (see, eg., Stern 2010). On the role of evaluative concepts in the expanded activity of value-constitution see Müller (2011).

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ception of emotions as felt evaluations comes into play: the evaluative states under discussion are indeed feelings – qualitative experiences disclosive of the circumstances being evaluated (the material and formal object). Felt evaluations are intrinsically agreeable or disagreeable feeling states – pleasures and pains – that imply a relation to the world such that the feeling itself is an evaluation of its intentional object as good or bad. When I fear the arsonist, my fear takes the form of a painful awareness of the threat that the arsonist poses to my belongings. As Helm puts it: “To be afraid is to be pained by danger (and not by one’s stomach)” (2002, 16). The painful sensation is not just a mere accompaniment to the intentional relation, like a feeling of weakness in the stomach. The painful sensation is my fear itself: as a felt evaluation of the arsonist as a threat to my possessions.12 Thus pleasures and pains are the central building blocks of Helm’s rationality-based conception of personhood. We should read these two terms as variables for all of the pertinent concepts from the hedonic spectrum: content/discontent, pleasure/displeasure, happiness/suffering, etc., with context determining which variation is appropriate in a given case. Agreeable and disagreeable sensations are the bridge between the rational relations that structure the person’s relation to the world and their entire conduct and state of mind, and the person’s qualitative and phenomenal experiences. Thus Helm unifies the two aspects typically seen as conceptually distinct and separately realized, the intentional and the phenomenal or the rational and the qualitative. Helm’s pleasures and pains are sensible-intelligible hybrids – the distillate produced when we spell out at a high level of abstraction the fact that persons exist in orientation towards significance. This intrinsically hedonic but at the same time thoroughly rationally interconnected world-relation is the core of the notion of genuinely affective intentionality. Helm’s conception can be seen as a formal phenomenology of human evaluation (see 2009). However, the emphasis here is on ‘formal’, since Helm is not interested in many of the specific features of human evaluations, in their concrete manifestations in the various states 12 Helm writes: “In feeling fear, the badness of the threat is thrust upon you, grabbing your attention and moving you – literally – to respond, and this feeling of the badness of the threat just is your being pained by the danger it presents. In general, in having an emotion we feel good or bad, we are pleased or pained, not in that we have some special, non-intentional bodily sensation but rather in that we are gripped by the import of our circumstances” (2009, 253).

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of feeling.13 This distinguishes his approach from phenomenological theories of emotions and feelings. There are several reasons to enrich the account phenomenologically. While Helm deserves much credit for outlining a neat philosophical theory of human feelings centred on the three pillows of, first, a basic idea of a genuinely affective intentionality, second, the formal outline of a type of emotional rationality and, third, a constitutional theory of value, something is still missing. In addition to these aspects we want to know more about what forms affective intentionality actually takes – what the various types of feeling and modes of appearance of affective intentionality are, and how these are intermeshed with other capacities and comportments of a person. Not least of all we expect a philosophical theory to inform us about the often less than ideal reality of human feeling, which can certainly run counter to the normative requirements even of a cautiously formulated and ‘personalized’ form of emotional rationality, at least on occasion. How can we come to a systematic understanding of the feelings possible even at those points where it is not at all apparent that our feelings are structured and rational? Without some handle on these situations a theory of human feelings runs the risk of excessive idealization at the cost of descriptive aptness. Moreover, a phenomenological understanding could be interesting for quite different reasons, since it could at least attempt to locate one of the sources of the evaluative dimension in personal existence – whereby it would pursue Helm’s aim of contributing to a descriptive metaphysics of the person while shifting the focus somewhat away from the conceptual and rationality-based approach that Helm follows. Maybe we can – and should – say more about the very roots of the affective-evaluative dimension, of the basic ‘mattering’ at the very foundation of our lives as personal agents.

13 This disinterest is nowhere more clear than in Helm’s remarks on the corporeality of emotions: “[T]here is no doubt that our experience of many emotions has a bodily component to it, so that to remove the feeling of the relevant bodily changes from our emotional experience would be to alter that experience. Nonetheless, part of the philosophical task in understanding emotions is to separate that which is essential or fundamental to the emotions whenever they occur from that which is a mere accidental (though usual) accompaniment to human emotions. So which is it: are our feelings of bodily changes fundamental or accidental to our emotions? Not surprisingly, my answer is that they are accidental” (2009, 254).

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4. Feelings of being I hold that Matthew Ratcliffe’s conception of ‘existential feelings’ can deliver the phenomenological supplement we are looking for. Existential feelings are encompassing background feelings – and as such they comprise the ways individual persons locate themselves in the world or ‘find’ themselves: “ways of finding oneself in the world” (Ratcliffe 2005, 45); or a “background sense of belonging to the world” (Ratcliffe 2008, 39). Feelings of this sort concern the person’s relation to the world as a whole and thus are prior to the specific relations we entertain to particular objects or circumstances. Existential feelings constitute a sense of reality and possibility – it is these feelings that first make possible our access to and grasp of the world, the comprehensive background of our orientation in our surroundings. Thus, on the one hand, existential feelings are continuously present background structures of ordinary experience – basic feelings of being alive or feelings of vitality, a basal sense of reality and feelings that reflect one’s own capacities and abilities as well as susceptibilities and potential vulnerabilities in various ways, including forms of interpersonal relatedness. On the other hand, they also include quite specific ‘expanded forms’ of ordinary emotions: a sadness so deep that the person’s entire relation to the world takes on the character of an irretrievable loss; a joy that rises to a boundless feeling of being carried or elevated by one’s surroundings or a disappointment that turns to such an unbounded hopelessness that the person can no longer form any hopes or expectations for concrete events, since the foundation for all hope is gone. Another ‘classic’ among existential feelings are the expanded forms of fear comprising such a profound feeling of fragility and vulnerability that the world strikes the person as just one big source of danger. These are all examples of existential feelings: the encompassing feeling of being in danger; the encompassing feeling of being unwelcome; the encompassing feeling of being strong and capable; the feeling of being part of a larger whole; the feeling of being appreciated or loved; the feeling of being part of a group or community; and feelings of hopelessness or senselessness and not least of all feelings of unreality, of being cut off from the world and other people, or the feeling of being disembodied, dead, or not even existent.14 14 Obviously the latter belong on the pathological spectrum – I will say more about this later. Ratcliffe himself provides the following list of examples of feelings, which he then explains variously in greater detail: “The feeling of being:

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Ratcliffe develops his approach with recourse to Heidegger’s emphasis on moods in Being and Time (Heidegger 1927, § 29 – 30). Heidegger sees moods, which he discusses under the heading of ‘attunement’, as constituting ‘Dasein’s openness to the world’ – i. e. the way in which the things and circumstances of our environment affect and concern us. On this view an underlying affective dimension informs all of a person’s relations to the world, so that each specifically targeted emotion can only develop on the basis of encompassing background feelings as their respective situational refinements.15 But it is not just emotions that grow from the soil of basic attunement – other intentional states, attitudes, motivations and propensities to action develop out of an affective background and are shaped and guided by this background. Here we see the double-structure that is characteristic of the early Heidegger, with an existential level – the underlying level of Dasein’s being-in-theworld as the fundamental framework for all reflection on human existence – and the superstructure of innerworldly relations: ordinary actions, perceptions, attitudes and feelings. We also find a modified version of an even more central thought from Heidegger’s Being and Time in Ratcliffe’s approach: that human existence is ontological – that our ‘way of being’ is distinguished by its containing a fundamental sense of reality that is also a sense of possibility.16 Thus the phenomenon

‘complete’, ‘flawed and diminished’, ‘unworthy’, ‘humble’, ‘separate and in limitation’, ‘at home’, ‘a fraud’, ‘slightly lost, ‘overwhelmed’, ‘abandoned’, ‘stared at’, ‘torn’, ‘disconnected from the world’, ‘invulnerable’, ‘unloved’, ‘watched’, ‘empty’, ‘in control’, ‘powerful’, ‘completely helpless’, ‘part of the real world again’, ‘trapped and weighed down’, ‘part of a larger machine’, ‘at one with life’, ‘at one with nature’, ‘there’, ‘familiar’, ‘real’” (2005, 45). 15 Are existential feelings nothing more than what we commonly call ‘moods’? No. The list of examples of existential feelings above should have dispersed this impression. Some states of feeling we call moods might be existential feelings, but existential feelings are a more comprehensive category that also includes states we would not describe as moods. Moreover the ordinary concept of ‘mood’ is very vague, making a stricter term necessary: Heidegger’s attunement as a dimension of ‘Dasein’s openness to the world’ or existential feelings as a ‘background sense of belonging to the world’ (Ratcliffe 2008, 39). Ratcliffe writes comprehensively about the difference between existential feelings and moods in Ratcliffe (2008, 55 f.). 16 “Das Dasein ist ein Seiendes, das nicht nur unter anderem Seienden vorkommt. Es ist vielmehr dadurch ontisch ausgezeichnet, daß es diesem Seienden in seinem Sein um dieses Sein selbst geht. […] Diesem Seienden eignet, daß mit und durch sein Sein dieses ihm selbst erschlossen ist. Seinsverstndnis ist selbst eine

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Heidegger calls ‘understanding of being’, which comprises attunement, understanding and discourse, shows up in Ratcliffe’s work as well, although he deals almost exclusively with the role of feelings and says very little about active understanding and linguistic articulation of that which is disclosed in attunement and understanding.17 Ratcliffe characterizes the existential feelings as follows: The world can sometimes appear unfamiliar, unreal, distant or close. It can be something that one feels apart from or at one with. One can feel in control of one’s situation as a whole or overwhelmed by it. One can feel like a participant in the world or like a detached, estranged observer, staring at objects that do not feel quite ‘there’. Such relationships structure all experiences. Whenever one has a specific experience of oneself, another person or an inanimate object being a certain way, the experience has, as a background, a more general sense of one’s relationship with the world. […] Ways of finding oneself in a world are presupposed spaces of experiential possibility, which shape the various ways in which things can be experienced. For example, if one’s sense of the world is tainted by a ‘feeling of unreality’, this will affect how all objects of perception appear. They are distant, removed, not quite ‘there’ (2005, 45).

Existential feelings as ‘presupposed spaces of experiential possibility’ – this gives us the role of this type of feeling quite concisely. A structure is already at work prior to the formation of concrete intentional relations to the world, a structure that configures the entirety of experience and behavior. Ratcliffe identifies two primary characteristics that distinguish existential feelings from other affective phenomena: [These feelings] form a recognisable group in virtue of two shared characteristics. First of all, they are not directed at specific objects or situations but are background orientations through which experience as a whole is structured. Second, they are all feelings, in the sense that they are bodily states which influence one’s awareness. As they constitute the basic structure of ‘being there’, a ‘hold on things’ that functions as a presupposed context Seinsbestimmtheit des Daseins. Die ontische Auszeichnung des Daseins liegt darin, daß es ontologisch ist” (Heidegger 1927, 12 – emphasis in the original). 17 It would exceed the scope of this paper to discuss here whether Ratcliffe is right to emphasize attunement at the cost of the other central existentials – understanding and discourse. In my opinion it would make sense to supplement the theory of existential feelings with corresponding elaborations of what Heidegger calls understanding and discourse; especially with the aim to explore the extent to which elements of understanding and discourse are already involved in human affectivity (cf. Slaby 2008a, esp. chap. 3). In general Ratcliffe says too little about these important connections.

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for all intellectual and practical activity, I refer to them as ‘existential feelings’ (2005, 46).

We can explain more precisely what it means to say that these background feelings constitute the ‘basic structure of ‘being there’ if we see them as a fundamental sense of reality. We can only experience anything as ‘real’, as ‘truly there’, given a basic affective structure which first makes possible a relation to the world (cf. Ratcliffe 2008, chap. 2; 2009). And yet this is inextricably bound up with the feeling person’s implicit understanding of possibilities: both the possibilities that things and persons in the world offer the feeling person as well as the person’s own possibilities for action (the latter being closely entwined with the former) are components of the sense of reality (cf. Ratcliffe 2008, chap. 2 and 4). The mental illnesses known as affective disorders make both of these aspects particularly clear: when the otherwise inconspicuous affective background changes, the world can easily come to seem unreal, alien or unreachable, while one’s own ‘handle’ on the world and ‘standing’ in the world also changes or even goes missing entirely.18This is the case, for example, in depression, in schizophrenia, and with the monothematic delusions (the Capgras Delusion or the Cotard Delusion, persecution mania, etc.). Depression can involve seeing the world as bereft of all sense and thus as devoid of possibilities – all activity and initiative fades or can even seem inconceivable to the depressed person, resulting in a ‘sense of unreality’ that characterizes the depressed person’s relations to the world as a whole (Ratcliffe 2009). Ratcliffe emphasizes the close connection existential feelings have to agency on various occasions – particularly when he describes them as a sense of possibilities (2008, 121 ff.). In our everyday experience of life the world appears to us as a space of possibilities, as an arena of possible activities and relevant events – and not just as a collection of mere objects. More precisely we would have to say that the world doesn’t just appear to us, but rather that we encounter it by moving within it in the way of having and not having possibilities, in the way of expecting and dealing or failing to deal with certain events and performing activities in and with (parts of) the world. Our primary world-relation is a being-moved-bysomething and setting-something-in-motion – hence it unfolds within a 18 These bodily, action- and posture-based terms such as ‘handle’ and ‘standing’ are deliberately chosen since what is in question is a relation to the world that is bodily through and through (see Ratcliffe 2008, chap. 4).

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framework of activity and dispositions towards activities and not in the form of a passive ‘representation’ of things in the world. Existential feelings are neither merely subjective sensibilities – reflecting exclusively our subjective state-of-mind – nor primarily intentional feelings relating to circumstances in the world (like ordinary emotions), nor are they just a level of mere experience in contrast to the capacity for action. Instead, they are a level prior to all of these relations, a level where experience and behavior are still indistinguishable, as are experience of self and of the world. This is why the changes in experience caused by affective disorders such as schizophrenia and depression are so radical and profound and at the same time so hard to empathize with for outsiders. The mentally ill, unlike healthy persons, don’t just have ‘altered states of feeling’ but rather inevitably find themselves in a different reality. This catastrophic change is due to their pathological affectivity (cf. Ratcliffe 2008, part II; 2009). The entirety of their relations and their grasp of the world are radically transformed from the ground up – thus one can say that their very being, their existence, gets modified. In this way, ‘existential feeling’ is the name of a region of overlap between self and world that resists the standard subject/object division: existential feelings cannot be ascribed entirely to the person nor to the world experienced through them. Person and world are far more intimately entwined than is assumed on most standard accounts. Experienced through existential feelings the world is always already affectively disclosed and, so to speak, atmospherically ‘colored’ by feeling, while it makes no sense to speak of a subject or conscious agent independently of the affective relations to the world (cf. Slaby/Stephan 2008). Hence subjectivity in the fullest sense of the world would necessarily be tied to the condition of an affective and evaluative relation to the world enabled by existential feelings. Here Ratcliffe takes up one of the central ideas from Heidegger’s Being and Time, and if he is right about this then existential feelings are ontologically prior to the conceptual, reflection-based division of self and world, of subject and object. Consequently they could not be adequately treated within any conceptual framework that simply assumes these distinctions as unproblematic.19 This brings us to the level of analysis that is particularly relevant for our comparison with Helm’s conception. It should be obvious by now 19 I have elaborated on the connections between existential feelings and an adequate understanding of subjectivity and self-consciousness elsewhere, in a paper written jointly with Achim Stephan, see Slaby/Stephan (2008).

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that Ratcliffe provides more than just a superficial phenomenological addendum to Helm’s rationality-based approach. Rather, he aims to describe that which first gives sense to any talk of an evaluative perspective on the world. In light of this one might even say that Ratcliffe’s account is more transcendental than Helm’s by aiming more thoroughly at the basic conditions of a person’s relation to the world. Ratcliffe works on showing that affectivity is an indispensable dimension, without which personhood becomes unrecognizably truncated. Thus both Helm’s and Ratcliffe’s respective approaches can be read as arguing that significance is founded in an underlying affective dimension. Yet both authors are not particularly explicit about this point. Some of Helm’s formulations of his holism of felt evaluations seem to even explicitly rule out the foundational thesis, since in an openly circular procedure he defines significance in terms of the felt evaluations of pleasure and pain but in turn defines those felt evaluations themselves in terms of significance. However, the decisive point is that Helm establishes this dimension of experience at all, where we can speak of both felt evaluations and significance, and that he does not wish to found this dimension upon something else in turn. Thus for all practical purposes he makes affectivity the foundational dimension of the personal – that which first makes possible the existence of subjects of significance. Whereas Helm does not describe the underlying affective dimension in any greater detail, but rather is content to point to its formal building blocks – pleasure and pain understood as evaluative sensations – without further specifying them, Ratcliffe’s detailed examination of existential feelings introduces a substantial discussion of the nature of this basic affective-evaluative dimension. It is central to his account that this involves a level of background feelings that first constitute the sense of reality and possibility. His phenomenological descriptions of characteristic changes and breakdowns of existential feelings give plausibility to this, revealing structural interconnections between affectivity, the relation to the world, significance, the capacity for action, and corporeality (in the sense of the Merleau-Ponty’an ‘lived body’). The most important difference from Helm’s description is Ratcliffe’s weaving together affectivity with the sense that there is a world at all and that we find ourselves in it in specific ways with specific possibilities, exposed to specific possible events, etc. Helm, like many other authors in the debate on human feelings, is not concerned with this ontological dimension at all, and sees feelings in abstraction from their ontological function – as affective evaluative mechanisms rather than as something that is crucially important

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for the possibility of a personal relation to the world. When Helm says that his theory of the feelings can overcome the problematic conceptual division between the cognitive and the conative – a division that is assumed as unproblematic and self-evident in large parts of philosophy and psychology – this claim can only be cashed out within a conception such as Ratcliffe’s. For Ratcliffe, it is already impossible to distinguish between neutral reporting of facts and affective evaluation even at the level of our understanding of being – the sense of reality. All our determinations of being whatsoever are inherently evaluative – the world by default appears to us as already familiar or unfamiliar, harmless or threatening, conducive or hindersome to our efforts, aesthetically appealing or repellant, etc. The underlying sense of reality is evaluative through and through, and moreover is inextricably connected to one’s agency, one’s initiatives, attitudes and dispositions to act and to the pursuit of one’s goals and projects. Helm did not succeed in capturing this amalgamation of cognitive-descriptive and affective-evaluative elements and practical comportments in the human relation to the world – because he did not take up the dimension of our lived sense of reality. Within Helm’s conceptual framework we can formulate these connections as follows: I have to be basically affectively oriented in some way, and have some sense of reality and possibility at my disposal, before concrete innerworldly circumstances can have any significance for me. Helm’s descriptions of rational patterns, each of which has its vanishing point in some specific focus of significance, very aptly clarify the formal structure of a person’s valuations, whereas Ratcliffe explores the dimension where it first gets decided that there is always affectively graspable significance for a person already there. Why do we have patterns of feeling oriented towards significance at all? What are the rational structures of human feeling ultimately founded upon? The experience of severe depression that Ratcliffe describes demonstrates these connections quite dramatically by showing ex negativo the fundamental role that the affective background plays in human experience, in constituting the world, in assignments of value and in making possible the person’s initiatives (2009). Vivid descriptions of pathological changes in the world-disclosing affective background give plausibility to these thoughts. Another exemplary instance of such an encompassing affective breakdown is the experience of profound boredom, in which significance likewise drains away completely (see Heidegger 1983 and Slaby 2010).

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But even independently of this fundamental level, Ratcliffe’s conception of the existential feelings can add to Helm’s approach without having to abandon the core idea of an evaluative rationality based on felt evaluations. Helm’s abstract descriptions can be given more plausibility if we can show that the patterns of felt evaluations as such have experiential reality in the form of an affective dimension comprising a changeable affective ‘background tone’ determining a person’s relations to the world. Having concerns and thus valuable ‘background objects’ that anchor rationally appropriate felt evaluations can in this way be seen as an affectively experienced background orientation. More precisely, it is a felt preparedness to react in specific ways when something affects the ‘wellbeing’ of the objects or persons one cares for. Reckoning with a felt preparedness to respond in accordance with the value of focus objects imparts further plausibility upon Helm’s idea of a ‘rational’ commitment to feel subsequently in accordance with one’s concerns. That which Helm introduced as some abstract conceptual requirement is thereby shown to be a lively affective background orientation (of course, only on condition that the affective background is indeed attuned properly to what has been constituted as significant by the larger pattern of felt evaluations).20

5. Conclusion A person’s changeable existential orientation, the affective background of attitudes, beliefs and actions, is the experiential raw material and thus a crucial condition for evaluative rationality. This affective orientation is the background from which rational patterns grow, but also presumably that which will occasionally hinder rationality from unfolding adequately. People might bring with them affective existential orientations in the form of their sense of reality and possibility grounded in existential feelings, and these orientations might also define the limits to the spectrum of what they can construe as real, valuable or plausible. Thus, evaluative rationality in Helm’s sense turns out to be just what he (presumably) intended it as: an abstraction – a normative schema we impose in order to understand persons as rational agents and to re20 I have said more about background feelings as a felt preparedness to be affectively engaged with specific situational circumstances in a paper discussing Heidegger’s conception of attunement; see Slaby (2007b).

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mind them, to some extent against their actual inclinations, of the normative requirements they have committed themselves to by virtue of what they have felt and done previously. Our affective reality often does indeed match these requirements, but on occasion it looks quite different. Certain emotional commitments are easier for some people than for others; for this reason certain subsequent emotions we would have expected are not actually produced, or not to the appropriate degree. Moreover, the background of existential feelings that individual affective states and specific attitudes emerge from is subject to changes that sometimes have little to do with the person’s other valuations and attitudes. These influences reveal that we are in fact natural creatures of flesh and blood, hence subject to mechanisms that are not all by their nature set up in accordance with the socially established rational requirements of civilized life. Ratcliffe’s descriptions of existential feelings show us new possibilities for dealing with these sometimes quite fixated starting conditions of personal existence. He sheds light on the irrationalities and idiosyncratic peculiarities that sometimes result, and gives us the outline of an approach to the larger breakdowns and pathologies where realityconstituting background feelings are often significantly disrupted or changed. This type of phenomenological approach can help us gain a philosophical understanding even where a rationality-based theory is at its wit’s end. Without abandoning the normative perspective of a rationality-based approach, the phenomenological perspective is able to carefully introduce pertinent starting conditions of human valuation that also allow us to understand why people sometimes find it so difficult to distance themselves from inappropriate affective orientations. The approach concerns an existential level so fundamental that it cannot just be circumvented or changed by cognitive efforts. Here a Wittgensteinian dictum proves to be remarkably apt: ‘The world of the happy man is a different one from that of the unhappy man’ (Wittgenstein 1984, 63). In the end we need both if we wish to understand our evaluative relation to the world: a generalizing explication of rational structures and their grounding in a frequently unsettled reality of human feeling and the human conduct of life as a whole. If we wish to retain the above-mentioned characterization of Helm’s position as ‘lived rationality’, Ratcliffe has made clear that we have to emphasize both elements: life in its own peculiar dynamics, for which the background of existential feelings plays a central role, and rationality as a normative ideal that is

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just as real as it is precarious and that is distinctive of our form of life as persons.

References Davidson, Donald (1980): Mental Events, in: Donald Davidson, Essays on Actions and Events, New York: Oxford University Press, 207 – 225. Döring, Sabine (2007): Seeing What to Do: Affective Perception and Rational Motivation, in: Dialectica 61(3), 364 – 394. Goldie, Peter (2000): The Emotions. A Philosophical Exploration, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Goldie, Peter (2002): Emotions, Feelings and Intentionality, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 1, 235 – 254. Heidegger, Martin (1927): Sein und Zeit, Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag. Heidegger, Martin (1983): Die Grundbegriffe der Metaphysik. Welt – Endlichkeit – Einsamkeit (Freiburger Vorlesung im Wintersemester 1929/30). Gesamtausgabe, vol. 29/30, Frankfurt am Main: Vittorio Klostermann. Helm, Bennett (1994): The Significance of Emotions, in: American Philosophical Quarterly 31, 319 – 331. Helm, Bennett (2001): Emotional Reason. Deliberation, Motivation, and the Nature of Value, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Helm, Bennett (2002): Felt Evaluations. A Theory of Pleasures and Pains, in: American Philosophical Quarterly 39, 13 – 30. Helm, Bennett (2009): Emotions as Evaluative Feelings, in: Emotions Review 1 (3), 248 – 255. Kenny, Anthony (1963): Action, Emotion and Will, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. McDowell, John (1994): Mind and World, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Müller, Jean Moritz (2011): Emotion, Wahrnehmung und evaluative Erkenntnis, in: Jan Slaby/Achim Stephan/Henrik Walter/Sven Walter (Eds.), Affektive Intentionalitt. Beitrge zur welterschließenden Funktion der menschlichen Gefhle, Paderborn: mentis, 100 – 127. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2002): Heidegger’s Attunement and the Neuropsychology of Emotion, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 1, 287 – 312. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2005): The Feeling of Being, in: Journal of Consciousness Studies 12(8 – 10), 43 – 60. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2008): Feelings of Being. Phenomenology, Psychiatry, and the Sense of Reality, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2009): Understanding Existential Changes in Psychiatric Illness. The Indispensability of Phenomenology, in: Matthew Broome/ Lisa Bortolotti (Eds.), Psychiatry as Cognitive Neuroscience. Philosophical Perspectives, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 223 – 244. Roberts, Robert C. (1988): What an Emotion is: A Sketch, in: Philosophical Review 97, 183 – 209.

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Roberts, Robert C. (2003): Emotions. An Essay in Aid of Moral Psychology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Slaby, Jan (2007a): Empfindungen. Skizze eines nicht-reduktiven, holistischen Verständnisses, in: Allgemeine Zeitschrift fr Philosophie 32(3), 207 – 225. Slaby, Jan (2007b): Emotionaler Weltbezug. Ein Strukturschema im Anschluss an Heidegger, in: Hilge Landwehr (Ed.), Gefhle – Struktur und Funktion, Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 93 – 112. Slaby, Jan (2008a): Gefhl und Weltbezug. Die menschliche Affektivitt im Kontext einer neo-existentialistischen Konzeption von Personalitt, Paderborn: mentis. Slaby, Jan (2008b): Affective Intentionality and the Feeling Body, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 7(4), 429 – 444. Slaby, Jan (2010): The Other Side of Existence: Heidegger on Boredom, in: Sabine Flach/Jan Söffner/Daniel Margulies (Eds.), Habitus in Habitat II: Other Sides of Cognition, Bern: Peter Lang, 101 – 120. Slaby, Jan/Stephan, Achim (2008): Affective Intentionality and Self-Consciousness, in: Consciousness and Cognition 17, 506 – 513. Slaby, Jan/Stephan, Achim/Walter, Henrik/Walter, Sven (Eds.) (2011): Affektive Intentionalitt. Beitrge zur welterschließenden Funktion der menschlichen Gefhle, Paderborn: mentis. Smith, Michael (1994): The Moral Problem, Oxford: Blackwell. Stern, Daniel M. (2010): Forms of Vitality: Exploring Dynamic Experience in Psychology, the Arts, Psychotherapy, and Development, New York: Oxford University Press. Strawson, Peter F. (1959): Individuals: An Essay in Descriptive Metaphysics, London: Methuen & Co Ltd. Taylor, Charles (1985): Self-Interpreting Animals, in: Charles Taylor (Ed.), Human Agency and Language, Philosophical Papers ,vol. 1, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 45 – 76. Tugendhat, Ernst (1979): Selbstbewusstsein und Selbstbestimmung. Sprachanalytische Interpretationen, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Whiting, Demian (2006): Standing Up for an Affective Account of Emotion, in: Philosophical Explorations 9, 261 – 276. Whiting, Demian (2009): The Feeling Theory of Emotion and Object-Directed Emotions, in: European Journal of Philosophy 19(2), 281 – 303. Wittgenstein, Ludwig (1984): Tractatus-Logico-Philosophicus, Tagebücher 1914 – 1916, Philosophische Untersuchungen, in: Werkausgabe, vol. 1, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp.

An Externalist Approach to Existential Feelings: Different Feelings or Different objects?1 Riccardo Manzotti Abstract: Does the feeling of being alive entail a special feeling or rather a special object? More generally, is an object-less feeling conceivable? There is no doubt that there are feelings which seem less object-oriented than others. There is no doubt, either, that there are moments of experience that do not seem to be straightforwardly directed towards easily-locatable objects in the environment. Yet is there any convincing evidence of the existence of a special kind of feeling devoid of content? This paper questions such a hypothesis, yet without denying the existence of existential feelings; rather it is argued that there are no objectless feelings. The main argument is that it is unlikely that phenomenal character is the result of more than one condition, whatever it may be. While it is true that, in evolutionary terms, a redundancy of effects is not the worst strategy, a redundancy of causes is very unlikely – all the more for something so extraordinary as feelings.

1. The ontological requirements of existential feelings There is some ambiguity in the available literature on existential feelings. Consider Matthew Ratcliffe on the issue as to whether existential feelings represent something. On the one hand he stresses repeatedly that existential feelings “are not experiences of specific entities or of entities in general. Instead, they are ways of finding ourselves in the world” (Ratcliffe 2008, 41). On the other hand, he admits that “many bodily feelings are not experiences of bodily states but ways of experiencing the relationship between body and world” (Ratcliffe 2008, 11). So, are bodily and existential feelings devoid of representational content or do they represent special content such as the relationship between body and world? It seems to me that resorting to ways of finding oneself in the world is vague insofar as it does not make it explicit whether such ways are phenomenal or not. If a way of being does not have a phenom1

This work has been possible by the support offered by the Bilateral Project ICT-CNR – KAIST, Italy-South Korea.

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enal character, it holds only an indirect relation with the issue of feeling. It could be argued that there is a difference between ways of experiencing something and experiencing something as something (i. e. representing it). I would assume that there is and that in both cases we are dealing with feelings with an object. For in both cases, there is a content (either the experience as such or the experience as representing something else). Here, the issue at stake is whether a “way of experiencing” could be totally devoid of content and yet still be a feeling. I don’t want to deny either the usefulness or the phenomenological adequacy of Ratcliffe’s analysis. Rather my aim is to focus on certain ontological worries that are going to arise if the notion of existential feeling is taken too far. So I don’t dispute that the phenomenal space can be carved up in such a way as to make the necessary distinctions between perceptual experience, emotions, bodily feelings, existential feelings, and other important ways of experiencing the world. I don’t deny either that existential feelings are an important aspect of our mental life and that they can be fruitfully distinguished from other kinds of phenomenal experience. For one thing, a distinction divides up a conceptual space in a certain way; it does not necessarily divide up reality in the same way. What worries me is the notion of object-less feelings insofar as it suggests that being a feeling and representing something are two separate conditions. And I am worried because elsewhere I committed myself to an externalist view of mental states whereby a feeling is a process linking the subject with some real aspect of the world (Manzotti 2006b). However, even setting aside such an unabashedly selfish consideration, an unrepresentational feeling is a notion that brings a lot of commitments with it, since it entails the existence of a phenomenal level which is autonomous as to any representational role. This is not a minor ontological commitment and it ought to be explicitly acknowledged. Another issue that can’t be underestimated is whether existential feelings are necessarily or contingently associated with other kinds of bodily feelings. Sometimes it seems that they are necessary to perceptual experience. For instance, Matthew Ratcliffe claims that “[e]xistential feelings are central to the structure of all human experience” (Ratcliffe 2008, 2). This is vague. I can foresee at least four possible interpretations: 1) existential feelings are central to and indeed enriching of our phenomenological world but nonetheless they are not necessary to experience; 2) existential feelings play a central role in tuning and characterizing the structure of human experience; 3) existential feelings are

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necessary to the particular kind of experience humans have; 4) existential feelings are necessary to every conceivable kind of experience. Each of these interpretations entails very different ontological premises as to the nature and role of existential feelings. Existential feelings seem to borrow their ontological status from intrinsic and internal states of the agent’s body as if they were free of any semantic entanglement with the surrounding environment. Thus existential feelings partially overlap with equally worrisome notions such as bodily feelings. It has been claimed that “existential feelings comprise a distinctive phenomenological category in virtue of two characteristics: They are not directed at specific objects or situations but are background orientations through which experience as a whole is structured. They are feelings, in the sense that they are bodily states of which we have at least some awareness” (Ratcliffe 2008, 2). Since these mental states are categorized by Ratcliffe as feelings, it follows that they cannot be just bodily states in the same way as a physical condition like low blood pressure or a particular metabolic condition. A feeling is something that is felt either because of some intrinsic phenomenal character or because of some representational role. As a matter of fact, Ratcliffe himself stresses that there must be “at last some awareness”. The issue at stake here is whether a physical condition can be felt by way of its own intrinsic power (and then the question would be what such intrinsic power could be) or if all awareness is always an awareness of something. Indeed, it has been argued that the intrinsically qualitative is indistinguishable from the qualitatively experiential and thus that the intrinsic power may be identical to phenomenal quality. Of course, the most worrisome issue is whether physical processes have an intrinsic quality. If we could argue that they do, the identity between intrinsic quality and phenomenal quality might be persuasively defended (Coleman 2009) “All that we do know, on assumption of physicalism, is that the physical items whose intrinsic natures we have direct access to are intrinsically conscious.”(Coleman 2009, 87). Yet, what exactly are those “physical items”? In short: is a bodily state something that naturally possesses some awareness of itself ? Why should a bodily state be felt more readily than, say, the state of the chair next to me? Or the state of the computer keyboard on which I am now typing? Yet I do not believe that anyone could assume that a bodily state is closer to a mental state because it happens to be inside the skin boundary. As far as we know, a bodily state is as far from the mind as any other physical state in the subject’s surroundings. It is true that a bodily state could be

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more easily accessible than the state of external objects. A bodily state could even be impossible to set aside. One could be wired innately in such a way that one could not avoid perceiving certain bodily feelings. It would be very convenient if we could just turn our attention away from a tooth pain as we do from an unpleasant visual scene. For many well-known evolutionary reasons, it could be all too easy to ignore undesirable bodily states at will. Yet all these undeniable factors do not count as evidence either that a bodily state is naturally felt or that a bodily state gives rise to a feeling with no content. In the literature on existential feelings, it seems acceptable to suppose that the phenomenal character of mental states is the result of internally instantiated properties. For instance, most authors seem to agree that it is possible to have some awareness of a bodily state, although by means still unknown. On other occasions, an existential feeling is seen as the perception of a state of the self or of some kind of ongoing relation either between the self and the body or between the self and the environment. Somehow it is implicitly assumed that – because these mental states are internal to the self/world divide – it is easier to be aware of bodily states than of other matters. In short, it seems that if mental states refer to an external object, the issue of representational content can be dismissed. This is far from obvious. On the contrary, this issue is at the core of the internalism vs. externalism debate and has reached no stable consensus so far.

2. Worries about the phenomenal character of existential feelings A feeling is felt. This is trivial. Yet such a statement constitutes neither an explanation nor a useful starting point. It is like saying that a pain is painful. Yet why should a mental state be felt? This is of course the most difficult question and there is no hope of answering it here. However, it is reasonable to assume that whatever the reason why some physical occurrence is felt, it is highly probable that such a condition is unique. This casts some doubt as to the possibility of totally different explanations for different kinds of phenomenal experience. In this respect, it is very doubtful to suppose one mechanism for existential feelings and a different one for perceptual experiences.

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2.1 Objectless feelings? What is the basis for denying that existential feelings have no object? Indeed what is the basis for discriminating between representational phenomenal content and pure internal bodily phenomenal aspects? The main evidence is introspective and phenomenological. This is not bad but it is far from being conclusive. However, phenomenological introspective evidence is weak as to the mechanisms underlying the experience in question. It is true that sometimes we are unable to pinpoint a given object/event/state of affairs during our first-person experience. Yet such ignorance does not rule out our experience indeed being the result of some state of affairs. For one, it could be that we are mistaken in dismissing the cause of our own phenomenal states. There could be various classes of objects/events/states of affairs that, although unavailable to our subsequent epistemic reconstruction, are the representational content of our phenomenal states. Epistemic opacity is not a convincing argument for the existence of an ontological structure. Some of the causes of our phenomenal states are easily locatable in our own environment, while others might not be locatable. Yet not being locatable is not the same thing as not being located somewhere. We may be tempted to conclude that all phenomenal states which have no easily locatable representational content are indeed objectless feelings, but this would be an unwarranted conclusion. The above conclusion is questionable for various reasons. First, all phenomenal contents are distinguishable from others. How could they be distinguished independently of their content? And if they have a different content, don’t they single out different moments of reality? Second, emotions, bodily feelings, and existential feelings, by and large, express a way for the subject to be, to be disposed to act, or to act. These are real states of affairs that are plausible candidates as the objects for the corresponding phenomenal states. The understanding of the nature of existential feelings is hampered by the vagueness of many phenomenological descriptions as well as by the absence of a shared ontological and epistemological framework. In order to proceed further I will adopt a very simple standpoint. First of all the notions of feeling and phenomenal content have to be thoroughly examined. Are we really sure that all the phenomenal perspectives on mental life correspond to real differences in the structure of the underlying mental mechanisms and vehicles?

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An exhaustive analysis of the literature would go well beyond the limits of this paper. However, for the sake of the present discussion, it is perhaps sufficient to remember that, for now, there is no straightforward reduction of any of these notions to a suitable physical process. In other words, there is no evidence that such rich taxonomy of mental activities corresponds to an equally rich taxonomy of physical processes. It is more reasonable to adopt, at least for now, a more conservative and prudential approach – namely to consider one kind of mental process able to address different kinds of mental content. Is this approach too simplistic? For one, Franz Brentano suggested that “every mental phenomenon includes something as object within itself, although they do not all do so in the same way” (Brentano 1874, 88). Some philosophers have rejected this all-encompassing view (for instance, Searle 1983). Yet many representationalists considered whether having feelings is indeed identical with representing something (Tye 1991; Stubenberg 1998). Similarly Max Velmans argues against the existence of feelings with no object: “if one strips phenomenal content away from phenomenal consciousness, there is no phenomenal consciousness left!” (Velmans 2000, 152). Although Brentano was open to the possibility that there could be different ways of addressing the same intentional object, his view suggests that the difference between different mental phenomena is fixed by different intentional objects rather than by different kinds of mental acts. If this were not the case, there would appear to be an unnecessary redundancy between kinds of acts and kinds of objects. Unfortunately, Brentano never succeeded in providing a satisfactory ontology either for intentionality or for the different kinds of intentional acts/ways of addressing the intentional object. The redundancy between different kinds of acts and different kinds of objects is perhaps the main reason why a more parsimonious approach is taken into consideration here. The existence of special feelings with no content paves the way for a twofold source of mental content consisting of the object and the mental act. Although this could indeed be the case, it would be rather problematic since there is no guarantee that the two aspects of a mental phenomenon would share a compatible ontological ground. Besides, each aspect could be sufficient to fix mental content. In other words, if any mental phenomenon were a mixture of some quality stemming from the phenomenon in itself and some further quality stemming from the object the mental content refers to, wouldn’t we be plagued by ontological overdetermination? How would they in-

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termingle? Wouldn’t it be simpler having different mental objects rather than different mental acts? Marcel Proust stressed that whenever you have two explanation of your behavior, it is likely that they’re both wrong. There is a further obstacle to the existence of feelings with no object. The existence of object-less feelings entails that phenomenal qualities are, in principle, independent of their object. In fact, the notion an object-less feeling runs afoul of all representationalist accounts of phenomenal content. Such a notion suggests that it is possible to have a phenomenal experience totally unrelated to anything else. This is a very strong metaphysical claim that ought to be explicitly outlined at the outset – so strong that I doubt it would be accepted.

2.2 Pure feelings What about other well-known cases of alleged object-less feelings such as the feeling of existing, the feeling of being alive, the feeling of being sentient, some bodily feelings, and many emotional feelings? They all share the fact of being apparently without a straightforwardly locatable object. Why should these processes have a phenomenal content? Just because they are involved in the dynamics of a living organism? Consider the feeling of being alive. It is a primordial feeling, but how can we be sure that it is shared by primordial beings? And why should life be correlated with feelings? As far as we know, the possibility cannot be ruled out that an artificial being may have feelings (Koch/Tononi 2008; Chella/Manzotti 2009). Conversely it is conceivable that a living organism might be totally devoid of any feeling. Does a carrot have any feeling? Of course, it is alive. Why should metabolism, carbon-based chemistry, DNA replication, and multicellular organization lead to a certain feeling? Moreover, appealing to pure feelings as opposed to feelings of something is confused, both because it is not clear when a feeling is a feeling of something, and because it entails that there can be a pure feeling, thereby shifting the explanatory focus. This, in turn, is also vague because: A. If we are representationalist about mental content, we need to be so in a consistent way. Thus any mental content has to be such not in virtue of its intrinsic property but rather in virtue of its representational/intentional/semantic properties. So there cannot be a pure mental content

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which is not a representation of something. However, one could be a non-representationalist. B. If we insist that a pure feeling does not require any content, we need to explain how we can distinguish between different pure feelings. Either they are all different kinds of feelings, but this will lead to a dubious proliferation of kinds of feelings, or they must have something that allows us to distinguish between them. Since it cannot be their kind, it must be something else: their content. C. The appeal to internal or bodily states is not convincing, since they are no more internal to the subject than the external world. The body is only a very rough metaphor for the subject whose physical boundaries are still to be defined in any definitive way. Furthermore, if different existential feelings are distinguishable thanks to the corresponding physical state of the body, they have a content which is precisely the bodily state (in terms of actual states, dispositions, or patterns of relation with the environment). D. One might be tempted to rule out the content of certain mental states because their object/content is not of the kind that we usually conceive. In other words, suppose that you are in the grip of an object-oriented ontology. You would conceive the world in terms of objects only, and then all mental states whose content is not of an object but rather of something else could be classified as mental states with no content. However, the problem is not that they are content-less, but rather the notion of content that has been adopted. For instance, we feel depressed when we are in a given bodily and dispositional condition. Why cannot such a condition be the content of a mental state? Why should we only accept objects and other easily locatable entities? Interestingly, the taxonomy suggested by Slaby and Stephan (Slaby/Stephan 2008, 510) suggests a range of existential feelings “between pure existential feelings at a basic level, feelings of basic familiarity and security on a second level, thirdly more specific existential background feelings, and finally on the fourth level emotional feelings in mood-like variations”. This does not entail that existential feelings do not have any content; rather it suggests that they appear to be content- and context-oriented. Yet their object is not locatable in an external space, but refers to the attitude the subject developed towards reality. In fact, they explicitly state that “Thus, in a certain sense, these feelings manifest what we are at a certain time period” (Slaby/Stephan 2008, 511).

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These considerations ought to weaken our strong intuitions as to the existence of existential feelings as pure feelings devoid of representational or relational content. It could be more productive to extend our notion of content such that it can encompass all these known cases of phenomenal feelings.

2.3 Representational content vs. intrinsic content By and large, there are two classes of explanations as to why a certain mental activity is felt – the relational/causal/intentional/representational explanation and the appeal to intrinsic properties. Let’s briefly outline each of them. The relational explanation is based on the idea that feeling x means being in some kind of relation with an xexternal – x and xexternal being either identical or different. Most of these theories attempt to explain phenomenal experience in terms of intentionality, assuming that intentionality is the basis of representation. Sometimes, instead of intentionality, causality gets the center stage, but the structure of the explanation is the same – namely, trying to move from either causality or intentionality to representations and then to reduce all phenomenal content to some kind of representation. Well-known and highly heterogeneous examples are offered by Hilary Putnam, Michael Tye, Fred Dretske, and many others (Putnam 1973; 1975; Dretske 1977; 1995; Tye 1982; 1995; 2009). In contrast the “intrinsic” explanation suggests that feeling x is the result of the instantiation of some intrinsic property that, by its very occurrence, is felt as such., so there is no need to be in any relation whatsoever with anything. The feeling of x is an intrinsic property and it is only by virtue of x’s properties that x is felt. Usually but not always, authors arguing for the existence of qualia defend this kind of explanation (Wright 2008). The appeal to intrinsic properties is advocated also for representations in general, whether or not they are phenomenally experienced. Some argue that what distinguishes representations is either that they possess some innate semantic power (Fodor 1987) or that they mimic or copy the external reality (Kosslyn et al. 2006). To return to phenomenal experience, recently neuroscientists like Giulio Tononi and Semir Zeki have proposed examples of alleged intrinsic properties. Tononi suggests that phenomenal experience is the result of a mathematical intrinsic quantity dubbed “integrated information” (Tononi 2004; Tononi/Koch 2008) while Zeki wonders whether there are spe-

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cific neural circuitries for each mental micro-content (Zeki 2001; 2003). Notwithstanding the differences, all these authors share the intuition that being a feeling involves the instantiation of a local property. I would stress that it would be surprising and ontologically very wasteful if both classes of theories were true. For instance, I doubt strongly that we could be aware of a class of feelings because of some relational condition and, independently, be aware of another class of feelings because of some intrinsic property. Once again, it is worrisome that existential feelings (and to a certain extent bodily feelings and emotions too) are often explained as if they would not require a proper object.

2.4 The unbalanced equilibrium between existential and phenomenal feelings Apart from the above considerations, there is one main obstacle to the notion of existential feelings per se. Please keep in mind that I am in no way denying the existence of them; I am only stressing the ontological obstacles posited by object-less existential feelings. Existential feelings may be feelings with a special object. The existence of object-less feelings might be riddled with ontological dangers. Suppose that an organism has indeed some kind of feelings whose content does not supervene on any further object/event/state of affairs. In other words, there are phenomenal states which express the organism’s internal state without having that state as their object. Such a hypothesis seems plausible. Yet it entails that having a phenomenal content does not necessarily require any reference to further object/event/state of affairs This conclusion should not come as a surprise. And yet it is rather puzzling for a series of reasons. By and large, there are three possible options: a.1) both representational phenomenal content and non-representational phenomenal content are possible a.2) there is only non-representational phenomenal content a.3) there is only representational phenomenal content The first option a.1) seems the most feasible. However, as I mentioned in previous sections, it generates many further questions. How does a physical process with no representational role have a phenomenal content? If object-less and object-oriented phenomenal experiences are

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based on different mechanisms, wouldn’t there be a twofold hard problem (Chalmers 1996)? It is already very hard to conceive one explanation as to how phenomenal qualities may stem from a class of entities. Having to outline an explanation for two separate cases seems really awkward. Furthermore, two sources of phenomenal quality might lead to further problems as to their mutual relation –how would it be possible for object-less and object-oriented phenomenal experiences to merge together? Furthermore, we should stress another aspect that has only been partially mentioned. Having two sources of phenomenal content is basically an unstable solution. Suppose that there are indeed two sources of phenomenal content. Wouldn’t one of them be enough? For instance, we could think that all phenomenal content is indeed internally generated and that, thanks to various mechanisms, it gets synchronized with external occurrences. In this way, there would be no need for a representational source of phenomenal content. All experiences would be internally generated in virtue of some internal power for phenomenal quality. This is a view that has its share of believers ranging from neuroscientists to qualia enthusiasts (Edelman 1989; Changeux 2004; Tononi/Koch 2008; Wright 2008). And yet it is not yet based on empirical evidence or theoretical argumentation. In other words, option a.1 is unstable. It tends to collapse into either a.2 or a.3 – if any of them is true. However, once we accept the existence of intrinsic phenomenal states, it is tempting to consider the phenomenal mind to be completely object-less, since it allows us to get rid of the problem of representations/semantics/intentionality. And yet neither a.1 nor a.2 offer any explanation as to why a certain physical process internal to the body of an organism ought to have a phenomenal aspect. On the other hand a.3 suggests that having a phenomenal content is supervenient on being a representation of some further object/event/ state of affairs. Although it is not an easy road, at least two things speak in favor of it. First, there is overwhelming evidence that most of our phenomenal states have a representational role – all veridical everyday perception has a representational role. Second, there have been at least a few philosophical attempts to show how representations can generate phenomenal content (Holt 1914; Dretske 1995; 1996; Lycan 2001; Tonneau 2004; Manzotti 2008).

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3. What do existential feelings express? The other side of the notion of existential feelings, so to speak, entails a reference to the existence of some entity – plausibly that of the agent. Yet it is neither trivial nor self-evident whether the agent is something that exists. The agent may not exist at all. Many authors have defended such a view. The agent may be either an illusion, or an explanatory debt, or an epistemic shortcut not dissimilar from a center of mass. In fact, there is no such a thing as a center of mass. The center of mass is only a shortcut to refer to the point in a system of bodies at which the mass of the system may be considered to be concentrated and at which external forces may be considered to be applied. Although it may seem that there is a center of mass and you may even feel attracted by the center of mass of, say, our galaxy, the truth is that the gravitational pull is exerted by the stars of the galaxy and not by the non-existent center of mass. If the agent were an epistemic notion of this sort, it would be unable to endorse any existential feeling. However, it is conceivable that the agent exists in some stronger sense than a center of mass. Yet this would not automatically clarify the issue. For instance, the agent may be something that takes place repeatedly in numerically distinct instances like a trope. Would that qualify as a useful notion of existence or not? Would that exist? And what’s more uncertain is whether the subject as an organism is something that exists or not (Inwagen 1990; 2006; Merrick 2001). What is an object? What is a life? What is a living object? Do they exist independently of being singled out by anyone or are they just arbitrary collections of parts/processes/state of affairs which we single out for arbitrary epistemic purposes? The existence of a subject is one of the vaguest notions available; neither the notion of existence (individual, four-dimensional, dynamic) nor that of the subject is clear. Similar considerations could be put forward as to the feeling of existing. Everything exists. Does everything that exists have a feeling of its own existence?This is unlikely, unless we embrace an unabashed panpsychist view (Skrbina 2005; 2009).

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3.1 Bodies and bodily states A further option for existential aspects of feeling is the relation with the body of the agent. The relation between the subject as a whole and the body is far from being clear. Most of the philosophy of mind revolves around this issue. In the literature on existential feelings, it has been suggested that existential feelings correspond to a special class of phenomenal states apparently different from perceptual phenomenal states both in content and in structure. Ratcliffe holds that bodily feelings have a twofold structure and content: “They can be both feelings of bodily states and at the same time ways of experiencing things outside of the body.” (Ratcliffe 2008, 1). In particular, existential feelings are both “feelings of the body” and “ways of finding oneself in a world” (Ratcliffe 2008, 2). What is the body, though? And what is the subject that finds itself in a world? Furthermore, it appears that existential feelings are somehow prior to perceptual feelings and indeed it is often suggested they are 1) “background orientations through which experience as a whole is structured” and 2) “feelings, in the sense that they are bodily states of which we have at least some awareness” (Ratcliffe 2008, 2). This is controversial since it suggests a series of premises that, until now, had had no empirical justification. First, the notion of bodily state is rather vague notwithstanding its widespread use in the scientific literature and in everyday discourse (Varela et al. 1991/1993; Clark/Chalmers 1998; Manzotti 2006b). What counts as a body? What are its temporal, spatial, causal, and material boundaries? Where does my body begin and end? Are hair and nails part of my body? Is the body constituted by organs or by processes? What about a phantom limb? Is it possible to extend my body by means of prosthetic devices or more mundane devices as suggested by proponents of the extended mind? Second, although the notion of body is far from clear, that of state is even more troublesome. What is a state of a physical system? Given a certain spatio-temporal subset, there are infinite states that could define what’s going on. Consider a classical Newtonian physical setup: a sphere moving in space. Its mass, position, speed, and acceleration are probably part of its state. Yet is the color of the sphere part of its state? What about the internal composition of the sphere? How fine-grained does the state have to be? Is the center of mass sufficient? Do we need more details? There is not a final answer to these questions since the no-

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tion of state is epistemic in nature – a state is not fixed by a physical system alone, instead it expresses the epistemic agenda of the beholder. If we are interested in describing the trajectory of the sphere, mass and positions with derivatives would be more than enough. If we are interested in more complex causal interactions, other physical features ought to be included. It is true that, as an extreme measure, it could be claimed that a state comprehends all the physical features down to the quantum level. But there would still be a tension between the description in terms of some epistemic domain and the physical system as such. To recap, the notion of state is not physical but epistemic. It is, to a certain extent, arbitrarily modifiable. Third, the contrast between an inward and an outward orientation of mental states is logically a dualistic approach. Is my existence really confronted with an external physical world? Is there an inside and an outside? Once again it is indeed a committing premise that is not necessarily entailed by the existence of existential feelings per se. This premise is rather plain in many works that look at existential feelings or close phenomenal states such as bodily feelings and emotions (Damasio 1994; 1999; LeDoux 2002; Legrand 2006). Although they are adverse to metaphysical dualism, they fall prey to what has been labeled either Cartesian materialism (Rockwell 2005) or cranialism (Honderich 2004) – namely some vague notion that the body and its states are some kind of inward domain separated from the environment. Fourth, the proposal of looking at existential feelings as orientations, or modes, or structures of our perception is not satisfying. A structure of our perception has to be perceived in some way, thereby entailing a further meta-structure capable of apprehending. As far as we know a perceptual structure is invisible unless is contrasted with other perceptions having the same content but a different structure. For instance, a color blind person’s chromatic space perceptual structure is undoubtedly different from that of a normal sighted subject. Yet the two subjects are neither aware of their perceptual structure nor are they oriented towards colors in a different manner. Unless one compares one’s own perception with those of other subjects, the structure of perception is invisible.

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4. An externalist and representationalist perspective on existential feelings To a certain extent, could an externalist view also be used to endorse existential feelings? By and large, externalism entails a target for each mental state. Externalism entails in some way that a monadic mental state is not conceivable. Indeed externalism entails some form of representationalism. Broadly speaking, externalism is the doctrine that either mental content or the mental vehicles or both are partially constituted by or dependent on what happens outside the head. This is a very broad definition that more or less encompasses most authors. As is to be expected, there are more and less demanding versions of externalism. Here I am not going to sketch an outline of the current theoretical landscape. For the sake of this paper, it is enough to remember that only very few authors have considered the possibility of phenomenal externalism. In fact, most externalists have considered only semantic or cognitive externalism (Putnam 1975; Burge 1979; Clark/Chalmers 1998; Clark 2008; Menary 2010) explicitly leaving phenomenal externalism to “a handful of philosophers with too much respect for philosophical theory and not enough common sense” (Byrne/Tye 2006, 242). Among these latter authors, the most celebrated attempts are those developed by Fred Dretske (1995; 1996) and William Lycan (2001) who, despite their many differences, share the hypothesis that phenomenal content depends on what takes place outside the head. Both Lycan and Dretske mostly consider content externalism insofar as their theories focus on the causal circumstances in which a certain internal representation is expected to hijack the proper phenomenal content out of some relation with external states of affairs. How is it possible for the phenomenal content to be taken from a relation with external states? It all seems rather vague to me. For instance, Dretske’s phenomenal externalism defends a representational account of experience. The properties of a perceptual experience, insofar as it is mental, are determined entirely by the properties it represents things as having. Thus phenomenal content depends on what takes place outside of the head. Nevertheless, for Dretske, the vehicles of phenomenal experience remain inside the head. Here I will look at a much more radical version of phenomenal externalism in which not only does the content depend on what happens outside the head, but also the vehicles of phenomenal experience extend

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to encompass a spatiotemporal portion of the environment. Since the hypothesis suggests that the physical processes constituting the conscious mind are actually larger both spatially and temporally than those taking place inside the nervous system, I’ve called it “the spread mind” (Manzotti 2006a; 2006b; 2006c). A feeling is a mental occurrence. I won’t use the word “mental states” since it is vague and misleading for various reasons I will outline below. From here on I will assume a Brentanian view of mental processes: any feeling is assumed to have an object/content. That is precisely why a feeling is distinguishable from others: because of the content that is felt when one has that feeling. The content singles out something specific thereby representing a certain past/present/future condition. How else would one know that one had a feeling x instead of a feeling y if not by feeling something different? Externalism of the radical kind is a doctrine that suggests that any mental state has a content in virtue of being caused by or continuous with or overlapping with an external state of affairs. External to what, it might be asked? Well, the internalist/externalist debate usually involves the straightforward notion of being external to the subject’s body. This definition would leave open the issue of whether mental states that refer to events physically inside the body are to be considered suitable for an externalist definition. To overcome this minor difficulty, we can view externalism as the hypothesis that a feeling gets its content from something external to the neural activity underpinning that feeling. I defend a simplified and unified framework where all acts of awareness (object perception, feelings, emotions, existential feelings, moods) are instantiated by the same kind of physical process – differing only as to the role they play in the developing subject. It might seem that I have failed to draw a distinction between many rather respected phenomenological notions. It is a fair objection. Once we take seriously the notion that existential feelings are feelings with an existential content, some sort of vehicle externalism may come to our rescue. In fact, if the boundaries of the subject are not confined to the limits of the body, the number of feelings with existential content can be extended. Let us consider a succinct outline of a neural monist process-oriented externalist view of reality that I have tried to describe at greater length elsewhere (Manzotti 2006a; 2008; 2009). Although the above is a big mouthful, it is possible to flesh out its main features.

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First, a feeling is identified with a kind of physical process whose relevant feature is that it singles out and thereby references a certain content. Thus this solves the issue of representation by means of identity. To represent something is indeed to be identical to that something (Holt 1914). The subjective experience, its meaning and the corresponding object would indeed be one and the same. Clearly this is a representational view of feelings since they derive their content from what they represent. However, this view is based neither on a semantic notion of representation nor on more traditional models. It suggests the rather surprising idea that to represent x is to be identical with x, whereas x is a process singling out both the feeling and its target at the same time. Second, it is a neutral monist view insofar as it does not assume any sharp distinction between mental and physical aspects of reality. The world and our experience of it are prima facie aspects. They do not emerge out of each other; neither do they interact in troubled ways. Rather they are incomplete ways to refer to the same unfolding of elementary processes, each singling out a moment of reality. Third, it is a process view since the elementary building block of reality is taken to be a physical process rather than an autonomous object or some individual in some more analytical sense. Fourth, it is an externalist view since there is no separation between an inward mental domain and an outward external world. The subject spreads to comprehend the external reality. Yet setting aside the subject/ object dichotomy allows us to take the internal states of the subject to be just as external as the environment. This is interesting. It shows that the notion of the external world is just as dependent on our assumptions as that of an internal world. All together, this view, outlined with outrageous brevity here, suggests that we can take a process view of the subject and its environment – the two being a unity unfolding by means of action, perception, and individual development. If this is the case, existential feelings could be those processes that single out the self as a whole. They would share the same causal and physical structure of perceptual feelings and yet they would refer to something else – namely to the subject as a whole. It could be argued that in such a framework, perceptual feelings could symmetrically be seen as existential feelings insofar as the subject is spread to comprehend the world itself. To conclude, I suggest setting aside the assumption that existential feelings are a special kind of feelings and instead building on the insight

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that existential feelings “pre-structure both affection and non-affective relations to the world, be they evaluative, cognitive or behavioral relations. They are the basis of the various stances and positions a person adopts towards events and circumstances in general and towards her own life in particular” (Slaby/Stephan 2008, 507). This is a clear description of what could be the object of an existential feeling. Existential feelings would then be perceptual states of the various stances, positions, and relations a person adopts towards its environment. This would explain why it seems phenomenologically impossible to locate a proper object. Being locatable is not an intrinsic property of an object. Rather it is a relational property. We are able to locate the content of an experience when such a content can be put in relation with a suitable network of other experience. Location is an extrinsic and relative position. Sometimes different frames of reference can conflict and produce an ambiguous result. If you get hurt in your thumb and then you put it in your mouth, could you claim that you have a pain inside your mouth? Hardly. The pain in your finger and the space in your mouth belong to two separate frames. There is no way to reconcile them. Where are our moods and emotions? Once more, they are not locatable, but this does not mean they are not objects/events/states of affairs. Rather they are not locatable since, in a strong sense, they are the subject as a whole, or a modification of the subject as a whole. Analogously, where is an existential feeling? The fact that we cannot trace it back to any macrophysical object or spatio-temporal location does not mean that its content is not somewhere. Neither does it mean that there is no content. Rather it could suggest that there is no way to locate its content inside any relational framework. A possible explanation is that an existential feeling does not concern a particular object/event/state of affairs, but represents a global change in whatever the subject is. Thus the subject cannot locate it, since it is the subject itself which is perceived.

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References Brentano, Franz (1874): Psychology From an Empirical Standpoint, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Burge, Tyler (1979): Individualism and the Mental, in: Peter A. French/Theodore E. Uehling/Howard K. Wettstein (Eds.), Midwest Studies in Philosophy IV, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 73 – 121. Byrne, Alex/Tye, Michael (2006): Qualia Ain’t in the Head, in: Nos 40, 241 – 255. Chalmers, David (1996): The Conscious Mind: In Search of a Fundamental Theory, New York: Oxford University Press. Changeux, Jean-Pierre (2004): Clarifying Consciousness, in: Nature 428, 603 – 604. Chella, Antonio/Riccardo Manzotti (2009): Machine Consciousness: A Manifesto for Robotics, in: International Journal of Machine Consciousness 1(1), 33 – 51. Clark, Andy (2008): Supersizing the Mind, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Clark, Andy/David Chalmers (1998): The Extended Mind, in: Analysis 58(1), 10 – 23. Coleman, Sam (2009): Mind under Matter, in: David Skrbina (Ed.), Mind that Abides. Panpsychism in the New Millenium, Amsterdam: John Benjamins Pub., 83 – 107. Damasio, Antony (1994): Descartes’ Error; Emotion, Reason, and the Human Brain, New York: Avon Books. Damasio, Antony (1999): The Feeling of What Happens: Body and Emotion in the Making of Consciousness, New York: Harcourt Brace. Dretske, Fred (1977): Causal Theories of Reference, in: The Journal of Philosophy 74, 621 – 625. Dretske, Fred (1995): Naturalizing the Mind, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Dretske, Fred (1996): Phenomenal Externalism or If Meanings Ain’t in the Head, Where Are Qualia?, in: Philosophical Issues 7, 143 – 158. Eccles, John (1980): The Human Psyche, New York: Springer. Edelman, Gerard (1989): The Remembered Present: A Biological Theory of Consciousness, New York: Basic Books. Fodor, Jerry (1987): Psychosemantics: The Problem of Meaning in the Philosophy of Mind, Cambridge ,Mass: MIT Press. Holt, Edwin (1914): The Concept of Consciousness, New York: MacMillan. Honderich, Ted (2004): On Consciousness, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Inwagen, Peter (1990): Material Beings, New York: Cornell University Press. Inwagen, Peter (2006): Can Mereological Sums Change Their Parts?, in: The Journal of Philosophy 8(12), 614 – 630. Koch, Christof/Tononi, Giulio (2008): Can Machines Be Conscious?, in: IEEE Spectrum. The Magazine of Technology Insiders, 47 – 51. Kosslyn, Stephen/Thompson, William L./Ganis, Giorgio (Eds.) (2006): The Case for Mental Imagery, New York: Oxford University Press.

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LeDoux, Joseph (2002): Synaptic Self: How Our Brains Become Who We Are, London: Penguin Books. Legrand, Dorothy (2006): The Bodily Self: the Sensori-Motor Roots of PreReflexive Self-Consciousness, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 5, 89 – 118. Lycan, William (2001): The Case for Phenomenal Externalism, in: James Tomberlin (Ed.), Philosophical Perspectives, vol. 15, Metaphysics, Atascadero: Ridgeview Publishing, 17 – 36. Manzotti, Riccardo (2006a): Consciousness and Existence as a Process, in: Mind and Matter 4(1), 7 – 43. Manzotti, Riccardo (2006b): A Process Oriented View of Conscious Perception, in: Journal of Consciousness Studies 13, 7 – 41. Manzotti, Riccardo (2006c): A Radical Externalist Approach to Consciousness: The Enlarged Mind, in: Alexander Batthyany/Avshalom Elitzur (Eds.), Mind and Its Place in the World. Non-Reductionist Approaches to the Ontology of Consciousness, Frankfurt: Ontos-Verlag, 197 – 224. Manzotti, Riccardo (2008): A Process-Oriented View of Qualia, in: Edmund Wright (Ed.), The Case for Qualia, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 175 – 190. Manzotti, Riccardo (2009): No Time, No Wholes: A Temporal and CausalOriented Approach to the Ontology of Wholes, in: Axiomathes, 19, 193 – 214. Menary, Richard (Ed.) (2010): The Extended Mind, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Merrick, Trenton (2001): Objects and Persons, Oxford: Oxford Clarendon Press. Putnam, Hilary (1973): Meaning and Reference, in: The Journal of Philosophy 70, 699 – 711. Putnam, Hilary (1975): Mind, Language, and Reality, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2008): Feelings of Being. Phenomenology, Psychiatry and the Sense of Reality, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rockwell, Teed (2005): Neither Ghost nor Brain, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Searle, John (1983): Intentionality. An Essay in the Philosophy of Mind, Cambridge, Mass.: Cambridge University Press. Skrbina, David (2005): Panpsychism in the West, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Skrbina, David (Ed.) (2009): Mind That Abides. Panpsychism in the New Millennium, Amsterdam: John Benjamins Pub. Slaby, Jan/Stephan, Achim (2008): Affective Intentionality and Self-Consciousness, in: Consciousness and Cognition 17, 506 – 513. Stubenberg, Leopold (1998): Consciousness and Qualia, Amsterdam: John Benjamins Pub. Tonneau, Francois (2004): Consciousness Outside the Head, in: Behavior and Philosophy 32, 97 – 123. Tononi, Giulio (2004): An Information Integration Theory of Consciousness, in: BMC Neuroscience 5, 1 – 22.

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Tononi, Giulio/Koch, Christof (2008): The Neural Correlate of Consciousness. An Update, in: Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 1124, 239 – 261. Tye, Michael (1982): A Causal Analysis of Seeing, in: Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 42, 311 – 325. Tye, Michael (1991): The Imagery Debate, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Tye, Michael (1995): A Representational Theory of Pains and their Phenomenal Character, in: Philosophical Perspectives 9, 223 – 239. Tye, Michael (2009): Representational Theories of Consciousness, in: McLaughlin, Brian et al. (Eds.): The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy of Mind, New York: Oxford University Press, 253 – 268. Varela, Francisco et al. (1991/1993): The Embodied Mind: Cognitive Science and Human Experience, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Velmans, Max (2000): Understanding Consciousness, London: Routledge. Wright, Edmund (Ed.) (2008): The Case for Qualia, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Zeki, Semir (2001): Localization and Globalization in Conscious Vision, in: Annual Review of Neuroscience, 24, 57 – 86. Zeki, Semir (2003): The Disunity of Consciousness, in: Trends in Cognitive Sciences 7, 214 – 218.

Existentielle Gefühle und Emotionen: Intentionalität und Regulierbarkeit Achim Stephan Abstract: There is wide agreement among philosophers and psychologists that emotions and emotional episodes have intentionality – they relate to objects, situations and events in the world. In contrast, existential feelings manifest a different type of affective intentionality. They are not directed towards anything specific; rather, they are background orientations through which everything we perceive, feel, think, and act upon is structured. It is one aim of this paper to introduce recent work that seeks to classify the huge variety of existential feelings. I distinguish two classes of existential feelings – elementary and non-elementary existential feelings – and, as a contrast class, I distinguish atmospheric feelings from both of these. Elementary existential feelings provide us with a sense of reality. They remain largely unnoticed under normal life circumstances, but become salient when altered in psychopathologies. For those who undergo these alterations the whole framework of experience – perceptions, feelings, agency – changes dramatically. Non-elementary existential feelings can change without involving any severe distortion from normal mental functioning. James Gross once claimed that one of life’s great challenges is successfully regulating emotions – and I would add: successfully regulating existential feelings. In following Gross, I consider five moments in the emotion-generative process where a person can influence his or her emotions, and discuss whether any of these strategies is applicable to existential feelings. The strategies comprise situation selection, situation modification, attentional deployment, cognitive change, and response modulation. It turns out that attentional deployment is the most promising strategy for regulating harmful existential feelings.

1. Einleitung Die Reaktionen vieler Menschen in Deutschland auf die tragischen Ereignisse in Japan, die mit dem Erdbeben am 11. März 2011 und dem nachfolgenden Tsunami ihren Anfang nahmen und in der Zwischenzeit zu erheblichen Freisetzungen radioaktiver Stoffe aus den Anlagen des Atomkraftwerks Fukushima-Daiichi geführt haben, veranlassten Jürgen Kaube in seinem Leitartikel „Die Wiederkehr des Verdrängten“ in der FAZ vom 17. März unter anderem zu folgender Stellungnahme:

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Es gibt kein einziges neues Argument. […] Es gibt nicht einmal entscheidend neues Wissen in der Sache. Denn die Gleichung, nach der äußerst kleine Wahrscheinlichkeiten, wenn sie mit ungeheuren Schadensgrößen multipliziert werden, zu ungeheuren Erwartungen führen, hat keinen historischen Index. Welcher Nutzen solchem Schrecken gegenübergestellt werden könnte, so dass sich beides die Waage hielte, das hat bislang noch kein Politiker oder Wissenschaftler anzugeben vermocht. Wie kommt es aber, dass der Schrecken eintreten muss, um als mçglich zu erscheinen? Wie kommt es, mit anderen Worten, dass denkenden Wesen erst die eingetretene Wirklichkeit ihre Mçglichkeit erweist? (Kaube 2011; meine Hervorhebung)

Kaube scheint ein sehr kognitiv geladenes Bild vom Menschen zu haben, wenn er sich allen Ernstes diese Fragen vorlegt. Denn es ist keineswegs so, dass erst die eingetretene Wirklichkeit nun auch in Deutschland den denkenden Wesen ihre Möglichkeit erweist. Das Schreckliche – das einem Atomkraftwerk inhärente Gefährdungspotential – war auch zuvor den meisten bekannt. Für viele Menschen war es jedoch nur eine gedankliche, eine abstrakte Möglichkeit – in ihren Konsequenzen weder erlebt noch empfunden. Durch die Katastrophe und ihre mediale Aufbereitung wurde das zuvor nur Gedachte nun jedoch sinnlich spürbar und damit auch affektiv höchst wirksam. Denn nun konnte jeder und jede Einzelne die von einem Atomkraftwerk ausgehende Gefährdung zugleich auf sich selbst beziehen und die eigene Verletzlichkeit vor diesem Hintergrund erfahren. Das ist der große Unterschied.1 Der von vielen vollzogene Wandel in der Einschätzung, von einer bloß gedachten, für beherrschbar gehaltenen Gefährdung, hin zu einer gespürten Bedrohung, die im schlimmsten Falle zur Heimatlosigkeit im eigenen Land führen könnte, wurde in einer Weise handlungswirksam, die in Deutschlands Innen- und Energiepolitik kaum einen Stein auf dem anderen lässt. Den Hintergrund dieses Veränderungsprozesses bilden Gefühle, die zutiefst die eigene Existenz betreffen und damit zugleich den Spielraum möglichen Handelns entscheidend strukturieren. – Doch nun der Reihe nach.

1

Offenbar waren die Ereignisse von Tschernobyl aus dem Jahre 1986 vielen nicht (mehr) in eindringlicher Weise präsent, oder sie wurden nicht in gleicher Weise auf die eigene Situation bezogen, da es sich um eine Katastrophe in einem Atomkraftwerk eines Ostblockstaates handelte, die auf schweres menschliches Versagen und gravierende Konstruktionsmängel zurückgeführt werden konnte.

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2. Affektive Phänomene Im Bereich der affektiven Phänomene unterscheiden wir üblicherweise zwischen Emotionen und Stimmungen, manchmal auch zwischen Emotionen und emotionalen Episoden, und darüber hinaus zwischen jenen und Charakterzgen. Während von Emotionen und emotionalen Episoden angenommen wird, dass sie auf die Welt gerichtet sind, dass sie sich auf bestimmte Situationen, Gegenstände und Ereignisse beziehen, wird dies von Stimmungen und insbesondere Charakterzügen weit weniger häufig behauptet. Über die bereits erwähnten typischen affektiven Phänomene hinaus sind uns jedoch weitere bekannt, die durch die übliche Einteilung und Terminologie nicht eingefangen werden, gleichwohl aber unsere Aufmerksamkeit verdienen. Einige dieser Phänomene haben inzwischen unter dem Titel existentielle Gefhle Eingang in eine breitere Analyse und Debatte gefunden. Ihnen gilt ein Großteil der Überlegungen in den Abschnitten 3 und 4. Emotionen – wie zum Beispiel Hass, Eifersucht, Verzweiflung, Trauer, Scham, Schuld oder auch Stolz, Liebe und Zuneigung – manifestieren sich in zahlreichen emotionalen Episoden, in denen die Person, die eifersüchtig, hasserfüllt, verzweifelt oder voller Liebe für jemanden ist, genau das durchlebt und fühlt, was diese Emotionen auszeichnet. Während sich einzelne emotionale Episoden im Sekunden- oder Minutenbereich bewegen, können spezifische Emotionen über Tage, Wochen, Monate, ja sogar Jahre persistieren. Man denke an die Trauer über den allzu frühen Tod eines Kindes, die manche Eltern bis zu ihrem eigenen Lebensende begleitet, oder, auf der anderen Seite des Spektrums, an den Stolz, den ein Bergsteiger über seine lange zurückliegende Bewältigung der EigerNordwand auch noch im hohen Alter zu empfinden vermag. Im Laufe dieser langen Zeitspannen scheinen die entsprechenden Emotionen immer wieder zwischen Vorder- und Hintergrund bewussten Erlebens zu oszillieren.2 Dagegen ist die emotionale Episode vergangen, sobald die Episode vorbei ist. Dieser Unterschied zwischen emotionalen Episoden und länger andauernden Emotionen kommt auch eindrucksvoll in einem Narrativ über eine ausgeprägte Eifersucht zum Ausdruck, das wir Peter Goldie (2000, 14) verdanken: 2

Dabei ist zwischen der bloßen Erinnerung an ein ehemals emotionales Erleben, die als solche ganz emotionslos verlaufen kann, und der erneuten und wiederholten Aktualisierung einer Emotion, um die es hier und im Folgenden gehen soll, zu unterscheiden.

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You are jealous because you think that she has run off with someone else. You cannot sleep: your heart and mind are racing all night. While you are getting dressed in the morning you cannot help imagining them together, talking and joking about you perhaps, and you are unable to keep your mind on anything else. On the way to work, you see another couple in the distance, one of whom looks just like her, and you practically faint, frozen to the spot in terror. Later in the day, you are preoccupied with work for a while, and then suddenly, like a blow to the body, you see on your desk something of hers which triggers your feelings again, and you think ‘If I’m not able to talk to her now then I don’t know what I’ll do’. The next minute your jealousy takes another turn, and you hope you never see her again; the telephone rings and the thought that it might be her fills you with dread. And these elements fit in as part of a narrative of this part of your life, which will include not just these elements but also things which you do out of jealousy and your emotional expressions of jealousy.

Die Emotion, von der Goldies Narrativ erzählt – Eifersucht – wird durch mehrere emotionale Episoden aktualisiert, in der die eifersüchtige Person ihre Eifersucht durchlebt und spürt. Dazwischen befindet sie sich vorübergehend im Hintergrund des Erlebens, bis sie durch einen geeigneten Stimulus wieder auflebt. Dieses Muster lässt sich bei vielen Emotionen, die über einen längeren Zeitraum andauern, erkennen. Während sich diese Emotionen üblicherweise in zahlreichen emotionalen Episoden manifestieren, müssen umgekehrt nicht alle emotionalen Episoden Manifestationen von länger andauernden Emotionen sein.3 Eine Episode der Überraschung oder der Verblüffung, das Gefühl von Ekel beim Anblick von Erbrochenem, das plötzliche Gefühl von großer Furcht angesichts eines sich auf der falschen Seite nähernden LKWs oder das vorübergehende Hadern mit vergebenen Chancen nach einer verlorenen Doppelkopfrunde – diese emotionalen Episoden sind in der Regel keine Manifestationen länger andauernder Emotionen. In den empirischen Wissenschaften, insbesondere in der Psychologie und in den bildgebenden Neurowissenschaften, liegen die Forschungsschwerpunkte eindeutig auf den emotionalen Episoden, die dann üblicherweise durch geeignete Stimuli (standardisiertes Bildmaterial oder 3

Es ist eine wichtige, den Rahmen dieser Untersuchung jedoch sprengende Frage, was verschiedene emotionale Episoden zu Manifestationen derselben, verschiedener oder keiner länger andauernden Emotion werden lässt. In der Regel ist es das (gleichbleibende) Objekt einer Emotion – zum Beispiel die Trauer um das verstorbene Kind, die Eifersucht auf die von einem anderen begehrte Freundin –, das verschiedene emotionale Episoden zu Manifestationen ein und derselben Emotion macht.

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kurze Narrative) evoziert werden. Dies hat dort soweit geführt, dass Emotionen mit emotionalen Episoden gleichgesetzt werden. So schreibt Klaus Scherer: In the framework of the component process model, emotion is defined as an episode of interrelated, synchronized changes in the states of all or most of the five organismic subsystems in response to the evaluation of an external or internal stimulus event as relevant to major concerns of the organism (Scherer 2005, 697; meine Hervorhebung).4

Im Unterschied dazu geht es in klinischen Kontexten in Psychiatrie und Psychotherapie meistens um länger andauernde und belastende Emotionen wie zum Beispiel übermäßige Scham und Schuld, wiederkehrende Angst, Gefühle der Verlassenheit und unbewältigte Trauer, die dann auch regelmäßig zum Gegenstand der Behandlung werden.5 Darüber hinaus sind bestimmte Persönlichkeits- oder Charakterzüge, die eine Person wiederholt zu nicht regulierten Affektausbrüchen führen, ein Gegenstand therapeutischer Zuwendung. Die Regulation unseres affektiven Lebens stellt im Falle von solch heftigen, unkontrolliert verlaufenden emotionalen Episoden ebenfalls eine andere Herausforderung dar als im Falle von länger andauernden Emotionen. Stimmungen – wie zum Beispiel angespannt oder gelöst, nervös oder glücklich, gedrückt oder euphorisch zu sein – unterscheiden sich sowohl von Emotionen als auch von emotionalen Episoden. Sie sind in gewisser Weise der „Resonanzboden“, auf dem sich die konkreteren Emotionen und emotionalen Episoden entfalten. Im Unterschied zu emotionalen Episoden dauern Stimmungen erheblich länger, sie können für Stunden, halbe Tage und bisweilen noch länger anhalten. Im Unterschied zu einigen ganze Lebensphasen überdauernden Emotionen sind sie jedoch von kürzerer Spanne. Keine Stimmung erstreckt sich über Monate oder Jahre. Emotionen und emotionale Episoden können bestimmte Stimmungen begünstigen und offenbaren; Stimmungen wiederum können 4

5

Die fünf organismischen Subsysteme realisieren Scherer zufolge entsprechend viele Komponenten – die kognitive (Appraisal), neurophysiologische (körperliche Symptome), motivationale (Handlungstendenzen), motorisch-expressive (Mimik, Gestik, Stimme) und die subjektive Gefhls-Komponente (emotionales Erleben) – einer emotionalen Episode; vgl. auch Scherer 1987, 2001. Was wir hier als länger andauernde „Emotion“ bezeichnen, subsumiert Scherer (2005, 703) zum größten Teil unter dem Begriff „Einstellung“ (attitude). Diese begriffliche Zuordnung betont jedoch sehr viel stärker den kognitiven Aspekt der entsprechenden affektiven Zustände, vor allem wenn sie als propositionale Einstellungen verstanden werden.

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bestimmten emotionalen Reaktionen besonders förderlich sein, weniger hingegen länger andauernden Emotionen. Charakterzge – wie zum Beispiel eine eifersüchtige, optimistische oder ängstliche Person zu sein – gehören als solche nicht zu den affektiven Phänomenen. Sie fühlen sich nicht auf die eine oder andere Weise an. In erster Linie disponieren sie jemanden dazu, bestimmte emotionale Episoden, Emotionen oder auch Stimmungen häufiger zu durchleben als andere.

3. Affektive Intentionalität Unter Philosophen und Psychologen besteht weitgehend Einigkeit darüber, dass Emotionen und emotionale Episoden auf Vorkommnisse in der Welt – auf Ereignisse, Situationen, Personen oder Objekte – Bezug nehmen oder auf diese gerichtet sind, mit anderen Worten: dass sie Intentionalitt haben (vgl. zum Beispiel Frijda 1994, de Sousa 2010 und Perler 2011). Uneinigkeit besteht freilich im Hinblick auf die Frage, wie diese allen Emotionen zukommende Eigenschaft erklärt werden kann.6 Für längere Zeit bestimmte die sogenannte Überzeugungs-WunschTheorie (belief-desire account) die Debatte, derzufolge die Intentionalität von Emotionen durch zwei Annahmen erklärt werden kann: Danach werden erstens Überzeugungen und Wünsche als wesentliche Bestandteile einer Emotion betrachtet und zweitens die Intentionalität von Emotionen auf die Intentionalität von Überzeugungen und Wünschen zurückgeführt (oder mit dieser gleichgesetzt). Zu den Kosten dieser Strategie gehört freilich, dass die Überzeugungs-Wunsch-Theorie den unbestrittenen Erlebnischarakter von Emotionen nicht zu erfassen vermag. Zur Rekonstruktion dieses phänomenologisch wesentlichen Merkmals einer Emotion ergänzen die Vertreter dieser Theorie Überzeugungen und Wünsche in der Regel um eine nicht-intentionale Komponente – den Gefühlsaspekt. Dieser von Peter Goldie als „add-onview of emotions“ bezeichnete Erklärungsansatz hat in der jüngeren Vergangenheit allerdings mehr und mehr Kritik erfahren. Neben Goldie selbst (2000, Kap. 2 und 3) haben u. a. Bennett Helm (2001, Kap. 2), sowie Jan Slaby und Achim Stephan (2008) unterstrichen, dass sich die 6

Falls nicht anders spezifiziert, verwende ich von hier an den Ausdruck „Emotion“ als Kurzform zur Bezeichnung sowohl von emotionalen Episoden als auch länger andauernden Emotionen.

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Intentionalität von Emotionen vor allem in ihrem Einfluss auf menschliches Handeln deutlich von der Intentionalität gewöhnlicher propositionaler Einstellungen (wie zum Beispiel Urteile, Überzeugungen, Wünsche oder Wahrnehmungen) unterscheidet. So betont beispielsweise Goldie: „Acting out of emotion is not acting without emotion (explained by feelingless beliefs and desires) plus some added-on ingredient or ingredients. Rather, when an action is done out of an emotion, the whole action, and the whole experience of the action, is fundamentally differ ent“ (2000, 40). Die durch Emotionen vermittelte Bezogenheit auf die Welt unterscheidet sich damit in bedeutender Weise von allen anderen Formen der Intentionalität. Es ist eine Eigenschaft sui generis, die es verdient, auch begrifflich hervorgehoben zu werden; wir bezeichnen sie als affektive Intentionalität.7 Einige Beispiele mögen diese Art der Intentionalität illustrieren: Während nicht-emotionale Erkenntnisprozesse lediglich neutrale Informationen über die Außenwelt liefern, erschließen Emotionen nicht nur Aspekte der Welt, sondern zugleich immer auch die konkrete subjektive Situation des Fühlenden.8 Wer sich vor einer Gefahr fürchtet, was eine Form des Weltbezugs ist, fühlt sich zugleich gefährdet, also in einer spezifischen Hinsicht verletzlich oder angreifbar – eine Form des Selbstbezugs. Darüber hinaus verweist die Furcht darauf, dass eigene zentrale Anliegen und Bedürfnisse nicht erfüllt werden, nämlich die nach Sicherheit und körperlicher Integrität. Wer hingegen über einen unwiederbringlichen Verlust trauert (Weltbezug), fühlt sich zugleich ärmer zurückgelassen und beraubt (Selbstbezug). Im Stolz betrachten wir etwas – sei es eine besondere Leistung oder ein Besitz –, das wir uns selbst (oder einer uns nahestehenden Person) zurechnen, als besonders positiv und fühlen uns zugleich gehoben, die eigene Wertschätzung und Anerkennung vermehrt. Jedes emotionale Fühlen ist ein solches Sich-angesichtsvon-etwas-Fühlen, wobei die beiden Pole (Sich-Fühlen und Angesichtsvon-etwas-Fühlen) unentwirrbar aufeinander bezogen sind. Diese Wechselseitigkeit von Selbstbezug und Weltbezug in emotionalen 7 8

Einen Überblick über die gegenwärtige Debatte zu diesem Thema geben Slaby et al. 2011. Zu den „Aspekten der Welt“ können freilich auch Gedanken und Handlungen des affektiv involvierten Subjektes selbst gehören: So kann man über eigene Wünsche erschrocken sein, sich wegen begangener Verfehlungen schämen und sich vor eigenen aggressiven Impulsen fürchten. Dennoch bleibt auch hier die Doppelstruktur der emotionalen Bezogenheit erhalten: sich-angesichts-von-etwas-fühlen.

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Prozessen, die zugleich vor dem Hintergrund kultureller Prägungen zu denken ist, macht wesentlich die Bedeutung von Emotionen als spezifisch subjektive Bewertungen der Welt aus: Durch Emotionen erfolgt eine sprbare Einschätzung der Welt gerade hinsichtlich derjenigen Dimensionen, die für die fühlende Person eine spezifische Bedeutung haben – die eingangs erwähnten Veränderungen in den Einstellungen, die durch die katastrophalen Ereignisse in Japan bei vielen Menschen ausgelöst wurden, sind ein beredtes Beispiel hierfür. Die von Goldie allein aus der Teilnehmerperspektive entwickelten Überlegungen können durch neurowissenschaftliche Befunde eine gewisse Plausibilisierung erfahren. In seinem Buch Das Netz der Gefhle. Wie Emotionen entstehen (2001) hat Joseph LeDoux ausführlich seine Forschungen zum Furchtsystem der Ratte dargestellt und von diesem ausgehend einige allgemeine Gedanken zur emotionalen Verarbeitung, auch beim Menschen, angestellt. Zusammenfassend lässt sich sagen, dass sich dabei die Amygdala als ein zentrales Areal in Bezug auf das Furchtverhalten erwiesen hat. Auf einer „schnellen Bahn“ gelangen innerhalb von nur etwa zwölf Millisekunden Inputs aus den sensorischspezifischen Regionen des Thalamus zu ihr (dies ist die sogenannte „quick and dirty route“). Etwa doppelt so lange dauert es, bis vom sensorischspezifischen Kortex präzisere sensorische Informationen zu ihr gelangen können. Darüber hinaus erhält die Amygdala durch die Hippocampusformation vom Sensorischen unabhängige Informationen über die allgemeine Situation, in der sich das Lebewesen befindet. LeDoux zufolge ist die Amygdala durch diese Verbindungen in der Lage, die emotionale Bedeutung sowohl einzelner Reize als auch komplexer Situationen zu verarbeiten. Insofern sei es die Amygdala, die die emotionale Bedeutung eines Geschehens bewerte: „wenn auslösende Reize etwas auslösen, dann hier“ (LeDoux 2001, 181). Untersuchungen der Projektionsbahnen lassen ferner vermuten, dass die Amygdala offenbar einen weitaus größeren Einfluss auf den Kortex hat als der Kortex auf die Amygdala, so dass emotionale Erregung die üblicherweise als kognitiv angesehenen Prozesse wie Wahrnehmen, Erinnern, Denken oder Handlungsplanung stark beeinflussen kann, während es kaum gelingt, eine emotionale Regung per bewusst gefassten Beschluss zum Verschwinden zu bringen (vgl. ebd., 325). Der direkte Einfluss der Amygdala auf kortikale Strukturen ist besonders dann von Bedeutung, wenn es darum geht, die Aufmerksamkeit auf emotional relevante Reize zu lenken. Außerdem hat die Amygdala zahlreiche Verbindungen zu Arealen des Langzeitgedächtnisses und trägt durch deren Aktivierung dazu bei, aktuelle Reize mit Ge-

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dächtnisspuren von früheren emotional signifikanten Interaktionen zu verbinden. Insofern lässt sich sagen, dass eine unter dem Einfluss der durch die Amygdala ausgelösten kortikalen Erregung entstehende Überzeugung stets anders mit weiteren mentalen Vorgängen vernetzt ist als eine emotionslose Überzeugung ähnlichen Inhalts. Letztere verfügt nicht über die gleichen inhaltlichen Verbindungen (sei es zu Erinnerungen an ähnliche Situationen oder zu erprobten Interaktionsformen). Insofern könnten diese Befunde Goldies These, dass sich (insbesondere für den Fall von Furcht) emotionsgeladene Überzeugungen nicht auf emotionslose Überzeugungen plus eines Gefühlsanteils reduzieren lassen, weitere Plausibilität verleihen.9

4. Existentielle Gefühle Existentielle Gefühle standen bis vor kurzem nicht im Fokus der Emotionsforschung oder der Affective Science. Es ist vor allem Matthew Ratcliffes Verdienst, deutlich gemacht zu haben, welch zentrale, wenngleich häufig auch verdeckte Rolle existentielle Gefühle in unserem Erleben spielen, wie sie sich in Psychopathologien verändern und was dies für die Patienten bedeutet (vgl. 2005 und 2008). Im Unterschied zu Emotionen und emotionalen Episoden sind existentielle Gefühle nicht auf spezifische Vorkommnisse in der Welt gerichtet, sondern – in einer sehr viel allgemeineren Form affektiver Intentionalität – auf die Welt als Ganzes. Sie konstituieren, um Ratcliffes Worte zu gebrauchen, „how we find ourselves in the world“ (2008, 36). Insofern strukturieren sie als Hintergrundorientierungen unsere spezifischeren Interaktionen mit der Welt: wie und was wir wahrnehmen, erleben, fühlen, denken oder planen. Von Ratcliffe selbst stammt die folgende Auflistung, die einen guten Eindruck von der Bandbreite existentieller Gefühle vermittelt: The world as a whole can sometimes appear unfamiliar, unreal, distant or close. It can be something that one feels apart from or at one with. One can feel in control of one’s overall situation or overwhelmed by it. One 9

Eine Verallgemeinerung der zunächst am Furchtverhalten der Ratte gewonnenen Ergebnisse auf andere Emotionen steht allerdings noch auf eher wackligen Beinen. Dazu bedürfte es einer Vielzahl von weiteren Studien, die zeigen, mit welchen kortikalen Arealen diejenigen neuronalen Strukturen vernetzt sind, die bei spezifischen Emotionen aktiviert werden. Eine ausführliche kritische Rekonstruktion von LeDoux’s Überlegungen, insbesondere im Hinblick auf deren Übertragbarkeit auf andere Emotionen, bietet Stephan 2009.

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can feel like a participant in the world or like a detached, estranged observer staring at objects that do not feel quite ‘there’. Such relationships structure all experience (Ratcliffe 2008, 37).

In den folgenden Abschnitten unterbreite ich einen Vorschlag zur Strukturierung der schier überwältigenden Vielfalt existentieller Gefühle: Danach sind elementare von nicht-elementaren existentiellen Gefühle zu unterscheiden und beide wiederum von atmosphrischen Gefühlen als einer wichtigen Kontrastklasse.10 Darüber hinaus sind für existentielle Gefühle drei Relata von besonderer Bedeutung: die Welt als Ganzes, die Anderen und die eigene Person.11 Elementare existentielle Gefühle bleiben unter normalen Umständen weitgehend unbeachtet. Sie befinden sich im Hintergrund unseres affektiven Lebens und verleihen unseren Handlungen, unseren Interaktionspartnern, der Welt, in der wir agieren, und uns selbst das im Normalfall selbstverständliche Gefühl von Realität. Solche Gefühle können sich jedoch verändern. Sie ändern sich in besonderer Weise in verschiedenen Psychopathologien, in denen das übliche Realitätsgefühl verloren geht: So werden zum Beispiel in der Capgras-Störung gerade diejenigen Personen, denen man am nächsten steht, als unecht und durch Doppelgänger ersetzt erlebt – die gewohnten Gefühle der Vertrautheit stellen sich nicht mehr ein. In der Cotard-Störung und auch in der Depersonalisations-Störung wird hingegen die eigene Person nicht mehr in der vormals vertrauten Weise als real empfunden: Patienten erleben sich als affektlos, es fehlt ihnen die normale Perspektive auf die Welt, im schlimmsten Fall erscheint es ihnen, als wären sie bereits tot. In Schizophrenien und in der Derealisations-Störung ist dagegen der Bezug zur Wirklichkeit, die Realität der Welt als Ganzes, zutiefst erschüttert. In schweren Depressionen verflüchtigt sich das Gefühl, einen unmittelbaren Zugriff auf die Geschehnisse in der Welt zu haben; auch das Gefühl, selbst ein Akteur in einer Welt voller Möglichkeiten zu sein, kann nahezu vollständig verloren gehen. Für diejenigen, die diesen Veränderungen ausgesetzt sind, verschiebt sich der gesamte Rahmen des Erlebens in 10 Ben Anderson (2009) befasst sich eingehend mit atmosphärischen Gefühlen und affektiven Atmosphären. 11 Ein erster Versuch, existentielle Gefühle zu kategorisieren stammt von Slaby und Stephan (2008); hier orientiere ich mich vor allem an den Modifizierungen, die Stephan und Slaby (2011) vorschlagen. Paskaleva bietet eine Übersicht über typische Änderungen existentieller Gefühle, wie sie häufig im Verlauf einer schweren Depression auftreten (2011).

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dramatischer Weise – Innen- und Außenwelt, die Gefühle und die eigenen Handlungsoptionen erscheinen in einem anderen, meist irrealen Licht.12 Die nicht-elementaren existentiellen Gefühle können sich hingegen verändern, ohne dass damit schwerwiegende Störungen der psychischen Befindlichkeit einhergehen. Aber auch sie strukturieren im Hintergrund den Raum unserer Handlungsmöglichkeiten. Sie umfassen Gefühle, die beispielsweise die eigene Vitalität betreffen (sich gesund und stark versus erschöpft oder schwach zu fühlen), den eigenen Status im Hinblick auf andere Personen des sozialen Umfelds offenbaren (sich willkommen, respektiert und vertraut versus abgelehnt, gering geschätzt oder zurückgewiesen zu fühlen) oder die Beziehung zur Welt im Allgemeinen thematisieren (sich an seinem Platz, in der Mitte des Geschehens versus nicht dazu gehörig, abgeschnitten, wie ein Fremder oder nicht als Teil dieser Welt zu fühlen). Die meisten dieser Gefühle können in den gleichen Zeitfenstern auftreten, in denen sich elementare existentielle Gefühle aus dem normalen Bereich bewegt haben. Generell können alle Hintergrundgefühle auch in verschiedenen komplexen Mischungsverhältnissen auftreten. Im Unterschied zu sowohl den elementaren als auch den nicht-elementaren existentiellen Gefühlen beziehen sich atmosphärische Gefühle auf bestimmte Situationen und Ereignisse und sind dadurch in der Aufmerksamkeit etwas präsenter als die existentiellen Gefühle. Auch sie strukturieren unsere Interaktionen mit anderen Menschen und der Welt – häufig jedoch nur auf die Situationen bezogen, von denen sie ausgelöst werden. Ebenso wie existentielle Gefühle umfassen atmosphärische Gefühle solche, die die eigene Person betreffen (zum Beispiel das Gefühl, alle Augen auf sich zu ziehen), solche, die Beziehungsmöglichkeiten zu anderen Menschen offenbaren (wie das Spüren der eisigen Atmosphäre, die sich in einem Bewerbungsgespräch ausbreitet), und Gefühle, die sich allgemein auf die Welt beziehen (wie die Ehrfurcht gebietende Atmosphäre, die von einer alten Kathedrale ausgehen mag, oder das Gefühl von Großartigkeit, das sich einstellt, wenn wir in einer sternenklaren Nacht in den Himmel über den Anden blicken).

12 Eine ausführliche Darstellung veränderter existentieller Gefühle bei psychischen Störungen, u. a. in Schizophrenie, Capgras-, Cotard- und DepersonalisationsStörungen, bietet Ratcliffe 2008, Teil II; man vgl. auch McLaughlin 2011 zu Capgras- und Cotard-Störungen.

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Für jeden dieser drei Typen haben wir drei Relata der Hintergrundgefühle in den Blick genommen: die Welt als Ganzes, soziale Konstellationen und die eigene Person. Um ein besseres Verständnis der zentralen Dimensionen existentieller Gefühle zu erhalten, ist es sinnvoll, diese charakteristischen Foci voneinander zu unterscheiden, auch wenn sie aus einer phänomenologischen Perspektive als unentwirrbar miteinander verschränkt erscheinen mögen.13 Es sind diejenigen Relata, die durch existentielle Gefühle in besonderer Weise tangiert werden. Zumindest in Psychopathologien betreffen einige Störungen, wie wir sahen, vorzugsweise einzelne Aspekte elementarer existentieller Gefühle, und dies gilt auch dann, wenn die weiteren Auswirkungen der Erkrankung auch die übrigen zentralen Relata unserer Lebensvollzüge einbeziehen. Analoge Überlegungen lassen sich auch für die nicht-elementaren existentiellen und die atmosphärischen Gefühle anstellen. Die folgende Tabelle (vgl. Abb. 1) fasst die bisher getroffenen Unterscheidungen zwischen atmosphärischen sowie elementaren und nicht-elementaren existentiellen Gefühlen unter Berücksichtigung ihrer drei zentralen Relata zusammen. Existentielle Hintergrundgefühle sind enorm wichtige Faktoren für unsere affektive Dynamik. Sie beeinflussen in subtiler Weise, wie wir uns in spezifischen Situationen und Ereignissen fühlen und in diesen handeln. Üblicherweise sind diese Gefühle eher im Hintergrund unseres Erlebens und nicht auf spezifische Vorkommnisse in unserem Leben bezogen; sie bereiten jedoch den allgemeinen affektiven Boden, auf dem sich alle stärker fokussierten emotionalen Einstellungen entfalten. Andererseits können spezifische affektive Interaktionen und Erfahrungen unsere Hintergrundaffektivität ihrerseits wiederum nachhaltig beeinflussen.

5. Zur Regulation von Emotionen und existentiellen Gefühlen James Gross erklärte einmal, dass es eine der großen Herausforderungen des Lebens sei, die eigenen Emotionen erfolgreich zu regulieren (2002, 281); wir könnten hinzufügen: und ebenso die existentiellen Gefühle, denn diese strukturieren im Hintergrund viele, wenn nicht alle, unserer 13 So kommentiert Ratcliffe eine Liste, die er mit Google generierte, als er „the feeling of being“ eingab: „some of these seem to be ways of experiencing the self, the world, and also the self-world relation, the three aspects being inextricable“ (2008, 37; meine Hervorhebung).

atmosphärische Gefühle

in einer spezifischen Situation in einer spezifischen Situation sich beobachtet oder angestarrt die Arroganz und fühlen Geringschätzung der Zuhörer spüren und sich abgelehnt und minderwertig fühlen

sich willkommen, dazugehörig, gebraucht oder wichtig fühlen sich abgelehnt, nutzlos, überflüssig, isoliert fühlen

nicht-elementare existenzielle sich gesund, frisch, stark oder Hintergrundgefühle krank, müde, schwach fühlen „Urvertrauen“ haben und existenzielle Sicherheit spüren tiefe Unsicherheit, nicht ganz fassbare Bedrohung und Verletzlichkeit spüren

die soziale Umgebung die Wirklichkeit anderer Personen als reale Interaktionspartner spüren an der Realität nahestehender Menschen zweifeln (Verlust des Gefühls der Vertrautheit), sie als identisch aussehende Doppelgänger erleben

die eigene Person

sich lebendig (tot, nicht real) fühlen sich (nicht) als körperliches (Anhaltende Störungen oder Wesen fühlen Abweichungen der sich in seinen Handlungen „normalen“ basalen (nicht) als Akteur fühlen existenziellen Gefühle sind sich (nicht) als Zentrum der in der Regel eigenen psychopathologischer Wahrnehmungsprozesse fühlen Natur.)

elementare existenzielle Hintergrundgefühle

primärer Bezug

Abb. 1

in einer spezifischen Situation die Großartigkeit des Universums spüren und sich mit der ganzen Welt verbunden fühlen

sich heimisch, an seinem Platz, als sinnvoller Teil eines größeren Ganzen, als Teilnehmer am Geschehen fühlen sich fremd, nicht zu Hause, als kleines Rädchen einer unpersönlichen Maschinerie fühlen

die Welt als real erleben die Welt wie hinter einer Glasscheibe erleben das Gefühl, keinen Zugriff auf den Lauf der Dinge zu haben

die Welt insgesamt

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Interaktionen mit anderen Menschen und der Welt. Für manch einen ist es schon eine schwierige Aufgabe, dysfunktionale Emotionen zu regulieren, aber die Herausforderung ist noch weitaus größer, wenn es um belastende existentielle Gefühle geht. Die Widerspenstigkeit existentieller Gefühle gegenüber den üblichen Regulationsstrategien hängt sowohl mit ihrem Hintergrundcharakter als auch mit ihrer unspezifischen Intentionalität zusammen, was insbesondere bedeutet, dass sie sich weder auf bestimmte Situationen und Ereignisse beziehen noch durch deren Arrangement gezielt und unmittelbar beeinflusst werden können. Doch betrachten wir zunächst einige Möglichkeiten, Emotionen zu regulieren. Gross zufolge bezieht sich die Regulation von Emotionen auf diejenigen Prozesse, durch die wir beeinflussen, welche Emotionen wir haben, wann wir sie haben und wie wir sie erleben und ausdrücken (2002, 281 f.). Er unterscheidet fünf verschiedene Stadien innerhalb eines emotionsbildenden Prozesses, in denen jemand die eigenen Emotionen beeinflussen kann; vier davon sind antezedensorientiert (antecedent-focused), die fünfte Variante ist reaktionsorientiert (response-focused). In zeitlicher Reihenfolge umfassen die den ersten vier Stadien entsprechenden Strategien die Situationsauswahl (situation selection), die Situationsmodifikation (situation modification), die Aufmerksamkeitsausrichtung (attentional deployment) und den kognitiven Wandel (cognitive change), die fünfte Strategie widmet sich der Reaktionsmodulation (response modulation). Gross selbst konzentriert sich vor allem auf die Unterschiede zwischen den letzten beiden Strategien: kognitiver Wandel durch Reappraisal versus Reaktionsmodulation durch Unterdrckung (suppression). Reappraisal-Prozesse führen häufig zu einer Veränderung der persönlichen Bedeutung, die ein bestimmtes Ereignis für jemanden hat, und können dadurch die gesamte emotionale Reaktion verändern (inklusive der behavioralen, physiologischen und phänomenalen Komponenten). Hingegen zielt die Unterdrückung hauptsächlich auf eine Verringerung des Ausdrucksverhaltens. In der Regel werden damit weder die physiologischen Reaktionen noch der phänomenale Erlebnischarakter der Emotion positiv beeinflusst, die beide darüber hinaus der direkten willentlichen Kontrolle weitgehend entzogen sind. Daher ist die Strategie der Ausdrucksunterdrückung nicht die erste Wahl, es sei denn, Reappraisals sind aus anderen Gründen unmöglich (nähere Einzelheiten bietet Gross 2002, 289). Sie ist aber auch keine Option zur Regulation existentieller Gefühle: Da existentielle Gefühle kein charakteristisches Ausdrucksverhalten involvieren, gibt es in ihrem Falle nichts, das unterdrückt werden könnte: Es gibt einfach keine typischen körperlichen Aus-

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drucksformen für Zustände wie zum Beispiel sich unvertraut, ausgeschlossen, fremd oder unwirklich zu fühlen. Ebenso wenig kann der gegebenenfalls belastende Erlebnischarakter existentieller Gefühle unterdrückt werden: Es steht nicht in unserer Macht zu beschließen, solche Gefühle nicht zu haben. Aus diesen Gründen wende ich mich im Folgenden nur noch den ersten vier Varianten – den antezedensorientierten Regulationsstrategien – zu, um auszuloten, was sich sinnvollerweise von der Emotionsregulation auf die Regulation existentieller Gefühle übertragen lässt. Sowohl Situationsauswahl als auch Situationsmodifikation beeinflussen den Beginn einer emotionalen Episode. So macht es einen Unterschied, ob man sich dazu entschließt, am Vorabend einer wichtigen Klausur lieber einen guten Freund als die anderen (ebenfalls aufgeregten) Mitglieder der Arbeitsgruppe zu treffen, und ebenso macht es für den weiteren Verlauf der emotionalen Befindlichkeiten einen Unterschied, ob man mit dem Freund über die nächste Reise, den letzten Film oder das bevorstehende Examen spricht.14 Da existentielle Gefühle keine Reaktionen auf bestimmte Situationen sind, sondern viel eher die Art und Weise, wie wir bestimmte Situationen erleben, im Hintergrund strukturieren, scheint es nicht ratsam, diese selbst durch Strategien der Situationsauswahl oder Situationsmodifikation modulieren zu wollen. Um belastende existentielle Gefühle, wie sie zum Beispiel in einer schweren Depression auftreten können, positiv zu verändern, wird es nicht ausreichen, die eine oder andere Situation geschickt auszuwählen. Vielmehr dürfte es nötig sein, die gesamte Lebenssituation (zumeist durch Mithilfe geschulten Personals) anders zu gestalten. Als dritte Strategie kann die Aufmerksamkeitsausrichtung aktiv genutzt werden, um die eigene Aufmerksamkeit auf besondere Aspekte einer Situation zu lenken: zum Beispiel, um sich von einem unangenehmen Thema abzulenken oder auf ein wichtiges genauer zu konzentrieren. Auch wenn diese Strategie für Gross selbst von geringerem Interesse ist, werde ich auf sie noch zurückkommen, denn gerade die Neuausrichtung der Aufmerksamkeit könnte ein Schlüssel für die Regulation auch existentieller Gefühle sein. 14 Solche Strategien zur Emotionsregulation sind nur begrenzt in Situationen anwendbar, aus denen es kaum ein Entrinnen gibt – wie einen durch nachhaltige Signalstörungen bedingten, insgesamt über dreistündigen Halt eines Zuges in der Mitte von Nirgendwo, der schließlich dazu führt, den vorgesehenen Rückflug aus England zu verpassen. Bestenfalls kann man im Speisewagen mit anderen Fahrgästen Anekdoten über unvergessliche Erlebnisse bei der Fortbewegung auf Schienen austauschen.

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Für Gross ist dagegen der kognitive Wandel durch Reappraisal die wichtigste Strategie zur Regulation von Emotionen. Dieser bezieht sich auf die Bedeutung der Situationsaspekte, die unsere Aufmerksamkeit erhalten haben. Von dieser (persönlichen) Bedeutung hängt ab, welche behavioralen, physiologischen und phänomenalen Reaktionstendenzen in dieser spezifischen Situation generiert werden (vgl. Gross 2002, 283). Insofern macht es einen großen Unterschied, ob jemand die Mathematikklausur als eine Bewertung seiner Persönlichkeit betrachtet oder lediglich als einen ziemlich belanglosen äußerlichen Test. Berücksichtigt man den doppelten Bezug einer emotionalen Episode auf Ereignisse in der Welt und auf das fühlende Subjekt, so ergibt sich, dass der kognitive Wandel durch Reappraisal zwei verschiedene Ansatzpunkte haben kann: die eigene Person oder die äußeren Geschehnisse. Dabei stehen im Prinzip zwei Formen des weltbezogenen Reappraisals zur Verfügung: Man kann eine gegebene Situation wirklichkeitsfremd interpretieren und sich einreden, sie sei anders als sie ist (reappraisal by pretending), oder die Vorkommnisse durchaus realitätskonform, aber mit einer neuen emotionalen Bedeutung belegen (das ist diese Strategie, die Gross vor allem im Blick hat). Im Falle des selbstbezogenen Reappraisals gibt es sogar drei Varianten: Die (persönliche) Bedeutung der Situation kann nivelliert werden, zum Beispiel, indem man sich in die Rolle eines distanzierten, unbeteiligten Beobachters begibt (sogenanntes detachment); den Geschehnissen kann aber auch eine neue (persönliche) Bedeutung gegeben werden, zum Bespiel, indem man einen Verlust als Chance der Reifung begreift; oder die Einschätzung der eigenen Möglichkeiten der Bewältigung kann revidiert werden, zum Beispiel, indem man die eigenen Kompetenzen stärker wahrnimmt, die zur Meisterung einer schwierigen Herausforderung zur Verfügung stehen.15 Allerdings scheint keine dieser Reappraisal-Strategien im Falle von existentiellen Gefühlen zu greifen. Denn dies würde voraussetzen, dass eine Neubewertung (der Situation) das Gefühlsleben nachhaltig beeinflussen kann. Diejenigen, die unter belastenden existentiellen Gefühlen leiden, wissen jedoch in der Regel, dass das, was sie empfinden, nicht der 15 Die subtilen Unterscheidungen im Hinblick auf Reappraisal-Prozesse wurden im Rahmen des neurophilosophischen animal emotionale-Projektes erarbeitet (vgl. http://www.animal-emotionale.de/en/animalemotionale). Neuere Studien zeigen, dass selbstbezogenes Reappraisal durch Detachment-Strategien zu einem Rebound in denjenigen neuronalen Strukturen führen kann, die in die Verarbeitung der emotionalen Stimuli involviert sind (Walter et al. 2009).

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Wirklichkeit entspricht: So wissen Patienten, die unter einer Depersonalisations-Störung leiden, dass sie nach wie vor diejenige Person sind, die in ihrer Geburtsurkunde ausgewiesen ist, auch wenn sie sich fremd, unwirklich und leblos fühlen – wie ein Automat, der keine tieferen Gefühle kennt (für nähere Beschreibungen vgl. Sierra 2009, Kap. 2). Analoges gilt für Patienten mit schweren Depressionen oder Derealisations-Störungen. Was diese Menschen unter anderem vermissen, ist ihre frühere normale Befindlichkeit, in der sie emotionale Höhen und Tiefen empfanden und sich als Zentrum ihrer Tätigkeiten erlebten, als reale Akteure in einer realen Welt (und nicht etwa als gefühlslose Marionetten in einer Theateraufführung oder Figuren eines Films, dessen Regisseur keiner kennt). Aber weder die Überzeugung, dass es sich de facto anders verhält, noch der starke Wunsch, dass der alte Realitätssinn zurückkehren möge, können die veränderte existentielle Gefühlslage beeinflussen. Diese bleibt trotz besseren Wissens stabil und erscheint damit „verkapselt“ im Hinblick auf kognitive Zugriffe. Insgesamt ist damit festzuhalten, dass kognitive Reappraisal-Strategien in den Situationen erfolglos bleiben, in denen gegenläufige Überlegungen und Einsichten bereits parallel zu belastenden existentiellen Gefühlen bestehen, diese aber nicht modifizieren können.16 Eine Strategie, die auch im Hinblick auf existentielle Gefühle vielversprechend erscheint, ist die von Gross nicht weiter diskutierte Aufmerksamkeitsausrichtung. Diese setzt noch vor den Reappraisal-Prozessen ein und lenkt die Aufmerksamkeit auf solche Aspekte einer Situation, die für eine Neubewertung der Gesamtlage und in deren Folge auch für eine Modifikation der Gefühlslage relevant sein können. Als Beispiel mag eine Person dienen, die den meisten Lesern bekannt vorkommen dürfte: Vor längerer Zeit hatte sie die Teilnahme an einer Tagung zugesagt und sich bereit erklärt, einen Vortrag zu halten. Nun ist sie – viel zu spät – endlich mit der Ausarbeitung befasst und spürt, dass die Zeit nicht mehr reichen wird, die Inhalte den eigenen Ansprüchen gemäß zu präsentieren, Unzufriedenheit schleicht sich ein, die Arbeit gerät ins Stocken, andere Aufgaben überlagern die Vorbereitung, kurz: ihre gesamte Gefühlslage ist gekennzeichnet von Anspannung, Gefühlen der 16 Es gibt dennoch einige Versuche, Depersonalisations-Störungen durch CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) positiv zu beeinflussen. Vgl. dazu Hinweise in Sierra 2009, 128 – 130 oder Simeon und Abugel 2006, 175 – 178. Diese scheinen jedoch hauptsächlich zu helfen, nicht noch weitere Begleitsymptome zu entwickeln, verändern jedoch nicht die belastenden existentiellen Gefühle.

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Erschöpfung und des Ungenügens.17 Eine Neufokussierung der Aufmerksamkeit kann diese Gemengelage mitunter nachhaltig verändern: Kommt erst einmal in den Blick, dass die Tagung die Chance bietet, geschätzte Kolleginnen und Kollegen und alte Freunde wieder zu treffen, von deren neuesten Projekten und Überlegungen zu erfahren, und dass das großzügig bemessene Programm darüber hinaus eine eher entspannte Diskussionsatmosphäre erwarten lässt, so kann freudige Erwartung und die Gewissheit, dass auch der eigene Vortrag den anderen noch etwas bieten wird, an die Stelle der Anspannung und gefühlten Erschöpfung treten und zu einem insgesamt positiven Blick auf die bis dahin noch zu leistende Arbeit führen. Dieses Beispiel bezieht sich allerdings auf nichtelementare existentielle Gefühle. Es dürfte eher unwahrscheinlich sein, eine bewusste Neufokussierung der Aufmerksamkeit in analoger Form bei sehr belastenden elementaren existentiellen Gefühlen herbeizuführen, die sich über einen langen Zeitraum manifestiert haben. Allerdings könnte bei belastenden elementaren existentiellen Gefühlen eine spezifische Strategie der Neufokussierung der Aufmerksamkeit hilfreich sein, die sich in einem etwas anderen Kontext der therapeutischen Praxis, nämlich bei der Regulation sehr aggressiven Verhaltens, bereits bewährt hat – die Technik der gewaltfreien Kommunikation (vgl. Rosenberg 2010). Eines der Kernprinzipien dieser Methode ist es, beim Erleben starker negativer Emotionen die Aufmerksamkeit auf diejenigen Bedürfnisse und Anliegen zu richten, die in der gegenwärtigen Situation am wenigsten erfüllt (oder am meisten frustriert) werden. Ist man in der Lage, sich dieser Bedürfnisse bewusst zu werden, so kann es in einem zweiten Schritt auch gelingen, dies den anderen an der Situation beteiligten Personen offen mitzuteilen. Häufig ändern sich Zorn, Entrüstung und Ärger bereits in diesem und durch diesen Akt der Bewusstmachung, den die Aufmerksamkeitsumlenkung vom ursprünglichen (weltbezogenen) Ziel der Emotion – dem als boshaft, verachtend, geringschätzig oder gar misshandelnd wahrgenommenen Anderen – hin zu den tiefsten unerfüllten Bedürfnissen ermöglicht, die der eigenen emotionalen Reaktion zugrunde liegen dürften (wie das Bedürfnis nach Respekt, Anerkennung und Unversehrtheit). Der damit einhergehende Selbstbezug verharrt jedoch nicht bei dem eher oberflächlichen Pendant des anfänglichen Gefühls (sich ärgerlich und zornig fühlen), sondern geht den dahinter liegenden unerfüllten Bedürfnissen auf den Grund. 17 Diejenigen, denen diese Gefühlslage völlig unvertraut ist, mögen sich in Perlmanns Schweigen vertiefen (Pascal Mercier 1995).

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Analoge Neuausrichtungen der Aufmerksamkeit könnten auch im Falle belastender existentieller Gefühle hilfreich sein. Wenn es gelingt, Patienten anzuleiten, ihre Aufmerksamkeit von ihren aus der Bahn geratenen existentiellen Gefühlen – wie sich nicht mehr als reale Person in einer realen Welt zu erleben oder von allen Geschehnissen getrennt, abgeschnitten und ohne direkten Zugriff auf die Welt zu sein – auf diejenigen Bedürfnisse und Anliegen zu lenken, die gegenwärtig und in der jüngeren Vergangenheit am wenigsten erfüllt werden konnten, so mag es gelingen, auf diese Weise zunächst mit zentralen eigenen Gefühlen überhaupt wieder in Kontakt zu kommen und damit auch sich selbst wieder mehr zu spüren. Im Anschluss daran dürften sich vermutlich auch die existentiellen Gefühle selbst verändern. Die Fallberichte von Simeon und Abugel (2006) enthalten Hinweise darauf, dass beispielsweise viele Depersonalisations-Patienten kaum Empathie durch ihre engsten Bezugspersonen erhielten, ihr Bedürfnis nach Verständnis und Anteilnahme vermutlich über Jahre hinweg nicht erfüllt wurde. Die vorgeschlagene Form der Vergegenwärtigung unerfüllter Bedürfnisse steht Patienten in akuten Phasen einer schweren Depression (oder in psychotischen Zuständen) jedoch kaum zur Verfügung. Die Öffnung für eine fühlende Bezugnahme auf sich selbst müsste in diesen Fällen erst vorbereitet werden, unter anderem durch eine nachhaltige Veränderung der allgemeinen Lebenssituation, gegebenenfalls im klinischen Setting. Die Strategie der – freilich nachhaltig wirkenden – Situationsauswahl hätte der Strategie der Aufmerksamkeitsausrichtung also vorherzugehen. Gegen die Bewusstmachung unerfüllter Bedürfnisse könnte prima facie sprechen, dass angesichts einer vielleicht als aussichtslos empfundenen Lage, in der wichtige Bedürfnisse auf Dauer unerfüllbar scheinen, intensive Emotionen (wie Zorn, Trauer oder Verzweiflung) an die Stelle der belastenden existentiellen Gefühle treten könnten. Damit ist durchaus zu rechnen. Ich würde eine solche Veränderung jedoch als großen Fortschritt begreifen, da in starken Emotionen Handlungstendenzen offenbar werden, die in den Stadien der flachen Affektivität, wie sie sich in schweren Depressionen zeigen, nahezu vollständig fehlen.18 18 Dass Depression und Zorn tatsächlich in enger Verbindung miteinander stehen können, zeigen auch neuere Studien von Thomas Csordas, der bei depressiven Jugendlichen einen Umschlag von depressiver Verstimmtheit in einen aggressiven Tonus feststellen konnte. Dabei beziehe ich mich auf seinen Vortrag über „Inferring Immediacy in Adolescent Accounts of Depression“ anlässlich der DFG/AHRC-Tagung The Phenomenology of Depression am 26. 03. 2011 in Durham (vgl. http://www.animal-emotionale.de/de/eeid/events).

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Ist es schon schwierig, verschiedene Strategien der Emotionsregulation im Hinblick auf emotionale Episoden vergleichend und unter lab conditions zu studieren, so ist die Herausforderung ungleich größer, die Möglichkeiten der Regulation elementarer existentieller Gefühle durch die Strategie der Aufmerksamkeitsausrichtung klinisch zu testen. Doch dies wird eine der künftigen Aufgaben sein.

Bibliographie Anderson, Ben (2009): Affective Atmospheres. In: Emotion, Space and Society 2, 77 – 81. de Sousa, Ronald (2010): Emotion. (PDF version of the entry from the Spring 2010 edition of the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy). In: http://plato. stanford.edu/archives/spr2010/entries/emotion. (Stand: 25. 02. 2011). Frijda, Nico H. (1994): Varieties of Affect: Emotions and Episodes, Moods, and Sentiments. In: Ekman, Paul/Davidson, Richard J. (Hgg.): The Nature of Emotion. Fundamental Questions. New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 59 – 67. Goldie, Peter (2000): The Emotions: A Philosophical Exploration. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gross, James J. (2002): Emotion Regulation: Affective, Cognitive, and Social Consequences. In: Psychophysiology 39, 281 – 291. Helm, Bennett W. (2001): Emotional Reason. Deliberation, Motivation, and the Nature of Value. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kaube, Jürgen (2011): Die Wiederkehr des Verdrängten. In: Frankfurter Allgemeine. Zeitung fr Deutschland. Donnerstag, 17. März 2011, Titelseite. LeDoux, Joseph (2001): Das Netz der Gefhle. Wie Emotionen entstehen. München: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag. McLaughlin, Brian (2011): Monothematische Wahnstörungen und existenzielle Gefühle. In: Slaby, Jan/Stephan, Achim/Walter, Henrik/Walter, Sven (Hgg.): Affektive Intentionalitt. Paderborn: mentis Verlag, 170 – 205. Mercier, Pascal (1995): Perlmanns Schweigen. München: Albrecht Knaus. Paskaleva, Asena (2011): A Phenomenological Assessment of Depression Narratives. Master thesis. Osnabrück: PICS 011 – Volume 03 (http://ikw.uniosnabrueck.de/en/system/files/03 – 2011.pdf). Perler, Dominik (2011): Transformationen der Gefhle. Philosophische Emotionstheorien 1270 – 1670. Frankfurt: Fischer Verlag. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2005): The feeling of Being. In: Journal of Consciousness Studies 12, 43 – 60. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2008): Feelings of Being: Phenomenology, Psychiatry and the Sense of Reality. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rosenberg, Marshall B. (2010): Gewaltfreie Kommunikation: Eine Sprache des Lebens. Paderborn: Junfermann Verlag.

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Scherer, Klaus R. (1987): Toward a Dynamic Theory of Emotion: The Component Process Model of Affective States. In: Geneva Studies in Emotion and Communication 1(1), 1 – 98. Scherer, Klaus R. (2001): Appraisal Considered as a Process of Multi-Level Sequential Checking. In: Scherer, Klaus R./Schorr, Angela/Johnstone, Tom (Hgg.): Appraisal Processes in Emotion: Theory, Methods, Research. New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 92 – 120. Scherer, Klaus R. (2005): What are Emotions? And How Can They be Measured? In: Social Science Information 44(4), 695 – 729. Sierra, Mauricio (2009): Depersonalization. A New Look at a Neglected Syndrome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Simeon, Daphne/Abugel, Jeffrey (2006): Feeling Unreal. Depersonalization Disorder and the Loss of the Self. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Slaby, Jan/Stephan, Achim (2008): Affective Intentionality and Self-consciousness. In: Consciousness and Cognition 17, 506 – 513. Slaby, Jan/Stephan, Achim/Walter, Henrik/Walter, Sven (Hgg.) (2011): Affektive Intentionalitt. Beitrge zur welterschließenden Funktion der menschlichen Gefhle. Paderborn: mentis Verlag. Stephan, Achim (2009): LeDoux’s Emotionen und die vernachlässigte Kraft der Narrative. In: Merker, Barbara (Hg.): Wohin mit den Gefhlen? Emotionen, Gefhle, Werte. Paderborn: mentis Verlag, 69 – 88. Stephan, Achim/Slaby, Jan (2011): Affektive Intentionalität, existenzielle Gefühle und Selbstbewusstsein. In: Slaby, Jan/Stephan, Achim/Walter, Henrik/Walter, Sven (Hgg.): Affektive Intentionalitt. Paderborn: mentis Verlag, 206 – 229. Walter, Henrik/von Kalckreuth, Alexander/Schardt, Dina/Stephan, Achim/ Goschke, Thomas/Erk, Susanne (2009): The Temporal Dynamics of Voluntary Emotion Regulation. In: Plos ONE 4(8), e6726.

Lebendigsein. Existenzphilosophische Überlegungen zur Zweideutigkeit eines Grundgefühls Alice Holzhey-Kunz Abstract: In this paper I first take up the biological definition of the feeling of being alive as the “self-relation of an organism”, which was proposed in the paper for the workshop preceding this volume, and argue instead for an anthropological definition. I then discuss the question of whether this feeling is fundamentally a “natural” feeling in the Husserlian sense that arises on its own. Here I emphasize the grave methodological consequences of this conception, which preclude any hermeneutic access to pathological modifications of the feeling of being alive. The paper will then critically examine Ratcliffe’s Husserl-oriented understanding of “feelings of being” and contrast his descriptively and psychiatrically oriented “existential pathology” with an existential and hermeneutic concept of mental suffering oriented primarily an Heidegger’s earlier theory of the ontic-ontological ambiguity of human existence. Though we mostly resist this ambiguity, it also encompasses the feeling of being alive and endangers it from within. This is the point where an existential interpretation of pathological modifications of the feeling of being alive can set in, which I will illustrate in conclusion with two examples from my own psychotherapeutic, Daseins-analytical practice.

1. Mit welchem Recht lässt sich sagen, das Gefühl des Lebendigseins sei ein Grundgefühl? Folgt man den Überlegungen des Leitpapiers zu den diesem Band vorausgegangenen Workshop „The Feeling of Being Alive“, dann haben wir es bei diesem Gefühl mit dem eigentlichen Grundgefühl zu tun, auf dem all unser Erleben und Handeln basiert. Auch wenn darüber ein breiter Konsens bestehen sollte, so handelt es sich dabei doch um eine Hypothese. Es scheint mir deswegen angezeigt, sich zuerst einmal klar zu werden, was denn für diese Hypothese spricht. Zwei Überlegungen scheinen hier zusammenzukommen: erstens die Überlegung, dass die pure Tatsache des Lebendigseins die erste und letzte Voraussetzung bildet für jedwelche Ausgestaltung individuellen Lebens, und zweitens die Überlegung, dass die grundlegendste Art und Weise der Selbstwahrnehmung und Selbstvergewisserung nicht rationaler, sondern

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emotionaler Art ist. Das Gefühl des (eigenen) Lebendigseins wäre somit die basalste Form individueller Selbsterfahrung, weil das pure Faktum, dass es mich als lebendiges Wesen gibt, jenes ,Primäre‘ ist, das mir primär nicht im Denken, sondern in einer Emotion ,bewusst‘ werden kann. Diese eben von mir versuchte Formulierung differiert nun bereits erheblich von der im Leitpapier vertretenen Auffassung, dass das Gefühl des Lebendigseins als „Selbstbezug eines Organismus“ definiert werden könne, den man nicht auf den Menschen einschränken dürfe. Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins wird so nicht als ein menschliches, sondern als ein organismisches Grundgefühl verstanden, das wir mit anderen Organismen teilen. Das scheint auf den ersten Blick ganz einleuchtend, denn es gibt keinen Grund, höher entwickelten Organismen einen emotionalen Selbstbezug abzusprechen. Nur: wenn daraus schon gefolgert wird, dass das für uns Menschen grundlegende Gefühl des Lebendigseins selber vormenschlicher Art sei, dann ist damit einiges präjudiziert, das ein genaueres Hinsehen verlangt. • Erstens können wir, auch wenn wir Tieren ein analoges Gefühl des Lebendigseins zugestehen, niemals wissen, wie sich Lebendigsein für diese Tiere ,anfühlt‘ und welche Bedeutung dieses Gefühl für die allgemeine Befindlichkeit nicht-menschlicher Lebewesen hat. Schon deswegen ist es fraglich, was aus der Hypothese, das Gefühl des Lebendigseins sei ein vormenschliches Gefühl, das wir mit anderen Lebewesen teilen, für eine Aufklärung dieses Gefühls zu holen ist. Wir können nur in Erfahrung bringen, wie sich Lebendigsein für uns Menschen anfühlt und welche Rolle diesem Gefühl in einem menschlichen Leben zukommt. • Zweitens liegt in der Biologisierung des Gefühls des Lebendigseins ein nicht ungefährlicher Reduktionismus, der in der Rede vom „Selbstbezug eines Organismus“ anklingt. Das Reduktionistische besteht darin, das menschliche Selbstverhältnis stillschweigend mit einem biologisch-autopoietisch gedachten Selbstbezug von Organismen gleichzusetzen oder als blossen Spezialfall von Autopoiese zu behandeln. Darum hängt für mich die Qualifizierung als „Grundgefühl“ nicht davon ab, ob wir das Gefühl des Lebendigseins mit anderen Lebewesen teilen, sondern nur davon, ob es unserem menschlichen Erleben und Verhalten zugrundeliegt.

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2. Was unterscheidet das Grundgefühl des Lebendigseins von anderen Grundgefühlen? Es liegt nahe, all jene Gefühle als Grundgefühle zu bezeichnen, die eine wichtige Funktion im Dienste des biologischen Überlebens haben. Dazu werden heute aus neurobiologischer Sicht „SEEKING, FEAR, RAGE, LUST, CARE, PANIC and PLAY“ gezählt (vgl. Panksepp 2005). Setzt man das Gefühl des Lebendigseins zu solchen Emotionen ins Verhältnis, wird sofort klar, dass es sich dabei um eine andere Art von Grundgefühl handelt. Denn mögen beispielsweise Furcht und Wut auch ganz elementarer Natur und zugleich überlebenswichtig sein, so melden sie sich doch in der Regel nur aus aktuellem Anlass und machen dann wieder anderen Gefühlen Platz. Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins hingegen gehört eher in den Bereich des Gestimmtseins: Um sich lebendig zu fühlen, braucht es keinen besonderen Anlass. Damit stimmt überein, dass der Nutzen von Furcht, Wut und den anderen genannten Emotionen für das Überleben der Gattung unmittelbar auszumachen ist, während es schwer fällt, dem Gefühl des Lebendigseins eine direkte Funktion zuzuschreiben. Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins ist ,da‘, weil wir Menschen nicht einfach dahin leben, sondern zugleich für unser Leben aufgeschlossen sind. Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins ist dem Menschen also nicht deshalb eigen, weil es ihm unmittelbar für sein Überleben nützt, sondern weil er ein sich selbst erfahrendes Wesen ist, das nicht einfach lebt, sondern sein Lebendigsein emotional wahrnimmt. Damit hängt nun auch zusammen, dass das Gefühl des Lebendigseins in der Regel ein bloßes Hintergrundgefühl ist. Wir fühlen uns nicht in derselben Weise lebendig, wie wir uns wütend oder verängstigt oder erfreut oder beschämt fühlen. Während es sich bei den anderen Grundgefühlen um sehr distinkte gefühlsmäßige Zustände handelt, die das gesamte momentane Erleben und Verhalten bestimmen und ein gleichzeitiges Erleben differierender Grundgefühle verunmöglichen, verträgt sich das Gefühl des Lebendigseins mit unter sich ganz gegensätzlichen Gefühlen wie etwa Liebe und Hass, und es bleibt auch nicht von diesen Gefühlen abgehoben, sondern verschmilzt mit ihnen und wird durch sie gefärbt: man fühlt sich in der Liebe anders lebendig als im Hass. Doch auch wenn das Gefühl des Lebendigseins eher ein Hintergrundgefühl ist, das wir aufgrund seiner selbstverständlichen Gegebenheit im Normalfall gar nicht beachten, so kennen doch die meisten von uns Zeiten, in denen uns das Gefühl des Lebendigseins eigens bewusst wird,

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sei es deshalb, weil es stärker, intensiver ist als sonst, oder aber, weil wir es vermissen. Diese Erfahrungen bestätigen jedoch nur, dass das Gefühl des Lebendigseins im Normalfall die selbstverständliche Basis unseres Lebensvollzuges bildet. Daraus lässt sich verstehen, dass in meiner psychotherapeutischen Praxis zwar sehr oft von Gefühlen und Stimmungen die Rede ist, das Gefühl des Lebendigseins hingegen nur selten zur Sprache kommt. Das gilt auch für depressive Patienten. Diese wirken zwar in ihrem Reden und auch im Verhalten unlebendig, sie sprechen aber statt von einem Gefühl der Leblosigkeit von Gefühlen der Bedrückung, von Angst- und Schuldgefühlen oder auch von einem Gefühl allgemeiner Sinnlosigkeit. Eine Ausnahme bilden zur Zeit zwei Patientinnen, welche immer wieder von sich sagen, sie fühlten sich nicht wirklich lebendig, und die beide damit erklären wollen, warum es ihnen nicht möglich sei, für sich einen Platz in der Welt zu beanspruchen und das Leben nach ihren Vorstellungen zu gestalten. Beide bringen damit zum Ausdruck, dass ihnen die Basis fehlt, um das eigene Leben ,wie die Anderen‘, nämlich in selbstverständlicher Art und Weise zu führen. Ich nehme am Schluss nochmals Bezug auf diese beiden Frauen, um an ihnen meinen existenzial-hermeneutischen Zugang zu pathologischen Abwandlungen dieses Grundgefühls zu veranschaulichen.

3. Ist das Gefühl des Lebendigseins ein natürliches Gefühl, das sich von selbst einstellt? Wenn ich jetzt den Begriff der Natürlichkeit hereinbringe, dann nicht, um doch wieder zu einer biologischen statt anthropologischen Bestimmung dieses Gefühls zurückzukehren. Ebenso wenig geht es mir dabei um die Frage, ob das Gefühl des Lebendigseins auch beim Menschen noch aller kulturellen Prägung voraus- und zugrundeliege. Vielmehr beziehe ich mich damit auf Edmund Husserls Begriff der Natürlichkeit, wie er ihn in den Wendungen von einem primär „natürlichen Dahinleben“ des Menschen sowie einer primär „natürlichen Einstellung“ zur Welt verwendet (Husserl 1950, 57 ff.). In Husserls Wendung vom „natürlichen Dahinleben“ liegt die anthropologische These von einem primär ungebrochenen, aller Reflexivität vorausliegenden menschlichen Weltverhältnis, das alles konkrete innerweltliche Erleben und Verhalten ermöglicht und prägt. Wichtig ist,

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dass Husserl zufolge das natürliche Dahinleben einen „Glauben“ in sich trägt, den Glauben nämlich an das Sein der Welt. Für Husserl hat dieser weltbezogene „Seinsglaube“ den Status einer „Generalthesis“, welche der „natürlichen Einstellung“ zur Welt eigen ist. Entgegen Husserls eigener Überzeugung, dass er mit seiner Charakteristik des natürlichen Dahinlebens „ein Stück reiner Beschreibung vor aller ,Theorie‘“ gebe (ebd., 60), handelt es sich dabei um eine anthropologische Vorannahme. Stellt man sich auf den Boden dieser Vorannahme, dann lässt sich das Gefühl des Lebendigseins als unmittelbarer emotionaler Ausdruck des natürlichen Dahinlebens verstehen und somit als jenes Grundgefühl bestimmen, in dem der Mensch für die Tatsache seines natürlichen Dahinlebens emotional aufgeschlossen ist. Doch das ist nicht alles, denn das natürliche Dahinleben impliziert ja nach Husserl einen naiven (das heisst unreflektierten) Seinsglauben. Dieser Glaube würde sich nun aber nicht, wie Husserl formulierte, in einer „Thesis“ bzw. einer „Einstellung“, sondern in einem Gefühl realisieren – eben dem Gefühl des eigenen Lebendigseins in einer als wirklich seiend geglaubten Welt . Zwei eng ineinander verwobene Momente sind für dieses phänomenologische Verständnis des Gefühls des Lebendigseins im Sinne Husserls entscheidend: •

•

Zum einen, das Moment einer jeder möglichen Problematisierung vorausgehenden und darum noch ungebrochenen Gewissheit. Im Gefühl des Lebendigseins scheint sich der Mensch in fragloser Selbstverständlichkeit als lebendiger Teil der fraglos gewiss erscheinenden Welt zu erfahren. Das impliziert die Annahme, dass jegliche mögliche Problematisierung des eigenen Seins oder auch des Seins der Welt immer erst nachträglich kommt und eine ursprüngliche gefühlsmässige Ungebrochenheit und fraglose Selbstverständlichkeit aufbricht. Zum anderen das Moment eines ursprnglichen Von-selbst-gegebenseins. Wenn das Gefühl des Lebendigsein dem natürlichen Dahinleben immanent ist, dann erscheint die Annahme nur konsequent, dass es uns immer schon gegeben ist, sich also von selbst einstellt und, abgesehen von den Ausnahmen pathologischer Abwandlungen, auch von selbst durchhält.

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4. Zwei Vorbehalte Gegen die an Husserls Phänomenologie orientierte Auffassung, das Gefühl des Lebendigseins sei ein natürliches Gefühl, habe ich zwei Vorbehalte. Der erste ist ein philosophisch-anthropologischer und betrifft die in der Annahme eines primär natürlichen Dahinlebens steckende Verharmlosung der menschlichen Natur; der zweite ist ein psychopathologischer und betrifft den methodischen Zugang zu pathologischen Abwandlungen des Gefühls des Lebendigseins. Der erste Einwand ergibt sich aus einem existenzphilosophischen Denkansatz, an dem ich Husserls phänomenologisch-lebensweltlichen Ansatz messe. Der zweite Einwand ergibt sich aus meiner (zugestandenermassen theoriegeleiteten) psychotherapeutischen Erfahrung, dass scheinbar defizitäre Abwandlungen sogenannt normalen oder gesunden Erlebens und Verhaltens ,mehr‘ sind als nur defizitäre Abwandlungen. Ins Methodische gewendet heißt das, dass pathologische Veränderungen nicht nur der phänomenologischen Deskription, sondern auch der hermeneutischen Interpretation zugänglich sind. Auf dem Boden Husserls lassen sich pathologische Abwandlungen des Gefühls des Lebendigseins nur deskriptiv erfassen, und zwar so, dass sie mit den normalen oder gesunden Erscheinungsformen dieses Gefühls verglichen werden. Was dabei ,erkannt‘ wird, ist Art und Grad dessen, was dem pathologischen Gefühl vergleichsweise fehlt. Die Frage „was fehlt“ bleibt die einzig mögliche, solange davon ausgegangen wird, es handle sich beim Gefühl des Lebendigseins um ein natürlich gegebenes und sich natürlicherweise einstellendes Grundgefühl. Die hermeneutische Frage, was solche scheinbar rein defizitären Abwandlungen „bedeuten“, welcher geheime Sinn sich darin verbirgt, ist versperrt. Und eine hermeneutische Frage, die gar das leidende Subjekt ins Spiel bringt und fragt, ob es gute Gründe dafür geben könnte, sich vor dem Gefühl des Lebendigseins zu fürchten und sich deshalb davor zu schützen, ja gar dagegen anzukämpfen, erscheint unter der Husserlschen Annahme, es handle sich dabei um ein sich natürlicherweise von selbst einstellendes Basisgefühl, als geradezu absurd.

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5. Phänomenologie und Psychiatrie in Matthew Ratcliffes Feelings of Being So wie das Gefühl des Lebendigseins phänomenologisch gefasst wird, passt es in Ratcliffes Kategorie der „feelings of being“, ja kann sogar mit ihnen identifiziert werden. Entsprechend gelten meine bereits erwähnten Vorbehalte auch für seinen Ansatz. Ich gehe hier kurz darauf ein, weil die Themenwahl des vorliegenden Bandes stark von diesem Buch inspiriert ist (Ratcliffe 2008). Für mich ist wesentlich, dass Ratcliffe für sich ebenfalls einen hermeneutischen Zugang zu psychiatrischen Abwandlungen existenzialer Gefühle beansprucht: „Phenomenology can contribute to understanding in psychiatry“ (ebd., 9). Das ist allerdings eine missverständliche Formulierung, denn der Augenschein zeigt, dass es ihm lediglich darum geht, psychische Symptome, insbesondere Depersonalisations- und Derealisationsphänomene, als Formen von „changed existential feelings“ und nicht als „changes in ,affect‘ coupled with pathologies of belief‘“ zu bestimmen (ebd., 8). Ratcliffe will zeigen, dass sich alle psychiatrischen Störungen letztlich auf Störungen in der basalen Dimension der existential feelings zurückführen lassen. Das hat mit „Verstehen“ im hermeneutischen Sinne nichts zu tun, obwohl er immer wieder erklärt, dass er dadurch ein „Verstehen“ ermögliche. Seine Analysen machen deutlich, dass es ihm nicht darum geht, den traditionell deskriptiven durch einen hermeneutischen Zugang zu psychiatrischen Phänomenen zu ersetzen, sondern im Rückgang auf die existential feelings die traditionellen Dualismen von „cognition“ und „affect“ einerseits, „experiences of the body“ und „experiences of the world“ andererseits zu unterlaufen. Ratcliffes Konzept der existential feelings basiert hauptsächlich auf Theorien Husserls, Heideggers und Merleau-Pontys. Er gesteht zwar methodische Differenzen zwischen diesen drei Denkern zu, ist aber überzeugt, dass sie sich ergänzen. Der diesbezüglich ebenso entscheidende wie meines Erachtens irrtümliche Satz lautet: „I hope it will become clear as the discussion proceeds that the lessons which I draw from them (from Husserl, Heidegger und Merleau-Ponty) do complement each other and together contribute to a cohesive phenomenological account of existential feeling.“ (ebd., 10). Nach Ratcliffe lassen sich Husserls Vorstellung einer ursprünglich „natürlichen Einstellung“ zur Welt („natural attitude“) und Heideggers existenziale Theorie der Stimmungen problemlos zusammendenken.

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Was er als „feelings of being“ oder synonym als „existential feelings“ bezeichnet, ist das Resultat dieses Zusammendenkens. Ratcliffe unterschlägt dabei, dass das nur möglich ist, wenn man die Sonderstellung, die Heidegger der „Angst“ innerhalb der Stimmungen gibt, ignoriert und überhaupt Heideggers Analyse der Stimmungen allzu großzügig interpretiert. Ratcliffes Auffassung, wonach die Stimmungen die Welt in ihrer jeweiligen Bedeutsamkeit erschliessen würden: „moods reveal the world as a realm of practice purposes, values and goals“ (ebd., 47), widerspricht Heideggers in § 29 von Sein und Zeit vorgelegten Analyse der Befindlichkeit völlig. Ihr zufolge enthüllen die Stimmungen nämlich sowohl die Welt wie das eigene Selbst ,vor‘ aller Bedeutsamkeit, das heisst in ihrer puren „Faktizität“ und damit in ihrer „unerbittlichen Rätselhaftigkeit“1, und es ist erst die in § 31 analysierte Leistung des „Verstehens“, Welt als Sinnhorizont zu erschliessen. Diese Hinweise sollten deutlich machen, dass Ratcliffe den entscheidenden Schritt, den Heidegger gerade mit seiner Theorie der Stimmungen über Husserl hinaus macht, nicht mitvollzieht. Darum kann er gar nicht anders, als pathologische Abwandlungen im Sinne des psychiatrischen Diskurses als Defizite zu fassen. Das zeigt sich besonders deutlich im Schlusskapitel über „Existential pathology“ (Ratcliffe 2008, 284 ff.), das auf das Besondere einer auf Existenzialität rekurrierenden Pathologie aufmerksam machen will. Denn die Frage, ob die medizinisch-psychiatrischen Leitkategorien von gesund und krank auch für eine existenziale Pathologie gültig bleiben, wird gar nicht gestellt. Ratcliffe wehrt sich zwar gegen eine allzu rigid normative Definition des Gesunden und betont die grundsätzliche Veränderbarkeit von „existential feelings“ auch innerhalb des normalen Bereichs: „The sense of reality is changeable and there is no single, healthy, normal mode of belonging“ (ebd., 287). Aber auch wenn es viele normale Modi von existential feelings gibt, so geht doch kein Weg daran vorbei, davon krankheitswertige Abweichungen zu unterscheiden. Um diesen Unterschied zu fassen, bleibt für Ratcliffe nur die Möglichkeit des Messens an der Norm des Gesunden und der Beschreibung dessen, was im Vergleich dazu fehlt: „It is difficult to describe such experiences without referring to loss, impoverishment, inaccessibility, diminishment and the like“ (ebd., 288).2 Die andere 1 2

Vgl. Heidegger 2001, 134 ff. Der psychiatrisch-deskriptive Ansatz Ratcliffes wird auch in dem in diesem Band abgedruckten Vortrag On Living in Despair deutlich, der ganz auf den Verlust von Hoffnung (Loss of hope) fokussiert bleibt.

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Möglichkeit, solche manifest defizitären Abweichungen vom Normalen auf einen verborgenen Sinn hin zu befragen, kann schon darum nicht ins Spiel kommen, weil Ratcliffe auch die innerhalb des Normalbereichs angesiedelten Modi von Grundgefühlen nicht im Heideggerschen Sinne existenzial interpretiert, sondern ebenfalls nur beschreibend voneinander abhebt. Dasselbe gilt analog für das Gefühl des Lebendigseins. Auch diesbezüglich erwähnt Ratcliffe die starken Schwankungen, denen dieses Gefühl unterworfen sein kann: „People sometimes talk of feeling alive, dead, distant, detached, dislodged, estranged, isolated, otherwordly, indifferent to everything, overwhelmed, suffocated, cut off, lost, […] in harmony with things, at peace with things or part with things“ (ebd., 68), ohne diese zu interpretieren. Und auch diesbezüglich ist von solchen Schwankungen, die als momentane noch keine psychiatrische Störung anzeigen, jener krankhafte Verlust des Gefühls des Lebendigseins zu unterscheiden, der sich beispielsweise in der wahnhaften Überzeugung, gar nicht zu existieren, sondern tot zu sein, äussern kann (ebd., Kap. 6, 165 ff. ,Cotard delusion‘). Was Ratcliffe hier interessiert, ist die Möglichkeit, die wahnhafte Überzeugung von der eigenen Nichtexistenz auf eine schwere Störung im Grundgefühl des Lebendigseins zurückzuführen, während die Störung im Grundgefühl als vermeintlich ,Letztes‘ nur noch festgestellt wird. Mein Anliegen ist es, zu zeigen, dass eine „existential pathology“ auch hermeneutischen Charakter haben kann. Nun ist die hermeneutische Frage nach einem verborgenen Sinn neurotischer Symptome bekanntlich von Sigmund Freud in die Psychopathologie eingeführt worden. Doch man muss nicht zum Freudianer werden, um einen hermeneutischen statt nur deskriptiven Zugang zu pathologischen Veränderungen im Gefühl des Lebendigseins zu finden. Auch die Phänomenologie bietet eine Alternative zum psychiatrischen Diskurs an, vorausgesetzt, man bemerkt die unüberbrückbare Differenz zwischen Husserl und Heidegger und folgt dann Letzterem – allerdings nicht dem späten Heidegger, der in den 1950er und 1960er Jahren mit dem Psychiater Medard Boss zusammen die „Zollikoner Seminare“ (Heidegger 1987) durchführte, sondern dem Verfasser von Sein und Zeit. 3

3

Heideggers Zusammenarbeit mit Boss habe ich genauer analysiert in HolzheyKunz 2001, 51 ff. und 2003, 53 ff.

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6. Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins ist ontisch-ontologisch zweideutig Folgt man Heidegger statt Husserl, dann eignet dem Gefühl des Lebendigseins eine ursprüngliche, wenn auch meist verborgene Zweideutigkeit. Diese Zweideutigkeit hat damit zu tun, dass es zum menschlichen Existieren gehört, in allem Bezug zu konkret Seiendem auch für das eigene Sein aufgeschlossen zu sein. Der diesbezüglich zentrale Satz lautet: „Die ontische Auszeichnung des Daseins liegt darin, dass es ontologisch ist“ (Heidegger 2001, 12). Damit ist Husserls anthropologischer Ansatz eines primär ungebrochenen (vorreflexiven) „natürlichen Dahinlebens“ dementiert. Statt primär rein „ontisch“ auf die konkrete Welt bezogen zu sein, deren Realität erst noch fraglos gewiss scheint, ist das menschliche Dasein immer schon auch „ontologisch“ auf das Sein der Welt und das eigene In-der-Welt-sein als solches bezogen. Dieser doppelte, nämlich ontische und ontologische Bezug zu Welt und Selbst gehört zum menschlichen Existieren und gefährdet es zugleich. Die Gefährdung liegt darin, dass der scheinbar fraglose Seinsglaube jederzeit schwinden kann. Denn während bei Husserl erst der Philosoph durch einen bewussten Willensakt den Seinsglauben einklammert und damit von der naiv-natürlichen in die reflektiert-philosophische Einstellung wechselt, existiert der Mensch bei Heidegger immer schon unfreiwillig philosophisch, ist die „Metaphysik“, wie er in der Antrittsvorlesung von 1929 sagt, primär kein Fach der Schulphilosophie, sondern ein „Grundgeschehen im Dasein“ (2007, 45). Nun weiß auch Heidegger, dass die meisten Menschen nicht philosophierend durchs Leben gehen, sondern sich in eben jener Einstellung zur Welt aufhalten, die Husserl als „natürlich“ apostrophiert hat. Er destruiert aber den Schein von Natürlichkeit, indem er sie als jene Einstellung analysiert, die aus einer ständigen Bewegung der „Abkehr“ vom eigenen Ontologisch-sein resultiert. Heidegger charakterisiert diese Einstellung als die „alltägliche“, was aber nichts daran ändert, dass sie aus einer ständigen Flucht erwächst. Da diese Fluchtbewegung nach Heidegger immer schon im Gange ist, könnte man ihr allenfalls einen quasinatürlichen Charakter zusprechen. Aber was sich dank dieser Flucht konstituiert, kann keinen festen Grund und Boden bilden, eben weil es sich ja um eine Flucht vor sich selber handelt und man sich selber bekanntlich nicht entkommen kann. Die Gefahr, dass der Boden der selbstverständlichen Alltäglichkeit einbricht, weil man unversehens von

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ontologischen Erfahrungen das eigene Sein betreffend eingeholt wird, ist prinzipiell immer gegeben. Darauf komme ich zurück, weil mein Vorschlag einer existenzial-hermeneutischen Psychopathologie hier ansetzt. Was für die vermeintlich natürliche Einstellung gilt, trifft genauso zu auf das ihm zugehörige Gefühl des Lebendigseins als ein Gefühl (scheinbar) fraglosen Zugehörens zu einer (scheinbar) fraglos gewissen Welt von Bedeutungen. Auch dieses Gefühl ist Ausdruck der Flucht vor einer ursprünglich zweideutigen emotionalen Erfahrung eigenen Lebendigseins, die sowohl ontischer beziehungsweise existenzieller wie ontologischer beziehungsweise existenzialer Natur ist.4 Die Differenz dieser beiden Erfahrungen lässt sich am besten in der Ich-Form formulieren: als ontische Erfahrung enthüllt sie mir das Lebendigsein meiner selbst als dieser individuellen Person X in dieser konkreten mir vertrauten Welt; als ontologische Erfahrung hingegen enthüllt sie mir das Lebendigsein meiner selbst als pure Faktizität, das in nichts anderem besteht als darin, „dass ich“ – wie jeder Mensch – „bin und zu sein habe“ (Heidegger 2001, 42, 134). Letztere Erfahrung niederzuhalten und damit die ontologische Dimension auszublenden ist der eigentliche Sinn der Flucht in das naive Grundgefühl des Lebendigseins.

7. Die Angst als ursprüngliche Seinserfahrung Heidegger gibt der ontologischen Erfahrung des sinn-baren „Dass ich bin und zu sein habe“ den Namen „Angst“. Die Flucht in die ,normale‘ Alltäglichkeit ist also Flucht vor der Angst. Entsprechend verdankt sich das normal-alltägliche, positiv getönte Grundgefühl des Lebendigseins der gelingenden Niederhaltung der Angst. Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins ist niemals frei von Angst, sondern diese gehört ihm aufgrund seiner ontisch-ontologischen Zweideutigkeit prinzipiell zu, auch wenn sie in der Regel stumm bleibt. Nur die Befindlichkeit der Angst ist nicht zweideutig. Sie ist die einzige rein ontologische Erfahrung. Heidegger knüpft hier an Kierkegaard als den eigentlichen Entdecker der Angst an. Kierkegaard warnt 4

Heidegger verwendet die Begriffspaare ontisch/ontologisch und existenziell/ existenzial synonym, auch wenn er letzteres eher selten benutzt (vgl. 2001, 321, 316). Diese existenziell-existenziale Differenz ist im englischen aufgehoben, wenn generell von „existential feelings“ gesprochen wird, tatsächlich aber nur die existenzielle Dimension im Blick ist.

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davor, die Angst mit der Furcht zu verwechseln (Kierkegaard 2003, § 5, 50). Was immer wir umgangssprachlich mit den mehr oder weniger synonym verwendeten Worten Furcht oder Angst belegen, gehört im existenzphilosophischen Sinne in den Bereich der Furcht. Und zwar gilt das für die entsprechenden Stimmungen der Furchtsamkeit oder Ängstlichkeit ebenso wie für Panikzustände. Weil Furcht und Angst so grundverschieden sind, stehen sie auch in einem ganz anderen Verhältnis zum Gefühl des Lebendigseins. Furcht, Furchtsamkeit und Panik setzen das Gefühl des Lebendigseins voraus, denn wenn man sich fürchtet, bangt man direkt oder indirekt um das eigene Leben. Die Angst hingegen will nicht das Leben bewahren, sie hat gar keine Funktion im Dienste der Lebenssicherung. In der Angst weiss ich auch nichts von Gefahren, die mein Leben bedrohen könnten, sondern weiss nur darum, was es mit dem Faktum meines Lebendig-seins als purem Faktum grundsätzlich auf sich hat. Darum kann die Angst, worauf Lacan zu recht hingewiesen hat, niemals täuschen, sie ist immer wahr. Auf den immer wieder erhobenen Einwand, dass damit doch nur eine pathologische Erfahrung zu einer philosophischen hochstilisiert werde, lässt sich nur mit dem nochmaligen Hinweis antworten, dass die existenzphilosophische „Angst“ eine Erfahrung benennt, die grundverschieden ist von all jenen Erfahrungen, die wir normalerweise mit dem Ausdruck „Angst“ belegen. Die existenziale Angst kann darum gar nicht, wie das etwa Ludwig Binswanger tut, mit der Liebe verglichen und die Liebe gegen die Angst ausgespielt werden (vgl. Binswanger 1993). Die nackte Faktizität des „Dass ich bin und zu sein habe“ ist per se weder liebenswert noch hassenswert, weil sie ja jeglicher Bedeutung und Bedeutsamkeit voraus- und zugrundeliegt. Die Erfahrung der nackten Faktizität ist darum nichts als „unheimlich“, weil das Gefühl des Heimisch-vertrauten an Sinn und Bedeutung gebunden ist, die erst eine Orientierung in der Welt ermöglichen. Eben darum kann nur die Angst das eröffnen, was gemeinhin hinter Sinn und Bedeutung verborgen bleibt: das eigene Sein in seinem sinn-baren „Dass“.

8. Wenn die Angst im Gefühl des Lebendigseins dominiert Weil die Angst dem ontisch-ontologisch zweideutigen Gefühl des Lebendigseins immanent ist, kann sie im Prinzip jederzeit dominant werden. Tut sie das, dann macht man unversehens und unfreiwillig eine philo-

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sophische Erfahrung. Diese bleibt in der Regel unverstanden und führt dann auch nicht in eine philosophische Reflexion über das eigene Leben. Vielmehr wird sie als eine „Störung“ in der eigenen Grundbefindlichkeit erlebt, die sich hinderlich auf den alltäglichen Lebensvollzug auswirkt. Sobald die Angst einbricht, verliert das Gefühl des Lebendigseins den Charakter des Selbstverständlich-vertrauten und wird selber „unheimlich“. Solche kurzzeitigen Verkehrungen ins Unheimliche gehören zu den normalen Schwankungen dieses Grundgefühls, mit denen jeder seine eigenen Umgangsformen entwickelt. Dazu gehört etwa, sie als bloße Unpässlichkeiten abzutun oder aus derzeitigen konkret-ontischen Umständen zu erklären. Ebenso wichtig sind (kollektiv akzeptierte) Techniken, die helfen, möglichst rasch wieder ,ins Lot‘ zu kommen, wie etwa sportliche oder sexuelle Betätigungen, Trinken von Alkohol und vieles mehr. Von dem bloß momentanen Verlust des normal-vertrauten Gefühls des Lebendigseins zu unterscheiden ist das zeitüberdauernde Gefühl, nicht richtig oder nur halb lebendig zu sein, das durch keine Techniken beeinflussbar ist. Es ist, obwohl zeitüberdauernd, dennoch kein Hintergrundsgefühl, an das man sich gewöhnt, sondern ein Gefühl, an dem man subjektiv leidet. Nimmt man die medizinisch-psychiatrische Perspektive ein, dann ist dieses Leiden lediglich als die subjektive Erfahrung eines objektiven Mangels beziehungsweise Defizits zu verstehen: Wem das Gefühl des Lebendigseins fehlt, der leidet daran als einem Mangel, weil ihm krankheitshalber das fehlt, was psychisch gesunden Menschen natürlicherweise eigen ist. Dank der Einsicht in die ontisch-ontologische Zweideutigkeit dieses Grundgefühls wird es möglich, das eigentliche, wenn auch verborgene Woran dieses Leidens auszumachen: Es ist paradoxerweise das Gefühl des Lebendigseins selber, das den Charakter des Unheimlichen angenommen hat. Sich unlebendig zu fühlen, erweist sich dann nicht einfach als ein Defizit, an dem man leidet, sondern als Reaktion auf ein ,tieferes‘ Leiden, dem man auf diese Weise zu entkommen sucht. Solche und ähnliche Überlegungen verlangen ein Überschreiten der medizinisch-psychiatrischen Perspektive. Sie leiten über zu einer existenzialen Interpretation pathologischer Abwandlungen des Gefühls des Lebendigseins.

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9. Ein existenzial-hermeneutischer Zugang zu pathologischen Veränderungen im Gefühl des Lebendigseins Mein Vorschlag eines existenzial-hermeneutischen Zugangs basiert auf der Hypothese, dass pathologische Veränderungen dann auftreten, wenn das Gefühl des Lebendigseins zur rein ontologischen Erfahrung wird. Zunächst muss man davon ausgehen, dass diese Erfahrung nichts Neues ,sagt‘, also nichts über das hinaus, was nicht auch im normal-ontischen Grundgefühl des eigenen Lebendigseins erfahren wird. Denn auch Letzteres lässt mich nur erfahren, dass ich lebendig bin, ohne schon Antworten auf die Sinn-Fragen nach Warum und Wozu mitzuliefern. Und doch liegt hier der entscheidende Unterschied: Solange es mir gelingt, mich von der Angst abzukehren, impliziert das Gefühl meines faktischen Lebendigseins den naiven Glauben, dass die pure Tatsache meines Lebendigseins den natrlichen Anfang und Ausgangspunkt für mein Leben bildet und deshalb gar nicht problematisierbar ist. Mit dem Rekurs auf diesen dem angstabgekehrten Gefühl des Lebendigseins immanenten Glauben knüpfe ich an Husserls These von einem dem natürlichen Dahinleben immanenten „Seinsglauben“ an, verstehe ihn allerdings nicht als Glaube an eine fraglos gewisse Außenwelt, sondern als Glaube an die Faktizität meines Seins als eines quasinatürlich und darum fraglos-selbstverständlich Vorgegebenen. Das „Sein“ ist hier nicht wie bei Husserl ein objektiver Sachverhalt, sondern Inhalt des subjektiven Erlebens meines Lebendigseins: Die pure Tatsache des eigenen Lebens fühlt sich wie eine natrliche Gegebenheit an. Solange das Gefühl des Lebendigseins mit diesem Glauben verschmolzen ist, solange vermag es als „tragendes“ Basisgefühl zu fungieren. Das ändert sich, wenn das Gefühl des Lebendigseins zur rein ontologischen Erfahrung wird. Nun enthüllt sich dieselbe Tatsache des eigenen Lebendigseins als ein ins Leben Geworfensein. Heideggers Begriff der Geworfenheit, den ich hier aufnehme, kennt kein Woher und schon gar keine werfende Instanz, sondern bezeichnet lediglich die „Faktizität der Überantwortung“ des eigenen Lebens an je diesen Lebenden selbst (2001, 135). Was natürlicher Anfang und Ausgangspunkt schien, erweist sich nun als „nacktes“ und damit grundlos-abgründiges Faktum meines Lebendigseins. Natürlich darf man hier Grund nicht mit Ursache verwechseln. Die Erfahrung der puren Faktizität steht nicht im Gegensatz zu den konkreten Ursachen (Zeugung, Elternschaft, Geburt usw.), aus denen sich meine

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Existenz herleiten lässt, wohl aber im Gegensatz zum naiven Glauben, das Faktum des Lebendigseins sei als solches auch schon der (legitime) Grund dafür, zu leben statt nicht zu leben. Genau diese Abwesenheit jeglichen Grundes bringt Heidegger mit der Wendung von der „Faktizität der Überantwortung“ zum Ausdruck. Die ontologische Erfahrung des eigenen Lebendigseins ist eine desillusionierte Erfahrung, weil ihr der Glaube, dass das Faktum des eigenen Lebens als solches auch schon den Grund bilde, aus welchem sich die Übernahme des eigenen Lebens rechtfertige, abhanden gekommen ist. Als desillusionierte Erfahrung wird sie zur „Last“,5 und zwar liegt die Last zunächst einmal darin, dass man mit einer Wahrheit konfrontiert ist, mit der man nicht umzugehen weiss. Diese Last des Rätselhaften legt sich nun auf das Gefühl des Lebendigseins, wodurch sich das Verhältnis zu diesem Gefühl verändert, oder genauer: wodurch man zu diesem Gefühl in ein explizites Verhältnis tritt. Das ist ja nicht der Fall, solange man selbstverständlich mit diesem Gefühl identifiziert ist und aus ihm heraus lebt. Eine solche selbstverständliche Identifikation ist mit einer ontologischen Erfahrung nicht möglich, vielmehr steht man nun vor der Wahl, das, was das Gefühl des Lebendigseins enthüllt, nämlich grundlos ins Leben geworfen zu sein, in seiner „unerbittlichen Rätselhaftigkeit“ zu bejahen oder sich davon zu entlasten, indem man nun das Gefühl des Lebendigseins selber wie eine Gefahr behandelt, vor der man sich in Sicherheit zu bringen sucht – mit dem Resultat, dass man sich nun nur noch halb oder gar nicht lebendig fühlt und sekundär daran leidet.

10. Wer ist für pathologische Veränderungen im Gefühl des Lebendigseins disponiert? Die bisherigen Überlegungen haben ergeben, dass pathologische Veränderungen im Gefühl des Lebendigseins sich aus dessen ontisch-ontologischer Zweideutigkeit verstehen lassen. Sie treten dann auf, wenn das Gefühl des Lebendigseins zur ontologischen Erfahrung wird und nun wie eine Bedrohung erlebt wird, vor der man sich zu schützen sucht. 5

Heidegger zufolge kann das Dasein sein Sein nur als „Last“ erfahren, von der es sich zeitlebens zu entlasten sucht, indem es in ,gehobene‘ Stimmungen ausweicht (vgl. 2001, 135). Dieser „Lastcharakter“ des eigenen Seins ergibt sich nicht aus ontisch-konkreten Belastungen, die während des Lebens auftauchen und zu tragen sind, sondern liegt diesen voraus.

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Wann aber tritt das ein? Grundsätzlich lassen sich dafür keine besonderen Bedingungen formulieren, denn aufgrund der Zweideutigkeit menschlichen Existierens kann die Angst prinzipiell bei jedermann ohne besonderen Anlass einbrechen. Die Frage, ob es eine individuelle Disposition dafür gibt und worin sie besteht, ist dennoch wichtig. Es liegt nahe, nach psychoanalytischer Manier den individuellen Verlauf der Kindheitsgeschichte dafür verantwortlich zu machen, was zwar seine Berechtigung hat, für sich allein aber nicht genügt, weil auch die Kindheitserfahrungen ontisch-ontologisch zweideutig sind. Wendet man sich mit dieser Frage an Sein und Zeit, geht man leer aus, weil sich Heidegger zufolge das menschliche Existieren nur zwischen Anund Abkehr bewegt. Für ein Verstehen psychopathologischer Phänomene bleibt hier kein Platz, weil sich diese weder der (normalen) Abkehr noch der (seltenen) Ankehr, in welcher das Dasein die Wahrheit übernimmt und erträgt, zuordnen lassen.6 Ich habe deshalb den Begriff der Hellhçrigkeit eingeführt und attestiere seelisch leidenden Menschen eine besondere (überdurchschnittliche) Hellhörigkeit oder Sensibilitt für die normalerweise ausgeblendete ontologische Dimension des eigenen Lebens. Aufgrund dieser Hellhörigkeit drängt sich diesen Menschen eine ontologische Erfahrung unfreiwillig auf, ohne dass sie bereit oder fähig wären, die sich aufdrängende Wahrheit anzuerkennen und also die Angst auszuhalten (in Heideggers Terminologie „eigentlich“ zu existieren). An die Stelle der bejahenden Anerkennung treten psychopathologische Symptome, die als Ausdruck des Leidens am eigenen Sein zu verstehen sind (vgl. Holzhey-Kunz 2008). Eine solche Hellhörigkeit liegt meines Erachtens auch den pathologischen Abwandlungen des Gefühls des Lebendigseins zugrunde. Immer haben wir es dabei mit Menschen zu tun, denen aufgrund ihrer besonderen Hellhörigkeit das Gefühl des Lebendigseins zur ontologischen Erfahrung wird. Was in medizinisch-psychiatrischer Perspektive als bloße „Störung“ auffällig wird, hat Antwortcharakter. Es handelt sich dabei um eine negierende Antwort, die vom Wunsch geleitet ist, die hellhörig vernommene Wahrheit das eigene Lebendigsein betreffend zu dementieren.

6

„Daseinsanalytische“ Psychiater wie Binswanger und Boss, die sich an Heidegger orientierten, haben darum seelisches Leiden immer dem „Verfallen“ und der „Uneigentlichkeit“ zugeordnet, was dem ontologischen Sinn dieser Begriffe in keiner Weise gerecht wird.

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Bleibt zum Schluss die Frage, was denn diese Wahrheit so unzumutbar erscheinen lässt, dass sie dementiert werden muss. Denn dieses Dementi fordert einen hohen Preis, den zu zahlen der Hellhörige doch nur darum bereit sein kann, weil am mangelnden Gefühl des Lebendigseins zu leiden leichter zu ertragen scheint als sich lebendig zu fühlen.

11. Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins als ein illegitimes Gefühl Die ontologische Erfahrung, grundlos ins Leben geworfen zu sein, ist darum so schwer zu ertragen, weil aus ihr unmittelbar folgt, dass die Übernahme des eigenen Lebens nur als ein Akt der grundlosen Selbstermchtigung möglich ist. Anders lässt sich das eigene Leben, in das man grundlos geworfen ist, gar nicht für sich übernehmen. Dieser Sachverhalt bleibt im normalen Gefühl des Lebendigseins aus besagten Gründen verdeckt, legt sich aber für den Hellhörigen als Schuldlast auf das Gefühl des eigenen Lebendigseins. Warum als Schuldlast? Wer hellhörig ist für das Faktum des grundlosen Geworfenseins ins Leben, der erfährt die Selbstautorisation als jenen Akt, der zwar unausweichlich, aber nicht zu legitimieren ist, als einen Akt der Hybris. Ein solcher Akt fühlt sich trotz seiner Unvermeidlichkeit als anmassend an. Das Anmassende liegt darin, sich anzueignen, was einem von nirgendwoher gegeben ist, wozu man sich also in keiner Weise berechtigt fühlen kann. Das Gefühl, anmassend zu sein, wiegt umso schwerer, als man ja nicht ins Nirgendwo, sondern in die Welt der Anderen geworfen ist und in dieser Welt einen Platz zu besetzen hat, den nicht zugleich ein Anderer einnehmen kann. Solange man nur die ontisch-moralische Schuld kennt, wird man dieses Schuldgefühl, das sich hellhörigen Menschen angesichts der bloßen Tatsache, sich lebendig zu fühlen, aufdrängt, als krankhafte Einbildung abtun. Kierkegaard und Heidegger haben uns aber nicht nur gelehrt, die Angst als ein Phänomen sui generis von der Furcht zu unterscheiden, sondern ebenso die ontologische oder existenziale Schuld von der moralischen (ontischen) Schuld: das Dasein „kann sich nicht nur mit faktischer Schuld beladen, sondern ist im Grunde seines Seins schuldig“ (Heidegger 2001, 286). Die ontologische Schuld ist, im Unterschied zur moralischen Schuld, die sich auf konkrete Verfehlungen bezieht, „ursprünglich“ (ebd.), sie gehört zum menschlichen Leben. Dass viele

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Menschen diese Schuld nicht spüren, zeigt nur, dass es ihnen gelingt, sie – wie die Angst – vor sich selbst zu verbergen.7 Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins wird für hellhörige Menschen zu einem unheimlichen Gefühl, weil es sie mit der eigenen Schuld konfrontiert. Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins unter der Bedingung der Hellhörigkeit zuzulassen und wirklich zu fühlen würde heißen, die grundlose Selbstautorisierung zum Leben zu bejahen und die damit verbundene Schuld anzunehmen. Dass die meisten davor die Flucht ergreifen, kann nicht verwundern, handelt es sich dabei doch, wie wir gesehen haben, um die normale Reaktion, allerdings unter der speziellen Bedingung von Hellhörigkeit. Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins wie eine zu meidende Gefahr zu behandeln, entspringt dem illusionren Wunsch, das eigene Leben in seinem puren Dass als noch ,heil‘, als ,noch unschuldig‘ erfahren zu können. Dieser Wunsch gebiert nun auch wieder einen Glauben – den Glauben nämlich, dass ohne das Gefühl des Lebendigseins der unmögliche Wunsch nach einem rechtmässigen, legitimen statt usurpierten Leben erfüllbar werde. Zwei Beispiele Ich kehre zum Schluss nochmals zu den anfangs erwähnten beiden Patientinnen zurück, die ab und zu auf das ihnen fehlende Gefühl des Lebendigseins zu sprechen kommen. Wenn das Gefühl des Lebendigseins ein Basisgefühl ist, dann muss man davon ausgehen, dass bei beiden ein anderes Gefühl diesen Platz einnimmt. Tatsächlich sprechen beide von einer übergrossen Müdigkeit, die entweder ständig da ist (Patientin G.) oder sich bereits nach minimaler Aktivität einstellt (Patientin M.). Dieses Gefühl, erschöpft zu sein, ist weder der ,normalen‘ Müdigkeit, die sich in der Regel am Abend oder tagsüber nach einer grossen Anstrengung einstellt, zuzuordnen, noch der depressiven Müdigkeit, da ihr die hoffnungslos-resignative Komponente fehlt, die depressiven Menschen ein aktives Leben verunmöglicht. Entsprechend fehlt bei beiden die typisch depressive Klage über Hoffnungslosigkeit und Sinnverlust. Auch das 7

Der dem normalen Gefühl des Lebendigseins immanente Glaube an das Faktum des Lebens als natürlichen Anfang ist ein wichtiger Schutz gegen den Einbruch der Schuld. Dass er nicht genügt, zeigt sich an der großen Bedeutung, welche vorab religiösen Interpretationen des Lebens als „Gabe“, als „Geschenk“, für das man dem Geber (Gott und dann auch den Eltern) dankbar zu sein habe, zukommt.

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mangelnde Gefühl des Lebendigseins wird von beiden nicht eigentlich beklagt, sondern mehr nur festgestellt. Ich will mich trotz der gebotenen Kürze nicht auf eine der beiden Patientinnen beschränken, weil dann der irrige Eindruck entstehen kann, dass aus einer übereinstimmenden Hellhörigkeit auch ein übereinstimmendes ,pathologisches‘ Grundgefühl sowie ein ähnliches Selbst- und Weltverständnis resultiere. Zwar sind beide unverheiratet und kinderlos und haben einen Universitätsabschluss in Psychologie, doch davon abgesehen könnte ihre Art der Lebensführung unterschiedlicher nicht sein. Frau G., 38jährig, arbeitet als Psychologin in einer psychiatrischen Klinik. Sie klagt nicht über ihre Müdigkeit, weil sie sich diese als einen von vielen Beweisen ihrer eigenen Schwäche vorwirft. Sie leidet an Migräne, spricht aber auch davon kaum und ist deswegen noch nie von der Arbeit ferngeblieben, hat überhaupt in den vergangenen fünf Jahren keinen einzigen Tag krankheitshalber gefehlt, weil sie sich für eine Absenz an der Arbeit so schuldig fühlen würde, dass es für sie immer noch leichter zu ertragen ist, zur Arbeit zu gehen, solange es irgendwie machbar ist. Die ständige Müdigkeit als Symptom ernst zu nehmen, dafür auch einmal einen Arzt zu konsultieren, hieße für sie, sich selber (zu) wichtig zu nehmen. Damit sind wir bei ihrer Grundüberzeugung, selber „nicht wichtig“ zu sein: „wichtig sind alle anderen, ich aber nicht“. Frage ich nach, wie sie zu dieser Überzeugung komme, weiß sie immer nur das eine zu sagen: „es fühlt sich für mich so an“. Das Gefühl, nicht wichtig zu sein, ist also nicht die Folge einer negativen Selbstbeurteilung, über die man gemeinsam reden und sie dadurch einer Revision zuführen könnte, sondern eine emotionale Gewissheit, die keine Begründung braucht und an der jedes Argument abprallt. Seit einigen Monaten hat die Müdigkeit Konkurrenz bekommen durch ein anderes Grundgefühl: einen starken Ärger, von dem sie nicht mehr loskommt, den sie aber zutiefst verurteilt. Immerhin wagt sie auszusprechen, womit ihr Ärger zu tun hat: Da sind die Kolleginnen und Kollegen, deren Neigung, ihre (bisherige) Willfährigkeit auszunutzen und sie bei der Arbeitszuteilung zu übervorteilen, sie langsam wahrzunehmen wagt; da sind Patientinnen und Patienten, für die es so selbstverständlich scheint, ihre Ansprüche anzumelden und die diese dann auch sofort erfüllt haben wollen. Sowohl die chronische Müdigkeit wie der nun seit einiger Zeit ebenfalls chronische Ärger ersetzen das wegen seiner Schuldhaftigkeit unerträgliche Gefühl des Lebendigseins. Das Gefühl einer chronischen

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Müdigkeit ist jener erlaubte, weil schuldlose Rückzugsort, in dem es nur Platz hat für selbstlose und zugleich freudlose Pflichterfüllung, aber keinen Platz für eigene Wünsche. Frau G. ist, statt sich lebendig zu fühlen, wunschlos müde. Dennoch entspringt diese wunschlose Müdigkeit paradoxerweise einem Wunsch – dem Wunsch nach einem Leben, zu dem man sich nicht selber ermächtigen muss und das darum schuldfrei bleibt. Solange Frau G. diesen Wunsch nicht loslassen kann, solange braucht sie diese Müdigkeit, weil sie verhindert, dass (schuldbeladene) Wünsche nach einem eigenen, wirklich gelebten Leben aufkommen können. Der seit einiger Zeit immer dominanter werdende Ärger ist für Frau G. höchst alarmierend. Noch mehr verurteilt sie den ebenfalls immer stärker werdenden Neid auf die Patienten, die sich so selbstverständlich erlauben, Hilfe und Zuwendung einzufordern. Frau G. kann und will vorläufig, obwohl selber Psychologin, in Ärger und Neid nur Beweise für ihren schlechten Charakter sehen. Das zeigt, wie stark schuldbelastet für sie solche Gefühle sind. Es lässt sich darin aber auch im Sinne der Psychoanalyse ein innerer Konflikt ausmachen zwischen dem alten, illusionären Wunsch nach einem schuldbefreiten Leben und dem neu aufkeimenden Wunsch, sich selber und damit eigenen Ansprüchen endlich (auch) Gewicht zu geben. In diesem verzweifelten Kampf gegen Ärger und Neid findet aber auch eine implizite Auseinandersetzung mit der unausweichlichen Selbstermächtigung statt. Diese realisiert sich vorerst einmal in einer immer klareren Zurückweisung ungerechter Arbeitsverteilung auf der Station. Steigen dadurch aufgrund ihrer Hellhörigkeit die Schuldgefühle nicht ins Unerträgliche an? Es wäre keine Veränderung möglich, wenn es sich so verhielte, wenn nicht auch hier sich bewahrheiten würde, dass sich durch die Einsicht in die Unvermeidlichkeit der (ontologischen) Schuld die Erfahrung dieser Schuld wandelt. Ganz konkret hat sich Frau G. früher „wie eine schwere Verbrecherin“ gefühlt, wenn sie (unangemessene) Erwartungen von Anderen nicht erfüllte. Jetzt sind es noch Zweifel, ob sie den anderen nicht doch damit Unrecht tue. Frau M. ist zehn Jahre älter und schon in ihrer äußeren Erscheinung das Gegenteil von Frau G. Sie ist groß, attraktiv und ihre Art zu sprechen wirkt meist sehr lebendig. Ein auffälliger Widerspruch also zu ihrem mangelnden Gefühl des Lebendigseins. Ihr Lebensstil ist großbürgerlich, was sie sich dank wohlhabender Eltern leisten kann. Sie lebt mit ihrem Hund in einer Wohnung, die sie aus eigenen Mitteln niemals finanzieren

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könnte und fährt zwei Autos. Frau M. scheiterte trotz hoher Intelligenz in zwei Studiengängen, bis sie dann das in ihrer Herkunftsfamilie wenig geachtete Psychologiestudium abzuschließen vermochte. Den Schritt ins Erwerbsleben hat sie hingegen bis heute nicht wirklich geschafft. Sie hat zwar seit einigen Jahren ein minimales Pensum an einer Schule, spricht aber ständig davon, diese Stelle wieder aufgeben zu wollen. Analog hat sie zwar seit einigen Jahren einen Freund, betont aber nicht zu Unrecht, dass dieser Mann ihr gar nicht gut tue (es hat sich ein gegenseitig destruktives Beziehungsmuster etabliert) und sie sich von ihm lösen sollte, ohne aber diesen Schritt auch zu machen. In analog destruktiver Weise ist Frau M. auch an ihre Mutter gebunden. Frau M. gehört zu jenen Menschen mit hohem Reflexionsvermögen, denen es nicht an Einsicht fehlt, aber an der Fähigkeit oder Bereitschaft, daraus praktische Konsequenzen zu ziehen. Dass sie nicht aktiv werden kann, hängt mit ihrem Gefühl, nicht richtig lebendig zu sein, zusammen. Sucht man nach jenem Grundgefühl, welches bei ihr das Gefühl des Lebendigseins ersetzt, so ist es das Gefühl einer ständigen ängstlichen Unruhe: sie fühlt sich den ganzen Tag „im Stress“, obwohl objektiv außer den obligaten Hundespaziergängen über Tage hinweg kaum etwas auf dem Programm steht. Allerdings kostet sie oftmals schon die morgendliche Entscheidung, was sie anziehen solle, einen enormen Aufwand an Zeit und Energie. Ihre Nahrung besteht weitgehend aus Fertigprodukten und ihre Wohnung ist gemäss ihren eigenen Schilderungen in einem schrecklichen Zustand der Unordnung. Sie hat zwar auch hier täglich die besten Vorsätze, doch löst dann schon die Vorstellung, jetzt wirklich mit Aufräumen zu beginnen, in ihr ein unüberwindliches Gefühl der Erschöpfung aus. In regelmäßigen Abständen von einigen Monaten erklärt Frau M., sie merke, dass sie sich noch nie wirklich überlegt habe, was sie selbst eigentlich wolle, und das müsse wohl der Grund sein, warum sie handlungsunfähig sei. Sie spricht dann von ihrem Wunsch, sich zuerst einmal von allem, auch von der Therapie, zurückzuziehen, um ganz für sich allein endlich die Antwort zu finden. Sprechen wir über diesen Wunsch, erwähnt Frau M. ebenfalls regelmässig ein „ganz schreckliches Gefühl“, das bereits auftauche, wenn sie nur schon die Frage „Was will ich selber?“ ernsthaft stelle. Sie vermag dieses Gefühl nicht zu benennen, bringt es aber in Zusammenhang damit, dass ihr für alles die Selbstverständlichkeit fehle: „Ich habe nie das Gefühl, dass irgendetwas, was mich betrifft, einfach selbstverständlich ist“. Sie zeigt dann jeweils auf ihre Brust und erklärt, hier ganz tief drinnen fehle ihr etwas, was man zum Leben

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brauche, und weil es ihr fehle, könne sie sich auf nichts richtig einlassen, sich mit nichts, was sie tue, identifizieren. Frau M. erfährt also viel unmittelbarer als Frau G., was ihre Hellhörigkeit bewirkt: Den Verlust jener ,normalen‘ Selbstverständlichkeit, die sich der gelingenden Abkehr von der ontologischen Wahrheit, grundlos ins Leben geworfen zu sein, verdankt. In ihrer regelmäßig auftauchenden Erkenntnis, dass sie sich mit der Frage, was sie denn überhaupt wolle, befassen müsste, liegt das ontologische Wissen beschlossen, dass kein Weg daran vorbeiführt, sich selber zum Leben zu ermächtigen. Das aber fühlt sich für sie an, als ob sie sich „ins Niemandsland“ begeben beziehungsweise jeden Boden unter den Füssen verlieren würde. Das erscheint ihr nicht nur unzumutbar, sondern gar nicht lebbar. Wir sehen, wie unterschiedlich hellhörige Menschen auf die unerträglich scheinende Tatsache, grundlos ins Leben geworfen zu sein, antworten. Während Frau G. auf eigene Wünsche verzichtet, ihr Leben auf Arbeit reduziert und sich dort möglichst darauf beschränkt, die Erwartungen von Anderen zu erfüllen, hat sich Frau M. aufs Warten verlegt. Sie wartet darauf, dass ihr der schuldig machende Akt der Selbstermächtigung erspart bleibt, sie wartet darauf, bis sich endlich das Gefühl, selbstverständlich leben zu können wie die Anderen, einstellt. Dann könnte sie ,guten Gewissens‘ anfangen, ihr eigenes Leben zu gestalten. Dieses Warten ist immer auch auf andere Menschen bezogen, von denen sie Entlastung erwartet. Zwei potenzielle Legitimationsfiguren sind vor allem im Visier, die beide zusammenwirken müssten: Einerseits die eigene Mutter, die ihr das Gefühl vermitteln müsste, sie habe das Recht, sich von ihr zu lösen und sich unabhängig zu machen, andererseits jener Supermann, der wie der Prinz im Märchen auftauchen, sie zum Leben erwecken (ermächtigen) und dafür die Last der Verantwortung auf sich nehmen würde. Um die so gegensätzlichen Versuche, der unvermeidbaren ontologischen Schuld zu entkommen, genauer zu verstehen, müsste man die so unterschiedlichen Kindheitserfahrungen einbeziehen, was hier nicht mehr möglich ist. Hingegen möchte ich noch die geheime Selbsteinschätzung von Frau M. erwähnen, die sie ganz selten und nur verschämt preisgibt und die in direktem Gegensatz steht zur gefühlsmäßigen Überzeugung von Frau G., nicht wichtig zu sein. Frau M. ist nämlich im Innersten davon überzeugt, dass sie die Schönste und Klügste von allen ist. Dies scheint ihr Warten zu legitimieren. Sie wartet darauf, endlich als solche entdeckt und erkannt zu werden. Ebenso wartet sie darauf, dass

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sich sowohl die Mutter wie der langjährige Freund für das viele Unrecht, das beide ihr nach ihrer Meinung angetan haben, entschuldigen, weil sie glaubt, dass sie sich erst dann aus der destruktiven Verstrickung mit beiden lösen und sich wirklich lebendig fühlen könnte.

Bibliographie Binswanger, Ludwig (1993): Grundformen und Erkenntnis menschlichen Daseins. Ausgewählte Werke Bd. 2. Heidelberg: Asanger. Heidegger, Martin (2001): Sein und Zeit (1927). Tübingen: Niemeyer. Heidegger, Martin (2007): Was ist Metaphysik (1929). Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann. Heidegger, Martin (1987): Zollikoner Seminare. Protokolle – Gesprche – Briefe. Hg. von Medard Boss. Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann. Holzhey-Kunz, Alice (2001): Leiden am Dasein. Die Daseinsanalyse und die Aufgabe einer Hermeneutik psychopathologischer Phnomene. Wien: Passagen. Holzhey-Kunz, Alice (2003): ,Krankheit ist ein Privations-Phänomen‘ – Seelisches Leiden im Spannungsfeld von Hermeneutik und Psychiatrie. In: Riedel, Manfred/Seubert, Harald/Padrutt, Hanspeter (Hgg.): Zwischen Philosophie, Medizin und Psychologie. Heidegger im Dialog mit Medard Boss. Köln/ Weimar/Wien: Böhlau, 53 – 70. Holzhey-Kunz, Alice (2008): Daseinsanalyse. In: Längle, Alfried/HolzheyKunz, Alice: Existenzanalyse und Daseinsanalyse. Stuttgart: UTB, 181 – 348. Husserl, Edmund (1950): Ideen zu einer reinen Phänomenologie und phänomenologischen Philosophie, Erstes Buch (1913). In: Husserliana Bd. III/1. Den Haag: Nijhoff. Kierkegaard, Søren (2003): Der Begriff Angst (1844). Stuttgart: Reclam. Panksepp, Jaak (2005): Affective consciousness: Core emotional feelings in animals and humans. In: Consciousness and Cognition 14(1), 30 – 80. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2008): Feelings of Being: Phenomenology, Psychiatry and the Sense of Reality. Oxford: Oxford Universitiy Press.

II. The Sentient Organism

The Feeling of Being Alive Organic Foundations of Self-Awareness

Thomas Fuchs Abstract: The feeling of being alive points to an intricate connection between the organic process of life and subjective experience, or between Leben and Erleben. On this basis, the paper argues that self-awareness cannot be conceived as an internal mental space or a self-model that could be produced and localized somewhere in the organism, but that it is a manifestation of the life of the organism as a whole. This is shown by (1) distinguishing two components of the feeling of being alive, namely vitality (basic mood or attunement) and conation (drive, need, affect), (2) by pointing out the necessary foundations of both components in self-regulatory processes involving the living organism. Hence the sufficient basis of self-awareness cannot be found in single “neural correlates of consciousness”, but rather only in the self-organization and the life process of the organism in relation to the world.

1. Introduction The feeling of being alive is situated at the threshold of life and experience, or of Leben and Erleben. Thus it constitutes the turning point between the vital processes of an organism’s self-preservation in its continuous exchange with the environment and the psychic processes of sentience and agency based on the organism’s sensorimotor interaction with its surroundings. Put another way, the feeling of being alive marks the transition from the autopoietic, self-producing structure of the organism as described by dynamical systems theory (Varela 1991; 1997; Thompson 2007) to the living being’s pre-reflective self-awareness as grasped by phenomenology (Zahavi 1999). Leben and Erleben are thus not only connected etymologically, but also ontologically: The intransitive ‘living’ or being alive (Leben) and the transitive ‘living through’ or experiencing (Erleben) may be regarded as two aspects of

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one and the same process of life.1 With experience, this living process is intensified or augmented, as it were, and becomes aware of itself. The concept of life is thus essentially ambiguous, implying an outward and an inward process which are inextricably intertwined. This is mirrored in the duality of the living and the lived body: the body as a living system (Kçrper) and the body as lived or experienced (Leib) are two aspects of organismic life.2 An integral concept of life should take both aspects into account and analyze their “chiasmatic” interconnection.3 In a way, the Aristotelian concept of the psyche as the primary actuality of a natural organic body was an attempt to do just this: the psyche is not a substantial soul, but the animateness or living form of the organism itself. It refers to the order and dynamics of the life process that differentiates itself into various functions, among them sentience, movement and thought. The psyche is not something beyond the physiological processes, but rather their integration. In the wake of Cartesian dualism, however, modern biology and psychology have dismissed this integral concept of life. Instead, life has been reduced to a complex of biochemical processes, yet at a high price: Everything that we associate with the existence of living beings – sentience, feeling, striving, self-movement – was excluded from the investigation of life and shifted into a subjective inner world where it now fell into the domain of psychology or of the philosophy of consciousness. Today, their role is being increasingly taken over by neurobiology, which localizes subjectivity inside the brain. Thus, at first sight dualism has been replaced by a physicalist monism, but in fact it has only seemingly been overcome. For neither cognitive neuroscience nor neurophilosophy operate with a genuine and integrative concept of life. If they take it into account at all, they regard it as fundamentally different from the mind – life as an external, functional property of certain physical systems, mind as a sequence of internal and disembodied states. Mental processes are not considered as operations or functions of a living organism, but as a “movie-in-the-brain” (Damasio 2003), an “ego-tun1

2 3

This has been pointed out particularly by Barbaras (2008) who refers to the German notions (Leben and Erleben) and the French vivre, which has both the intransitive and the transitive meaning (vivre quelque chose = to experience something). On this double-aspect conception of life see also Fuchs (2010, 95 ff.). The terms “chiasma” and “chiasmatic” were used by Merleau-Ponty (1968) to describe the intertwining of the perceiving and the perceived body, or subjective and objective body.

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nel” or a “phenospace” (Metzinger 2009, 221), in any case separated from the living body as a whole. In other words, the brain is conceived and investigated in such a way as if it could equally produce consciousness as a brain in a vat. Thomas Metzinger has drawn the most radical consequence from this conception. He starts from the following question: […] to the best of our current knowledge there is no thing, no indivisible entity, that is us, neither in the brain nor in some metaphysical realm beyond this world. So when we speak of conscious experience as a subjective phenomenon, what is the entity having these experiences? (Metzinger 2009, 1).

Since a self cannot be attributed to a biological organism as a complex machinery, as Metzinger claims,4 this entity can only be a “phenomenal self-model”, i. e. a model of the organism’s own state computed by the neuronal system from bulks of data. This self-model is periodically activated, namely in the waking state, and embedded into a simulation of the external world produced simultaneously. The experience of subject and world are therefore equally illusory, trapped in a “naive-realistic self-misunderstanding” (Metzinger 2009, 108). In fact we are “[…] mental self-models of information-processing biosystems […]. If we were not computed, we would not exist” (Metzinger 1999, 284). “Conscious experience is like a tunnel” (Metzinger 2009, 6), a Platonic cave that is furnished by the brain with the “Technicolor”-qualities of the experienced world (ibid., 23). The basis of this Matrix-world is nothing but “[…] a highly specific activation pattern in your brain. In principle, you could have this experience without eyes, and you could even have it as a disembodied brain in a vat” (ibid. 21). In what follows, I will argue for a position opposed to such concepts of an isolated cerebral consciousness. Conscious experience, I contend, is not an internal mental space or tunnel that could be localized somewhere in the organism, but it is a manifestation of the life of the organism as a whole. Hence, it is at the same time the manifestation of the current relation of organism and environment. Not single “neural correlates of consciousness” are the sufficient basis of phenomenal self-awareness, but the self-organization and the life process of the organism as a whole. In other words, there is a fundamental continuity of life and ex-

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perience, Leben and Erleben. The feeling of being alive, as I will show, is particularly suited to demonstrate this continuity. Erleben or experience in its most basic form may be differentiated into two components from which the feeling of being alive results: 1. a continuous bodily background feeling that may be termed vitality or Befinden (well- or ill-being). It also includes mood or attunement as an overall feeling for one’s present life situation. 2. a basic striving that manifests itself in drive, instinct, need and affect, and that I will term conation (from the Latin conatus = impulse, drive, desire). Both vitality and conation as basic forms of experience are derived from corresponding processes of life that cannot be restricted to brain processes and are instead based on an integration of the whole organism. These are processes of homeodynamic self-regulation, accomplished through recurrent cycles of shortage, need and compensation in an active exchange with the environment. As we will see, the feeling of being alive and with it consciousness are ultimately rooted in these vital processes of self-preservation. Granted, conscious experience probably arises only in those higher forms of life that are characterized by a centralized nervous system. Nevertheless, the biological structures and processes on which consciousness is based extend beyond single organs or subsystems to include the whole body and even the environment of the living being. Thus, the feeling of being alive turns out to be one of the most important proofs for the embodiment of subjectivity, that is, for its emerging from the organism as a whole. I will now look at vitality and conation in more detail, describing in each case first the phenomenology of experience and then its biological foundations (2). I will then interpret the feeling of being alive as elementary self-experience and relate it to the autopoietic, self-productive structure of the organism (3). Finally, I will discuss the thesis of a continuity of Leben and Erleben as opposed to a self-model theory of subjectivity (4).

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2. The feeling of being alive as an integration of the life processes (a) Vitality and attunement Let us start with the foundational layer of experience that constitutes the unnoticed background of our intentionally directed perceiving, feeling or acting, and which may best be captured by the German word “Befinden” (or Heidegger’s Befindlichkeit). Befinden is bound to the body, but less to the body as consciously experienced than to the body as lived in the background – as a realm of diffuse ease or unease, relaxation or tension, restriction or expansion, freshness and vigour or tiredness and exhaustion. These feelings with their basic polarity of Wohlbefinden and Missbefinden (well- and ill-being) may be regarded as indicators of our particular state of life in its ups and downs and can be subsumed under the term vitality. Vitality is concentrated in the lived body but also spreads without borders into the environment and tinges our relationship to the world. Missbefinden, as in diffuse unease, tiredness or exhaustion, also lends a more flat or monotonous coloring to the surroundings. The objects lose their richness and interest and appear dull or annoying, while the bodily source of this alteration does not become conscious at first. Thus, feelings of vitality should always be considered as media of perceiving the world as well; they color and pervade all experience. As such they are closely related to moods such as serenity, euphoria, dysphoria, melancholy or boredom, which, however, are not experienced close to the body but rather as qualities of the particular situation as a whole. They may also be described as states of attunement to the world and assigned to a vertical polarity of elevated or depressed moods. Vitality, freshness or tiredness are not just internal bodily states, but rather already refer to the relation between bodily heaviness, mobility and spatial distance, i. e. to the accessibility of objects. Similarly, in moods the background feeling of the body is connected to the potentialities of a given life situation. “The mood has already disclosed, in every case, Being-in-the-world as a whole, and makes it possible first of all to direct oneself towards something” (Heidegger 1962, 176). Moods, then, disclose the quality of specific possibility spaces of a living being. Drawing on Heidegger, Ratcliffe speaks of existential feelings that are “[…] both ‘feelings of the body’ and ‘ways of finding oneself in the world’” (Rat-

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cliffe 2008, 2). These also include feelings of freedom, wideness and openness, or feelings of restriction or suffocation, feelings of vulnerability or protection, uncanniness or certainty, familiarity or estrangement, reality or unreality, and feeling alive or feeling dead. Let us now look at the biological foundations of these basic feeling states. According to Damasio (1995, 2000) and Panksepp (1998) they are closely connected to the vital regulatory processes that serve the preservation of the “inner milieu” and encompass the state of the body as a whole. Moreover, moods and existential feelings tell organisms where they stand with respect to their environment and to actions that will enhance the likelihood of their own survival. Various centres in the brain stem, hypothalamus, and the insular and medial parietal cortex process the neuronal and humoral signals from the body and integrate them into a “body landscape” that is constantly changing. This landscape includes the present state of the inner milieu (hormone concentration, glucose, oxygen, carbon dioxide, pH-value of the blood, etc.), interoceptive signals from the viscera and proprioceptive signals from the whole musculoskeletal system including the heart, blood vessels, skin and the vestibular system. According to Damasio, this interaction of brain and body is constantly processed in higher brain centers – the thalamus, cingular gyrus, colliculli superiores, and the insular and somatosensory cortex – thus serving as a basis for an elementary “feeling of life itself” (Damasio 1995, 207). Damasio also speaks of a “core consciousness” on which the extended, autobiographical or personal consciousness is based. The feeling of being alive, then, results from the interaction of subcortical and cortical brain centers with the whole organism. “The somatic background feeling never subsides, though we sometimes rarely notice it, because it does not represent a particular part of the body, but the over-arching state of virtually all domains” (ibid., 210). Thus at the roots of consciousness are the homeodynamic regulatory processes that take place between the body and the brain on many levels. “The earliest origins of the self are to be found in the totality of those brain mechanisms that constantly and unconsciously ensure that the states of the body vary within the small range of relative stability that is necessary for survival” (Damasio 2000, 36). Processes of life and of experience, Leben and Erleben are thus inseparably bound to each other. Every conscious state is ultimately rooted in the homeodynamic regulation between brain and body, and, in a sense, integrates the present state of the organism as a whole.

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The organismic basis of vitality is most obvious in the case of its disturbance, such as in a simple indigestion which immediately alters the whole bodily state and particularly in affective disorders. Kurt Schneider already emphasized the impairment of the vital feelings (Vitalstçrungen) as the hallmark of severe depression: feelings of oppression, anxiety, leaden heaviness and exhaustion may be summarized as a generalized bodily restriction (Schneider 1959; Fuchs 2005). However, these can by no means be taken as mere projections of altered brain states onto the body. Rather, depression implies a stress reaction affecting the whole organism: Mediated by prefrontal and limbic centers and with significant participation by the amygdala and the hypothalamus, an over-activation of the CRH-ACTH-cortisol and the sympathetic nervous system ensues, accompanied by dysfunctions of the immune, circulatory and respiratory systems. The disruption of the regulatory cycles connecting brain and organism results in a prolonged state of stress that manifests itself in subjective experience as disturbance of vitality and bodily restriction (LeDoux 1998; Glannon 2002). Thus the vital disturbances felt in depression manifest the continuous stress state of the organism. Similarly, the altered existential feelings of depression express the actual inability of the organism to open up to the world and to disclose potentialities and resources of life. The senses become blunt, the gaze tired and empty, the taste stale. The general decline that manifests itself in numerous organ systems also lends a void, blunt or dull coloring to the environment. With the loss of attunement, feelings of distance and unreality may arise. In extreme cases, this results in nihilistic delusion or Cotard’s syndrome, where the patients deny the existence of themselves or the world (Fuchs 2005). They no longer sense their body, everything seems to have gone dead, and there is no taste, smell, feeling of warmth or pain any more. This leads to the delusional conviction that they are already dead and should be buried. The extreme alteration of the basic existential feelings no longer leaves any freedom to the higher cognitive processes of judgment.

(b) Conation I have now described the sense of vitality and its organic basis. The second component of Erleben is the fundamental “energetic” dynamics of life that can be described by terms such as drive, instinct or urge, for which I have introduced the umbrella term of conation. It comprises

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the spontaneity, activity, affective directedness and tenacious pursuit of goals that characterizes living beings in general. As an unspecific source of energy, drive is present in all bodily activities and gains its specific direction in each. It manifests itself as urge and desire in the different instincts and strivings, as dynamics and intensity in the affects, as vigor and tension in motor action, as persistence in the will, but also as attention and interest in perception. This energetic and vital bodily dynamics always emerges anew. In drive and urge we experience an underivable origin of our existence. This dynamics is not enclosed within itself, but rather transcends itself as an elementary “being-after-something” that is directed toward the environment. At the roots of drive and desire we find shortage and need as an unspecific experience of bodily tension, unease, imbalance or agitation. Shortage means first the experience of an undetermined negativity which urges towards its own sublation, but does not yet know about it. The fitting objects in the environment only come to be disclosed over time. Hungry babies rummage in the blankets, stretch their body and seek until the tension is resolved when their lips find the nipples and they nurse. In this way, they learn to know the object of their instinct. Thus in the course of ontogenesis unspecific instincts become specifically directed desires or needs. Then hunger discloses food in the environment, the drive for protection finds a shelter, the drive for exploration finds the unknown, the sex drive discloses the partner, etc. The emergence of the direction of the drive towards what is lacking goes hand-in-hand with the felt “not-yet” of possible satisfaction. Shortage thus opens up a time differential or time span that is experienced as an appetitive tension and discharged in directed movement. This tension and directedness towards the anticipated satisfaction is one of the major roots of time experience (Fuchs 2011b). Affects in particular constitute the object-directed intentional arcs that bridge the delay between drive and fulfillment and accompany the movement toward the object of the drive (“e-motion”). For the goal to remain present as one comes nearer, it has to be affectively “cathected”. “Desire lies at the root of hunting, fear at the root of flight” (Jonas 1966, 103). Through affects, environmental objects gain valence and emotional significance. They appear as desirable, attractive, or as aversive, threatening, etc. In sum, the perceiving, instinctive, affective and active relation to the environment bridges the gap that arises between need and satisfaction, or between threat and flight.

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Turning to the biological foundation of the conative dynamics, we can ultimately see it in the dialectical relationship between the living being and its environment. Life constitutes itself in delimitation from the constant processes of decay, the entropy of physical nature. It builds up an inner-outer difference that remains precarious, however, since it depends on the metabolic exchange with the environment. The difference is translated into the negativity of shortage and need, this being the price life has to pay for its negentropy to the physical world. Animal life differs from plant life in that its dependence on the environment becomes internal for it in the form of felt shortage and the drive to compensate for it through incorporation. The dynamics of shortage, drive, desire, expectation, fulfillment and satisfaction are the subjective side and the driving-force of the processes of self-preservation and exchange that characterize animal life. Therefore conation is not an inner state of the living system or of one of its subsystems. Nor does it mean mere self-preservation, as the conatus conceived by Spinoza, but rather always implies a self-transcending of the organism towards the environment in order to find in it the resources for its constant self-production, and thereby to adapt to changing environmental circumstances. This applies even to the most primitive organisms: Mobile bacteria react to increasing concentrations of glucose in the surroundings by moving along the gradient to places of higher concentration (chemotaxis). They regulate their inner state through active interaction with the environment, assigning specific relevances or meanings to certain of its features. On the most basic level, these manifest themselves in simple tendencies such as “towards” or “away from”. The world becomes “[…]a place of valences, of attraction or repulsion, approach or escape” (Thompson 2004, 158). Thus living means sensing, and sensing means sense-making. As we can see, the capacity to react to the inner and outer conditions of the milieu and to act on this basis can be found even in monocytes. The unwitting and unconscious urge to stay alive betrays itself inside a simple cell in a complicated operation that requires ‘sensing’ the state of the chemical profile inside the boundary, and that requires unwitting, ‘unconscious knowledge’ of what to do, chemically speaking, when the sensing reveals too little or too much of some ingredient at some place or time within the cell (Damasio 2000, 138).

This basic instinct is not created a new, but only taken up and expanded by the developing brain.

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Life and the life urge inside the boundary that circumscribes an organism precede the appearance of nervous systems, of brains. But when brains appear on the scene, they are still about life, and they do preserve and expand the ability to sense the internal state, to hold know-how in dispositions, and to use those dispositions to respond to changes in the environment that surrounds brains. Brains permit the life urge to be regulated ever so effectively and, at some point in evolution, knowingly (Damasio 2000, 139).

Conation is an integral function of the organism. Even at higher levels of life that are equipped with central nervous systems, it is still based on the autoregulation of the organism as a whole. A living being’s need for food, water, recreation, sleep or reproduction must be sensed as shortage or drive and must be translated into goal-directed actions supported by emotions. This requires the constant feedback of signals from the inner milieu to the hypothalamus, the basal forebrain and several brainstem nuclei. Motivational physiology, which conceives felt needs as homeodynamic requirements of the whole organism, has identified these connections between peripheral body states and central regulatory processes (Lang et al. 1998; De Catanzaro 1999). It shows that an adequate understanding of the brain requires a “neuropsychosomatics” of motivational behavior that conceives brain, body and environment as a systemic unity.

3. The feeling of being alive as self-awareness I have described the sense of being alive as vitality and conation, both based on integral states of the organism in relation to its environment. Now the question arises: Is this basic feeling of life of an anonymous nature or can it be conceived as a basic form of self-awareness? I will answer this question first from a phenomenological, then from a biological point of view. If we start from our self-experience of life, its peculiar feature is a constant self-withdrawal (Waldenfels 2002, 412). Our prethematic conduct of life recedes from direct self-observation and always precedes conscious self-reflection. To be hungry is not to be conscious of one’s hunger, to be tired is not to be conscious of one’s tiredness. For in order to become aware that we are hungry or tired, we must already have become hungry or tired, and we are not able to say what the hunger or tiredness was before becoming conscious. Similarly, we sometimes only become aware of a latent noise when it stops and suddenly silence

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occurs. Thus, life is what has already happened to us and affected us before we can notice it and respond to it (Fuchs 2010, 96 f.). Only upwards of a certain degree of intensity does Erleben or experience become conscious; and yet even before this it was not anonymous, but already my experiencing. “For when I become conscious of my hunger, I do not discover just any hunger whatsoever and make it my own, but I discover that it is me who already had hunger before becoming aware of it” (Spaemann 1996, 64, my translation). The hunger may be “lived” as a diffuse background sensation of unease or as the standing-out of appetizing objects in the environment, similar to Sartre’s example of the latent pain in the eyes that is implicitly given or lived in the growing difficulty of reading and understanding the sentences of a book (Sartre 1962, 332). But when I become conscious of the hunger or pain, I can only ascribe it to myself because a basic mineness already characterizes my lived embodiment, which is only taken up in conscious awareness. Thus, self-experience does not arise de novo at a certain point, but rather takes up and continues the pre-reflective mineness of the feeling of life. The body does not become mine through my reflective appropriation – on the contrary, self-consciousness is only possible because it originates from basic bodily self-awareness. From this it follows that life cannot be fully attributed either to the conscious subject or to the object side. It belongs to the bodily, constituting subjectivity. It is the ground and principle, not the object of experience, thus preceding all thematization and calculation. In bodily self-affection, in the feeling of being alive lies the primordial subjectivity from which we constantly originate. “It is not thinking that gives us access to life; it is life which allows thinking access to itself”, Michel Henry writes (2002, 145, my translation). The cogito owes itself to a pre-reflective, obscure ‘becoming’, not to a clear and distinct perception (clara et distincta perceptio, in Descartes’ terms).5 If we now turn again to the biological point of view, we see that the living being is characterized by a basic selfhood as well. Jonas saw it in the identity of the form or organization of the living being which maintains itself against the change of matter. “The introduction of the term ‘self’, unavoidable in any description of the most elementary instance of life, indicates emergence, with life as such, of internal identity” (Jonas 1968, 242). Kant, in his Critique of Judgment, had already characterized the self-organization of the living system as a reciprocal production of 5

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the parts and the whole.6 This has been taken up and specified in the theory of autopoiesis put forward by Varela: the living, autopoietic system is constituted by a semipermeable membrane that delimits the system from the environment, while at the same time allowing for the metabolic exchange by which the system constantly regenerates itself.7 Such a system, by virtue of its operational closure and autonomy over and against the environment, is equivalent to an organismic individual or self. How far down the chain of life the forms of subjectivity that we know from our self-experience reach – this is a question that might be impossible to answer definitively. A minimal form of self-awareness may be seen, on an elementary level, in the linking of an organism’s own state with relevant aspects of what it encounters, a capacity that may already be termed sentience. This allows the living being to actively regulate its interaction with the environment, to adapt itself by means of its metabolism to changing circumstances, or in other words, to put itself in a relationship to what is other than self. Through sentience, movement and metabolism living beings actively produce and preserve an inner/ outer or self/non-self distinction – which we might see as the most basic degree of ‘self-awareness’.8 However, this primary stage is not yet connected to consciousness. The preconditions of conscious awareness 6

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In this critique, Kant states the requirements for a thing to be a natural purpose or end in itself: First, “[…] the possibility of its parts (as concerns both their existence and their form) must depend on their relation to the whole”. Second, “[…] that the parts of the thing combine into the unity of a whole because they are reciprocally cause and effect of their form.” If a product of nature meets these two conditions, it will be “[…] both an organized and a self-organizing being, which therefore can be called a natural purpose” (Kant 1987, 252 f.). “An autopoietic system – the minimal living organization – is one that continuously produces the components that specify it, while at the same time realizing it (the system) as a concrete unity in space and time, which makes the network of production of components possible” (Varela 1997, 75). See also Varela 1991. This active production and preservation of an inner/outer or self/non-self distinction also motivated Jonas to attribute some kind of awareness even to the most basic organisms: “Whether we call this inwardness feeling, sensitivity and response to stimulus, appetition or nisus – in some (even if infinitesimal) degree of ‘awareness’ it harbors the supreme concern of the organism with its own being and continuation in being” (Jonas 1966, 84). – “The challenge of ‘selfhood’ qualifies everything beyond the boundaries of the organism as foreign and somehow opposite: as ‘world’, within which, by which, and against which it is committed to maintain itself. Without this universal counterpart of ‘other’, there would be no ‘self’” (Jonas, 1968, 242 f., emphasis added).

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probably consist, firstly, in the development of separate sensory and motor organs and corresponding capacities; and secondly, in the appearance of a central nervous system which connects receptors and effectors to each other and which represents the unity of the organism in a particular way.9 Such a living being is not only capable of perceiving and moving autonomously, it also distinguishes between the changes it perceives in the environment and the changes caused by its own movements (Fuchs 2010, 117 ff.). Thus it gains intentional access to its own sense-making, which we may regard as equivalent to pre-reflective yet conscious self-awareness. However, the subjectivity which thus emerges in the realm of life is not a purely mental and internal world. Rather, it is always embodied in as well as related to the environment and present and effective within it. Subjectivity is the integral aspect of an organism that displays a certain degree and differentiation of self-organization as well as a self-regulated relation to the environment. The feeling of being alive, as an elementary subjectivity, is not based on a self-model produced in the brain, but rather continually integrates the entire state of the organism-in-its-environment (Fuchs 2011a). This is in accordance with concepts of affective neuroscience. Thus, Damasio postulates a so-called “proto-self” as the precursor of self-experience and regards it as “[…] a coherent collection of neural patterns which map, moment by moment, the state of the physical structure of the organism in its many dimensions” (Damasio 2000, 154). The systemic unity of the organism thus becomes the precondition of the unity of self-experience (“one person, one body”, Damasio 2000, 142). Similarly, Panksepp considers the primary self to arise from a “convergence of visceral, somatosensory, and kinesthetic information” on the primal body map in the periventricular grey of the diencephalon (1998, 578). The brain thus appears primarily as an organ of regulation and integration of the whole organism. The body is the actual “player in the field” whose homeostasis and relation to the environment is at stake, 9

According to Jonas, “the dissociation of moving and sensing, with neural mediation between them”, reached in the metazoic stages of life, is the decisive step towards centralized control, and with it sentience and agency. “The nervous system, as a system of intercommunication distributed throughout the body, may then be said to constitute the ‘higher level’ we have indicated, and in this role provides a first answer to the question of who or what is the source of the control: it would be the organism as a whole, functionally integrated by its nervous system” (Jonas 1968, 246 f., emphasis added).

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and whose inner states may best indicate the suitable ways of outward reaction and behavior. Brain and body are therefore most intimately connected and influence each other in constant circular feedback. The background feeling of the body or the basic sense of being alive is the result of this continuous interaction. Through it the living, physical body becomes the lived and experienced body, or the basis of selfawareness.

4. Conclusion The purpose of this article was to demonstrate the fundamental connection of life and experience, Leben and Erleben, which on higher levels of animal life crosses over into conscious awareness. Experience, in whatever degree of consciousness, is always the self-experience of the organism in its actual relation to the environment. It is not a pure mental space or phenomenal tunnel produced inside the brain, but rather a manifestation of the animateness of the organism as a whole. Both vitality and conation as basic and indispensable dimensions of experience are derived from autopoietic processes of life that cannot be restricted to brain activity. Thus, the process of life is not just a limiting condition, but instead plays a constitutive role for the emergence of subjectivity and self-awareness. For eliminative materialists like Metzinger, on the contrary, the way we are given to ourselves through conscious experience can be nothing but an illusion. To be sure, biological organisms exist, but according to Metzinger (2009, 8), an organism is not a self. Some organisms only possess something like self-models, i. e. representational models of a given state of the cognitive system produced by this system itself. This model is basically equivalent to a complex but circumscribed brain state or the neural correlate of consciousness (Metzinger 2003, 563, 626). All that really exists is the information-processing system itself which is engaged, among other things, in operations of self-modeling, and we should not commit the mistake of confusing a model with reality. This at least is Metzinger’s account of phenomenal self-awareness. In contrast, the feeling of being alive testifies to a bodily self that is more than a self-model computed by neural machinery. Vitality and conation are the primary ways in which the living being experiences itself in meaningful relations to the world. They could not result from the activities of an isolated brain, nor would they make any sense as such.

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Until today, the brain centeredness of neuroscience and neurophilosophy has resulted in a neglect of the living organism. However, the investigation of the basic, bodily and affective functions of awareness shows that they arise from the vital regulatory processes that continuously run between brain and body and keep the inner milieu constant. The nervous system does not stop at the brain, but is spread all over the organism, receiving feedback from its various sensors as well as from the biochemical and hormonal milieu of blood and other liquids. This continuous ‘resonance’ between the brain, the nervous system and the entire organism is the precondition for conscious experience. The body is not simply the accidental carrier of the brain as an information-processing machine that produces consciousness out of itself. Rather, it is organized and centralized in such a way that it displays the suitable structure and dynamics to produce the conscious manifestations of life. We may say: Just as subjectivity is necessarily embodied, so a suitably organized, living body is necessarily subjective. It is a self insofar as it centralizes itself, delimits itself from the outside and constitutes an indivisible functional whole; and it is a self because it constantly transcends itself through its boundaries and relates to the environment by assigning meaning to it. Such a living being possesses at least an elementary subjectivity: sentience, feeling, striving, and awareness. Subjectivity is primarily life, animateness; and all experience is a manifestation of life. More than all other forms of experience, vitality, conation, and the basic feeling of being alive show us that we are neither pure minds nor self-models produced somewhere in the brain, but rather incarnate creatures – beings made of flesh and blood.

References Barbaras, Renaud (2008): Life, Movement, and Desire, in: Research in Phenomenology 38, 3 – 17. Damasio, Antonio (1995): Descartes’s Error: Emotion, Reason and the Human Brain, London: Picador. Damasio, Antonio (2000): The Feeling of What Happens. Body, Emotion and the Making of Consciousness, London: Vintage. Damasio, Antonio (2003): Looking for Spinoza: Joy, Sorrow, and the Feeling Brain, Orlando: Harcourt. De Catanzaro, Denys A. (1999): Motivation and Emotion, Upper Saddle River: Prentice Hall.

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Fuchs, Thomas (2005): Corporealized and Disembodied Minds. A Phenomenological View of the Body in Melancholia and Schizophrenia, in: Philosophy, Psychiatry & Psychology 12, 95 – 107. Fuchs, Thomas (2010): Das Gehirn – ein Beziehungsorgan. Eine phnomenologischçkologische Konzeption, 3rd edition, Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Fuchs, Thomas (2011a): The Brain – a Mediating Organ, in: Journal of Consciousness Studies 18, 196 – 221. Fuchs, Thomas (2011b): Temporality and Psychopathology, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences, (published online first). Glannon, Walter (2002): Depression as a Mind-Body Problem, in: Philosophy, Psychiatry & Psychology 9, 243 – 254. Heidegger, Martin (1962): Being and Time, Trans. John Macquarrie/Edward Robinson, Oxford: Blackwell. Henry, Michel (2002): Inkarnation. Eine Philosophie des Fleisches, french original: Incarnation. Une philosophie de la chair, Paris: Seuil, 2000, Freiburg: Alber. Jonas, Hans (1966): The Phenomenon of Life: Toward a Philosophical Biology, New York: Harper and Row. Jonas, Hans (1968): Biological Foundations of Individuality, in: International Philosophical Quarterly 8, 231 – 251. Kant, Immanuel (1987): Critique of Judgement, Trans. Werner S. Pluhar, Indianapolis: Hacket Publishing Company. Lang, Peter J./Bradley, Margaret M./Cuthbert, Bruce N. (1998): Emotion, Motivation, and Anxiety: Brain Mechanisms and Psychophysiology, in: Biological Psychiatry 15, 1248 – 1263. LeDoux, Joseph E. (1998): The Emotional Brain: The Mysterious Underpinnings of Emotional Life, London: Phoenix. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice (1968): The Visible and the Invisible, Alphonso Lingis (trans.), Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Metzinger, Thomas (1999): Subjekt und Selbstmodell. Die Perspektivitt phnomenalen Bewußtseins vor dem Hintergrund einer naturalistischen Theorie mentaler Reprsentation, 2nd edition, Paderborn: mentis. Metzinger, Thomas (2003): Being No-One: The Self-Model Theory of Subjectivity, Cambridge, Mass.: Cambridge University Press. Metzinger, Thomas (2009): The Ego-Tunnel. The Science of the Mind and the Myth of the Self, New York: Basic Books. Panksepp, Jaak (1998): Affective Neuroscience: The Foundations of Human and Animal Emotions, Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2008): Feelings of Being. Phenomenology, Psychiatry and the Sense of Reality, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sartre, Jean-Paul (1956): Being and Nothingness. An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology, Trans. Hazel E. Barnes, New York: Philosophical Library. Schneider, Kurt (1959): Clinical Psychopathology, New York: Grune & Stratton. Spaemann, Robert (1996): Personen. Versuche ber den Unterschied von ‘etwas’ und ‘jemand’, Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. Thompson, Evan (2004): Life and Mind: From Autopoiesis to Neurophenomenology. A Tribute to Francisco Varela, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 3, 381 – 398.

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Thompson, Evan (2007): Mind in Life. Biology, Phenomenology, and the Sciences of the Mind, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Varela, Francisco J. (1991): Organism: A Meshwork of Selfless Selves, in: Albert Tauber (Ed.), Organism and the Origin of Self, Dordrecht: Kluwer, 77 – 107. Varela, Francisco J. (1997): Patterns of Life: Intertwining Identity and Cognition, in: Brain and Cognition 34, 72 – 87. Waldenfels, Bernhard (2002): Bruchlinien der Erfahrung. Phnomenologie, Psychoanalyse, Phnomenotechnik, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Zahavi, Dan (1999): Self-Awareness and Alterity. A Phenomenological Investigation, Evanston: Northwestern University Press.

The Body and the Experience of Presence Joerg Fingerhut Abstract: We experience our encounters with the world and others in different degrees of intensity – the presence of things and others is gradual. I introduce this kind of presence as a ubiquitous feature of every phenomenally conscious experience, as well as a key ingredient of our ‘feeling of being alive’, and distinguish explanatory agendas that might be relevant with regard to this phenomenon (1 – 3). My focus will be the role of the body-brain nexus in realizing these experiences and its treatment in recent accounts of the bodily constitution of experience. Specifically, I compare a sensorimotor approach to perceptual presence that focuses on properties of the moving body (O’Regan 2011; Noë 2012) with a more general enactivism that focuses on properties of the living body (Thompson 2007). First, I develop and discuss a theory of access derived from sensorimotor theory that might be suited to explain the phenomenon of gradual presence. This is a theory that sees the mastery of sensorimotor, bodily engagements with the world as key elements in setting up a phenomenal experience space. I object that in current versions of sensorimotor theory the correlation posited between presence and changes in the subject’s physical relation to the environment is too rigid. Nevertheless I defend the claim that gradual presence is constituted by our temporally extended engagement with the environment (4 – 7). Second, I consider some objections stemming from enactivism with regard to self-regulatory properties of the living body and the phenomenological claim that the organism’s value-laden relations with its environment have to be included in the theory. I will show that the latter is a necessary amendment to sensorimotor theory and its concept of gradual presence (8-10).

1. Introduction Presence is a basic feature of our conscious life in at least two respects. There is, first of all, the general meaning of ‘presence’, that refers to the fact that something can be present to someone at all, that a world is present to the mind. In this sense one could say that presence is “the basic phenomenon of the whole domain of the mental” (Noë 2012, v). Second, ‘presence’ can denote an element or property that gives every conscious mental episode (or certain elements within such an episode) a specific vividness and strength such that its givenness to mind comes in degrees. As ‘forcefulness’, presence can be regarded as a central ele-

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ment of what has throughout this volume been called ‘feelings of being alive’, inasmuch as it refers directly to the phenomenology of a lived experience and to the experience of things that more or less matter to us. The objects of experience do not pass by uniformly; we experience them in different modalities as well as in different intensities. In this paper I will focus on this phenomenon of intensity or vividness – which I name ‘gradual presence’. Beyond the question of how phenomenologically best to describe such an experience of gradual presence, I will discuss two general options for how this phenomenal element might be realized in the human organism. These two options hint at two general descriptions or aspects of the body of the organism. There is, firstly, the concept of the living body and its vital processes (including its needs and drives) that can be said to underlie our lived experience. And there is, secondly, the experience of perceptual presence as mediated by the moving body and our exploratory engagement with the world. Both kinds of reference to the body play onto two prominent variants of the theory.

2. Two theories and two worries The concept of life and of living systems is at the heart of enactivism and was already present in its original conception in The Embodied Mind (Varela et al. 1991). In the years since it also has been transformed into a general research program for the cognitive sciences (Thompson/Varela 2001; Thompson 2007; Stewart et al. 2010; Di Paolo et al. 2010). Despite also referring to the multifaceted role of the body and highlighting the different domains it enacts – their is nevertheless a focus on the integral concept of the living and needful body in enactivism as the main explanandum of sentience and presence in an organism. It claims that a “philosophy of mind needs to be rooted in a phenomenological philosophy of the living body” (Thompson 2007, 222).1 In contrast to that, the sensorimotor theory of perception (O’Regan/Noë 2001 a,b) focuses on one specific domain of interaction with the envi1

Though mindfulness was at the very heart of the original formulation of enactivism, it is fair to say that the problem of sentience and consciousness (and of what kind of bodies exhibit consciousness and how consciousness is modulated by the body) entered the enactive literature only after its original formulation in 1991 and have found their most extensive treatment in Thompson (2007).

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ronment, namely the moving body and the access it gives us to the world and the way the world “makes itself available to the perceiver through physical movement and interaction” (Noë, 2004, 1).2 The latter theory takes presence to be a function of certain kinds of bodily interactions that are related to motion. Enactivism and sensorimotor theory thus both attribute a central role to the body in explaining mental phenomena. And more than that: they embrace a theory that extends the constituents of experience, the material vehicles of mental states, beyond the brain into the body of the perceiver. A comparison between the properties they attribute to the bodily states and processes in order to explain the unfolding of certain experiential states might help us to define more clearly how ‘embodiment‘ could figure within a philosophy of mind, thereby clarifying a rather blurry concept. Before looking into the details of the two concepts of bodily contributions to experience, I would like to fend off one possible objection to the fruitfulness of this comparison. One could argue that the difference between the two theories is simply one of scope: they do not aim at explaining the same phenomena and one might run into the danger of comparing apples and oranges. Sensorimotor theory first and foremost explains perceptual experience and perceptual presence, whereas enactivism tries to explain mindfulness and experience in general, thereby including also affective states, bodily feelings, and the like. Though there is some initial weight to this worry, it should not keep us from pursuing the comparison. Why this is so becomes clear when one looks at how sensorimotor theory treats the different aspects and kinds of experience that should be covered by a general theory of phenomenal consciousness. Either, as in Noë’s work, it is a deliberate choice to treat consciousness as primarily world-presenting and to generalize it in a way mostly akin to perceptual 2

In a sense, sensorimotor theory can be described as a narrower version of enactivism, subscribing only to a few claims of general enactivism’s paradigm. Alva Noë, too, has used the label ‘enactive’ (2004) and has acknowledged that there is a certain kinship between his theory and general enactivism, though without real theoretical overlap (2004, 233). The sensorimotor contingency theory of perception has been developed by O’Regan and Noë (2001a,b); see also Myin/O’Regan (2002). Although their paper deals mostly with conscious visual experience it is nevertheless the basis for further devolopments that will figure prominently in my paper: in Noë (2009; 2011; 2012) under the label of ‘actionism’, and in O’Regan (2011) under the original label.

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experience of the world. In that case this treatment must prove itself to be comprehensive of the whole domain of phenomenal presence.3 Or, sensorimotor theory acknowledges other states (emotions, bodily feelings) as falling under the range of conscious phenomena to be covered, and attempts to explain the specific presence of such states also and explicitly along the lines of sensorimotor engagements, as it is done in O’Regan (2011). Yet, a second worry might be worth noting. Enactivism and sensorimotor theory could be regarded as complementary and mutually supportive in generating explanations for the above-mentioned phenomena of presence. Enactivism also assigns the domain of sensorimotor interactions with the world a pivotal role in determining what we consciously experience (Thompson/Varela 2001, 424). As such, one could also argue that, if the two theories were so different in their understanding of the role of the body, it would be puzzling that neither has made much of an effort to prove the other wrong.4 In the second part of the present paper, after turning to the description of the phenomenon at hand and its sensorimotor explanation, I show that a different concept of the body is indeed at work in enactivism; a concept that also equips us with different explanatory means.

3. Aspects of consciousness Sensorimotor theorists’ focus on sensory and perceptual experience in their treatment of conscious states is not uncommon in philosophy of mind. Quite the contrary. Despite, for instance, the current widespread interest of cognitive science and philosophy in phenomena of affect and emotion, philosophers of mind often simply equate phenomenal consciousness with sensory experiences (of the world and the body), using, for example, color experience as the model case, when it comes to developing a theory of phenomenally conscious experience and its possible supervenience base in the brain/organism of the perceiv3

4

Despite what the title of Alva Noë’s most recent book – Varieties of Presence – suggests, he does not discuss affective states or emotions and claims that “the problem of consciousness, is the problem of the world’s presence to mind” (2012, 131 f.). One noteworthy exception is Thompson’s (2005) criticism that Noë’s theory lacks a proper grounding in the body with respect to the reflexive subjectivity of every conscious mental state.

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er. Affective elements of experience – not to mention such ‘strange’ phenomena as background experiences – are omitted from the picture altogether. Consider this textbook introduction to the question of what states are constituted by ‘feels’: Bodily sensations and perceptual experiences are prime examples of states for which there is something it is like to be in them. They have a phenomenal feel, a phenomenology, or, in a term sometimes used in psychology, raw feels. Cognitive states are prime examples of states for which there is not something it is like to be in them, of states that lack a phenomenology (Braddon-Mitchell/Jackson 2007, 129).

With regards to affects and emotions, the authors state that “desire per se has no special feel or phenomenology” and that emotions (130), though commonly linked with feelings, are not constituted by but rather simply associated with them.5 Such exclusive accounts of qualitative feels can be contrasted with rather inclusive theories such as William James’ famous analysis of ‘fringe consciousness’ and the broad range of feels that he allows for. Those feels go beyond ‘sensations’, ‘images’, ‘percepts’ (or what he calls ‘substantive’ moments and states) and include transitive, fleeting elements of our “swift consciousnesses” (James 1950, 274). James thereby acknowledges the specific “felt tendencies” in thought and extends these feelings even to logical relations and particles: “we ought to say a feeling of and, a feeling of if, a feeling of but, […] quite as readily as we say a feeling of blue or a feeling of cold” (James 1950, 245).6 Phenomenological theories of experience and contemporary versions of neurophenomenology (e. g. Lutz/Thompson 2003) also fall under such inclusive accounts. They allow for a wide range of felt states and processes, comprising different aspects of our ‘lived experience’ and explicitly include the affective, valence-based among the states with a specific feel. Also ‘existential feelings’ as discussed in the present volume are an example of this inclusiveness in contemporary phenomenology 5

6

When I speak of conscious states throughout this paper, I refer to phenomenally conscious states – states or episodes that have a specific feel to them or, to use Nagel’s famous formulation, that there is something it’s like to be in. There might be other ways of being conscious (see e. g. Block 1995) but I won’t be concerned with these directly. See also Dewey (1998). For a comprehensive account of contemporary approaches to the question whether there is a specific phenomenal element of thought and reflective consciousness proper, see the collection of papers in Bayne/Montague (2011).

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(Ratcliffe; Stephan; Slaby, this volume). These are ways of world-disclosure whose instantiations are characterized as having a felt sense of belonging to the world. These feelings incorporate the possibilities that are integral to the sense of having a world, what is reminiscent of the concept of the horizon, as it has been employed in the phenomenological tradition (Husserl 1973; 2001; Merleau-Ponty 2012). Regardless of how these notions are cashed out, they are understood as having their own feels related to them. For the purpose of this paper I remain neutral with regard to what kinds of states constitute classes of phenomenally conscious states, but I will allow a variety of experiences – beyond the basic sensory modalities – to be among them and consider their specific phenomenality something to be accounted for.7 I do this not by embracing an explicitly phenomenological position and methodology,8 but by referring to a sort of hetero-phenomenology. Subjects seem to be able to clearly distinguish different emotions (e. g. fear and disgust) along phenomenal lines, just as well as they are able to distinguish different sense modalities (e. g. vision and touch). In other words the phenomenal commonalities or differences between instances of this enlarged class of ‘modalities’ are strong enough that people can be fairly confident in their phenomenal judgment of under which class they fall. This way of parsing the field of possible phenomenally conscious states does not run the risk of over-diversifying it by, for example, allowing every kind of mental content to have its own feel. Yet it nevertheless acknowledges the distinctions people tend to make when referring to their experiences. But more importantly, I suggest that we include gradual presence, the experience of vividness within one modality or emotion, as a feature of the phenomenality of conscious states. I will treat this gradual concept of presence as an essential element of the ‘feel’ of a conscious experience. This is to say that ‘what it is like’ to undergo an experience is deter7

8

This somewhat goes against the orthodoxy in the analytic philosophy of mind that considers the ‘what-it-is-likeness’ of experience to be tantamount to the sensory or perceptual. For a direct argument for the latter and that other feelings – when it comes to their phenomenality – rely on the processing of certain ‘perceptual structures’ in the brain, see Prinz (2007; forthcoming). For enactivism, though, the methods stemming from the tradition of phenomenology have been key to the investigation of our mental lives. Thompson, for instance, has been explicit in his aim to bring philosophical phenomenology (i. e. the tradition of Husserl and Merleau-Ponty) and science (biology and neuroscience) together (Thompson 2011, 10 f.).

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mined not only by the sensory modality (that we experience something as visual and not as tactile) but also by the peculiar forcefulness or vividness of the experience.9 Much more could be said about this general concept of phenomenality. For the sake of brevity I will help myself to a definition given by Charles S. Peirce that nicely exposes some aspects of the interrelation of vividness and phenomenal feel: [T]he color sensation which you derive from looking at the red-lead has a certain hue, luminosity, and chroma which completely define the quality of the color. The vividness, however, is independent of all three of these elements; and it is very different in the memory of the color a quarter of a second after the actual sensation from what it is in the sensation itself, although this memory is conceivably perfectly true as to hue, luminosity, and chroma, which truth constitutes it an exact reproduction of the entire quality of the feeling. It follows that since the vividness of a feeling – which would be more accurately described as the vividness of a consciousness of the feeling – is independent of every component of the quality of that consciousness, and consequently is independent of the resultant of those components, which resultant quality is the feeling itself (CP I. 308 f.).

In Peirce’ understanding ‘hue, luminosity, and chroma’ are three elements that occur together in the immediate consciousness of the quality of a feeling, which means that they are inseparable and instantaneous in the experience. But there is also a vividness of the experience to be accounted for – something that he introduces as a comparative concept that relates feelings to each other.10 This vividness, and this is important, nevertheless co-constitutes the phenomenal feel of the conscious state itself. Qualia, according to Peirce, are what stand for themselves. But once we regard the phenomenal experience of them as being comprised in a feeling (i.e. an actually occurring mental state) we also have to include the vividness they exhibit as a central element of their phenomenology. Based on this last point I would argue that gradual presence or vividness is a felt component in its own right making the kind of access we 9 This holds also for the different kinds of emotion we experience (anger, fear, jealousy, for instance): they come in different strengths. We also experience the actions of others as more or less enchanting or threatening, or the recall of an event in episodic memory as, e. g., forcefully occupying our thoughts. 10 Following Peirce’s terminology, quality determines the ‘firstness’ of an experience whereas the vividness is a ‘secondness’; yet both are elements of feelings: “Every feeling has a greater or less degree of vividness; but vividness results from a comparison of feelings” (1997, 141).

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have, so to say, phenomenally experienceable. (It is therefore not just a part of the consciousness of the feeling as the passage cited above somewhat misleadingly suggests). I have two reasons for this assessment. First, the strength of an experience is such a ubiquitous property of our phenomenology – one that is immediately intelligible to every feeling subject – that it should be attributed a pivotal role in a theory of qualitative feels. And second, the relative vividness of one episode compared to another does not simply amount to more of something else (e.g. a ‘more of content’)11 and it is not the cognitive integration alone that is determined or indicated by it. This is what might convince us to treat it as a conscious element that constitutes an additional phenomenal feel (albeit always connected with a modality or emotional hue). In this sense, or so I argue, it constitutes a phenomenological building block that should be included in a theory of the lived subjectivity of embodied agents. The way I want to account for this vividness of experience in the following is by linking it to contemporary explanations in philosophical accounts of the embodied, enactive mind of what constitutes the specific gradual presence of mental states. I therefore will first look into the naturalistic explanations given in sensorimotor theories of perception of the alleged bodily mechanisms that mediate the force or vividness of experience.

4. Sensorimotor theory Sensorimotor theory is a theory about phenomenally conscious states. In this it exceeds the ecological approach to perception – as it has been developed by James J. Gibson – to which it otherwise owes many of its central paradigms, such as the focus on the role of movement (of the eye, the head, the body) in perception as well as the central claim that perceptual content is determined by certain invariants that hold between the sensory apparatus and elements in the environment (1979). In its original formulation as a theory of perception, sensorimotor theory claims that different phenomenal states within one sense modality (say vision) differ because the sensorimotor contingencies (the regularities 11 This ist to say that it prima facie seems plausible to experience the same, modality-specific content as more or less enticing or vivid without assuming that it has additional representational elements attributed to it.

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of how an object changes with regard to the movements of the perceiver) are different with different objects; and it claims that the sense-modalities of experiences (say those of vision and touch) differ because they are governed by different laws of such sensorimotor dependencies – i.e. they are constituted by fundamentally different action-to-stimulation signatures. In vision, for example, we gather relative depth information about distal objects that are partially occluded by ways of moving (approaching and reproaching), a regularity that is not available in touch. “The experience of seeing occurs when the organism masters what we call the governing laws of sensorimotor contingency” (O’Regan/ Noë 2001a, 939). It is the mastery of these laws that distinguishes visual experience from perception in other modalities. A good example is the visual experience of shape. The authors cite a case where a patient, after having a congenital cataract removed, was surprised that a coin – a kind of object that he had been interacting with before through touch – when rotated should change so dramatically (from round to elliptical) in visual perception. This finding fits nicely into the picture of sensorimotor theory. As the theory suggests, the visual experience of shape is determined by the practical understanding of “the set of all potential distortions that the shape undergoes when it is moved relative to us, or when we move relative to it”, a practical understanding that the above described patient lacks and has to learn anew (O’Regan/Noë 2001a, 942). By making reference to bodily movements and sensorimotor dependencies in such cases, the aim is to explain “why sensations have a ‘feel’ and why ‘feels’ feel the way they do” (O’Regan/ Noë 2001b, 1010). In the case of the patient ‘learning to see’: he fully experiences vision the way we do only after he has learned to integrate the sensory information into a skillful routine that makes the changes in input intelligible to him.12

12 The most stunning examples in this respect are sensory substitution cases, where congenitally blind people learn to interact with the environment via a headmounted camera that conveys its information on a vibrating array on the skin (or tongue) of the subjects. After having learned to interact with objects in the environment, those subjects report the emergence of an experientially new, distal sense with a special phenomenality related to it; a kind of experience that is, or so one could argue, akin to visual experience (Bach-y-Rita 1969; Bach-y-Rita et al. 1996).

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5. O’Regan’s phenomenality plot13 Beyond felt modality and content of perceptual states, sensorimotor theory also explains the experience of different strengths of sensory presence. According to the theory this is also determined by the kinds of bodily access we have to objects in perception. This access is broken down into purely functional and objectifiable terms. It is a relation of our body and sensory system to the environment that can be accounted for by the features of so-called ‘bodiliness’ and ‘grabbiness’. Your interactions with objects in your vicinity, as opposed to objects in the next room, exhibit these features. When you move your head, the profile of an object close to you will change (bodiliness). And your visual apparatus is set up such that when an object in your visual field changes, it will attract your attention and certain stimuli will provoke an immediate orienting behavior of the body (grabbiness).14 The interaction at work is a temporally extended one and thus cannot be understood statically, as a state that a person is in. In the slogan of sensorimotor theory: perception is not something that happens to us, it is something we do, and these doings take time. Yet the temporality of these interactions is not necessarily an experience of succession and the experienced quality does not have to mirror the bodily practices; the temporal aspects are transparent in experience while nonetheless determining the quality and content of what we experience. This point is also mirrored in another aspect of the theory: we do not have direct, conscious access to the sensorimotor laws and contingencies that govern 13 The phenomenality plot already figures in a paper co-authored by O’Regan, Myin and Noë (2005). Here and in the next subchapter I will attribute certain aspects of the sensorimotor theory to a single author, according to its specific usage in their most recent monographs (O’Regan 2011; Noë 2012). 14 O’Regan also adds the concepts of ‘richness’ (of the world we engage with) and ‘(partial) insubordinateness’ as important factors in determining the sense of reality in seeing (2011, 31). Because they do not play an important role in the phenomenality plot, I will not be concerned with them. The way I see it, these concept pose possible problems for the theory. For example, the concept of richness can also be accounted for by making reference to non-conceptual and not yet consciously accessed content that is coded in the brain, of which the conscious subject can only make limited use at a given time – hence the experience of abundance, or richness (see e. g. the concept of analogue content in Dretske 1981). But then there is no need to include – as O’Regan aspires to do – the body and sensorimotor interaction as central explanans of the feel that corresponds to this concept.

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our interaction, i. e. the very laws that determine what we experience when we experience it. The features of grabbiness and bodiliness have been used by Kevin O’Regan to explain beyond perceptual experiences also the presence of ‘raw feels’ and other kinds of experience. He explores the possibility that they might be a marker of phenomenality in general and that they coconstitute every phenomenal experience: […] if richness, bodiliness, insubordinateness, and grabbiness are the basis for ‘what it’s like’ of sensory feels, then we can naturally ask whether these concepts can do more work for us. In particular we would like them to explain, in the case of other nonsensory types of experiences, the extent to which people will claim these have ‘a something it’s like’ (O’Regan 2011, 165).

O’Regan goes on to develop a ‘phenomenality plot’, with bodiliness and grabbiness as its main axes (2011, 165 – 178). Only experiences that rank high on both measures exhibit a strong sensory presence. Let’s consider the feelings of hunger and thirst as examples along these lines. Both have very little bodiliness: “Moving parts of your body does not change the signals of hunger and thirst” (O’Regan 2011, 171). Yet, they plot relatively high on the grabbiness scale – they will set you in an alerted state with regard to food and beverage, and will themselves attract your attention and interfere with your thoughts – though not as high as sudden pains, because hunger and thirst are more phasic. Since such cravings are ‘off’ the main diagonal of the chart, they do not have the same sensory presence as the basic sensory modalities (that figure high in bodiliness and grabbiness) – a fact that can be used to explain the relative phenomenal ‘dullness’ of these feelings. One prediction of O’Regan’s theory is that mental states that plot zero on both axes would have no feel, no phenomenality at all. The claims involved here are: (i) For any state, in order for it to have a phenomenal feel at all it must score more than zero on one of the axes of the phenomenality plot. (ii) Strongly experienced presence is plotted by high scores on the axes. (iii) Scoring equally high on both axes makes a feeling more akin to perceptual experiences (being ‘off’ the main diagonal does the opposite). (iv) Scoring more than zero is defined by being directly influenced by bodily interactions. From (i) and (iv) it follows that having a phenomenal feel at all is a function of being directly

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modulated by bodily interactions;15 and from (ii) and (iv), that gradual presence is determined by the amount of bodiliness and grabbiness. Especially the latter is worth noticing: presence is a direct function of measurable elements of bodiliness and grabbiness. So beyond the structured elements (the respective sensorimotor laws) that determine the modality-specific experience (e. g. visual or tactile) of sense perception, the phenomenality plot adds the amount of bodiliness and grabbiness (the amount of impact that changes in our body and changes in the environment have) in order to determine the strength of phenomenal presence. The problem with the phenomenality plot, as O’Regan presents it, is that it is either too ambitious or not ambitious enough with regard to its explanatory scope. At times it seems that the specific position on the plot (and the respective properties of bodily engagement that determines this position) is supposed to explain the specific presence – or at least the presence relative to the sense modality – that is determinative of a feel and describes it sufficiently (ii, iii). Basic sense modalities, as an exception, are determined in their experienced type of phenomenality by the structure of the interactions underlying them additionally to their amount of bodiliness and grabbiness (on the phenomenality plot they hold almost the same position), yet this does not hold for other experiences such as cravings, emotion, and the like. Their experienced quality is supposed to be determined exclusively by positioning them on the phenomenality plot. It is important to remember that this plot is ‘leveled’ out with regards to the standard of the sense-modalities that are high on the main diagonal. So all other feelings are assessed in relation to these sense modalities and the extent to which bodily changes influence their experience. Yet if O’Regan wants to do that, it will be problematic that he allows different feels to occupy the same spot on the plot without being 15 A short insertion: this is not the same as explaining why we have phenomenal experiences at all – although O’Regan would also like to argue in that direction and sees his theory as a way of dealing with the ‘hard problem of consciousness’ (Chalmers 1996). At the moment I do not see sensorimotor theory making any headway in closing the proposed explanatory gaps (regardless of whether one thinks that the gap persists because the right concepts are not within the reach of contemporary theory, or one thinks that the way the gap is conceived makes it unbridgeable). And to be sure, what has been said above does not amount to a sufficient condition of consciousness within O’Regans theory, either. Therefore the cognitive access of the experiencing subject to those feelings has to be taken into account, as well.

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experienced as phenomenally similar. Tickling, small pains and itching all have roughly the same bodiliness and grabbiness according to O’Regan (2011, 172 – 174) and they cannot additionally be differentiated by reference to differences in the corresponding mastery of sensorimotor contingency (as, for example, the basic sense modalities can). Here it is quite telling that O’Regan acknowledges the problem but solves it by going beyond the scheme of his phenomenality plot. He claims that tickles and hurts have the same sensory presence but that accounting for pain requires an additional non-phenomenal, evaluative concept: for O’Regan the ‘hurt’ of pain is not a phenomenally experienced element. From this it should also be clear that he takes the relative position in the phenomenality plot otherwise and in most cases to be determinative of the feel of these experiences. Or else he would not need to introduce this extra-bodily, evaluative element in the case of tickles and pains. What we gain by positing this evaluative element in pain is a new way of describing differences in feelings, yet one that O’Regan sees as extra-phenomenal. This renders the above claims and the phenomenality plot to some extent uninformative and inevitable weakens his theory because it excludes differences among feelings that are ordinarily conceived as phenomenal differences (such as the experiences difference between a small pain and a tickle). The problem consists, in my view, in the rigidity of the correlation between presence and bodily modulation, in O’Regan’s account. A correlation that at the same time constitutes also the attraction of his theory because it enables one to directly correlate phenomenal differences in presence to bodily changes and to make them available for scientific studies. We will see shortly that a slightly different approach to the phenomenon circumvents the aforementionaed problem. There the correlation between ‘physical characteristics’ and experienced ‘feels’ – while nevertheless playing an important role – is not as direct.

6. Noë’s access space The philosopher Alva Noë extends the insights of sensorimotor theory towards a general theory of what is available to us: “skills, know-how, knowledge, and understanding – these are the ground of our access to what there is; these mark out the extent of consciousness” (2012, 32). He therefore calls what is necessary for perceptual experiences “sensor-

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imotor understanding” (Noë 2012, 24) but also allows other forms of understanding to contribute to our ways of world-disclosure. Based on this, we can experience perceptual presence of more things than we had previously thought. Consider, first, the backside of a tomato that is hidden from view and what has been labeled ‘the problem of perceptual presence’ (Noë 2004, chap. 2). Noë argues that to some extent we visually sense the backside as present, because we know how to make contact with it.16 The gradual presence of occluded features is experienced because we implicitly know how to make them ‘directly’ visible and the scope of our understanding determines what we are conscious of. In a weaker sense also the tomato next door (an object that we may have perceived earlier) is present even when we only think about it: we know how to get there. Noë contends that we have a quasi-perceptual relation to this physically existing object that ensures that we are to some extent phenomenally conscious of it. He introduces the notion of ‘presence in absence’ as one inherent in every phenomenally conscious state. Nothing in consciousness is completely absorbed and present: everything we experience is in a sense ‘virtual’ since we are always engaged in the exploration of further not yet attended features of the perceived object or scene. Perception is “virtual all the way in” (Noë 2004, 193).17 Noë suggests that a subject’s physical relation to an object and the mastery of skills that gets him into contact with it determines the degree and intensity of presence. So at this point one could argue that presence also can be directly elicited by changes in one of these two conditions alone, for instance via changes related to the mastery of a skill. New knowledge gained about ways of getting in contact with an object (or about the object itself) could change the vividness in the presence. In 16 Noë’s main point is slightly different in his assessment of the phenomenon. He argues that we visually experience the whole tomato as opposed to only the front of it that is in plain sight. 17 One consequence of such a concept of consciousness might be that there are no first-person-perspective, directly given, simple qualities. Whatever is a candidate for conscious experience has to be further explored in order to gain this status. In other words: it can only occur and persist via changes. Yet nothing said so far rules out the conceptual possibility that there be something of which we might be instantaneously conscious at a certain time (what in philosophical jargon has sometimes been called ‘qualia’). Even if this is possible, the descriptions and explanations of the way our conscious lives unfold – which is the topic of my paper – would not be informed by such a concept.

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that case, not only sensitivity to perturbations through movement but also socio-linguistic practices can have an immediate impact on the experience of presence. Here nothing changes per se in the physical relation to the object; there are no alterations in its proximity or its existence. This is a rendering of the theory that Noë only explores in passing but I would argue that also direct influences on the knowledge of ‘how-to-get-into-contact’ alone could be used to explain how an object of experience can figure more or less forcefully in experience. The aforementioned thought about a tomato next door (where the difference in presence as compared to the backside of the tomato is only one in degree, both constituting quasi-perceptual cases) exemplifies what I just said.18 Once Noë allows such cases, in which non-perceptual changes in the bodily relation to an object (as e. g. when the tomato is moved one room further away) can influence the experienced presence, we do not have to stop short of the conclusion that absent objects – even ones that we have not yet perceived – can become phenomenally present in quasi-perceptual ways. Here it is not the physical or bodily relation to the object whose changes become vivid but ‘evocations’ or new informations given by our surroundings and peer that might change the relation to the object.19 Such a line of reasoning becomes possible because of Noë’s emphasis on the continuity of perception and thought (2009, 479 – 82). Both are skillful relations to the world and both are ‘conceptual’ under a certain description: we do not experience raw sense data but always elements mediated by the respective skillful relation (sensorimotor or other) to the object. Also in thoughts and intentional acts the kind of relation we bear to the relevant object, the kind of access we have to it, figures as a constituent of that act. Access might change in light of new information or via encounters with others in the social realm (others might, for example, have better information regarding the objects of a 18 For reasons of simplicity I stick to the tomato example; in recent writings Noë uses the example of his friend ‘Dominic’ who is in another country but can get in contact with him, e. g., via phone (2009; 2012). 19 To give a simple example, consider my ability to evoke the presence of Aristotle in you. If I were to tell you now that Aristotle is at the door and will knock in a few seconds, I will already have changed his experienced presence. The effect of the suggestion is as astonishing as the event conjured up is unlikely to occur: by coming up with such a scenario I appeal to your knowledge of Aristotle (maybe evoke depictions you have seen) as well as your knowledge of how somebody at the door would affect your perceptual apparatus.

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thought). So objects of thought are also susceptible to changes in availability through encounters with thought-changing events. Changes in the knowledge of the relation therefore co-determine the experienced presence of the objects of thought. Yet Noë also sometimes treats thought presence and perceptual presence as portraying very different kinds of access to the world and he is adamant in his claim that perceptual experience of presence requires the existence of an object to which the organism relates: “Existence is a condition of availability or access”, he writes, and “[w]hen there is no object, there is, at best, something misleadingly like perceptual consciousness going on” (Noë 2009, 478 f.). And in passages where he is anxious to avoid the possible conclusion that we are perceptually conscious of any spatio-temporally located thing (regardless how close or distant it is) he is quite clear that – in order to experience perceptual presence – we have to be in a relation to an object where movementdependence and object-dependence (or bodiliness and grabbiness) conditions hold. In other words, some kind of physical proximity, which makes objects influencing these conditions, has to be given. I would argue that this move unduly limits him in his assessment of the phenomenology of gradual presence and contradicts other passages in his writing. Also thought elements can become present without changes in the body-object relation eliciting them by – in a sense – piggybacking on the practical knowledge involved in sensorimotor encounters with the objects.20 This possibility should at least be considered more seriously in a theory that aims at displaying the different influencing factors on our phenomenal experience. I would argue further that presence, understood as gradual, can be seen as a modality of availability, beyond and besides the basic sense modalities, making such a presence a feature of every conscious experienced state. It can thus provide a link from the phenomenality of perceptual cases to other mental states. To sum up: perceptual presence in Noë’s account remains largely a feature of our causal relation to the world. Yet his focus on the broader notion of skill also allows more elements to influence the way the world 20 This kind of hijacking of perceptual structures is also at work in cases of sleep or hallucinations. One could argue that in dreams the brain is also under the impression that further information about the dream scene could be gained through various actions – thus what is hijacked is the entire expectancy system. So what might be necessary here is not a matter of evoking a complex and detailed representation of a scene but rather the activiation of the ‘access system’ of the brain.

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can act upon us (or our sensitivity to the world), and the skillful ways we can gain access to it. Noë highlights this by showing to what extent our access is an achievement of the understanding. In the last paragraphs I tried to unpack this by focusing on additional elements that might influence the access-relation directly and thereby modulate the experienced presence of mental states. One worry might be that I thereby have somehow lost the focus on the moving body (that was more explicit in O’Regans phenomenality plot) in favor of a more intellectualist or cognitivist theory of presence. Indeed, the role of the body is now a more indirect one. Before moving on to the notion of the living body, I will consider a criticism of the way the body figures in sensorimotor theory that directly relates to this point.

7. Brain and body There is a tension in sensorimotor theory between, on the one hand, the role it ascribes to the activity of the body in perception (and the existence of the object the organism interacts with) and, on the other hand, the role knowledge or understanding play in the constitution of experience through the element of skill. The philosopher Ned Block has criticized the theory on the basis of this tension (2005, O’Regan/Block 2012). He says that as long as the theory claims that conscious experience is a bodily activity, it will have a hard time accounting for the phenomenal experience in imagination, visual hallucinations or dreams where no such activity is in place. The possible move towards a more cognitive explanation of what realizes these experiences,21 on the other hand, is in his view tantamount to giving up the strong claim that activity is constitutive of experience: “[e]ven if perceptual experience depends causally or counterfactually on movement or another form of activity, it does not follow that perceptual experience constitutively involves movement” (Block 2005, 265). He then links the question of activity vs. cognition directly to the question of the vehicles of perceptual experience. Block sees no grounds for upholding the claim that consciousness is a property of (or simply is) bodily interaction and not just a property of a brain 21 Namely towards the knowledge and the expectancies of what stimulations would be received upon motion in a certain direction. This line of thinking is already apparent in the author’s responses of the original paper (O’Regan/ Noë 2001b, 1015).

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state. To his mind, the body is not part of the minimal supervenience base of experiences. It should be apparent from what has been said so far that there is indeed a certain asymmetry at work in sensorimotor theory. Whereas the brain is always involved in conscious experience, bodily action seems not to be necessary for every instance of it. According to Noë perception at least requires sensorimotor knowledge, “[b]ut neither the possession nor the exercise of such knowledge requires movement” (2010, 247). If this is so, then all that the activity comes down to is the ‘exercise’ of this knowledge (since ‘possession’ is not a plausible candidate for activity). Along these lines, Noë retreats in recent writings to the position that what has to be given for experience is an activity of understanding: “[p]erception is active, according to the actionist, in the same way that thought is active” (ibid.). Thus Noë does not want to give up the activity claim: experience is determined by actual practice – the capacity to perform actions is not by itself enough. Yet such actual practices do not have to involve movement.22 But what the minimal requisite activity would be remains somewhat unspecified. I would like to hint very briefly at a way of maintaining bodily activity in the account (and to resolving the tension Block refers to) by putting two strands of argumentation together: first, by introducing a slightly less rigid constitution claim and, second, by calling attention to an important feature of the concept of gradual presence: the underlying comparative, temporal element. The constitution claim, first of all. Sensorimotor theory argues that the brain does play its role and has developed the specific connections and circuitry that underlie perception because it has been recruited by world-engaging loops of the organism.23 If one takes the ontogenetic 22 The way I want to sketch this position falls between what has been labeled the strong and the weak claim of sensorimotor theory (Shapiro 2011, 168). According to the weak claim, exercise of sensorimotor knowledge consinst in the potential to act; according to the strong claim, exercise requires actual movement, e. g. saccades of the eye to test sensorimotor contingencies. 23 See O’Regan (2011, 65) on the imminent role of the brain and the need to refrain from taking it to be the sole realizer of such experiences: “Each of these facts about the mode of interaction we call ‘seeing’ is a consequence of the way we are built and the way our brains are wired up. To explain what it’s like to see, we need to look in the brain for the mechanisms that enable each of these properties of visual interaction. We should not try to find particular neural structures in the brain that generate the experience of seeing.”

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development of an organism into consideration, one can convincingly argue that without these interactions the physical structures underlying phenomenal states would not develop nor persist. 24 Block acknowledges this but discards such dependencies as causal. Yet, in my view, these are enabling conditions in a strong sense – especially since the structures underlying the experiences in question would immediately start to be recruited by other tasks of the organism if the bodily interactions underlying the respective experiences were not further available to the subject. So even though this might not exhibit an immediate experienced effect (a lack of experience itself hardly would count as an experiential effect), the effect on the underlying structure would be consistent given the adaptivity and plasticity of our brain. This would not convince critics focusing on the minimal supervenience base of such experiences. In their view, as long as some form of phenomenal consciousness can be realized without changes in the body and its interactions the minimal base does not have to be extended beyond the brain. Yet one could argue that especially a full phenomenal experience – including gradual presence – is in fact constituted by bodily interactions. Here simply referring to the realization in the brain might not be sufficient to determine the properties of the mental states because the experience of gradual presence decreases already on the short term, when there is no actuation of the bodily interaction patterns with the world. Consider the case where presence is induced through verbal suggestion and hijacks the knowledge and the sensorimotor expectancies involved in normal perception. The fact that this knowledge does not become actualized after it has been evoked (because the perceptual followup does not occur) has an effect on the experienced vividness, for instance when it is evoked a second or third time without a bodily actualization of the perceptual relation.25 So besides the long-term diachronic element of contact with the world that sets up the sensorimotor knowledge system, the extent to which mental states become gradually present is already determined by interactions on a short time scale. 24 This point refers to the astonishing plasiticity of the brain in early development as well as during learning in adulthood. The most convincing cases for this are in my view the sensory substitution cases that I referred to in footnote 12. 25 In this sense, the third or fourth time I would try to evoke the thought that Aristotle is about to knock on the door it will probably not get you excited anymore.

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What should be clear from that is that it is only for a theorist looking to hold a minimal model of realization as well as a minimal model of the components of phenomenal experience that Block’s argument can exert its power. Once vividness of presence is included as a key feature of phenomenally conscious states (as a comparative concept in the sense we discussed it in the passage from Peirce and as one ‘set up’ through bodily interactions) and especially if its relational, temporally extended nature is acknowledged the argument loses its force. The latter can be extended to a more general point. The structure of experience includes elements that remain in our consciousness and elements yet to be perceived (the phenomenological tradition has e. g. argued that an ‘appearance’ includes a sense of the view just had and a sense of a view you are about to have). This holds even the more so for gradual presence, which in each of its instances might be realized in relation to previously, concurrently or subsequently actualized bodily or skillful behavior. What so far constituted the attraction of sensorimotor theory and its concept of the moving body, was that within the theory “objective physical characteristics of sensorimotor interaction […] can be linked directly to the kinds of things people will tend to say about their feels” (O’Regan 2011, 176, emphasis added). Different profiles of bodily engagement, beyond mere reference to neural states, were meant to provide insights that make the phenomenally experienced differences intelligible as well as investigable. This works for differences in sense-modalities, and it works to some extent also for differences in gradual presence – albeit, as I have tried to show, in a slightly less direct way, because other mental states, i. e. the influences on the knowledge regarding the access to an object here have to be taken into account as well. After having developed some elements of this extended version of the role of the body in sensorimotor theory I will look now into the general concept of the body in enactivism in order to disclose further bodily properties that might constitute our sense of gradual presence.

8. The body in the enactive approach In Action in Perception, Noë has argued that to perceive like us “you must have a body like ours” and therefore fended off positions in cognitive science and philosophy of mind that aim at an autonomous, independent level (e. g. the algorithmic level in Marr’s Theory of vision) to explain the relevant, mindful capacities without making reference to the

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lower level properties of the realizing system (2004, 25). In this sense our very body matters for the theory. Yet, sensorimotor theory – as well as the just introduced extensions of the theory toward other feelings (O’Regan) or a more general theory of understanding (Noë) – does not attribute distinctive properties to the organismic body, nor does it have a general concept of what it consists of. Instead it focuses on sensorimotor interactions and skillful relations that are structured by our bodies (i. e. by its morphology and the movement it enables). It accounts for the differences between modalities of experience by highlighting different modes of bodily interaction, it explains the richness of the content of experience by showing that it includes what is available to us through sensorimotor skills (and not only what is represented in the brain), and it shows how bodily and object-related changes influence the experienced vividness or gradual presence. This is why I referred to it as a theory of the moving body. Although sensorimotor theory of perception and its philosophical treatment is often seen as an outcome and at least as compatible with the more general enactive approach it is clear that the latter outstrips the explanatory scope of the former. This is especially so with regard to a more profound concept of the organism, its living body and its properties, as well as with regard to what follows from this concept, namely the inseparability of emotional and cognitive processes based on a general theory of the value-laden interaction of the organism with its environment. Here are two claims that one can derive from enactivism with respect to the body. Claim (1) that it is the living body as an autonomous, adaptive system that realizes cognition. It is only with regard to such a system that we can explain the sensorimotor understanding we undergo, because it makes intelligible the ways in that we are ‘sense-making’ agents in the first place.26 And the phenomenological claim (2) that there is a felt agency that has to be accounted for, in the sense that things that are consciously present matter to us. The latter refers to the concept of a lived body that underlies all our experiences and that constitutes an intransitive sense of experiencing, a concept that enactivism has imported from the phenomenological tradition (see the concepts of ‘kinaesthetic expe26 For a brief introduction into basic concepts of the enactive approach (autonomy, autopoiesis, adaptivity, sense-making) see Thompson (2005, 407 – 409) and Thompson/Stapleton (2009).

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rience’ and ‘Leib’ in Husserl 1989 or ‘phenomenal body’ in MerleauPonty 2012). Both claims are related, as we will see shortly, and can be seen as constituting challenges for sensorimotor theory. Jointly they also provide means to explain the occurrences of gradual presence in alternative ways.

9. The living body I deal with the foundational claim (1) first. It captures nicely some basic assumptions about the relation of life and mind in enactive theories. Enactivism argues that every organism plays an active role in the generation and bringing forth of an ‘Umwelt’; i. e. a living being enacts a milieu that is already marked by valence for this being. This holds for simple as well as for complex organisms: even single cell organisms have a ‘perspective’ in the sense that encounters with the world have significance for them (e. g. the detection of a sugar gradient in the environment). Despite the fact that their interactions with the environment are basic one could argue that they embody some form of mindfulness.27 The prerequisite is that the autopoeitic and adaptive system exhibits sensitivity to environmental conditions. “Cognition requires a natural centre of activity on the world as well as a natural perspective on it” (di Paolo 2005, 12). This is what triggers the enactive project to naturalize sense-making. Without going into details, two elements that characterize more complex organisms are of interest to us. First, complex systems have mechanisms or abilities to monitor not only states in the environment but also their own interactions with the environment – a fact that is sometimes related to cognition proper in enactive theories. Second, this monitoring of interactions is even more crucial for animals that 27 Enactivism stresses that the behavior of mindful animals and humans is on a continuum with other forms of life. Hans Jonas – who reckoned that a philosophy of life should constitute a centrepiece of 20th century philosophy – made a classic statement of this view in The Phenomenon of Life: “the organic even in its lowest forms prefigures mind, and […] mind even on its highest reaches remains part of the organic” (Jonas 2001, 1). The foundations of this claim and the promises and pitfalls of a ‘strong life and mind continuity thesis’ will not be investigated in depth in this paper, nor will I address the question at what level consciousness arises. My focus will be the complex system capable of locomotion and equipped with a nervous system, or in other words: animal life.

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have the means of locomotion and thus engage in complex search or flight behaviors. It has been argued that the development of the nervous system might be correlated to the requirement to deal with these kinds of demanding behaviors. These interactions of complex systems are also acknowledged as significant with regard to a general concept of presence and of the ‘feeling of being’ as it is understood in Thompson’s treatment of the topic under the heading of ‘sentience’: Animal life is thus marked by a distinctive sensorimotor way of being in the world. This sensorimotor way of being, in its full extent, comprises locomotion and perception, emotion and feeling, and a sense of agency and self – in a word, sentience (2007, 221).

Note that sentience here is not yet directly related to what I have called gradual presence but rather to the general occurrence of conscious mental states. But not only sensorimotor interaction has to be considered when it comes to explaining ‘mindful’ behavior and the phenomenology of the lived body. Thompson has argued that three modes of ongoing bodily activity determine our mental life (Thompson et al. 2001; 2005): (a) the body as involved in self-regulation (b) the body as engaged in sensorimotor coupling with the world (c) the body as engaged in intersubjective interactions with other bodies

The first mode especially concerns the processes that ensure that a system is alive and sentient in a basic sense, and that might determine basic cravings, strivings and e. g. experienced needs such as hunger. The second form of bodily interaction has been our focus throughout this paper and “is expressed in perception, emotion, and action” (Thompson 2007, 243). At this level the organism exhibits a special kind of sense-making (through movement, controlled sensory input, and the nervous system) that is directed towards objects and includes, for instance, a perceptual background-foreground structure and the temporal integration of information.28 It is tempting to see each of these bodily interactions as referring to both an objectifiable form of living and a phenomenally experienced 28 I won’t address the third mode of bodily interaction in enactivism because nothing in the present paper hinges on it. It marks an important addition, though, and relates to what I have called socio-linguistic practice but also to the level of interacting bodies in processes of shared sense-making. See e. g. the concept of ‘participatory sense-making’ in De Jaegher et al. (2007).

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form of living or, in short, a lived experience. Different forms of organization bring forth their own domains of interaction and determine different kinds of identities of organisms (Varela 1997; di Paolo et al. 2010). Yet this depiction is in my view misleading; rather one has to think that all three bodily engagements together constitute us as complex, conscious human beings and determine our cognitive lives and our lived phenomenal experience. The foundational claim (1) is thus both a metaphysical and an epistemological claim. Metaphysically the properties of the other bodily levels (b) and (c) cannot exist without the life-regulating body (a); nor can the mindful states we want to attribute to a human organism, states that emerge from the different forms of bodily processes. And epistemologically we cannot gain full understanding of what determines our experiences if we do not take the living body into account; understanding cognition and consciousness therefore requires understanding life as an autonomous system under precarious conditions. What enactivism offers is a theory of the biological requirements for the kind of consciousness we exhibit, based on but not restricted to the self-regulating body (a).29 The way I see it, even if one holds the claim that what directly determines our perceptual consciousness for the most part is the sensorimotor body (b) – which also defines a new mode of interaction with the environment – enactivism encourages us, in order to gain a full understanding of the experiences an organism undergoes, to include the ‘other’ bodies as well and avoid the pitfall of equating conscious experience with only one level of organization. That enactivism indeed places the self-regulating body (a) at the heart also of our phenomenally conscious experience can be seen in the way it deals with ‘minimal supervenience base’-challenges like the ones Block raised against sensorimotor theory. Thompson, for instance, has argued that the way consciousness unfolds is inextricably linked with the life-regulation processes of the body, and that if this is so, then a purportedly disembodied brain could not exhibit conscious experience (Cosmelli/Thompson 2010; Thompson/Cosmelli, forthcoming). Here it becomes clear that, for enactivism, a richer biological theory including 29 Once again: this does not denote sufficient conditions for phenomenal consciousness, here at least something like access (which does not always have to be cognitive access) has to be given for the system or the ability “to form intentions to act in relation to it” (Thompson 2007, 162).

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e. g. properties of bodily sustainability and regulation is central. The minimal realizing system for creature consciousness is thus not the brain but the whole living organism.30 So far, these claims relate mostly to the general occurrence of consciousness in a system. But what pertains there also figures among the central explainers of specific states of consciousness und their unfoldings. For the remainder of this paper I will focus on the question whether properties of the living body might also be related to specific phenomenal elements of experience, i. e. to different states of consciousness and to the phenomenon of gradual presence. Several questions spring to mind here, but I will focus on one: the question whether the valuebased relation to the ‘Umwelt’ should also be reflected in the account of our phenomenally conscious experiences and the specific presence they exhibit.

10. Value-based states and lived experience In enactivism, sentience is based on processes of the self-regulating body. What ‘matters about matter’ is therefore not limited to mechanical laws (as it is to some extent in sensorimotor theory where parts of the body play a functional role in sensorimotor interactions) but extends to the needful body and the precarious circumstances an organism finds itself in. Within this paradigm, consciously experienced subjectivity emerges from the interplay of processes of the living organism – making the biologically realized interiority of organisms rather than the physical properties of matter the theoretical center of a philosophy of mind.31 30 The distinction between creature and state consciousness has been introduced by Rosenthal (1990; 1997). The distinction becomes clear when looking at studies done in cognitive neuroscience with respect to either concept. Creature-based studies focus on general occurrence or absence of consciousness in an organism (e. g. during sleep, in coma, or in locked-in-syndrome). State-based studies instead contrast different reportable phenomenal contents (e. g. a visual as opposed to a tactile experience) or a reportable as opposed to a subliminally perceived stimulus (Bayne 2007). 31 The question of experienced subjectivity is an important one (albeit one I largely disregard in favor of the question of the value-based stance of enactivism). The enactivist’s claim against sensorimotor theory is that the knowledge of sensorimotor contingencies as the theory develops it, is merely imposed on the system and not original to it. This is because the body is not conceived as a self-maintaining system that controls its own boundary conditions (body a). That the to-

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This approach – despite having its own pitfalls and caveats – holds a lot of promise by providing biologically enriched substrates that might be correlated also with psychological and phenomenally experienced states. The concern-based approach of enactivism seems – in a very basic way – to be better suited to explain what made gradual presence a point of interest and what related it to feelings of being alive in the first place: the experienced presence as a way of letting things or events matter to us. In enactivist theory this point is sometimes also reflected in the insistence that there should be no general separation of emotional and cognitive processes (Colombetti/Thompson 2005; 2007; Thompson 2007) since cognition – conceived as organism’s sense-making – always includes an emotive-evaluative element. Enactivism argues that the integration of cognition and emotion is also reflected at the level of the interdependencies of the neural activities related to the respective processes as well as on the psychological and phenomenal level (Thompson/Stapleton 2009). A thorough treatment of the issue would require more space (and would involve looking into the interactions of different subsystems in the brain related to homeostatic, affective and perceptual processing)32 but the basic idea is that gradual presence could also be a marker of mato is accessible to me is something that has presence because it matters to me, and this is the reason why one might have to add the concept of selfhood or agency (Thompson 2007, 260) and of pre-reflective bodily self-consciousness (261 f.). Yet a certain concept of self might also be intelligible at the level of sensorimotor interactions (without having to make reference to the self-sustaining body) in the sense that information about the self always accompanies information about the environment and might be co-constituted at this level of interaction: “One perceives the environment and coperceives oneself” (Gibson 1979, 126). See also Hurley (1998). 32 For instance one could look into brain structures that modulate homeostasis and action-tendencies, as it is done in ‘affective neuroscience’. Jaak Panksepp has argued that the cognitive, information-processing forms of perceptual consciousness are secondary and that “[a]ll forms of consciousness may remain tethered to that solid neural platform that constitutes primary-process emotional actions and affective experience” (2007, 115). His argument is one from evolution and he refers primarily to animal studies: basic heuristics common to all mammalian life forms are based in evolutionarily older subsystems which are very robust and thus constitute the platform for other more recent systems subserving conscious states. These basic structures consume most of the cerebral energy (Shulman et al. 2004) and are more related to contextual background activities of the brain than to securing and constructing the specific contents of consciousness.

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the general state a subject finds itself in. The overall well-being does not have to show up as a content of experience – it hardly ever does so – but rather determines the way in which a specific content (one already determined by modality or emotion-specific qualitative feel) becomes more or less vivid. Enactivism’s focus on the living body (including but not restricted to the sensorimotor body) is to a large extent driven by the same hope that also Noë and O’Regan voiced, namely to relate changes on the phenomenal level to changes in the overall bodily or organismic conditions. Yet enactivism goes one step further in claiming that “the lived body is the living body; it is a condition of the living body” (Thompson 2007, 237). With its enlarged notion of the physical (as living and not just as moving) enactivism seems better equipped to explain what kind of processes might constitut the supervenience base also for certain phenomenological elements of experience.33 The link of the kind of process to the kind of experience enabeled by this process is in this sense more direct than it was in sensorimotor theory. Sensorimotor theory claims that we are not aware of the temporal, moving structure of our bodily interactions as temporally extended and as including certain sensorimotor laws. Their mode of presentation, so to say, is rather simply the modality we experience; it indicates the underlying structure without mirroring it. Although, value-based relations in a sense also play a role in sensorimotor theory via the concept of perceived ‘affordances’, it is clear that these relations do not gain the same phenomenological emphasis that concern-based relations might receive in enactivism.34 Affordances are offerings in the environment that are available to animals (Gibson 1979, 127). Animals perceive a branch of a tree, for instance, as ‘climbable’, a fruit as ‘edible,’ and so on. In order to argue for the existence of such elements Gibson had to assume that these features of objects in the environment were ones that had proven useful for the animal to detect and he shows that our perceptual apparatus is tuned to such properties 33 The ontological claim of enactivism goes beyond a theory of supervenience, though: the lived body constitutes a kind of autonomous system in itself that emerges from processes of the living body and reciprocally constrains them (Thompson 2007, 236 f.). 34 It should be noted that sensorimotor theory to a certain extent takes issue with the concept of affordances (but see Noë 2012, 120 – 125) and emphasizes the role of the organism in adjusting to the environment (in representing it a certain way) rather than that of complex environmental properties that are directly perceived by it. For the sake of brevity I skip this debate.

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rather than to ‘neutral’ properties of objects (like color and shape independently of what they afford the organism). In this latter sense organism-affordance relations are value-laden. They reflect what is of use to the animal given its particular abilities and skills. Yet the set-up of the system is already ‘in sync’ with such properties and they do not show up as useful, as valuable to the organism. I have introduced the concept of affordances in order to show how the value-based processes in enactivism are different from perceptual processes as conceived in sensorimotor theories. Whereas they, on the one hand, assume a relation between abilities or skills and features in the environment (and also refers to the moving body that realizes these interactions), enactivism, on the other hand, is able to implement the element of general well-being or need into an account of gradual presence. These additional properties of bodily processes and the possible experiences that emerge from these processes are relevant for my account of presence on two different levels. First, by adopting the enactivist stance on the living body one could develop a theory of gradual presence in which phenomenal states with more vividness – at least in some cases – directly ‘mark’ vital changes in the overall states of the organism. In this case phenomenal experience of vitality is not restricted to the perceptual. And second, if gradual presence is determined and modulated by relations between mental states and one accepts also additional non-perceptual states among the states that can constitute relata in these cases, then it stands to reason that those affective experiences should be assigned an important status in modulating gradual presence.35 In the latter sense these processes and the very idea of a self-regulating body that is the heart of the account also might amend what we we have taken from sensorimotor theory without refuting its insights. The claim that one could derive from enactivism with regard to the former point (and against sensorimotor theory) is that the phenomenal experience of gradual presence might not be constituted by the processes underlying sense-modalities alone. Resting on that one could construe an argument from perceptual insufficiency based on a phenomenal shortcoming: not all phenomenal properties of conscious states are 35 This reiterates to some extent the point I made with regard to social interaction and changes in knowledge with regard to access conditions and the modulation of presence in the subchapter on Noë’s theory of access.

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traceable along perceptual lines.36 Therefore we also have to include ‘mechanisms’ other than those underlying perception in order to understand what modulates these states. A larger enactivism can offer both: Making explicit further properties of the living body beyond it’s sensorimotor engagments (i.e. elements of concern and value as intrinsic to the basic organismic modes of being) that might subserve our conscious experiences. And providing a sensitivity to additional aspects of our phenomenology that are related to those additional properties and that should be covered by a comprehensive disclosure of our lived experience – an experience that includes vividness among its key phenomenal features.

11. Conclusion The question in this paper was how the experience of vividness or gradual presence – which was identified as a ubiquitous feature of phenomenal experiences – could figure within two branches of the embodied, enactive philosophy of mind. Two issues have thereby driven this paper. First of all, the question of what properties and what kind of bodily processes each theory identifies as underlying our phenomenally conscious experience. And, second, in what ways the different theories assess the experiential vividness or gradual presence that I have introduced as a central building block of our phenomenology. Sensorimotor contingency theory has a rather clear-cut concept of vividness in perceptual presence, which I outlined by reference to recent developments of the theory. It associates gradual presence with temporally extended bodily interactions based on specific sensorimotor contingencies that also underlie our sense-modalities and seekstto identify what kind of changes in bodily relations are correlated with the force of presence in experience. As I showed in the main part of the paper, 36 This move towards a phenomenologically broader theory of consciousness beyond the transitive consciousness of perception has been a central point in Jonas (1994). In his assessment of major developments in 20th century philosophy, he refers to the publication of Heidegger’s Being and Time in 1927 as an earthquake that “shattered the entire quasi-optical model of a primarily cognitive consciousness, focusing instead on the wilful, striving, feeble, and mortal ego” (1994, 817), bringing the basic needs and cravings in the purview of a philosophy of mind. Yet, Jonas also remarks that the body proper did not enter Heidegger’s analysis and that he unduly neglected the living body “with all its crass and demanding materiality” (Jonas 1994, 820).

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the direct link to the physical relations of ‘bodiliness’ and ‘grabbiness’ as main determinants of presence proves too tight. Even if the perceptual mechanisms that are set up by bodily interactions are involved in the mediation of vividness, one has to extend the theory to include additional elements that determine our skillful access. And more generally: if one accepts – as I have suggested – that incorporating the vividness of experience as part of our phenomenology is tantamount to introducing a relational element into it, it is only a small step to acknowledging that such phenomenal presence is not only modulated with regard to the sense modalities (the moving body) and generally changes in our access conditions but also in relation to basic needs and cravings and the overall well-doing of the organism (the living body). Enactivism offers a theory that embeds our sensorimotor interactions in a concept of the living body, whose properties make a concern-based approach also a promising starting point for naturalizing the phenomenology of presence. I have only tentatively touched on this last point. In order to assess the fecundity of the theory it would be necessary to correlate changes in those body-related, life-regulating elements with changes in vividness of experience more directly (e. g. by looking into the relations between the associated subsystems in the brain), as it is for instance done with respect to changes in bodily relations in sensorimotor theory. The present paper had a more basic aim, however. It tried to show that once a theory incorporates the introduced concept of gradual presence, the focus on the moving body alone falls short of providing the necessary explanatory means to tackle the phenomenon.

References Bach-y-Rita, Paul (1996): Substitution sensorielle et qualia, in: Joëlle Proust (Ed.), Perception et Intermodalit, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 81 – 100. Bach-y-Rita, Paul/Collins, Carter/Saunders, Frank/White, Benjamin/Scadden, Lawrence (1969): Vision Substitution by Tactile Image Projection, in: Nature 221, 963 – 964. Bayne, Tim (2007): Conscious States and Conscious Creatures: Explanation in the Scientific Study of Consciousness, in: Philosophical Perspectives 21, 1 – 22. Bayne, Tim/Montague, Michelle (Eds.) (2011): Cognitive Phenomenology, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Block, Ned (1995): On a Confusion About a Function of Consciousness, in: Behavioral and Brain Sciences 18, 227 – 247. Block, Ned (2005): Book Review of Action in Perception, in: The Journal of Philosophy 102, 259 – 272. Braddon-Mitchell, David/Jackson, Frank (2006): The Philosophy of Mind and Cognition, Malden, Mass.: Wiley-Blackwell. Chalmers, David (1996): The Conscious Mind: In Search of a Fundamental Theory, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Colombetti, Giovanna/Thompson, Evan (2005): Enacting emotional interpretations with feeling, in: Behavior and Brain Sciences 28, 200 – 201. Colombetti, Giovanna/Thompson, Evan (2007): The Feeling Body: Toward An Enactive Approach to Emotion, in: Willis Overton/Ulrich Mueller/Judith Newman (Eds.), Body in Mind, Mind in Body: Developmental Perspectives on Embodiment and Consciousness, New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum, 45 – 68. Cosmelli, Diego/Thompson, Evan (2011): Embodiment or Envatment? Reflections on the Bodily Basis of Consciousness, in: John Stewart/Oliver Gapenne/Ezequiel Di Paolo (Eds.), Enaction: Towards a New Paradigm for Cognitive Science, Cambridge, Mass: MIT-Press, 361 – 385. De Jaegher, Hanna/Di Paolo, Ezequiel (2007): Participatory Sense-Making, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 6, 485 – 507. Dewey, John (1998), Qualitative Thought, in: Larry A. Hickman/Thomas M. Alexander (Eds.), The Essential Dewey, vol. 1, Pragmatism, Education, Democracy, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 195 – 205. Di Paolo, Ezequiel (2005): Autopoiesis, Adaptivity, Teleology, Agency, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 4, 429 – 452. Di Paolo, Ezequiel/Rohde, Marieke/De Jaegher, Hanneke (2010): Horizons for the Enactive Mind: Values, Social Interaction, and Play, in: John Stewart/Oliver Gapenne/Ezequiel Di Paolo (Eds.), Enaction: Towards a New Paradigm for Cognitive Science, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 33 – 88. Dretske, Fred (1981): Knowledge and the Flow of Information, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Gibson, James J. (1979): The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception, Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Hurley, Susan (1998): Consciousness in Action, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Husserl, Edmund (1973): Experience and Judgment, Trans. James S. Churchill/ Karl Ameriks, Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Husserl, Edmund (1989): Studies in the Phenomenology of Constitution, Trans. Richard Rojcewicz/André Schuwer, Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic. Husserl, Edmund (2001): Analyses Concerning Passive and Active Synthesis: Lectures on Transcendental Logic, Trans. Anthony J. Steinbock, Dordrecht: Kluwer. James, William (1950): The Principles of Psychology, vol. 1, New York: Dover Publications. Jonas, Hans (1994): Philosophy at the End of the Century: A Survey of Its Past and Future, in: Social Research 61, 813 – 832.

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Jonas, Hans (2001): The Phenomenon of Life. Toward a Philosophical Biology, Evanston, Ill.: Northwestern University Press. Lutz, Antoine/Thompson, Evan (2003): Neurophenomenology. Integrating Subjective Experience and Brain Dynamics in the Neuroscience of Consciousness, in: Journal of Consciousness Studies 10(9), 31 – 52 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice (2012): Phenomenology of Perception, Trans. Donald A. Landes, Abingdon, Oxon/New York: Routledge. Myin, Eric/O’Regan, Kevin J. (2002): Perceptual Consciousness, Access to Modality and Skill Theories. A Way to Naturalize Phenomenology?, in: Journal of Consciousness Studies 9, 27 – 46. Nagel, Thomas (1974): What Is It Like to Be a Bat?, in: The Philosophical Review 83, 435 – 450. Noë, Alva (2004): Action in Perception, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Noë, Alva (2009): Conscious Reference, in: The Philosophical Quarterly 59, 470 – 482. Noë, Alva (2010): Vision Without Representation, in: Nivedita Gangopadhyay/Michael Madary/Finn Spicer (Eds.), Perception, Action, and Consciousness, New York: Oxford University Press. Noë, Alva (2012): Varieties of Presence, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. O’Regan, J. Kevin (2011): Why Red Doesn’t Sound Like a Bell: Understanding the Feel of Consciousness, Oxford University Press: New York. O’Regan, J. Kevin/Block, Ned (2012): Discussion of J. Kevin O’Regan’s ‘Why Red Doesn’t Sound Like a Bell: Understanding the Feel of Consciousness’, in: Review of Philosophy and Psychology 3(1), 89 – 108. O’Regan, J. Kevin/Myin, Erik/Noë, Alva (2005): Skill, Corporality and Alerting Capacity in An Account of Sensory Consciousness, in: Progress in Brain Research 150, 55 – 68. O’Regan, J. Kevin/Noë, Alva (2001a): A Sensorimotor Account of Vision and Visual Consciousness, in: The Behavioral and Brain Sciences 24(5), 939 – 73. O’Regan, J. Kevin/Noë Alva (2001b): Author’s Response, in: The Behavioral and Brain Sciences 24(5), 1011 – 1031. Panksepp, Jaak (2007): Affective Consciousness, in: Max Velmans/Susan Schneider (Eds.), The Blackwell Companion to Consciousness, Malden, Mass./Oxford: Blackwell Pub., 114 – 129. Peirce, Charles S. (1965): Collected Papers, vol.1, Principles of Philosophy, Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. [CP 1] Peirce, Charles S. (1997): Pragmatism As a Principle and Method of Right Thinking. The 1903 Harvard Lectures on Pragmatism, Patricia A. Turrisi (Ed.), Albany, NY: State Univ. of New York Press. Prinz, Jesse J. (2007): All Consciousness Is Perceptual, in: Brian McLaughlin/ Jonathan Cohen (Eds.), Contemporary Debates in Philosophy of Mind, New York: Blackwell Publishing, 335 – 357. Prinz, Jesse J. (forthcoming): The Conscious Brain. How Attention Engenders Experience, New York: Oxford University Press. Rosenthal, David M. (1990): A Theory of Consciousness. Report No. 40 on MIND and BRAIN, Perspectives in Theoretical Psychology and the Phi-

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losophy of Mind (ZiF), University of Bielefeld; reprinted in (1997): Ned Block/Owen Flanagan/Güven Güzeldere (Eds.), The Nature of Consciousness: Philosophical Debates, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 729 – 753. Shapiro, Lawrence A. (2011): Embodied Cognition, New York: Routledge. Shulman, Robert/Rothman, Douglas/Behar, Kevin/Hyder, Fahmeed (2004): Energetic Basis of Brain Activity: Implications for Neuroimaging, in: Trends in Neurosciences 27(8), 489 – 495. Stewart, John/Gapenne, Oliver/Di Paolo, Ezequiel (Eds.) (2010): Enaction: Toward a New Paradigm for Cognitive Science, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Thompson, Evan (2005): Sensorimotor Subjectivity and the Enactive Approach to Experience, in: Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 4, 407 – 427. Thompson, Evan (2007): Mind in Life. Biology, Phenomenology and the Sciences of Mind, Cambridge, Mass./London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Thompson, Evan (2011): Precis of Mind in Life, in: Journal of Consciousness Studies 18(5 – 6), 10 – 22. Thompson, Evan/Cosmelli, Diego (forthcoming): Brain in a Vat or Body in a World? Brainbound versus Enactive Views of Experience, in: Philosophical Topics. Thompson, Evan/Stapleton, Mog (2009): Making Sense of Sense-Making: Reflections on Enactive and Extended Mind Theories, in: Topoi 28, 23 – 30. Thompson, Evan/Varela, Francisco J. (2001): Radical Embodiment: Neural Dynamics and Consciousness, in: Trends in Cognitive Sciences 5(10), 418 – 425. Varela, Francisco J. (1997): Patterns of Life: Intertwining Identity and Cognition, in: Brain and Cognition 34, 72 – 87. Varela, Francisco J./Thompson, Evan/Rosch, Eleanor (1991): The Embodied Mind. Cognitive Science and Human Experience, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press.

The Embodied Self and the Feeling of Being Alive Fiorella Battaglia Abstract: This paper aims to render some aspects of the feeling of being alive more clearly comprehensible. My emphasis on the phenomenal quality of consciousness stems from the ‘embodied’ approach to consciousness, according to which consciousness, since it is considered a phenomenon of life, includes both intentional and motivational aspects. In this view, its phenomenal quality is an inherent property of the embodied self, which relates both to the external world and to itself. The feeling of being alive is not neutral; rather its hedonic character provides orientation in life. Whenever one is living through experience, one has a basis for carrying out one’s own life in the world, biologically, psychologically and ethically. The reflections in this paper follow a systematic approach often combined with a roughly historical perspective.

1. Becoming experienced Unreflectively and affectively embodied persons are in touch with the world and with themselves. Such contact is in a continuous state of becoming and provokes changes that are never inconsequential, but always charged with positive or negative connotations. Although the feeling of being alive is inextricably linked to the biological basis of our organism – to the fact of being alive – and would thus seem to be something primitive and basic, it nevertheless remains vague. It is what greets us in the morning when we wake up. It is what imparts the most basic meanings, such as warmth and cold, hunger and sleep, thirst, lightness or heaviness. It is gradual and it is liable to be intensified or diminished, not only through events coming to pass, but also through the subject deliberately acting upon it. In general we pay it little attention, because its main function is simply to put us in a position to act – to be able to do anything at all. Is it however what directs us to an immediate, subjective perception of our state of health (Gerhardt 1992) – as expressed in the everyday greeting “How do you do?” that reveals the link between feeling and having inherent physical or psychological capacity.

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In order to qualify for being a self, all these alternations of experience that take place synchronically as much as diachronically must be realized in a unified fashion. To understand what it means to be an embodied self we need to analyze the elements of experience, particularly the feeling of being alive. However, even an analysis of experiential elements cannot be divorced from an account of what the self is. Without self, which cannot exist divorced from our life experience, we could not even imagine furthering the enhancement of the self, such as that which we observe, for instance, in the notion of narrative self or self-agency, and which form the basis of ulterior psychic and ethical accounts of the self. Dan Zahavi rightfully observes that “experiences never occur in isolation and that there will always be a tacit experience of synchronic and diachronic units” (Zahavi 2011, 326). This however implies subscribing to the secondary, derivative character of cognitive functions, as the tradition of American pragmatism has always done (Dewey 1940; James 1884). The self does not exist as something substantial above and beyond the flow of experience. It is precisely something that is constituted by the multiplicity of experience; something that exists only by virtue of experience presenting itself. The 20th-century author who forcefully set consciousness in relation to life and its affective correlate was Thomas Nagel. His 1974 article “What is it like to be a bat?” is one of the most influential writings in the philosophy of mind. It was not by chance that this Aristotelian scholar recalled our attention to the connections between life and consciousness, between organism and lived experience: “But no matter how the form may vary, the fact that an organism has conscious experience at all means, basically, that there is something it is like to be that organism” (Nagel 1974, 436). With this simple idea Nagel created the conditions to open a dialogue between two disciplines – biology and psychology – which had long seemed to be taking different paths. It must be admitted that the affective/emotive character of experience has always encountered a certain difficulty in being accepted, certainly in comparison to its cognitive and volitional aspects. In the 18th century, Christian Wolff, who introduced the term Bewusstsein in German philosophy, was still able to affirm that there were only two faculties of the soul: knowing and wanting. However, it was the “rebellious son” of the Enlightenment, Alexander Baumgarten, who put feeling on an equal footing with these first two aspects. Kant, for his part, welcomed Baumgarten’s lesson and dedicated himself to it in a stream of empirical observations and reflections and even the third Critique.

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This evolution was nevertheless not enough, given that in 1884 William James was still able to broadly affirm (vindictively) that the physiologists dedicating themselves to exploring the brain were limited to explaining cognitive and volitional performance. Such a deficit was not unique to physiology; even empirical psychology recognized only two elements in its catalogue – the cognitive and volitional: “But the aesthetic sphere of the mind, its longings, its pleasure and pains, and its emotions, have been […] ignored in all these researches” (James 1884, 190). For Dewey such neglect heralded serious, long-lasting consequences for how we consider human experience: “emotion as well as sense is but confused thought which when it becomes clear and definite or reaches its goal is cognition. That esthetic and moral experience reveal traits of real things as truly as does intellectual experience, that poetry may have a metaphysical import as well as science, is rarely affirmed, and when it is asserted, the statement is likely to be meant in some mystical or esoteric sense rather than in a straightforward everyday sense” (Dewey 1925, 19 f.). Nowadays, following up on Nagel’s thought, analytical philosophy of the mind is discussing whether materialism (physicalism) is able to recognize the fact that a wide range of natural phenomena has a phenomenal character, or, in other words, is subjective. Searle maintains that this is actually true for every mental condition – it is only that our attention is not constantly turned to the qualitative aspect. Searle refers, for instance, to the sentence “two plus two equals four”, whose phenomenal aspect is concealed until we think of it as formulated in a language other than our own: There is something it is like to think that two plus two equals four. There is no way to describe it except by saying that it is the character of thinking consciously ‘two plus two equals four’. But if you believe there is no qualitative character to thinking that, then try to think the same thought in a language you do not know well (Searle 2002, 40).

The subjective character of all experience is that for the experiencing organism “there is always something it is like to be that organism”. It is important to note that when we take this view we can no longer say that people are, on the one hand, biological beings and, on the other, have a mental life (Beckermann 2008, 1). Once we consider the subject of experience as an organism, that is to say, as a living, sentient body, with all the consequences that such a shift has on our conception of the relationship between the mind and the body, we can discuss wheth-

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er the feeling of being alive is already, in and of itself, a minimal form of self, or whether it instead just represents a necessary prerequisite for any form of self. My aim in this paper is to place the feeling of being alive in relation to the self through some reflections on the constitutive aspects of the feeling, such as life, body and the world. These aspects are needed to define an approach that is embodied, embedded, or even better, enactive, or as Thomas Fuchs has put it, ecological (Fuchs 2007). They quickly lead to an understanding of the person as a being with both a body and a world. I must first make it clear that to view the self as sentient implies showing how such a self is a function of a living organism, for which feeling is by no means irrelevant, or epiphenomenal, but is rather a constant structural feature, one of its vital functions. We must reject the misconception that takes intellectual/cognitive experience as primary and thus irretrievably loses the bond between the feeling of being alive and nature. To this end, it should be enough to consider that in both humans and animals the organism is substantially occupied by the processes of adaptation aimed simply at survival. The brain and the nervous system are first and foremost organs of action and reaction that regulate the contact established between the organism and the environment, and the organism and itself. The affective/emotive mode of experience is that which enables formation of the cognitive and judgmental mode, as well as the creation of the self through repeated acts of unification of the different intentional states. Only when we invert the common way of thinking and re-establish the coordination between experiences, thoughts and actions can we furnish an account that upholds the continuity, without interruption, between life and self (Guazzelli 2010). Only in this way can we understand the intentionality of feeling, which is its import for the sentient being, one which unfolds on different levels: import for the body, import for the individual, import for the moral being (Recki 2004). This philosophical intuition has also been confirmed in physiology (Craig 2002; 2009): no perception exists that is not affectively colored. And not even the difficulties in locating some feelings can cast doubt either on the need for a material, bodily substrate for their realization, or on the fact that they are both felt in the body, where they begin and whence they develop further forms of self-ascriptions, which once again lie in the body. In a second step I will argue for the thesis that any organism conceived in this way must necessarily be embodied. Hence I will show that the body must be understood not only externally but in a way

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that can capture all the complexity of the relations of which it is both object and subject. Certainly, such a body cannot be that of the materialistic view (given that in such a perspective the body is viewed as res extensa, mere substance being the only feature it is able to confer on the subject). This view is clearly open to the criticism that it is too wanting to be able to furnish a criterion of continuity that can account for psychological self-identity. Clearly, the conception of the body as a mere physical object is not an approach that enables us to grasp the emerging identity of the person. Instead, the psychological view offers much more suitable considerations capable of accounting for identity that are elusive within a materialist vision. This psychological view describes the human body as the body of a subject of experience, as part of an organism whose phenomenal dimension is now at the forefront. We can approach it through different perspectives, as propounded by Helmuth Plessner, who in fact attempted to account for consciousness and self-awareness, not in a merely mentalist fashion, but rather by applying a biological way of dealing with the self (Plessner 1928). Thirdly, I would like to turn to a consideration of the world as the necessary setting in which to regard the subject of experience. Just as the body should not be thought of in a trivial manner, so must we develop an account of the world that does not consider it solely as the set of physical laws that govern it, but rather as the scenario in which the embodied subject’s experience is structured and unfolds together with that of other subjects, who are, in turn, embodied as well. We will thus see that the emphasis placed on the subjective aspect does not necessarily imply recourse to the privacy of experience, which by definition escapes scientific explanation. I shall argue that only by adopting a complex, comprehensive vision, such as one which begins with a subject with a body and a world will we be able to build a theoretical account that corresponds, on the one hand, to the daily experience that people have of the world and themselves, without however forfeiting, on the other, the account furnished by the scientific vision, in which everyone, at least in western culture, believes firmly. Lastly, in closing I will illustrate how the feeling of being alive seems able to furnish the connecting link between scientific objectivity and the situatedness of the subjectivity of the researcher, and moreover explain the fact that the feeling of being alive involves a lack of symmetry. It should be noted that any attempt to account for the feeling of being alive must necessarily rely on a self that possesses various experiences

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that it has ordered diachronically and synchronically into a complex system of knowledge. We must, in short, admit to the lack of symmetry between the processuality at work in life during the transition to the diffuse mind, and the attempt of life itself to account for this. We have to realize that although this account must look to the past, it is nevertheless progressive. It can be only initiated by a self that is fully unfolded and manifest, capable of building a coherent narrative in which the subject can grasp itself in the act of narrating.

2. The difficulty of grasping life Recently an important shift of focus has come about in the philosophy of mind: from merely mental existence to living. Advances in biology have contributed to this shift in the philosophical study of mental functions. Consequently, some classical philosophical issues have acquired new aspects which call for rethinking and reformulating them. Mind, consciousness and emotions need to be reassessed in light of the now widespread acceptance of the great value to human beings of the affective way of relating to the world and to themselves. This shift has confirmed the inadequacy of a narrow philosophy of the mind limited to phenomena that were thought to take place only in the head. To consider life means to take into view the whole organism, which is not only the head, the cranial vault, but also a living body and, as such, its relation to the environment (Dewey 1916, 14). It is this relation that generates the phenomenal character, constituting the natural way of relating to the world and oneself. Thus philosophers had recognized this phenomenal quality before it could be reflected upon or a codification or taxonomy of its different implications developed, before the many-faceted affective-emotional phenomena could be taken in account in their systematic meaning (see Stephan, this volume). In some cases relating to the world in an affective manner prompts an immediate spontaneous reaction; in other cases, the phenomenal nature of an experience comes to be processed and assimilated as information to be used to decide upon subsequent behavior. In these latter cases, the degree of freedom is so great that the subject can even ignore the suggested behavior and take the action that might be thought the most far-removed from the expected reaction. In other words, although the stimulus is hunger, the organism can also decide to fast, or, to cite another example, the prisoner, who

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despite the forceful impulse to give in, can choose not to reveal the place where his friends are hiding. We can find this same dissatisfaction with prior positions, whether they are dualist or simply ignore the qualitative aspects of subjective experience, beyond the field of consciousness studies in many other fields of human knowledge – for instance, in epidemiological studies, which in fact renounced the behaviorist model of the black box (Susser/Susser 1996a; 1996b; Susser 2004) to embrace a perspective that integrated the data from the positive sciences with the data from qualitative and social analyses. In general, the need to account for the affective character of our relation with the world can be seen in all scientific disciplines. However, such an orientation, which aims to integrate the positive sciences with a naturalist perspective in philosophy, does not involve any loss of complexity, which, as Nagel put it, would involve the loss of all that is interesting in the specifically human. This same tendency can be seen in the criteria adopted in the new edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5), which has now added consideration of autobiographical narration, articulated in the first person, alongside criteria formulated in the third person. Even in economics, indicators based solely on material wealth have become threadbare: the most recent research studies, apart from consideration of the Gross National Product (GNP), have also devoted a good deal of attention to comfort, that is, the quality of the life of citizens, as gleaned through their own accounts. The specifications and the degrees of feeling that various settings and different cultures have contributed to telling, describing, systematizing, repressing and promoting can be taken as explicit manifestations of the passage from life to experience. The feeling of being alive represents the first and most basic way of characterizing the affective mode of relating to the world before it takes on any sort of articulation – as something that does not develop above and beyond physiological processes, but is rather part and parcel of them. The German language preserves some trace of this affiliation, as perceptively noted by Thomas Fuchs, who notes how the feeling of being alive can be seen clearly in the evolution of Erleben from Leben. English contains no such clear references: indeed, the words life and experience are not related etymologically. Italian demonstrates some of the affinities, seeing as how one term for experience, “vissuto”, is derived from “vita”. Unfortunately, however “vissuto” is often charged with existentialist and phenomenological connotations that tend to downplay (if not eliminate) the common biolog-

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ical grounding of both phenomena, which is instead firmly maintained, for example, in expressions such as “scienze della vita” (life sciences). However, why must living be perceived? What is in play here? The endeavor to get a handle on such matters has united all disciplines that have attempted to address the mind-body problem and consciousness. Every moment of our existence involves modifications to our subjective state. These modifications, the something that being is like, can never be indifferent to the individual, but will always be perceived as something positive or negative. Historically, we need not wait for Darwin or James to be able to correctly frame the evolutionary value of feelings. Kant in the Critique of Judgment recalls that Edmund Burke linked the sublime not only with the intellect, but also with feeling, thereby underlining their bond with the instinct of self-preservation (Kant 1790, § 29, 277). In the same treatise Kant also refers to Epicurus to defend two theses. The first is the necessary embodiment of thoughts, and in general of all the different intentional conditions (experiences, thoughts, and actions), regarding both their realizability (or to put it in different terms, the necessary biological substratum for their realization), and their raison d’être or function. If we neglect to consider life in its biological grounding, then it becomes simply something like “consciousness of one’s own existence”. If we instead consider it in its biological grounding, if we set it in relation with the feelings of the bodily organs, then life becomes the “feeling of comfort or discomfort, that is to say, facilitating or hindering the life force”. The other thesis supported by Kant based on his specific conception of embodiment concerns the various origins of feelings. The body is the final organ, where feelings are perceived independent of their origins: they are always perceived through the body, whether they are initiated from without, that is, when they are communicated by the sense organs, or from within, through memories or the imagination foreseeing future events, or in other words, when they are internal or self-generated. In this regard – the role of the body in emotions – Kant’s stance was the same as James’: for the body always represents a “sounding board” (James 1884, 202) for the various modifications coming from both the outside and the inside. Nowadays such modifications have once again become the object of analysis in the context of a new biology and phenomenology of the mind. The phenomenal nature of the relationship that the organism holds with the environment and with itself is central, both to all those schools of thought that can be defined as following an ‘enactive’ approach (Thompson 2007), as well in those that have been

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termed ‘ecological’ (Fuchs 2009), which in German circles have closer ties to the phenomenological and psychopathological traditions. Within such schools of thought one point of discussion is whether the specific way through which experience is imparted is necessarily influenced by the presence of a minimal form of self-awareness. Although this form may unfold without being reflective, it lays the basis for any subsequent self-attribution, for phenomenal experience, for time experience and a sense of agency.

3. The bodily is the most difficult “The bodily [das Leibliche] is the most difficult [to understand]” – this statement, made by Heidegger during the Zollikon Seminars, testifies to the difficulty of theoretically elaborating the concrete data found at the basis of each person’s individual experience with the body (Heidegger 1987, 292, my translation). Even today, this difficulty has not been overcome. It can be seen in the various attempts to give an account of how an embodied perspective contributes to a better theoretical understanding of the issue of subjectivity. What then, if anything, forms the deep theoretical core of the embodied, embedded approach to consciousness? What is needed is a way to integrate into a consistent theory the characteristics of a body that acts and reacts – a body in relation to the external environment, but which from such relationship also creates a specific relationship to itself, to an ‘inside’ that is formed through an act of reflection by which the organism splits itself in two and can set itself in relation to itself. In reflecting on such a relationship, we cannot but come to the conclusion that it cannot be represented sufficiently and deliberately in any description of the act, unless the description includes the phenomenal character. Indeed, representing a certain quality is not done for its own sake – such a quality is always hedonic; it implies the organism is in a state of wellbeing or discomfort. Thus, it also indicates a preference to remain in a favorable situation or to leave an unpleasant one. In short, feeling is at the service of acting; in order to extricate itself from and orient itself amongst the various possible actions, the organism processes the information that it receives, generally from its sense organs and the body. The organism evaluates this something it is like to be in such and such a situation as either positive or negative: this being in the situation is, above and beyond the variety of the features that it may

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present, either substantially pleasant or substantially unpleasant for the organism (though we cannot, of course, exclude the ambiguity of some cases for which the unpleasantness is precisely the source of pleasure). The binary logic of pleasure and pain, some exceptions to which exist even at the level of bodily economy, is not immediately translatable to the logic of action. This is because precisely by virtue of the process of reflection and the creation of a narrative self and a sense of agency, by which such experience fashions itself into a specific emotion – a state of mind that is culturally determined, not only in how we express it, but also in how we are educated to perceive it (Engelen 2007) – the subject of experience relates to itself not only in the mode of the body, but also in the mode of an individual who is responsive to the reasons for doing something. Ultimately, counsel comes from the mode of the personality, for which the determining factor is the fact that the individual is ultimately responsible for any action taken. However, not all actions involve the same level of subjectivity. In each specific instance, depending on whether it involves the public or private sphere (or varying degrees of both), the subject must weigh his/her actions according to the criteria of that particular level. Being sentient, being a self, and being an agent are all dimensions that the individual must account for in evaluating the thing about which (s)he makes further judgments, thereby producing a complication of the reference frame. This operation is based on the information that comes first and foremost from bodily modifications, though with a certain degree of freedom in the use that the subject of experience makes of it – a point that James explained and that neuroscientists such as Damasio are now returning to (Damasio 1999). James himself criticized the view that the emotions were a sort of epiphenomenon that accompanies the conscious, cognitive appraisal of a situation. “We feel sorry because we cry, angry because we strike, afraid because we tremble” James wrote in 1884 (1884, 190). Then in 1890, in answer to mentalist theory, he continued: “the more rational statement is that we feel sorry because we cry, angry because we strike, afraid because we tremble, and not that we cry, strike or tremble, because we are sorry, angry or fearful, as the case may be” (James 1890, 451). This profound anchoring to the body helped him to defend the thesis that bodily feelings have not only a sensory, but also an affective, motivational aspect. James could, in short, uphold the authenticity of the reasons of the body versus the vagueness and unreliability of consciousness construed

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as something that comes about when one pays close attention to one’s experience. Nowadays, the requirements that must be met by such a description have once again been made valid by Thomas Nagel in arguing against the idea of the neutrality of an unsituated point of view (Nagel 1986), though Nietzsche’s were substantially the same. James’ thesis has been taken up again today and supported through neurophysiological arguments: bodily perceptions – as Craig maintains – are always also an expression of an affective relationship with the world and with oneself. Contemplating the neurophysiological structures implicated in feeling, Craig also proposes a taxonomy of human feelings that is critical of prior proposals by physiologist Sir Charles Sherrington. All the feelings that we perceive through our body are in relation to its condition, both its internal condition as well as it external one. In the mid-19th century, early physiologists distinguished five senses and a Gemeingefhl, or “common sensation” (Weber 1846), which Weber stated originate from the body and are in relationship to our state of well-being, to our energy and stress levels, to our mood and our disposition. Sherrington’s taxonomy divides the senses into five different modalities: teloreceptive (vision and hearing), proprioceptive (limb position), exteroceptive (touch), chemoreceptive (smell and taste) and interoceptive (visceral), temperature and pain being aspects of touch. Craig, using the results of functional anatomy studies (PET), holds instead that the interoceptive sense should be interpreted in broader terms to include sensation from the entire body; in his words, it “should be redefined as the sense of the physiological condition of the entire body, not just the viscera” (Craig 2002, 655). James also makes reference to the function of the body in constituting the self: it is the relationship with the body that furnishes a sort of continuous evaluative background for the relationship with the world and with the self: In the first place, although its changes are gradual, they become in time great. The central part of the me is the feeling of the body and of the adjustments in the head; and in the feeling of the body should be included that of the general emotional tones and tendencies, for at bottom these are but the habits in which organic activities and sensibilities run. Well, from infancy to old age, this assemblage of feelings, most constant of all, is yet a prey to slow mutation. Our powers, bodily and mental, change

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at least as fast. Our possessions notoriously are perishable facts (James 1890, 372).1

In The Levels of the Organic and Man. Introduction to Philosophical Anthropology Plessner rejected the conception of self-awareness as an exclusively mental phenomenon, holding instead that it was undeniably biological (Plessner 1928). In doing so, he developed a specific conception of the body as made up of two aspects, which he identifies through two different terms referring to the body: Leib and Kçrper. Leib refers to the lived body, the account of which comes from an embodied firstperson perspective. Kçrper means the body as an object, the account of which is provided by a third-person perspective. Such conception of the body starting with the first-person enables us to link the phenomenal character with the specific intentionality of every mental state. Only for a living sentient body is it relevant that what it is like to undergo experience is an indicator of a certain mental state, an expression of the manner in which it is in contact with the world and with itself. A mentalist-based vision instead continues to keep these two conceptions separate. Instead, as soon as we endeavor to give an account of what happens to the subject of experience, the two main salient aspects of the human mind – phenomenal character and intentionality – no longer appear unrelated (Slaby 2007), but linked in a body that possesses not only exteriority but also interiority, that is, its relation to itself. We can also infer the interiority of the body from empirical observations from functional exploration of the brain aimed at testing specific hypotheses about interiority. The reasoning behind these hypotheses was that the utmost importance of the body for maintaining the subject’s relationship to its environment can be found in the very makeup of the cerebral structures responsible for this relationship. The researchers set out to find proof that the knowledge of one’s own body, as well as those of others, represents a separate semantic domain. One superb example is provided by face perception, perhaps the most highly developed visual skill in humans, which is mediated by a core system supporting visual analysis, along with other systems elaborating social aspects of faces (e. g., speech-related information, emotional expressions, etc.). As it turns out, this orchestration of functions was found to reside in a dis1

As my concern is primarily the self and its grounding in the body, I shall not attempt to follow James’ distinction between ‘me’ and ‘self’, nor that between ‘me’ and ‘mine’. Rather, I shall settle for showing a general trend that accounts for the self starting with its bodily feelings.

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tributed neural system involving multiple bilateral regions (Haxby et al. 2000). The researchers were thus able to show that there exist two cortical areas that are activated specifically by the sight of different parts of the body. One area situated in the fusiform gyrus, on the infero-medial surface of the cerebral hemisphere, is maximally activated by visual stimuli triggered by the sight of faces, and much less by stimuli from other visual configurations, including parts of the body other than the face (Kanwisher et al. 1997; Grill-Spector et al. 2004). Bilateral lesions of this area (designated Ffa: fusiform face area) cause deficits in facial recognition and the well-known syndrome termed prosopagnosia, in which the ability to selectively recognize known faces is lost. Another region (designated Eba: extrastriate body area), located on the lateral surface of the occipital-temporal cortex, is maximally activated by visual stimuli of non-facial parts of the body, and much less by other stimulus configurations, including faces (Downing et al. 2001). In confirmation of the exquisite specialization of the Eba area in body cognition, partial temporary (and reversible) deactivation of this area by repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation in normal subjects revealed a selective delay in the reaction time for the recognition of photos of parts of the body, but not of non-body stimuli such as parts of a motorcycles or even faces (Urgesi et al. 2004). Moreover, the activity of the Eba area presents some peculiarities: it seems to be more involved in static representation than in the dynamics of the body (Urgesi et al. 2007). One interesting correlate of this hypothesis is that the face holds a particularly prominent place in the perceptive system. The face is clearly the site par excellence where exteriority meets the interiority of the body (James 1890, 293; Keenan et al. 2003), so much so that it is used widely in standardized form in designing the studies.2 The distinction at the cerebral level between the representations of the face and those of other parts of the body may be connected to the overwhelming importance of the face in social communication. In addition, the face is quite special because, while it is the source of crucial exteroceptive and proprioceptive feelings that contribute to a sense of self, it is not directly visible to the self, and therefore does not give rise to visual feelings except when viewed in a reflection. The recognition of oneself in the mirror, based above all on the self-recognition of the face, develops during 2

With regard to the discrepancies between the perspectives on self found in contemporary philosophy and empirical research, see Zahavi/Roepstorff (2011).

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childhood at the age of about 15 – 18 months. It is an acquired ability, learned through practice using reflective surfaces, and to date is known to occur only in humans, chimpanzees and orangutans (Gallup et al. 2002). We could propose analogous ideas about the recognition of one’s own name, which has also been shown to have specific cerebral domains, though this would lead to a broader discussion of the theory of signs, which is beyond our present scope.

4. There’s more to the world than (just) its phenomenal quality While the analysis of the feeling of being alive has revealed that its characteristics are both immediate and extended in time, it has also demonstrated that such characteristics do not exhaust all the ramifications of the relationship that the organism maintains with the world and with itself. Not only must we add action and knowledge to complete the catalogue of human capabilities, but we also need to consider them by starting with the specific ways in which they are systematically connected to the feeling of being alive. As Thompson points out, the feeling of being alive embraces a general vision of the body and human subjectivity, or as he put it: “a sensorimotor way of being, in its full extent, comprises locomotion and perception, emotion and feeling, and a sense of agency and self” (Thompson 2007, 221, see also 161). We should first clear up some potential misunderstandings of the model based on the feeling of being alive. As used here, the feeling of being alive does not refer to an affective dimension that competes with the cognitive mode for determining action. In this case, the contraposition between feeling and rationality, construed of in terms of such an antagonistic model, is in fact inadequate for expressing the value of the feeling of being alive. Nor does it manage to provide an account of situations such as the following, which clearly reveals that the phenomenal nature connected to the present moment is not always the foremost aspect: In my haste to collect a friend arriving at the airport, I forget my scarf. It is cold outside and I feel the pressing urge to go back and get it. However, I can choose to suppress the urge in order to not run the risk of arriving late, because the joy I feel in anticipation of seeing my friend arrive is a stronger incentive than the desire to ward off the cold. The competition between different phenomenal experiences can be grounded in the necessity of the choice and the need to have a criterion

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for judgment every time I act in accordance with my self-conception as a person. Nancy Sherman has dedicated herself to analyzing the relationship between the sensible character of experience and its place in a diffuse personal life. Her reflections thus always concern the significance that the affective-emotional dimension has for a rational being. To this end, Sherman has thoroughly reviewed the sensibilities that have pervasive functions in moral life. Her analysis is comparative: apart from Aristotle and Kant, she has also considered the psychoanalytical model. Thus, she has been able to furnish a much more sophisticated model of the interaction between feeling and actions, including a complete list of their functional relationships: feelings are modes of recording values, feelings are modes of conveying and expressing values, feelings are modes of disclosing values, feelings are modes of establishing values, feelings are intrinsically valued and finally feelings are motives for action (Sherman 1997, 50). The experiences in question are experiences of the world, and while they refer to some characteristics of the world, they do so in a specifically situated way including at the same time the viewpoint from which they are perceived, and thus are equally related to subjectivity. A purely objective account focused on the world would lose precisely this relational and social character and with it the specificity of subjectivity. This is why the perspective stemming from the feeling of being alive holds together the two sides of this relationship; and a consideration of these two sides using the tools of first-person phenomenology and a narrative understanding of the self can represent a convincing alternative to reductionist approaches. This is an important point, because our experience in terms of sensibility and our rationality as part of the cognitive domain have often been considered separate, even antagonistic. While some traditions have for the most part stressed the pre-reflective aspect of the relationship with the world – Heidegger’s Befindlichkeit represents one example – others have instead emphasized the practical aspect of action. In contemporary philosophy Habermas has defended a view which once more draws its main distinction between a theoretical and a practical subject. At the same time, he rejected approaches based on the idea that experience has a subjective ‘feel’. However, such a view has a raison d’être only if we continue to separate experience from life and life from action (Habermas 2006, 682 f.). These two perspectives need not necessarily be considered alternatives. They

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can be coherently unified by adopting the stance of the embodied subject – an organism that interacts with the environment and whose mind is therefore part of nature considered in biological terms. The interaction with the environment, which is not only external but also includes the organism’s relationship to itself expressed according to a range of perspectives, involves communication that is not only intercellular, but also more complex and sophisticated, a communication which regulates both the social sphere and the intrapsychic sphere. In such a perspective, the relationship to the self is only one peculiar case of social interaction. Communication is a valid concept both for the organism and for a sentient, thinking, and acting subject. In Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View, Kant explicitly refutes an exclusively contemplative model of subjectivity. His analysis aims instead to center it on action. The practical relationship that the human organism maintains with the world is not one of mere observer taking in the show of the world, but rather of someone who instead lives in the world, acts and has experience of actions and thoughts. Moreover we cannot conceive the relationship between subjectivity and world according to the scheme of a subject facing an object, but rather in terms of a subject together with other subjects in the world – a model with a sort of triadic structure, like the one adopted by evolutionary psychologists to explain human behavior in joint attention theory (Tomasello 1999, 56 – 93). In such a model the world is not construed as something given and unrelated to the subject, but rather one in which there is room for the phenomenal, intentional and motivational aspects (Döring 2009). Immanuel Kant’s concept “to have the world” represented a first approximation to such a view, according to which a solely theoretical relationship to the world is deficient. The two expressions “to know the world” and “to have the world” are very different from each other; they define two ways of being in the world: the first, which is inauthentic, calls for contemplation alone and “understand [ing] the play that one has watched”; the second, authentic way of being in the world specifies the condition of being a participant in the game – “the other has participated in it” (Kant 1798, 120). However, it should be stressed that to be able to participate in the game, one must appropriate its rules. The second way of existing in the world is therefore not really an alternative to the first one, it does not eliminate it, because some sort of knowledge underpins action. This is true both of actions performed to reach a goal, as well as those inspired by principles, both stemming from the human ability to act autonomously for

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set purposes. However, this knowledge cannot be seen as something preliminary to action, because it is forged within the relationship with the world by interacting with it. In this view, the self can only be properly understood as a social, historical organ. Such a view could potentially integrate analyses of the biological, psychological and social determinants of the self into a coherent framework.

5. Naturalism and the lack of symmetry of the feeling of being alive To sum up, then, the conceptual framework that provides for the feeling of being alive includes the mind conceived as an improvement of the biological frame through a complication introduced by a psychological “thickening”. Framed in this way, our consideration of the feeling of being alive aims to include the psychic sphere in the sphere of natural science, rather than exclude it. In other words, the feeling of being alive is the way to include psychology within science, without however in the process stripping the mind of those aspects that make it specifically human. From the historical point of view, we can see it as adding the phenomenology of the first person and narrative understanding of the self to the feeling of being alive, while maintaining the emphasis on observable behavior so dear to behaviorism. These two aspects added together can furnish a scientific account that does not lose sight of the fact that we are dealing with a distinctive characteristic of human life. The model hinges on the pair “environment – living organism” typical of the behaviorist approach. However, through the feeling of being alive, it ensures the possibility of integrating first-person phenomenology and a narrative understanding of the self in an explanatory frame within which each and every property is in continuity with those properties provided for by the natural sciences. Thus, the foundation is set for a continuum that is at once biological and psychological. Such integrating accounts in turn create the conditions for us to avoid construing the model’s naturalist-based metaphysics in a reductionist manner. Indeed, it cannot be construed this way, because its application relies on two constitutive methods that must necessarily begin with the subjectivity in the moment of its full deployment. This is to say, autobiographical narrations and phenomenological analyses primarily concern experiences that are experiences of an object for a subject. In short, they are ex-

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periences that mean something for the subject that undergoes them. From another viewpoint, all the phenomenological approaches invariably stress that the accounts should not be seen as accounts of an external objective reality fixed once and for all. To the contrary, it must be continually stressed that they are the product of human activity, which, as such, never develops in isolation, but is rather always the result of social interaction. Science, therefore, as the long history of the social construction of the sciences has shown us, does not boil down to a mere series of propositions systematically dependent one on the other. Science is instead performed by someone, and that someone is never an isolated individual, but one living in a community influenced by a certain tradition and marked by a particular history, which has shaped and fostered a specific theoretical attitude with respect to the world. These epistemological cautions represent a further argument for us to expect something productive to result from the efforts to establish a line of continuity between naturalism and philosophy. They should moreover suggest that what is at play here is not a ‘weak’ continuity, such as for example that implied by the view that, since philosophy and science both deal with human beings and their properties, they would of course share the same topics, but rather a ‘strong’ attempt to give substance to the process of integration between contemporary philosophy and empirical sciences – so that by definitively overcoming the dualism of Descartes’ substances, we can effectively construct a coherent metaphysical position, i. e. the naturalism of science. Dewey once provided a clear illustration – in many respects still topical today – of the difficulties inherent in James’ psychology, which on the one hand embraces dualism, but on the other is unable to deal with mental properties, other than as objects in the world, so much so that in concrete analyses of some mental properties, the subject is flattened out into the concept of organism, even so far as to make it disappear. Dewey also offers an historical explanation for this theoretical impasse, maintaining that the dualist conception would return in psychologists’ analyses ‘hardened’ by the evidence of the empirical method (Dewey 1940). The feeling of being alive is unarguably part and parcel of the theoretical framework of the naturalization of consciousness. This however does not eliminate its most interesting features from the human perspective, but rather furnishes the key to ordering and integrating into a co-

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herent whole that which in daily experience is already taken for objective.

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Thompson, Evan (2007): Mind in Life. Biology, Phenomenology, and the Sciences of Mind, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Tomasello, Michael (1999): The Cultural Origins of Human Cognition, Cambridge/London: Harvard University Press. Urgesi, Cosimo/Berlucchi, Giovanni/Aglioti, Salvatore, M. (2004): Magnetic Stimulation Of Extrastriate Body Area Impairs Visual Processing of NonFacial Body Parts, in: Current Biology 14, 2130 – 2134. Urgesi, Cosimo/Calvo-Merino, Beatriz/Haggard, Patrick/Aglioti, Salvatore M. (2007): Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation Reveals Two Cortical Pathways for Visual Body Processing, in: Journal of Neuroscience 27(30), 8023 – 8030. Weber, Ernst, Heinrich (1846): Handwçrterbuch der Physiologie mit Rcksicht auf physiologische Pathologie 3(2), Rudolph Wagner (Ed.), Braunschweig: Biewig und Sohn, 481 – 588. Zahavi, Dan (2011): Unity of Consciousness and the Problem of Self, in: Shaun Gallagher (Ed.), The Oxford Handbook of the Self, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 316 – 335. Zahavi, Dan/Roepstorff, Andreas (2011): Faces and Ascriptions: Mapping Measures of the Self, in: Consciousness and Cognition 20(1), 141 – 148.

‘Life Is (not Consciousness, but) an Immediate Act of the Intellect.’ What it Means to Be Alive and How We Feel it According to Aristotle

Arbogast Schmitt Abstract: One of Aristotle’s most surprising claims in the Metaphysics is his identification of life with the activity of thinking. Aristotle’s concept of thought is not based on consciousness; thought is not a conscious act of representing something ‘given’ in sensation but an immediate act of distinguishing. These acts are necessary even for sensation and are always intimately connected with pleasure and pain. For both sensation and higher forms of thought, e. g. forming a judgment, Aristotle distinguishes between the representation of something in the imagination and an opinion which emerges from an act of cognition, namely the grasping of what something is and can do, i. e. its dynamis and enrgeia. Whereas the mere imagination of something has no relevance for feeling and emotion, forming an opinion of something is immediately and intimately connected with pleasure and pain. In situations where opinion and imagination fundamentally differ, this becomes clear: for example, an adult watching a movie does not feel afraid because she knows that the danger is only imagined and not real, whereas a child is afraid because it holds the opinion that it is actually in danger. Pleasure and pain are not only an epiphenomenon of the form of thought that has the function of distinguishing, they also increase or decrease in proportion to the activity of thought. The type of thinking that leads to the optimal actualization of one’s potential is what contributes to an increase in the feeling of pleasure. This increase constitutes not just individual feelings but also the feeling of being alive. This article attempts to explore this relationship in greater depth and to distinguish Aristotle’s idea of being alive from Kant’s.

1. The conjunction of thought and pleasure in Aristotle The introductory sentences to Aristotle’s writings are often axiomatic and provide a framework for the discussion to come; in the Metaphysics, for example, he begins with the sentence: “All men by nature desire

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knowledge” (Met., 980a21).1 In these opening passages Aristotle often shows the validity of such statements by referring to everyday human experience. Here he says that we are fond of the senses, and especially the sense of sight, not only on account of their usefulness but also for their own sake; they bring to light many differences between things and provide us with knowledge. In his subsequent analyses, Aristotle lays the foundation for the connection between pleasure and knowledge. Pleasure is given by everything that helps an animal, and consequently a human being, to survive and thrive in its environment. In this case, pleasure is for him – as well as for the Stoa and modern biologists – an epiphenomenon of self-preservation. For a human being, however, life and self-preservation are not merely equated with her physical existence; according to Aristotle, the particular nature of a human being consists in his capacity and desire for knowledge. Therefore, the pleasure that results from having knowledge is the pleasure that is most consistent with her nature as a rational being capable of knowledge. At the same time, it is also the best type of pleasure.2 At the end of the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle shows that pleasure immediately and inextricably accompanies knowledge and the use of the faculties that lead to knowledge; pleasure arises when an act of cognition is carried out correctly. Aristotle uses a metaphor to explain that pleasure is as immediate as beauty in youth: as beauty is the result and pinnacle of the human body’s development, so is pleasure the result and pinnacle of a successful act of cognition (NE, 1174b33). Yet pleasure also adds something to an individual act of cognition in that the act itself is pleasurable.3 That is why it also adds something to the life of an individual human being. Human life for Aristotle does not consist of only one form of action or activity (NE, 1175a12), but as he says in his Metaphysics,4 thinking – and mental activity in general – is a form of life for a human being and at the same time the best, most pleasurable and most intense form of living.

1 2 3 4

Translations of ancient and German sources are by Arbogast Schmitt and Christopher Forlini (translator), unless otherwise noted. Cf. Schmitt 2008a, 189 – 224. See Aristotle, NE, 1174b31 f., 1175a30 f. See Aristotle, Met., 1072b 27.

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2. The separation of thought and pleasure in antiquity and (early) modern philosophy The connection Aristotle posits between knowledge and cognition, the pleasure which inextricably accompanies them, and the increase in the intensity and quality of life which results from this pleasure is certainly plausible. Yet when we look at this more closely, several problems arise that Aristotle seems to have overlooked. In addition, his identification of human life with a life of reason presupposes a certain view of human reason which is nowadays considered antiquated. I would like to begin with some of the problems Aristotle seems to have overlooked: as far back as Petrarch5 philosophers have criticized Aristotle by saying that knowing what the good is and defining it correctly are different from desiring it and wanting to act on it. For example, a person can recognize something as beautiful yet not desire it and in her cognition of a beautiful object not have an increased feeling of pleasure. Thus, even when they are linked with pleasure, knowledge of the good and the beautiful and the cognition of these objects are fundamentally different from the pleasure and desire we feel on account of these objects as well as the desire to act in a particular instance on the knowledge of what is good. Such insights led certain philosophers in antiquity to deny that the activity of the human mind is alone based on knowledge and cognition. Posidonius, the most important philosopher of the first century B.C., claimed that in order to explain the previous cases, we have to assume two irrational faculties or powers of the soul in addition to a rational faculty or power capable of clear and distinct impressions: a faculty that feels pleasure and pain and a faculty that chooses and avoids.6 It is important to remember that Posidonius is a Stoic and makes use of a tripartite soul allegedly Platonic in inspiration in order to correct the shortcomings of the intellectualism of his predecessors. Yet the tripartite soul is not only Platonic but also Aristotelian. In addition to the rational faculty (logikn), Aristotle also introduces an irrational faculty (logon). But the word ‘irrational’ is misleading, as the logon is not rational in and of itself but it is so in connection with the rational faculty. Most importantly, the logon is not divided into an emotional faculty and the will but instead contains two forms of desire or will: one based on sense per5 6

See Petrarca 1997, 104. Cf. Kidd 1971, 200 – 221.

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ception and the pleasures that sense perception registers, and one based on the opinions and ideas of what is good or bad, just or unjust in a given situation. We find the same distinction in Plato as well.7 It is clear that Aristotle, even if he claims that thinking and feeling are almost identical, is immune to the criticisms that can be leveled against the Stoa in their identification of the human mind with purely rational thought (NE, 1175b31 – 33). Yet it is exactly this identification of the human mind with consciousness and rationality which Descartes both adopted and adapted from ancient sources and which was propagated in the 17th century. In the 18th century, this gave way to a movement which discovered anew the distinct and independent nature of feeling and desire and clearly distinguished these from consciousness and rational thought. In his Untersuchung ber die Deutlichkeit der Grundstze der natrlichen Theologie und der Moral, Kant writes: “We have only begun to realize that the faculty of cognition is knowledge whereas feeling is the faculty which is related to the good” (1977a, 771 f.) and in his Critique of Judgement in 1790 he writes that the faculty of cognition and the feeling of pleasure and pain “cannot be derived from a common base” (1977b, 85). The reasons why philosophers once again propagated a separation of pleasure from knowledge are complex. One reason is their view of sensation as purely passive and receptive – e. g. for Descartes it belongs to the body – and of the understanding as spontaneous and active; in this respect, the understanding is diametrically opposed to sensation. On account of this distinction, which found wide acceptance in the 17th and 18th centuries due to the spread of Cartesian philosophy, pleasure was attributed almost solely to passive, receptive sensation. In his Allgemeine Theorie der schçnen Knste, J.G. Sulzer divides the process of cognition into passive, receptive sensation and a spontaneous representation, and describes the understanding as “the faculty which forms representations or grasps the nature of things” whereas sensation is the “faculty of feeling or of being affected either in a pleasant or unpleasant way” (1970, 225). On the basis of this distinction Kant concludes that sensation is not a form of knowledge. Intuition is itself blind and therefore has no object; it is merely affected by an object. Now we can understand how in the 18th century feeling came to be seen as fundamentally different from thought. Yet Kant attributes the ability to feel pleasure and pain to sen7

Cf. Schmitt 2008a, 283 – 341.

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sation. He writes: “Enjoyment is pleasure which arises through the senses and whatever excites the senses is pleasurable. Pain is the opposite and whatever causes it is unpleasant” (Kant 1977c, 550).

3. Kant and the creation of an abstract concept of feeling For Kant the strict division between sensation and the understanding entails that both intuition and feeling are abstract. The idea that intuition is blind just means that the human mind does not yet have as its object in an act of conscious thought what has been passively impressed upon the senses. Seen from this perspective, the human mind does not yet have any object at all since it has not yet united the many different individual sense impressions it has of this object in one act of consciousness; in essence, it has not yet joined these impressions together with a concept in an act of cognition. Even in its exemplary form as employed by the faculty of judgment (Urteilskraft), sensation is related to the ability to form concepts in general. This ability is “undefined and at the same time undefinable” because it is “the identical substrate, with respect to which all the various faculties involved in cognition are coordinated” (Kant 1977b, 143). To put it in simpler terms: it is the mere consciousness of the identity of the subject in all of its acts and activities, albeit on a preconceptual level.8 The same abstractness also holds for the feelings of pleasure and pain. As previously mentioned, sensation is defined as the “faculty of feeling or of being affected either in a pleasant or unpleasant way” (Sulzer 1970, 225). Since this does not stem from a cognition of concrete particular objects, it can only be explained “as the effect that the feeling of the subject’s current state has on his own mind” (Kant 1977c, 550). Kant continues: “What through the medium of sensation immediately forces me to leave my current state is unpleasant – it hurts me; what makes me preserve this current state is pleasant – it pleases me” (ibid.). It is the feeling that arises in a human being on account of the constant passage of time as such which is the cause of pleasure and pain. Since a human being is inextricably caught up in this continuous interplay of pleasures and pains, every pleasure arises from the pain that forces a human being to change their current state. On this account, pain spurs on action, in which we feel first of all that we are alive. Since it spurs us to action, it 8

Cf. Schmitt 1993, 403 – 428.

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becomes at the same time the cause of pleasure and creates in a human being “the feeling that his life is progressing” (ibid., 551). Kant summarizes the previous statements as follows: “To feel life, to feel pleasure is nothing else than to constantly feel that one is being driven on to leave one’s current state for another one” (1977c, 554). In numerous examples Kant demonstrates how pain is the impetus behind action and in that sense is the cause of pleasure (ibid., 552). For example, in gambling it is the continuous interplay between fear and hope, and in tragedy as well as comedy feelings set in motion the inner workings of the audience and effect in them a sense of being alive. Romance novels and even snuff tobacco function in a similar fashion; at the first pinch snuff tobacco causes an unpleasurable sensation and yet on account of the fact that “nature […] relieves this temporary pain”, snuff tobacco constantly gives rise to new “sensations and even thoughts” (ibid., 552 f.). The arbitrary nature of the examples Kant chooses shows that the arousal of the sense or feeling of being alive is not dependent on certain experiences. These examples lend a certain plausibility to the conclusion that for Kant it is fundamentally the feeling of being alive or the subject feeling that it is alive and exists that is responsible for the pleasure and pain that each particular situation causes. We can see this clearly in Kant’s treatment of boredom. Boredom is for him a purely “negative pain”, a complete “emptiness or lack of feeling and emotion” that sets in motion the “drive of life and self-preservation” to fill out in some way the empty and meaningless time, even if it is to one’s disadvantage (ibid., 552 f.). According to Kant, this is sufficient to prove that the feeling of being alive cannot consist merely in the pure enjoyment of pleasure. Such an “absolute satisfaction” would mean an “inactive tranquility and a complete absence of motives for action or a dulling of feeling related to that action” (ibid., 556 f.). Since a major shift in focus can often result from minor changes, I would like to focus on a certain change of phrase in Aristotle and Kant; Kant speaks of feelings and the actions that are connected with them, whereas Aristotle speaks of actions (or certain activities) and the feelings that are connected with them. Kant’s examples clearly show that what is at stake is not merely a variation in phrase or expression. In gambling it is the interplay of the feelings of hope and fear that excites and spurs us on to action and in the theater it is the interplay between “anxiety and shame, between hope and joy” that sets the inner workings of the audience in motion (ibid., 552). What is important here is that

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these changes in the feelings always come first, whereas the corresponding action is merely a consequence of the interplay of feelings. That is why a state of absolute satisfaction in the pure enjoyment of pleasure is for Kant a state of idle quiet and a dulling of feeling, i. e. a state which is either close to death or death itself.

4. Aristotle: Pleasure accompanies and intensifies successful activity For Aristotle pleasure is the result of actions and takes on the character of the action that accompanies it (Schmitt 2008a, 341 ff.). To give an Aristotelian example, pleasure and pain immediately accompany every sensation. A person cannot taste wine without it either being pleasant or unpleasant to him; in this case pleasure and pain are directly dependent on the character of the sensation. If that person, for example, has eaten something sour beforehand, then even a fine wine can taste bad and be unpleasant. However, not only does the sense organ have to be in good working order, but the person must also have a certain level of awareness when using the senses. For example, when a person who eats a bitter olive or drinks a glass of wine and tastes at first only the bitterness of the olive or the acidity of the wine stops the activity of sensation by spitting it out or drinking water immediately afterwards, then this person has only a very one-sided sensation of the olive and the wine; she or he feels a certain sense of pain or unpleasantness. However, when this person continues this activity, then she or he is in a position to distinguish the many different nuances and flavors in the olive or the wine. She will also be able to enjoy the greatest amount of pleasure from this act of sensation, as pleasure and pain are defined by the character and intensity of the action they accompany. Even when pleasure adds something to the activity or action it accompanies, it does not create some new activity or action; it is merely the expression of the successful performance of an action or activity. The fact that pleasure adds something underlines Aristotle’s definition of pleasure as being dependent on action. According to him, it is the action itself that causes pleasure and enjoyment and the pleasure that results from successful performance spurs human beings on to further action. Yet there is another important difference between Kant’s and Aristotle’s view of pleasure. For Kant pleasure is a process; it is only present

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when there is a constant interplay of feelings and emotions. Being in a state of pure pleasure is for Kant the same as being dead. In contrast, Aristotle emphasizes that pleasure is not a process. His claim rests on the fact that sometimes action (enrgeia) is equated with a perceptible or noticeable change; however, both are not the same (NE, 1153a13 – 17). His position is rather that pleasure is atemporal and self-sufficient. For example, when someone performs an action like building a house, only after many different stages and at the end of the process does she or he have the whole house as a unit in front of her. The same holds for other types of actions as well: when Medea in Euripides’ play wants to take revenge on Jason (Euripides, Medea, vv. 160 – 166, 249 – 266), her attempt to trick him is just one small step or stage in the action; the entire action – her having taken revenge on him – only exists as a whole at the end of the process, i. e. after it has been completed. Each step or stage in the action can only be comprehended as a part of the whole from the perspective of the completed action. In contrast, pleasure is comparable to seeing a color: the sensation of seeing the color red is not composed of individual phases or stages; instead a human being sees immediately and at first glance the color red. This is also the case even if the red object has a lighter or darker shade depending on the time of day one sees it. The color or shade a person sees is a distinct color or shade that is at once grasped and comprehended as such. The same relationship holds for pleasure as well: although Medea’s action of taking revenge on Jason only exists in its entirety after the completion of the action, the pleasure she feels when she tricks Jason is a distinct and definite pleasure that accompanies this particular action. She doesn’t feel this pleasure only after having completed the entire action; she feels this specific pleasure at this specific point because it is intimately connected with this specific action. The pleasure she feels after her plan is carried out in its entirety is a different pleasure; this pleasure is felt only after the whole action is completed and not beforehand. To give a simpler example, when a person eats something sweet and afterwards drinks sour wine, this person has a different sense perception and a different pleasant or unpleasant experience than a person who has not eaten something sweet before tasting the same wine. The latter’s pleasure is more intense than the former’s but the relationship between both pleasures is not like that between a whole and a part or between the blueprint of a house and the completed house. Both pleasures are expressions

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of a specific, albeit different sensation and have their own individual quality. For Aristotle the most intense form of pleasure belongs to the activity that best expresses the nature of human life and that human beings can most easily and continuously perform over long periods of time. The reason why a pleasure ceases is not because it is a pleasure but because a person becomes tired of performing a certain action. New things excite our attention and we actively engage in pursuing these things; later on, however, we get tired of the action or activity as it becomes more familiar to us and we take less pleasure in performing it (NE, 1175a3 – 10). According to Aristotle, the activity that best fits human life is a special type of thought, i. e. the use of our intellect (nous) to grasp concepts. That is why this activity causes the greatest amount of pleasure and is also the best type of pleasure (NE, 1177b21). This is radically different from Kant’s view. For Aristotle the pure enjoyment of the best and greatest pleasure is not a deadening of the senses and a decrease in the quality of life but rather an increase in the feeling of being alive and being human. It is the expression of life and the enjoyment of what human life specifically is. This pleasure, however, must cease at a certain time because human beings do not have the physical and mental endurance to spend their whole life in the performance of this action. Yet it is important to emphasize that for Aristotle it is not the pleasure itself that makes one tired and deadens the mind.

5. From Aristotle to Kant: The way of thought as something present to consciousness as re-presentation To answer the question as to how these divergent views developed I would like to point to two main factors: first, for Aristotle sensation is not a passive, receptive faculty but an active one; the difference between sensation and the intellect (nous) is that sensation is dependent on objects outside of the mind.9 Pleasure is not just a product of the faculty of sensation nor is it diametrically opposed to the activity of the intellect, the difference between the two is one of degrees of intensity.

9

See Bernard 1988, 87 – 112.

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Secondly, the reason for the close affinity of sensation with thought is Aristotle’s definition of thought. Thought for him is not based on a theory of consciousness or mental representation. Even Klaus Oehler, who dealt extensively with this topic, came to the conclusion that although Aristotle often talks about discursive thought (dinoia) and the intellect (nous), he fails to reflect on the modes of consciousness in which the mind thinks and is certain of its objects (Oehler 1984, 250 ff.). What Oehler overlooks, however, is that Aristotle gives several reasons as to why an idea which is so central to modern or post-Cartesian philosophy is irrelevant, not only for his own epistemology but for epistemology in general.10 The crucial passage in question is De Anima III, 3 where Aristotle talks about the mental image and the power of the imagination (phantasa) (Schmitt 2006a, 287 – 304). After reflecting on the possible role that the mental image and the imagination play in cognition, he concludes that the phantasa is not a separate and autonomous faculty. The imagination can recall and – in the true meaning of the word – represent objects that sensation has already perceived. It can also give the objects of opinion (dxa, hyple¯psis), discursive thought (dinoia) and the intellect (nous) perceptible characteristics and qualities to form a mental image yet it is not itself, as he explicitly says, “a faculty which makes distinctions and grasps what is true and what is false” (De anima, 427a19 – 21).11 We only speak metaphorically of imagination as performing such activities by itself, as it is dependent on and represents what other powers in the mind have already done. The specific function of imagination – and Aristotle is very explicit that this is the only thing that it can do – is to join and separate the objects it receives from the other powers of the mind. Imagination can only work with and on these objects. A brief excursion into the history of philosophy should help us understand the relationship between Aristotle’s definition of imagination and our modern concept of consciousness. As far back as the Stoics some philosophers identified mental representation or imagination with thought itself. They distinguished between a passive impression stamped on the mind by an external object, which animals have as well, and a phantasa kataleptik. This mental image is a clear and distinct representation which a person actively assents to in an act of judgment on account of its clearness and distinctness. This process can be ex10 Cf. Schmitt 2006a, 287 – 304. 11 Cf. also Aristotle, De anima, 427b29 – 428b9.

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plained as follows: “this image of the tree stamped on my mind through the senses is so evident that I assent to it and judge that this really is a tree.” (Clausen 2008, 61 – 101). In the late Middle Ages, William of Ockham reintroduced the repraesentatio, the clear and distinct representation, as the primary and direct medium of knowledge and it was Christian Wolff who coined the word “consciousness” (Bewusstsein) to label clear and distinct mental representations.12 Kant adopted this terminology and even begins his lecture on logic with the claim that the clear and distinct representations are called conscious (bewusst), whereas the confused and unclear impressions belong to the senses. Aristotle, however, calls the primary act of thought and cognition “krnein” or “distinguishing”.13 In this context krnein means to grasp an entity that is identical with itself and to distinguish it from what it is not. He attributes this ability even to the senses, which he calls a “dy´namis sy´mphytos kritik”, i. e. organs with an innate ability to make and grasp these distinctions. When a person, for example, sees the color red, hears the note B# or even smells a particular smell, she has grasped something that is in and of itself a distinct entity and different from other colors, notes, and smells, respectively. In contrast, the critical ability of discursive thought in conjunction with the intellect is that it is aware of and can reflect on the criteria it uses when performing an act of distinguishing and grasping. It can also apply these criteria in concrete situations as a norm or guide. The goal of this ability of thought is to grasp the nature or essence of a distinct conceptual entity or what it means for this entity to be exactly this entity and not some other entity. Aristotle uses the formula “kath’ haut, he¯ aut, kai pro¯to¯s” to describe this grasp. In reflecting on the criteria, he attempts to explain them so that a person can make active use of them to combine, sort out and augment the various data present in sensation and sense perception to achieve the abovementioned goal. Due to the complexity and large volume of scholarship involved in discussing Aristotle, I cannot fully examine the development of these criteria. However, I can briefly outline Aristotle’s view as to how sensation and sense perception make use of them, although not in the same way that discursive thought and the intellect do. For example, when a 12 Cf. Schmitt 2006b, 292 – 297. 13 See Aristotle, De Anima, 424a5, 426b10 – 14, 427a19 – 21, 428a3 – 5, 429b13 – 17.

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person hears something as simple as a certain note, then this person has to pay attention to certain things to make sure she hears and grasps only this one note. She or he has to pay attention to when the note begins, how long it lasts, whether it remains the same or changes into a different note, when it stops etc. These criteria – unity, multiplicity, identity, diversity, sameness, discreteness, whole, middle, beginning, end, etc. – are used in even the most simple and basic perceptions and sensations, although we would say that they are used unconsciously. In more complex perceptions, for example in hearing a chord, the use of the criteria is more complex as there are more elements to apply these criteria to and they are found in more complex combinations. In using these criteria we can speak of a better or worse, a more or less: the person who is more careful and more experienced in the use of these criteria in certain situations is better at, for example, hearing, i. e. distinguishing, different notes or chords. This rather cursory discussion is sufficient to point out that we do not do justice to the complex phenomenon of sensation when we describe it as a merely passive, receptive and primarily physiological occurrence. Seen this way, sensation is a type of thought or mental activity, although limited in nature; following Aristotle, Thomas Aquinas calls it “ratio ligata”. When a person is paying attention to whether a note or the direction of a certain movement remains the same, she or he does not need to know what sameness is; she or he can simply be trying to hear a certain note or make out a certain direction. However, she or he will be able to do this better when she or he is able to grasp more of what it means for something to be the same in these instances.

6. Primary acts of cognition are immediately accompanied by pleasure or pain What is true in cognition is true for the intensity of pleasure and pain in sensation. The more subtle differences and nuances a person distinguishes in a good wine lead to a more intense experience of pleasure; on account of this pleasure, a person is spurred on to continue drinking the wine and distinguishing these nuances. The opposite case leads to the opposite result: the lesser pleasure a person has in drinking good wine because she or he distinguishes only a few nuances or sometimes even none at all makes her or him stop drinking the wine.

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For Aristotle it is not just every sensation and sense perception that is inextricably accompanied by feelings of pleasure or pain, as he also sees the same immediate connection in e. g. acts of opining, discursive thought and the intellect. He claims, for example, that a person cannot be of the opinion that she or he is being threatened without experiencing fear and that a person cannot be of the opinion that she or he is loved without feeling loved and being happy that she or he is loved (presupposing that the person wants to be loved in this situation or by this person). Many scholars have criticized Aristotle for this connection between rational thought and feeling. Although some scholars can accept that sensation is immediately accompanied by pleasure and pain, there are many cases, however, when conceptual or rational thought and feeling seem to be two different things and have different causes and objects. However, when we take into account Aristotle’s distinction between forming mental representations and cognition, then we have good reason to defend his views. We cannot form a mental representation of red if we have never seen it beforehand. Yet we are also not able to form a mental image of the danger of something if we have not grasped the danger present in a concrete situation. Imagination (or the ability to form mental images) represents a red that has been seen (and distinguished) or a danger that has been grasped and understood; imagination itself cannot and does not produce these forms of knowledge and therefore does not create the feelings that are inextricably linked with these acts of cognition and perception. For Aristotle thought in the primary sense is something present: when thinking about a danger, for example, it has this object of thought just as directly as the ear does when it hears a note and feels immediately whether it is pleasant or unpleasant. The representation of an object of thought in imagination, even if it is clear and distinct or “conscious,” can only happen after the primary act of cognition or sensation has taken place. Imagination only establishes a symbolic relationship to the object of sensation or thought and is therefore irrelevant to feeling or action in general. In chap. 4 of the Poetics, Aristotle compares imagination to looking at paintings: we can look at the most revolting things in a painting without feeling repulsed by them but we cannot be confronted with something revolting in real life and be aware of what makes this object revolting without being repulsed by it.14 14 Cf. Schmitt 2008b, 268 – 274.

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At this point I would like to revisit Petrarch’s critique of Aristotle: he claims that after reading Aristotle’s writings on ethics he was more knowledgeable about ethical theory but that this knowledge did not make him a better person. Yet when he asks of what use is that knowledge when it is not coupled with the love of or desire for what is good and the rejection of what is bad, then his primary critique is based on mistaking a primary function of thought with a secondary, post-cognitive function.15 To be pricked by a sharp object means to immediately feel the pain of this prick; the mental representation of a prick presents a mere characteristic of this process that does not hurt. The same is true for the feeling of love or fear. We can be aware of all the attributes of a person that make this person loveable and of all the attributes of a certain situation that make it not dangerous and yet still not love this person or feel that the situation is dangerous. Inasmuch as these concrete feelings are not blind and empty but have real content, they are dependent on previous cognition and knowledge, i. e. that a certain look appears to be dangerous or not trustworthy. The difference between knowledge and feeling is based on two different forms or types of cognition, a direct and a subsequent cognition. The feeling or emotion is dependent on the direct act of cognition. For example, the more one is attentive to the likeable characteristics of a particular person, the more intense and more complete the feeling of love one has for this person will be. The representation of these characteristics in consciousness occurs after the fact. It can and will only have the same amount of relevance for the feeling that the primary act of cognition has.

7. Conclusion: Pleasure as intensifying momentum of the feeling of being alive Even if we agree with Aristotle’s thesis that all acts of cognition, perception and knowledge are accompanied by feelings, we can still ask why and how the pleasure that results from these acts can increase the feeling we have of being alive. For Aristotle, thinking is distinguishing and life is not possible without the ability to distinguish. Even the most primitive form of bacteria must be able to distinguish sweet from not-sweet in 15 See Petrarca 1997, 104 f.

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order to survive. Whatever wants to move must be able to distinguish between straight, in a circle, forwards, backwards, etc. The same holds for all acts of perception. All correct acts of distinguishing add something to or increase the quality of life, whereas incorrect acts of distinguishing diminish the quality of life. Since the direct act of distinguishing is connected to pleasure and pain, it increases the quality of life and the pleasure one has in being alive when it is performed correctly. This feeling is not an abstract feeling and is not just one feeling among others, but is implicit in every feeling; and it is exactly that part of an action through which pleasure spurs us on to continue performing this action. In conclusion, when in following Aristotle we distinguish between primary acts and forms of cognition and their representation in consciousness and accordingly do not equate thought in general with consciousness, it becomes clear that feelings of pleasure and pain are inextricably and fundamentally linked to these primary acts of cognition; these feelings either increase or decrease the intensity of the desire to continue performing these acts and are at the same time the cause for a general feeling of being alive or the opposite.

References Aristotle (1956): De Anima, David Ross (Ed.), Oxford: Oxford University Press. Aristotle (1920): Ethica Nicomachea, Ingram Bywater (Ed.), Oxford: Oxford University Press. Aristotle (1957): Metaphysica, Werner Jaeger (Ed.), Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bernard, Wolfgang (1988): Rezeptivitt und Spontaneitt der Wahrnehmung bei Aristoteles, Baden-Baden: Verlag Valentin Koerner. Clausen, Marion (2008): Maxima in sensibus veritas? Die platonischen und stoischen Grundlagen der Erkenntniskritik in Ciceros Lucullus, Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Euripides: Fabulae, vol. 1, James Diggle (Ed.), Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984. Kant, Immanuel (1977a): Untersuchungen über die Deutlichkeit der Grundsätze der natürlichen Theologie und der Moral (1764), in: Werkausgabe, vol. 1, Wilhelm Weischedel (Ed.), Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 739 – 775. Kant, Immanuel (1977b): Kritik der Urteilskraft (1790), in: Werkausgabe, vol. 10, Wilhelm Weischedel (Ed.), Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp.

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Kant, Immanuel (1977c): Anthropologie in pragmatischer Hinsicht (1798), in: Werkausgabe, vol. 12, Wilhelm Weischedel (Ed.), Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 399 – 685. Kidd, Ian G. (1971): Posidonius on Emotions, in: Anthony A. Long (Ed.), Problems in Stoicism, London: Athlone Press. Oehler, Klaus (1984): Aristoteles. Kategorien, bersetzt und erlutert, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Petrarca (1997): De sui ipsius et multorum ignorantia (1370), Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag. Schmitt, Arbogast (1993): Klassische und platonische Schönheit. Anmerkungen zu Ausgangsform und wirkungsgeschichtlichem Wandel des Kanons klassischer Schönheit, in: Wilhelm Voßkamp (Ed.), Klassik im Vergleich. Normativitt und Historizitt europischer Klassiken, Stuttgart: Metzler. Schmitt, Arbogast (2006a): Konkretes Denken. Zur emotionalen und praktischen Bedeutung des Wissens im Platonismus und Aristotelismus, in: Christof Rapp/Tim Wagner (Eds.), Wissen und Bildung in der antiken Philosophie, Stuttgart: Metzler. Schmitt, Arbogast (2006b): Platon und das empirische Denken der Neuzeit, Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Schmitt, Arbogast (2008a): Platon und die Moderne, Stuttgart: Metzler. Schmitt, Arbogast (2008b): Aristoteles. Poetik, bersetzt und erlutert, Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Sulzer, Johann Georg (1970): Allgemeine Theorie der schçnen Knste (1771), Leipzig: Weidmann.

Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins als einfache Form phänomenalen Bewusstseins. Ein aristotelischer Theorieansatz Eva-Maria Engelen Abstract: This paper works out which conceptual and theoretical preconditions have to be met, among others, in order for a living creature to be able to have a feeling of being alive beyond the mere capacity for sensation. For the emergence of such a feeling, which can be equated with a rudimentary phenomenal consciousness (1.), it is not enough for the organism to be alive (2.1). Rather it has to be able to conceive its body as a unit and to relate its sensations to this unit (2.2). Moreover mobility (2.3), a basic sense of possibility (2.4) and a rudimentary sense of time (2.5) are also necessary. The analysis of these preconditions relies primarily on Aristotelian theoretical approaches, encompassing both historical interpretation (3.1), and systematic work, which includes a look at the current debates in the analytic philosophical tradition (3.2).

1. Gefühl des Lebendigseins als Form phänomenalen Bewusstseins Das Gefühl lebendig zu sein ist etwas anderes als bloße Empfindungsfähigkeit und die Antwort auf die Frage, worin genau der Unterschied zu sehen ist, ist zugleich eine auf die Frage, was die Voraussetzungen für eine einfache, basale Form des Bewusstseins sind, genauer gesagt, diejenigen für eine basale Form des phänomenalen Bewusstseins. Neuerdings wird diese Frage von ganz verschiedenen Seiten in den Blick genommen, um die tief greifende cartesische Dichotomie zwischen Bewusstsein und lebendigem Körper zu überwinden. Dabei verwenden nicht alle Autoren den Begriff des basalen phänomenalen Bewusstseins; so sprechen die Neurowissenschaftler Antonio Damasio und Jaak Panksepp von einem primitiven Gefühl des Selbst (feeling of self), andere wie der Philosoph Evan Thompson von einer Form präreflexiven Selbst-Gewahrseins des lebendigen Körpers. So unterschiedliche Autoren wie Thomas Fuchs oder Thomas Metzinger verwenden hingegen den Begriff der Meinigkeit und der Literaturwissenschaftler Daniel Heller-Roazen

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greift mit dem Begriff des inneren Sinns die antike und mittelalterliche Tradition auf. Den meisten Ansätzen ist gemein, dass Bewusstseinsphänomene in ihrer onto- und phylogenetischen Entwicklung in den Blick genommen werden. Bei manchen geschieht das mit dem Ziel phänomenales Bewusstsein auf seine physikalischen und chemischen Grundlagen zu reduzieren und somit als Phänomen in seinem Zustandekommen und in seinem Auftreten vollständig zu erklären. Bei anderen Autoren, die keinen reduktionistischen Ansatz des phänomenalen Bewusstseins verfolgen, wird zumeist eine Entwicklungsgeschichte erzählt, die in ihrem Verlauf vom Leben zum (bewussten) Erleben verfolgt wird und die natürlichen Grundlagen von Bewusstsein zwar berücksichtigt, phänomenales Erleben aber nicht in Gänze auf chemische und physikalische Grundlagen zurückzuführen bestrebt ist. Erklärungsversuche für phänomenales Bewusstsein, die das phänomenale Bewusstsein erklären und analysieren, ohne den zugehörigen lebendigen Körper zu berücksichtigen, werden hier demzufolge nicht erörtert. Vielmehr wird ausgehend vom lebendigen Körper gefragt, inwiefern bereits einfachste Formen eines präreflexiven Selbst-Gewahrseins und damit phänomenalen Bewusstseins schon begriffliche1 und theoretische Voraussetzunge für ihr Entstehen haben, und welche kognitiven Voraussetzungen gegeben sein müssen, damit ein Organismus sich lebendig fühlt. Ein präreflexives Selbst-Gewahrsein als das ein rudimentäres phänomenales Bewusstsein auch bezeichnet wird, setzt voraus, dass das Lebewesen, das darüber verfügt, seinen Organismus auch als den seinen und als Einheit wahrnehmen kann. Für diese Form der Selbstwahrnehmung bedarf es noch keines Verständnisses von sich als einem Selbst. Denn Selbstbewusstsein ist in Selbst-Gewahrsein nicht impliziert. Da es mit dem phänomenalen Gewahrsein des eigenen Organismus einhergeht, ist es eine empfindungsbasierte Form des Bewusstseins. Es bildet genau die Schwelle zwischen Leben und Erleben, die auch Thomas Fuchs in diesem Band analysiert.2 1 2

Mit „begrifflich“ ist hier eine ganz rudimentäre Form der Fähigkeit zur Konzeptualisierung gemeint, nämlich diejenige, etwas einzuordnen; beispielsweise alle rote Gegenstände als rot. Thomas Fuchs hat diese prägnante Wendung in seinem Vortrag „Leben und Selbsterleben. Organische Grundlagen des Bewusstseins“, annlässlich des

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2.1 Vorüberlegungen zu den Voraussetzungen für eine basale Form phänomenalen Bewusstseins Damit Leben als solches erlebt wird, reicht es nicht aus, dass ein Organismus empfindungsfähig ist, weil Empfinden nicht gleichzusetzen ist mit sich als „ein Etwas“ oder in einer bestimmten Weise zu empfinden beziehungsweise damit etwas als etwas zu empfinden. Was aber muss hinzukommen, damit ein empfindungsfähiger Organismus zu einem wird, der sich auch als empfindend wahrnimmt? Diese Frage wird hier nicht als eine an die Biologie gerichtete verstanden,3 sondern als eine philosophische. Denn um sagen zu können, was es bedeutet, sich oder etwas als etwas zu empfinden, und nicht nur schlicht zu empfinden, ist nicht nur auf die Rolle des Begriffsvermögens, der Selbstwahrnehmung und der Metakognitionen für das sich-oder-etwasals-etwas Empfinden einzugehen, mit der sich auch Biologen beschäftigen. Vielmehr kommt Phänomenalität in biologischen Theorien nicht vor und zwar unter anderem deswegen, weil sich Selektionen im Laufe der Evolution nicht darauf bezogen haben, wie ein Lebewesen sich fühlt, sondern nur auf die jeweiligen Funktionen, die selektiert wurden. Das etwas-als-etwas Empfinden oder das etwa-als-etwas Spüren sind daher in den Naturwissenschaften keine Phänomene, auf die sie sich beziehen können, statt dessen wird nach funktionalen Kriterien gesucht und gefragt. Metakognitionen können grob so bestimmt werden, dass das Lebewesen, das zu dieser Art Kognition in der Lage ist, einen direkten Zugang zu seinen eigenen mentalen Zuständen hat. Wenn es gelänge, eine irgendwie geartete nicht-sprachliche Bezugnahme auf das Empfinden nachzuweisen, so dass man nicht darauf angewiesen wäre, nachzufragen, ob etwas phänomenal empfunden wurde oder nicht, könnten auch Biologen phänomenales Empfinden untersuchen. Da ein solches Ver-

3

Workshops „The Feeling of Being Alive“, in der Berlin-Brandenburgischen Akademie der Wissenschaften am 18. Mai 2010 verwendet. Wie eine näher am Verständnis der Biologie formulierte Antwort auf die Frage, wie es zu bewusstem Erleben kommt, aussehen kann, skizziert etwa Thomas Fuchs (in diesem Band), wenn er darauf hinweist, dass Voraussetzungen in der Ausbildung getrennter sensorischer und motorischer Organe und der entsprechenden Sinnes- und Bewegungsvermögen besteht, sowie in der Entwicklung eines nervösen Zentralorgans, das die Rezeptor- und Effektorgane miteinander koppelt und die Einheit des Organismus noch einmal in gesonderter Form repräsentiert.

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fahren aber nicht bekannt ist, kann nur das jeweilige Verhalten beobachtet werden. Obgleich phänomenales Empfinden also immer schon als eines zu rekonstruieren ist, das sich auf etwas bezieht und damit intentional ist, ist es für das Vorliegen eines rudimentären Selbst-Gewahrsein nicht erforderlich, dass das Lebewesen sich bewusst auf sich selbst bezieht, denn dann hätte man es bereits mit ausgeprägtem Selbstbewusstsein zu tun und nicht mit einem basalen Gefühl der Selbstwahrnehmung oder einem Bemerken des Empfindens als eigenem. Der Hinweis auf die inhärente Intentionalität macht jedoch schon ansatzweise deutlich, dass nicht erst das Selbstbewusstsein, sondern bereits eine solch empfindungsbasierte Form rudimentären phänomenalen Bewusstseins Voraussetzungen hat, die über Kausalzusammenhänge und repräsentationale Beziehungen hinausgehen Um diese Voraussetzungen bestimmen zu können, ist daher etwa der Übergang vom Empfinden zum Sich-Empfinden (Körpergefühl), vom Bewegen zum Sich-Bewegen (Bewegungsfähigkeit), und damit einhergehend vom Unterscheiden zwischen Bewegen-Können und NichtBewegen-Können (Möglichkeitssinn, Unterscheidungsvermögen) genauer zu analysieren. 2.2 Körpergefühl Damit ein Lebewesen sich als lebendig erfahren kann, muss es in irgendeiner Weise wahrnehmen, dass die Empfindungen der Wärme, des Hungers, der langsamen oder schnellen Bewegung, etc. auf den Körper bezogen sind, zu dem diese Empfindungen gehören. Bereits in aristotelischer Tradition sind Modelle entstanden, die erklären sollen, wie Empfindungen auf den Körper als Einheit bezogen sind. Dafür muss unter anderem jedoch auch expliziert werden, wie Empfindungen wahrgenommen werden, was bereits eine der Voraussetzungen für ein Gefühl des Lebendigseins ist.4 Zudem muss ein Lebewesen, das sich als Einheit begreifen können soll, die Grenzen seines Organismus feststellen können.

4

Vgl. Beitrag Thomas Fuchs in diesem Band, der auf die drei hierarchisch gegliederten Seelenfunktionen: vegetative, sensomotorische und intellektuale Seelenfunktion verweist, die die aristotelische Ontologie bereithält.

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Diese Grenzen erfährt es, wenn es seinen Körper als ganzen wahrnehmen beziehungsweise empfinden kann, was etwa dann der Fall ist, wenn es mit dem gesamten Körper in Wasser eintaucht, oder wenn der gesamte Körper von Sonne beschienen wird. Aber auch wenn das Lebewesen mit dem Körper durch ein enges Loch schlupft, so dass der Körper als ganzer berührt oder umhüllt wird, werden die Grenzen desselben empfunden oder wenn die Bewegung des gesamten Körpers dadurch wahrgenommen oder empfunden wird, dass sie unterbrochen oder gestoppt wird und damit durch den Gegensatz zur Nicht-Bewegung empfunden wird.5 2.3 Bewegungsfähigkeit Verschiedene Körperzustände in Bezug auf den gesamten Körper empfinden zu können, wie etwa heiß-kalt oder eng-weit und damit die Veränderungen des Organismus und des Körperzustandes in Bezug auf diese Umwelt, ist erforderlich, damit ein Lebewesen sich als lebendig empfinden kann. Dadurch, dass es sich bewegt, werden desgleichen Wechsel des Körpers und zudem der Umgebung in Relation zu diesem wahrnehmbar. Auch Bewegungsfähigkeit ermöglicht es also dem Lebewesen, einen Unterschied zwischen sich und der Umwelt festzustellen und sich als Einheit zu empfinden. Ein Lebewesen kann nicht ganz für sich alleine, in einer Welt, in der die Umgebung für es nicht erfahrbar ist, feststellen, ob sich Zustände in der Welt und insbesondere in Bezug auf den eigenen Organismus verändern und es kann auch nicht verschiedene Zustände in einem Verhältnis zueinander erfahren. Dies zu können ist jedoch wesentlich, um lernen zu können, sich als Einheit zu begreifen. Die Möglichkeit, solche Zustandswechsel erfahren zu können, ist durch Bewegungsfähigkeit erheblich erhöht im Vergleich mit Lebewesen wie Pflanzen, die nicht in der Lage sind, solche Zustandswechsel in eigenständiger Weise herbeizu5

Thomas Fuchs spricht nicht von einem Nicht, sondern von dem Mangel, der als Erleben leiblicher Spannung, das Erleben einer unspezifischen Negativität bedeutet, aus der sich Triebziele ergeben, weil der Organismus beziehungsweise das Lebewesen danach strebt, den Mangel aufzuheben. Auch Fuchs verbindet das Moment des Nicht-Anwesenden, Fehlenden, Nicht-Vorhandenen mit dem der Möglichkeit, wenn er bemerkt, dass mit der triebhaften Gerichtetheit auf das Ermangelte auch eine Ausrichtung auf mögliche Erfüllung entsteht. Vgl. Fuchs in diesem Band.

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führen. Denn es ist zumindest fraglich, ob die Veränderung der Umwelt um das Lebewesen herum ausreichte, um zu einer solchen rudimentären Form des phänomenalen Empfindens wie dem des sich lebendig Fühlens zu gelangen. Solange das Lebewesen keine Aktivitäten seines Organismus entfalten kann, weil die Bewegungsfähigkeit nicht gegeben ist, kann es sich nicht in Bewegung setzen, und etwa nicht vom Warmen ins Kalte gelangen, oder vom Hellen ins Dunkle. Veränderungen und damit Bedingungen, um Unterschiede feststellen zu können, stoßen dann lediglich zu und können nicht aktiv aufgesucht werden. Allein die Möglichkeit, verschiedene Zustände als unterschiedlich feststellen zu können, ist dadurch eingeschränkt. Hinzukommt allerdings, dass die Möglichkeit, aktiv zu sein und unterschiedliche Grade der Erregung zu erfahren, damit im Wesentlichen nicht vorhanden ist und all die Umstände und Situationen, die wir als solche kennen, in denen wir uns lebendig fühlen, nicht eintreten können. Letztlich können wir aber, um sagen zu können, was es heißt, sich lebendig zu fühlen, nur von Analogien und Vergleichssituationen ausgehen, um dieses phänomenale Empfinden zuschreiben zu können. Bewegung, Unterscheidungen machen, erregt sein, die Möglichkeit zu haben, den Körper als Ganzes zu erfahren, all das reicht aber noch nicht aus, damit das rudimentäre Gefühl des Lebendigseins sich einstellt. Vielmehr muss die Bewegung (oder auch die Erregung) auch als solche wahrgenommen werden.

2.4 Möglichkeitssinn und Unterscheiden Um etwas als etwas wahrnehmen zu können, ist es eine Grundvoraussetzung, dass der als solcher wahrzunehmende Zustand nicht stets anhaltend und gleich bleibend ist. Es muss also etwa einen Kontrast zwischen Bewegung und Nicht-Bewegung geben, um Bewegung als solche wahrnehmen zu können, einen zwischen Erregung und Nicht-Erregung, um Erregung als solche wahrnehmen zu können, zwischen Wärme und Kälte, um Temperaturen als solche empfinden zu können, etc. Dabei reicht die Tatsache, dass Zustände nicht gleich bleibend bestehen, aber noch nicht aus, um sie auch in Beziehung zueinander zu setzen und sie jeweils als solche zu erfahren. Es lässt sich jedoch daraus bereits ersehen,

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dass es, um sich als lebendig erleben zu können, zumindest auch im Vergleich dazu gegeben sein muss, sich als weniger lebendig zu erfahren. So könnte etwa erst der Wechsel von Bewegung und Nicht-Bewegung oder von sich bewegen Können und sich nicht bewegen Können dazu führen, dass der Körper als ein lebendiger wahrgenommen werden kann. Aber das bloße Registrieren von Zustandswechseln reicht dafür nicht aus, denn Informationsverarbeitung dieser Art bewältigt auch ein Roboter mühelos, ohne sich dabei lebendig zu fühlen. Zu prüfen ist demnach, ob neben den erforderlichen Zustandswechseln, auch ein basaler Sinn für Möglichkeit dazu kommen muss. Da die Voraussetzungen eines rudimentären Selbstgewahrseins untersucht werden, kann auch die Frage nach dem Möglichkeitssinn nicht auf einen Erwartungszusammenhang und einen Raum des Möglichen und Kontrafaktischen abzielen, weil, um diese erfassen zu können, höhere kognitive Fähigkeiten erforderlich sind. Es ist also höchstens von einem irgendwie nachweisbaren Verständnis für das Nicht-Tun-Können im Gegensatz zu einem Tun-Können auszugehen, wenn von einem basalen Sinn für Möglichkeit die Rede ist. Ein solches Nicht-Tun-Können wäre beispielsweise gegeben, wenn sich ein Lebewesen nicht in eine bestimmte Richtung bewegen kann (was aber selbstredend auch voraussetzt, dass sich das Lebewesen in verschiedene Richtungen bewegen kann). Damit eine Bewegung etwa in Bezug zu einer Nicht-Bewegung gesetzt werden kann und nicht nur Bewegung stattfindet oder eben nicht,6 müssen die Voraussetzungen der Bezugnahme auf dieser basalen Stufe durch etwas anderes als durch ein Begriffsvermögen gewährleistet sein, das bereits höhere kognitive Fähigkeiten verlangt. Das ist etwa der Fall, wenn ein Lebewesen, zum Beispiel ein Maulwurf, sich nicht weiter bewegen kann, weil er auf ein natürliches Hindernis beim Graben und damit beim Bewegen stößt. Hier treffen Graben-Können und NichtGraben-Können oder Bewegen-Können und Nicht-Bewegen-Können unmittelbar in spürbarer Weise aufeinander, was es zumindest ermöglicht, dass sie auch aufeinander bezogen werden können. Ein Lebewesen, welches seine Bewegung auf seine Nicht-Bewegung beziehen kann, trifft einen Akt des Unterscheidens im aristotelischen Sinne. Damit ist allerdings nicht unterstellt, dass es sich schon um ein ganz 6

Dass das nicht reicht sieht man etwa daran, dass auch Pflanzen sich durch ihr Wachstum zumindest nach rechts, links, unten oder oben „bewegen“, wenn auch nicht nach vorne oder hinten und wir dennoch gemeinhin nicht davon ausgehen, dass sie ein Gefühl des Lebendigseins verspüren.

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bewusstes Unterscheiden handelt, das mit höheren Formen des Bewusstseins oder der Kognition einhergeht.7 Vielmehr geht das fragliche Unterscheidungsvermögen dem bewussten voraus: „Gleichgültig, ob jemand wahrnimmt, fühlt, vorstellt, meint, will usw., er könnte nichts von alledem ausführen, wenn er dabei überhaupt keine Unterschiede bemerken könnte, sondern nur etwas ununterschieden Diffuses auffassen würde. Also ist die Grundvoraussetzung jeder seelischen Erfahrung das Unterscheidenkönnen. Man kann nicht unmittelbar etwas als Etwas vergegenwärtigen, sondern man muss zuerst einmal überhaupt etwas – durch Wahrnehmung, Gefühl usw. – unterscheiden.“8

2.5 Zeitverständnis Um die Voraussetzungen dafür, dass ein Organismus sich spürt, weiter zu klären, fehlt bislang ein wichtiger Aspekt, der in der gegenwärtigen philosophischen Debatte zum Thema phänomenales Bewusstsein insbesondere von der Philosophin Martine Nida-Rümelin ausführlich zur Sprache gebracht worden ist. Sie legt unter anderem dar, dass die Frage des Selbstgewahrseins9 nicht von dem Aspekt der Identität über die Zeit hinweg zu trennen ist. 7

8

9

„Zuerst also kommt das Unterscheiden und die größere oder geringere Kenntnis der Unterscheidungskriterien, dann das sie begleitende Bewusstsein“ (Schmitt 2001, 127). In diesem Sinne auch: „Das Gleiche gilt bei den Wahrnehmungen. Wenn man beim Spüren von etwas Glattem nicht auf diese eine mit sich identische, von anderem verschiedene, über ein bestimmtes Medium hin gleiche Tastqualität achten würde, würde man überhaupt nicht die eine Erfahrung von etwas Glattem machen, sondern ein Gefühl von mehreren und vielleicht undefinierbaren Erfahrungen haben“ (Schmitt 2001, 130). Schmitt 2001, 140. Das Zitat geht wie folgt weiter: „Diese Beurteilung des Denkens von seinen Unterscheidungsleistungen her führt dazu, zwischen Wahrnehmung und Denken keine Kluft, sondern einen graduellen Zusammenhang zu sehen. […] Vor allem aber führt die reflexiv-kritische Vergewisserung der Bedingungen der Möglichkeit von Unterscheidung dazu, dass die Verschiedenheit unter den psychischen Vermögen wie Wahrnehmung, Empfindung, Gefühl, Vorstellung, Meinung, Urteil usw. nicht als Geschiedenheit interpretiert werden muss. […], [denn] man nimmt etwas wahr, fühlt etwas, stellt etwas vor, meint etwas usw.“ (Schmitt 2001, 140 f.). Nida-Rümelin verwendet den Terminus der Innenperspektive. Für Lebewesen, die über diese Innenperspektive verfügen, fühlt es sich irgendwie an, lebendig zu sein, aber erst durch ein kontinuierliches Erleben wird dieses Selbstgewahrsein möglich.

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Auch Nida-Rümelin schreibt eine rudimentäre Form des phänomenalen Bewusstseins bereits dann zu, wenn noch kein Selbstbewusstsein nachweisbar ist: „Bewusstseinsfähigkeit im hier gemeinten Sinne setzt kein Selbstbewusstsein voraus. Die Fähigkeit sich seiner eigenen Existenz bewusst zu werden oder über eigene Eigenschaften zu reflektieren, kann völlig fehlen. Bewusstseinsfähig in diesem weiten Sinne ist ein Wesen schon dann, wenn es nur irgendetwas empfinden kann, auch wenn diese Empfindung noch sehr undeutlich und wenig differenziert ist, wie etwa ein vages Gefühl des Wohligseins, das vielleicht eine Qualle empfinden mag, die zufällig aus kaltem Wasser in eine wärmere Strömung gerät. Ein Wesen ist genau dann bewusstseinsfähig, wenn es „irgendwie ist, dieses Wesen zu sein“ (…), oder wenn – wie man auch manchmal sagt – „eine ’subjektive Perspektive’ vorliegt, oder anders gesagt, wenn es sich bei dem fraglichen Wesen um ein Subjekt von Erfahrung handelt“ (Nida-Rümelin 2006, 17). Mit der Beschreibung des Wohligseins wird ein phänomenales Empfinden beschrieben, das mit einer Einschätzung der Umgebung durch das Lebewesen einhergeht;10 ob das allerdings bereits bei einer Qualle schon gegeben ist, sei einmal dahingestellt und zwar auch deshalb, weil es sich bei einem solchen Lebewesen um ein Subjekt handeln soll, das Erfahrungen macht.11 Martine Nida-Rümelin verbindet die Frage der Bewusstseinsfähigkeit mit der transtemporalen Identität eines Subjekts, weil Bewusstseinsfähigkeit und die Fähigkeit, Erfahrungen zu machen, voraussetzen, dass sich das betreffende Wesen, das über solche Fähigkeiten verfügt, bestimmte Eigenschaften über eine gewisse Zeitspanne zuschreiben kann, die zukünftige und vergangene Ereignisse zumindest ansatzweise ein10 Thomas Fuchs (in diesem Band) setzt hier insofern etwas „tiefer“ an, als er das Entstehen von affektiven Zuständen, die mit Begehren, Lust und Vermeidung einhergehen, mit der Dynamik des Mangels in Verbindung bringt, dessen Ausgangspunkt die Selbsterhaltung ist. Aber auch er verbindet mit den affektiven oder emotiven Prozessen das Entstehen einer Innen-Außen-Differenz und einer „subjektiven Seite“. Er weist aber zugleich zu recht darauf hin, dass man daraus noch kein reflektierendes Bewusstsein ableiten kann, weil etwa Hungern etwas anderes ist als das Bewusstsein des Hunger-Habens. 11 Mit Letzterem muss mehr gemeint sein, als dass das Lebewesen, das die Erfahrungen macht, lernfähig ist. Erfahrungen machen ist von Lernfähigkeit zwar nicht zu trennen, aber es geht nicht darin auf, denn lernen kann auch unbewusst von statten gehen, während Erfahrungen machen, in einem emphatischen Sinne verstanden, nicht unbewusst bleibt und dann auch mit Bewusstseinsfähigkeit einhergeht.

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schließt.12 Bewusstseinsfähige Wesen zeichnen sich nach Nida-Rümelin gerade dadurch aus, dass sie über eine Innenperspektive verfügen, wozu die zeitliche Kontinuität im Erleben gehört, in der sich eine numerische Identität zeigt (Nida-Rümelin 2006, 15 f.). Artefakte, für die sich eine solche numerische Identität nicht dartut, haben demnach auch nicht den Subjektstatus, der Wesen zugeschrieben wird, die über eine Innenperspektive verfügen. Nun lässt sich am Beispiel des Sich-Bewegen-Könnens und des SichNicht-Bewegen-Könnens verdeutlichen, dass es in der Tat der Fähigkeit bedarf, Vorgänge in einer zeitlichen Abfolge aufeinander zu beziehen, um sie allererst zueinander in Verbindung setzen zu können. Denn in dem Moment, in dem sich ein Lebewesen nicht mehr bewegen kann, weil es auf ein Hindernis stößt, bewegt es sich gerade nicht mehr, ist die Bewegung bereits vergangen. Um die nicht mehr mögliche Bewegung nun mit der vorangegangenen Bewegung in Beziehung setzen zu können, ist daher ein rudimentäres Zeitempfinden erforderlich. Für ein Gefühl des Lebendigseins lässt sich allerdings feststellen, dass diese Kontinuität des Erlebens nicht in dem Maße notwendig ist wie sie von Nida-Rümelin für die von ihr beschriebenen Innenperspektive postuliert, welche eine Identitätsbildung des Lebewesens über die Lebensspanne hin erklären soll. Bei dem Gefühl des Lebendigseins kann vielmehr eine zeitliche Kontinuität vorliegen, die lediglich so lange 12 „Ich verstehe die Arbeit über transtemporale Identität als Teil einer solchen Bemühung um den Begriff der Bewusstseinsfähigkeit im angedeuteten weiten Sinne. In gewisser Weise wird deutlich, was man eigentlich glaubt, wenn man ein Wesen für bewusstseinsfähig hält, wenn man sich klar macht, welche Konsequenz diese Annahme für das Verständnis der transtemporalen Identität des fraglichen Individuums hat. Aber dazu muss man gesehen haben, worin sich Urteile transtemporaler Identität bezüglich solcher Individuen unterscheiden, die wir bezüglich gewöhnlicher Dinge fällen, bei denen wir keinerlei Erlebnisfähigkeit vermuten. In diesem Buch geht es mir vor allem um ein tiefer gehendes Verständnis unseres Begriffs der Bewusstseinsfähigkeit und des Subjekts von Erfahrung durch genauere Reflexion unseres Verständnisses der Existenz bewusstseinsfähiger Wesen über die Zeit hinweg. Die begrifflichen Wurzeln unseres besonderen Verständnisses transtemporaler Identität bewusstseinsfähiger Wesen liegen nach meiner Auffassung in den Besonderheiten unseres Verständnisses unserer jeweils eigenen Identität über die Zeit hinweg, und unser Verständnis der eigenen Identität wurzelt in begrifflichen Besonderheiten der Selbstzuschreibung künftiger und vergangener Eigenschaften“ (Nida-Rümelin 2006, 17 f.).

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ausreicht, um Empfindungen als eigene erfahrbar werden zu lassen, indem sie zu anderen in Relation gesetzt werden.

2.6 Weitere Erfordernisse Zu den bisher genannten Erfordernissen für das Sich-Lebendig-Fühlen eines Lebewesens kommen jedoch noch einige andere Erfordernisse hinzu. So darf ein Organismus, damit er sich als lebendig erlebt, seine Umwelt nicht wie ein bloßes Aufnahmegerät registrieren und lediglich passiv Informationen aufnehmen, sondern muss sich als agierend, als Akteur erleben. Dafür muss das Lebewesen nicht unbedingt über ein Selbstbild von sich als Akteur verfügen. Vielmehr muss es die Möglichkeit haben, sich als agierend oder auch als nicht agierend wahrzunehmen. Dass etwa das Scheitern eines Bewegungsversuchs durch eine Barriere dazu führen kann, dass die Bewegung erst als solche wahrgenommen wird, wurde bereits festgestellt. Ein Organismus, der sich gleich bleibend im Raum bewegte, ohne dass dieser Bewegungsverlauf je eine Veränderung erführe, könnte sich hingegen gar nicht erst als sich selbst bewegend erfahren. Nun kann sich ein durch den Raum fliegender Ball auch dann nicht als fliegend begreifen, wenn er an eine Wand prallt und die Bewegung damit ein Ende hat. Reichte es aus, wenn der Ball, quasi als runder Roboter, Informationen aus der Umwelt aufnehmen, verarbeiten und zur Steuerung und Korrektur der Bewegung heranziehen könnte? Reichte mit anderen Worten das bloße Registrieren des Zustandswechsels und ein daraufhin erfolgender Richtungswechsel aus? Oder was fehlt, um das Gefühl des Lebendigseins zuzuschreiben? Man könnte diese Frage nun vorschnell mit dem Hinweis auf das Moment des Phänomenalen beantworten, das dem Ballroboter nicht zukommt. Man könnte sie dahingehend erwidern, dass der Ballroboter sich eben nicht als sich bewegend erlebt, dass er zwischen dem Zustand der Bewegung und Nicht-Bewegung oder gar zwischen dem Sich-Bewegen-Können und dem Sich-Nicht-Bewegen-Können oder SichNicht-Weiter-Bewegen-Können eventuell unterscheiden kann, aber dass diese Unterscheidungen eben nicht phänomenal wahrgenommen werden. Das wäre keine falsche Antwort, aber noch keine ausreichende. Um eine solche zu geben, muss das Moment der Lebendigkeit und der Zusammenhang zwischen Lebendigkeit, dem Möglichen und der Un-

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terscheidbarkeit verschiedener Zustände, die in ein Verhältnis zueinander gesetzt werden, genauer betrachtet werden. Mit dem Stichwort „unterscheiden“ ist man erneut bei einem zentralen Begriff für das Konzept des Bewusstseins bei Aristoteles angelangt. So stellt der Aristoteles-Forscher Arbogast Schmitt fest: „Für Aristoteles aber ist der zentrale Denkakt nicht ein begleitendes Bewusstsein, sondern das, was von diesem Bewusstsein begleitet wird, und das ist nach Aristoteles ein Akt des Unterscheidens. Man muss erst wenigstens irgendeinen Unterschied gemacht haben, bevor man sich dieses Aktes und seiner selbst bewusst werden kann.“ (Schmitt 2001, 123) Etwas zu unterscheiden, also beispielsweise das Sich-BewegenKönnen vom Sich-Nicht-Bewegen-Können, etwas Raues ertasten oder etwas Glattes ertasten, wären solche Fälle, bei denen es nicht darauf ankommt, dass sie von Bewusstsein begleitet werden, sondern darauf, dass diese Unterscheidungen gemacht und erfasst werden. Aristoteles hat, wie man weiß, keinen Begriff für Bewusstsein im modernen Sinn. Die Teilung zwischen mental und physisch ist ihm fremd. Wenn also von Bewusstseinsbegriffen bei Aristoteles die Rede ist, wird oft auf seinen aisthÞsis-Begriff Bezug genommen, der im Deutschen mit „Wahrnehmung“ übersetzt wird. Um über „Bewusstsein“ bei Aristoteles zu reflektieren, werden zudem gerne seine Bemerkungen über Emotionen und über Wahrnehmung und Emotionalität gemeinsam herangezogen. Als etwa Charles Kahn dafür argumentiert hat, dass der antike aisthÞsisBegriff dem modernen Begriff des Bewusstsein am Nächsten kommt, tat er das mit dem Hinweis darauf, dass „aisthÞsis“ sowohl Lust und Schmerz, als auch Wahrnehmung umfasst (Kahn 1966, 71). Bei Aristoteles findet sich allerdings nicht nur der Begriff der aisthÞsis, sondern auch derjenige der psychÞ, und beide Begriffe müssen in ein Verhältnis zueinander gebracht werden, wenn es darum geht, den Bewusstseinsbegriff in der aristotelischen Philosophie zu klären. Das, was Aristoteles als „Seele“ (psychÞ) bezeichnet, ist dasjenige, was empfindungsfähig oder wahrnehmungsfähig ist – es ist das Lebendige. Und auch ein Körper, der durch Angst, Furcht oder Wut in Erregung gesetzt ist, ist bereits beseelt, daher kann man nicht sagen, dass es sich dabei um rein materielle Vorgänge handelt (Hardie 1976, 394 f.). Am Körper beobachtbare Vorgänge, die entweder als emotionale oder als Wahrnehmungsprozesse beschrieben werden, sind in einer Tradition, die darin auch Platon folgt, solche der aisthÞsis.

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Damit das Lebendige sich aber auch als lebendig erfahren kann, benötigt es eine Form der Reflexivität, welche, so die Behauptung, die aisthÞsis ermöglicht. Denn damit der lebende Körper zu einem sich als lebendig erlebenden wird, der empfindende zu einem sich als solchen empfindenden und der wahrnehmende zu einem sich als solchen wahrnehmenden, muss er in irgendeiner Weise befähigt sein, sich partiell auf sich selbst zu beziehen. Da das Lebendigsein des Körpers nicht dafür ausreicht, dass er sich auch lebendig fühlt, benötigt man ein Modell, mittels dessen man zeigen kann, wie es dazu kommt, dass wir, ohne bereits über einen Begriff des Selbst zu verfügen, unser Empfinden phänomenal als solches wahrnehmen und auf eine Einheit beziehen. Eben hier lassen sich Aristotelische Ausführungen gewinnbringend heranziehen.

3.1 Aristoteles und Bewusstseinstheorien höherer Ordnung Um das Zustandekommen von phänomenalem Bewusstsein zu erklären, gehen so genannte Theorien höherer Ordnung (higher order theories) in der analytischen Philosophie davon aus, dass mentale Zustände auf andere mentale Zustände Bezug nehmen müssen. Die nicht kognitiv ausgerichteten Ansätze unter den Theorien höherer Ordnung berufen sich dabei nicht zu Unrecht auf Aristoteles.13 Nach dessen Auffassung haben Lebewesen ein phänomenales Empfinden oder Bewusstsein, wenn sie über eine Art der inneren Wahrnehmung oder über einen inneren Sinn in Bezug auf mentale Zustände verfügen. Der „innere Sinn“, der ein geistiges Vermögen bezeichnet, wurde als theoretisches Konzept bis weit ins 19. Jahrhundert hinein herangezogen; die Erklärungsfunktion, die ihm dabei zukam, soll heute in analytischen Theorien des Geistes zumindest teilweise von dem der „Wahrnehmung höherer Ordnung“ ausgefüllt werden. Der aristotelische Ansatz erlaubt es, einige Formen des Bewusstseins nicht ausschließlich als kognitive Instanzen zu verstehen, sondern stärker auf die Empfindungsebene abzustellen.14 13 Vgl. Caston 2002, 751 – 815. Namenhafte Autoren, die schon früh einen Ansatz für eine Erfahrung höherer Ordnung verfolgt haben, wären etwa Armstrong 1980 und Lycan 1996. 14 Es ist auch versucht worden, einen solchen Ansatz mit dem in Verbindung zu bringen, was im Anschluss an Aristoteles der sensus communis genannt worden ist

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Die zentralen Passagen bei Aristoteles lassen sich aber nur dann theoretisch gewinnbringend heranziehen, wenn sie gerade nicht so gelesen werden, als handele es sich um einen inneren Sinn, der das Sehen, Hören, Tasten, Fühlen wahrnehmen würde, weil daraus ein infiniter Regress folgen würde. Ein innerer Sinn, der die Empfindungen wahrnähme und dadurch bewusst machte, müsste seinerseits wiederum von einer Instanz wahrgenommen werden, usw. Diese Schwierigkeit war bereits Aristoteles bekannt. Wie aber lässt sich die entsprechende Stelle bei Aristoteles so lesen, dass daraus ein theoretisches Angebot wird, das wir annehmen können? Damit es zu den hier angestellten Überlegungen passte, müsste der innere Sinn intentional sein, er müsste auf etwas gerichtet sein oder von etwas handeln, aber dennoch als phänomenales Bewusstsein den mentalen Zuständen intrinsisch zugehören; und letztere dürften nicht erst dadurch phänomenal bewusst werden, dass ein Zustand höherer Ordnung sich auf sie richtet. Diese beiden Bedingungen zu vereinen, ist schwierig, aber Aristoteles, obgleich ihm Begriffe wie „Intentionalität“, „Phänomenalität“ oder „mentaler Zustand“ nicht zur Verfügung standen, ist es gelungen. Die Lösung dafür steckt in einem schwer zu deutenden Abschnitt aus dem dritten Buch von De anima (Kap. 2, 245b12 – 15). Um sie erfassen zu können, muss, Franz von Brentano15 und Victor Caston folgend, aber abweichend von den Standardübersetzungen, darauf abgestellt werden, dass in der entsprechenden Passage nicht von Sinneswerkzeugen die Rede ist (wie im Falle von Sinnesorganen), sondern vielmehr von wahrnehmender Tätigkeit. Ein Vergleich beider Übersetzungsvarianten zeigt den Unterschied. Daher sei zunächst eine Standardübersetzung zitiert, und im Anschluss daran ein anderer Akzent gesetzt: In einer Standardübersetzung von Aristoteles’ De anima durch Willy Theiler heißt es etwa wie folgt: Da wir wahrnehmen, dass wir sehen und hören, müssen wir entweder mit dem Gesichtssinn 16 wahrnehmen, dass er 17 sieht, oder mit einem anderen. und in der abendländischen Tradition fest verankert ist. Siehe neuerdings HellerRoazen 2007, 32 – 34; 147 f., 153 – 155, 160 – 162. 15 Brentano 1911, Buch 2, Kap. 2 § 8, 166, 171 – 173; Buch 2, Kap. 3 §5, 188 – 190; Caston 2002, 769. 16 Hervorhebungen hier und im Anschluss durch die Autorin. 17 „Er“ bezieht sich auf „Gesichtssinn“.

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Aber „dann“ wird derselbe Sinn sich auf das Sehen und auf die gegenständliche Farbe18 richten, so dass sich entweder zwei Sinne auf denselben Gegenstand richten oder der eine auf sich selbst. Ferner, wenn auch die Wahrnehmung vom Sehen eine andere wäre, so würde dies entweder ins Unendliche gehen, oder eine würde sich auf sich selbst richten. Daher kann man dies „sogleich“ bei der ersten „Wahrnehmung“ ansetzen (Aristoteles 1995, 143).

Die modifizierte Übersetzung lautet hingegen: Da wir wahrnehmen, dass wir sehen und hören, müssen wir entweder durch das Sehen wahrnehmen, dass man sieht oder durch eine andere „Wahrnehmung“. Aber dieselbe „Wahrnehmung“ wird sowohl „eine“ vom Sehen sein als auch von der Farbe, die dem Sehen zu Grunde liegt,19 so dass entweder zwei „Wahrnehmungen“ von derselben Sache sind, oder sie „die Wahrnehmung“ wird sich auf sich selbst richten; so dass man das bei der ersten ansetzen sollte (Caston 2002, 769).20

In dieser Übersetzung wird nicht auf ein Sinnesorgan oder einen Sinn abgestellt, sondern auf den Wahrnehmungsvorgang. Nicht durch den Gesichtssinn wird also wahrgenommen, sondern durch das Sehen; nicht der Gesichtssinn sieht, sondern das Lebewesen. Denn es ist ja gerade nicht so, dass wir, wenn wir wahrnehmen, dass wir spüren, hören oder sehen, diese Vorgänge stets nochmals durch eine weitere Sinneswahrnehmung wahrnehmen. Wir reflektieren auch nicht ständig auf unsere Wahrnehmungen. Wir sehen nicht, dass wir sehen und wir haben nicht die Empfindung von einer Empfindung, wenn wir empfinden, sondern wir empfinden. Es ist leicht zu sehen, dass sich hinter diesen Feststellungen auch eine Kritik an den Theorien höherer Ordnung des Bewusstseinsbegriffes verbirgt. Dennoch sollte man sich gerade mit Hinblick auf das phänomenale Bewusstsein die Kritik daran nicht zu leicht machen, denn unter bestimmten Umständen lässt sich eine Unterscheidung zwischen einem Lebewesen ausmachen, das Angst empfindet und einem, das Angst als Angst empfindet. Aber auch Letzteres bedeutet nicht, dass wir empfinden, dass wir empfinden, vielmehr empfinden wir Angst als Angst.

18 Gemeint ist die Farbe eines Gegenstandes. 19 Wörtlich steht dort: die zugrunde liegende Farbe, also die Farbe, die dem Sehen zu Grunde liegt. 20 Vgl. auch Caston 2000, 751 – 815, 776 f. u. 780 zu: Theorien höherer Ordnung und Intentionalität; 778 u. 781, 787 zu: reflexives Bewusstsein; 782, 793 zu: Selbst-Bewusstsein; 789, 791 zu: Phänomenalität und Bewusstsein.

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Wie könnte nun also ein Modell aussehen, in dem bewusstes Wahrnehmen und Empfinden keine zu den Wahrnehmungs- und Empfindungsvorgängen extrinsische Angelegenheit ist, sondern intrinsisch dazugehört? Wie kann es gelingen, dass Bewusstsein insofern intentional und damit relational ist, als wir wahrnehmen, dass wir wahrnehmen oder empfinden, wie es auch die so genannten Theorien höherer Ordnung des Bewusstseins annehmen, aber wir es dennoch mit einem intrinsischen Phänomen zu tun haben? Ein solches Phänomen kommt nicht einfach dadurch zustande, dass ein System höherer Ordnung auf eines niederer Ordnung gerichtet ist, sondern es muss zu dem Zustand dazugehören, phänomenal „zu sein“. 3.2 Reflexivität Die angeführte Stelle bei Aristoteles lässt sich so interpretieren, dass das möglich ist, wenn bewusste Zustände oder Vorgänge in einer reflexiven Relation zu sich selbst stehen: Nur dasjenige kann durch einen mentalen Vorgang bewusst gemacht werden, das dieser Vorgang auch selbst ist (Caston 2002, 780), daher ist er auch unmittelbar bewusst und nicht vermittelt durch kausale Prozesse, Inferenzen oder Repräsentationen.21 Zu zeigen, dass phänomenales Bewusstsein als eine Form der Meinigkeit22 dem Selbstbewusstsein vorausgeht, kann daher auch nicht als eine erfolgreiche Reduktion von Bewusstsein auf kausale Prozesse angesehen werden, wie Thomas Metzinger (2005) annimmt, weil phänomenales Bewusstsein immer schon intentional ist. Was heißt es aber, dass phänomenales Bewusstsein in einer reflexiven Beziehung zu sich selbst steht? Dass etwas eine reflexive Relation ist, heißt nichts weiter als dass x mit x in Beziehung steht.23 Und das ist intuitiv nicht trivial, lässt sich aber vielleicht durch ein Beispiel erläutern: Zwei Schüler stehen in einer reflexiven Relation zueinander, wenn sie in 21 Zur Kritik an Repräsentationstheorien des Bewusstseins siehe auch Engelen 2009. 22 Manche Autoren trennen von Meinigkeit nochmals präreflexive Selbstvertrautheit beziehungsweise präreflexives Selbstgewahrsein. Zur Unterscheidung siehe Crone 2009, 247. 23 Die Reflexivität einer zweistelligen Relation R auf einer Menge ist gegeben, wenn x R x für alle Elemente x der Menge gilt, also auch jedes Element in Relation zu sich selbst steht. Reflexive Relationen sind daher zum Beispiel „Identität“, die Kleiner-Gleich-Relation und die Teilmengenbeziehung.

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dieselbe Klasse gehen. Dann steht selbstverständlich auch Paul, der in die Klasse 6b geht, in dieser Relation zu Paul, also zu sich selbst (transitive, reflexive Relation). In Analogie dazu lässt sich sagen, dass ein Lebewesen Angst als Angst empfindet und diese unmittelbar als solche erlebt wird, wenn eine reflexive Relation besteht. Besteht die reflexive Relation nicht,24 hat ein Lebewesen unter Umständen Angst, es erlebt diese Angst aber nicht als Angst. Denn wenn ein Lebewesen Empfindungen hat und die reflexive Relation nicht besteht, empfindet es, aber es nimmt nicht wahr, dass es empfindet; es erlebt seine Empfindungen nicht, es handelt sich nicht um ein bewusstes Erleben. Angewendet auf Lebendigkeit bedeutet das, dass ein Lebewesen, das empfindet, sich noch nicht unbedingt als lebendig seiend erfährt, weil es seine Empfindungen nicht in reflexiver Weise auf seinen Organismus als Einheit zu beziehen vermag. Wir haben also gesehen, dass es für ein Gefühl des Lebendigseins, das eine einfache Form phänomenalen Bewusstseins ist, einige Voraussetzungen gibt, die erfüllt sein müssen, damit sich ein Lebewesen lebendig fühlen kann und nicht lediglich lebendig ist. Dasjenige Erfordernis, nämlich die Möglichkeit, die Empfindungen auf eine Einheit zu beziehen, ist dabei dasjenige Erfordernis, für das es gewinnbringend ist, ein theoretisches Modell zu explizieren, das sich bereits bei Aristoteles finden lässt.

Bibliographie Aristoteles (1995): ber die Seele, griechisch-deutsch. Mit Einl., Übers. nach Willy Theiler, hg. v. Horst Seidel. Hamburg: Meiner. Armstrong, David M. (1980): The Nature of Mind and Other Essays. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Brentano, Franz (1911): Psychologie vom empirischen Standpunkt (1. Auflage 1874). Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot. Caston, Victor (2002): Aristotle on Consciousness. In: Mind 111, 751 – 815. Crone, Katja (2009): Selbstbewusstsein und Identität. Die Funktion der qualitativen Erlebnisperspektive. In: Jung, Matthias/ Heilinger, Jan-Christoph (Hgg.): Funktionen des Erlebens. Neue Perspektiven des qualitativen Bewusstseins. Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 337 – 363. Damasio, Antonio (2000): Ich fhle, also bin ich. Die Entschlsselung des Bewusstseins. München: List. 24 In Bezug auf die reflexive Relation „in dieselbe Klasse gehen“ hieße das, dass Paul zwar in die Schule geht, es aber keine Klassenverbände gibt und somit auch die reflexive Relation „in dieselbe Klasse gehen“ für ihn selbst nicht besteht.

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Engelen, Eva-Maria (2009): Zur Bedeutung von Sprache, Intentionalität und Erleben für das Verständnis von Emotionen. In Jung, Matthias/Heilinger, Jan-Christoph (Hgg.): Funktionen des Erlebens. Neue Perspektiven des qualitativen Bewusstseins. Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 385 – 414. Hardie, William F. R. (1976): Concepts of Consciousness in Aristotle. In: Mind 85, 388 – 411. Heller-Roazen, Daniel (2007): The Inner Touch. Archeology of a Sensation. New York: Zone Books. Kahn, Charles (1966): Sensation and Consciousness in Aristotle’s Psychology. In: Archiv fr Geschichte der Philosophie 48, 43 – 81. Lycan William G. (1996): Representational Theories of Consciousness, in: The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Winter 2006 Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.), . Metzinger, Thomas (2005): Die Selbstmodell-Theorie der Subjektivität. Eine Kurzdarstellung in sechs Schritten. In: Herrmann, Christoph/Pauen, Michael/Rieger, Jochen/Schicktanz, Silke (Hgg.): Bewusstsein. Philosophie, Neurowissenschaften, Ethik. Stuttgart: UTB/Fink, 242 – 269. Nida-Rümelin, Martine (2006): Der Blick von innen. Zur transtemporalen Identitt bewusstseinsfhiger Wesen. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Panksepp, Jaak (1998): The Periconscious Substrates of Consciousness. Affective States and the Evolutionary Origins of Self. In: Journal of Consciousness Studies 5, 566 – 582. Schmitt, Arbogast (2001): Synästhesie im Urteil aristotelischer Philosophie. In: Adler, Hans/Zeuch, Ulrike (Hgg.): Synsthesie. Interferenz – Transfer – Synthese der Sinne. Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 109 – 147. Thompson, Evan (2007): Mind in Life. Cambridge Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.

III. Pragmatics and Semiotics

Corpus animatum – Imago animata. Shared Image Practices in the Florentine Church SS. Annunziata in the Renaissance Tanja Klemm Abstract: According to Christian belief, the mystery of Incarnation is the act in which the Divine Word in Mary became living flesh with Jesus Christ. Within Medieval and Renaissance visual culture, this act is most notably represented by the Angelic Annunciation to Mary. In the following I use a fresco depicting this subject, still located in the Florentine church SS. Annunziata, as a paradigmatic example in order to show how devotees in Renaissance times shared in this miraculous act of transformation. I start with the notion of the living, sensible body (corpus animatum) in that period, and by reconstructing the manifold ritual practices surrounding this fresco (which itself was believed to be miraculous), I wish to show that an embodied, participatory, and enactive pre-Cartesian phenomenology provides us with an understanding of how believers and devotees in SS. Annunziata conceived, i. e. experienced, this theological mystical becoming of life by sharing it with their living, sensual bodies. My paper rests on the assumption of a relational, non-representational concept of the image. The so-called second-person perspective, as recently developed by phenomenologists Shaun Gallagher and Dan Zahavi, will be central here.1

By the late 14th century, a fresco of the Angelic Annunciation to Mary, still situated in the SS. Annunziata church in Florence, was thought to be the most potent cult image in the city (Oen 2009, 7; Holmes 2004, 97; Wolf 2004, 305; Bacci 2000; Trexler 1980; Trexler 1972, 11). And even today anyone entering the church belonging to the Servite order can immediately see that this picture still holds an exceptional status (fig. 1). It is shielded from closer connoisseurial examination within a 1

In its theoretical foundation, this article draws upon my yet unpublished dissertation “Bildphysiologie. Perceptio und corpus animatum im Mittelalter und in der Renaissance”, defended at Humboldt-Unversität zu Berlin 2010 with Gerhard Wolf and Horst Bredekamp as main advisors. Versions of this paper were presented at the Art and Agency Forum, University of Leiden, at the Department of Philosophy, University of Central Florida, and at the Department of the History of Art, Yale University. I am very grateful to all the people for lively discussions and crucial pointers. Further, I would like to thank Theresa Holler and Jan Söffner for reading this text and for their insightful remarks.

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Fig. 1: The Eucharist being celebrated in the tempietto bearing the Annunciation fresco (about 1360), SS. Annunziata, Florence. Private archive of the author.

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marble tabernacle, a tempietto, shaping a protected sacred space within the holy space of the church: It is hidden by this tempietto’s columns, by a metal grid, by lanterns and candles. Moreover, the fresco itself is covered with glass, delimited by a rectangular frame that sub-divides it into a triptych, and the Virgin’s head bears a gilded metal crown.2 At the same time, alongside these distancing and veiling devices the spatial settings suggest very concrete bodily approaches to the fresco. And indeed, there is hardly any moment during the day that the tempietto is not acted upon by believers: They kneel on one of the pews that have been placed across from the picture, they light candles and give offerings, briefly enter the church in order to curtsy, murmur a short prayer or celebrate the Eucharist in front of it. In short: to this very day, for devotees and the Servites themselves, the fresco is believed, sensed, and felt to be sacred – and probable even to be miraculous – to be endowed with Divine force. In the terminology of pre-Cartesian times, it is full of virtus.

1. Miracle workers: images, relics, hosts Late Medieval and Renaissance Florentines, like other European citizens in that period, mainly knew of three kinds of artifacts3 that they handled and perceived as sacred, as potentially or actually being “miracle workers” (Trexler 2004, 15): hosts, relics, and (sculpted or painted) images. Once ‘active’, the force of these artifacts was believed to intervene in the natural world, to interact with its vital, sensible and formative forces, and thus to transform it.4 2

3 4

The tempietto was erected in 1448, its baroque crowning dates from 1674, the frame dates from the 17th century, and the crown from 1852 when the official coronation of the image took place (Leoncini 2005; Holmes 2004, 99 and 104f.) In the following, I will use the term artifact instead of object. This is due to the fact that artifacts imply that they are the results of creative acts, e. g. by an individual person, by a Divine being or by ritual. Concerning the ‘activation’ of artifacts, see Pentcheva (2005), Bacci (2000), Wolf (1990) as well as Horst Bredekamp’s Theorie des Bildakts (2010) and the recent anthology La performance des images (2010), edited by Alain Dierkens, Gil Bartholeyns, and Thomas Golsenne. As for the phenomenon of enlivenment in art and art theory of the Italian Renaissance on the foreground of Aristotelian natural philosophy, see Fehrenbach (2003).

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Despite their differences in genesis, form and function, they belonged to a distinguished group of artifacts sharing common traits: Sociologically and politically speaking, they enabled interaction between humans, the stabilization as well as the control of communities. In the words of Richard C. Trexler, one of the most prominent scholars of Florentine public life in that period, they shaped centers of ritual, with ritual being understood as “formal behavior”, as “verbal and bodily action”. In specific contexts, Trexler claims, these behaviors condensed into relatively fixed and recognizable forms (Trexler 1980, xxiv) that were not limited to the religious sphere but even central for the formation of the Italian commune. Thinkers like Bruno Latour or Alfred Gell would say that these forms were provided with social agency while at the same time creating it (Latour 2005; Gell 1998). No wonder that during the 15th century, the fresco in SS. Annunziata became, so to speak, the family icon of the Medici Family: by participating in and enhancing the shared practices with this fresco, this family at the same time strengthened its communal and international sphere of influence.5 Furthermore, concerning their ontological status, all of these artifacts substantially participated in the Divine realm and thus also shared qualities with it.6 Two concepts are crucial for this kind of ontology in pre-Cartesian times: there is the Late Medieval and Renaissance cosmology emphasizing the interaction and connection of forces, of virtutes and spiritu¯s, that belonged to different realms such as earth and heaven or microcosm and macrocosm. Secondly, Christological thinking was based on the possibility of physical or metaphorical contact with the Divine, and its basic structure was compatible with this cosmology:7 The Eucharist as the central sacrament or mysterium is of major importance here. According to Christian ontology, within this act the host transubstantiates, i. e. it becomes Christ’s body. This miraculous conversion, according to Late Medieval and Renaissance theology, is caused inter alia by the priest act5 6 7

As to the Medici and SS. Annunziata, see Bemporad 2005, 40 – 42; Holmes (2004, 99); Wolf (2004, 305); Casalini (1998); Liebenwein (1993); Bredekamp (1995); Warburg (1979), 69 – 102. For recent work on the relation of these images and the Divine realm, see Sansterre (2010) and Schmitt (2010); see also Wolf (2005; 1998; 1990); Belting (1990); Wolf (1990). As to “contact”, see Holmes (2004, 97 – 121, especially 110). As to the concept of virtutes and spiritu¯s in Late Medieval and Renaissance natural philosophy, medicine and theology, see Bildphysiologie (footnote 1).

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ing in persona Christi when raising the host and the believer receiving the Eucharist acting, so to speak, in persona discipuli. 8 Once consecrated, i. e. touched in this participatory ritual, the host remains part of the sacred realm, incorporating Christ’s real living presence. Accordingly relics, the body parts of saints or the objects touched by saints – usually martyr saints or even Christ himself – were also thought to be sacred, i. e. full of virtus (Angenendt 2003, 702; Köpf 1998). Finally, with regard to images, whether sculpted or painted, two main forms of contact with the Divine could lead to their exceptional, holy status. Some artifacts were thought not to have been painted or sculpted by human hands. Such acheropita could originate from an angel’s or Christ’s, but also Mary’s tangible intervention – the most celebrated acheropita were the Veronica and the Mandylion. Other artifacts, highly venerated Marian icons, were believed to have been painted by St. Luke with Mary herself as the sitter, which endowed them with Holy presence.9 Hybrid forms of both image types, of the acheropita and the St. Luke icons, were no exception. And indeed, the Annunciation fresco was considered to be such a hybrid by some (Holmes 2004, 113 – 114; Wolf 1990, 163, 236 – 239, 318, 331). Thus, concerning its ontological status, the Annunciation fresco had a double nature: it belonged to a group of semiacheropita believed to originate from both human handicraft and Divine intervention (Wolf 1990, 61 – 62; see also 3.1 in this paper). The interrelation between these two natures is fundamental to an understanding of these artifacts’ specific artistry as well as their phenomenology. That is, we cannot understand the phenomenal status of these sacred artifacts either exclusively through an analysis of their figurative traits or by ignoring these figurative traits.10 In short: When analyzed more specifically, their formal qualities and functions are as differentiated as the interests, needs, desires, 8 For a general overview see Gerlich (2003); Häußling (2003); Angenendt (1998); Kaufmann (1998). Needless to say, Real Presence is still a foundation of Roman Catholic belief nowadays. 9 For a paradigmatic examination of the phenomena of the acheropita and the St. Luke icons in the West see Wolf (2002; 1998; 1990). See also Belting (2005); Holmes (2004, 113f.); Schmitt (1996); Belting (1990, 14). Concerning Mary’s intervention in the creation of a sacred artifact, see Fricke (2007, especially 80); Schmitt (1996, 14 – 17). 10 Recently, Megan Holmes has emphasized both the outstanding pictorial traits of the Annunziata fresco as well as its exceptional status as a non-hand-made image (Holmes 2004).

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and fears of the social groups and institutions dealing with them (Bacci 2000, 74 – 76). Further – and this is especially significant for the miraculous Annunciation fresco – the artifact’s double nature as made both by human hands and by Divine intervention coincides with Jesus Christ’s Divine and human nature. Thus, in the case of the Annunciation fresco, the concept of the semiacheropita relates perfectly to the concept of Christological Incarnation.11

2. Experiencing miracles: hypotheses In the following, I wish to provide an understanding of how Renaissance devotees and beholders perceived and experienced the force, the virtus of this fresco with their bodies – how they related to it psychophysically, i. e. how they experienced it as having miraculous effects, and how they shared in the Christological, mystical becoming of life represented in this fresco by enacting it with their living, sensual bodies in manifold rites – with bodies that in pre-Cartesian times did not know of a categorical distinction between bodily matter and mind or consciousness. This paper is an attempt to work out a historic phenomenology of a “working artifact”12 in pre-Cartesian times based on embodiment and enactivism. The miraculous fresco in SS. Annunziata serves as a paradigmatic example for this project due to a simple fact: Phenomenologically speaking, perception and embodied experience are at the very foundation of the Christian mystery of the Incarnation. In the Latin West it was described as “conceptio per aurem” (Steinberg 1987, 25 – 44) by theologians and philosophers, who linked Mary’s sensual perception (i. e. the aural sense) with conception. Further, since Antiquity, conceptio ranged from a biological or bodily understanding to an intellectual one (Fricke/Klemm 2008) within natural philosophy.13 Thus, on a phenomenological level, the act of Incarnation is describable as an act linking 11 Many thanks to Theresa Holler who brought my attention to this connection and these thoughts. 12 The term is taken from the title of the conference “Images at work: Image and Efficacy from Antiquity to the Rise of Modernity”. It took place at the Kunsthistorisches Institut, Florence, Max-Planck-Institut, from September 30 to October 2, 2010 and was organized by Hannah Baader, Ashley Jones, Ittai Weinryb and Gerhard Wolf. 13 See also Bildphysiologie (footnote 1), ch. VI.

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sensual perception (perceptio) and conception (conceptio) in its broadest sense. As we will see, this linkage of psychophysiology and theology in SS. Annunziata unfolds on both a theoretical and an image-practical level. This paper will work with the following assumptions: First, a specific perception model provides us with an understanding of the experiences with the Annunciation fresco in Trecento and Quattrocento Italy. This supposition builds upon Gerhard Wolf’s observation concerning the close relation between the growing reflections upon the psychology (and physiology) of perception since Late Medieval times and the experience of miraculous images (Wolf 2004, 314). The key concept connecting perception and the experience of a miracle in this period is virtus. The perception model I wish to highlight involves the whole living and sensible body – in the words of that period: the corpus animatum. Within this model, forces (virtutes) and small particles (spiritu¯s) facilitate sensual perception, which comprises rational dynamics as well as emotions and bodily processes.14 Two virtutes will take center stage, both on the level of perception and of image theory: the virtus imaginativa and the virtus formativa. Two simple facts argue for this holistic notion of sensual perception regarding the experience of miraculous images: the eyes alone cannot perceive their virtus. There are, in fact, many written accounts telling us that the images altered their visual nature, e. g. wept or changed position just like living beings; but these observations cannot be isolated from these artifacts’ devotional and ritual situatedness, i. e. these perceivable actions of artifacts are only one aspect at any one time within a broader ecology of image practices, such as the integration of these images in prayers, chants, processions or celebrations of the Holy Mass (Oen 2009; Trexler 2004; Bacci 2000; Wolf 1990; Trexler 1980; 1972). The focus of the cult image, its potential and actual vital and miraculous sphere of interaction with the natural world, did not lie exclusively in the concept of an image’s agency independent of its ritual embeddedness, nor exclusively in its specific pictorial or sculptural forms, nor in its total visual appearance. This comes as no surprise, since these sacred artifacts were hidden from view most of the time: The consecrated hosts sat in particular tabernacles, relics were put in caskets, and 14 This Renaissance perception model can be considered an alternative to models focusing on visuality and sensual judgment. For an understanding of this latter judgment of sense, see Summers 1990.

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images were hidden behind veils or wooden crates. Thus, rather than being individually exposed to observers to be seen in their totality, they were – just as the devotees – parts of sacred spaces (Wolf 2005; Holmes 2004; Lidov 2004). Within these spaces, they were visible only from time to time. Consequently, their virtus was also not directed to visual observation alone but rather to believers’ bodies and souls. This also holds of the virtus of the Annunciation fresco: As Megan Holmes has shown, apart from its protective qualities, at least since the late 1330s and the 1340s it was increasingly associated with intercession and healing, i. e. people expected psychophysical transformation from it.15 Particularly in the 15th century it was believed to have miraculous force in relation to marriage and childbirth.16 Moreover, if people expected spiritual and bodily transformation from such an image, if they cried in front of it and were converted or even healed of an illness, then they must have believed and sensed the force of such an image to be related to the whole corpus animatum in order for it to be effective (i. e. to transform the natural world and thus also humans). It also follows from this, secondly, that from a phenomenological point of view, theory does not precede practice. This means that the embodied practices with a sacred image can also be seen as the habituated practices of a theory of perception – while at the same time the modeling of such a theory would depend on practice. Even if today, viewed from the outside, the church rituals surrounding the Annunciation fresco have more or less remained the same since Renaissance times, the psychophysiology of perception has changed since then. And accordingly, 500 years ago this theory had a different bodily habituation. This is

15 As Holmes further shows, the Servites historically were known for performing acts of healing. This may have enhanced the healing aura of the image. See Holmes (2004, 112f.). This bodily, ‘therapeutical’ focus of devotion particularly with regard to Mary comes as no surprise if we recall that her body was considered intact and sound – in the words of Saint Bernhardinus, devotion was directed to her “nobilitas corporalis”. See Saint Bernhardinus 1470, 12r. On this devotional practice related to the Cult of the Visitation, see Westergård 2007. On the phenomenal relation between an adoration of miraculous images and the experience of conversion see Trexler (2004, 17). 16 Greub-Fra˛cz (2010, 157f.); Jolly (1998, 369). Today wedding bouquets are still left at the tempietto, i. e. dedicated to Mary. Examples like these reveal the longue durée of cult practices.

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why the connection between perception theory and practice stands at the base of my exposition. Thirdly, it also follows from this that, as with all miracle workers, there was an important emphasis on what was (and is) happening with the image. To be more precise: like other miraculous images, the Annunciation fresco was only efficacious within enactive practices surrounding it.17 These practices are based on the interplay of multiple bodily acts like kneeling, performing the sign of the cross and praying – all the more so in a church setting where visual, olfactory, tactile and auditory experiences are integrated into one phenomenal experience. Accordingly an enactive approach draws a neat distinction between representational knowledge of an image or knowledge read off of an image – knowledge we can gain by means of a body, i. e. with the body serving as a medium – and a non-representational knowledge that we have as living bodies. Moreover, enactive knowledge can be shared: it is not grounded in the mind creating mental representations of a present world, but rather consists in going along with the world, participating in it, sharing it. And this is why embodied and enactive image practices are embedded in a broader ecology. As I would like to suggest at the end of this article, these embodied and enactive practices are founded on a relational concept of the image. This concept does not build on an external, judging viewer nor on current theories of the agency of images building upon a subject-object, viewer-artifact bias. The following thoughts are based on a rich and growing scholarship over the past years examining miraculous, sacred, religious, and cult images inside and outside Renaissance Italy from various disciplinary and methodic perspectives (Cole/Zorach 2009; Thunø/Wolf 2004; Bacci 2000; Kessler/Wolf 1998; Webster 1998; Sansterre 1998; Wolf 1990; Belting 1990; Kitzinger 1954). Historiographically, I follow the notion that the Italian 15th century emerges as “the century of miracles in all 17 For a paradigmatic account of enactivism see Menary (2006). One could also call these practices performative. The main reason I do not focus primarily on performance theory is the fact that enactivism is not about staging or constituting a reality, but about sharing in the world. Thus, enactivism does not build on self-referentiality either: being part of a broader setting does not build upon the notion of a self and of referentiality. However, premises like self-referentiality or staging are at the foundation of performance theory. See Söffner (forthcoming).

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ranks” (Wolf 2004, 313).18 Furthermore, I associate myself with studies of the phenomenon of sacred images, particularly in central Italy, that take the approach of a broad historic anthropology of collective and individual devotion, and that in investigating the agency of these images grant the same importance to the complex social practices and ritual behaviors surrounding them as to theological concepts and narratives (Oen 2009; Bacci 2000; Schmitt 1996; Wolf 1990; Trexler 1987; 1980; 1972). However, I do introduce one shift here: conerning the “behaviors of devotees” (Trexler 2004, 17) towards the Annunciation fresco, the main question will not be how social and sacral communication was enabled via this fresco but rather will relate to the phenomenology of embeddedness, i. e. the central issue will be how devotees had experiences with it.19 In order to approach this issue from a theoretical and practical perspective, I will first focus on a historic phenomenology of Incarnation on a theoretical level. This is followed by a closer look at the concept of miracle and its relation to the act of Incarnation. And finally, I will look at some of the image practices surrounding the Annunciation fresco in Renaissance times.

3.1 Theory 1: Historic phenomenology of Incarnation The pictorial representation of the Act of Incarnation is characterized by a specific property: As a representation, the event of the Divine Word that becomes flesh lacks something important. A representation can only be about Incarnation. It cannot take part in it – and hence it cannot share in the redemption of the flesh. Rather in order to participate in this central Christian Mystery, both the image and the beholders have to become part of the act of Incarnation. For the Annunciation fresco, this participatory relation is guaranteed by a ‘double-touch’: According to different legends mainly emerging in the Quattrocento, both an Angel and Saint Luke were involved in its 18 Thus, this historiography does away with the assumption that belief in miraculous images was exclusively a phenomenon of Medieval Europe, i. e. it challenges an assumption that Hans Belting had argued for in Bild und Kult. Also most recently, this revised historiography has led to freshly revised reflections upon the relation between art and cult images; cf. Cole/Zorach (2009); Oen (2009). 19 Regarding experiences with images, see Nelson (2007).

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production (Holmes 2004). In this sense, the fresco itself materializes the Act of Incarnation: The Divine Word incarnates in form and color. On the other hand, in order for the act of Incarnation to be perpetuated in the world, it has to be experienced by the devotees’ corpus animatum, i. e. spiritually and bodily. Accordingly, the theology of Incarnation strongly focuses on a kind of phenomenology avant la lettre. This fact can easily be misunderstood or ignored due to a simple difference between that period and current discourse. Today we distinguish theology and (Christian) ontology from phenomenology; we distinguish questions about what things are from how they present themselves to a consciousness. But this was not always the case, at least not in every tradition of thought. The mystery of Incarnation is one example of this. It can be seen as an act linking two kinds of conception (conceptio): that of gaining a mental concept and that of becoming ontologically pregnant. Both kinds of conception had been linked by sensual perception since Late Antiquity. As we have already seen, the pseudo-Augustinian statement “Conceptio per aurem” referring to the mystery of Incarnation is crucial here. Furthermore, the Incarnation is founded on the coincidence of spiritual form and bodily matter – i. e. (in current terminology) of consciousness and material being: The Divine Logos, the virtus altissimi becomes living flesh, that is concretely: Jesus Christ putting mind and body together. This leads to a constellation that might seem puzzling today. Unlike in the Cartesian tradition, in the Renaissance the relation of a purely immaterial spirit (spiritus) and a material, extended body (corpus) did not start from separation. They took part in one another, emerged from one another, and shared the same process. There was no ens cogitans on the one side and a res extensa on the other. Consequently, ‘lower’ life processes were linked with ‘higher’ rational faculties like perception and cognition (Ricklin 1998; Park 1988).20 Accordingly, in the Act of Incarnation, Mary has to understand, i. e. to conceive with her intellect, her senses and her womb – and these three ways of conception only differ from one another in degree. There is no categorical distinction between the mere fact of pregnancy and how it presents itself to a consciousness: Phenomenal experiencing is an essential part of conceptio in the full meaning of the word.

20 See also Bildphysiologie (footnote 1), with further references.

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Fig. 2: The venous, arterial, and nervous systems (from left to right), in: Apocalypsis S. Johannis cum glossis et Vita S. Johannis, circa 1420 – 1430 (details). Wellcome Library, London, WMS 49, 36v, 35v, 37r.

And further, this phenomenal constellation can also be described in terms of a psychophysiological theory of sensual perception and biological conception. 3.2. Theory 2: Corpus animatum, perceptio and conceptio 21 By receiving decisive impulses from Persian and Arabic science, physicians, natural philosophers, and theologians in the Latin West starting in the late 12th century worked out a perception model that was tightly linked to the living body (corpus animatum), making such a relation between mind and body possible. This model still held in the 15th century. This corpus animatum systematically integrated vegetative, reproductive, sensual, and cognitive processes. Drawings like in figure 2 were widespread in natural philosophical and medical treatises since the late 13th century. What we see here are 21 For detailed explanations of the corpus animatum and its vital and perceptive principles as well as concerning the next chapter on Dante, see Bildphysiologie (footnote 1), with further references.

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full-length-figures showing the venous, the arterial, and the nervous systems. Crucially, the lines indicating these systems pervade the whole bodies. They link limbs and the sites of the main organs: the brain, the heart, the liver, and the urogenital organs, i. e. the sites where reproductive, sensual, affective and cognitive processes take place. But how are these dynamics connected according to this theory? How does bodily matter like blood (flowing through the arteries and veins) become active and sensible? In the words of contemporary natural philosophy: How do the operations of the soul like sensing and thinking actualize in bodily matter? Here, two notions are central: force (virtus, vis) and spiritus, a tiny material and energetic substance. Both were thought to flow through the chambers of the organs as well as through nerves, veins and arteries. Until Cartesian times the conceptual relationship between virtus and spiritus varied between authors and schools of thought. Thus to simplify: spiritus was thought to realize more general psychophysic processes in the main organs, i. e. life processes in the liver and the sexual organs (spiritus naturalis), affective dynamics in the heart (spiritus vitalis), and processes of perception, cogitation, or memorization in the brain (spiritus animalis).While ascending from the lower parts of the body to the upper ones it underwent refinement, and this refinement coincided with its actions. That is, in the brain, where higher cognitive processes took place, the spiritus was thought to be more rarefied than in the sexual organs. The virtutes were not conceived as material forces. Further, they were differentiated into several psychophysical activities: processes of attraction and rejection, transformation, assimilation or formation were thought not to be realized in one specific organ but rather to interconnect all the organic activities in the body. Two of these powers are especially important for the present issue as they provide us with an understanding of the psychophysical linkage of perceptio and conceptio: the imaginative power (virtus, vis imaginativa), situated in the brain and linked to the generation of images, and the power of biological formation (virtus, vis formativa), situated in the sexual organs and providing for the formation of an embryo there. These two forces performed quite similar functions within the psychophysiology of the time (Fricke/ Klemm 2008). This close relationship between vis imaginativa and vis formativa can even be seen in representations of the human head like the one in figure 3. Here, the imagination (ymaginatio) is also called vis formalis.

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Fig. 3: The system of the five inner senses according to Avicenna: sensus communis vel sensatio, ymaginatio vel formalis, estimativa, cogitativa vel imaginativa, vis memorativa, circa 1300. Illumination embedded in a description of Avicenna’s psychology, University Library, Cambridge, Ms. Gr. g. II, f. 490v. Camille 2005, fig. 12.

Especially in the 15th and 16th centuries, natural philosophers were increasingly interested in explaining this psychophysical linkage of the two virtutes. Artists and scientists like Leonardo da Vinci, for example, even went as far as to draw visual parallels between biological conception and the process of sensual perception leading to mental concepts. His Weimarer Blatt (fig. 4) stages this analogy by visually connecting the human brain with the urogenital system, the eyes with the testicles. This holistic perception model tightly linking vis imaginativa in the brain and vis formativa in the sexual organs provides us with a rudimentary understanding of the phenomenology of “Conceptio per aurem” in pre-Cartesian times. However, a major difference between psychophysiology and theology is that in the Christian mystery of Incarnation, conception was not reduced to biology, but encompassed theological or philosophical conceptio as well.

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Fig. 4: Leonardo da Vinci, The chambers of the brain and the male urogenital system, circa 1506 – 1509. Pen and brown ink, verso. Klassik Stiftung Weimar, Bestand Museen, Inv.-Nr. KK 6287.

3.3 Theory 3: A second sensual body This broader notion of conception led Dante Alighieri, for example, in his Commedia, to develop a theory of a spiritual but nevertheless sensual body of souls (forma novella) – thereby bringing together biological, Christological and sensual conception. In canto XXV of the Purgatory, Dante addresses the following question to the Roman poet Statius: How is it possible, he wants to know, that the souls present in Hell and Purgatory, despite their lack of bodies, are able to suffer and undergo modifications of form? In other words: How come a soul lacking a fleshly body is furnished with vegetative and sensual powers – powers that are linked to a living organism? Interestingly, Statius’ answer directly leads to a general physiological and Christological explanation of how the (bodily) matter and forces responsible for life, sensibility and cognition interconnect. One force (virt ) stands at the core of this theory: the virt formativa.

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As the Roman poet says, this force – on a physiological level, in a human being – comes from subtle blood in the heart in order to vivify the whole body. On the Christological level, though, this formative power emerging from blood in the Commedia can be seen as analogous to Christ’s blood of the New Covenant – blood that is also full of lifeforce (virt ) and that as such is able to redeem humankind. Statius then further develops this Christological dimension: In a second step of transformation the male semen furnished with an active force emerges out of the same subtle blood. And once the semen intermingles with female blood in the uterus, a third process of transformation takes place. Hence, a new vegetative and a new sensitive soul are generated. Finally, in a last step, a force that is enclosed in Spirito Divino provides this new soul with rational faculties; and, importantly, this virt

merges the three parts of the soul – the vegetative, the sensitive and the rational part – to one form of the soul which Dante calls forma novella. This living, feeling, sensing and thinking forma novella is held together by virt formativa. And – crucially, for our issue here – this forma can intermingle with any kind of matter, whether organic matter, air, or, as with the souls in Hell and Purgatory, fire. That is, the forma relates to its specific material environment. And by participating in Divine force, it provides this matter with life and sensual perception. This participatory relation is crucial in Catholic phenomenology and thus also for an understanding of the experience of miraculous images: The forma novella is a second sensual body created by living force and susceptible to living force – a second sensing body that is analogous to the contemporary concept of the corpus animatum. As I will suggest in my concluding outlook, this second sensual body tells us something important about the concept and phenomenology of miraculous images. To draw a preliminary conclusion at this point: In the Late Medieval and Renaissance theory of Incarnation, the acts of perception and conception (in its broadest sense) are deeply intertwined – according to (natural) philosophy as well as theology.

4. Theory and practice: the miraculous image and Incarnation The relation of perceptio and conceptio is especially prominent in the rituals linked to the theology of Incarnation. Here, by definition, Incarnation has to be experienced as some kind of sensual perception. This constellation comes to full fruition in the miraculous image of SS. Annunziata.

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What does it mean, however, to be a miraculous image? First, as Saint Thomas Aquinas writes in his Summa theologica, a miracle is, again, a force, a virtus through which God acts in the world.22 This virtus transcends natural laws, and accordingly, the act of the Incarnation itself, according to Aquinas, is a miracle – a fact supra naturam. Yet the theologian does not provide us with a systematic analysis of the concept in application to artifacts that are images; he only mentions relics (Wolf 2004). Nevertheless, it is clear that miraculous images, in order to operate in the natural world, have to participate in a similar virtus too. It is not exclusively by force of their specific visual form, though, that images become miraculous. As mere representational imagery they do not even matter very much – and this is why they were not as blatantly exposed to the eye of the viewers as is common in modern museums. It is by a believed and felt – and in certain moments sensually perceived – participation in a force that a picture can awaken to life, thereby interacting with the natural world and transforming it. Hence it is crucial that the myths of origin surrounding miraculous images in Early Modern times include numerous examples of Divine intervention or contact facilitating the creation of these images. As already mentioned, this was also the case with the Annunciation fresco, which was believed to be one of these non-hand-made imagines. But, if visual representation was only one aspect in a broader setting: How did Late Medieval and Renaissance believers share in the virtus of the Annunciation fresco, how did they get in touch with it – in a contact that could be felt and that ideally led to some kind of material transformation (be it the curing of an illness or the improvement of a precarious financial situation or just a sense of redemption or grace)? Here again, the connection of sensual perception and conception seems to be crucial. Theoretically speaking – as seen for example in Dante – the question seems to be quite clear: Since the inner physiological spirits (spiritu¯s) and forces (virtutes, vires) by which people sensed, felt and thought could come in contact with the miraculous force of the image, a Divine virtue could also be conceived in the full sense of the word. But since redemption is a presence to be felt and sensed, it is not so much theory that counts but the practices – the practices grouped around the miraculous image. 22 On the connection of miraculum and virtus in Thomas Aquinas, see Wolf (2004, 307f.).

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5.1 Practice: Ritual and Incarnation 1: Eucharist, prayers and Marian antiphons An important fact for understanding the relation of image practices, perception and conception is that the Eucharist was (and still is) celebrated in the tempietto of the Annunciation fresco. And just like today, in the 15th century the priest first held the host up in direction of the fresco – to be precise: in the direction of Mary – before presenting it to the believers. This means that just as Mary receives Jesus Christ in flesh and blood by accepting, i. e. by partaking in the Divine virtus altissimi, the Christian, receiving the host, i. e. accepting it and sharing in the incarnated Verbum through ritual, becomes the spiritual and bodily vessel of Christ’s flesh and blood. Hence the miraculous image thereby becomes part of the miracle of the Eucharist – and just like Mary saw and heard the Angel, the devotee sees, hears, smells, touches and even tastes the presence of the Word. In short: The act of Incarnation during the Eucharist takes place in a spatial setting with Mary as the ‘vanishing point’. This ‘Incarnational space’ includes both the pictorial space and the church space and the tempietto. Accordingly, during the Eucharist, the emphasis lies on this aspect of the fresco, i. e. the intermediary space between Archangel Gabriel and the Virgin, and between her, the devotees and priest.23 Just as important for the presence of the Incarnation in the devotee are prayers and Marian antiphons. In Renaissance times, two prayers related to the memory of Incarnation were central in church ritual: The Angelus and the Ave Maria. They partially consist in the very same words by which Gabriel addressed the Virgin according to the holy story reported by Saint Luke. The Ave Maria is an integral part of the Angelus itself. Besides Our Father, the Angelus has been the most frequently recited prayer of Catholics, in liturgy as well as in private devotion, since the late 12th and early 13th centuries (Jacquemet 1948).24 23 On the significance of this intermediary space, see Marin (1989) and footnote 33. 24 Furthermore, since Late Antiquity, the Occident, receiving crucial impulses from the Greek Eastern Orthodox Church, worked out numerous prayers as well as lays related to the Virgin Mary that were performed in church ritual and in private settings – some of them even were originally related to the Act of Incarnation, like the Akathistos Hymn. And, most importantly, with the foundation of the new orders in the West during the 12th and 13th centuries, not only were novel cultic forms focusing on the veneration of Mary institu-

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Unlike other orders at the time, though, the Servites in the 15th century did not integrate the Angelus into their liturgy.25 Instead, there is textual evidence that an important Marian antiphon, the Salve Regina, was performed every evening in front of the fresco’s tempietto. This performance was preceded by a small procession from the main altar of the church to the Annunciation fresco. The textual structure of the Salve Regina – just as the Ave Maria – refers to Saint Luke evoking both the biblical narratives of the Annunciation and the Visitation (“Salve, Regina”, “benedictum fructum”). Like the other Marian antiphons it shows us what the devotees turned to in order to participate in the redemption of the flesh: to Mary as a mediator – to her virgin body that physically and intellectually conceived the Incarnation of God’s Word.26 Furthermore, the devotees not only pronounce the words while concentrating on the biblical narrative – they also physically re-enact it. Just as the Angel kneels before Mary, the devotee kneels in front of the miraculous image. This habituated enactive and embodied involvement, again, offers some important insights: To partake in the act of Incarnation, the devotee does not just act ‘as if’ he or she were Angel Gabriel by simulating the pose, thus remaining an external observer or a representational imitator. On the contrary, as in the Eucharist, by directing him- or herself to Mary, by uttering the Angel’s words and adopting the same devotional pose as Gabriel, the beholder becomes part of the same Incarnational relation. This holds an important implication for image theory too: Picture and beholder are not separate as they are in an observational relation; rather they join in the same act and space. In order to realize the act of Incarnation, the bodies of the beholders become part of the picture’s relation with the Divine reality. Thus, the event depicted in the fresco is not about Incarnation, it does not refer to this act but rather is part of it as along with the beholder’s body. This whole setting is founded on a relational concept of the image. tionalized, but new Marian texts were also developed in the vernacular (Küsters 2002; Praßl 2002). 25 Verbal communication with Padre Lamberto, SS. Annunziata, March 2010. The liturgy of the Servites in the Quattrocento in many aspects differed from the Cursus Romanus. 26 Ira Westergård very insightfully examines this kind of ‘bodily devotion’ toward Mary with regard to monastic spirituality in the Middle Ages (Westergård 2007, 46 – 49).

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Moreover, a further kind of sharing is implied here. The relational setting in devotion and prayer concerns not just one beholder but the whole Christian community. The believer prays for redemption, healing or peace as part of a collective as well. This shared practice centered around the miraculous image was especially important in Renaissance times. It was during the 14th and 15th centuries that the Ave Maria was converted from a mere salutation into a devotional prayer or even a prayer of petition by means of a new conclusion. It is mainly Saint Bernhardinus who we associate with “Sancta Maria ora pro nobis peccatoribus” – “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners” (Thurston 1937; Esser 1884). The Servites did not adopt this novel conclusion, but we can assume that it was nevertheless particularly significant for private devotion in the church.

5.2 Practice: Ritual and Incarnation 2: Ex-voto offerings Indeed in the 15th and 16th centuries, a kind of shared materialized petitional practice reached its peak in SS. Annunziata: ex-voto offerings. This practice rendered visible the collective devotional sharing in the virtus of the miraculous image. And it even rendered it smellable – as Aby Warburg pointed out in disgust in his famous article investigating the relation between these votive offerings and 15th century Florentine portraiture (Warburg 1979/1902). Numerous and various ex-voto offerings were placed in the church and its hall as well as in the vicinity of the tempietto: Veristic life-size wax figures (effigies) hung from the ceilings (more than 600 in the 17th century) and silver figurines and anatomical ex-votos were placed on the walls around the Annunciation fresco, some of which can still be seen today (fig. 5).27 With regard to the concrete practice of ex-voto offerings, it is crucial that the commission of an ex-voto effigies at one of the ceraiuoli, the professional manufacturers of waxworks, had to be preceded by prayer, which had the form of a contract, of an exchange (Holmes 2009, 163): If for example Mary cured an illness of the person praying, he or she would then donate an ex-voto to her by placing it as close as possible 27 Unfortunately, these life-size wax figures were removed in the 18th century – and most of the silver ex-voto offerings “were either stolen, seized by the government during times of political and economic crisis, and also melted down and sold by the Servites for cash” (Holmes 2009, 166).

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Fig. 5: The ex-voto offerings surrounding the tempietto of the Annunciation fresco, SS. Annunziata, Florence. Private archive of the author.

to the Annunciation fresco. Thus, on the one hand, the numerous exvoto effigies in the Church were demonstrations of the image’s virtus having intervened in the devotees’ bodies. Accordingly, they served as indices for people to literally see this virtus. On the other side, they also took part in the image’s virtus. They contributed to the holy atmosphere of the church itself, and furthermore, it seems significant that the standard vocabulary for describing the appearances of these wax images (imagini di cera) was “likeness” (similitudine), “semblance” (somiglianza), “simulacrum” (simulacrum) or “as in nature” (al naturale). These terms tell us much about the naturalistic mimetic effect of these figures. Mimesis, in this sense, can be conceived as a representation, accentuating the life-like effects the manufacturers of these effigies accomplished. But furthermore and crucially, contemporary texts applied just the same terms when describing the depiction of Mary, especially her gracious face which seemed to change color from time to time: “di Dio sei

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sembranza” e. g. was one formulation used in a Trecento laude (Holmes 2004, 117 – 118). This affinity in terminology seems to point to a second understanding of mimesis stressing the participation of this fresco and the effigies in Mary’s living (and sometimes perceivable) presence.28 Incarnation, referring to the craft of waxworks as well as to the Angelic intervention in the fresco, is experienced here as the miraculous manifestation of an ensouled image: an imago animata – a highly vivid image that is alive only, again, because it participates in God’s virtus. The point of the practice of ex-voto offerings in SS. Annunziata was that by this virtus the ex voti appeared just as vivid and alive to the devotees as Mary’s face in the Annunciation fresco. It is significant that the closer the ex-voto offerings were placed to the Annunciation fresco, the closer the perceived contact was between them and the Virgin Mary. As Megan Holmes points out, they were thought to be “in the sight of the Mother of God” – “In conspectu divine genitris” – that is, more amenable to her virtus (Holmes 2009, 166). Furthermore, terms like “similitude” or “semblance” also refer to how the gracious face of Mary as well as these waxworks were perceived: Pre-Cartesian perception theories link these phenomena not only to visual perception, but mainly to the sensual forms produced by the inner sense of imagination or its force of vis imaginativa, i. e. to the very sense where sensual forms from the world of objects were impressed as in soft and warm wax in order to be transformed again afterwards.29 And as we have seen already, the vis imaginativa was in turn a formative power and thus – again – related to wax as a modeling material.30 Further, on a psycho-physiological level, the power of vis imaginativa was not reduced to sensual perception but rather was also linked to the formation of an embryo. That is, here again the act of Incarnation is experienced as a combination of perceptio and conceptio. Thus, within the ex-voto practices, the focus is on Mary’s face as well as her womb. Prayers were directed to these sites. Crucially, these practices did not aim at the singular picture, at its total visual appearance. Rather, at any one time they highlighted aspects 28 With regard to these two forms of mimesis see Söffner (2010; forthcoming). 29 On this connection between Incarnation in its complex usage, the exchange of virtutes and the role of imagination, see also Wolf (2004, 315f.). 30 As to the significance of wax in the context of ex-voto offerings, see Holmes (2009, with further references).

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of it within a broader setting. Within each of these settings, the image manifested its living virtus that could be shared, felt and sensed in a more holistic way, not just by the visual sense. Not only was the fresco veiled most of the time, it was also surrounded by wax-works and other images impeding direct visual access to it.

5.3 Practice: Ritual and Incarnation 3: Politics, festivities and spectacles The Annunciation fresco was also highly important for the Florentine Republic on a political level. As a sanctuary the church in the Renaissance was under the patronage of the Medici, who considered the picture a family icon – and indeed, the tempietto was flanked by a chapel belonging to the family. The family members would assist the masses from this chapel – “in the sight of the Mother of God”, so to speak, surrounded by ex-voto offerings (Bemporad 2005, 40). And even a wax effigy of Lorenzo il Magnifico himself was present in the church from 1478 on after he had escaped an assassination attempt.31 This gave the fresco a protective function, i. e. a function that in this period was generally ascribed to relics (Trexler 1991). Within this protective function, rather than focusing on a specific aspect of the picture such as e. g. seen in connection with the ex-voto offerings or the Eucharist ritual, it seems that here it was the whole picture that people engaged with, to be more precise: with its miraculous aura in its totality. Interestingly, the kind of protection provided by the Annunciation fresco also encompassed the entire city of Florence: Since the mid-13th century, numerous houses have borne tabernacles with copies of SS. Annunziata’s fresco – mainly, they were situated at places that served as intersections. Thus, the fresco protected as many streets and people as possible – people that would pass and murmur a short prayer in front of it. The construction of the foundling hospital Ospedale degli Innocenti on Piazza SS. Annunziata in the first half of the 15th century further extended this protective status of the fresco. One could say that the relation to the orphanage emphasized the biological aspect within the act of Incarnation. 31 To conserve space here, I refer the reader to Bredekamp for a detailed account of the event (1995, 57 – 61).

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Fig. 6: Reconstruction of the ingegno for the Sacra rappresentazione in the nave of SS. Annunziata in 1439. Zorzi 1979, fig. 31.

Moreover numerous events directed towards the fresco in Florentine Renaissance culture – whether liturgical, political, communal or artistic – argue for an embedded and enactive approach. I wish to highlight only the High Feast of the Annunciation, the Florentine New Year’s Day – the capodanno fiorentino – celebrated on March 25. That is, in Florence the New Year began ab Incarnatione Domini, from Incarnation on, and it still does for Florentines today.32 A Sacra rappresentazione, a sacred play performed in SS. Annunziata each year, allowed the audience to participate in the re-enactment of the mystery of the Incarnation. In the 15th century, artists like Filippo Brunelleschi were commissioned to construct its stage design. Figure 6 shows a model of the ingegno, of the scenographical setting for the 1439 Sacra rappresentazione in the nave of SS. Annunziata. Architecturally, it transformed the whole church into an Incarnational space. The description of the Russian Bishop Abramo di Suzdal, who attended the spectacle that year, gives us a concise notion of how it took place: Ropes were suspended between a wooden tribune over the church’s entrance (that is, on the left side) and the nave’s intermediate wall of stone on the right (which was demolished later on). After a sequence of rituals held on these two tribunes, the figure of Gabriel, af32 The capodanno fiorentino remained the official beginning of the year until 1749, i. e. even nearly 200 years after the Gregorian calendar reform in 1582.

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fixed to these ropes, floated over the crowd’s heads in direction of the intermediate wall, where a model of Mary’s room had been constructed. The Angel’s flight over the heads of the beholders and believers was accompanied by fireworks (Greub-Fra˛cz 2010; Zorzi 1979, 72 – 73). Thus with the Archangel Gabriel floating over their heads, the participants of this Sacra rappresentazione were physically embraced by the Divine virtus. That is, they became part of a three-dimensional architectural setting – they were situated in the intermediate space between God and Mary, precisely where the virtus altissimi leading to Mary’s bodily, spiritual and intellectual understanding was transmitted by God’s messenger.33 To this day, a very similar sacred play is performed in Florence on Easter Sunday: the so-called Scoppio del carro, “the explosion of the carriage”. Technically speaking, a (metal) dove is affixed to a rope and suspended between the main altar of Santa Maria del Fiore and the Quattrocento wooden carriage situated outside the Cathedral. The priest lights the dove’s chest on fire and it flies over the heads of the people in the church letting off sparks until it reaches the carriage, setting off the firework display. Once one has participated in this ritual, one looks differently at the numerous Renaissance paintings of the Annunciation: in particular the Holy Ghost riding on a track of rays gains an additional, very concretely embodied and enactive meaning.

6. Outlook: corpus animatum – imago animata Even a Sacra Rappresentazione like the one on New Year’s Day in Florence was not only about Incarnation. It did not merely stage the act of Incarnation as an event to be observed or read and understood from the outside. As with the other ritual practices surrounding the Annunciation fresco in Renaissance times – the celebration of the Eucharist, the pray33 Louis Marin, in his analyses of Quattrocento Annunciation paintings, also highlights the space between spectator and painting, the “l’entre-deux” as he calls it, as being crucial for the transmission of the mystery of the Incarnation. However, he also focuses exclusively on the spectator’s visual sense, i. e. his analysis is not founded on any embodied and enactive understanding. This also leads him to draw a categorical line between a realm of the real (“espace du spectateur”) and the imaginary (“espace de representation”). Further, his emphasis lies on a one-way directed efficacy, i. e. an exclusive agency of the figurative representation on the spectator (Marin 1989, 147f.).

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ers and songs, the ex-voto offerings, the pilgrimages or festivities – the act of Incarnation, in order to be felt, sensed and understood by a devotee, had to be shared by his or her living, sensible body: the corpus animatum. And as we have seen, it was not even one and the same picture the devotees and spectators shared in corporeally and enactively. On the contrary, different aspects of it were accentuated at any one time. It is on the basis of this theory and practice of corpus animatum that I would like to suggest a relational approach to “working images” such as sacred and miraculous images and their efficacy in pre-Cartesian times. This relational approach is based on the following theoretical suggestions and hypotheses: First, as explained above, since Late Medieval times natural philosophers, physicians, theologians and even poets and artists had systematically developed an embodied perception model on the basis of the corpus animatum – a model according to which sensual perception was facilitated by sensible virtutes and spiritu¯s flowing through the bodily nerves and arteries. They ‘ensouled’ the body by performing specific vital, sensible, and rational processes, i. e. processes that before the end of the 11th century had been exclusively discussed within philosophy of the soul (Ricklin 1998). Due to their systematic interconnection – with the organs, according to natural philosophy; with any matter at all, according to Dante – these forces and particles formed a second sensual body. Even though invisible, this corpus nevertheless had a shape formed by these vital, sensible, and rational dynamics. As I have tried to show, on the level of both theory and practice, it was with these (believed) virtutes and spiritu¯s of the corpus animatum that the miraculous virtus of the Annunciation fresco could be experienced in a holistic sense. This, secondly, is still a very general statement that could count for any experience of a “working image”: it does not distinguish e. g. the experience of a magical image from a sacred one, a talisman from an ex-voto offering. One characteristic of the corpus animatum is crucial for distinguishing these experiences though: its flexibility. Methodologically speaking, this flexible form facilitates different focuses – depending on the specific artifacts and phenomena one is dealing with. For the Annunciation fresco, the intrinsic relation of conceptio and perceptio was of major importance. It was concretely realized in the dynamics of two virtutes – the virtus imaginativa and the virtus formativa. On a phenomenological level – as seen in the concept of simulacrum – these virtutes were significant for explaining both the appearance of Mary’s gracious face and its embodied experience according to the perception theory of the time.

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From this it follows, thirdly, that a relational concept of the image is based on an embodied and enactive phenomenology, i. e. this concept encompasses both the image and the viewer (Wolf 2004, 316 – 318; Trexler 1980, xxi). And it encompasses them in a very precise way: As we saw exemplified by the image practices surrounding the Annunciation fresco, this relation cannot be described in terms of an external perspective on the fresco. From this perspective, the picture would be categorically distinct from the viewer and thus the setting would be describable in terms of a subject-object relation based upon reference and representation. Yet as we have seen, the various image practices connected to the fresco were about enactively sharing in the act of Incarnation. Fourthly, and still on a phenomenological level, this kind of sharing is not fully describable in either first-personal or third-personal terms. That is, it is not a question of a consciousness internally simulating an emotion or event expressed by a picture or being acted upon by a picture’s agency. To give a concrete example: The nun kneeling and praying in front of the fresco is not simulating the bodily posture of Angel Gabriel, i. e. acting “as if” she were Gabriel, but rather participating corporeally in the Angelic salutation to Mary. Nor is it a question of merely observing from a third-person perspective, i. e. externally judging what is seen and interpreted. Certainly the Annunciation fresco also refers to or represents the historia of the Incarnation of the Word of God.34 As I have tried to show though, in order to share in the act of Incarnation with the miraculous fresco, devotees and image both had to be part of a broader setting of virtutes and spiritu¯s. In order to get a more precise hold of this setting, I would like to take up a suggestion by phenomenologists Shaun Gallagher and Dan Zahavi in their recent book The Phenomenological Mind (2008) and in individual articles. They introduced a second-person perspective, i. e. a perspective based on “pragmatic or socially contextualized interactions” – interactions that do not require cognitive simulation (Gallagher/Zahavi 2008, 176). This emphasis makes the second-person perspective specifically promising for an embodied and enactive approach to “working images” even though it has been exclusively developed within the socalled “problem of other minds”, i. e. within issues of the philosophy 34 As Gerhard Wolf has shown, it is exactly its theoretical status between historia and imago that characterizes the pictorial subject of the Annunciation (Wolf 2002, 212).

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of mind concerned with the possibility of knowing others – thus, in a very strict sense the approach was not developed in reference to images. Yet since these “working images” were considered, handled and experienced as living beings (Trexler 2004, 24), this approach seems quite suited to the specificity of the phenomenological relatedness of these artifacts with their devotees, believers or handlers. Fifthly, this embodied and enactive relatedness of “working images” might also imply a specific understanding of these images’ phenomenal status. Concerning the numerous rituals surrounding the Annunciation fresco, a holistic perception model based on the corpus animatum led us to an understanding of how the fresco might have been experienced in that period. By building on precisely this experience, I would like to propose an affinity between the corpus animatum and the ensouled image, or better: the imago animata. This is to say that just like a sensible, living body, the Annunciation fresco only manifested its life in certain aspects: It only altered its form sometimes, it was only ephemerally exposed to the devotees, only very specific, “effective” pictorial traits of this fresco were described. In short: the fresco never appeared as an image in its totality. And this also holds for a corpus animatum: its virtutes only reveal themselves momentarily, e. g. in a short shiver, a blush, a glow in the eyes, a raised eyebrow, etc. Hence given all this it might be promising to develop a pre-Cartesian phenomenology of “working images” that builds upon the relation between corpus animatum and imago animata. As we have seen, the agency of sacred or miraculous artifacts does not involve an image concept based exclusively on visuality and totality: Just as the virtus imaginativa was only one force within the living, sensible body, these kinds of images were part of a broader setting unfolding their virtutes in specific aspects. A focus on this relationship between corpus animatum and imago animata could also lead, as already adumbrated, to a differentiation between different phenomenologies of “working images”. For one crucial characteristic of the model of corpus animatum in pre-Cartesian times was, as already mentioned, its flexibility. Thus it might be promising to investigate the different emphases in historical descriptions and implicit in image practices that deal with the psychophysical efficacy of different types of “working images”. Magical image practices such as those with talismans in this sense might rely on a different emphasis within this model of the living body than the experiences with a miraculous image like the fresco in SS. Annunziata.

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And finally, an emphasis on the relation between corpus animatum and imago animata would not negate the pictorial, formal and figurative specifics of “working images” by considering them generally as media for social, sacred or political agency, thus tending to eradicate the different sorts of working images and artifacts. Nor would this approach pursuit an absolute and extremely broadened image concept without considering the multiple bodily practices surrounding the images. It would – in short – build upon a historic anthropology of the image and extend it with an embodied and enactive phenomenology.

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Söffner, Jan (2010): Non-Representational Mimesis (Grönemeyer with Plato), in: Ethnofoor 22, 91 – 102. Söffner, Jan (forthcoming): Texte bewohnbar machen. Steinberg, Leo (1987): “How Shall this Be?” Reflections on Filippo Lippi’s ‘Annunciation’ in London, Part 1, in: Artibus et historiae 8(16), 25 – 44. Summers, David (1990): The Judgment of Sense. Renaissance Naturalism and the Rise of Aesthetics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Thunø, Erik/Wolf, Gerhard (Eds.) (2004): The Miraculous Image in the Late Middle Ages and the Renaissance, Papers from a Conference Held at the Accademia di Danimarca in Collaboration with the Bibliotheca Hertziana (MaxPlanck-Institut für Kunstgeschichte), Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Thurston, Herbert (1937): Ave Maria, in: Dictionnaire de Spiritualit I, 1161 – 1165. Trexler Richard C. (1987): Church and Community, 1200 – 1600: Studies in the History of Florence and New Spain, Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura. Trexler, Richard C. (1972): Florentine Religious Experience: The Sacred Image, in: Studies in the Renaissance XIX, 7 – 41. Trexler, Richard C. (1980): Public Life in Renaissance Florence, Ithaca/London: Cornell University Press. Trexler, Richard C. (2004): Being and Non-Being. Parameters of the Miraculous in the Traditional Religious Image, in: Erik Thunø/Gerhard Wolf (Eds.), The Miraculous Image in the Late Middle Ages and the Renaissance, Papers from a conference held at the Accademia di Danimarca in collaboration with the Bibliotheca Hertziana (Max-Planck-Institut für Kunstgeschichte), Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 15 – 27. Warburg, Aby (1979/1902): Bildniskunst und florentinisches Bürgertum. Domenico Ghirlandaio in Santa Trinita, die Bildnisse des Lorenzo de’ Medici und seiner Angehörigen, in: Dieter Wuttke/Carl Georg Heise (Eds.), Aby Warburg. Ausgewhlte Schriften und Wrdigungen, Baden-Baden: Valentin Koerner, 66 – 102. Webster, Susan Verdi (1998): Art and Ritual in Golden-Age Spain: Sevillian Confraternities and the Processional Sculpture of Holy Week, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Westergård, Ira (2007): Approaching Sacred Pregnancy. The Cult of the Visitation and Narrative Altarpieces in Late Fifteenth-Century Florence, Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura. Wolf, Gerhard (1990): Salus Populi Romani: Die Geschichte rçmischer Kultbilder im Mittelalter, Weinheim: VCH, Acta Humaniora. Wolf, Gerhard (1998): From Mandylion to Veronica: Picturing the ‘Disembodied’ Face and Disseminating the True Image of Christ in the Latin West, in: Herbert L. Kessler/Gerhard Wolf (Eds.), The Holy Face and the Paradox of Representation, Papers from a Colloquium Held at the Bibliotheca Hertziana, Rome, and the Villa Spelman, Florence/Bologna: Nuova Alfa Editoriale, 164 – 196. Wolf, Gerhard (2002): Schleier und Spiegel. Traditionen des Christusbildes und die Bildkonzepte der Renaissance, Munich: Fink.

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Wolf, Gerhard (2004): Le immagini nel Quattrocento tra miracolo e magia. Per una ‘iconologia’ rifondata, in: Erik Thunø/Gerhard Wolf (Eds.), The Miraculous Image in the Late Middle Ages and the Renaissance, Papers from a Conference Held at the Accademia di Danimarca in Collaboration with the Bibliotheca Hertziana (Max-Planck-Institut für Kunstgeschichte), Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 305 – 320. Wolf, Gerhard (2005): Icons and Sites: Cult Images of the Virgin in Medieval Rome, in: Maria Vassilaki (Ed.), Images of the Mother of God: Perceptions of the Theotokos in Byzantium, Aldershot/Burlington: Ashgate Publishing, 23 – 50. Zorzi, Lodovico (1979): Il teatro e la citt. Saggi sulla scena italiana, Torino: Einaudi.

Hintergrunderleben und semiotische Generalisierung Matthias Jung Abstract: After having been thoroughly neglected for a long time, feelings have entered center stage in cognitive science in the last decade. Nevertheless, the question about specifically human feelings remains mostly unasked. The paper argues that there are such feelings, that they are prominently instantiated by existential feelings and that we can have the latter only in virtue of being embodied symbol-users capable of qualitative thinking. Furthermore, I argue for a strong and hitherto neglected connection between existential feelings and the formation of comprehensive world-views. William James is shown to have been the first philosopher to understand and conceptually elaborate these relationships, but also criticized for underestimating the feedback from semiotic generalization to felt qualities.

1. Einleitung Unter denjenigen Eigenschaften des menschlichen Weltverhältnisses, die theoretisches Interesse in den empirischen Wissenschaften und in der Philosophie auf sich ziehen, waren Gefühle lange unterrepräsentiert. Die Kognitionswissenschaften orientierten sich bei ihrer Suche nach Künstlicher Intelligenz an der Computermetapher und begrifflich an der Idee der Repräsentation. Analytischen Philosophen ging es, ebenfalls im Banne des Repräsentationsgedankens, um die Klärung der Frage, wie es zu verstehen ist, dass sich angeblich alles Reden in Ja/Nein-Stellungnahmen zu Propositionen vollzieht (so jedenfalls in der bekannten Darstellung von Ernst Tugendhat (1976)). Hermeneutische Philosophie im Gefolge Gadamers brachte für Gefühle schon deshalb kein ernsthaftes Interesse auf, weil es ihr um je schon sprachlich konstituierte Traditionszusammenhänge geht. Anders lagen die Dinge schon immer in der abseits des Mainstream liegenden leibphänomenologischen Tradition von Plessner bis Merleau-Ponty. Sie findet in jüngster Zeit wieder mehr Beachtung (Noë 2004; Gallagher 2005; Thompson 2007; Gallagher/ Zahavi 2008) und zwar gerade in Kreisen kognitionswissenschaftlicher Denker, die mit dem repräsentationalen Paradigma gebrochen haben. Diese Autoren verstehen intelligentes Verhalten als die Interaktion eines

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Organismus mit seiner Umwelt, die für dessen Überleben und Wohlergehen entscheidend ist und deshalb Emotionen hervorruft, ohne deren Erschließungskraft kein sinnvolles Verhalten möglich wäre. Es war also interessanterweise gerade das Scheitern der klassischen KI-Forschung (der sog. GOFAI, „Good Old Fashioned Artificial Intelligence“), das einen wesentlichen Impuls für die Neubesinnung auf die Bedeutung von Gefühlen geliefert hat. Dabei gehen die Wiederentdeckung des Körpers und die des Emotionalen Hand in Hand, denn nur ein körperliches, mit seiner Umwelt auf Gedeih und Verderb interagierendes Wesen kann Gefühle entwickeln, wie am prominentesten wohl Antonio Damasio (1999) gezeigt hat. Zwischenzeitlich sind Emotionen geradezu ein Modethema geworden: In populärwissenschaftlichen Publikationen, in der Philosophie und in den Kognitionswissenschaften, vor allem bei Vertretern von Positionen der „embodied“, „embedded“ oder „extented cognition“, die den Zusammenhang von Lebens- und Kognitionsprozess betonen. Gleichzeitig lässt sich aber auch eine Blickverengung beobachten. So hat der bekannte Emotionspsychologe Paul Ekman durch seine Forschungen und vor allem deren popularisierende Darstellung (Ekman 2004) nicht wenig dazu beigetragen, ein simplifizierendes und auf wenige sog. Basisemotionen eingeschränktes Bild expressiven Verhaltens zu verbreiten. Das im engeren Sinne kognitionswissenschaftlich motivierte Interesse an Emotionen hat sich bisher, so lässt sich zusammenfassend sagen, weitgehend auf okkasionelle, spontan-expressive Reaktionen des Organismus auf Veränderungen der Qualität seiner Umweltinteraktion beschränkt und die Frage nach der Existenz humanspezifischer Gefühle gar nicht behandelt.1 Solche Gefühle, wenn es sie denn geben sollte, wären aber anthropologisch natürlich von höchstem Interesse, weil sie die menschliche Lebensform ebenso nachhaltig prägen könnten wie etwa unsere Fähigkeit zur Kommunikation mithilfe symbolischer Sprachen. Meine These lautet nun, dass es eine solche Klasse von Gefühlen tatsächlich gibt (2) und dass wir sie nur deshalb haben können, weil wir Symbolverwender sind und sich deshalb an ihnen mit besonderer Eindringlichkeit Reichweite und Grenzen sprachlichen Ausdrucks aufzeigen 1

Humanspezifische Emotionen stehen im Mittelpunkt kognitivistischer Emotionstheorien, die allerdings wiederum kein Interesse für die humanspezifische Verbindung von organisch verkörpertem Erleben und symbolischer Artikulation aufbringen (vgl. die Abwiegelung der Embodiment-Thematik in Nussbaum 2001, 58 f.).

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lassen (3). Insbesondere spielt die fragliche Klasse von Gefühlen eine entscheidende Rolle bei der Entwicklung übergreifender weltanschaulicher und religiöser Sinndeutungen (4). Diese Behauptungen sollen nun im Folgenden plausibilisiert werden. Dabei werde ich in einem schlichten Dreischritt vorgehen, nämlich zunächst die Frage nach der Natur der entsprechenden Gefühle stellen, dann ihrem Zusammenhang mit dem sprachlichen Charakter des menschlichen Weltverhältnisses nachgehen und schließlich ihre Rolle bei semiotischen Generalisierungsprozessen untersuchen.

2. „Existential Feelings“ Die (Wieder-)entdeckung des im Untertitel genannten Phänomens für die Gegenwartsphilosophie verdanken wir Matthew Ratcliffe (2005; 2008). Ihm zufolge gilt es, über der Erforschung der klassischen Emotionen wie Freude, Staunen oder Ekel nicht die Existenz von Gefühlen im weiteren Sinn zu übersehen, die sich nicht auf einzelne intentionale Inhalte richten, sondern unser Verhältnis zur Welt im Ganzen betreffen. Solche Gefühle sind einer großen Breite von Modifikationen fähig, wie Ratcliffe anhand folgender Beispielliste deutlich macht: The feeling of being: “complete”, “flawed and diminished”, “unworthy”, “humble”, “separate and in limitation”, “at home”, “a fraud”, “slightly lost”, “overwhelmed”, “abandoned”, “stared at”, “torn”, “disconnected from the world”, “invulnerable”, “unloved”, “watched”, “empty”, “in control”, “powerful”, “completely helpless”, “part of the real world again”, “trapped and weighed down”, “part of a larger machine”, “at one with life”, “at one with nature”, “there”, “familiar”, “real” (Ratcliffe 2005, 45).

Solche Gefühle zu haben, hat offensichtlich nichts mit einer Wahrnehmung innerer Zustände zu tun, genau so wenig aber mit einer okkasionellen Veränderung meiner Umweltinteraktion wie im Fall plötzlicher Furcht. Es handelt sich hier um längerfristige, übergreifende und in der Regel nicht im Fokus, sondern im Hintergrund des Bewusstseins angesiedelte Weisen, die eigene Beziehung zur Wirklichkeit im Ganzen zu gewahren. In der Ratcliffeschen Liste gibt es offenkundig Beispiele, die stärker („a fraud“), und solche die schwächer („real“) mit der Verfügung über bestimmte Konzepte korreliert sind; es soll hier aber zunächst nur um das phänomenale Profil solcher Gefühle gehen. Ratcliffe charakterisiert es folgendermaßen:

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The world can sometimes appear unfamiliar, unreal, distant or close. It can be something that one feels apart from or at one with. One can feel in control of one’s situation as a whole or overwhelmed by it. One can feel like a participant in the world or like a detached, estranged observer, staring at objects that do not feel quite “there”. Such relationships structure all experience. Whenever one has a specific experience of oneself, another person or an inanimate object being a certain way, the experience has, as a background, a more general sense of one’s being in relationship with the world. This relationship does not simply consist in an experience of being an entity that occupies a spatial and temporal location, alongside a host of other entities. Ways of finding oneself in a world are presupposed spaces of experiental possibility, which shape the various ways in which things can be experienced (Ratcliffe 2005, 45).

Beschreibungen solcher existentieller Gefühle sind natürlich keineswegs neu; man findet sie ausgiebig bei Hermann Schmitz und natürlich bereits in Heideggers Daseinsanalyse mit ihrer Unterscheidung von Welt und Innerweltlichem (Innerweltliches als Korrelat einzelner intentionaler Akte, Welt als Vorstrukturiertheit des Rahmens für den Umgang mit Innerweltlichem), die Ratcliffe hier aufnimmt. Weniger bekannt, aber systematisch noch ergiebiger sind m. E. John Deweys Analysen des von ihm so genannten qualitativen Denkens, dessen Möglichkeitshorizont durch jeweils eine „single pervasive quality“ (Dewey 1930) bestimmt ist.2 Ratcliffes Argumentation hat aber den Vorteil, die fraglichen Phänomene im Kontext der aktuellen Debatten um die Rolle von Gefühlen klar zu positionieren. Er schlägt dazu vor, zwei zusammen notwendige und hinreichende Bedingungen zu benennen, durch die „existential feelings“ von benachbarten Phänomenen wie Stimmungen3 und Emotionen unterschieden werden können: Erstens handele es sich um „ways of finding oneself in the world“ (Ratcliffe 2005, 46), in denen kein konkreter Objekt- oder Situationsbezug, sondern eine Hintergrundorientierung vorgängig zu allen solchen Bezügen gegeben ist, und zweitens seien existentielle Gefühle körperliche Zustände, die die Form des eigenen Bewusstseins beeinflussen. 2 3

Dewey würde allerdings wohl weniger scharf als Ratcliffe zwischen existentiellen und situativ erschließenden Gefühlen unterscheiden. Hier ist die Abgrenzung offensichtlich am wenigsten trennscharf, was man schon daran sieht, dass ja z. B. Heidegger den Begriff der Stimmung gerade in der Bedeutung von Ratcliffes „existential feelings“ verwendet. Gegen Heidegger wendet Ratcliffe m. E. zu Recht ein (Ratcliffe 2005, 52), dessen Fokus auf Stimmungen führe zu einer unangemessenen Verengung der relevanten Phänomene.

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Interessant ist an diesen Zuständen, dass sie das Bewusstsein deshalb prägen, weil sie gerade nicht den isoliert gedachten, sondern den interagierenden Organismus betreffen. Ganz im Einklang damit, was Vertreter der embodied cognition wie Shaun Gallagher über den Körper als Instanz sensomotorischer Koppelungen mit der physischen und sozialen Umwelt zu sagen haben, besteht Ratcliffe auf dem welterschließenden und erst sekundär auf das Selbst zurückbezogenen Charakter der einschlägigen körperlichen Zustände. In der selben Weise, so argumentiert er,4 wie ein in die Hand genommener Schneeball zunächst die Wahrnehmung eines kalten und nassen Gegenstands auslöst, die nach einer Weile in das Gefühl einer schmerzend kalten Hand umschlagen kann, sind existentielle Gefühle zunächst unthematische Hintergründe unseres Weltverhältnisses, können aber, etwa bei pathologischen Veränderungen, als eigenleibliche Zustände auffällig werden. In beiden Fällen gibt es hier nicht etwa zwei verschiedene intentionale Objekte (Schneeball vs. Hand/Welt vs. Selbst), sondern eine vorgängige Relation, die nur bei einer Interaktionshemmung als solche und dergestalt mit unterscheidbaren Relaten vorstellig wird. Diese Interaktionshemmung betrifft freilich im Fall existentieller Gefühle nicht spezifische Situationen, es ist vielmehr das Weltverhältnis im Ganzen, das betroffen ist. Ex negativo zeigt sich deshalb in pathologischen Phänomenen – etwa im Extremfall des Cotard-Syndroms5 – besonders klar die konstitutive Bedeutung der existentiellen Hintergrundgefühle für die Aufrechterhaltung der ,normalen’, situativen Intentionalität des Alltags. Nun sind Menschen Lebewesen und haben einen emotionalen Situationsbezug mit anderen Lebewesen gemeinsam. Es gehört einfach zur Struktur von Wesen, die sich durch Austauschbeziehungen mit ihrer Umwelt erhalten und reproduzieren hinzu, dass sie nicht alleine Funktionen erfüllen, sondern auch aus ihrer Eigenperspektive ein Gut bzw. Wohl haben. Hätte die Qualität ihrer Umweltbeziehungen für Organismen nur einen funktionalen, keinen erlebten Wert, müssten sie auch keine Gefühle entwickeln.6 Wie steht es aber mit solchen körperlichen 4 5

6

Vgl. Gallagher 2005, 47 f. Hierbei handelt es sich um ein zuerst von dem französischen Psychiater Jules Cotard beschriebenes, sehr seltenes Krankheitsbild, das auch als nihilistischer Wahn bezeichnet wird und mit der Überzeugung einhergeht, nicht mehr lebendig zu sein. Ich übernehme hier die Argumentation Peter McLaughlins (2008, 32 – 37), wo die Bedeutung der Unterscheidung zwischen „gut-sein-für“ und „ein Gut (bzw. ein Wohl) haben“ in Bezug auf Lebewesen entwickelt wird. Ein Wohl haben nur

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Zuständen, die sich auf das In-der-Welt-sein des Organismus im Ganzen beziehen? Nehmen wir nun unsere nächsten Verwandten, die anderen Mitglieder des von Merlin Donald (2001, Kap. 4) so genannten „Consciousness Club“: Bonobos, Schimpansen, Orang-Utans, Gorillas. Sie verfügen bereits in ihrer natürlichen Umgebung über Fähigkeiten wie Aufmerksamkeitskontrolle, Selbsterkenntnis, über situative Emotionen und ein eingeschränktes Intentionsverstehen. Haben sie aber auch existentielle Gefühle? Wohlgemerkt: Es geht hier nicht einfach um eine qualitative Selbstpräsenz. Vermutlich fühlt es sich für Primaten und sicherlich noch für viele andere Lebewesen (z. B. Fledermäuse) irgendwie an, am Leben und in der Welt zu sein. Mir scheint aber, dass existentielle Gefühle im engeren Sinn etwas voraussetzen, das die Struktur des menschlichen und nur des menschlichen Bewusstseins als solche bestimmt: Die Fähigkeit, sich auf das eigene Leben und dessen Verhältnis zur Wirklichkeit im Ganzen zu beziehen. In dieser speziellen Hinsicht lässt sich an die Argumentation von Ernst Tugendhat in seiner im Übrigen radikal einseitigen Studie Egozentrizitt und Mystik (2006) anknüpfen. Laut Tugendhat spricht bereits die alltagssprachliche Frage „wie geht es Dir?“ (wenn sie nicht als Floskel gebraucht wird) „die evaluative Situation, in der sich ein Mensch befindet, auf eine Art an […], die seine einzelnen Tätigkeiten und Belange umgreift“ (ebd., 90). Diese Integration der vielfältigen Situationen, Projekte, Selbst- und Endzwecke, in denen ein Mensch sein Leben führt, wird durch je einen ungerichteten Affekt geleistet. Er unterscheidet sich „von den Affekten, die bestimmte propositionale Gegenstände haben“ dadurch, dass er anzeigt, „wie einem ,im ganzen’ ist“ (ebd., 91). Der entscheidende Punkt ist nun, dass, wie Tugendhat formuliert, nur IchSager ein solches Gesamtbefinden haben können, das streng genommen eben gar kein Befinden des Selbst ist, sondern die Weise, wie die Interaktion mit der Wirklichkeit von ihm gespürt wird. Ich-Sager sind aber Wesen, die sich kraft ihrer sprachlichen Kompetenzen im selben Zug kriterienlos auf sich selbst beziehen und sich als Teile einer objektiven Realität verstehen können, die sie selbst und ihr im Hier und Jetzt lokalisiertes Leben transzendiert. Anders formuliert: Ich-Sager sind verkörperte Symbolverwender. Wären Sie nicht verkörpert, hätten sie keinen erlebten, gefühlten Zugang zur Wirklichkeit. Könnten sie keine Symbole verwenden, wäre dieser Zugang okkasionell gebunden und Wesen, die im Austausch mit der Umwelt gedeihen oder verkümmern können, also Organismen.

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könnte sich nicht auf das eigene Leben im Ganzen und darin auf die Welt im Ganzen beziehen. Kurz: Nur Menschen können existentielle Gefühle haben. Ich würde dementsprechend den Akzent stärker als etwa Thomas Fuchs (in diesem Band) auf die innere Verbindung von organischem Lebensgefühl und sprachlichem Totalitätsbezug legen.

3. Der sprachliche Ausdruck existentieller Gefühle Tugendhat leitet aus der gerade genannten Entgrenzung des lokalen Erlebens bei Ich-Sagern seine Polarität von Egozentrizität und Mystik her. Auch dabei geht es natürlich um das, was gesagt und das, was nur erlebt werden kann, wobei Tugendhat sich die Sache in meinen Augen noch durch sein propositionalistisch verengtes Sprachverständnis unnötig erschwert. Doch ist die Pointe auch bei ihm die, dass das, was nur erlebt werden kann (nämlich in der mystischen Sammlung auf etwas Unverlierbares hin), nur deshalb erlebt werden kann, weil es von einem Wesen erlebt wird, das sein Erleben semiotisch transzendieren kann. Erlebende und gleichzeitig sprachfähige Wesen haben Möglichkeiten des Erlebens, die nicht sprachfähigen Wesen abgehen. Man kann z. B. erleben, wie es ist, nicht die richtigen Worte zu finden. Und man kann umgekehrt, inspiriert von der sprachlichen Kraft der Evokation, wie sie Georg Misch unübertrefflich geschildert hat (Misch 1994), Gestaltqualitäten erleben, zu denen man nur durch Sprache Zugang findet. Wie steht es in dieser Hinsicht nun mit den existentiellen Gefühlen? Sie sind mit sprachlichem Sinn in mehrfacher Hinsicht intern verbunden: Wir könnten sie erstens gar nicht haben, wenn wir keine Sprachverwender wären. Das eigene In-der-Welt-sein als Ganzes als geborgen und sicher, als prekär und fragil etc. empfinden zu können, setzt ein Bewusstsein voraus, das, um mit Nietzsche zu sprechen, losgebunden ist vom Pflock des Augenblicks und doch jederzeit lokalisiert bleibt: Eben das Bewusstsein eines verkörperten Symbolverwenders. Und diese humanspezifische Bewusstseinsform ist es auch, die nun zweitens die Metaphern bereitstellt, ohne die der Ausdruck existentieller Gefühle unmöglich wäre. Es handelt sich hier m. E. zweifellos um absolute Metaphern im Sinne Blumenbergs, also um solche, die nicht nur hilfsweise oder prägnanzsteigernd eingesetzt werden, sondern ihren Gegenstand allererst

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darstellbar machen.7 Räumliche Vorstellungen von Enge und Weite sowie natürliche Polaritäten spielen hier eine zentrale Rolle und dies deshalb, weil sich in ihnen körperschematische Vollzugsformen von Bewegungen mit der semantischen Qualität von Möglichkeitsspielräumen verbinden. Wer sich eingeengt fühlt, dessen sensomotorischer Spielraum (im Englischen spricht man gerne metaphorisch vom „elbow room“) ist so klein wie der Raum seiner gedanklich antizipierbaren Handlungsalternativen. Wer hingegen „ins Weite kommt“, der empfindet eine befreiende Wiederherstellung der Welthaltigkeit des eigenen Handelns. Literarische Zeugnisse sind hier instruktiver als philosophische. In Joseph von Eichendorffs Novelle Aus dem Leben eines Taugenichts z. B. werden all diese metaphorischen Möglichkeiten unübertrefflich durchgespielt. Doch sind existentielle Gefühle und sprachlich artikulierter Sinn noch in einer dritten, wesentlichen Hinsicht miteinander verbunden: Sie sind nämlich integrale Komponenten der artikulierenden Lebensform des Menschen. Helmuth Plessner spricht treffend von der „Ausdrücklichkeit als Lebensmodus des Menschen“ (1975, 323). Damit ist natürlich auch gemeint, dass Menschen – mehr oder minder – gesellige Wesen sind, die nicht allein instrumentelle, sondern genauso auch kommunikative Beziehungen zu ihrer Umwelt unterhalten. Dieses Ausdrucks- und Mitteilungsbedürfnis wurzelt in der primären, verkörperten Intersubjektivität des Menschen, wie sie sich vorgängig zu allen elaborierten Ausdrucksformen bereits in den sensomotorischen Verschränkungen der Körperschemata geltend macht. Durch diese gewinnen wir ein Verständnis der Absichten und Gefühle anderer sowie einen Hintergrund geteilter Intentionalität (vgl. Tomasello 2008), lange bevor wir imstande sind, uns mittels Ja/Nein-Stellungnahmen zu den Geltungsansprüchen anderer Sprecher zu verhalten und mithin den Sellarsschen Raum der Gründe zu betreten. Sobald aber die symbolische Sprache mit ihrer inferentiellen Struktur und indirekten Referenz hinzukommt, gewinnen diese expressiven Austauschbeziehungen eine andere Qualität: Sie werden reflexiv gebrochen, der Ausdruck subtilisiert sich zur Artikulation. Wo immer artikuliert wird, was als qualitative Totalität zuvor erlebt wurde, findet eine reflexive Distanzierung statt: es sind stets nur bestimmte Aspekte der Gestaltqualität, die herausgegriffen, zur Prägnanz gebracht, auf die in ihnen enthaltenen Geltungsansprüche propositionaler und 7

Der klassische Text hierzu, mit unüberbietbar prägnantem Titel, ist Metaphors We Live By (Lakoff/Johnson 2003).

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normativer Natur hin zugespitzt und so argumentativ zugänglich gemacht werden. In der gewöhnlichen Erfahrung des Alltags sind es, wie Dewey gezeigt hat, immer qualitativ-gestalthafte Einheiten, von denen der sprachliche Ausdruck ausgehen muss. In ihnen ist dem erlebenden Selbst nicht es selbst vorstellig, sondern die jeweils dominierende Interaktionssituation mit ihren Handlungs- und Bestimmungsmöglichkeiten, aber eben nicht als geordnetes Gefüge von Aussagen, sondern als die simultane Präsenz einer Mannigfaltigkeit, die keine diskreten Elemente enthält. Zwei Aspekte sind hier zentral: Situativ erlebte Gestalten markieren zum einen eine Grenze jedes sprachlichen Ausdrucks: „The situation as such“, schreibt Dewey, „is not and cannot be stated or made explicit. […] It forms the universe of discourse of whatever is expressly stated or of what appears as a term in a proposition.“ (1930, 197) Erlebte Qualitäten sind aber für ihn keine externen Eingangsbedingungen für einen im übrigen rein schlussfolgernden Denkprozess. Denken selbst ist – nicht nur, aber auch – qualitativ: „Language fails not because thought fails, but because no verbal symbols can do justice to the fullness and richness of thought.“ (1930, 199). Zum anderen gilt aber auch, dass die Gestaltqualitäten der Erfahrung immer Antizipationen möglicher begrifflicher Unterscheidungen darstellen. „The quality, although dumb, has as a part of its complex quality a movement or transition in some direction. It can, therefore, be intellectually symbolized and converted into an object of thought.“ (1930, 201) Qualitative Bedeutsamkeit und sprachlich artikulierte Bedeutung bilden keine Gegensätze, wohl aber Pole einer nicht aufzulösenden Spannung im Denken selbst. Was für okkasionelle, situationsgebundene Qualitäten gilt, gilt genauso für die vielfältigen Modifikationen existentieller Gefühle. Sie sind uns als erlebte Gestaltqualitäten präsent, die den Hintergrund jeder Artikulationsanstrengung bilden, können aber in eben dieser Totalität selbst nicht symbolisiert werden. Unmöglich ist dies nicht deshalb, weil es sich hier um mysteriöse Quellen eines tieferen Sinnes handelte, sondern aufgrund des selektiven und transformierenden Charakters jeder Artikulation: Wer überhaupt etwas sagt, greift aus einer Hintergrundtotalität selektiv bestimmte Aspekte heraus, von denen er hofft, sie würden stimmig die Geltungsansprüche zum Ausdruck bringen, die mit dem Machen der jeweiligen Erfahrung aus der Perspektive des Sprechers verbunden sind. Wo dies gelingt, stellt sich eine Qualität des Erlebens ein, die William James als das „sentiment of rationality“ (1992, 951) bezeichnet hat und deren Erkennungszeichen in der Flüssigkeit und

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Stimmigkeit der Interaktionen besteht, die das Selbst mit seinem Gegenstand verbinden. Wenn ein prägnanter Ausdruck glückt, ist das aber nicht deshalb ein befriedigendes Erleben von Rationalität, weil die Gestaltqualitäten des gelebten Lebens nun vollständig in Sprechakte transformiert worden wären: Das Bewusstsein eines qualitativen, nichtartikulierbaren Überschusses bleibt erhalten, wird aber in das Bewusstsein gelungener Sinnbestimmung eingebettet. Dabei zeichnet es den reflexiven Charakter symbolischer Äußerungen aus, auch diese bleibende Spannung noch stimmig symbolisieren zu können. Liebesgedichte z. B. kreisen oft darum, den Sinnüberschuss der geliebten Gestalt nicht etwa auszuschöpfen, sondern seine Unausschöpfbarkeit – also Unsagbarkeit – sagbar zu machen. Wir können also existentielle Gefühle nur haben, weil wir auch Symbole benutzen und Ich sagen können, unser Leben in der Spannung von organischen Erlebnisqualitäten und intersubjektivem Sinn verläuft. Diese Dimension existentieller Gefühle ist, wenn ich recht sehe, bisher in der aktuellen Debatte noch kaum beleuchtet worden. Emotionalität an sich ist nichts Humanspezifisches, existentielle Gefühle sind es schon. Genauer müsste man wohl sagen: Weil auch Emotionen im menschlichen Lebenszusammenhang immer vom Hintergrunderleben existentieller Gefühle eingefärbt sind, unterscheiden sie sich von denjenigen Gefühlen, die wir Tieren plausibel zuschreiben können. Das scheint mir schon an sich ein bemerkenswertes Phänomen und ein deutlicher Hinweis auf das Bestehen eines internen Zusammenhangs von kognitiven und affektiven Fähigkeiten zu sein. In dem Maß, in dem der kognitionswissenschaftliche Diskurs die semiotischen Implikationen der existentiellen Gefühle ernst nimmt, wird er daher m. E. dazu gezwungen, sich auf die Frage nach der humanen Form von Kognition ernsthaft einzulassen. Wendet man Plessners Prinzip der Ausdrücklichkeit auf die hier skizzierten Problemfelder an, so ergibt sich eine weitere interessante Konsequenz, der ich im dritten und letzten Teil meines Beitrags nachgehen möchte: Wenn es zur conditio humana gehört, das erlebte Leben symbolisch explizieren und damit reflektieren zu müssen, gilt dies natürlich auch von den vielfältigen Formen, in denen Menschen über ein Hintergrunderleben ihres Wirklichkeitsbezugs im Ganzen verfügen. Die These meines letzten Teils wird nun sein, dass Religionen und Weltanschauungen einen inneren Zusammenhang zum Phänomen der existential feelings aufweisen, der es u. a. verständlich macht, warum diskursive Verständigungsbemühungen häufig so fruchtlos erscheinen.

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4. Existentielle Gefühle und Weltanschauungen Wir sind Lebewesen und unser Wirklichkeitsverhältnis hat deshalb einen qualitativen Charakter, von dem zwar sprachliche Verständigung immer ausgeht, den sie aber nie abbilden, sondern nur artikulieren kann. Dabei verschränken sich zwei Dimensionen des Erlebens, eine okkasionell-situative und eine diachron-hintergründige. Qualitative Situationen erund verschließen konkrete Spielräume des Handelns, existentielle Gefühle prägen das Weltverhältnis des Selbst – die Weise, in der Situationen erlebt werden können – auf umfassende Weise. In beiden Fällen ist es uns als Ausdruckswesen prinzipiell möglich, Unmittelbarkeit zu mediatisieren, Feedbackschleifen zwischen der qualitativen und der symbolischen Dimension zu etablieren und damit reflexive Distanz und Besonnenheit zu erreichen. Wenn es aber zutrifft, dass Menschen als verkörperte Symbolverwender unvermeidlich ein inneres, qualitativ gespürtes Verhältnis zum Ganzen (im doppelten Sinn ihres Selbst und der Wirklichkeit) haben, stoßen wir hier auch auf eine anthropologische Wurzel religiöser und weltanschaulicher Generalisierungen. In den Feedbackschleifen zwischen Erleben, Ausdruck und Verstehen (hier greife ich auf Diltheys klassische Triade zurück) entstehen dann nicht alleine situative, sondern auch übergreifende Deutungen der Realität. Solche Deutungen stehen immer in einem Zielkonflikt, dem William James in seinem Essay The Sentiment of Rationality besondere Aufmerksamkeit gewidmet hat: Auf der einen Seite „the dramatic richness of the concrete world“ (1992, 976), auf der anderen Seite die Suche nach Einheit und Systematizität, the „craving for Monism“ (ebd., 955). Diese Polarität können wir auf das Verhältnis des qualitativen zum begrifflichen Wirklichkeitszugang beziehen: Im Erleben ist eine ungeschiedene Totalität von Bezügen präsent, die sehr unterschiedliche Grade an Bedeutsamkeit haben können, aber notwendig doch alle bedeutsam sind, denn sonst würden sie gerade nicht erlebt. So eröffnet das Erleben Möglichkeitsspielräume der Bestimmung: Es zu artikulieren heißt dann, einzelne Aspekte herauszuheben, ihre inferentielle Rolle im Netz unserer Äußerungen zu untersuchen, Widersprüche und Kompatibilitäten deutlich zu machen, Geltungsansprüche zu formulieren, die kritisiert werden können, usw. Darin besteht die Macht der Sprache. Verglichen mit dem Bedeutungsreichtum und der Artikuliertheit elaborierter sprachlicher Gebilde kann das qualitative Weltverhältnis konfus und unterbestimmt erscheinen. Marcel Reich-Ranicki soll während eines Spaziergangs auf das Erleben eines Wasserfalls mit der Bemerkung reagiert

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haben, dieser müsste eigentlich etwas weiter links positioniert sein. Die literarisch verarbeitete Natur ist, so betrachtet, immer schon die humanere. Doch ist die Macht der Sprache nur die Kehrseite ihrer Ohnmacht: Der dramatische Reichtum der konkreten Welt erschließt sich eben nur in den Erlebnisqualitäten direkter Interaktion mit ihr. Ein Buch von Reinhold Messner zu lesen und die Achttausender zu besteigen, die er bestiegen hat, sind doch zwei ziemlich verschiedene Dinge. Um der Sache wirklich gerecht zu werden, müsste man hier natürlich genauer zwischen verschiedenen Verwendungsformen von Sprache differenzieren: Das Verhältnis des qualitativ Präsenten zur symbolischen Formung in dichterischen Werken unterscheidet sich von der Sachlogik wissenschaftlicher und diese wiederum von weltanschaulicher Ausdrucksbildung gravierend. Die Gemeinsamkeit, auf die ich im Folgenden mein Augenmerk richten werde, besteht darin, dass in allen Fällen ein Spannungsverhältnis zwischen der qualitativen Gestalttotalität des Erlebens und der gegliederten Sinnbestimmung des sprachlichen Ausdrucks besteht, die mittels Schlussfolgerungsbeziehungen zwischen Sätzen vollzogen wird. Halten wir diese Gemeinsamkeit nochmals mit einer anderen Akzentuierung fest: Jeder sprachliche Ausdruck basiert auf einem erlebenden Weltverhältnis, auf das er vielfältig zurückwirkt, dessen qualitative Intensitäten er aber niemals ausschöpfen kann. Konkreter muss die Frage nun lauten: Wenn es möglich ist, eine bestimmte Klasse von Gefühlen herauszuheben, in denen nicht dieses oder jenes, sondern „das Ganze“ gespürt wird – wie muss die Beziehung zwischen diesen speziellen existentiellen Gefühlen und unserem symbolischen Weltverhältnis verstanden werden? Schließlich hatte ich oben dafür argumentiert, dass nur Symbolverwender solche Gefühle überhaupt haben können, weil nur sie über ein Bewusstsein verfügen, das zugleich verkörpert und transzendierend ist. Darüber hinaus ist in die Funktionsweise von Sprache ein Zug zur Reflexivierung und Systematisierung eingebaut: Symbolische Zeichensysteme bringen Bedeutungen hervor, indem sie diskursive Verpflichtungen und Berechtigungen erzeugen (indirekte Referenz), die mit Hilfe des logischen Vokabulars geklärt werden können. Damit entstehen höherstufige, abstraktere Sätze, und es wird die Idee eines hierarchischen Systems von Bedeutungen denkbar. Wenn man nun diese beiden Aspekte einer symbolischen und einer qualitativen Totalität zusammenführt, liegt es nahe, die Entwicklung von Gesamtdeutungen der Wirklichkeit, seien sie nun religiös oder säkular, als eine anthropologische Möglichkeit zu verstehen, die sich zumindest in fast allen menschlichen Kulturen auch tatsächlich ausprägt.

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Diese Einsicht ist natürlich keineswegs neu und wird philosophisch meist unter dem Stichwort des Metaphysischen behandelt. Schopenhauer hat dem „metaphysischen Bedürfnis“ das 17. Kapitel seines Hauptwerks Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung (1977) gewidmet und William James konstatiert lapidar: „Metaphysics of some sort there must be. The only alternative is between the good Metaphysics of clear-headed Philosophy and the trashy Metaphysics of vulgar Positivism“ (1992, 977). Man muss hier zwei Bedeutungen von „Metaphysik“ unterscheiden. Die erste wird von den Pragmatisten und in der Weltanschauungslehre Diltheys pejorativ verwendet. Metaphysik steht dann für „die Form der Philosophie, welche den in der Relation zur Lebendigkeit konzipierten Weltzusammenhang wissenschaftlich behandelt, als ob er eine von dieser Lebendigkeit unabhängige Objektivität wäre“ (Dilthey 1960, 51). Diejenige Form der Metaphysik, von der James im angeführten Zitat behauptet, sie sei anthropologisch unvermeidlich, begeht diesen objektivistischen Fehlschluss nicht. Was sie generalisiert, ist der menschliche Interaktionszusammenhang mit der Wirklichkeit. Dieser Zusammenhang ist aber, wenn der Begriff der existential feelings etwas taugt, immer von sehr unterschiedlichen qualitativen Totalisierungen geprägt, die zugleich Möglichkeitshorizonte für symbolische Generalisierung erschließen. Es ist eigentlich ein trivialer, aber häufig doch übersehener Befund: Wer sich in der Welt zuhause oder der Welt entfremdet fühlt, wird auch einer Weltanschauung zuneigen, die seinem jeweiligen Lebensgefühl entspricht. Naturalisten und Gnostiker haben nicht nur unterschiedliche Weltanschauungen, sondern auch andere „existential feelings“. Der Zusammenhang von solchen Gefühlen mit philosophischen und weltanschaulichen Orientierungen ist naheliegend und wird z. B. auch von Ratcliffe betont (2005, 56 – 58), ohne dass dieser allerdings auf die Verbindung von Erleben und Symbolgebrauch einginge. Er darf aber keinesfalls so verstanden werden, als ob existentielle Gefühle weltanschauliche Positionen determinieren könnten und ihrer begrifflichen Ausarbeitung dementsprechend nur noch ein epiphänomenaler Status zukäme. Eine solche Behauptung wäre reduktionistisch und könnte genauso wenig überzeugen wie etwa der metaethische Emotivismus, der moralische Urteile bloß als emotionale Expressionen versteht. In beiden Fällen wird unterschlagen, dass Versprachlichung immer eine rationalreflexive Komponente ins Spiel bringt. Weltanschauungen haben eine eigene sachliche Logik, die sich von den existentiellen Gefühlen ihrer Schöpfer und Anhänger weitgehend abkoppelt. Und die Geltungsan-

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sprüche, die in ihnen erhoben werden, sind – in unterschiedlichem Maß – einer Rationalisierung und argumentativen Klärung zugänglich. Georg Simmel hat diesen Punkt in seinem letzten Buch Lebensanschauung. Vier metaphysische Kapitel mit der Metapher der „Achsendrehung zwischen Leben und Idee“ (1999, 288) verdeutlichen wollen: Weltanschauliche Generalisierungen und Religionen erwachsen aus der Artikulation (existentieller) Lebensgefühle, gewinnen aber dann eine große sachliche Eigenständigkeit und Entwicklungsdynamik. Sowenig sich die Bedeutung eines Gedichts in den Erlebnissen seines Verfassers erschöpft, so wenig erschöpft sich das Christentum im Ausdruck des Lebensgefühls der Verfasser des Neuen Testaments oder der Buddhismus im Ausdruck von Buddhas Erleuchtung. Wenn man genauer hinschaut, findet man hier einen Sinnüberschuss in beiden Richtungen, der symbolischen wie der qualitativen: Referenz und Bedeutung eines jeden sprachlichen Gebildes transzendieren die Erlebnisqualitäten, von denen die jeweiligen Sprecher bei ihrer Suche nach dem stimmigen Ausdruck geleitet waren. Umgekehrt transzendieren aber auch die situativen und genauso die übergreifenden existentiellen Gefühle jeden sprachlichen Ausdruck, der ja stets diskursiv und mittelbar ist. Im Verhältnis des gelebten zum symbolisierten Leben spielt die Dialektik von phänomenalem Reichtum und begrifflicher Abstraktion deshalb eine entscheidende Rolle. William James hat dies unnachahmlich formuliert: „a simple conception is an equivalent for the world only so far as the world is simple; the world meanwhile, whatever simplicity it may harbor, being also a mightily complex affair“ (1992, 976). Der innere Zusammenhang zwischen weltanschaulichen Positionen und dem Lebensgefühl ihrer Schöpfer und Anhänger erzeugt ein Ausdrucksverhältnis zweiter Stufe: keine schlichte Expression, sondern eine Artikulation, die ihre eigenen Geltungsansprüche erzeugt. Und natürlich dreht die Simmelsche Achse sich immer weiter: Meine Weltanschauung verändert auch den Möglichkeitsspielraum meiner existentiellen Gefühle. Je artikulierter sie ist, desto freier wird das Selbst gegenüber dem unmittelbaren Andrang der Stimmungen, ohne sich doch je von ihnen lösen zu können: Die Freiheit, von der hier die Rede sein kann, ist immer situierte Freiheit, eine Auswahl innerhalb eines nicht gewählten Horizonts von Möglichkeiten. Die Gründe und Schlussfolgerungen, die einer Gesamtdeutung der Wirklichkeit Konsistenz und Kohärenz verleihen können, folgen daher nicht der Logik eines rein propositionalen Diskurses, in dem der zwanglose Zwang des besseren Arguments als Alleinherrscher auftritt. Sie sind eingebettet in die Kreisgänge des Selbst

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zwischen Erleben und Ausdruck, und der Grad, in dem sie zu überzeugen vermögen, wird auch von dem Ausmaß bestimmt, in dem sie diesem Selbst als stimmiger Ausdruck der erlebten Gestaltqualitäten erscheinen. Stimmigkeit in diesem Sinn kann aber nicht argumentativ erzeugt, sondern nur erlebt werden. William James und fast zeitgleich Wilhelm Dilthey haben solche und weitere Erwägungen zu einer Art von Metaphilosophie weiter geführt, in der Grundtypen symbolischer Generalisierung mit Grundformen philosophischer und religiöser Weltdeutungen in Zusammenhang gebracht werden. So stellt der von Ratcliffe nicht berücksichtigte Dilthey an den Anfang seiner Weltanschauungslehre die These: „Ganz allgemein angesehen kommt in der bloßen Form des philosophischen Denkens ein bestimmtes Gefühlsverhalten zum Ausdruck.“ (1960, 30 f.). Und schon lange vor Heidegger heißt es dann weiter: „Von einem Lebensbezug aus erhält das ganze Leben eine Färbung und Auslegung in den affektiven oder grüblerischen Seelen – die universalen Stimmungen entstehen. […] Diese Lebensstimmungen, die zahllosen Nuancen der Stellung zur Welt bilden die untere Schicht für die Ausbildung der Weltanschauungen“ (1960, 81 f.). In deren Verlauf kommt es aber zu einer Abstraktion und Typenbildung, durch die aus der Vielfalt existentieller Gefühle einige wenige Grundtypen gewonnen werden. Dieser Prozess exemplifiziert zunächst einfach die prinzipielle Differenz zwischen der Feinkörnigkeit des Erlebens und der Grobkörnigkeit seiner sprachlichen Identifizierung als wiederkehrender Typus. So können normale Hörer etwa 1400 verschiedene Tonhöhen phänomenal diskriminieren, aber diese dann nur etwa 80 verschiedenen Tonhöhenkategorien zuordnen (Raffman 1996, 348 f.). Indem nun die symbolische Artikulation übergreifende Merkmale existentieller Gefühle generalisierend heraushebt, zunächst in Narrationen und dann auch in diskursiver Argumentation, entstehen weltanschauliche Typen, die auf die kollektiven und individuellen Intentionalitätsformen zurückwirken und zu deren Vereinheitlichung beitragen. Auf der abstraktesten Ebene angekommen, kann man sich dann mit Dilthey an einer „Phänomenologie der philosophischen Systematik“ (1960, 37) versuchen, die drei Hauptformen philosophischer Systeme identifiziert: den Naturalismus, den Idealismus der Freiheit und den objektiven Idealismus. Ich greife hier, um den Ansatz deutlich zu machen, nur als Beispiel den objektiven Idealismus heraus, wie er in reiner Form für Dilthey z. B. von Hegel und Goethe verkörpert wird. Er besteht in einer Universalisierung humanspezifischer Werterfahrungen, in der wir „unser eigenes Lebensgefühl zum Mitgefühl mit dem Welt-

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ganzen erweitern“ (1960, 115). Damit wird, um es nochmals zu betonen, Philosophie keineswegs zwangsläufig auf den symptomatischen Ausdruck existentieller Gefühle reduziert.8 Der sachlogische Eigensinn der jeweiligen Systeme bleibt bestehen. Wohl aber wird darauf bestanden, dass nur zur Sprache kommen kann, was in der Unmittelbarkeit des erlebten Lebens zuvor gestalthaft präsent war. Diese Präsenz selbst kann aber, wie ich oben mit Deweys Hinweis auf die Situation als den unthematischen Hintergrund aller Thematisierung zeigen wollte, gerade nicht artikuliert werden. Beim Hin-und-Her zwischen Erleben und sprachlichem Ausdruck geht jeweils etwas verloren – die direkte Gegenwart von Bedeutsamkeit – und wird etwas gewonnen – die diskursive Klärung von Bedeutungen. Wie muß vor dem Hintergrund dieser Einsichten nun die Rangordnung der beiden Relate verstanden werden? William James hat sich mit diesem Thema intensiv beschäftigt, doch geht er hier m. E. einen kleinen, aber entscheidenden Schritt zu weit: „The truth is“, so schreibt er in den Varieties of Religious Experience, „that in the metaphysical and religious sphere articulate reasons are cogent for us only when our inarticulate feelings of reality have already been impressed in favor of the same conclusion“ (1990, 73 f.). James hat sicher darin recht, dass die Plausibilität artikulierter Gründe immer in den Kontext unseres qualitativen Denkens eingebettet ist. Eindrucksvoll lässt sich das z. B. an induktiven Schlüssen zeigen. Wie umfangreich ein bestimmtes Sample sein muss, bis wir gewillt sind, auf seiner Basis eine induktive Generalisierung vorzunehmen, können die Regeln schlussfolgernden Denkens nicht bestimmen, es hängt in hohem Maß von unserem ,Bauchgefühl’ ab. James’ Formulierung erweckt aber den irreführenden Eindruck, als ob, zumindest in weltanschaulichen Angelegenheiten, Argumente nur Sekundärrationalisierungen solcher Bauchgefühle wären. So zu reden, 8

Diesen Vorwurf erhebt beispielsweise Hans-Georg Gadamer, dessen Deutung zufolge in der „Diltheyschen Weltanschauungsphilosophie alle philosophische Erkenntnis nur noch den Sinn und Wert eines geschichtlichen Ausdrucks hat und insoweit mit der Kunst auf der gleichen Ebene steht, in der es um Echtheit und nicht um Wahrheit gehe“ (1972, 500). Dilthey ist in seinen Texten hinsichtlich der Geltungsfrage sehr unklar: Deutlich wird nur, dass er die Suche nach der einen, wahren Weltanschauung für vollständig obsolet hält, weil ein solcher Blick von Nirgendwo nicht menschenmöglich ist. Daraus folgt aber nicht, dass Weltanschauungen einen rein emotional-expressiven und nicht auch rationalgeltungsorientierten Charakter hätten. In einem interaktionistischen Modell markieren „Echtheit“ und „Wahrheit“ Akzentuierungen innerhalb einer Relation, die im Sinne eines internen Realismus Welt und Selbst immer schon verbunden hat.

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verkennt nicht nur die sachliche Eigenständigkeit der symbolischen, an normativen Geltungen orientierten Sphäre, es übersieht auch, dass uns existentielle Gefühle immer nur Mçglichkeitshorizonte erschließen. Solange diese unartikuliert bleiben, bleibt zwangsläufig unbestimmt, von was sie eigentlich handeln und von welchen symbolischen Handlungen sie am besten expliziert werden. Mit einer subtilen Unterscheidung von John Dewey könnte man sagen: James behandelt hier das artikulierte Denken so, als ob es bloß explizierte, was im qualitativen Erleben schon impliziert ist. Wie Dewey aber betont, ist das im Erleben Implizite gerade nicht schon impliziert. Wäre es so, müsste es nicht artikuliert – also nach Sinn und Referenz bestimmt –, sondern nur abgebildet werden. Damit würde die Macht der Sprache unter- und die Macht des Erlebens überschätzt. Existentielle Gefühle zeigen uns ja gerade, dass unser Bewusstsein von einem nur durch Sprache möglichen Bezug auf Totalität bestimmt ist. Weil wir aber verkörperte und deshalb fühlende Wesen bleiben, wurzeln noch die abstraktesten Weltanschauungen im existentiellen Erleben. Ohne Sprache könnten wir nie wissen, was wir meinen, doch ohne die qualitativen Gestalten des Erlebens gäbe es wiederum nichts, von dem wir meinen könnten, wir sollten es zur Sprache bringen.

Bibliographie Damasio, Antonio (1999): The Feeling of What Happens. Body and Emotion in the Making of Consciousness. New York: Harcourt Brace & Company. Dewey, John (1930): Qualitative Thought. In: Hickman, Larry A./Alexander, Thomas M. (Hgg.): The Essential Dewey. Vol. 1: Pragmatism, Education, Democracy. Bloomington: Indiana University Press 1998, 195 – 205. Dilthey, Wilhelm (1960): Weltanschauungslehre. Abhandlungen zur Philosophie der Philosophie. In: Gründer, Karlfried (Hg.): Gesammelte Schriften, Bd. 8. 2. unveränderte Auflage, Leipzig: Teubner. Donald, Merlin (2001): A Mind so Rare. The Evolution of Human Consciousness. New York/London: W.W. Norton & Company. Ekman, Paul (2004): Gefhle Lesen. Wie Sie Emotionen erkennen und richtig interpretieren. München: Spektrum Akademischer Verlag. Fuchs, Thomas (2009): Leben und Selbsterleben. Organische Grundlagen des Bewusstseins. (Ms.) Gadamer, Hans-Georg (1972): Hermeneutik und Historismus. In: ders.: Wahrheit und Methode. Grundzge einer philosophischen Hermeneutik. Tübingen: Mohr/Siebeck. Gallagher, Shaun (2005): How the Body Shapes the Mind. Oxford/NewYork: Clarendon Press.

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Gallagher, Shaun/Zahavi, Dan (2008): The Phenomenological Mind. An Introduction to Philosophy of Mind and Cognitive Science. London/New York: Routledge. James, William (1990): The Varieties of Religious Experience. New York: The Library of America. James, William (1992): The Sentiment of Rationality. In: Myers, Gerald E. (Hg.). Writings 1878 – 1899. New York: The Library of America, 950 – 985. Lakoff, George/Johnson, Mark (2003): Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: Chicago University Press. McLaughlin, Peter (2008): Funktion und Bewusstsein. In: Ganten, Detlev/ Gerhardt, Volker/Nida-Rümelin, Julian (Hgg.): Funktionen des Bewusstseins (Humanprojekt 2). Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 21 – 38. Misch, Georg (1994): Der Aufbau der Logik auf dem Boden der Philosophie des Lebens. Gçttinger Vorlesungen ber Logik und Einleitung in die Theorie des Wissens. Freiburg/München: Alber. Noë, Alva (2004): Action in Perception. Cambridge Mass.: The MIT Press. Nussbaum, Martha C. (2001): Upheavals of Thought. The Intelligence of Emotions. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Plessner, Helmuth (1975): Die Stufen des Organischen und der Mensch. Berlin/New York: de Gruyter. Raffman, Diana (1996): Über die Beharrlichkeit der Phänomenologie. In: Metzinger, Thomas (Hg.): Bewusstsein. Beitrge aus der Gegenwartsphilosophie. Paderborn: Schöningh, 347 – 366. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2005): The Feeling of Being. In: Journal of Consciousness Studies 12, 43 – 60. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2008): Feelings of Being. Phenomenology, Psychiatry and the Sense of Reality. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schopenhauer, Arthur (1977): Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung. In: Toman, Rolf (Hg.): Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, Bd. 2, Erster Teilband. Zürich: Diogenes. Simmel, Georg (1999): Lebensanschauung. Vier metaphysische Kapitel. In: Fitzi, Gregor/Rammstedt, Otthein (Hgg.): Der Krieg und die geistigen Entscheidungen. Grundfragen der Soziologie. Vom Wesen des historischen Verstehens. Der Konflikt der modernen Kultur. Lebensanschauung, Bd. 16. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 209 – 425. Thompson, Evan (2007): Mind in Life. Biology, Phenomenology and the Sciences of Mind. Cambridge Mass./London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Tomasello, Michael (2008): Origins of Human Communication. Cambridge Mass./ London: MIT-Press. Tugendhat, Ernst (1976): Vorlesungen zur Einfhrung in die sprachanalytische Philosophie. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Tugendhat, Ernst (2006): Egozentrizitt und Mystik. Eine anthropologische Studie. München: C.H. Beck.

Bilder des Todes und Formen der Lebendigkeit Das Gefühl des Lebendigseins zwischen Empfindung und symbolischer Artikulation

Sabine Marienberg Abstract: Being aware of our mortality is a necessary precondition for experiencing feelings of being alive to arise. The same holds true for our notion of life’s preciousness, its worthiness of being preserved, its pointlessness, or the assumption that it should be conducted in a certain way. As death presents the unfathomable threat of our possibly not being there anymore, the tentatives for trying to grasp the complementarity of life and death are numerous and mighty. It’s the multifarious forms by which this relation is articulated that coin the specifically human experience of being alive.

1. Grenzerfahrungen Bevor der neunjährige Walt in Paul Austers Mr. Vertigo die Fähigkeit des Fliegens erwirbt, muss er sich einer Reihe grausamer Prüfungen unterziehen. Die folgenreichste besteht darin, vierundzwanzig Stunden lebendig begraben und nur mit einem kleinen Atemschlauch versorgt in einem Erdloch zu verbringen. Während die Zeit in völliger Dunkelheit und Bewegungslosigkeit sich noch halbwegs ertragen lässt, entfaltet sich nach der Befreiung die eigentliche Wirkung der Tortur: Der wahre Horror beginnt erst später, wenn man, nachdem man ausgegraben wurde, aufstehen und wieder umhergehen kann. Von da an ist alles, was man oben erlebt, mit diesen unter der Erde verbrachten Stunden verbunden. Ein Saatkorn des Wahnsinns ist dir in den Kopf gepflanzt worden; den Kampf ums Überleben magst du gewonnen haben, aber fast alles andere hast du verloren. Der Tod lebt in dir, er zerfrisst deine Unschuld und deine Hoffnungen, und am Ende bleibt dir nichts als die Erde, die kompakte Masse der Erde, die immerwährende Macht und der Triumph der Erde (Auster 1996, 51).

Doch nicht nur der Tod, sondern auch das bislang bloß vollzogene Erleben der Welt wird durch das Erlittene erstmals zum Gegenstand der Beschreibung: Die Welt, obschon nun „unaussprechlich viel schöner“ als

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zuvor (ebd.), erscheint mit einem Mal eigentümlich gestaltlos, fragil und trügerisch, kurz: so kostbar wie unwirklich. Die Sicht auf das Wandelbare und Bewegliche (und auf das sich darin Bewegen) wird zugleich mit ihrem Gegenteil gewonnen. Mit der Bestimmung des Lebendigseins als die Fähigkeit, sich selbst und andere(s) bewegen zu können, steht Walt ganz in der platonisch-aristotelischen Tradition. Möglich wird ihm diese Einsicht jedoch erst durch die Erfahrung nahezu vollständiger Passivität – ein Erlebnis, das ihn fortan seine Handlungen als Handlungen in einer Welt sehen lässt, die angesichts des Todes gar nicht anders als fragwürdig sein kann. So fragwürdig wie das Handeln selbst, dessen Stillgestelltsein durch Widerfahrnisse innerhalb des Lebens das unausweichliche Ende allen eigenen Tätigseins vorausahnen lässt. Es ist die Komplementarität von Tun und Erleiden, Bewegen und Bewegtwerden, die den Menschen als lebendig und sterblich zugleich charakterisiert.1 Wer aber um die eigene Endlichkeit – im Kleinen wie im Großen – nicht auch weiß, dem scheint das Leben weder wertvoll noch bewahrenswert. „Die Wilden sträuben sich ebensowenig gegen den Tod wie die Tiere und erdulden ihn fast ohne Klage“, schreibt Rousseau im Emile (Rousseau 1971, 59). Umgekehrt wird Borges’ Unsterblicher, nachdem er vom Wasser des ewigen Lebens getrunken hat, immer mehr zu einem apathischen Wesen, das allmählich Sprache und Erinnerung, vor allem aber das Interesse an sich und der Welt verliert. Für ihn und seinesgleichen ist nichts mehr von Bedeutung. Gleichgültig dahindämmernd in einer anfangs- und endlosen Abfolge von Ereignissen kennen sie weder Mitleid noch die Sorge um sich selbst, weder Einmaligkeit noch Rituale: „Das Elegische, das Ernste, das Zeremoniöse hat keine Macht über die Unsterblichen“ (Borges 2000, 262). Versteht man das Ernste und Zeremoniöse als konventionalisierte Weisen, sich etwas Einzelnes zugleich mit seiner Bedeutung zu vergegenwärtigen, so kommt auch gemeinschaftlichen Vorstellungen und Symbolisierungen von Geschehnissen eine in diesem Sinne rituelle Funktion zu. Zwar erfüllen sie diese nicht als weitgehend unveränderlich ablaufende Aufführungen des betreffenden Zusammenhangs, doch richten sie 1

Vgl. Platon (1990, 67 f/245c) „Denn das ,stets Bewegte‘ ist unsterblich, was aber anderes bewegt und selbst von anderem bewegt wird und also ,einen Abschnitt‘ der Bewegung hat, hat auch ,einen Abschnitt‘ des Lebens.“

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sich ebenfalls darauf, etwas mitunter nur schwer zu Bestimmendes schematisch zugänglich werden zu lassen.2 Unter solchen kaum fassbaren Ereignissen im menschlichen Leben nehmen Geburt und Tod nicht nur deshalb eine besondere Stellung ein, weil sie dessen geheimnisvolle Grenze markieren. Sie unterscheiden sich von anderen existentiell bedeutsamen Vorgängen auch insofern, als sie von denjenigen, an denen sie sich vollziehen, prinzipiell nicht erfahren werden können – sie stoßen ihnen zu, ohne dass die geringste Möglichkeit bestünde, sie wissend zu erleben. Und während der Vorgang der eigenen Geburt später immerhin noch in den Erzählungen anderer zugänglich werden kann, ist der Tod absolutes Widerfahrnis, mit dem auf keine Weise nachträglich umgegangen werden kann – die Negation nicht nur bestimmter Handlungsmöglichkeiten, sondern des Handeln-könnens überhaupt. Entsprechend zahlreich und gewaltig sind die Bemühungen, diese Ungeheuerlichkeit in einen symbolischen Zusammenhang zu bringen, der den Tod zu begreifen erlaubt, sei es als zum Leben gehörig oder ihm radikal gegenüberstehend. Und es sind die vielfältigen Formen, in denen dieser Zusammenhang dargestellt wird oder sich zeigt, die das spezifisch menschliche Gefühl des Lebendigseins konstituieren. Dazu gehören wissenschaftliche und philosophische Theoretisierungen ebenso wie theologische Sinnstiftungen, literarische Figuren und bildliche Darstellungen ebenso wie gemeinschaftliche Praktiken.

2. Tod und Leben in biologischer Hinsicht Zwar lässt sich der Tod eines Individuums spätestens nach dem Erlöschen sämtlicher Zellaktivitäten rückblickend feststellen, der Augenblick seines Eintritts ist jedoch alles andere als eindeutig definiert. Statt mit einer feststehenden Tatsache hat man es vielmehr mit dem Problem zu tun, ein allmähliches Geschehen ab einem gewissen Moment für unumkehrbar zu erklären. Und je genauer man diesen zu bestimmen versucht (eine im Hinblick auf die Freigabe zur Organentnahme, die Abschaltung von Beatmungsgeräten oder die Verständigung des Bestatters schwerwie2

Dies betrifft singuläre Ereignisse ebenso wie ein erhofftes oder gefürchtetes Geschehen oder auch natürliche Abläufe, die beispielsweise in der zeitlichen Gliederung ihrer symbolischen Darstellung artikulierbar werden können. Hiermit ist natürlich nur ein kleiner Teilbereich ritueller bzw. symbolischer Handlungen angesprochen.

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gende Entscheidung), desto wandelbarer und umstrittener sind die dafür herangezogenen Indizien. Zählten bis vor einigen Jahrzehnten noch Herzstillstand und Aussetzen der Atmung zu den sogenannten sicheren Todeszeichen, gilt mit den Fortschritten der Reanimationstechnik, der lebensverlängernden und nicht zuletzt der Transplantationsmedizin inzwischen der Hirntod als rechtsverbindliches Todeskriterium, wobei die Standards und Rahmenbedingungen seiner Diagnose Gegenstand fortwährender Debatten sind. Einige Medizinethiker fordern unterdessen, nicht erst den Ausfall aller Hirnfunktionen, sondern bereits den irreversiblen Verlust des Bewusstseins als hinreichend anzusehen. Und während in einzelnen Bundesstaaten der USA in Patientenverfügungen der eigene Hirntod als Anlass zur Feststellung des Todeseintritts abgelehnt werden kann, bedarf es in Japan dazu einer ausdrücklichen Zustimmung. Angesichts der aussichtslosen Suche nach einer allgemein verbindlichen Definition plädieren beispielsweise Brody und Halevy dafür, den Gedanken an eine klare Trennungslinie zwischen Leben und Tod aufzugeben und stattdessen verschiedene Kriterien als maßgeblich für verschiedene rechtliche und soziale Konsequenzen im Umgang mit Sterbenden bzw. Verstorbenen anzusetzen (Brody und Halevy 1993, 523 f.). Die Akzentuierung der gesellschaftlichen Dimension verdeutlicht, dass die Entscheidung darüber, ab wann man es nicht mehr mit einer Person, sondern mit einem Leichnam zu tun hat und wie mit diesem verfahren werden darf, nicht nur wissenschaftlich und wissenschaftshistorisch, sondern in einem weiteren Sinn geschichtlich und kulturell fundiert ist. Die Frage, was ein Menschenleben ausmacht, wann man es als beendet ansieht und wie gegebenenfalls zwischen Organismus, Individuum und Person zu unterscheiden sei, lässt sich nicht allein im Hinblick auf den jeweils neuesten Stand naturwissenschaftlichen Wissens beantworten. Sie verlangt vielmehr eine Einbeziehung philosophischer, weltanschaulicher, rechtlicher und politischer Überlegungen. Dabei schwingen in jeder dieser Sphären durchaus unterschiedliche Interessen am Umgang mit Sterbenden mit: Dem mentalistisch veranlagten Philosophen ist er womöglich ein zweifelhafter Träger von Bewusstsein, dem Kirchenvertreter eine schutzbefohlene Seele, der Ärztekammer ein potentieller Organspender, den Angehörigen ein geliebter Mensch, den man nicht verlieren möchte – oder wie Dolf Sternberger einmal lapidar formuliert hat: „Jeder Tote ist jemandes Toter“ (Sternberger 1981, 25). Während die Definitionen des Todes auf die des Lebens gegründet sind, wird der biologische Lebensbegriff in Abgrenzung vom Unbelebten im

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Allgemeinen zu bestimmen versucht. Doch auch darüber, welche allgemeinen Merkmale ein lebendes System ausmachen, gehen die Auffassungen auseinander – bis hin zu der Frage, inwieweit ein Bakterien, Tiere und Menschen gleichermaßen umfassender Begriff des Lebens eigentlich sinnvoll ist. Auch ohne die betreffenden Diskussionen im Einzelnen nachzuverfolgen kann man aber fragen, ob jemand, der sich lebendig fühlt, dieses Gefühl überhaupt in Abhängigkeit von der biologischen Unterscheidung lebendig/tot bzw. belebt/unbelebt entwickelt. Eine Grenzerfahrung in Form der Gefährdung des eigenen Lebens ist eher ein Ausnahmefall. Und sogar diejenigen, die ihr eigenes Überleben in einer solchen Situation emphatisch als zweite Geburt beschreiben, denken selbst wenn sie über das nötige theoretische Wissen verfügen vermutlich nicht an Hirnströme, Metabolismus oder Mutagenität. Dass das Gefühl lebendig zu sein sich gemeinhin nicht allein in biologischer Perspektive entfaltet, gilt auch, wenn man es mit den von Achim Stephan beschriebenen nicht-elementaren existentiellen Gefühlen zu tun hat, sich also zum Beispiel müde oder voller Energie, ins Leben einbezogen oder bedroht und ausgegrenzt fühlt (s. Stephan in diesem Band). Eher als mit Blutdruck, Hautwiderstand und Pulsfrequenz wird man solche Gefühle mit den eigenen Möglichkeiten des Wahrnehmens und Agierens in Verbindung bringen. Wenn man feststellt, dass man einen längeren Lauf mit größerer Leichtigkeit bewältigt als im Jahr zuvor oder vor lauter Erschöpfung seltsam teilnahmslos auf einem Fest herumsteht, wird man seiner physischen Verfassung und seiner Empfindungen nicht bloß um ihrer selbst Willen gewahr, sondern im Hinblick auf ihre handlungsermöglichende oder -verhindernde Funktion. Dementsprechend urteilt schon Rousseau: „Leben ist nicht atmen; leben ist handeln, d. h. von unseren Organen, Sinnen, Fähigkeiten, von allen unseren Bestandteilen Gebrauch zu machen. Sie geben uns das Gefühl, daß wir existieren“ (Rousseau 1971, 15).

3. Hintergründe Schon von einem Gefühl des Lebendigseins im Hinblick auf bodily feelings (vgl. Ratcliffe in diesem Band) kann allerdings nur dann die Rede sein, wenn damit mehr gemeint ist als das bloße Spüren eines unbestimmten körperlichen Erregungszustands. Soll dieser Zustand Anlass der Selbstzuschreibung von Lebendigkeit sein, muss er im Rahmen von Kenntnissen über unterschiedliche körperliche Zustände und ihren

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symptomatischen Charakter gedeutet werden können. Dies kann zwar ein Wissen über physiologische Sachverhalte einschließen, aber ebensogut kann es sich um ein praktisches Vertrautsein mit der eigenen leiblichen Verfasstheit handeln, die verschiedene Empfindungen auf verschiedene Formen und Intensitäten des Sich-lebendig-fühlens zu beziehen erlaubt. Dass ein solches Gefühl beispielsweise gegenüber dem Verspüren des eigenen Herzschlags oder einer raschen und tiefen Atmung eine Abstraktion darstellt, bedeutet nicht, dass die Empfindungen ihrer Wahrnehmung als Anzeichen von Lebendigkeit stets voraus gehen müssen; doch genausowenig stellen sie sich immer nur nachträglich infolge propositionaler Einstellungen ein. Beide sind vielmehr in der Erfahrung als aufeinander bezogen gegeben und können erst rückblickend als deren sinnliche und kognitive Seite voneinander isoliert werden.3 Ratcliffe zufolge sind existentielle Gefühle, zu denen das des Lebendigseins zweifellos gehört, von einer unlösbaren Verbindung von physischem Empfinden und Weltbezug charakterisiert, die als basale Hintergrundorientierung all unsere Erfahrungen strukturiert: Existential feelings are both ,feelings of the body‘ and ,ways of finding oneself in a world‘. By a ,way of finding oneself in the world‘, I mean a sense of reality of self and world, which is inextricable from a changeable feeling of relatedness between body and world. […] They are not directed at specific objects or situations but are background orientations through which experience as a whole is structured (Ratcliffe 2008, 2).

Doch so, wie leibliche Empfindungen erst im Rahmen bestimmter Deutungen Gefühle des Lebendigseins konstituieren, entwickeln sich auch Weisen der Welterfahrung im Kontext eines jeweiligen Vorverständnisses dessen, was unser In-der-Welt-sein ausmacht: Das unser Erleben strukturierende Hintergrundgefühl ist seinerseits strukturiert durch kulturell vermittelte Auffassungen des menschlichen Lebens. Natürlich kann man sich gegen ein solches Vorverständnis wenden, es anzweifeln, differenzieren, verwerfen, oder auch etwas unter der Chiffre des Lebendigseins erleben, das im Programm bislang nicht vorgesehen war; wie auch anders sollte es sich wandeln. Allerdings sind gewohnheitsmäßige Auffassungen oft derart selbstverständlich, dass sie nahezu unbemerkt wirksam sind. Das lässt die 3

Vgl. hierzu auch Christoph Demmerling, der in Bezug auf die Individuierung von Gefühlen gegen den Primat entweder propositionaler Einstellungen oder körperlicher Erregungsmuster für eine Gleichursprünglichkeit leiblicher, phänomenaler und kognitiver Anteile argumentiert (Demmerling 2007, 22 f.).

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Funktion der Hintergrundorientierung als unterscheidendes Charakteristikum existentieller Gefühle fragwürdig erscheinen. Die Rede vom Vorder- und Hintergrund des Erlebens kann offenbar Kenntnisse, Einstellungen und Gefühle gleichermaßen betreffen und scheint mehr eine Frage der Aufmerksamkeit oder des Ausgesprochenseins zu sein, als dass sie eine klare Unterscheidung zwischen kognitiven und sinnlichen Aspekten begünstigt.4 Existentielle Gefühle nun wiederum so weit zu fassen, dass auch implizites Wissen oder Meinen darunter fällt, würde den Begriff nur noch vager werden lassen. Ein Ausweg könnte darin liegen, ihre weiteren Bestimmungen – nämlich a) bodily feelings zu sein und b) auf unser gesamtes Weltverhältnis einzuwirken – hinzuzunehmen in der Hoffnung, dass sie zumindest gemeinsam ein hinreichendes Abgrenzungskriterium für das Vorliegen existentieller Gefühle liefern. Dass stillschweigende Annahmen über unser Dasein von keinerlei körperlichen Empfindungen begleitet sind, ist kaum anzunehmen. Ebensowenig, wie dass wir überhaupt jemals keine sinnlichen Eindrücke unseres Körpers hätten – von denen wir zudem, wie Ratcliffe etwas unbestimmt feststellt, bloß „at least some awareness“ haben müssen (Ratcliffe 2008, 2). Bliebe noch das letztgenannte Kennzeichen: Dass existentielle Gefühle unser Erleben nicht nur teilweise, sondern umfassend beeinflussen, indem sie unsere Erfahrung als Ganze strukturieren. Zu fragen wäre demnach, ob es vergleichbar einflussreiche Überzeugungen5 oder Wissenformen gibt, die jemandes Handeln und Wahrnehmen bisweilen zwar unerkannt leiten, sich aber rekonstruieren ließen. Gemeint sein kann hier offensichtlich nicht, dass etwas – ob Gefühl, Auffassung, Glaube oder Wissen – diese hintergründige Macht beständig und in jeder Hinsicht ausübt. Auch bei den von Ratcliffe angeführten Beispielen existentieller Gefühle wie etwa solchen der Unwirklichkeit, Vertrautheit, Fremdheit, Leere, Isolation oder Zugehörigkeit (s. Ratcliffe in diesem Band), handelt

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Es ist im Übrigen keine Voraussetzung von Hintergrundorientierungen, dass sie prinzipiell unzugänglich sind. Wer verstanden hat, dass er harmlosen und gefährlichen Situationen unterschiedslos mit Furcht begegnet, hört deshalb nicht unbedingt auf sich zu fürchten. Ratcliffe lässt die Möglichkeit, dass Überzeugungen und existential feelings ineinander übergehen, zwar offen, geht ihr aber nicht weiter nach.

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es sich um solche, nach denen sich oft nur in bestimmten Lebensphasen alle Erfahrungen ausrichten.6 Sucht man nach Vorannahmen, die unsere Lebendigkeit betreffen und die eine zeitlang – mitunter auch lebenslang – unser gesamtes Erleben prägen, so wird man wiederum seltener bei der konträren Gegenüberstellung von Leben und Tod fündig, als vielmehr dort, wo diese weitere Fragen nach sich zieht – etwa nach einem guten, gerechten, gelingenden, erfüllten, gottgefälligen, flüchtigen, eitlen oder vergeblichen Leben. Oder nach einem unbarmherzigen, gnädigen, gleichgültig niedermähenden, endgültigen oder vorläufigen Tod. Zwar muss die Tatsache, dass wir lebendig sind, trivialerweise für jede unserer Handlungen vorausgesetzt werden; doch ist es das Leben in seinem biographischen statt in seinem natürlichen Verlauf, das Wie der Lebensform als ganzer, deren Licht sich über andere Erfahrungen breitet.

4. Das Leben als Aufgabe – ars vitae und ars moriendi Im Deutschen können wir zwischen ,Leben‘ als dem Vollzug vitaler Abläufe und ,Erleben‘ als den auf die Gegenstände unserer Erfahrung gerichteten psychischen Akten unterscheiden.7 Auch trennen wir zwischen dem ,Leib‘ als Träger von Lebensvollzügen und dem ,Körper‘ als dessen Vergegenständlichung. Eine sprachliche Differenz zwischen dem Leben in natürlicher Hinsicht und dem Leben als zu gestaltendem Lebenslauf gibt es jedoch nicht. Die Griechen dagegen kannten hierfür die Ausdrücke ,zo‘ und ,bios‘; und wenn die Unerscheidung anfangs auch noch nicht in aller Deutlichkeit den von Borsche konstatierten „ursprünglichen Riß in unserem Begriff des Lebens“ markiert (Borsche

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„[…] existential feelings vary in all sorts of subtle ways from person to person and from time to time“ (Ratcliffe 2008, 7). In der bisherigen Literatur meines Wissens nicht ausführlich behandelt ist die Frage, ob ein solcherart jede Erfahrung einfärbendes existential feeling denn jeweils nur eines ist, oder ob sich mehrere von ihnen überlagern können (was zu schwer analysierbaren Farbmischungen führen würde). Dies mag daran liegen, dass sie ohnehin vor allem dann thematisiert werden, wenn sie die Teilnahme am Leben einschränken oder verhindern und man sie in therapeutischer Absicht zu identifizieren versucht (s. hierzu auch Abschnitt 6). Vgl. den Aufsatz von Thomas Fuchs in diesem Band, der ganz diesem Zusammenhang gewidmet ist.

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1997, 246),8 so ist ohne diese Gegenüberstellung doch nicht vorstellbar, warum das Leben, über das pure Überleben hinaus, überhaupt zum Problem werden sollte. Was diejenigen, denen das Leben problematisch geworden ist umtreibt, ist nicht instinktive Todesangst, nicht „wortlos ererbte Erinnerung […] und zweckmäßiger Schrecken vor etwas, was Menschen bei Menschen Tod nennen“ (Mauthner 1910, 469). Es sind Hoffnungen und Wünsche, Ziele und Aufgaben, samt der Sorge, dass sie womöglich unerfüllt bleiben.

4.1 Leben-kçnnen Die philosophische Frage nach einem glücklichen und erfüllten Leben – nicht zu verwechseln mit Strategien der Luststeigerung und der Jagd nach wechselnden Genüssen – war vornehmlich eine des antiken Denkens und spielte in nachfolgenden Jahrhunderten gegenüber den Sollensethiken kaum eine Rolle.9 In Aristoteles’ Nikomachischer Ethik stehen ein glückliches und ein im ethischen Sinne gutes Leben nicht im Widerspruch zueinander: Das glückselige Leben ist dasjenige, das dem Menschen am gemäßesten ist, und dieses besteht in tugendhaften Handlungen und, vor allem, im Tätigsein der Vernunft. Der Tod nun wird nicht als solcher, sondern vielmehr im Rahmen von Ausführungen zur tugendhaft-vernünftigen Lebensführung behandelt, und zwar hauptsächlich in den Abschnitten zur Tapferkeit im 3. Buch. Obschon er für Aristoteles den größten aller Schrecken darstellt, insofern mit ihm alles endet,10 gilt es im Gegensatz zu Platons Annahme eines Totengerichts oder zur stoischen meditatio mortis weniger, diesem Schrecken einen Sinn beizulegen, als darum, die rechte Haltung ihm gegenüber einzunehmen. Diese besteht darin, ihm zwar nicht tollkühn, aber furchtlos entgegenzusehen, insbesondere wenn man sein Leben für eine gerechte oder ruhmreiche Sache lässt, und verächtlich werden diejenigen erwähnt, die den Tod mehr 8 Mauthner zufolge handelt es sich bei der erst allmählich sich durchsetzenden griechischen Bedeutungsunterscheidung um einen vor allem sprachlich motivierten Versuch, die ursprüngliche Synonymität der Ausdrücke aus dem Weg zu räumen (Mauthner 1910, 52 f.). 9 Vgl. hierzu ausführlich Kamlah 1972, 145 ff. 10 „Was am meisten Furcht erregt, ist aber der Tod. Denn er ist ein Ende, und nach üblicher Auffassung gibt es für den Toten kein Gut oder Übel mehr“ (Aristoteles 2006, 113/1115a).

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fürchten als ein unwürdiges Leben.11 Auch führt der Mensch kein gutes Leben, weil er sterben muss, sondern im Gegenteil wird ihm der Gedanke an den Tod umso schmerzlicher sein, je besser er gelebt hat und je glücklicher er sich darum schätzt.12 Aristoteles gilt nur der geistige Teil der Seele als unsterblich, und dieser auch nur, insofern er Tätigkeit, enrgeia ist. Seine Vorstellung einer unsterblichen Bewegung des Denkens geht jedoch nicht, wie bei Platon, mit einer Geringschätzung des Körpers einher; im Gegenteil zählen ihm Gesundheit, Sportlichkeit und Schönheit zu den Gütern des Lebens. Diese körperlichen Güter sind einerseits Zufallsgaben, andererseits aber auch der menschlichen Verantwortung unterstellt: Die Ausformung des Lebens als zo ist eine Angelegenheit des bios. Ein solcher Einfluss von Auffassungen gelungener Lebensführung auf die Gestaltung der eigenen Physis gilt im Übrigen auch für unsere Zeit, sei es als moderne Askese in Fastenkuren und Reinigungsritualen, sei es als Befolgung „vernünftiger“ Ernährungspläne und der Suche nach dem „rechten Maß“, oder auch in Form der Vergötzung schierer Vitalität und physischen Wohlbefindens – der hingebungsvollen Aufwendungen also, die man seinem eigenen Körper angedeihen lässt und die im Begriff des ,Körperkults‘ so treffend auf den Punkt gebracht sind. Statt um die Modellierung des zum zon objektivierten eigenen Körpers geht es bei Aristoteles jedoch darum, zwei den beiden unterschiedlichen Seelenteilen entsprechende Prinzipien miteinander in Beziehung zu setzen: Das des vegetativen Seelenteils, den der Mensch mit den Tieren gemeinsam hat und der die Ursache von Wachstum und Ernährung ist, und das des vernünftigen. Tatsächlich sind diese Verbindungen in der Nikomachischen Ethik weitaus vielfältiger und über weitere, zwar nicht vernünftige aber der Vernunft zugängliche Seelenteile miteinander vermittelt (Aristoteles 2006, 70 ff./1102b f.). Entscheidender im Hinblick auf das Lebensverständnis ist aber, dass diese 11 Zur völligen Gleichgültigkeit gesteigert findet sich diese Haltung im bekannten epikureischen Diktum, dass der Tod uns gar nicht betrifft, da wenn wir da sind der Tod nicht da ist und umgekehrt. 12 Auch in der griechischen Mythologie gibt es den Gedanken an eine Rechtfertigung des eigenen Lebens angesichts des Todes nicht. Der Hades ist zwar ein unwirtlicher, lichtloser Ort, doch ist der Aufenthalt dort weder Lohn noch Strafe. Nur wer sich in unerhörter Weise mit den Göttern anzulegen wagt, wird in den Tartaros verbannt, und nur besonders Auserwählte gelangen ins Elysium. Ansonsten ist der Hades von den Schatten der Vernünftigen und Unvernünftigen und der Guten und Schlechten gleichermaßen bewohnt.

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Bestandteile nicht gegenständlich gefasst sind, sondern in der Art vorgestellt werden, wie sie sich tätig aufeinander beziehen – ja mehr noch, in anthropomorphisierender Perspektive davon die Rede ist, dass sie einander Widerstand leisten oder gehorchen. So wie die Natur beseelt vorgestellt wird und mythologisch die menschlichen Belange und ihre (handelnden, liebenden, streitenden, Rache übenden, verzeihenden) göttlichen Personifikationen überhaupt nicht voneinander zu trennen sind, wird auch „das Leben“ nicht vom Lebendigen isoliert, sondern dort betrachtet, wo es sich als Lebendiges in seiner Bewegung zeigt.13

4.2 Lebenszeit und Todesstunde Man kann die aristotelische Behandlung des Leben-kçnnens exemplarisch mit spätmittelalterlichen christlichen Vorstellungen eines gottgefälligen Lebens kontrastieren, die sich vor allem am Gedanken des individuellen Gerichts und der Verantwortung begangener Sünden orientierten. Natürlich können die zeitlich weit auseinanderliegenden und so verschiedenen Erfahrungswelten hier nicht historisch entfaltet, sondern nur in ihrer Divergenz angedeutet werden. Betrachtet man sie jedoch hinsichtlich der Verflechtungen von Todes- und Lebensauffassungen, so ergibt sich auch in flüchtiger Skizzierung, dass die Jenseitsvorstellungen hier wie dort sowohl aus dem Leben genommen sind als auch auf es zurückwirken. Besonders augenfällig ist diese Verbindung in der zunehmenden Institutionalisierung des Fegefeuers, die ab dem Ende des 12. Jahrhunderts bestimmend für die Bußpraxis wurde. Im Fegefeuer mussten all diejenigen auf den Zutritt zum Himmelreich warten, die zwar reuig gestorben waren, zu Lebzeiten jedoch nicht mehr für ihre Sünden Abbitte leisten konnten (vgl. hierzu und zum Folgenden Le Goff 1990, 200 ff.). Maßgeblicher als die räumliche Ausschmückung des Ortes schien zunächst allerdings die plötzlich mögliche Sicht auf die Wartezeit als eine ganz direkt in kirchliche Einnahmen und klerikale Macht umzumünzende Größe. Im bald florierenden Ablasshandel wurde mit geradezu buchhalterischer Pedanterie je nach Art der Vergehen und Ausmaß der Bußbereitschaft die jeweilige Verweildauer ermittelt. Die Folge waren weitreichende Veränderungen sowohl in der Bewertung des Umgangs mit Geld, als auch in den Beziehungen zwischen Toten und Lebenden. 13 „Es wäre den Griechen kaum eingefallen, Begriffe wie ,Leben‘ in einem Wörterbuch der Philosophie zu definieren“, bemerkt Mauthner (1910, 52).

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Denn nachdem die bußfertigen Sünder im Idealfall schon zu Lebzeiten ihre Habe der Kirche vermacht hatten, waren es ihre Angehörigen, die ihnen durch Spenden, Totenmessen und Gebete die Dauer der Läuterung verkürzen und nicht zuletzt eine drohende Wiederkehr der leidenden Seelen abwenden konnten.14 Diese neuartige zeitliche Vermessung des Bußgeschehens geht einher mit einer ebenfalls veränderten zeitlichen Auffassung heilsgeschichtlich bedeutsamer Phasen und Stationen: Einerseits wird die schon im antiken Denken angelegte lebenslange meditatio mortis zunehmend zur Angelegenheit eines kurzen Moments, nämlich der Todesstunde, in der über das gesamte Leben Bilanz gezogen wird.15 Andererseits wird die Zeit der Abbitte zu einem individuell kalkulierbaren Abschnitt, der sich nach diesseitigem Maß in Jahren, Tagen, Stunden berechnen lässt. Wie Le Goff in seiner Studie zum Fegefeuer gezeigt hat, waren es nicht zuletzt gesellschaftliche und ökonomische Entwicklungen wie der Ausbau und die Festigung von Handelsbeziehungen, das Aufkommen der Stadtkultur und der steigende Geldbedarf der Kirche, die zur Instrumentalisierung des Purgatoriums beitrugen. Zu denken ist aber auch an den generellen Wandel des Zeitverständnisses infolge zunehmender astronomischer und mathematischer Kenntnisse sowie an die Fortschritte in der Konstruktion von Zeitmessern – von den Sanduhren bis zu den (erstmals nicht mehr analogen) Uhren mit Räderwerk.16 Die so artikulierte Zeit war zwar immer noch eine der konkreten Abläufe: So maß die Sanduhr unter anderem die Dauer von Predigt und Gebet und die ersten mechanischen Uhren schlugen an Kirchtürmen. Doch lassen sich die neuzeitlichen äquidistanten Einheiten schon vorausahnen. Interessant ist in diesem Zusammenhang auch die Beobachtung Ariès’, dass die theologisch festgelegte Symbolisierung des Fegefeuers lange Zeit ikonographisch verweigert wurde und zu einer bildlichen Form erst fand, als der Ort der Qual zum Vorraum des Himmels um14 Vorstellungen eines unterweltlichen Zwischenreichs finden sich schon bei Tertullian, doch waren die dort erlittenen Qualen nicht Reinigung, sondern Strafe – und vor allem gab es keine derart gewinnbringende dogmatische Verankerung dieser Interimsperiode (vgl. Merkt 2005, 37 ff.). 15 Zu den Veränderungen in der Wahrnehmung der hora mortis und deren Folgen für die artes moriendi vgl. Ariès 1982, 123 ff.; 381 ff. 16 Im 24. Gesang von Dantes Divina Commedia kreisen sogar die tanzenden Seelen im Paradies nach dem Vorbild der gerade erst erfundenen Räderuhren in unterschiedlichen Umdrehungsgeschwindigkeiten (Dante Alighieri 1988, 283/Par. XXIV, 11 – 18).

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gedeutet wurde, in dem die nur noch mäßig gepeinigten Seelen bis zum postmortalen Wiedersehen mit ihren Lieben durch Gebete in Kontakt stehen konnten (Ariès 1984, 170 ff.).17 Aus dem bisher Gesagten wird zweierlei deutlich: Erstens ist das menschliche Gefühl des Lebendigseins – ganz gleich, ob es sich durch Pulsrasen, das Einatmen von Herbstluft oder das Gefühl, zuviel gegessen zu haben ankündigt – immer auch verbunden mit Vorstellungen vom Leben als bios, d. h. als einer Folge von Handlungen, die auf das biographische Leben als Ganzes bezogen werden.18 Die Feststellung, dass jemand „nur noch vor sich hin vegetiere“ oder „nicht wirklich lebe“ wäre ohne Bezug auf biographische Lebensentwürfe im Übrigen vollkommen unverständlich. Und zweitens setzen derart verstandene Gefühle des Lebendigseins Anschauungsformen voraus, die in vielfältiger Wechselwirkung orientierend wirken. Dass die strukturierende Macht solcher Anschauungsformen geschichtlich begrenzt und prinzipiell rekonstruierbar ist, bedeutet nicht, dass sie zu gegebener Zeit nicht durchaus als Hintergrundorientierungen funktionieren, hinter die nicht beliebig zurückgegangen werden kann und die alle Erfahrungsbereiche durchdringen.

5. Grenzüberschreitungen Sofern der Tod nur negativ verstanden wird und nach ihm nichts mehr zu erwarten ist, gibt es über die Zeit danach verständlicherweise nichts zu sagen. So betrachtet denn auch Vladimir Jankélévitch jedes Ringen um eine Konzeptualisierung des weder begrifflich noch narrativ einzuholenden und doch durch keinerlei Techniken der Bagatellisierung und Verdrängung aus der Welt zu schaffenden Unsagbaren durchweg als Versuche, „aus der absoluten Tragödie ein relatives Phänomen, aus dem 17 Ariès versteht die Tatsache, dass es bis ins 16. Jahrhundert hinein kaum bildliche Darstellungen des Purgatoriums gibt, als „sicherlich nicht bewußten Widerstand gegen die Vorstellung der Ruhe und des Harrens, und zwar durch eine instinktive Abneigung, das interimistische Zwischenreich in einen Ort der Marter umzugestalten“ (Ariès 1984, 170). 18 Ob diese als in Erwartung eines Gerichts zu verantwortende Handlungen gesehen werden oder im Gegenteil das Bewusstsein der Endlichkeit geradewegs in die Indifferenz oder in dionysische Ausschweifungen führt, ändert nichts an der Thematik.

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völligen Zunichtewerden ein partikulares Dahingehen, aus dem Geheimnis ein Problem und aus dem Skandal ein Gesetz“ zu machen (Jankélévitch 2005:12). Allerdings gewinnt das Leben auch gegenüber einem sprach- und bilderlosen absoluten Ende, je nachdem man diesem einen Zweck unterstellt oder es als sinnlosen Schnitt begreift, eine andere Gestalt – wobei die Frage, wie man leben kann oder leben soll, in Ermangelung einer allgemeinen kosmologischen Orientierung jedem einzelnen aufgegeben ist. Wird der Tod jedoch, wie etwa im christlichen Mittelalter, als Übergang in eine andere Daseinsform und als Weiterleben der unsterblichen Seele betrachtet, so wird das zweite, ewige Leben nicht als etwas schlechthin anderes und darum Unbeschreibliches mit Schweigen umgeben, sondern bringt im Gegenteil eine Fülle von Symbolisierungen hervor, die sowohl als Spiegel diesseitiger Ängste und Wünsche auftreten, als auch auf die Lebensführung bestimmend wirken.19 Im Bemühen, einen im Grunde unvorstellbaren Zustand in fassliche Bilder zu kleiden, erscheint die Unsterblichkeit, zumindest der Ausstattung nach, als Perpetuierung diesseitiger Gegebenheiten mit wohlbekannten Attributen; weshalb Mauthner dem Glauben daran denn auch „brutalsten Materialismus“ attestiert: In den lebendigen Vorstellungen des Volkes wird nun das alte schöne Märchen überall realistisch verstanden und mit den derbsten Zügen ausgeschmückt; […] der christliche Himmel ist ein wenig entsinnlicht worden, in der Theorie; in der Praxis des Volksglaubens und der Predigten verzichtet die unsterbliche Seele nicht einmal auf die irdischen Leibspeisen ihres Körpers (Mauthner 1910, 503).

Auch in den Umschreibungen des Sterbens wird in Denkfiguren des Lebendigen veranschaulicht, was jenseits des Denkbaren liegt: Jemand ist „eingeschlafen“ oder hat „seine letzte Ruhe gefunden“, eine Metaphorik, die sich bis zur griechischen Vorstellung der Brüder Hypnos und Thanatos zurückverfolgen lässt und die sich auch etymologisch in den Bezeichnungen der Grabstätten als griechischer ,koimetérion‘,20 kir19 Bei Borges ist das Wissen um die eigene Unsterblichkeit ein schrecklicher, Göttern vorbehaltener und für Menschen letztlich unmöglicher Gedanke: „Juden, Christen und Moslems bekennen sich zwar zur Unsterblichkeit, aber die Verehrung, die sie dem ersten Lebensjahrhundert zollen, beweist, daß sie nur an dieses eine glauben, da sie ja die Zahl aller übrigen ihm zum Lohn oder zur Strafe bestimmen.“ (Borges 2000, 260). 20 Also als Ruheort, abgeleitet vom Verb ,koimáo‘, ,zur Ruhe legen‘, ,einschläfern‘ (Gemoll 1991, 443). ,Friedhof‘ dagegen geht eigentlich auf den alt- und mit-

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chenlateinischer ,coemeterium‘ oder im deutschen ,Friedhof‘ findet. Vielfach wird das passiv erlittene Sterben darüberhinaus als aktives Tun chiffriert: Der Verstorbene ist „von uns gegangen“, hat „abgedankt“, seinen „letzten Atemzug getan“ und „die Augen für immer geschlossen“ – gerade so, als ließe der Tod sich durch sprachliche List dem Leben zurechnen und als verlöre die biologische und bedeutungslose Endgültigkeit zumindest einen Teil ihres Schreckens, wenn die biographische Bescheibungssprache weiterhin zur Verfügung steht.21 In solchen Redewendungen bleibt nicht nur die Dimension des Handelns und Erleidens erhalten, wo es beides nicht mehr gibt, auch die Gemeinschaft der Handelnden bleibt als Gemeinschaft der Lebenden und Toten bestehen. Im Zentrum der Betrachtung steht nicht der Tod als Abstraktum, sondern die Sterbenden und die Anteilnahme an ihrem Geschick, die immer auch eine Distanzierung von der eigenen Todesfurcht beinhaltet: Und wer eben im Sterbezimmer noch das konventionelle Wort aussprach, der mag sich dann im Treppenhaus bewußt werden, was Sprache und Konvention ihm seit eh und je dargereicht haben. Vielleicht macht er sich Gedanken, die den Raster des Geschwätzes durchbrechen, und murmelt vor sich hin: Dem da droben ist weder wohl noch übel – wie unausdenklich! Und wie wird das bei mir sein? (Améry 1976, 46).

Der Prozess der Vergegenständlichung des Sterbens, vom Handlungszusammenhang über den zur Figur stilisierten je eigenen Tod bis zum Tod aller, lässt sich beispielhaft nachzeichen anhand der mittelalterlichen Praxis des Totentanzes und seiner wechselnden Darbietungen. Anfangs eine wilde Lebensbejahung als nächtliche Feier auf den Gräbern der tagsüber beerdigten Pesttoten, wird er in den szenischen Aufführungen22 telhochdeutschen ,vrithof‘, d. h. ein eingefriedetes Grundstück bzw. den Vorhof eines Tempels oder einer Kirche zurück (Kluge 1967, 219), doch ist diese Bedeutung inzwischen hinter die Lesart als ,Ort des Friedens‘ zurückgetreten. 21 „Noch immer kann man“, bemerkt Jean Améry in seiner bewegenden Schrift über den Freitod, „wenn einer gestorben ist, gerade von seinen engsten Familienangehörigen die stumpfsinnige Phrase hören, es habe der Tote ,seinen Frieden‘; nun sei nach soviel Mühsal endlich ,ihm wohl‘. Dabei weiß ein jeder, es kann ein Kadaver keinerlei Art von Wohlsein verspüren, während schon die chemischen Prozesse einsetzen, die zu seiner totalen Dekomposition führen.“ (Améry 1976, 46). 22 Zum in diesen Dramatisierungen gleichermaßen evozierten und gebannten Grauen vgl. die eindrückliche Spekulation von Huizinga: „Hätten wir eine Vorstellung von der Aufmachung eines solchen Spiels: von den Farben, den Bewegungen, dem Hingleiten von Licht und Schatten über die Tanzenden, so

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und bildlichen Darstellungen des frühen 15. Jahrhunderts vom Tanz mit den Toten zum Tanz mit dem Tod, der zunächst als Doppelgänger begegnet: König, Bauer, Pabst, Schreiber und Jungfrau tanzen, jeder mit einem Leichnam. Jeder tote Partner ist nach Gewand und Miene ein Spiegelbild des andern. In der Gestalt seines Körpers trägt Jedermann seinen eigenen Tod mit sich und tanzt sich mit ihm durchs Leben (Illich 1997, 186).

Im Verlauf des 15. Jahrhunderts jedoch wird der personifizierte Tod zunehmend zur überindividuellen, anonymen Instanz, die nur noch ihre eigenen Attribute mit sich führt – allen voran Stundenglas und Sense – und steht damit den Lebenszusammenhängen immer fremder und bedrohlicher gegenüber: Das vertraute Spiegelbild des „Selbst“ […] wurde nun durch einen Tod ersetzt, der als egalitärer Gesetzesvollstrecker abgebildet wird, der jeden herumwirbelt und dann fallen läßt. Aus der lebenslangen Begegnung verwandelt der Tod sich damit ins Geschehen eines Augenblicks. (Illich 1977, 190).

Doch obwohl der Tod, wie etwa auf den Totentanzbildern Hans Holbeins des Jüngeren, Vertreter aller Stände unterschiedslos und augenblicklich dahinrafft, trägt er doch das Wappenschild des Grafen, segelt mit dem Schiffer, pflügt mit dem Ackersmann und scheint so einen kurzen Moment lang am Leben eines jeden teilzuhaben – fast als ob er den jeweiligen Glauben daran, dass es ewig so weitergehe, ironisch verdoppelte, bevor er ihn endgültig zunichte macht. Bemerkenswert ist auch, dass die Skelette und Sensenmänner der Erbauungsbücher – sei es in den Holzschnitten Guyot Marchants oder Holbeins – ihren Tanz in geradezu bestürzend ausgelassener Lebendigkeit vollführen, während die von ihnen Geholten in eine entsetzte Starre verfallen sind. Dieser Umschlagspunkt, an dem Tod und Leben sich gegenseitig bespiegeln und gleichsam die Rollen zu tauschen scheinen, zeigt den Tod schon als nicht mehr selbstverständlich zum Leben gehörend; und ist vom naturalisierten und administrierten biologischen Tod und einem auf körperliche Gesunderhaltung abgestellten Lebensverständnis doch weit entfernt.

würden wir das ernste Erschauern, das der Totentanz in den Gemütern verursachte, noch besser verstehen“ (Huizinga 1975, 200 f.).

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6. Das unfassbare Ganze Ob eine Empfindung, die ganz verschiedenen Gefühlen zugerechnet werden kann, als Gefühl des Lebendigseins begriffen wird, hängt zunächst davon ab, ob dieses als symbolische Form einer für vielerlei Deutungen offenen sinnlichen Regung überhaupt zur Verfügung steht. Desweiteren davon, ob eine solche Verknüpfung konventionell oder individuellbiographisch nahe liegt. Und schließlich spielt sowohl eine Rolle, wie Lebendigkeit ihrerseits bestimmt wird, als auch in welcher Hinsicht sie sich eigentlich bestimmen lässt. In einer Kritik des Lebensbegriffs angesichts seiner sprachlichen Verwendungen spricht Mathias Gutmann sich dafür aus, an Stelle des substantivischen Ausdrucks ,Leben‘ die adjektivische Zuschreibung ,belebt‘ zu setzen, die in lebenswissenschaftlicher Perspektive anhand von Merkmalen aus Kriterienlisten zu- oder abgesprochen werden kann.23 Die Beschreibung als ,belebt‘ wird demnach nicht mit einem außersprachlichen Referenten, sondern mit anderen Beschreibungen wie z. B. ,fortpflanzungsfähig‘ oder ,mit messbarer Hirnaktivität‘ korreliert; dass ein Organismus als lebendig gilt, ergibt sich aus der Übertragung von einer Beschreibung auf eine andere. In dieser sprachkritischen Pointierung wird auch die Festlegung des Unterschieds zwischen ,belebt‘ und ,unbelebt‘ oder ,lebendig‘ und ,tot‘ als Ergebnis eines artikulierenden Umgangs unter verschiedenen Zwecksetzungen und Fragestellungen ersichtlich. Statt mit einer lediglich beobachteten Eigenschaft hat man es mit einem gewissermaßen präparierten Gegenstand zu tun, der in der Artikulation zu dem wird, was er ist – wobei die Resultate dieses Umgangs gemeinhin weitere Umgangsweisen zur Folge haben.24 Von der wissenschaftlich-determinierenden Verwendung von ,lebendig‘, die derjenigen von ,tot‘ konträr gegenübersteht, lässt sich eine modifizierende, uneigentliche Sprechweise unterscheiden, die nicht anzeigt, dass etwas tatsächlich lebt, sondern dass es uns lebendig erscheint 23 „[…] denn als Substantiv ,das Leben‘ wäre er eine rein grammatische Erscheinung, deren Referent nur durch den bestimmten Artikel den Anschein des Gegenständlichen erhielte“ (Gutmann 2008, 75). 24 Zur Wirkmächtigkeit solcher nicht etwa vorgefundenen, sondern menschengemachten Grenzziehungen bemerkt Mauthner nicht ohne Sarkasmus, dass „bei Ertrunkenen und anderen Erstickten der Tod wirklich oft erst eintreten mag als Folge der ärztlichen Erklärung: er ist tot, hier ist nichts mehr zu tun“ (Mauthner 1910, 473).

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(Gutmann 2008, 78 f.). In diesem Sinne kann man sowohl von einem mehr oder weniger lebendigen Vortrag sprechen, als auch davon, dass jemand nicht mehr so lebendig wirke wie vor einigen Jahren. Modifizierende Beschreibungen beziehen sich auf Gegebenheitsweisen von Gegenständen, Verläufen oder Tätigkeiten, denen in bestimmter Hinsicht Lebendigkeit zugeschrieben wird. Die Bedeutung solcher Zuschreibungen erschließt sich nicht biologisch, sondern gründet in lebensweltlichen Zusammenhängen, im Miteinander-handeln, und nur in diesem uneigentlichen Sinn kann davon die Rede sein, dass jemand sich „wie tot fühlt“ oder den Eindruck hat, dass das „Leben an ihm vorbeigehe“. Dass existentielle Gefühle und Auffassungen des Lebendigseins gerade dadurch charakterisiert sind, dass sie unsere Weisen des In-der-Welt-seins ausmachen, deutet darauf hin, dass unser Weltverhältnis ebenfalls nur modifizierend dargestellt werden kann – und dies auch nur mit Blick auf jeweils ausgewählte Aspekte des Handelns und Erlebens. Unsere Beziehungen zur Welt als ganzer sind durch keinerlei symbolische Darstellungen einholbar, da die Welt der stets vorausgesetzte Horizont ist, vor dem wir uns zu etwas in Beziehung setzen.25 Vergegenständlicht auftreten kann die Welt nur als partikulare, etwa als „die Welt der Ägypter“ oder „die Welt des Mittelalters“, und die fr uns bestehende Unterscheidbarkeit dieser Welten von anderen beleuchtet zugleich die Grenzen des Horizonts derjenigen, für die sie „die ganze“ ist. Sich im Lebensvollzug mit der Welt vereint zu fühlen ist ein Zustand, der sich lediglich für andere symptomatisch zeigen und gegebenenfalls zu symbolischen Darstellungen herausfordern kann;26 auf uns selbst bezogen kann er nur als vergangener erfasst werden. Darstellungen unseres „sense of reality and situatedness“ (Ratcliffe 2008, 3) lassen sich also nur dann gewinnen, wenn wir aus der dargestellten Situation bereits heraus- und in eine andere eingetreten sind.27 Gewonnen wird diese symbolische Distanz allerdings 25 Demzufolge sprechen auch Kamlah/Lorenzen davon, dass die Welt weder „die bloße Summe oder die Menge der Gegenstände“ noch selbst ein Gegenstand sei, weil „nur ,in der Welt‘ Gegenstände durch Prädikatoren ausgegrenzt werden“ (Kamlah/Lorenzen 1967, 49). 26 In diesem Sinne ist die beobachtende Distanz zu einer von außen beschriebenen Ganzheit durchaus der Beschreibung des Todes bei Sartre vergeleichbar, von dem es heißt, er sei der „Triumph des Gesichtspunkts Anderer über den Gesichtspunkt mir gegenüber, der ich bin.“ (Sartre 1991, 929). 27 Vgl. auch Lorenz (1990, 90): „Die Welt gibt es nur als Idee der Einheit aller Folgen von Situationen und nicht als ,fertigen‘ Gegenstand.“

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um den Preis, die Vollzugsperspektive aufzugeben und die eigene Bewegung des Tuns und Erlebens ein Stück weit zu fixieren. Ein solches Innehalten in der Bewegung kann auch durch äußere Widerfahrnisse veranlasst sein, wie im Fall des lebendig begrabenen Walt, dessen fragloses Dahinleben ein für alle mal ein Ende findet. Bezeichnenderweise weist Ratcliffe darauf hin, dass existential feelings im Grunde nur dann identifiziert werden, wenn sie sich ändern und man sich plötzlich aus einem mit anderen selbstverständlich geteilten Möglichkeitshorizont ausgeschlossen sieht. Während die Theorie der existential feelings ihr Anschauungsmaterial jedoch vor allem aus psychopathologischen Schilderungen bezieht, lassen sich Wandel und Identifikation eines vormals bloß vollzogenen Weltbezugs auch als gelungener symbolischer Umgang mit überwältigenden Empfindungen begreifen. Positiv gewendet würde Walt also nicht nur aus seiner Daseinsgewissheit gerissen, sondern hätte zugleich ein bemerkenswertes Repertoire an Schematisierungen zur Verfügung, das ihn vor blinder namenloser Panik rettet. Schon die Bewegungslosigkeit als Vorgeschmack auf den Tod zu verstehen ist eine voraussetzungsreiche Deutung. Zudem ist das Erleben der Situation als Begrabensein nur in einer Kultur denkbar, die Erdbestattungen kennt. Widerfahrnis und symbolisches Handeln, die gewaltsame Distanzierung von einer zuvor symbolisch nicht zugänglichen Selbstverständlichkeit und die Integration dieses Bruchs in einen neuen Horizont sind zwei Seiten desselben Vorgangs. Die wandelbaren Bilder des Todes und des Lebens lassen sich als distanzierende und schöpferisch formgebende Antwort auf so diffuse wie unüberwindliche Ängste begreifen. Als selbstverständlich gewordene Darstellungsformen werden sie selbst wie etwas natürlicherweise Gegebenes erlebt. Als symbolisch hergestellte Gegebenheitsweisen hingegen werden sie dann sichtbar, wenn sie ihre umfassende Erklärungskraft und Wirksamkeit einbüßen oder mit anderen Versionen konfrontiert werden. Ob man die damit einhergehende Veränderung und Vergleichbarkeit mit Erleichterung aufnimmt oder als beunruhigend empfindet, hängt nicht zuletzt davon ab, ob diese Distanzierung in einer gemeinschaftlichen Lebenswelt vollzogen wird und die entstandene Unzugehörigkeit sich in eine neue Zugehörigkeit überführen lässt. Solange die dies- und jenseitigen Uhren für alle Menschen gleichermaßen ticken und der Tod ihr Stundenglas mit derselben Augenblicklichkeit herumdreht, wird ein Todes- und Lebensverständnis wie das des katholischen Mittelalters für den Einzelnen nicht zum problematischen Weltverhältnis. Jemand, dem

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diese Selbstverständlichkeit abhanden kommt, kann seine Zweifel etwa an der Existenz des Fegefeuers jedoch durchaus als existentielle Entfremdung erfahren, weil er den Möglichkeitshorizont, vor dem er Schuldigkeit oder Verzeihung überhaupt zu denken und zu leben vermag, nicht teilen und mitteilen kann. Die Empfindungen, Vorstellungen und Darstellungen von Tod und Leben – von der teilnehmenden körperlichen Erkundung des Unbegreiflichen im Totentanz bis zum nüchtern distanzierten Konstatieren des klinischen und aus dem Leben verdrängten Todes, von den träumerisch erahnten feelings of being alive bis zu den lebenswissenschaftlichen Bestimmungen des Ausdrucks ,lebendig‘ anhand von Listeneinträgen – werden innerhalb wechselnder Horizonte sowohl passiv erlitten als auch aktiv hervorgebracht. Nicht von ungefähr weist Mauthner darauf hin, „daß auch die Zellbildung der Begriffe ihre Schranke hat, daß auch Worte oder Begriffe nicht ewig leben, daß auch der Todesbegriff dem Tode verfallen ist“ (Mauthner 1910, 476). Dieser Naturalisierung des symbolisch Selbsterzeugten ist ergänzend hinzuzufügen, dass sowohl Todes- als auch Lebensbegriffe in gemeinschaftlichen, szenisch, bildlich und sprachlich gliedernden Vollzügen ihre Lebendigkeit bewahren. Sich als lebendig zu beschreiben und dabei zu vergessen, dass jede Beschreibung immer nur eine partikulare sein kann aber hieße, den in der gliedernden Bewegung hervorgebrachten, symbolisch gefassten Gegenstand zu substantialisieren und so der offenen, grenzbildenden Folge von Unterscheidungshandlungen eine Grenze setzen zu wollen.

Bibliographie Améry, Jean (1976): Hand an sich legen. Diskurs ber den Freitod, 13. Aufl. 2008. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. Ariès, Philippe (1982): Geschichte des Todes. München: Deutscher Taschenbuchverlag (frz. Originalausgabe: L’homme devant la mort. Paris 1978: Seuil). Ariès, Philippe (1984): Bilder zur Geschichte des Todes. Hamburg: Hanser (frz. Originalausgabe: Images de l’homme devant la mort. Paris 1983: Seuil). Aristoteles (2006): Nikomachische Ethik. Übersetzt und herausgegeben von Ursula Wolf. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt. Auster, Paul (1996): Mr. Vertigo. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt (engl. Originalausgabe: Mr. Vertigo. New York 1994: Viking Penguin). Borges, Lorge Luis (2000): Der Unsterbliche (1949). In: ders.: Erzhlungen. München: Hanser, 249 – 266 (span. Ausgabe: El Inmortal. In: Obras Completas 1. Buenos Aires 2006: Emecé, 571 – 583).

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Borsche, Tilman (1997): Leben des Begriffs nach Hegel und Nietzsches Begriff des Lebens. In: Simon, Josef (Hg.): Orientierung in Zeichen. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 245 – 266. Brody, Baruch/Halevy, Amir (1993): Brain Death: Reconciling Definitions, Criteria, and Tests. In: Annals of Internal Medicine 119(6), 519 – 225. Dante Alighieri (1988): Die Gçttliche Komçdie (1307 – 27). Italienisch und Deutsch. Übersetzt und kommentiert von Hermann Gmelin, Bd. III: Paradiso – Das Paradies. München: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag. Demmerling, Christoph (2007): Brauchen Gefühle eine Sprache? Zur Philosophie der Psychologie. In: Landwehr, Hilge (Hg.): Gefhle – Struktur und Funktion. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 19 – 34. Gemoll, Wilhelm (1991): Griechisch-Deutsches Schul- und Handwçrterbuch. Nachdruck der 9. Auflage (1965). München: Oldenbourg. Gutmann, Mathias (2008): Tote Körper und tote Leiber. Der Umgang mit lebenswissenschaftlichen Sprachstücken. In: Deutsche Zeitschrift fr Philosophie 56, 73 – 96. Huizinga, Johan (1975): Herbst des Mittelalters. Studien über Lebens- und Geistesformen des 14. Und 15. Jahrhunderts in Frankreich und in den Niederlanden, 11. Auflage. Stuttgart: Kröner. Illich, Ivan (1977): Tod kontra Tod. In: Ebeling, Hans (Hg.) (1984): Der Tod in der Moderne. Frankfurt am Main: Syndikat, 184 – 209. Jankélévitch, Vladimir (2005): Der Tod. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp (frz. Originalausgabe: La mort. Paris1975: Flammarion). Kamlah, Wilhelm (1972): Philosophische Anthropologie. Mannheim: BI Wissenschaftsverlag. Kamlah, Wilhelm/Lorenzen, Paul (1967): Logische Propdeutik. Vorschule des vernnftigen Redens. Mannheim: BI Wissenschaftsverlag. Kluge, Friedrich (1967): Etymologisches Wçrterbuch der deutschen Sprache, 20., bearb. Auflage. Berlin: de Gruyter. Le Goff, Jaques (1990): Die Geburt des Fegefeuers. Vom Wandel des Weltbildes im Mittelalter. München: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag (frz. Originalausgabe: La Naissance du Purgatoire. Paris 1981: Gallimard). Lorenz, Kuno (1990): Einfhrung in die Philosophische Anthropologie. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Mauthner, Fritz (1910): Wçrterbuch der Philosophie. Neue Beiträge zu einer Kritik der Sprache, Bd. II. München und Leipzig: Müller. Merkt, Andreas (2005): Das Fegefeuer. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Platon (1990): Werke. Bd. V: Phaidros. Parmenides. Epistolai. Griechischer Text von León Robin, Auguste Diès und Josephe Souilhé. Deutsche Übersetzung von Friedrich Schleiermacher und Dietrich Kurz. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgsellschaft. Ratcliffe, Matthew (2008): Feelings of Being: Phenomenology, Psychiatry and the Sense of Reality. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rousseau, Jean-Jaques (1971): Emil oder ber die Erziehung. Vollständige Ausgabe in neuer deutscher Fassung besorgt von Ludwig Schmidts. Paderborn:

332

Sabine Marienberg

Schöningh (frz. Originalausgabe: Emile ou de l’education. Den Haag: Neaulme [eigtl. Paris: Duchesne] 1762). Sartre, Jean Paul (1991): Das Sein und das Nichts. Versuch einer phnomenologischen Ontologie. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt (frz. Originalausgabe: L’Þtre et le nant. Essai d’ontologie phnomnologique. Paris 1943: Gallimard). Sternberger, Dolf (1981): ber den Tod. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp.

Author Index Abugel, Jeffrey 26, 117, 119 Améry, Jean 325 Anderson, Ben 110 Angenendt, Arnold 263 Aquinas, Thomas 234, 275 Ariès, Philippe 322f. Aristotle/Aristoteles 15, 181, 185, 223–226, 228f., 231–237, 250–255, 319f. Armstrong, David 251 Auster, Paul 311 Avicenna 272 Baader, Hannah 264 Bacci, Michele 259, 261, 264f., 267f. Bach-y-Rita, Paul 175 Barbaras, Renauld 150 Bartholeyns, Gil 261 Baumgarten, Alexander 202 Bayne, Tim 3, 171, 191 Beckermann, Ansgar 203 Belting, Hans 262f., 267f. Bemporad, Dora Liscia 262, 281 Bernard, Wolfgang 231 Bernhardinus Senesis 266, 278 Binswanger, Ludwig 134, 138 Block, Ned 65, 72, 95, 171, 174, 183–186, 191, 195 Borges, Jorge Luis 312, 324 Borsche, Tilman 318 Boss, Medard 131, 138 Bredekamp, Horst 259, 261f., 281 Brentano, Franz 84, 94, 252 Brody, Baruch 314 Broom, Matthew 27 Burge, Tyler 93 Burke, Edmund 208 Byrne, Alex 93

Callard, Felicity 5 Camille, Michael 272 Campbell, Sue 48 Casalini, Eugenio 262 Caston, Vicor 251–254 Chalmers, David 89, 91, 93, 178 Changeux, Jean-Pierre 89 Chella, Antonio 85 Clark, Andy 91, 93 Clausen, Marion 233 Cole, Jonathan 40 Cole, Michael 267f. Coleman, Sam 81 Colombetti, Giovanna 26, 39, 41, 48, 192 Cosmelli, Diego 191 Craig, A. D. (Bud) 204, 211 Crone, Katja 254 Csipke, Emese 36 Damasio, Antonio 4, 92, 150, 154, 157f., 161, 210, 239, 294 Dante Alighieri 273, 322 Darwin, Charles 208 Davidson, Donald 59 De Catanzaro, Denys 158 De Jaegher, Hanne 190 De Sousa, Ronald 106 Declerck, Gunnar 29 Demmerling, Christoph 316 Descartes, René 159, 218, 226 Dewey, John 171, 202f., 206, 218, 296, 301, 308f. Di Paolo, Ezequiel 168, 188, 190 Di Suzdal, Abramo 282 Dierkens, Alain 261 Dilthey, Wilhelm 303, 305, 307f. Donald, Merlin 298 Döring, Sabine 57, 216

334

Author Index

Downing, Paul 213 Dretske, Fred 87, 89, 93, 176 Edelman, Gerard 89 Eichendorff, Joseph von 300 Ekman, Paul 294 Engelen, Eva-Maria 210, 254 Epicurus/Epikur 208, 320 Esser, Theodor 278 Euripides 230 Fehrenbach, Frank 261 Fernández, Jordi 3 Fodor, Jerry 87 Forlini, Christopher 224 Foulds, Adam 28 Fricke, Beate 263f., 271 Frijda, Nico 106 Fuchs, Thomas 36, 150, 155f., 159, 161, 204, 207, 209, 239–243, 247, 299, 318 Gadamer, Hans-Georg 293, 308 Gallagher, Shaun 5, 29, 259, 285f., 293, 297 Gallup, Gordon 214 Gapenne, Oliver 29 Gell, Alfred 262 Gemoll, Wilhelm 324 Gerhardt, Volker 5, 199 Gerlich, Alois 263 Gibson, James 174, 192–194 Glannon, Walter 155 Goldie, Peter 7, 38, 57, 103f., 106–109 Golsenne, Thomas 261 Good, Byron 46 Greub-Fra˛cz, Krystyna 266, 283 Griffith, Paul 8 Grill-Spector, Kalanit 213 Gross, James 101, 112, 114–117, 140, 207 Guazzelli, Mario 204 Gutmann, Mathias 327f. Habermas, Jürgen 215 Halevy, Amir 314 Hardie, William 250

Häußling, Angelus 263 Haxby, James 213 Heidegger, Martin 8f., 13, 32f., 58, 68f., 71, 73f., 123, 129–133, 136–139, 153, 194f., 209, 215, 296, 307 Heidrich, Anke 4 Heller-Roazen, Daniel 1, 239, 252 Helm, Bennett 8, 12, 55–60, 62–66, 71–75, 106 Henry, Michel 159 Hirstein, William 3 Hobson, Peter 47 Hoffmann, E.T.A. 1 Holbein, Hans 326 Holler, Theresa 259, 264 Holmes, Megan 259, 261–263, 266, 269, 278, 280 Holt, Edwin 89, 95 Holzhey-Kunz, Alice 16, 131, 138 Honderich, Ted 92 Horne, Outi 36 Hornstein, Gail 36 Huizinga, Johan 325f. Hurley, Susan 192 Husserl, Edmund 5, 13, 29–31, 38, 41, 123, 126–132, 136, 172, 188 Illich, Ivan 326 Inwagen, Peter 90 Jacquemet, Gabriel 276 James, William 8, 10, 49, 171, 202f., 208, 210–213, 218, 293, 301, 303, 305–309 Jankélévitch, Vladimir 323f. Jaspers, Karl 34 Johnson, Mark 300 Jolly, Penny Howell 266 Jonas, Hans 156, 159–161, 188, 194f. Jones, Ashley 264 Kahn, Charles 250 Kamlah, Wilhelm 319, 328 Kant, Immanuel 1–3, 159f., 202, 208, 215f., 223, 226–231, 233 Kanwisher, Nancy 213

Author Index

Kaube, Jürgen 101f. Kaufmann, Thomas 263 Keenan, John 213 Kenny, Anthony 61 Kessler, Herbert 267 Kidd, Ian 225 Kierkegaard, Søren 133f., 139 Kitzinger, Ernst 267 Klemm, Tanja 264, 271 Kluge, Friedrich 325 Koch, Christof 85, 87, 89 Köpf, Ulrich 263 Kosslyn, Stephen 87 Küsters, Urban 277 Lacan, Jacques 134 Lakoff, George 300 Lang, Peter 10, 103, 108, 118, 158, 248, 293, 300, 307, 322, 326 Lange, Carl 10 Latour, Bruno 262 Lazarus, Richard 8 Le Goff, Jaques 321f. LeDoux, Joseph 4, 92, 108f. Legrand, Dorothy 92 Leonardo Da Vinci 272f. Leoncini, Giovanni 261 Lidov, Alexei 266 Liebenwein, Wolfgang 262 Lorenz, Kuno 328 Lormand, Eric 7 Lutz, Antoine 171 Lycan, William 89, 93, 251 Manzotti, Riccardo 80, 85, 89, 91, 94 Marchant, Guyot 326 Margulis, Daniel 5 Marin, Louis 276, 283 Mauthner, Fritz 319, 321, 324, 327, 330 McDowell, John 64 McLaughlin, Brian 23, 32, 111 McLaughlin, Peter 297 Medici, Lorenzo il Magnifico 262, 281 Menary, Richard 93, 267 Menninghaus, Winfrid 3

335

Mercier, Pascal 118 Merkt, Andreas 322 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice 5, 29, 38, 41, 72, 129, 150, 172, 188, 293 Merrick, Trenton 90 Metzinger, Thomas 151, 162, 239, 254 Minkowski, Eugene 36, 39 Misch, Georg 299 Montague, Michelle 171 Müller, Jean Moritz 63f. Myin, Eric 169, 176 Nagel, Thomas 171, 202f., 207, 211 Nelson, Robert 268 Neurath, Otto 64 Newton, Isaac 91 Nida-Rümelin, Martine 246–248 Nietzsche, Friedrich 211, 299 Noë, Alva 14, 167, 169f., 175f., 179–184, 187, 193f., 293 Nussbaum, Martha 294 Ockham, William of 233 Oehler, Klaus 232 Oen, Maria Husabø 259, 265, 268 O’Callaghan, Casey 29 O’Regan, Kevin 14, 167, 169f., 175–179, 183f., 186, 193, 196 Padre Lamberto 277 Panksepp, Jaak 4, 125, 154, 161, 192, 239 Park, Katharine 25, 269 Parnas, Josef 26 Paskaleva, Asena 110 Peirce, Charles Sanders 173, 186 Pentcheva, Bissera 261 Perler, Dominik 106 Petrarca, Francesco 225, 236 Plato/Platon 226, 250, 312, 319f. Plessner, Helmuth 205, 212, 293, 300, 302 Posidonius 225 Praßl, Franz Karl 277 Price, Carolyn 7, 150, 157 Prinz, Jesse 7, 144, 172 Proust, Marcel 85

336

Author Index

Pugmire, David 44f. Putnam, Hilary 87, 93 Raffman, Diana 307 Ratcliffe, Matthew 4, 8–10, 12f., 23–28, 32f., 35, 39f., 42, 45–47, 49, 55–58, 67–75, 79–81, 91, 109–112, 123, 129–131, 153f., 172, 295–297, 305, 307, 315–318, 328 Recki, Birgit 204 Ricklin, Thomas 269, 284 Roberts, Robert 23, 57, 63 Rockwell, Teed 92 Roepstorff, Andreas 213 Rosenberg, Marshall B. 118 Rosenthal, David 191 Rousseau, Jean-Jaques 312, 315 Rowe, Dorothy 27 Sansterre, Jean-Marie 262, 267 Sartre, Jean Paul 39, 41, 159, 328 Sass, Louis 26, 41 Scarry, Elaine 40 Scherer, Klaus 105 Schmitt, Arbogast 224, 226f., 232f., 235, 246, 250 Schmitt, Jean-Claude 262f., 268 Schneider, Kurt 155 Schopenhauer, Arthur 305 Searle, John 84, 203 Sechehaye, Marguite 35, 45 Shapiro, Lawrence 184 Sheets-Johnstone, Maxine 40 Sherman, Nancy 215 Sherrington, Charles 211 Shriver, Lionel 25 Shulman, Robert 193 Sierra, Mauricio 117 Simeon, Daphne 26, 117, 119 Simmel, Georg 306 Skrbina, David 90 Slaby, Jan 9, 23, 37, 40, 43f., 55f., 58, 62, 69, 71, 73f., 86, 96, 106f., 110, 172, 212 Smith, Michael 60 Söffner, Jan 259, 267, 280 Solomon, Richard 7f.

Spaemann, Robert 159 Spinoza, Baruch 157 Stanghellini, Giovanni 26 Stapleton, Mog 187, 192 Statius 273f. Steinberg, Leo 264 Steinke, Darcey 27 Stephan, Achim 23, 43f., 48f., 58, 71, 86, 96, 106, 109f., 172, 206, 315 Stern, Daniel 40, 64 Sternberger, Dolf 314 Stewart, John 168 Stone, Lori 8, 283 Strasser, Stephan 32 Strawson, Peter 58 Stubenberg, Leopold 84 Sulzer, Johann Georg 226f. Summers, David 265 Susser, Ezra 207 Susser, Mervyn 207 Taylor, Charles 56 Tertullian 322 Thompson, Evan 6, 14, 149, 157, 167f., 170–172, 187, 189–193, 209, 214, 239, 293 Thunø, Erik 267 Thurston, Herbert 278 Tolstoy, Leo 48 Tomasello, Michael 216, 300 Tonneau, Francois 89 Tononi, Giulio 85, 87, 89 Trexler, Richard 259, 261f., 265f., 268, 281, 285f. Tugendhat, Ernst 293, 298f. Tye, Michael 84, 87, 93 Urgesi, Cosimo

213

Varela, Francisco 14, 91, 149, 160, 168, 170, 190 Velmans, Max 84 Waldenfels, Bernhard 158 Walter, Henrik 116 Warburg, Aby 262, 278 Weber, Ernst Heinrich 211

Author Index

Webster, Susan Verdi 267 Weinryb, Ittai 264 Westergård, Ira 266, 277 Wheeler, Mark 6 Whiting, Demian 57 Whybrow, Peter 26 Wittgenstein, Ludwig 75 Wolf, Gerhard 259, 261–268, 275, 280, 285 Wolfersdorf, Manfred 4

337

Wolff, Christian 202, 233 Wright, Edmund 87, 89 Wyllie, Martin 36 Wynn, Mark 49 Zahavi, Dan 5, 149, 202, 213, 259, 285f., 293 Zeki, Semir 87f. Zorach, Rebecca 267f. Zorzi, Lodovico 282f.

Subject Index Acting – ability to act 216 – act of transformation 259 Action 10–12, 29f., 40f., 59, 61f., 68, 70–72, 74, 95, 107, 154, 156, 158, 173, 175, 184, 189, 192f., 204, 206, 208–210, 214–217, 224, 227–231, 235, 237, 262, 265, 271 Adaptation 14f., 157, 160, 204 Adaptive system 14, 187f. Aesthetic 3, 203 Affectivity 4, 8, 10-12, 16, 23, 25, 28, 41, 44, 49, 55–60, 66, 68–75, 96, 109, 156, 159, 161, 163, 171, 192, 194, 201f., 204, 206f., 210f., 214f., 271 – affective background 9, 55, 68, 70, 73f. – affective disorder 70f., 155 – affective experience 4, 10, 16, 23, 25, 169, 193 – affective intentionality 56-58, 60, 64-66, 101 – affective state 12, 47, 57, 59, 75, 170 Affektivität 102f., 105–107, 109f., 112, 119, 247, 302, 307 – affektive Intentionalität 106f. Affordances 4, 193f. Agency 70, 73, 101, 149, 161, 188f., 192, 202, 209f., 214, 262, 283, 287 Agent 59, 66, 71, 74, 81, 90f., 174, 187, 210 aisthÞsis 250f. Amygdala 108f., 155 Anger 4, 23f., 60f., 173, 210 Angst 33, 105f., 125f., 130, 133–136, 138–140, 143, 250, 253, 255, 324

Animateness 150, 162f. Annunciation 16, 259f., 263–268, 275–286 Anthropologie 126–128, 132, 294, 303–305 Anthropology 1, 13, 123, 212, 216, 268, 287 Anxiety 7, 41, 155, 182, 228 Appraisal 8, 12, 105, 210 – reappraisal 114, 116f. Ärger 118, 141f. ars moriendi 318 ars vitae 318 Artifact 261–265, 267, 275, 285–287 Artificial being 85 Artikulation 294, 300-303, 306-309, 311, 313, 322, 327 Attention 13, 64f., 82, 156, 176f., 201, 203, 211, 216, 231, 234 – regulation of attention 13, 101 Attitude 3, 5, 40, 56, 60, 62-64, 68, 73–75, 86, 105, 218 – affective attitude 64 – attitude and content 3, 5 – evaluative attitude 62f. – natural attitude 13, 129 Attunement 8f., 58, 68f., 74, 149, 152f., 155 Aufmerksamkeit 108, 111, 114, 298, 317 Ausdruck 126f., 327 – sprachlicher Ausdruck 294, 299304, 306-308 – symptomatischer Ausdruck 133, 138, 294, 300, 305f., 308 Autopoiesis 3, 124, 149, 152, 160, 162, 187 Awareness 11, 17, 28, 35, 39, 62, 65, 69, 81f., 88, 91f., 94, 160, 162f., 229, 233, 235f., 317

340

Subject Index

– self-awareness 9, 14f., 58, 149151, 158–162, 205, 209, 212 Beauty 224f. Befinden 152f., 298, 320 Befindlichkeit 8, 32, 58, 111, 115, 117, 124, 130, 133, 135, 153, 215 Behavior 4, 42, 55, 59, 69, 71, 85, 96, 117, 158, 162, 176, 186, 188f., 206, 216f., 262, 268 Beholder 16, 92, 264, 268, 277f., 283 Being-in-the-world 8, 32, 68, 153 Belief 46f., 49, 57f., 74, 106f., 129 Belonging 10f., 24-28, 32, 36, 38, 49f., 130 – sense of belonging 24f., 27f., 32, 36, 38f., 48, 67f., 172 Bewegung 242–245, 248–250, 300, 312, 320f., 328-330 – Bewegungsfähigkeit 241–245, 248, 250, 312 – Bewegungsunfähigkeit 311, 329 Bewusstsein 103, 108, 118, 124f., 132, 202, 233, 239–242, 246f., 250–255, 295–299, 302, 304, 309, 314 – phänomenales Bewusstsein 239–242, 246f., 252, 254f. Biologie 124-126, 241, 313-315, 326-328 Biology 150, 172, 202, 206, 208, 224, 272 bios 318, 320, 323 Bodiliness & grabbiness 176–179, 182, 195 Body – bodily processes 195, 265 – bodily state 10, 12, 38, 69, 79, 81f., 86, 91, 153, 155, 169 – body map 161 – feeling of the body 17, 24, 28, 42, 91, 153, 162, 211, 316 – lived body 14, 72, 150, 153, 162, 188f., 193, 212 – living body 14, 15, 26, 49, 130, 149f., 151, 157, 159f., 162f., 167f., 183, 187f., 190f., 193,

195f., 201, 206, 208, 212, 218, 224, 239, 259, 267, 269f., 274, 280f., 284, 286f. – moving body 14, 167–169, 183, 187, 194, 196 Boundary 39, 157f., 163, 192 – boundaries of the organism 160 – boundaries of the subject 94 – material boundaries 91 – physical boundary 86 – skin boundary 81 Brain 4, 150–152, 154f., 157f., 161–163, 167, 169, 172, 176, 182–187, 191–193, 196, 203f., 212, 271–273 – affective brain 4 – brain activity 162 – brain in a vat 151 – brain mechanism 154 – brain state 155, 162, 183 – brain stem 154 Capgras’ syndrome 13, 70, 110f. Causality 87 Change 1f., 10, 13, 15, 25–27, 30, 32, 34–37, 41, 43–47, 49, 70–73, 75, 96, 101, 105, 114, 129, 158f., 161, 167, 174–178, 180–182, 185, 187, 193f., 196, 201, 211, 227, 229f., 234 – bodily change 10, 66, 178 – change of situation 63 Charakterzug 103, 105 Christ 259, 262–264, 269, 274, 276 Cognition 3–6, 9f., 58, 60, 73, 75, 96, 101, 114, 129, 155, 162, 170, 174, 178, 183, 187–190, 192–194, 202–204, 210, 213–215, 225–227, 232–237, 269–271, 273, 286, 294, 297 – act of cognition 223f., 227, 234–237 – cognitive states 55, 57f., 171 Cognitive science 168, 170, 187, 293 Cognitivism 4, 57f., 60, 183 Color 10, 25, 91f., 170, 173, 194, 230, 233, 269, 279

Subject Index

Conation 14, 60, 73, 149, 152, 155, 157f., 162f. conceptio 264f., 269–276, 280, 285 Concern 6, 9, 44, 59, 63, 74, 105, 160, 192f., 195f. – concern-based construals 57, 63 Confabulation 3 Consciousness 1f., 4–6, 14, 27, 71, 150-152, 154, 159f., 162f., 168, 170, 173f., 178–180, 182f., 186, 188, 190f., 193–195, 201f., 205–209, 211, 218, 223, 226f., 231–233, 236f., 264, 269, 285 – fringe consciousness 171 – phenomenal consciousness 14, 84, 169f., 185, 190f., 239 – reflective consciousness 171 – self-consciousness 71, 159, 192 – swift consciousness 171 Content – content of experience 26, 37, 96, 187, 193 – intrinsic content 87 – phenomenal content 83–85, 87–89, 93, 191 – representational content 12, 79, 82f., 87 Context 24, 31, 39f., 42, 57, 61, 65, 69, 86, 193, 262 Corporeality 66, 72, 284f. corpus animatum 259, 265f., 269f., 274, 284, 286f. Cosmology 262 Cotard’s syndrome 3, 70, 110f., 131, 155, 297 Cranialism 92 Dasein 9, 68f., 123, 132, 137–139, 296, 317 Death 17, 229, 311 Delusion 3, 26, 34, 70, 131, 155 Depersonalisation disorder 26 Depersonalisations-Störung 110f., 117, 119, 129 Depression 4, 7f., 26f., 35–37, 41f., 45–48, 70f., 73, 86, 110, 115, 117, 119, 126, 140, 153, 155

341

Derealisations-Störung 110, 117, 129 Desire 58f., 61f., 106f., 152, 156f., 171, 214, 223–226, 236f., 263 Despair 48, 130 Disclosure 8f., 58, 172, 179, 195 Discourse 9, 28, 69, 91, 269, 301 Disembodied 67, 150f., 191 Disposition 41f., 56, 71, 73, 86, 138, 158, 211 Drive 2, 43, 149, 152, 155–158, 168, 228 Dualism 15, 92, 129, 150, 207, 218 – Cartesian dualism 150, 218 Dynamic 5, 12, 30, 34, 40, 48, 75, 85, 90, 149f., 155–157, 163, 213, 265, 271, 284f. Dynamical system theory 149 dynamis 223 Eifersucht 103f. Einstellung – natürliche Einstellung 126f., 129, 132f. Embodiment 5, 8, 159, 161, 163, 169, 174, 195, 201, 204f., 208f., 212, 216, 259, 264, 266f., 277, 283–287, 293f., 297 – embodied self 15, 201f. Emotion – emotionale Episode 103–106, 109, 115f., 120 – emotional reason 56 – emotional states 23f., 33 – emotion categories 24 – feeling theory of emotions 10, 57 – individuation of emotion 48, 61, 63 – intentional emotions 7, 24, 45 – Intentionalität von Emotionen 106f. Empfindung 242, 246f., 249, 252255, 311, 315-317, 327, 329f. – Empfindungsfähigkeit 239, 241, 250 Enactivism 5f., 14, 16, 167–170, 172, 174, 187–196, 204, 209, 259, 264, 267, 277, 282f., 285–287

342

Subject Index

Enactment 282 enrgeia 223, 230, 320 Environment 4, 10f., 14f., 40, 57, 68, 79, 81–83, 86, 92, 94–96, 151f., 154–163, 167, 169, 174–176, 178, 187–194, 204, 206, 208f., 212, 216f., 224, 274 Erinnerung 103, 108f., 312, 319 – vs. Leben 240 Evaluation 8, 55–57, 59, 61, 64–66, 71–73, 75, 96, 105, 179, 192, 210f., 298 – evaluative community 64 – felt evaluation 12, 55, 57–60, 62–65, 72, 74 – holism of evaluation 62 Evolution 4, 79, 82, 158, 193, 203, 207f., 216, 241 Existential feelings 1, 3f., 6, 9–14, 16, 23, 25–28, 30–50, 55f., 58, 67–72, 74f., 79–83, 86–88, 90–96, 101, 129f., 133, 154f., 171, 293, 295f., 302, 305, 316–318, 328 – levels of existential feelings 44 Existential orientation 37, 56, 74 Existenzialität 126, 129–131, 133–136, 139 Existenzphilosophie 123, 128, 134 Experience – affective experience 4, 10, 16, 23, 25, 169, 193, 202, 204 – embodied experience 16, 264, 285 – first-person experience 83, 180 – intellectual experience 203f. – perceptual experience 4, 80, 82, 93, 169–171, 177, 179, 182f. – phenomenal experience 14, 65, 80, 82, 85, 87–89, 93, 167, 173, 177–179, 182f., 185f., 190, 192, 194f., 206, 209, 214, 267, 269 – self-experience 13, 152, 158–162 – time experience 176, 209 – world experience 1, 8, 129, 215 Extended mind 91, 169, 185 Externalism 12, 80, 82, 93–95 Face perception

212f., 280, 285

Faculties 59, 202, 224–227, 231f., 269, 274 Faktizität 130, 133f., 136f. Fear 4, 6, 23, 32f., 45, 57, 60f., 64f., 67, 156, 172f., 228, 235f., 264 Feelings – background feeling 3f., 6, 12f., 56, 67f., 70, 72, 74f., 86, 152–154 – bodily feeling 10, 12, 23, 28, 38–43, 79–83, 85, 88, 91f., 169f., 208, 210–212, 315, 317 – depths of feeling 11, 43-45, 49 – emotional feeling 85f. – feeling dead 3, 10, 24, 26, 67, 131, 154 – feeling of being 4, 9–11, 21, 28, 43, 55f., 67, 85, 112, 123, 129f., 189, 295 – feeling of being alive 1–6, 10f., 13–15, 17, 43, 67, 79, 85, 123, 149, 152–154, 158f., 161–163, 167f., 192, 201f., 204f., 207, 214f., 217f., 223, 227f., 231, 236f., 239, 241, 311 – feeling of existence 1, 85, 90 – feeling towards 38, 57 – feeling with no content 82, 84 – individual feeling 60, 62, 223 – noematic feeling 39 – noetic feeling 39 – objectless feeling 79f., 83–85, 88f. – pattern of feeling 63f., 73 – perceptual feeling 91, 95 Fegefeuer 321f. Florence 259–262, 264, 278f., 281–284 Force – divine force 261, 274 – formative force 261 Freiheit 306f. Furcht 104, 107–109, 125, 134, 139, 250, 295, 317, 319 Galaxy 90 Geburt 136, 313, 315 Gedächtnis 108 Gefühl – atmosphärisches Gefühl

110–113

Subject Index

– existentielles Gefühl 101, 109–112, 114f., 117f., 296–300, 302f., 305, 309, 316f. – Gefühl des Lebendigseins 123–129, 131–143, 239, 242, 244f., 248f., 255, 311, 313, 315f., 323, 327 – Gemeingefühl 211 – Grundgefühl 123–128, 131, 133, 135f., 141, 143 – Hintergrundgefühl 111–113, 125, 297, 316 – nicht-elementares Gefühl 110–113, 118, 315 Gegenstand 103, 240, 253, 297–299, 302, 311, 318, 320, 327f. Geltung 300f., 303, 305f., 308f. Gestalt 38, 301f., 304, 308f., 326 – Gestaltqualität 299–302, 307 Geworfensein 136f., 139, 144 God 49, 275, 277f., 280f., 283, 285 Grief 23, 27 Guilt 4, 23f., 45 Handlung 102, 107, 110, 112f., 123, 300f., 309, 312f., 315, 318f., 323, 325, 328f. – Handlungsfähigkeit 245, 313 – Handlungsmöglichkeit 111, 303, 313, 315 – Handlungsunfähigkeit 143, 315 Happiness 7f., 24, 61, 65, 75, 235 Hass 103, 125 Hermeneutik 126, 128f., 131, 133, 136, 293 Heterophenomenology 172 Hintergrund 103f., 110–112, 114f., 295, 300f., 308, 315-317, 323 Hintergrunderleben 293, 302 Hippocampus 108 Homeodynamic regulation 152, 154, 158, 161, 192 Hope 35, 47, 61, 67, 228 Hopelessness 24, 26, 45, 67, 130 Horizon 5, 29-31, 34, 41, 172 Horizont 328, 330 Hypothalamus 154f., 158

343

Identität 246–248, 254 Identity 87, 95, 159, 190, 195, 205, 227, 232-234 Illness 26–28, 32, 36, 46, 56, 70f., 152f., 266, 275, 278 Illusion 90, 151, 162 Image 16, 171, 233, 259, 261–268, 271, 275, 277, 279–281, 284–287 – agency of the image 265, 267f., 285f. – image practices 259, 265, 267f., 276, 285, 287 – image theory 265, 277 – imago animata 259, 280, 284, 286f. – mental image 232, 235 – miraculous image 265–268, 274–278, 284, 287 – sacred image 266, 268 Imagination 15, 183, 186, 208, 223, 232, 235, 271, 280 Impression 182, 225, 227, 232f. Incarnation 16, 163, 259, 264, 268f., 272, 274–278, 280–285 Individual / Individuality 12, 35, 55, 62–64, 67, 75, 90, 95, 160, 204, 208–210, 218, 224, 227, 230f., 261, 268, 286 Inner milieu 154, 158, 163 Inner state 157, 162 Instantiation 61, 82, 87f., 94 Instinct 4, 152, 155–157, 208 Integration 3, 16, 153, 150, 152-154, 161, 174f., 190, 192, 218, 265, 267, 270, 298, 329 – integrated information 87 Intellect 208, 223, 231–233, 235, 269 Intentionalität 101, 103, 106f., 109, 114, 242f., 252–254, 295–297, 300, 307 Intentionality 7, 13, 58, 84, 87, 89, 101, 212 – affective intentionality 56–58, 60, 64–66, 101 – intentionality of feeling 204 – intentional object 6f., 12, 38, 65, 84

344

Subject Index

– intentional state 23f., 32f., 37, 39, 41, 43–45, 47, 57, 59f., 68, 204 Interaction (s. also sensorimotor interaction) 3, 9, 11, 14, 16, 42, 49, 92, 95, 154, 157, 160, 162, 169, 175–178, 183–185, 187–190, 192, 194f., 215–218, 261f., 265, 275, 286 Interaktion 109-114, 293–295, 297f., 301f., 304f., 308 Interiority 192, 212f. Internalism 82 Internal state 81–83, 86, 88, 95, 150, 153, 158 Intersubjectivity 300, 302 Intersubjektivität 16, 64, 189 Introspection 83 Intuition 226f. Jealousy 4, 23, 104, 173 Joy 1, 23, 35, 67, 214, 227-229, 231 Judgment 3, 55, 57, 62, 64, 155, 172, 204, 210, 215, 223, 227, 232f., 265, 267, 285 Kinaestheses 41, 188, Knowledge 179-186, 194, 212, 214, 216f., 224-226, 233, 235f. 267 Kognition 102, 105, 108, 114, 116f., 240f., 245f., 251, 302, 316f. – Metakognition 241 Kognitionswissenschaft 293f. Kommunikation 118, 294, 300 Körper 107, 114, 150, 212, 239f., 242–245, 250f., 294, 296f., 315318, 320, 324, 326f. – Körpergefühl 242 – Körperschema 300 – Körperzustände 243, 298 Leben 2, 105, 110, 112, 123–126, 134–140, 142–144, 149f., 152, 154, 162, 207, 240f., 298–300, 302, 306–308, 312–316, 318–330 – Lebensbegriff 314, 327, 330 – Lebensführung 141, 319f., 324 Lebewesen 108, 124, 240-249, 251, 253, 155, 297f., 303

Leib 150, 188, 209, 212, 243, 316, 318 Leichnam 314, 326 Liebe 103, 125, 134 Life – animal life 157, 162, 188f. – becoming of life 16, 259, 264 – concept of life 150, 168 – emotional life 55, 62 – life of reason 225 – life process 14, 149–154, 269, 271 – lived experience 5, 168, 171, 190f., 195, 202 – plant life 157 – quality of life 225, 231, 237 Linguistic community 64 Living being 2, 15, 149f., 152f., 156–163, 188, 265, 286 Localization 40, 57, 67, 79, 83, 85f., 96, 149-151, 182, 204, 296 Materialism 14, 92, 162, 203, 205 Materialismus 324 Matrix-world 151 Mechanism 4, 45, 72, 75, 82f., 89, 154, 174, 184, 189, 195 Mechanistic account 6 meditatio mortis 319, 322 Mental act 84f. Mental activity 84, 87, 224, 234 Mental life 80, 83, 189, 203 Mental space 149, 151, 162 Mental state 2f., 5–7, 12, 80–82, 86, 92–94, 169f., 173f., 177, 182f., 185f., 189, 194, 212 Metabolism 81, 85, 157, 160 Metabolismus 315 Metaphysics 49, 55, 58, 66, 85, 151, 190, 203, 217f., 223f. – metaphysical dualism 92 Metaphysik 132, 305 Mind 1–3, 5f., 25, 60, 64, 71, 81, 89, 94, 150, 163, 167, 170, 174, 188191, 203, 206, 208, 212, 216f., 225–227, 231–233, 264, 267, 269f., 285f. – extended mind (s. extended) – state of mind 65, 210

Subject Index

Miracle 259, 261f., 264–268, 275f., 280f., 284–286 Möglichkeitshorizont 296, 305f., 309, 329f. Monism 94f., 150, 303 Mood 1, 3f., 6–9, 12f., 23, 25, 32–34, 58f., 68, 86, 94, 96, 130, 149, 152–154, 211 Mortality 195, 311 Motion 70, 156, 183, 228 Motivation 4, 12, 14, 60–62, 68, 105, 158, 201, 210, 216 Movement 1f., 10, 15, 41, 65, 70, 91, 150, 156f., 160f., 169, 174177, 180-184, 187, 189, 193, 234, 237, 301 mysterium 262 Narration 17, 46, 103–105, 202, 207, 217, 268, 277, 307, 323 – narrative understanding of the self 12, 202, 206, 210, 215, 217 Naturalism 217f. Neid 142 Nervous system 94, 152, 155, 158, 161, 163, 188f., 204, 213, 270f. Neural circuit 88 Neurobiologie 125 Neurobiology 42, 150 Neurophilosophie 116 Neurophilosophy (s. philosophy) Neuroscience 4f., 87, 89, 163, 172 – affective neuroscience 4, 161, 192 – cognitive neuroscience 6, 150, 191 Neurowissenschaften 104, 108, 239 Normative requirement 62, 66, 75 Normativität 130, 301, 309 Normativity 55, 63, 74f. Object – external object 15, 82, 232 – formal object (of an emotion) 60–63, 65 – material object (of an emotion) 60–62 – mental object 85 – object-oriented 79, 86, 88f.

345

Objectivism 63 Ontic-ontological ambiguity 123 Ontisch 9, 68f., 132–139 Ontological 9, 68, 71f., 79-81, 83f., 149, 193, 262f., 269 Ontologisch 9, 69, 132–139, 142, 144 Ontology 86, 262, 269 Opinion 223, 226, 232, 235 Organ 41, 91, 152, 155, 161, 204, 208f., 217, 229, 233, 241, 271f., 284, 315 Organism 2f., 5f., 10f., 13–15, 85, 88–90, 105, 123f., 149–152, 154f., 157f., 160–163, 167f., 175, 182–185, 187–196, 201–206, 208–210, 214, 216, 218, 239, 314, 327 – living organism 5, 14, 85, 149f., 191f., 204, 217, 273 – sentient organism 2, 11, 14, 147 Organismus 105, 124, 240–244, 246, 249, 294, 297f., 314, 327 – Organismus als Einheit 243, 255 Pain 8, 12, 15, 35, 39f., 59, 62, 65, 72, 82, 96, 155, 159, 177, 179, 203, 210f., 223, 225–229, 234–237 Panic 7, 125 Panik 134 Panpsychism 90 Passivity 15, 40, 42f., 57, 62, 71, 226, 231f., 234 Pathologie 4, 75, 126–131, 134–138, 141, 297 Pathology 3, 56, 67, 71, 73, 123, 130f. Pattern – activation pattern 151 – evaluation pattern 61, 63f., 74 – interaction pattern 185, – intersubjective pattern 64 – neural pattern 161 – pattern of feelings (s. Feelings) Perception – content of perception 3, 174,

346

Subject Index

– horizonal structure of perception 29f., 41, 189f. – perceptual presence (s. Presence) – perceptual system 213 – theory of perception 29, 169, 174, 265-267, 285 – visual perception 29, 175 Personhood 55f., 58, 65, 72 Phänomenalität 241, 252f. Phänomenologie 106, 112, 127–129, 131, 293, 307 Phantom limb 91 Phenomenality plot 176–179, 183, 196 Phenomenal states 83, 88f., 91f., 174, 185, 194, 263, 286 Phenomenological possibility space 44 Phenomenology 8, 23, 26, 29, 38–41, 43, 47, 65, 119, 129, 152, 168, 171–174, 182, 189, 195f., 208, 215, 217, 259, 263f., 268f., 272, 274, 285–287 – catholic phenomenology 274 – phenomenology vs. ontology 269 Philosophy – history of philosophy 232 – neurophilosophy 150, 163 – philosophy of consciousness 150 – philosophy of emotions 2, 55-58, 58 – philosophy of life 2, 168, 188 – philosophy of mind 2f., 5, 11, 91, 168–170, 172, 187, 192, 195, 202f., 206, 286 Physicalism 81, 203 Physical process 81, 84, 88f., 94f. Pleasure 1f., 15, 30, 35, 62, 65, 210, 223–231, 234, 236-237 – pleasure and pain 8, 12, 59, 65, 72, 203, 223, 228f., 234f., 237 Prayer 261, 265, 276, 278, 280f., 284 Presence 5, 14, 167–170, 172, 176–183, 185f., 189, 192, 194–196, 209, 263, 275f., 280

– gradual presence 14, 167f., 172–174, 178, 180, 182, 184–189, 191–196 – perceptual presence 14, 167–169, 180, 182, 195 – presence in absence 180 psychÞ 150, 250 Psychiatrie 105, 129–131, 135, 138, 141 Psychologie 104, 141 Psychology 64, 73, 150, 171, 202f., 217f., 265, 272 Psychotherapie 105, 126, 128 Qualia

87, 89, 173, 180, 201

Rationality 9, 55f., 59, 62, 65, 74f., 210, 214f., 226 – emotional rationality 12, 55, 58–61, 66 – sentiment of rationality 301, 303 Raw feels 171, 177 Reflexivität 251, 254 Regulation 13, 48f., 105, 112, 114–116, 118, 120, 152, 161, 189, 191 Religion 16, 140, 295, 302f., 306f. Repräsentation 254, 293 Representations 3, 71, 95, 182, 213, 223, 226, 232f., 235–237, 268, 271, 279, 283, 285 – mental representation 232f., 235f., 267 – pictorial representation 265, 268 Sadness 23f., 61, 67 Scham 103, 105, 107, 125 Schuld 103, 105, 139-142, 144 – Schuldgefühl 126, 139 – ontologische vs. ontische Schuld 139, 144 Second-person perspective 16, 259, 286 Seele 242, 250, 307, 314, 320, 322324 Seinsglaube 127, 132, 136 Selbstbewusstsein 240, 242, 247, 254 Selbstbezug 107, 118, 124

Subject Index

Selbsterfahrung 124 Selbsterhaltung 247 Selbstermächtigung 139, 142, 144 Selbstgewahrsein 239f., 242, 245f., 254 Selbstvergewisserung 123 Selbstvertrautheit 254 Selbstwahrnehmung 123, 240–242 Self-model 149, 151f., 161–163 Self-movement 150 Self-organization 159, 161 Self-preservation 14, 149, 152, 157, 208, 224, 228 Semantic 81, 85, 87, 89, 93, 95, 212 Semiose 293, 295, 299, 302 Sensations 15, 58, 62, 65, 72, 159, 171, 173, 175, 211, 223, 226–235, 239 – bodily sensation 10, 59, 171 – passive, receptive sensation 226 Sense-making 157, 161, 187–190, 192 Sensorimotor theory 14, 167, 169f., 174–176, 178f., 183f., 186–188, 191–194 – sensorimotor interaction 149, 170, 176, 186f., 189, 191f., 196 – sensorimotor knowledge 182, 184f., 191 Sentience 149f., 160f., 163, 168, 189, 191 Shame 61, 228, Significance – orientation towards significance 65 – subjects of significance 56, 59, 72 Sinne – Gesichtssinn 252f. – innerer Sinn 240, 251f. Sinnlosigkeit 126, 324 Sorrow 47 Soul 1, 150, 202, 225, 266, 271, 273f., 284 Sprache 294, 299f., 303f., 308f., 312, 324f., 327, 330 – sprachlicher Sinn 299f. Sterben 104, 314, 319, 321, 324f. Sterblichkeit 312

347

Stimmung 8, 32f., 103, 105f., 125f., 129f., 134, 137, 296, 306f. Stoa 224–226, 232, 319 Stolz 103, 107 Subjectivism 59, 63f. Subjectivity 71, 150, 152, 159–163, 170, 174, 192, 205, 209f., 214–217 Subject/object dichotomy 95 Subjekt 107, 116, 128, 247f. Subjektivität 105, 107f., 135f., 247 Survival 4, 15, 154, 204, 224, 237 Symbol – symbolic being 16, 293 – Symbolgebrauch 294, 298–300, 302–305 – Symbolisierung 294, 302, 304f., 312f., 322, 324, 327–330 Thalamus 108, 154 Theologie 313, 322, Theology 262, 264f., 268-270, 272, 274, 284 Therapie 105, 118, 143, 318 Thinking 15, 49, 159, 203, 216, 223f., 226, 235f., 271, 274, 293 Thought 1, 10, 15, 24f., 27f., 32, 44, 46–48, 150, 171, 173, 177, 181f., 184–186, 203f., 208, 216, 223, 225–228, 231–237, 275, 301 – conceptual thought 11f., 23, 46–49 Tickling 179 Tiere 124, 302, 312, 315, 320 Time 15, 36, 63, 86, 156f., 160, 176, 180, 185f., 209, 211, 213f., 224, 227f., 230f., 239 Tod 103, 311–314, 318–321, 323–331 Totentanz 325f., 330 Touch 30, 32, 36, 38–40, 172, 175, 211, 263, 268, 276 Trauer 103–105, 107, 119 Überzeugung 106f., 109, 117, 131, 141, 144, 297, 317 Umwelt 188, 191, 243f., 249, 294f., 297f., 300

348

Subject Index

Unconscious 154, 157, 234 Understanding 9, 58, 69f., 73, 159, 175, 179f., 182–184, 187, 190, 226f., 264, 283, 286 Unity between organism and environment 9, 12, 15, 58, 95, 158, 160f. Unsterblichkeit 312, 320, 324 Unterscheidung 246, 249f., 301, 309 – Unterscheidungshandlung 244, 245, 250, 328, 330 – Unterscheidungskriterien 246 – Unterscheidungsvermögen 242, 246 Valuation 61, 63f., 73, 75 Value 12, 14, 31, 60f., 63f., 73f., 130, 167, 187, 191–195, 208, 215 – constitutional theory of value 66 Vehicle – mental vehicle 83, 93, 169 – vehicle of experience 93, 183 – vehicle externalism 94 Verantwortung 144, 320f. Vergegenständlichung 318, 321, 327, 325, 328 Verhalten 108f., 118, 124-126, 128, 242, 293f., 307 Verkörperung 294, 298-300, 303f., 307, 309 Vernunft 319f. Verstehen 129f., 138, 298, 303f. Vertrautheit 110f., 113, 133–135, 316f., 326 Verzweiflung 103, 119 Virgin Mary 16, 259, 261, 263, 266, 269, 276–280, 283, 285 virtus 261–266, 269, 271f., 275f., 278–281, 283–286

– virtus formativa 265, 271–274, 285 – virtus imaginativa 265, 271f., 280, 285f. Viscera 154, 161, 211 Vitalität 111, 318, 320 Vitality 4, 14, 17, 43, 67, 149, 152156, 158, 162f., 204, 261, 265, 270, 284 Warten 144, 321 Welt 103, 106–114, 116f., 119, 126f., 129f., 132–134, 139, 243, 295–299, 304f., 307f., 311f., 316f., 328 – Lebenswelt 128, 328f. – Weltanschauung 295, 302–309, 314 – Weltbezug 107, 126, 293, 295, 297, 303f., 316f., 328f. Widerfahrnis 312f. Wohlbefinden 153, 320 World – external world 40, 86, 95, 151, 201 – finding oneself in the world 11, 13, 16, 24, 28, 32f., 43, 67, 79, 153, 189, 216, 296, 316 – inner world 150 – relation to the world 9, 13, 25f., 56–58, 60, 64f., 67–75, 96, 149, 162, 181f., 204, 206f., 211f., 214–217, 296 – world-directedness 57–59 Zeit

104, 111, 118, 246-248, 313, 321-232 – Lebenszeit 321 zo 318, 320 Zuneigung 103