How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality: A Phenomenological Account of Self-Shaping 3030814505, 9783030814502

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Contributions to Phenomenology 116

Bianca Bellini

How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality A Phenomenological Account of Self-Shaping

Contributions to Phenomenology In Cooperation with The Center for Advanced Research in Phenomenology

Volume 116 Series Editors Nicolas de Warren, Department of Philosophy, Pennsylvania State University, State College, PA, USA Ted Toadvine, Department of Philosophy, Pennsylvania State University, State College, PA, USA Editorial Board Lilian Alweiss, Trinity College Dublin, Dublin, Ireland Elizabeth Behnke, Ferndale, WA, USA Rudolf Bernet, Husserl Archive, KU Leuven, Belgium David Carr, Emory University, Atlanta, GA, USA Chan-Fai Cheung, Chinese University of Hong Kong, Sha Tin, Hong Kong James Dodd, New School University, New York, USA Alfredo Ferrarin, Università di Pisa, Pisa, Italy Burt Hopkins, University of Lille, Lille, France José Huertas-Jourda, Wilfrid Laurier University, Waterloo, Canada Kwok-Ying Lau, Chinese University of Hong Kong, Sha Tin, Hong Kong Nam-In Lee, Seoul National University, Seoul, Korea (Republic of) Dieter Lohmar, University of Cologne, Cologne, Germany William R. McKenna, Miami University, Ohio, USA Algis Mickunas, Ohio University, Ohio, USA J. N. Mohanty, Temple University, Philadelphia, USA Dermot Moran, University College Dublin, Dublin, Ireland Junichi Murata, University of Tokyo, Tokyo, Japan Thomas Nenon, The University of Memphis, Memphis, USA Thomas M. Seebohm, Johannes Gutenberg-Universität, Mainz, Germany Gail Soffer, Roma Tre University, Rome, Italy Anthony Steinbock, Department of Philosophy Stony Brook, University Stony Brook, New York, USA Shigeru Taguchi, Hokkaido University, Sapporo, Japan Dan Zahavi, University of Copenhagen, Copenhagen, Denmark Richard M. Zaner, Vanderbilt University, Nashville, USA

Scope The purpose of the series is to serve as a vehicle for the pursuit of phenomenological research across a broad spectrum, including cross-over developments with other fields of inquiry such as the social sciences and cognitive science. Since its establishment in 1987, Contributions to Phenomenology has published more than 100 titles on diverse themes of phenomenological philosophy. In addition to welcoming monographs and collections of papers in established areas of scholarship,the series encourages original work in phenomenology. The breadth and depth of the Series reflects the rich and varied significance of phenomenological thinking for seminal questions of human inquiry as well as the increasingly international reach of phenomenological research. All books to be published in this Series will be fully peer-reviewed before final acceptance. The series is published in cooperation with The Center for Advanced Research in Phenomenology. More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/5811

Bianca Bellini

How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality A Phenomenological Account of Self-Shaping

Bianca Bellini Vita-Salute San Raffaele University Milan, Italy

ISSN 0923-9545     ISSN 2215-1915 (electronic) Contributions to Phenomenology ISBN 978-3-030-81450-2    ISBN 978-3-030-81451-9 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-81451-9 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

To my family

Acknowledgment

I would like to express my deepest gratitude to those whose kind help and valued suggestions have contributed to making this publication possible: Roberta De Monticelli (Vita-Salute San Raffaele University), Nicolas de Warren (Pennsylvania State University), Mark Morelli (Loyola Marymount University), Andrea Staiti (University of Parma).

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Introduction

Through this research, we purport to devise a pattern of the self that accounts for the role that change and identity play in the process of formation of individuality (i.e., self-shaping). We will focus on the process through which we discover, know, and shape ourselves. While describing this process, we will wonder whether there is a core of our individuality and how we should account for it. We will try to describe this core; we will delve into its range of possible variations and its constraints. In so doing, we will argue that individual essence—far from being something monolithic—is inherently dynamic. This is due to the fact that the essence of our individuality will turn out to be partly independent of us and so—far from positing or constituting our individuality—we are called upon to discover it and, in so doing, we shape ourselves. This process of self-discovery makes our individual essence dynamic since there are always new aspects of it that we might come to know. This means that, if we care about ourselves, we must strive to unveil our individual essence. We shape ourselves starting from what we discover about our individual essence. Such discoveries may regard unexpected implications and facets of our individuality. Anyway, however unexpected these new facets might be, it seems there is a range of constraints that affect the possible variations of our individuality. If we appeal to our experience, it seems that we cannot vary ourselves unconditionally. Indeed, there are constraints that we must somehow abide by if we intend not to turn into another kind of person every time we change ourselves. But how to account for such constraints and for the dynamic essence of individuality? We will argue that the individuality that makes every person unique and different does not coincide with a steady core that we could simply grasp by reflecting upon ourselves or interpreting ourselves: what distinguishes one person from another is the process of self-shaping that everyone undertakes in light of the gradual self-knowledge they gain. In this research, we will delve into the link between change and identity in self-­ shaping. In this introduction, we are just explaining it as the main topic of our research. Anyway, on our treatment, we will broach this topic starting from the first-­ person perspective experience, which we will describe by considering a ix

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Introduction

phenomenological approach: the way in which we experience the link between change and identity in self-shaping will be our jumping-off point. This kind of experience will bring to light a specific issue, which we will refer to as “the fundamental issue of personal individuality”: how do change and identity coexist in self-­shaping? (Chap. 1). In order to account for this issue, we will turn to different approaches so as to understand whether they could provide us with the coordinates useful for untangling this issue: in the second chapter, we will tackle theories focused on personal identity and in the third chapter theories focused on self-imagination. Unfortunately, such theories will turn out not to be suitable for our goal. This is the reason why we will develop a specific pattern of individuality so as to account for the issue at stake (Chap. 4). Max Scheler’s stance will be of paramount concern in the effort of developing this pattern, which will succeed in solving the fundamental issue of personal individuality and, in so doing, it will bring to light three main coordinates that account for the process of self-shaping (Bildung): personal upheavals, exemplariness, and availability to self-reorchestration. We will focus on the key role of personal upheavals in the formation of individuality since the pattern that we will develop will make us realize that self-shaping is a process of self-discovery. Subsequently, our pattern will be a multilayer pattern, because it is always possible that we come to grasp new layers of our individuality that we had not grasped yet (Chap. 5). In this process of self-discovery, other persons as exemplars play a pivotal role, because they are able to grasp aspects of my individuality that I cannot comprehend on my own (Chaps. 6 and 7). Insofar as self-­ shaping is always open to possible self-discoveries and self-changes, then I should be always willing to revise myself so as to “reorchestrate” myself in light of what I discover about my individuality. Nonetheless, we will realize that there are circumstances where “availability to self-reorchestration” is not enough: when we experience radical self-discoveries and corresponding radical self-changes, the availability to reorchestrate oneself accordingly seems not to be enough. We will wonder how we could face such upheavals so as to change and remain the same (Chap. 8). At the end of our analysis, we will describe the role that phantasy and the imaginary play in the formation of individuality: specifically, we will bring to light the impact that aesthetic experiences—particularly, literature—have on self-shaping (Chap. 9) and we will argue for the transcendence of personal individuality (Chap. 10). In this analysis, we will argue that others as exemplars (Vorbilder) lay the foundation for the most radical turning points in the process of self-shaping: others as exemplars are able to make me grasp untaken possibilities of my individuality, unknown facets of my individuality so that I might change myself accordingly and experience a personal upheaval (Umbildung). Vorbilder, Bildung, Umbildung: these are the key concepts that define the unremitting process of self-shaping. We are not characterized by a fixed identity: we are a process whereby we gradually know and shape ourselves. Within this process, exemplars represent the most overarching opportunities we are given to “reorchestrate” ourselves since they grasp fundamental aspects of our individuality that we cannot grasp on our own. Such moments of “self-reorchestration” are upheavals that force us to question ourselves: each of these turning points represents an Umbildung that shakes ourselves and our

Introduction

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certainties about our individuality. This is why every Umbildung affects our process of self-shaping. This means that an inherent linkage ties Vorbilder to Bildung and Bildung to Umbildung. In light of this proposal, exemplars will be described as guiding landmarks that represent a point of departure for the production of an open multiplicity of variants of oneself. I succeed in grasping the deepest facets of the core of my individuality thanks to the exemplars that shed light on it. Just as others hold sway over me, so do I. This awareness leads us to realize the crushing impact that we can have on others’ self-shaping. Naturally, my role in this dynamic of influence could be as constructive as destructive. We are dealing with personal individuality and its formation, which we will describe as a process of self-discovery, self-knowledge, self-shaping, and “self-­ reorchestration.” We will argue that we do not posit or constitute the core of our individuality. Indeed, we are called upon to discover it. Subsequently, we are supposed to be ready to discover unexpected facets of it. But how to face self-­ discoveries? Do I reshape myself in light of these discoveries? Am I willing to revise and reshape myself? If so, then the process of self-shaping seems to entail a process of self-knowledge. In fact, if I aim to reshape myself, then I must know what I have just discovered about my individuality. This means that I must explore and reflect upon what I have just grasped. On the contrary, if I do not want to question and reshape myself, then I simply overshadow the self-discovery at issue and I am not interested in knowing what I have discovered. Besides self-discovery, self-­ knowledge, and self-shaping, we will argue that another process defines the formation of individuality: we are referring to “self-reorchestration.” We coin this expression so as to emphasize that we do not “create” anything new with regard to our individuality. Indeed, we gradually recognize and discover aspects of it, and such self-discoveries might spur us to reorchestrate (i.e., reshape, revise, change) ourselves. Before we launch into our analysis, it is worth highlighting three methodological notes. Firstly, we will mainly appeal to the first-person perspective experience: we are going to examine individuality starting from what I, as a personal individual— the “I” of every reader—experience of my self. Secondly, we will appeal to phenomenological philosophy to broach this issue and, in so doing, we will show how a phenomenological perspective on self-shaping differs from non-­phenomenological stances, which we will take into account too. Thirdly, we will make substantial use of literature to highlight the main conceptual points. This choice is due to the fact that literary works provide us with such a portrait of reality that it seems we can handle reality itself in its entirety. We intend to broach the issue of individuality by considering first-person perspective experience (starting from how we—as personal individuals—experience our individuality) and literary exemplifications help us to achieve this goal since they provide portraits of reality that are so vivid that they are extremely useful for comprehending reality itself.1 1  Cf. De Monticelli 2006, 98: “a me pare che in ogni grande romanzo non ci sia affatto la ‘mappa’ della realtà (che sarebbe una filosofia), ma la realtà stessa (che è immensamente più ricca della sua mappa): solo, come concentrata e raccolta nello specchio delle pagine, in modo che, a differenza che nell’esperienza quotidiana, abbiamo la sconvolgente sensazione di poterla finalmente vedere tutta insieme, e in modo disinteressato e limpido.”

Contents

1 The Fundamental Issue of Personal Individuality and Its Significance ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    1 How Change and Identity Seem to Coexist in Personal Individuality����     2 Descriptive Phenomenology and the Focus on Experience ��������������������     8 2 Theories on Personal Identity Do Not Solve the Fundamental Issue����   17 Views on the Self from the Third-Person Perspective ����������������������������    18 Practical Identity and Self-Constitution��������������������������������������������������    20 What Drives Me to Regard Myself as a Project of Self-Shaping? Husserl’s Stance on the Kind of Self I Ought to Be����������������������������    23 3 Theories on Self-Imagination Do Not Solve the Fundamental Issue������   29 Moral Imagination and Literature: How to Flex Personal Individuality������    30 The Epistemic Function of Imagination and Self-Knowledge����������������    36 A Phenomenological Account: How Free Phantasy Oversteps the Scope of Contingency��������������������������������������������������������������������    42 Overview Over Husserl’s Stance on Phantasy and Imagination����������    46 4 What Does My Self Consist in? A Multilayer Pattern of Personal Individuality ������������������������������������������������������������������������   53 The Source and Rules of My Value-Preference and Value-Depreciation����������������������������������������������������������������������������    54 How to Grasp the Contents of My Ordo Amoris: What Do I Love and Hate? ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    59 Individual Destiny and “Good-in-itself for me”��������������������������������������    65 5 How the Multilayer Pattern Solves the Fundamental Issue. Self-Discovery and Readiness for Self-Reorchestration as Overriding Keys to Self-Shaping ������������������������������������������������������   73 Personal Upheavals as Essential Keys to Individuality����������������������������    74 What Do I Change When I Change Myself and How Can I Change Myself Without Turning into Someone Else?����������������������������    76

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What Triggers the Change? Exemplariness as the Linchpin of Self-Shaping����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    82 ‘From Within’ View on the Self and ‘From Outside’ View on the Self����������������������������������������������������������������������������������    83 6 Exemplariness as the Key to My Self-­Possibilities��������������������������������   89 Why Scheler’s Stance on Exemplariness Is Noteworthy ������������������������    90 Exemplariness as the Key to Unexpected and Essential Aspects of my Individuality����������������������������������������������������������������������������������    97 The Look of the Other������������������������������������������������������������������������������   103 Objective and Personal Orders of Values: A Phenomenological Perspective ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������   107 7 Exemplariness in Comparison with Other Modes of Influence����������  113 Exemplars, Leaders, Models��������������������������������������������������������������������   113 How not to Mistake Models for Exemplars ��������������������������������������������   117 How Exemplariness Differs from Personal Influence on Self-Shaping����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������   124 How Exemplariness Differs from Participation ��������������������������������������   128 8 Availability to Self-Reorchestration: A Panoramic View on Life��������  133 Life Graspable as a Whole: The Possibility That Our Life Is Given to Us in Experience as a Whole����������������������������������������������������   135 When Availability to Self-Reorchestration Is Not Enough����������������������   144 What Lays the Foundation for the Possibility of Changes in the Very Direction of an Individual’s Development?��������������������������   146 9 Self-Shaping and Aesthetic Experiences������������������������������������������������  155 Maladaptive Daydreaming: From Self-Shaping to Self-Destruction������   156 Phantasy and Aesthetic Experiences��������������������������������������������������������   162 Phantasy and Literary Exemplarism��������������������������������������������������������   167 10 The Transcendence of Personal Individuality and the Role of the Imaginary in Self-Shaping������������������������������������������������������������  173 Bibliography ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  181 Index������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  189

Chapter 1

The Fundamental Issue of Personal Individuality and Its Significance

In this first chapter we will put in the foreground the apparent paradoxical traits of personal individuality. In fact, if we appeal to our experience, we realize that our personal individuality seems to be as pliable as steady. On the one hand, we face circumstances that force us to question and alter some facets of our individuality. On the other hand, we have a clear sensation that some facets of our individuality cannot alter without transforming us into other persons. It seems there is a core of our individuality we cannot question if we care about the common thread that weaves every moment of our life and every facet of our individuality. What is this core? How can we recognize and describe it? On the one hand, we are willing to acknowledge that our individuality strictly coincides with a core that makes each of us aware to be individuals different from all other individuals; anyway, on the other hand, we are willing to acknowledge that this alleged fixed core coexists with a deeply pliable nature: like every person, as individuals we are armed with the power to alter ourselves. But to what extent? To what extent can I change without turning into someone else? We purport to investigate this paradoxical experience so as to argue for a pattern of individuality that accounts for this paradoxical feeling. In the first part of this chapter, we will describe this apparent paradox and label our main topic ‘the fundamental issue of personal individuality.’ In the second part we will explain the reason why we appeal to descriptive phenomenology as a key means to untangle this issue. This methodological part enables us to clarify why descriptive phenomenology will be a constant landmark throughout our research, which is a phenomenological analysis focused on self-shaping and individual essence.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 B. Bellini, How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality, Contributions to Phenomenology 116, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-81451-9_1

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1  The Fundamental Issue of Personal Individuality and Its Significance

 ow Change and Identity Seem to Coexist H in Personal Individuality There are circumstances that force me to question myself and it seems to me that I can alter myself to such an extent that the type of individual I thought I was can change. But to what extent do I keep on being myself? To what extent can I alter myself? There has to be a limit since, if I could question every facet of myself, then I would be nobody. There has to be a limit that prevents me from altering the facets that would radically modify the core of the individual who I am. Would I be willing to rob and then kill somebody? I may reflect upon the possibilities tethered to my individuality and then I could say, for example: ‘No, I could not do that. It would not be me.’ It seems I abide by strict constraints while imagining myself in this circumstance and stretching the boundaries of my individuality: I imagine myself robbing and killing somebody and I realize that that person could not be me. But how can I draw this conclusion so firmly? There has to be something that prevents me from identifying myself with that kind of person. My process of self-shaping has to abide by constraints that hedge me in and seem to ensue from the core of my individuality. But how can I understand which possibilities pertain to my individuality and which possibilities exceed the range of my possible self-­variations? I have surely experienced that my individuality is liable to changes, so how can I be so sure that I could not rob and then kill somebody? Through these questions we are bringing to light the fundamental issue of personal individuality, the issue of the invariant in the variation: under what condition is the self that I am varying not myself any more? Are there limits that somehow constrain my freedom of self-variation? Are there limits that somehow constrain the way in which I can change myself? We find ourselves abiding by certain constraints that prevent us from changing ourselves unconditionally. When we detect such constraints, we are spotting the boundaries that define our individuality, the possibilities of our process of self-shaping and the limits of our possible range of self-changes. If I pinpoint the borders beyond which I cannot go without turning into another type of individual (at least, the type of individual I think I am so far), then I pinpoint the range of the possibilities that pertain to my individuality. But what enables me to keep on recognizing myself within the wide spectrum of self-possibilities that I can devise about me? When I say, for example, that the person who robs and then kills someone is not me, what am I relying upon to claim so? Which are the limits we cannot go over without destroying the core of ourselves? How can we actually change without turning into another type of individual? Is there something about my individuality that I cannot change since it defines the type of individual who I am? What acts as a constraint in my process of self-shaping and as an unavoidable limit of the range of my possible self-changes? What do I change when I change myself and how can I change myself without turning into someone else? Furthermore, what if we found ourselves in a circumstance where we are supposed to act in a way that does not resemble what we think coincides with the core of our individuality, and so we say: ‘I cannot do that, it would not be me’? There

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seems to be a core of our individuality that somehow hinders the range of possible self-changes. Anyway, it may happen that I face an upheaval of my individuality since, for example, something upsetting occurs to me and it radically changes this alleged core of my individuality and I find myself doing what I thought did not resemble my individuality: how is it possible that what I thought to be a bedrock of my individuality turns out to overshadow a deeper facet of my individuality? It seems to happen all of a sudden: I feel different from the individual I was before. But, somehow, it is always me: to what extent can I change and know myself? How can I presume to grasp my alleged individual essence insofar as I continuously experience how pliable my individuality is? I know that there might be moments that could radically alter the type of individual I think I am and make me discover unexpected facets of my individuality, so how can I dare to know myself? But, if I care about myself, it seems I must know myself. The apparent paradox consists in the fact that, although I have experienced how pliable my individuality is, nonetheless I presume to grasp the individual who I am. On the one hand, we are willing to acknowledge that our individuality strictly coincides with a core that makes each of us aware to be an individual different from all other individuals. On the other hand, we are willing to acknowledge that such a fixed core coexists with a deeply pliable nature: we are armed with the power to alter ourselves. So, even though there is a deep core of our individuality that somehow hinders the range of possible self-changes, it may happen that I face an upheaval and this radically changes the alleged core of my individuality. There are circumstances that could radically alter the type of individual I thought I was since they make me discover aspects of my individuality that I completely ignored. These remarks entitle us to pose the following questions: what is this core, steady and pliable at the same time, that somehow ensures change and identity, that somehow ensures that I could change myself without turning into someone else? What if changes prevailed over identity and upheavals made individuality? That is, what if we found our individulity focusing on our upheveals rather than on what keeps on being identical through time? What if the keystone of my process of self-shaping depended upon upheavals, that is, the circumstances that deeply challenge and question my certainties about my self? Through this research we purport to answer these questions by arguing for a clear and sound theory that describes self-shaping as a process where upheavals constitute the key to the core of our individual essence. Due to the nature of the topic we will broach, our analysis seems to propose a challenge for everyone who reads it. Readership’s interest and curiosity will be possibly piqued by the nature of the topic: our research deals with the innermost layers of individuality (who I am) and personhood (what I am). It poses the question as to how as persons we become individuals: which is the core of my individuality? How do I shape myself? To what extent do others play a role in my process of self-­ knowledge and self-shaping? What makes me an individual different from other individuals, who anyway are persons exactly like me? These and similar questions seem to move and affect every person who is now reading them: they seem to be issues of paramount concern for everyone who cares about how to author her life. These remarks hark back to the conclusion of Fichte’s Preface to The Vocation of

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1  The Fundamental Issue of Personal Individuality and Its Significance

Man (see Morelli, 2015, xv), where he offers his readers advice on how to read his book and we endorse such an advice: I must, however, remind my reader that the “I” who speaks in this book is not the author himself; but it is his earnest wish that the reader should himself assume this character, and that he should not rest contented with a mere historical apprehension of what is here said, but that during reading he should really and truly hold converse with himself, deliberate, draw conclusions and form resolutions, like his imaginary representative, and thus, by his own labour and reflection, develop and build up within himself that mode of thought the mere picture of which is presented him in the book. (Fichte, 1931, xii)

The fundamental issue of personal individuality is the starting issue that gives rise to any other reflection of our analysis: how do change and identity coexist in the process of formation of individuality (i.e., self-shaping)? This issue regards the invariant in the variation: what remains fixed during self-variation? When I say, for instance, that I would not cheat on my taxes because that person would not be me, what am I relying upon to endorse such a claim? While I investigate the range of my self-possibilities so as to ascertain whether I could be the kind of person who cheats on her taxes, there has to be something that I cannot vary: unless I think that personal individuality does not matter—as Parfit (1987) does—and I care nothing about the process whereby I know and shape myself, then I am interested in pinpointing the ‘x’ that somehow enables me to say that I am not the kind of person who cheats on her taxes. Nevertheless, what if I found myself in a circumstance where I actually cheat on my taxes? It will be me, but somehow it will not be me: how to account for this? A literary exemplification could now help us to better understand what the fundamental issue of personal individuality consists in and why it is so important that it marks the beginning of our analysis. Let us briefly take into account Resurrection by Tolstoj, a novel in which the main character experiences a radical self-discovery that leads him to reorchestrate himself accordingly: he experiences a disruptive self-­ change, he becomes different from the individual he was before, but he is the same. This literary exemplification enables us to get to the heart of the matter. Furthermore, this novel brings to the foreground another issue that will be a silver thread running through our analysis: other persons play a pivotal role in our process of self-shaping since they could radically hold sway over our individualities and such an impact flows into disruptive self-changes. The novel begins with Katerina walking to the courtroom and Prince Dmitri Ivanovitch Nekhludoff being astonished to see that the defendant is Katerina and that she is accused of having helped rob and poison a merchant from Siberia. The trial is described in a disgusting way because the officials are more concerned with formalities and their own self-interest than with a fair trial for the accused. Nekhludoff recognizes Katerina and remembers his behaviour towards her in the past, first love and the transformation from a peaceful, unselfish man to a selfish one. In fact, when Nekhludoff was a student at the university, he spent his summers with his aunts and there he first came to know Katerina and fell in love with her. Three years later, when he returned, military life had made him selfish and depraved:

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he seduced her and, right after, gave her money and left for his regiment. After the war, he returned and learned that she had become pregnant and gone away: somewhat relieved, he tried to forget her. At the trial, the unexpected sight of Katerina fills Nekhludoff with a mixture of loathing and pity. Gradually, he begins to feel remorse for the life to which he has driven her (the baby died and she, after a series of tribulations, became a prostitute). Because of a careless legalistic oversight by the jury, Katerina, though innocent, is sentenced to 4 years of hard labour in Siberia. Driven by his uneasy conscience, Nekhludoff goes to a lawyer to discuss the possibility of an appeal. The novel deals with his gradual resurrection: One of the most widespread superstitions is that every man has his own special, definite qualities. [Indeed] the man often becomes unlike himself, while still remaining the same man. In some people these changes are very rapid, and Nekhludoff was such a man. […] At this time he experienced such a change. (Tolstoj, 2000, 210–211)

This novel hinges upon self-change and what we refer to as ‘self-reorchestration’: Nekhludoff discovers something unexpectedly new about his individuality and tries to ‘reorchestrate’ his life accordingly. This self-change stems from the impact that others have over him: upon returning from military life and when feeling remorse for the life to which he had driven Katerina, he experiences a disruptive change. In the passage where Tolstoj describes such changes, he stresses that “all this terrible change had come about because he had ceased to believe himself and had taken to believing others” (Tolstoj, 2000, 49). Let us pay attention to the passage where Tolstoj describes how Nekhludoff changes before and after his military life: He then had been an honest, unselfish lad, ready to sacrifice himself for any good cause; now he was depraved and selfish, and thought only of his own enjoyment. Then God’s world seemed a mystery which he tried enthusiastically and joyfully to solve; now everything in life seemed clear and simple, defined by the conditions of the life he was leading. Then he had felt the importance of, and had need of intercourse with, nature, and with those who had lived and thought and felt before him—philosophers and poets. What he now considered necessary and important were human institutions and intercourse with his comrades. Then women seemed mysterious and charming—charming by the very mystery that enveloped them; now the purpose of women, all women except those of his own family and the wives of his friends, was a very definite one: women were the best means towards an already experienced enjoyment. Then money was not needed, and he did not require even one-third of what his mother allowed him; but now this allowance of 1500 roubles a month did not suffice, and he had already had some unpleasant talks about it with his mother. Then he had looked on his spirit as the I; now it was his healthy strong animal I that he looked upon as himself. And all this terrible change had come about because he had ceased to believe himself and had taken to believing others. (Tolstoj, 2000, 49)

Such changes came about since he did not believe himself and believed others: This he had done because it was too difficult to live believing one’s self; believing one’s self, one had to decide every question not in favour of one’s own animal life, which is always seeking for easy gratifications, but almost in every case against it. Believing others there was nothing to decide; everything had been decided already, and decided always in favour of the animal I and against the spiritual. Nor was this all. Believing in his own self he was always exposing himself to the censure of those around him; believing others he had their approval. (Tolstoj, 2000, 49–50)

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He becomes unlike himself while still remaining the same man. What enables him to keep on being the same even if he becomes an individual different from the one he was before? Nekhludoff experiences a series of self-changes that, though differently, are all triggered by others: on the one hand, it is the presence of Katerina that makes Nekhludoff feel remorse for his past life so that “the distance between what he wished to be and what he was [was enormous]” (Tolstoj, 2000, 109); on the other hand, he turns from an honest man into a selfish one because he started believing others and stopped believing in his own self. These are the reasons why this novel well exemplifies the meaning of self-change and the radical impact that others may have on my self-shaping. When Nekhludoff discovers to feel remorse for his past life, he completely changes the bedrocks of his life and individuality. This overarching change leads him to reflect upon the meaning of self-changes and his doubts are the same that we will try to solve: how is it possible for an individual essence and a series of undeniable self-changes to coexist? If we rely upon our first-person perspective experiences, we find ourselves forced to account both for variations in our individuality and invariants in our individuality. Subsequently, this is me, but this is not me: I am my individuality, but my individuality goes beyond what I think about it and radical self-changes might belie the beliefs that I hold about my individuality, as the experience of Nekhludoff exemplifies: From that time until this day a long period had elapsed without any cleansing, and therefore the discord between the demands of his conscience and the life he was leading was greater than it had ever been before. He was horror-struck when he saw how great the divergence was. It was so great and the defilement so complete that he despaired of the possibility of getting cleansed. “Have you not tried before to perfect yourself and become better, and nothing has come of it?” whispered the voice of the tempter within. “What is the use of trying any more? Are you the only one?—All are alike, such is life,” whispered the voice. But the free spiritual being, which alone is true, alone powerful, alone eternal, had already awakened in Nekhludoff, and he could not but believe it. Enormous though the distance was between what he wished to be and what he was, nothing appeared insurmountable to the newly-awakened spiritual being. (Tolstoj, 2000, 109)

Nekhludoff is different but he is the same, he becomes unlike himself while still remaining the same man: our first-person perspective experience supports this claim, but how to explain it in philosophical terms? This is the fundamental issue of personal individuality and we aim to pinpoint the philosophical questions underpinning the claims “I am different, but I am the same” or “he becomes unlike himself, while still remaining the same man.” Which is the invariant in the range of self-­ possibilities? That is to say, which is the invariant that sets the constraints on the range of possible variations in my individuality? What prevents me from varying myself unconditionally? What does my self consist in? What do I change when I change myself and how can I change myself without turning into someone else? What triggers the change? We intend to identify the constraints of self-variation, the core that prevents us from varying ourselves in any manner, the range of possible self-variations, the limits that constrain the process of self-shaping. The claim underlying this effort is that our individuality consists of aspects that are liable to changes and aspects that

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are not liable to changes: if we appeal to the way in which we experience the formation of our individuality, it seems there is an innermost core of individuality that constrains the range of possible self-changes. On the one hand, we are aware that we face self-changes; on the other hand, we are aware that there is something that somehow prevents us from changing ourselves unconditionally. If we claim—as Nietzsche does (cf. Nehamas, 1985)—that individuality is based on fluidity and contradictions only, it seems we cannot account for this twofold awareness. It seems that, if we really do not find any steady element in our individuality and make its fluidity its hallmark, we face a paradox. In fact, if we did not identify a steady set of coordinates of our individuality, then our individuality itself would flow into an endless stream of self-changes where we cannot identify a common thread. This implies that I become another individual every time I change myself. But this is not true if we appeal to our experiences: as Tolstoj’s novel brought to light, a personal change makes me different, but I am the same, I become unlike myself while still remaining the same person. Naturally, we often face contradictions and self-conflicts, but this does not prevent us from searching for a core of individuality that oversees the range of possible self-changes. As we shall see, contradictions and conflicts are a fundamental step in self-shaping. We often face personal upheavals or tipping points that force us to change ourselves: these steps are basic to self-shaping since they make us discover facets of ourselves that otherwise we could not possibly grasp. However, if I care about myself, I acknowledge that there have to be limits I cannot exceed within the range of my possible self-changes. If I do not care about myself, then I do not reflect upon such limits. We are not claiming that self-shaping requires a continuous reflection upon oneself. Indeed, we are claiming that if I care about myself, then I try to understand who I am, who I want to be, how my self-shaping unfolds, how my individuality changes. If I care about myself,1 I reflect upon the fact that I may discover unexpectedly new facets of myself and alter myself accordingly, but it seems I know there are things I cannot do: one could say, for example, ‘I could not lie to my beloved. It would not be. I could not do that.’ However, then it may happen that I do it, and it seems that I have somehow betrayed the individual I thought I was: how to account for this feeling? Sure, we can change, but we know that some self-­ changes would completely betray our individuality and this means that there are constraints that guide us through self-shaping. This awareness subsumes two pithy questions that we cannot dodge: which is the core of my individuality? Which constraints oversee self-shaping? Far from claiming that individuality is absolutely steady or absolutely pliable, it seems we should argue for a thesis that acknowledges that our individuality is steady 1  Our appeal to the concept of ‘care of the self’ recalls the viewpoint of Foucault and we agree with his view, according to which the epistemological dimension—self-knowledge—is to be linked with a practical-dynamic dimension—‘cura sui.’ However, as we will understand later, we cannot agree with his hermeneutic approach on the subject, although his stance on this topic brings to light the controversies around the main concern of our research, that is, the idea about an essence— which we will discover to be inherently dynamic—in the context of personal individuality.

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and pliable at the same time. This issue seems to faithfully account for the way in which we experience our individuality: there is an innermost core that I cannot change since it represents the type of individual who I am, but this does not prevent me from continuously discovering new aspects of this core. Our research aims to argue that the fluidity of our individuality does not lead individuality itself to lapse into an absolute fluidity. Our individuality seems to be as fluid as steady. Fluidity has to flow into some sort of solidity and vice versa. Let us keep in mind the chief question of our investigation: what is that core, steady and pliable at the same time, that somehow ensures change and identity, that ensures that I could change without turning into someone else? We often face situations that make us yearn to be different individuals and somehow force us to question the type of individual we think we are. On the one hand, it seems we are armed with the ability to alter ourselves, but on the other hand it seems there is a steady core that makes us say: ‘I cannot do that, it would not be me.’ It is a matter of a core that prevents us from becoming a type of individual we do not identify ourselves with. This double feature of our individuality comes to light when we take into account the circumstances that radically question ourselves: in order for us to face them, we are supposed to grasp the facets of our individuality that cannot be altered—because this change would make us turn into someone else—and the facets of our individuality that can be altered—because this change would not make us turn into someone else.

Descriptive Phenomenology and the Focus on Experience In this section we will examine the issues of descriptive phenomenology so as to understand why we argue that phenomenology is a valuable means to broach and untangle the ‘fundamental issue of personal individuality’: how could a phenomenological approach enrich our comprehension of self-shaping? The answer to this question lies in comprehending what characterizes phenomenology as a philosophical method of description and what makes possible different scopes of its application, specifically, the formation of individuality. Far from being confined to a method we could simply follow, phenomenology seems to be a matter of a triple commitment: a theoretical, applicative, and performative commitment. The meaning of this triple commitment comes to light in every phenomenological analysis: when we apply phenomenology to the phenomena that concern us (applicative commitment), we strive to comprehend their intrinsic essence (theoretical commitment). If we relate phenomenology—as a descriptive method of philosophical investigation—to the range of phenomena inhabiting the Lebenswelt, to the scope of our own personal experiences, to the range of phenomena whose essence is unknown, then we reach a high degree of clarification and comprehension regarding them and their essence. In so doing, we disclose ways of phenomenological reflection and application: for example, it is possible to give rise to a phenomenology of politics (starting from Spiegelberg, 1986), of sympathy (starting from Scheler, 1913), of phantasy (starting from Husserl, 2005), of ethics (starting from

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Hartmann, 1962), of aesthetics (starting from Dufrenne, 1953), and so forth. Phenomenology consists in the disclosure of phenomenological ways of application: we cannot pretend to do phenomenology without relating it to what concerns us. Doing phenomenology means applying it in order to comprehend the essence of the phenomenon at issue. This means that it is possible for us to disclose new ways of relating phenomenology to different kinds of experiences, scopes, phenomena, and so on, and so forth. Applying phenomenology means relating it to ‘something’—the topic of affectivity, emotions, religious experience, the phenomenon of habit, and anything whatever—and combing through its essence. For example, the applicative nature of phenomenology pointedly stands out in Max Scheler’s thought, since he relates phenomenology to different phenomena and, in so doing, discloses new phenomenological ways of reflection: phenomenology and individuality (Scheler, 2013a), phenomenology and religion (Scheler, 1921), phenomenology and exemplars (Scheler, 1911–21), and so on. This applicative nature, which spurs us to relate phenomenology to various phenomena—so as to reach a higher degree of comprehension regarding them—is unavoidably linked with a performative phenomenological nature: in order to undertake phenomenological reflections, to disclose new phenomenological ways, we are supposed to be active thinkers. This activity implies that we cannot be passive thinkers when applying phenomenology. As we have just specified, we can identify an author from which our analysis may start. For example, Max Scheler’s phenomenology of sympathy is an important application of phenomenology and—at the same time—a vital topic for understanding Scheler’s notion of the self and others’ role. Nonetheless, phenomenological philosophy is such that every phenomenological research is able to bring to light different aspects of the same phenomenon at issue. For example, we intend to examine the topic of individuality and Scheler’s theses regarding sympathy may be relevant to this analysis: this means that Scheler’s theses represent a possible application of phenomenology to the issue of the self. This does not mean that we must appeal to Scheler’s theses on sympathy if we intend to give rise to a phenomenological analysis regarding the self. Theoretical and applicative commitment enable us to focus on the essence of what we are examining and, in so doing, philosophical theses on the matter are relevant to our research only insofar as they help us to comprehend the essence of the phenomenon at issue. This is why we will not rely on every thesis that seems to be related to the topic at issue (such as Scheler’s stance on sympathy), because perhaps such theses do not help us to comprehend the essence of the phenomenon we are examining. We are dealing with a topic—personal individuality—that seems to be linked with many other topics, which will not be treated in this research—such as sympathy, empathy, philosophy of mind, psychology, and so on. This choice is due to the specific topic we are examining— which we refer to as the fundamental issue of personal individuality—and to the theoretical/applicative commitment that we relate to the nature of any phenomenological analysis: we are interested in the essence of personal individuality. We are not interested in any thesis that may be related to it. Our research is not an analysis focused on Max Scheler. It is an analysis focused on the experience of the self and, in order to account for this experience, it appeals to Scheler’s thought. The triple

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commitment brings to light the hallmark of phenomenology, which starts from the phenomenon itself (i.e., the experience of the self) and not from a philosophical description that seems relevant to the phenomenon. So, on the one hand, this applicative nature of phenomenology allows us to relate it to the scope of individuality; on the other hand, the theoretical nature of phenomenology spurs us to identify the essential traits of self-shaping. However, in order for this disclosure of phenomenological ways of application to play out, a performative commitment is necessary: in order to carry out phenomenological reflections, we need to act, to do something. Phenomenology does not merely call for a theoretical and applicative commitment. It entails a strong performative commitment: we have to bracket the natural attitude, to carry out a phenomenological reduction, to vary the phenomena in their essential traits—according to the eidetic variation—to let the phenomenon catch our attention (see Husserl, 1913, §§1–46). Phenomenology is a philosophical method we should appeal to if we aim to gain evidence and clarification with regard to the phenomena surrounding us in the world-of-life. According to Husserl, phenomenological philosophy is not to be conceived of as “a mere life occupation in the ordinary sense” (“ein bloß schönen Lebensberuf im gewöhnlichen Wortsinne”). Indeed, it appeals to and affects the innermost folds of life. For this reason, Husserl is proud of the kind of philosophy that Roman Ingarden exemplifies. He writes: “I am sure about your future, since you belong to that narrow group of my students who do not deem philosophy as a mere life occupation [Lebensberuf] in the ordinary sense; indeed, they think that philosophy is an occupation [Beruf] in the highest sense, because it points to the unique vocation [Ruf] that pertains to the individual core of the person herself.”2 Phenomenology inherently strives to be related to the scope of our own personal experiences. Such an application is not for its own sake but rather for an overarching comprehension of our being in the world—the theoretical commitment of phenomenology. Otherwise, if phenomenology were conceived of as a philosophical field that is supposed to be merely studied and not applied, then it would cease to be what its founder devised it to be and it would be forced to be less than it is actually capable of being. The triple commitment we related to phenomenological philosophy flows into the possibility of giving rise to phenomenological analyses. Theoretical, applicative, and performative facets of phenomenology constitute the forces we rely on during the effort of bringing to light the essential traits of the phenomena surrounding us. Once phenomenology is chosen as a way of inquiry, the latter entails a double dynamic: if we appeal to phenomenology, we have to be aware of this double dynamic that such an appeal entails. On the one hand, phenomenology demands to be applied to that phenomenon or those phenomena that we wish to comprehend 2  Ingarden 1968, 34: “Ihrer Zukunft bin ich sicher. Sie gehören zu den ganz weniger meiner Schüler, denen die Philosophie nicht ein bloß schönen Lebensberuf im gewöhnlichen Wortsinne ist, sondern Beruf im höchsten Sinne, der auf einen über persönlichen, den Herzpunkt der Persönlichkeit treffenden Ruf hindeutet.” All translations are my own unless noted otherwise.

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with regard to their intrinsic essence: thanks to this performative commitment we disclose ways of phenomenological reflection and application. On the other hand, we are supposed to examine better and in great detail the theoretical commitment that lays the foundation for such a disclosure. Phenomenological philosophy spurs us to turn to the world-of-life in order to comprehend the phenomena of the world-of-life—here we are concerned with the forces of self-shaping. In so doing, phenomenological philosophy prevents us from merely interpreting the world-of-life in light of philosophical explanations. Indeed, phenomenological philosophy spurs us to primarily turn to the world-of-life in order to find here what could guide us through the comprehension of the world-of-­ life itself. Phenomenological philosophy calls for an adherence to life: that is, to those experiences that characterize our daily being in the world-of-life. Otherwise, the phenomenological root of philosophy itself would be definitively undermined and downplayed. This is the reason why first-person perspective experience represents an unavoidable landmark for a phenomenological analysis. Nonetheless, this methodological point—the first-person perspective—goes hand in hand with three other key points that seem to constitute the core of phenomenology regarded as a descriptive method of philosophical investigation. These four methodological points constitute the landmarks that will guide us through our phenomenological study focused on personal individuality. Besides the appeal to the first-person perspective, another remarkable methodological point consists in identifying the essential traits of the phenomenon at stake (objectivity), and such traits should account for my own experiences as well as for others’ experiences (intersubjectivity). This means that another methodological point consists in the task of justification, that is to say, the endeavour to ‘account for.’ In our analysis, we will appeal to first-person perspective experiences to identify the essential traits of self-shaping, its range of possible self-variations, its core: this identification enables us to account for the changes of our individuality, and our choices. We will be able to account for the words we employ to describe ourselves— such as ‘I,’ ‘me,’ ‘my desires,’ ‘my priorities,’ ‘Does this act resemble my individuality?’—and, in so doing, another methodological point will turn out to be fundamental: the effort at shedding light on the nature of the phenomena surrounding us in the world-of-life, that is to say, the effort at bringing to light the structure of the world-of-life and, in so doing, ‘phenomenalizing’ what we talk about. The identification of the essential traits related to the dimension of the self enables us to ‘phenomenalize’ what we talk about when talking about personal individuality and, subsequently, to account for it. Nonetheless, one could surmise that experiences of the first-person perspective lead to subjective outcomes, which have no grip on the intersubjective and objective spheres. Indeed, an analysis proceeding from the first-person perspective should strive to achieve theoretical goals that go beyond a personal and subjective horizon. And it is exactly the appeal to phenomenology (regarded as a descriptive method of philosophical investigation) that enables us to attain outcomes on both sides—that is to say, a strictly subjective level (i.e., first-person perspective) and an

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intersubjective level (i.e., the aspect my first-person perspective shares with others’ first-person perspectives). The condition of possibility for such a twofold outcome consists in the nature of phenomenological method itself: from a phenomenological perspective, the issue of knowledge (“what is such-and-such”: De Warren, 2009, 12) flows into the issue of givenness (“how, and under what conditions, objects with a determinate sense of being so-and-so are at all given to consciousness”: De Warren, 2009, 12). This means that taking stock of the ways of givenness is the jumping-off point for any analysis that aims to broach any epistemological issue. So, phenomenology spurs us to conceive of experience as the inescapable starting and arrival point. Now, what does this priority of experience entail? And so, how does this link between phenomenology and experience play out? In order to answer these questions, we turn to three philosophers who deal with this issue in notable ways. Jaspers, Husserl, and Fichte meaningfully highlight the fact that the compass and value of every kind of theoretical and philosophical research strongly depend upon the degree of reference to experience. Such a methodological input brings out the nature of the outcomes that we will achieve through our research: they have to be relevant to experience: that is to say, to our first-person perspective experiences, to the way in which everyone experiences her individuality, self-variations and self-­ shaping. They should provide an insightful view on this type of experience, and such a clarifying portrait is supposed to stem from this type of experience itself: experience is to be conceived of as the unavoidable starting and arrival point. As Jaspers (1965) clearly pointed out, philosophy is in our world and has to refer to it: surely, it points toward and turns to horizons that overcome worldliness in order to experience the present in light of eternity. Anyway, Jaspers claims that even the sharpest reflection acquires its actual meaning only when it points back to human existence here and now. This means that human experience is the boundary that philosophy could dare to overcome only in light of the effort of comprehending human experience itself. With this purpose, it is useful to hark back to Husserl’s remarks focused on experience’s weight, and specifically on first-person perspective experiences: Immediate “seeing,” not merely sensuous, experiential seeing, but seeing in the universal sense as an originally presentive consciousness of any kind whatever, is the ultimate legitimizing source of all rational assertions. This source has its legitimizing function only because, and to the extent that, it is an originally presentive source. […] If we then see (this being a new mode of “seeing”) how the object is, the faithful expressive statement has, as a consequence, its legitimacy. […] Moreover, as may be added here to prevent possible misinterpretations, that does not exclude the possibility that, under some circumstances, one seeing conflicts with another and likewise that one legitimate assertion conflicts with another. (Husserl, 1983, 36–37)3

3  Husserl 1913, 36–37: “Das unmittelbare ‘Sehen,’ nicht bloß das sinnliche, erfahrende Sehen, sondern das sehen überhaupt als originär gebendes Bewusstsein welcher Art immer, ist die letzte Rechtsquelle aller vernünftigen Behauptungen. Rechtgebende Funktion hat sie nur, weil und soweit sie originär gebende ist. Sehen wir einen Gegenstand in voller Klarheit, haben wir rein auf Grund des Sehens und im Rahmen des wirklich sehend Erfaßten Explikation und begriffliche Fassung vollzogen, sehen wir dann (als eine neue Weise des ‘Sehens’), wie beschaffen der

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In order to grasp the importance ascribed by Husserl to experience, we could hark back to a passage from Husserl’s lectures on Fichte at the University of Freiburg. In the second lecture, Husserl quotes Fichte as highlighting the unquestioning value of life. According to Fichte, every kind of reflection, despite its abstractness, has to refer to and hold sway over life: every thought or theory stems from life and has to refer to it again. Fichte maintains that only life has an unconditional and unrestricted meaning, and so the value of every reflection strictly depends upon its reference to life itself: every thought has to stem from it and then return back to it. Husserl directly quotes Fichte (“nothing has unconditional value and meaning except life”) and emphasizes that, for him, every theoretical interpretation aims for inner transformations of human beings, through a manifestation of the ends to which humanity itself is devoted.4 As Husserl himself maintains, Fichte’s approach toward philosophy mirrors the unavoidability of experience as the frame into which every sort of reflection needs to be set. So, according to our methodological choice (i.e., descriptive phenomenology), experience is the springboard to start with and, in so doing, we should grasp the traits distinguishing the process of formation of personal individuality. This means that we should be able to account for the fundamental issue of personal individuality. At phenomenology’s core is the Socratic charge to provide and demand justifications in order to ground beliefs, actions, judgments, and mutual interaction in evidence and accessibility (Husserl, 1956, 9). Insofar as phenomenology is a philosophical method that aims for clarification and evidence, an enduring attempt to answer the question that bases every belief, action, and judgment is at stake: “Why?”; that is to say, ‘Why am I the way I am?’ ‘Why do I act in this way?’ ‘Why do I become unlike myself while still remaining the same?’ and so on, and so forth (see Husserl, 2004, §7). Following Husserl, the active effort of justifying and showing reasons for our beliefs, judgments, and actions characterizes the effort of reaching clarification and evidence. Husserl’s theses would be misunderstood if clarification and evidence were confined to a merely subjective sphere. Indeed, the reasons we offer and demand have to comply with a standard of common accessibility and comprehension. Even if they count only for me, they have to be acceptable for others too. We should offer and demand reasons that justify beliefs, judgments, and actions in Gegenstand ist, dann hat die getreue ausdrückende Aussage ihr Recht. Für die Frage nach ihrem Warum dem ‘ich sehe es’ keinen Wert beimessen, wäre Widersinn—wie wir abermals einsehen. Das schließt übrigens nicht aus, wie hier, um möglichen Mißdeutungen vorzubeugen, beigefügt sei, daß unter Umständen doch ein Sehe mit einem anderen Sehen streiten kann und ebenso eine rechtmäßige Behauptung mit einer anderen.” 4  Husserl 1987, 278: “Fichte gleicht Platon auch darin, daß für ihn, der, wie wir früher ausgeführt, durchaus idealistischer Praktiker ist, die theoretische Weltinterpretation als Fundament gilt für eine praktische Menschheitserhöhung und -erlösung, für eine innere Umschaffung des Menschen durch Aufweisung der sich aus ihr ergebenden Menschheitsziele. ‘Nichts hat,’ sagt Fichte einmal, ‘unbedingten Wert und Bedeutung als das Leben, alles übrige Denken, Dichten, Wissen hat nur Wert, insofern es auf irgendeine Weise sich auf das Leben bezieht, von ihm ausgeht und auf dasselbe zurückzulaufen beabsichtigt.’”

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order for us to base our subjective and intersubjective life on evidence and clarification and, consequently, on mutual accessibility. We have to justify ourselves to others as well as others have to justify themselves to us: this mutual link cannot be split. Husserl himself suggests what we should rely on to answer this fundamental question (“Why?”): we should appeal to our first-person perspective experiences: “not to assign any value to ‘I see it’ as an answer to the question ‘Why?’ would be a countersense” (Husserl, 1983, 36). So, Husserl spurs us to undertake the Socratic charge to provide and demand justification in order for us to ground beliefs, actions, judgments, and mutual interaction in evidence. The reasons we offer and demand mark the social space we live in: the practice of justification occurs in light of accessibility. This phenomenological stance is here remarkable since it becomes really challenging with regard to self-shaping: it spurs us to account for our self-variations. Our right and duty to offer and demand reasons is again at stake: the way in which we experience ourselves has to be comprehensible for us. Phenomenology spurs us to account for the nexus between change and identity in individuality. In the wake of this urge to offer and demand reasons, the phenomenological attempt of this research concerns the identification of the traits underlying self-­ shaping: if we identify these essential traits, then we will be able to account for the fundamental issue of personal individuality. The task of justification (why do I become unlike myself while still remaining the same?) and the phenomenological theoretical commitment (what are the essential traits of self-shaping? How does self-shaping play out? How do we shape ourselves as personal individuals?) are inherently interwoven. If we relate our duty and right to justification to the scope of formation of individuality, we must treat the following key questions: how could we account for the fundamental issue of personal individuality? Which traits do we lean on to account for the role that change and identity seem to play in self-shaping? Therefore, we can apply phenomenology to self-shaping and develop a phenomenology of personal individuality. The fruitfulness of the link between phenomenology and personal individuality strictly stands out through the striking outcomes we can achieve by virtue of this nexus. In fact, tackling the way in which we experience our personal individuality from a phenomenological viewpoint will enable us to argue for the following key theses: self-discovery and self-change play a pivotal role in self-shaping, there is no final stage in our process of self-knowledge, the way in which we know and shape ourselves is widely influenced by other persons since they (as exemplars) are able to comprehend aspects of our individuality that are beyond our grasp. We will argue that we need to develop a new (multilayer) pattern of personal individuality if we intend to account for the role that both identity and change play in self-shaping. Otherwise, we will end up shaping ourselves with no comprehension of the forces that oversee this process and, consequently, we would not be able to answer the following questions: “Is it worthwhile to continue to be what I happen to be already, to commit myself to being what I just find myself being already? Should I be more than what I just happen to have become so far? Should I actually be less what I’ve become?” (Morelli, 2015, 283). Such questions are

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remarkable for everyone who cares about her individuality and, consequently, strives to shape herself in a way that is consistent with her individual essence. In order to shape myself consistently with my individual essence, I must understand how the process of self-shaping plays out and how I can grasp all the facets and aspects of my individuality. We will achieve such goals thanks to our phenomenological analysis on self-shaping.

Chapter 2

Theories on Personal Identity Do Not Solve the Fundamental Issue

How to account for the fundamental issue of personal individuality? We will answer this question by developing a pattern of individuality. Nonetheless, before we focus on this pattern, it is worth exploring other ways which may be useful for untangling the fundamental issue. We will take into account two possible answers and try to identify the blind spots of both of them. Firstly, it seems that the easiest way to solve the fundamental issue is considering theories focused on personal identity. Secondly, it seems that the most intuitive way to solve the fundamental issue is appealing to imagination: through imagination I can stretch the range of my self-possibilities so as to make my identity coexist with self-changes. We will show that these two approaches fail to account for the fundamental issue: the former—the approach focused on personal identity—cannot recognize the importance of the issue since it cannot formulate it (we are referring to views on the self from a third-person perspective) and does not recognize the importance of self-­ changes in self-shaping, because it reduces self-discovery to self-constitution (we are referring to philosophical stances related to practical identity); the latter—the approach focused on self-imagination—does not acknowledge that my self-­ imagination is highly constrained (I cannot imagine everything about myself, I cannot vary myself unconditionally) and so does not identify the constraints that influence the range of my possible self-changes. In this chapter we will focus on the first approach, namely theories on personal identity. In the third chapter we will focus on the other approach, namely theories on self-imagination. In both cases we will consider two sets of theses: when dealing with theories on personal identity, we will consider views on the self from a third-person perspective and philosophical stances related to practical identity; when dealing with theories on self-imagination, we will consider the moral imagination approach and theories that ascribe an epistemic function to imagination.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 B. Bellini, How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality, Contributions to Phenomenology 116, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-81451-9_2

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Views on the Self from the Third-Person Perspective Can we appeal to the third-person perspective on the self in order to account for the role of change and identity in the formation of individuality? Views on the self the from third-person perspective are the philosophical theories that broach the issue of personal individuality from the third-person perspective. The appeal to this perspective implies that the perspective of the subject is erased in light of a more—allegedly—objective perspective. Subsequently, the appeal to first-person perspective has no meaning and the goal at issue does not regard individuality, but identity: these theories aim to identify the traits that account for personal identity, the traits that enable personal beings to remain the same over time. For example, many accounts of what it is for something to count as a personal individual and persist over time as the same personal individual have focused on biological and psychological conditions. Moreover, following other similar viewpoints, we are spurred to claim that, when many people think about their own personal identity and sense of self, actually they tend to understand these things in terms of a narrative that unfolds across their life: we regard ourselves as the protagonists of an ongoing story that connects all the events in our lives. Many who write about personhood and the self have attempted to do justice to this intuition by incorporating some kind of narrative condition into their accounts. The presence of such a condition has some significant implications for our understanding of personhood and our sense of self, as well as raising further issues about how these concepts are related to the more familiar biological and psychological conditions of personhood. These and similar insights spur many philosophical approaches to address whether the ability to form and use personal narratives of experiences constitutes a necessary condition of personhood, and to investigate the various relationships between sense of self, personhood, memory and narrative. Within this framework, dealing with personal identity means dealing with personhood and selfhood, tackling individuality from a third-person perspective, tackling the subject-as-object, posing questions like the following: –– Does the ability to form and draw upon personal narrative constitute a necessary requirement for personhood status? –– To what extent are personal narratives a product of the efforts of multiple parties? What are the implications of this? –– Do personal narratives possess functions or features that other forms of narrative (or other knowledge structures) do not? How are these differences significant to personhood? –– What does it mean for a sequence of events to be a narrative, with regard to the self? –– If personal narratives can be subject to revision, and a key role of personal narratives is that they help a subject to constitute themselves, does that mean that selves are subject to revision? –– What are the implications of various cognitive problems, including ones involving memory, for narrative accounts of personhood?

Views on the Self from the Third-Person Perspective

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–– Is there more to being a person than being a narrative self? How do these different aspects of personhood fit together? We will not pose these and similar questions since we intend to reframe such issues. We avoid deeming selfhood and personhood as inescapable starting points. Indeed, we broach individuality and the subject-as-subject. First-person perspective experience marks the beginning of our analysis: we intend to examine individuality from the point of view of its formation (self-shaping). Hence, our analysis radically differs from narrative accounts of personhood and from the accounts that treat sets of questions—like the following—whose common background is the appeal to the third-person perspective to broach the issue of personal identity: –– What is the difference between synchronic constraints and diachronic constraints on personhood? (see Noonan, 2011) –– What role do indexical beliefs play in explaining behaviour and making predictions? (see Perry, 1993) –– What is required for our continued existence? (see Baker, 2013) –– “What is a self?” (Zahavi, 2005, 1) The fundamental question of our investigation is ‘What does my self consist in?’ Here we are not reflecting upon ‘the self’ or ‘a self.’ Indeed, we are reflecting upon my self. It follows that the inescapable horizon of our analysis is the way in which we experience ourselves, that is—as we have already brought to light—as pliable as steady at the same time: how is it possible that I change and remain the same? This is the dimension of the self we are interested in: the experience of personal individuality. Consequently, we are interested in the issue of self-knowledge related to this dimension of the self: I experience self-changes over time and so how can I know myself? We intend to broach the issue of personal individuality starting from the first-person perspective experience, that means, tackle the subject-as-subject rather than the subject-as-object, that means, examine individuality from the point of view of its formation, that means, take into account the fundamental issue of personal individuality. This issue resembles the way in which we experience individuality from a first-person perspective: how do I experience, in my process of self-shaping, the paradoxical link between identity and variation? If first-person perspective experience were not our starting and arrival point, then this question that stems from the ‘fundamental issue of personal individuality’ would be meaningless. On the contrary, we directly broach the topic of personal individuality as we experience it from a first-person perspective and, subsequently, we will comprehend what the individual essence consists in so as to untangle the fundamental issue. The value that we ascribe to first-person perspective experience—and, consequently, to self-shaping—depends upon our phenomenological commitment: our analysis is phenomenological insofar as it spurs us to turn to the world-of-life in order to comprehend the phenomena of the world-of-life—here we are concerned with the forces of self-shaping. Phenomenological philosophy prevents us from interpreting the world-of-life by considering philosophical explanations. Indeed, phenomenological philosophy spurs us to turn to the world-of-life in order to find

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here what could guide us through comprehension of the world-of-life itself: and what better way to guide us through comprehension of personal individuality than the appeal to our experience of individuality and its formation? Phenomenological philosophy calls for an adherence to life, an adherence to the experiences that characterize our daily being in the world-of-life: and what is more adherent to life than the way in which we experience ourselves as individuals who are, at the same time, the same and different? It is now clear the reason why views on the self from the third-person perspective do not succeed in solving the fundamental issue of personal individuality. Firstly, from their perspective they cannot formulate it: it is just a misleading issue, the problem does not really exist. Secondly, even if they formulate it, they will still miss the point: the meaning of the fundamental issue of personal individuality has a sense only from the first-person perspective. It is I who experiences my selfshaping infused with change and identity. If we intend to account for this paradoxical feeling, then we must appeal to our experience: I know that I can change over time, but I know that I cannot completely change since it is always me, and so my range of self-possibilities is somehow constrained. Unfortunately, this experience becomes insignificant and loses its grip on us if we shift to a third-person perspective.

Practical Identity and Self-Constitution Can we appeal to theories concerned with practical identity to account for the role that change and identity play in the formation of individuality? In order to answer this question, we will consider Christine Korsgaard as a valuable harbinger of this approach. Her main thesis is that personal individuality—far from being discovered—is posited. We will explain the main points of her thought so as to understand why we argue that it does not seem suitable for our goal. “On her view, action is self-constitution, and one constitutes oneself as an agent by choosing in accordance with the principles of practical rationality” (Garnett, 2011, 450): according to Korsgaard, agency is about self-constitution and the self is an achievement of reason. Within this framework, action is the means whereby the self is made: Whenever you choose an action—whenever you take control of your own movements— you are constituting yourself as the author of that action, and so you are deciding who to be […] As a rational being, as a rational agent, you are faced with the task of making something of yourself, and you must regard yourself as a success or a failure insofar as you succeed or fail at this task. (Korsgaard, 2009, xi–xii)

Korsgaard describes self-constitution as an “endless activity” (Korsgaard, 2009, 41) and what makes actions good or bad is how well they constitute us. The process of self-constitution consists in recognizing the “reflective distance” between what you do from what impulses, instincts, and appetitions do in or through you:

Practical Identity and Self-Constitution

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First, action requires constituting yourself as the cause of your end, and so requires that you take some appropriate means to it. Second, action requires constituting yourself as the cause of your end, and so requires that your behaviour be the result of your own activity and not that of mere forces at work within you. (Garnett, 2011, 451)

Self-constitution means choosing to act on principle and not on whim. What Korsgaard means by “principle” is also referred to as “reason, the thing that makes us us” (Korsgaard, 2009, 114). If you choose not to act on principle or reason, then there is no you: “in order to be an agent, you have to be autonomous […] in order to be autonomous, it is essential that your movements be caused by you, by you operating as a unit, not by some force that is working in you or on you” (Korsgaard, 2009, 213). This is why self-constitution is not something that one action achieves, but something that every single action should achieve. To be aware that we have impulses is to be able to be “reflectively distant” from them and this distance makes possible the deliberative and normative question: ‘Should I act in accordance with the impulse?’ In order to answer this question, we must appeal to a principle, namely a rule for acting in any such case. Korsgaard maintains that, if this principle were imposed on us from outside (heteronomously), then it would not be our principle. This implies that we should create this principle autonomously. Moreover, these principles—which I create for myself—must be self-unifying principles. This means that, through these principles, it is I who acts: I act and I do not let other forces in me act through me. So, we choose our principles that, in order to determine our agency, must be self-unifying principles. The agent is identified with its commitment to some particular principle of choice: “her idea is that some principles of choice unify our agency better than others, and that part of our task as agents is to unify ourselves” (Garnett, 2011, 456). The autonomous agent “chooses maxims in accordance with a principle of choice that is successful in unifying his agency” (Garnett, 2011, 457). Korsgaard specifies that only some principles are self-unifying. For example, a “particularistic willing,” which spurs me to act on whatever whim happens to seize me at the moment, leads me to disintegration: the particularistic willer, who wills maxims non-universally, is necessarily identified exclusively with its incentives. This is why the particularistic willer does not count as an agent. Korsgaard distinguishes the particularistic willer from another case of disunified agent: the democratic soul: “being a democratic soul, his principle of choice is to act always on his strongest desire, that is, to treat all of his desires as reasons” (Garnett, 2011, 461). The democratic soul is a disunified agent, but she is not a particularistic willer: “someone who takes ‘I shall do the things I am inclined to do, simply because I am inclined to do them’ as his maxim has adopted a universal principle, not a particular one: he has the principle of treating his inclinations as such as reasons” (Korsgaard, 2009, 76). Now, why do we argue that this approach is not useful for solving the fundamental issue of personal individuality? According to Korsgaard, we can account for and explain personal identity by considering a specific concept: self-constitution. This implies that every aspect of self-shaping should and could be explained in light of this idea: we constitute ourselves through self-unifying principles that we create for

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ourselves. Unfortunately, it seems that this approach does not succeed in accounting for two experiences regarding our process of formation of individuality: self-­ discovery and self-change. From Korsgaard’s perspective, self-discovery is an expression that does not make any sense since personal individuality is the outcome of a process of self-­ constitution. Subsequently, there is nothing to be discovered about our individuality, there is no part of our individuality that transcends our knowledge. We posit our individuality: there is nothing about it that is unknown for us. Every aspect of our individuality is the outcome a choice: I choose my practical identity, my self-­ unifying principles, and then I act in accordance with them. It follows that no unexpected self-change might take place in our process of formation: we will never face radical self-changes since what matters is a principle of unity with regard to the practical identity that everyone chooses. Naturally, it may happen that I realize that the principle I have chosen is no more appropriate and so I change it. Nonetheless, this self-change too is the outcome of a rational choice. In self-shaping there is no room for unexpected self-changes following from self-discoveries. Whatever my self-unifying principle is, my process of self-constitution does not go beyond my knowledge: there is no aspect of my individuality independent of me, I throughout control it. Nothing could shock me in my self-constitution since there is nothing to recognize, but a principle to choose so as to constitute myself. Nonetheless, self-change and self-discovery seem to be two fundamental elements of the way in which we experience our individuality and our process of self-­ shaping. This is the reason why we will appeal to the thought of Scheler who, contrary to Korsgaard, maintains that the core of our individuality is not something that we posit, but something that we are called upon to recognize (Scheler, 1973b, 103). This claim seems to account for our first-person perspective experience: sometimes we discover something unexpectedly new regarding our individuality, sometimes we come to know aspects of our individuality that we had not grasped yet. Such self-discoveries bring to light layers of our individuality that are independent of us—far from positing them, we might discover them—and so we realize that our individuality transcends our knowledge—there might be other layers of our individuality that we do not know yet. And in light of such discoveries corresponding self-changes might take place. This means that a few self-changes that regard our self-shaping are not the outcome of a rational choice. Briefly, the main idea that seems to lack in Korsgaard’s view is the following: we are the authors of our individuality only to a certain extent since we do not posit it, but we recognize and discover it. This is the reason why we will argue for an individual essence. Nevertheless, we partly underpin Korsgaard’s thesis—we are the authors of our individuality— since there seems to be a sense in which we are the authors of our individuality: we shape ourselves. Self-discovery might trigger self-shaping: if a self-discovery triggers an effort of self-knowledge, then I am shaping myself and the process of formation of my individuality plays out, as we will clarify in the fourth chapter. Since Korsgaard argues that no part of our individuality is independent of us, she rejects the idea of an individual essence. On the contrary, we will underpin this idea, because claiming the opposite seems to be incompatible with our first-person perspective experience: in fact, what about the idea of a destiny that one should be able

Practical Identity and Self-Constitution

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to recognize? What about the idea of a vocation that characterizes everyone’s life? According to Korsgaard’s view, these concepts lose their meanings. On the contrary, we will argue that these concepts have a specific and pivotal meaning: it seems that there are aspects of our individuality that we do not posit, but rather we just discover them. And such discoveries might be as shocking as disruptive. Korsgaard argues that our individuality does not transcend our knowledge. We argue that our individuality partly transcends our knowledge and the idea of a vocation depends upon this transcendence. The idea of a vocation seems to be essential to our individuality and the process of its formation. We will widely discuss this point in the fourth chapter by considering Scheler’s notion of “good-in-itself for me.” Anyway, even now it is worth lingering over a philosophical account of this concept so as to start grasping its overarching significance: we intend to show that we cannot provide a phenomenological account of the formation of individuality, if we do not account for the aspects of our individuality that are independent of us since we do not constitute or posit them. Specifically, we will rely upon Husserl’s stance on the concept of “Idea”—the Idea of my true Self—which is linked with the notion of vocation—“Ruf,” “Berufung.” Although he examines this concept in a bit erratic and fitful way and our research is not focused on Husserl’s thought, his phenomenological theses enable us to start realizing that this notion plays a fundamental role in self-shaping. Subsequently, the pattern of individuality that we will develop must account for this role. Moreover, this reference to Husserl enables us to better understand that philosophical stances focused on practical identity fail to account for the fundamental issue of personal individuality: the question ‘How do change and identity coexist in the formation of individuality?’ remains unanswered. From this viewpoint, we are the sole authors of our individuality, we choose the practical identity we want to adopt, we constitute ourselves through self-unifying principles. Consequently, radical and unexpected self-changes cannot occur, there is no part of our individuality that transcends our knowledge, there is no ‘vocation’ to be discovered or recognized. It follows that my individuality coincides with the practical identity I chose: my individuality depends upon the way in which I constitute myself. The self is an achievement of reason since the process of self-constitution consists in recognizing the “reflective distance” between what I do from what impulses, instincts, and appetitions do in me or through me. There is no individual essence to be discovered and then shaped, there is only a rational process through which I constitute every aspect of my individuality.

 hat Drives Me to Regard Myself as a Project of Self-Shaping? W Husserl’s Stance on the Kind of Self I Ought to Be Husserl argues that the “Idea” is my individual Ideal that guides me through my ethical life since my absolute ought and my vocation come to expression through it. It is worth lingering over Husserl’s Idea since, for him, it is the reason why I endeavour to shape myself, why I labor to know my true self. What it is to be a self is to strive to realize a unified self under an Idea, my Idea of the kind of self I ought to be.

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According to Husserl, “the question whether I am a moral person is […] completely different from the question whether I am a valuable person. With the ethical self-evaluation, the measure lies in me—it is the absolute idea of my moral personality, and the question is how close I have approached this idea” (Melle, 2002, 240). We will examine the passage where Husserl argues for this thesis, but now this comment is useful for framing the issue: the absolute Idea of my personality and my effort of approaching my Idea are at stake; this Idea pertains to an absolute ought that is tied to the choice of a vocation. Let us examine these two elements. The Idea refers to the innermost core of my individuality and such core inherently pertains to an absolute ought: There exists an unconditional “you ought and must” that addresses itself to the person and that is not subject to a rational justification and does not depend for its legitimate obligation on such a justification for the one who experiences this absolute affection. (Husserl, Ms. B I 21, 65a, in Melle, 2002, 238–239)

My personality is characterized by a specific ‘I ought’ whose validity does not depend upon a rational justification since every person receives this absolute ought “from the depths of her personality.” What I ought to do is my vocation. If I do not follow it, I am betraying myself: A person […] is who she is most inwardly by her […] calling. To each person belongs her own individual ethical ideal. Every person receives from the depths of her personality her own absolute value […] Such a value is an absolute “ought,” and “to go against this value is to be untrue, to lose oneself, to betray one’s true ‘I,’” which amounts to an “absolute practical contradiction” (Husserl, Ms. B I 21, 53a). We have to follow the call of our individual conscience; we have to realize and preserve our true genuine self, be true to our deepest self, to the absolute ought of our pure love. (Melle, 2002, 244)

The only difference between the absolute ought and the vocation concerns their compass: the former affects every dimension and aspect of my life, whereas the latter affects my life to a smaller extent: Husserl […] refers to the ethical will that gives itself a norm for the whole of life and that is directed toward the universal fulfillment of the norm just as the choice of a vocation is the choice of a certain normative rule and of the direction toward its fulfillment. The vocation will, however, does not, as the ethical will does, comprise all spheres of one’s life. (Melle, 2002, 240–241)

In the appendix XXX of Grenzprobleme der Phänomenologie, Husserl specifies that the Idea is the unity that withstands personal changes (Veränderung) and, consequently, I should strive to grasp the sense and meaning of this unity since it is about the sense and meaning of my individuality. Furthermore, Husserl (2014, 338) argues that the human nature is not characterized by well defined and fixed qualities. Every person strives for certain goals that are her true goals only insofar as they aim to realize her self in light of the sense and meaning of the Idea. Naturally, it is possible that such goals are false goals, that is, they somehow belie the sense and meaning of the Idea related to my self. Every person can be more or less close to the Idea itself and, subsequently, to her true goals and her vocation.1 1  “Ein Ich hat keine möglichen starren Eigenschaften, es ist keine Einheit der Veränderung in dem Sinn wie eine physische Substanz. Ein in diesem Sinne substanzielles Sein hat es nicht […] Es

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So, each person should strive for the Idea of her true self (“die Idee [seines] wahren Selbst,” Husserl, 2014, 339). According to Husserl, human beings do not simply strive for the Idea of their true self: they should strive for the Idea of their true self (“nehmen wir schon an, dass ein Mensch, ein normaler Mensch, auf sein wahres Sein ‘hinauswill,’ dass es darauf schon ‘gerichtet’ sei […] dass er darauf hinstreben sollte,” Husserl, 2014, 339). This is the sole way to my vocation. Every single effort of my life should strive for the Idea and this is the sole way to a true life, true goals and true achievements.2 I should strive for a true life and such truth depends upon my closeness to the Idea. “Hinauswollen,” “gerichtet sein,” “hinstreben”: Husserl employs such terms to show that I should strive to make every single effort head towards the Idea so as to grasp it (“die Idee [meines] wahren Selbst ergriffen,” Husserl, 2014, 339). Husserl wonders which is the sense of acts like “hinauswollen,” “gerichtet sein,” “hinstreben” and finds the key in the will (“wir haben dann im Auge, dass jedes Streben insofern auf diese Idee gerichtet sei, als es im Sinne des Strebens liegt, such vollkommen erfüllen zu ‘wollen,’” Husserl, 2014, 339). If we keep on reading the text Grenzprobleme der Phänomenologie and move on to appendix XXXIV, we come to realize that Husserl maintains that the Idea contributes to define the individuality of myself since it brings to light its innermost essence: I am not only my inner reality since my individuality is defined by a deeper core that pertains to my own vocation, which resembles the deepest core of my individuality. The Idea is the deepest core of my self (“das innerste Zentrum des Ich,” Husserl, 2014, 358), it is my innermost self (“das innerste Ich,” Husserl, 2014, 359) and it inherently pertains to my vocation3 (“Ruf,” “Berufung”). The absolute ought that we have described follows from this vocation (“jedes Ich [hat] sein absolutes Sollen in dem Sinn, dass jedes notwendig solche Rufe hört,” Husserl, 2014, 359). For Husserl my individuality is inherently tethered to an absolute ought in the sense that everyone experiences her own vocation and, subsequently, her own absolute ought (“es steht als dieses Ich unter absoluten persönlichen Normen,” Husserl, 2014, 359). Moreover, not only does this vocation define my individuality, but it also defines my freedom since, as long as I strive to follow the vocation that I experience as mine, I am free (“es ist freies Ich, sofern es dem gehörten Ruf folgen,” Husserl, 2014, 359. See Husserl, 2014, 394). The link that ties my vocation to the absolute ought is unbreakable (in fact, Husserl employs insightful expressions like

selbst ist eine Idee […] die des individuellen Menschen, der ist und als dieser Mensch ist, indem er sich Aufgaben stellt und sie erfüllt oder verfehlt, und sich Aufgaben stellt, die seine wahren Aufgaben sind und sein Selbst im Sinne der Idee verwirklichen könnten, oder falsche Aufgaben, die sein Ich von der Idee entfernen […] Diese Idee ist selbst ein Ideal, dem sich das strebende Leben des Menschen mehr oder minder nähert” (Husserl, 2014, 338). 2  “Das wahre Leben, das Leben unter der Idee des wahren Selbst, wäre danach ein Leben, das immerfort sich wahre Ziele stellt und von wahren Erzielungen zu wahren Erzielungen fortschreitet” (Husserl, 2014, 339). 3  “Das Ich [ist] nicht nur polare, zentrierende Innerlichkeit […] sondern es [ist] auch individuelles Ich, das in all seinem Vorstellen, fühlend Werten, Sich-Entscheiden noch ein tiefstes Zentrum hat, das Ich, das […] einem ‘Ruf,’ einer ‘Berufung’ folgt, einem innersten Ruf, der die tiefste Innerlichkeit, das innerste Zentrum des Ich selbst trifft” (Husserl, 2014, 358).

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“das absolute Sollen des Berufs” and “der absolute Ruf des Sollens,” Husserl, 2014, 389). It is worth noticing that Husserl ties the personal vocation that pertains to me as an individual to the general vocation that pertains to me as a human being and specifies how both of them are linked with the absolute ought (“jeder hat außer seinem besonderen Beruf noch den allgemeinen Beruf, Mensch zu sein—wenn er eben ein wahrer Mensch ist, dessen Wahrheit die ist, wahrer Mensch sein zu wollen,” Husserl, 2014, 389). According to Husserl, if I want to be true, I must abide by the absolute ought related to my individual vocation and to my general vocation. This link should be examined in greater detail but—as we have already specified— we just purport to briefly explain the meaning of the Idea, because it enables us to better understand that philosophical stances focused on practical identity fail to account for the fundamental issue of personal individuality: these stances do not ascribe any role and meaning to the ‘vocation.’ This digression on Husserl makes us understand in a better way that we cannot achieve our main goal—providing a phenomenological account of the formation of individuality—if we do not account for the aspects of our individuality that are independent of us and our knowledge, specifically our own vocation. Moreover, Husserl’s stance on the Idea could be fruitfully related to Scheler’s stance on individual destiny, which we will examine later. These are the reasons why, instead of lingering over specific aspects of the Idea, we prefer to pinpoint just general coordinates useful for comprehending it. “Mir treu sein und jeweils diesem individuellen Ruf des jeweiligen Augenblicks folgen ist Leben in personaler Echtheit” (Husserl, 2014, 395): this quotation by Husserl seems to be the most meaningful. Here Husserl claims that if I am faithful to my self and if I follow my vocation, then I truly live in a fully authentic manner. In fact, Husserl (2014, 395) describes the authentic self (“das echte Ich”) as the self that lives in light of her vocation (“das Ich in der Berufung lebend”). What if I did not follow my vocation and did not abide by my absolute ought? Then I become unfaithful to my self and turn into an untrue self (Husserl describes this transformation as “das Sich-untreu-Werden, das Abfallen des Ich von seinem echten ‘wahren’ Ich,” Husserl, 2014, 395). This untrue version of my self brings about a radical contradiction between itself and the true version of my self (“das verfallende Ich lebt im unseligen Widerspruch mit seinem wahren Selbst,” Husserl, 2014, 395). Within this framework, the notion of the Idea is of paramount concern since it allows us to answer this fundamental question: why would I be motivated to know myself or, in other words, what drives me to regard myself as a project of self-­ shaping and want to shape myself thus? Husserl goes further than this and appeals to the Idea in order to pose and answer another fundamental question: what must I do? Husserl answers this question by considering the previous notion of absolute ought (“Was soll ich tun? Und was ich tun soll, ist für mich das Gesollte […] das Zu-Tuende,” Husserl, 2004, 245). Husserl claims that what I must do coincides with what is to be done, what is ought to be. Husserl considers other possible answers and rules them out. Firstly, we cannot answer this question by saying that I must do what is good since this does not

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coincide with what is ought to be (“denn Gutes tun ist keineswegs schon ein Gesolltes tun,” Husserl, 2004, 245). Moreover, we cannot answer this question by saying that posing the question “What must I do?” is identical to the question “What is the best way of acting among all the possible options?” (“Was ist von dem, was ich hier tun könnte, das Wertvollste?”, Husserl, 2004, 245) or “What would a valuable man decide?” (“Welche dieser Entscheidungen wäre die eines wertvollen und wertvollsten Menschen?”, Husserl, 2004, 246) or “Am I a moral person?” (“Bin ich ein moralischer Mensch?”, Husserl, 2004, 246) or “Am I a valuable person?” (“Bin ich ein wertvoller Mensch?”, Husserl, 2004, 246). All these questions concern the dimension of shame: for instance, if I realize that I am not a valuable person then I experience shame. On the contrary, if I realize that I am not doing what I should do (in light of the Idea) then I experience regret rather than shame. The point is that the ethical question (“What must I do?”) and the other questions are characterized by different standards: in the first case the standard is in my self, in the other cases I regard other persons as standards so as to evaluate myself (“das eine Mal messe ich mich an der Stufenleiter der Werthölen von Menschen; in der anderen Hinsicht liegt letztlich jeder Maßstab in mir,” Husserl, 2004, 246). Which is the inner standard? The Idea and, especially, our closeness to it (“eine absolute Idee und größere oder geringere Annäherungen an die Idee,” Husserl, 2004, 246). This closeness—Husserl maintains—only depends upon the will of the subject (“das empirische Subjekt ist nur moralisch in größerer oder geringerer Annäherung an diese Idee und durch den entschiedenen Willen, nicht paktieren und sich als diese Idee setzen zu wollen,” Husserl, 2004, 246). So, I must do what the Idea tells me to do: this means that I must do what I can do in accordance with the Idea. And this implies that everyone answers the ethical question differently (“was ich soll, ist bestimmt durch das ‘Ich kann,’ und was ich kann, ist ein anderes, als was ein jeder andere kann,” Husserl, 2004, 252). This overview over Husserl’s stance makes us realize that, if we intend to account for personal individuality, we cannot deny the existence of aspects of our individuality that are independent of us and transcend our knowledge. This means that our individuality cannot be reduced to a mere outcome of a process of self-constitution. There are layers of our individuality that we are called upon to discover and such layers are essential to the kind of person everyone is: in light of these discoveries, we can shape ourselves. This means that self-shaping is not confined to self-­ constitution: we shape ourselves in light of what we discover about ourselves; we do not constitute ourselves unconditionally, in light of the practical identity that we have chosen. So, contrary to the theses focused on practical identity, we intend to ascribe a role to this concept (something like a vocation somehow exists). Consequently, we must develop a pattern of personal individuality that ascribes a role to something independent of us since we do not posit it—this alleged vocation—and something dependent on us—self-shaping. If we will succeed in developing this kind of pattern, then we will be able to account for self-discoveries, self-changes and their link with identity: since the core of my individuality is beyond my knowledge, there are always new layers of it that I might come to know, and so radical or shallow

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self-­discoveries are always possible and such discoveries could trigger radical or shallow self-changes. Thanks to this pattern that we will develop, we will grasp the core of personal individuality and, consequently, provide a specific and accurate explanation of the expressions—sometimes vague—employed by Husserl (for example, “the absolute ought,” “the vocation,” “the sense and meaning of my individuality,” “the Idea of my true self,” “the deepest core of my self,” “the authentic self”). Before we move on to the other attempt to solve the fundamental issue of personal individuality—the approach focused on self-imagination—it is worth noticing that in our treatment we will extensively use the term ‘reorchestration’ in order to emphasize the issue that has just come to light: we do not ‘create’ or posit anything new with regard to our individuality. We discover something new and this discovery might spur us to revise, reorchestrate and reshape ourselves accordingly. Sure, there are circumstances that do not depend upon our will or choice and, nonetheless, influence us (like the historical context we find ourselves in). However, there seems to be an essential connection between such circumstances and my individuality: what happens independently of me happens to me. This means that such circumstances contribute to shape my individuality in the sense that they guide me through the discovery of my individuality. I do not posit or constitute my individuality. I continuously discover new and new facets of it and then shape and reshape myself in light of them, as we will clarify and discuss. This discovery is greatly influenced by elements that do not depend upon me, like the family and the geographical context where I was born. Since I do not posit or constitute the core of my individuality, are we claiming that this core is not shaped by the circumstances that make my life my life (the persons I meet, the historical and geographical context, etc.)? No, we are not endorsing a claim like this. All these circumstances influence my individuality in the sense that they influence my self-discoveries: they make me discover some aspects of my individuality and might leave others overshadowed. Consequently, elements that do not depend upon me are essential to the process of self-shaping.

Chapter 3

Theories on Self-Imagination Do Not Solve the Fundamental Issue

Can we appeal to imagination to account for the role of change and identity in the formation of individuality? It seems that the most intuitive way to solve the fundamental issue is appealing to imagination: I imagine myself as a different person so as to delve into the range of my self-possibilities (i.e., my possible self-changes). I appeal to imagination in order to devise scenarios where I can imagine my possible behaviours. In so doing, I can decide more easily how to behave in the future and I can reflect more easily upon the reasons that pushed me into certain behaviours in the past. Through imagination I can stretch the range of my self-possibilities so as to make my identity coexist with self-changes: this is how change and identity coexist in self-shaping, according to this view. We will examine two standpoints that ascribe this meaning to imagination. Nonetheless, we will argue that such positions do not succeed in solving the fundamental issue because of two reasons: firstly, they do not treat the question of the (non-contingent) constraints that influence my self-imagination; secondly, their theories are relevant only to the scope of contingency. Imagination is a force that enables me to vary myself, but which are the constraints that restrict my self-­ imagining? If we do not identify such constraints, then self-imagining would turn into a random self-imagining. Indeed, it seems there are constraints that guide us through self-imagining. For example, if I imagined myself killing a person, then I would say: ‘It is not me. I would not do that.’ This means that my self-imagining is bound by constraints that depend upon the core of my individuality and limit my self-imagining: if I do not identify these constraints following from my individuality, then my self-imagining is confined to the scope of contingency. This issue enables us to comprehend another problem of this approach: if I do not identify these constraints—and so my self-imagining is confined to the scope of contingency—then I neglect a huge range of self-possibilities that I do not grasp because of my constraints. In fact, because of my imaginative resistance (see Walton, 2006), my imagination is not unconditionally free. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 B. Bellini, How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality, Contributions to Phenomenology 116, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-81451-9_3

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In this chapter we will deal with this kind of theories focused on self-imagination and consider two different standpoints: the moral imagination approach and theories that ascribe an epistemic function to imagination. Our main goal consists in understanding why such views are not suitable for our goal, that is, solving the fundamental issue of personal individuality. We will argue that such views do not acknowledge that my self-imagination is highly constrained (I cannot imagine everything about myself, I cannot vary myself unconditionally) and so do not identify the constraints that influence the range of my possible self-changes. Furthermore, the last two parts of this chapter will refer to Husserl’s stance on imagination so as to grasp the phenomenological contribution to this topic. In so doing, we will comprehend in a better way the reasons why we disapprove the two aforementioned viewpoints. So, in the second chapter we have comprehended the reasons why theories on personal identity do not solve the fundamental issue, in this third chapter we are comprehending the reasons why theories on self-imagination do not solve the fundamental issue. It follows that, at the end of this chapter, we will be able to develop a pattern of individuality suitable for solving the fundamental issue.

 oral Imagination and Literature: How to Flex M Personal Individuality The ‘moral imagination approach’ confines imagination to the fictional scope and ascribes to it an influential function over the process of self-shaping. Let us give an overview of this approach. We encounter the term ‘moral imagination’ when reading Russell Kirk and his predecessors on the matter, Irving Babbit (1908) and Edmund Burke, who coined the term in his Reflections on the Revolution in France. In this work Burke describes the ideals “furnished from the wardrobe of a moral imagination” that form a foundation for all flourishing societies and souls. The term “the wardrobe of a moral imagination” is well explained by Fennell, who significantly argues that The notion of ‘wardrobe’—a place where valuable things are kept […]—seems to me apt because the role of imagination is to capture or represent the world to an individual in a certain way. The wardrobe is a stock of concepts—that is, ideals, principles, meanings, and possibilities—in terms of which the world is clothed and we thereby understand it. Actions and events, if noticed at all, are seen as an instance, consequence, or harbinger of something. The contents of the wardrobe are what allow us to see in one way or another […] The individual, due to his moral imagination, will be disposed to see in a particular way. If moral imagination is well formed, the individual will see in a salutary way. (Fennell, 2016)

In the twentieth century Russell Kirk combs through the term ‘moral imagination’: “by the ‘moral imagination,’ Burke signifies that high power of ethical perception which strides beyond the barriers of private experience and momentary events ‘especially,’ as the dictionary has it, ‘the higher form of this power exercised in poetry and art’” (Kirk, 1981, 38). Kirk specifies that moral imagination aspires to

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the apprehending of right order both in the soul and in the commonwealth: “such imagination lacking, to quote another passage from Burke, we are cast forth ‘from this world of reason, and order, and peace, and virtue, and fruitful penitence, into the antagonist world of madness, discord, vice, confusion, and unavailing sorrow’” (Kirk, 1981, 38). At the suggestion of Babbit, Kirk distinguishes moral imagination from the so-­ called “idyllic imagination,” well represented by Rousseau, “that is, the imagination which rejects old dogmas and old manners and rejoices in the notion of emancipation from duty and convention” (Kirk, 1981, 38). This kind of imagination often lapses into boredom and disillusion. By appealing to T.S. Eliot, Kirk pinpoints a third kind of imagination, besides moral and idyllic imagination: the “diabolic imagination,” “which delights in the perverse and subhuman” (Kirk, 1981, 39). Films as well as literary works become products of the diabolic imagination insofar as “they pander[ed] to the lust for violence, destruction, cruelty, and sensational disorder […] And as literature sinks into the perverse, so modern civilization falls to its ruin” (Kirk, 1981, 39). In so doing, Kirk starts outlining the link between imaginative experiences and literary scope in a sound manner. At his suggestion, Sade, Hardy and Lawrence could be regarded as examples of this deviated imagination. And when literature loses sight of its real purpose, it ends up being decadent.1 Kirk better examines the link between imagination and literature by arguing that great books aim for ethical ends: they endeavour to teach us what it means to be humans. Sophocles, Thucydides, Tacitus, Dante and Shakespeare are just examples of those who typified how literature purports “to form the normative consciousness—that is, to teach human beings their true nature, their dignity, and their place in the scheme of things” (Kirk, 1981, 40). According to Kirk, this normative goal of literature is particularly prevailing and powerful in the works of authors like Milton, Emerson, Hawthorne, Scott, Dickens, Thackeray and Trollope. All these authors have in common a specific mission: “all assumed that the writer is under a moral obligation to normality—that is, explicitly or implicitly, to certain enduring standards of private and public conduct” (Kirk, 1981, 40). This does not mean that authors endlessly preach to readers. In fact, authors could be even weakly aware of their normative function. Moral imagination does not make literature moralistic: The man of letters teaches the norms of our existence through allegory, analogy, and holding up the mirror to nature. The writer may […] write much more of what is evil than of what is good; and yet, exhibiting the depravity of human nature, he establishes in his reader’s mind the awareness that there exist enduring standards from which we fall away; and that fallen human nature is an ugly sight. […] The better the artist […] the more subtle the 1  Kirk provides a really odd and insightful example: “this ‘diabolic imagination’ dominates most popular fiction today; and on television and in the theatres, too, the diabolic imagination struts and postures. The other night I lodged at a fashionable new hotel […] After ten o’clock, all the films offered were nastily pornographic. But even the ‘early’ films, before ten, without exception were products of the diabolic imagination, in that they pandered to the lust for violence, destruction, cruelty, and sensational disorder. Apparently it never occurred to the managers of this fashionable hotel that any of their affluent patrons, of whatever age and whichever sex, might desire decent films” (Kirk, 1981, 39).

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3  Theories on Self-Imagination Do Not Solve the Fundamental Issue preacher. Imaginative persuasion, not blunt exhortation, commonly is the method of the literary champion of norms. (Kirk, 1981, 39–40)

So, pure and great literature entitles readers to find in it the laws of moral existence, the standards that distinguish man from beast. Kirk argues that this primary function of literature was outshined at the end of the eighteenth century when nihilism took hold: “to members of this school, the writer is no defender or expositor of standards, for there are no values to explain or defend; a writer merely registers, unreservedly, his disgust with humanity and himself” (Kirk, 1981, 41–42). These authors prefer writing about crimes and sins regarded as mere mischances rather than dealing with real love and real hatred. When reading their works, we have the sensation that world is completely purposeless, human actions are definitively meaningless and human beings seem to be void of landmarks, desires, spiritual and intellectual discipline. This kind of writers represents a kind of person who has not been introduced to any norm and who solely relies on “the vague attitude that one is entitled to do as one likes, so long as it doesn’t injure someone else” (Kirk, 1981, 42). If literature loses its normative function, writers regard their occupation as a lucrative, satisfying and aimless skill. Consequently, readers too do not expect any normative knowledge from literature: “they are after amusement, sometimes of a vicariously gross character, or else pursue a vague ‘awareness’ of current affairs and intellectual currents, suitable for cocktail-party conversation” (Kirk, 1981, 42–43). Regardless of the role that authors may think to play—harbingers of the laws of moral existence or merely nihilists—Kirk brings to light the radical impact of literature on the process of self-shaping: The person who reads bad books instead of good may be subtly corrupted; the person who reads nothing at all maybe forever adrift in life unless he lives in a community still powerfully influenced by what Gustave Thibon calls “moral habits” and by oral tradition. (Kirk, 1981, 43)

Literature is supposed to make us understand enduring values, to teach us the meaning of dignity and humanity. Naturally, this normative understanding is not formed by literature only, it is the whole educational frame that is of paramount concern: from school to church, from family to the business of ordinary life. Nevertheless, in comparison with these sources of normative consciousness, literature is the most influential since it makes us stretch and overstep the limits of our own personal experiences, which are not enough to provide us with enduring standards. By virtue of literature we can learn how to adjust to the necessities of life and how to author life by means of norms. Our lives are too brief and confused for most men to develop any normative pattern from their private experience […] Therefore we turn to the bank and capital of the ages, the normative knowledge found in revelation, authority, and historical experience, if we seek guidance in morals, taste, and politics. Ever since the invention of printing, this normative understanding has been expressed, increasingly in books, so that nowadays most people form their opinions, in considerable part, from the printed page. (Kirk, 1981, 44)

In light of these remarks, Kirk examines different authors and corresponding works. The following observation is perhaps the most gripping and interesting:

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If they [young people] are not introduced to Stevenson and Conrad, say—and that fairly early—they will find the nearest and newest Grub Street pornographers. And the consequences will be felt not merely in their failure of taste, but in their misapprehension of human nature, lifelong; and eventually, in the whole tone of a nation. “On this scheme of things ... a woman is but an animal; and an animal not of the highest order.” (Kirk, 1981, 45)

If we do not stir moral imagination, children will face a hollow flourishing of their individuality. This means that moral imagination plays a pivotal role in the process of self-shaping. Not only does it bear upon individuals, but also it holds sway over the society itself. Families and schools should be spaces where moral imagination is stirred in order to provide children with “that high power of ethical perception which strides beyond the barriers of private experience and momentary events.” According to Kirk, literary works that are square with an effort of stirring moral imagination turn to an enduring moral order, and therefore resist ethical relativism, utilitarianism and nihilism. They suggest that many aspects of the human experience are universal and can be shared across cultures. These works unremittingly show that there is something ‘above human nature’ and something ‘below humane nature,’ to which diabolic imagination dares to appeal. Writers who aim to develope and awaking moral imagination emphasize the identity and nature of things: they stress ‘what a thing is,’ especially human nature. They defend the notion of free will, but they also acknowledge the possibility of destiny, grace and providence. Since humans are free agents who, not always, choose to act virtuously, these literary works are an imperfect and redeemable blend of good and evil. Far from being didactic, these literary works aim for an ethical end. They are not didactic since their primary purpose is not to instruct, but to awaken. In order to achieve this goal, these authors avail themselves of stories of powerful symbols, believable characters and authentic situations and reject moral lessons. So, since “moral imagination refers not to a content but instead to a capacity susceptible to a range of content” (Fennell, 2016), literature turns out to be basic to the development of this capacity. For Kirk, literature is the primary vehicle for the formation of moral imagination: “great books do influence societies for the better; and bad books do drag down the general level of personal and social conduct” (Kirk, 1981, 45–46). This claim clearly harks back to Martha Nussbaum’s stance on the link between imagination and literature in light of the concept of moral imagination. Nussbaum would agree with Irving Babbit (1908) who argues that literature is an ethical discipline that aims to develop humanity, dignity and manliness through the study of great books. Nussbaum herself would endorse this significant claim too: In great fiction we obtain the distilled wisdom of men of genius, understandings of human nature which we could attain—if at all—unaided by books, only at the end of life, after numberless painful experiences […] If we endeavor to guide our selves solely by our limited private insights, we tumble down into the ditch of unreason. (Kirk, 1981, 48)

Moral imagination is a radical ethical power that “aspires to the apprehending of right order in the soul and right order in the commonwealth” (Kirk, 1981, 38). Literature without moral imagination is just a hollow occupation.

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We could now draw two main conclusions: firstly, moral imagination plays a large-scale role in the process of self-shaping; secondly, moral imagination holds sway over the process of self-shaping since it is a force that allows us to stretch and broaden the boundaries of personal individuality. The common thread of these two issues is the thesis according to which imagination enables us to stretch and broaden the boundaries of personal individuality and, in so doing, it influences the entire process of self-shaping. Moral imagination is that “high power of ethical perception which strides beyond the barriers of private experience and momentary events”: it enables us to overstep our intrinsic boundaries due to our unavoidable limits. This thesis harks back to Nussbaum’s stance: let us give a brief overview of her theses. According to Nussbaum, literary works are the key to social justice because they stretch our empathy and stir our moral imagination: literature encourages us to exercise moral imagination so that we sharpen our capacity to put ourselves in another person’s situation. This exchange of perspectives makes us aware that those who are marginalized can no longer be dehumanized and put outside the circle of empathy. According to Nussbaum, “empathy is something we practice, and literature helps us to flex this muscle” (McRobie, 2014). The chief idea is that, thanks to literature, we can live more than one life: firstly, literary works take us to times, geographical locations, and social realities that we have not experienced yet and perhaps will never personally experience; secondly, literary works enable us to comprehend the viewpoint of others from within since we can really experience their experiences while reading. This sort of indirect experience is so powerful that we will then find hard to consider others as alien or completely different persons, however much the society we inhabit may try to draw a line to tell them apart by pointing at them as allegedly different ‘groups.’ Nussbaum regards literature as essential to our living since by exercising moral imagination we become more human and responsible citizens: “literary works [...] invite their readers to put themselves in the place of people of many different kinds and to take on their experiences” (Nussbaum, 1995a, 5). Literature tells us that imagining the lives of others is a daily necessity for human beings since we best learn to understand, care, and behave well with others when we learn about imagining others’ lives. So, for Nussbaum literature is one of the most powerful ways that enables humans to flex their ability to nourish their humanity. The thrust of Nussbaum’s argument is the human ability to create literary works that are able to humanize, that means, to exercise our moral imagination and empathy. Literature promotes a “sympathetic identification” (Nussbaum, 1995a, 73): the moral imagination stirred by literature is all “identification and sympathy” (Nussbaum, 1995a, 73). It follows that literary works are such only “to the extent that they promote identification and sympathy in the reader” (Nussbaum, 1995a, 5). Thus, literary works that perpetuate, for example, colonialism and racism argue for dehumanising depictions and so they fail not simply on the social-justice side, but they primarily fail as literature. Great books purport to recognize the humanity of the characters they depict and, in so doing, they allow readership to exercise their moral imagination and flex their empathy by experiencing a multiplicity of voices. When writers fail to achieve this goal, literary works turn out to hinder our empathy, sideline our moral imagination

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and prevent us from renewing our humanity. Subsequently, censorship or destructions of libraries Are dehumanising acts because they rob us of part of our humanity by robbing us of the range of stories we can tell and voices we can hear. Through the loss of cultural heritage they diminish potential points of affinity, cross-pollinations of our humanness. Such measures act against our humanity, in Nussbaum’s argument, by depriving us of the avenues through which we can develop our moral imagination […]—a necessary step towards recognising […] humanity of each another. (McRobie, 2014)

Furthermore, Nussbaum argues that, when reading novels, we experience worlds that are characterized by startling qualitative distinctions that lead us to care about characters and their life as a separated life: we come to realize that “each human being has just one path through the world. Regarding each character with the respect and ‘wonder’ that the form engenders, she [the reader] thinks of each life as having significance in itself” (Nussbaum, 1995b, 1481). As readers we are actively discouraged from ignoring them [qualitative differences] or reducing them to quantitative distinctions. Indeed, identifying with a literary character requires sorting out qualitative sameness and difference, as the reader notices the ways in which a character whose human aims and aspirations are in some ways similar to her own also differs from her in situation and possibility. (Nussbaum, 1995b, 1481)

Qualitative differences and separateness set the stage for emotions to arise. We feel, for example, fear, compassion, indignation “both toward them [the characters] and on their behalf” (Nussbaum, 1995b, 1481). However, Nussbaum claims that literary emotions are not like the emotions we experience in everyday life (see Nussbaum, 2001): literature propels readers to become spectators to others’ fortunes and misfortunes and to overshadow their own affairs. This dynamic “constrains and filters her [of the reader] emotions” (Nussbaum, 1995b, 1481). However genuine these emotions can be, they are muffled, tempered by a lack of a direct involvement: “for this reason, Smith held that the emotions of the judicious spectator were a valuable part of the spectator’s equipment as a public reasoner. They provide ways of perceiving the good of others without bias or distortion” (Nussbaum, 1995b, 1481). Our overview on moral imagination—from Kirk to Nussbaum—makes us understand that this approach regards imagination as a force that allows us to stretch the boundaries of our individualities so as to adopt a broader perspective that comes to include the persons that we deem as different persons. This approach makes us focus on a dynamic of stretching: imagination is a force we rely on to flex ourselves, our empathy, our perceptions of others, and so on. From this perspective, we could try to solve the fundamental issue of personal individuality as follows: through imagination I stretch the range of my self-possibilities so as to make my identity coexist with my self-changes. According to this approach, imagination is a force that enables me to vary and stretch myself, but which are the constraints that restrict my self-imagining? The moral imagination approach does not identify them and so self-imagining seems to turn into a random self-imagining. Indeed, it seems there are constraints that guide us through self-imagining. Our starting overview over the fundamental issue of

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personal individuality brought to light that, while shaping ourselves, we are not completely free: there are constraints that hold sway over this process. It is worth noticing that—contrary to the moral imagination approach—we are referring to non-contingent constraints. We are not referring, for example, to constraints like my age, my social context, my family, etc. These are constraints that do not depend upon me, but they are contingent. Indeed, if we appeal to our experience of self-­ shaping, we realize that, while considering our self-possibilities, there is another set of constraints that do not depend upon us and make us not completely free. Nonetheless, this is an innermost set of non-contingent constraints. These constraints refer to the core of my individuality, to my vocation, to the layers of my individuality that do not depend upon me, to the aspects of my individuality that I do not posit, but I just discover them. Such constraints strongly influence my selfshaping and, consequently, my self-imagining too. This means that my self-imagining is bound by constraints that limit it and if I do not identify them then my self-­imagining turns into a random exercise confined to the scope of contingency. Why does not the moral imagination approach deal with the topic of non-­ contingent constraints? Because this approach does not treat the question regarding the core of individuality. But how can I stretch the boundaries of my individuality if I do not know the essence of my individuality? In fact, in order to vary myself, I must know what I can vary about myself and what I cannot vary about myself. This means that I must know the constraints that limit my self-imagining and self-­ shaping. Unfortunately, the moral imagination approach does not broach this point and so the fundamental issue of personal individuality remains unanswered. In order to better understand the link between contingency, self-shaping and imagination, it is worth moving on to the other set of theories focused on self-­ imagination—the epistemological approach—since we are going to criticize it for the same reasons. This approach too does not account for the non-contingent constraints that limit self-variation: the constraints that depend on the aspects of our individuality that we do not posit or constitute, the constraints that we experience while shaping ourselves and highly restrict us, the constraints that concern and derive from the core of our individuality. Without an account of this kind of constraints, self-imagining is confined to the scope of contingency.

The Epistemic Function of Imagination and Self-Knowledge We are dealing with an ‘epistemological approach’ that broadens the boundaries of imagination besides the fictional (and literary) scope and ascribes an epistemic function to it. In this part we intend to come to grips with two notable positions that ascribe this function to imagination. Such a topic is relevant to the issue of self-­ shaping since it can be related to the sphere of self-knowledge. It is worth noticing that, in this chapter, we are dealing with theories focused on imagination (moral imagination and the epistemic function of imagination), since the appeal to imagination might seem a suitable way in order to solve the

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fundamental issue of personal individuality. Can we appeal to imagination to account for the role of change and identity in the formation of individuality? It seems that the most intuitive way to solve the fundamental issue is appealing to imagination: I imagine myself as a different person so as to delve into the range of my self-possibilities (i.e., my possible self-changes). I appeal to imagination in order to devise scenarios where I can imagine my possible behaviours. In so doing, I can decide more easily how to behave in the future and I can reflect more easily upon the reasons that pushed me into certain behaviours in the past. Through imagination I can stretch the range of my self-possibilities so as to make my identity coexist with self-changes: this is how change and identity coexist in self-shaping, according to this view. The moral imagination approach and the epistemological approach—which we are going to examine—are two exemplifications of this view that relies on imagination to account for the role of change and identity in self-shaping. So, the issue that spurred us to broach the topic of imagination is its role in self-­ shaping. Anyway, if we turn to the contemporary debate, we realize that the topic of imagination comes to play a key role in diverse scopes and it is examined from radically different perspectives. Over the last couple of decades, imagination has been invoked across a wide swath of philosophical terrain: from philosophy of fiction to aesthetics, from philosophy of literature to ethics, from epistemology to philosophy of mind, the appeal to imagination is so recurring as challenging and the list of philosophical problems that implicate imagination increasingly keeps on growing. The current debate revolving around imagination is notably inspiring and rich: in the wide spectrum of contemporary philosophers we will focus on Amy Kind and Timothy Williamson, who ascribe a strong epistemic function to imagination.2 Those who ascribe an epistemic function to imagination tether imagination to the epistemic field in the scope of contingency. This means that imagination plays an epistemic function since it is an ability we could usefully appeal to when deciding how to act. Putting it very simply, if I have to decide whether to wear the red shirt or the blue one, I can just imagine myself wearing the first one and then the second one. This kind of appeal to imagination involves imagery, but we can devise cases in which such an appeal does not take place. For example, if I am uncertain whether to accept a job offer or not, I could image how my life would change if I accepted it.

2  There are countless stances we could take into account with regard to the topic of imagination and its compass. This note provides a few references that could be regarded as notable landmarks in the contemporary debate. With regard to the link between imagination and the fictional scope, see Gendler, 2010; Pavel, 1986, 2009; Radford & Weston, 1975; Spinicci, 2009; Walton, 1980, 1983, 1990. With regard to the role of emotions in imaginative experiences, see Voltolini, 2010; Walton, 1978b. With regard to mental imagery, see Bértolo, 2005; Dehaene, 2007; Gibson, 1950; Johansson, 2013; Kosslyn, 1980, 1994; Kosslyn et al., 1995; Kosslyn & Denis, 1999; Paivio & Sadoski, 2004; Sacks, 2010. With regard to the link that tethers imagination to creativity, see De Bono, 1990, 1993; Winnicott, 1971. With regard to the nexus that ties imagination to the notion of image, see Elkins & Naef, 2011; Krešimir, 2015.

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Kind and Williamson argue for an epistemic function that is confined to the scope of contingency. This means that I appeal to imagination and achieve outcomes that lose their validity outside the scope of contingency. Before we understand why their stances seem unsuitable for our goal (i.e., solving the fundamental issue of personal individuality), it is worth presenting their main theses. Amy Kind deals with the role that imagination plays in the epistemology of modality. She (2016a) argues that there are correct and incorrect ways in which we can imagine, but definitively there are no scenarios we cannot imagine at all. For example, when one says “It is impossible to really imagine parenthood unless one has been through it,” what this person is saying is that no one can really imagine parenthood correctly unless one has been through it. So, it seems there are no ‘things’ we cannot imagine, but sure there are correct and incorrect ways of appealing to imagination itself. Moreover, Kind (2013a) stresses that philosophers have assigned a key role to imagination especially in these four activities: mindreading, pretense, engagement with fiction and modal epistemology. So, what is imagination for Kind? In facing this question she harks back to Brian O’Shaugnessy, who argues that posing such a question is already to “assume too much” since it assumes that “there exists something that is the imagination” and “there is some one thing that is the phenomenon of imagining” (O’Shaughnessy, 2000, 339–340). Subsequently, Kind poses the question as to whether there is such a thing as the phenomenon of imagination. She wonders whether a sole and single mental activity could embrace all the four instances of mindreading, pretense, engagement with fiction and modal epistemology.3 The first difficulty Kind spurs us to face is the vague and blurred use of the term ‘imagination.’ We often invoke it to explain our behaviour in certain circumstances that, at a closer look, do not really entail imagination, for example the cases of false belief. Such cases often entail a mere incorrect assumption rather than the mental activity of imagining: we appeal to the term ‘imagination’ only to bring to light a gap between reality and an (incorrect) belief. This and similar cases lead Kind to distinguish a primary and a secondary sense of imagination. The four activities— engagement with fiction, pretense, mindreading, and modal epistemology—entail the use of the term ‘imagination’ in its primary sense since each of them entails an actual appeal to imagination. This primary sense seems to make imagination homogeneous, whereas its heterogeneity seems to be related to the cases that the previous four activities rule out, such as false belief or creativity. Nonetheless, Kind points out that the trait of heterogeneity prevails over homogeneity so that eventually we do not have reasons to claim that there is such a thing as the phenomenon of imagining: 3  Her worry about how a ‘single’ mental activity called imagination could capture so many different expressions and applications finds an elegant solution with Husserl’s theory of intentionality: there are different kinds of imaginative acts and they do not belong to one ‘ability’ but each nonetheless has a same structure, as intentionality; but the ‘ability’ is strictly speaking different, since they are not the same act: the act of imagining a unicorn is not the same as act of looking at a picture of a unicorn.

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Not only do features that are essential to imagination in one context drop out entirely in another context, but even worse, features of imagination that play an essential role in one context are sometimes inconsistent with features of imagination that play an essential role in another context. At the very least, the picture of imagination that we get by focusing on any one of these contexts is very different from the picture of imagination that we get in any of the other contexts […] When philosophers invoke imagination to explain one of the phenomena that we’ve been discussing, the thought is that there is something special about imagination itself that can do the explanatory work. In each individual context, this claim may well seem plausible. But once we look at the contexts together, the initial plausibility of the claim dissipates. (Kind, 2013a, 157)

After explaining the wide heterogeneity of meanings and activities related to the vague term ‘imagination,’ Kind spurs us to dwell upon the role of imagination in the modal dimension and, specifically, wonder about its justificatory power in this sphere and beyond: Whatever justificatory power the imagination may have is limited to the modal sphere. Outside of the domain of modal epistemology, the imagination is, as Brian O’Shaughnessy puts it, “out of the cognitive circuit” (O’Shaughnessy, 2000, 345). (Kind, 2013b, 1)

Kind (2013b) tries to belie such a common thesis by stretching the justificatory power of imagination and, in so doing, ascribes to imagination a strong cognitive power, which—unfortunately—is confined to the sphere of contingency only, as Kind herself specifies: The imagination cannot be dismissed as epistemologically insignificant […] there are a variety of situations—real situations—in which it is plausible to claim that the justification for a non-modal belief owes to an act of the imagination—that is, in which an imagining can justify our belief in a contingent claim about the world. Contrary to the charge of epistemic irrelevance, the imagination is not entirely out of the cognitive circuit. (Kind, 2013b, 2)

Kind offers an account of imagining that she refers to as “imagining under constraints” (Kind, 2016c). This account provides her with the framework useful for making distinctions between cases where imagining plays an epistemic role and cases where it does not. According to Kind, the fact that imagining is subject to the will and not world-sensitive, and the fact that Sartre (2004) is right when claiming that imagining contains nothing more than what we put into it, do not prevent imagining from being informative. Kind maintains that imagination epistemically guides me through the contingency since it leads me to engage in imaginative simulations that “propel me to reach a conclusion that I had not previously believed” (Kind, 2013b, 18). These conclusions are not mere guesses. Let us take a closer look at this imaginative process that would “justify our belief in a contingent claim about the world”: Would my kids be able to handle seeing The Wizard of Oz, or would the Wicked Witch be too scary for them? […] I imagine sitting with my kids on the couch as the Wicked Witch first appears on screen, I imagine them hearing the witch’s cackle as she taunts Dorothy, and as I figure out what their reactions are going to be, I come to realize that they’re not quite ready to watch that movie […] When we engage in these kinds of imaginative simulations, if things have gone right, we will typically take ourselves to be justified in the conclusions that we reach […] We take ourselves to be justified in our decisions to bar our children from watching the movie. (Kind, 2013b, 18)

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I aim to get things right: I have many beliefs regarding the world (for example, about what scared my children in the past) and such beliefs guide me through my imagining and, in so doing, “they act as constraints on my imagination” (Kind, 2013b, 18). This argument leads Kind to endorse the following claim: “when I do set the right constraints, and when I am good at abiding by them, my imagining can be as epistemically relevant to my project as their imaginings are to theirs” (Kind, 2013b, 19). Another contemporary philosopher demonstrates that imagining has a role in the cognitive circuit: “imagination has the basic function of providing a means to knowledge—and not primarily to knowledge of the deep, elusive sort that we may hope to gain from great works of fiction, but knowledge of far more mundane, widespread matters of immediate practical relevance” (Williamson, 2016, 113). The thrust of Williamson’s thesis is partly similar to Kind’s argument: he sheds light on the role of imagining in devising possibilities that are practically relevant. The examples he offers clearly hark back to Kind’s sorts of examples. Particularly, Williamson wonders about a group of persons crossing a forest: insofar as they imagine wolves in the forest, they will be vigilant and alert. This means that their imagination, far from being bar to their safety, helps them to avoid dangerous circumstances. This and similar examples propel Williamson to maintain that two traits define imagination: it is reality-oriented and selective. If we now turn to Kind’s stance again, we could say that she would endorse such a claim. In fact, both Kind and Williamson specify how imagination, far from being independent of the world, relies upon one’s knowledge of what the world is like. The way in which imagination is tethered to the world is the doorway to a more inclusive imagination, which is to be regarded as a way of being attentive to possibilities (Williamson, 2016). Both Kind and Williamson draw our attention to the necessity of exercising imagination in order to keep this ‘attentiveness to possibilities’ in good trim. This ability, anyway, is naturally fallible: we can fail to think that a film will fear our children (Kind, 2013b), just as we can fail to think that wolves will attack us (Williamson, 2016). Both Kind and Williamson provide readership with concrete and daily examples that bring to light the cognitive power of imagination: we can imagine how our life could be in a new house in order to decide whether to buy it or not (Williamson, 2016), we can imagine how our working day would play out in a new office in order to decide which office fulfils our needs in a better way: do I prefer the one in the quieter location or would I do my job better in the one with the better view? (Kind, 2013b). These cases show how we ordinarily appeal to imagination since we want to know whether, if we lived in that house or spent out working day in that office, we would like to do so. The reappraisal of the justificatory power of imagination should not lead us to surmise that the process whereby we form expectations regarding the future is entirely based on imagination or, on the contrary, solely based on our knowledge of the past. In order to solve daily affairs—which office do I pick out? Should I buy that house?—we rely upon the knowledge we gained thanks to the past and the possible scenarios that imagination enables us to consider. Sure, there would be many other distinctions to make: for example, both Kind and Williamson distinguish

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imagination from imagery since all imagining does not involve imagery. Moreover, acts of ‘propositionally imagining that’ and acts of ‘objectual imagining’ need to be distinguished too: according to the former, I imagine that a dragon is chasing me, while according to the latter I imagine a dragon. Anyway, what matters is that Kind and Williamson help us to provide a framework that accounts for the epistemic role of imaginative experiences in the spectrum of contingency. The fact that the informative function of imagination is confined to contingency implies that imagination cannot help us to identify the constraints that oversee our possible range of self-variations. In fact, our starting overview over the fundamental issue of personal individuality brought to light that, while shaping ourselves, we are not completely free: there are constraints that hold sway over this process. We are referring to non-contingent constraints that follow from the core of my individuality, my vocation, the layers of my individuality that do not depend upon me, the aspects of my individuality that I do not posit but just discover, the aspects of my individuality that I cannot change without turning into someone else. Such constraints strongly influence my self-shaping and, consequently, my self-imagining too. This means that my self-imagining is bound by constraints that limit it and if I do not identify them then my self-imagining turns into a random exercise confined to the scope of contingency. The viewpoint of Kind and Williamson—like the moral imagination approach— does not account for these non-contingent constraints that restrict our self-­imagining. Moreover, this approach seems to overlook another important type of constraints that limit our self-imagining: the resistance that we can experience when exploring the range of our self-possibilities. While imagining possible scenarios regarding ourselves, we are not completely free: not only do non-contingent constraints following from our individuality limit our self-shaping and self-imagining, constraints of another type also limit our self-shaping and self-imagining. We are referring to aspects of our individuality that we cannot imagine because of our imaginative resistance, that “occurs when an otherwise competent imaginer finds it difficult to engage in some sort of prompted imaginative activity” (Gendler & Liao, 2016, 405). Unfortunately, both Kind and Williamson do not account for this type of constraint. According to them, imagination is a force that enables me to explore my self-­ possibilities so as to decide how to act, but which are the constraints that restrict my self-imagining? This approach identifies constraints that are only contingent and leaves unanswered the question regarding non-contingent constraints and imaginative resistance. Furthermore, this approach—like the moral imagination approach—does not treat the question regarding the core of individuality: but how can I strive to know how I will behave in the future and imagine myself in possible circumstances, if I do not know the essence of my individuality? In fact, in order to vary myself, I must know what I can vary about myself and what I cannot vary about myself. This means that I must know the constraints that limit my self-imagining and self-shaping. Unfortunately, this kind of approach does not broach this point and so the fundamental issue of personal individuality remains unanswered.

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For Kind and Williamson—as we have just specified—the epistemic function of imagination does not overstep the scope of contingency. Nevertheless, from a phenomenological perspective, we must notice that the epistemic function that Edmund Husserl ascribes to phantasy—as an instance of imagination—oversteps the scope of contingency: free phantasy regarded as an exercise of eidetic variation has an epistemic function since it allows us to grasp the essence of what we vary. According to Husserl, phantasy—as an instance of imagination—enables us to devise eidetic variations whereby we are in a position to acquire knowledge of the ‘things’ we are varying. For Husserl, eidetic variation leads to Wesenschau, which can be described as insight and evidence into necessary invariants of a phenomenon, and this is not contingent (see De Monticelli, 2018, 73–98). For Husserl, imagination expands to reach necessity and over-comes contingency. Quite the opposite, in other words, from Kind and Williamson who argue for an epistemic function that is confined to the scope of contingency: I appeal to imagination and achieve outcomes that lose their validity outside the scope of contingency. Indeed, for Husserl the epistemic function of imagination exceeds the field of contingency. This is the reason why we are going to tackle Husserl’s stance on the epistemic function of phantasy. In so doing, we will also reframe the issues related to the degree of freedom and the type of constraints involved in self-imagination.

 Phenomenological Account: How Free Phantasy Oversteps A the Scope of Contingency In Phänomenologie und Erkenntnistheorie Husserl draws a sharp distinction between two kinds of phantasy that are grounded in phantasy itself as the disposition to conceive of alternative possibilities (it is worth noticing that we are not dealing with two different faculties). In order to account for this distinction, Husserl describes a phantasy experience.4 My experience of fantasizing about a centaur entails a quasi-perception of a possible perception of this centaur. If I now start reflecting while fantasizing, I come to realize that this experience is an experience of quasi-perception. This does not imply that I support the real and natural theses related to my world in this exact moment (such theses, for example, include the centaur itself, if I imagine that it leaps at me).

4  “Fingiere ich einen Zentauren, so hat das die Bedeutung: Ich versetze mich in ein mögliches Wahrnehmen, und zwar Wahrnehmen dieses Zentauren; reflektiere ich in diesem Phantasiebewußtsein, so finde ich dieses Quasiwahrnehmen [...] Ich mache nun nicht die wirklichen naturalen Thesen mit, die sich auf meine jetzige aktuelle Welt beziehen und die evtl. auch den Zentauren angehen, nämlich wenn ich ihn mir hier auf dieser Straße heranspringend fingierte. Ich stelle mich natürlich aber auch nicht auf den Boden der Phantasie, wie ich es tue, wenn ich mich der Phantasie ‘hingebe’ und aktuell phantasierend und träumend die phantasierten Ereignisse quasierlebe, über sie quasiurteile, zu ihnen in Gefallen und Mißfallen, in tätigen Handeln Stellung nehme—in der ‘Modifikation der träumenden’ Phantasie” (Husserl, 2015, 184).

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Furthermore, this does not imply that I get lost in the sphere of phantasy as it happens when I abandon myself to phantasy while fantasizing and daydreaming: in such experiences I quasi-live these fantasized events, quasi-evaluate them, respond to them with pleasure or displeasure. This is the modification of “dreaming phantasy.” When I fantasize about a centaur, I experience a quasi-perception of this centaur. While I am experiencing this, I do not mingle the world of centaurs with the actual world that I inhabit. I do not make believe that the centaur leaps into the road that I am now crossing. So, what am I doing while fantasizing about a centaur? To this purpose Husserl distinguishes “free phantasy” (“freie Phantasie”) from “pure phantasy” (“träumende Phantasie” or “reine Phantasie”). According to Husserl, I rely on free phantasy when I appeal to eidetic variation, while I rely on pure phantasy when I daydream about something. Daydreaming implies that the sphere of reality and the sphere of phantasy definitively overlap (“ich stelle mich [...] auf den Boden der Phantasie”). Pure phantasy makes me quasi-experience the fantasized events, I quasi-judge them and I take position on them through pleasure or displeasure. So, the kind of phantasy we often refer to is, in Husserl’s terms, pure phantasy. This kind of phantasy enables us to devise scenarios: we are using this specific word to explain Husserl’s thought, because its etymological root sheds light on a few noteworthy aspects of the kind phantasy at issue. The word ‘scenario,’ from Greek skene, designates a ‘wooden stage for actors,’ also ‘what is represented on stage,’ originally ‘tent or booth,’ related to skia (‘shadow, shade,’ via notion of ‘something that gives shade’). Hence, the core meaning of scenario refers to the idea of covering something by putting it aside. Putting up a tent allows us to temporarily shut ourselves off from the surrounding, just as building up a fantasized scenario allows us to temporarily shut ourselves off from reality. We argue that pure phantasy is the ability we lean on to devise such scenarios. Regardless of their degree of realism, through them we give rise to sort of brackets within reality, something that shuts ourselves off from reality within reality, just as a tent shuts ourselves off from the surrounding within the surrounding itself. So, pure phantasy is linked with our ability to devise scenarios where we ‘reorchestrate’ reality. On the contrary, free phantasy makes eidetic variation possible. While appealing to eidetic variation, we are not lost in distant phantasy scenarios; indeed, we are tremendously absorbed in the world that we inhabit, and we try to grasp the essence of what concerns us by varying it from an eidetic point of view. So, when Husserl talks about Phantasie in relation to eidetic variation, he is referring to free phantasy. This correlation is broadly misunderstood by Italian translations that often make readership mistake phantasy for imagination. These reflections shed light on the role that freedom plays when we fantasize: in free phantasy, are we completely free? Apparently, it seems so. Husserl himself specifies how a geometer, for example, finds himself more restricted while actually drawing and building up models rather than while freely fantasizing about them: “in phantasy […] he must make an effort to attain clear intuitions from which he is exempted by the sketch or model. But in actually sketching and constructing a model he is restricted; in phantasy he has incomparably more freedom reshaping at will the figures feigned” (Husserl, 1983, 159). Here Husserl is making a sort of

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comparison between the degree of freedom of the geometer while he is drawing and the degree of freedom of the geometer while he is fantasizing. Nonetheless, if we focus on the phantasy exercise only, we come to realize that geometer’s freedom is seriously constrained and restricted. Even when fantasizing, we are strictly constrained (“gebunden”). It belongs to the essence of the appearance of the centaur which I now have—a merely “one sided” appearance presentive of the essence of the centaur—that I can trace out the different sides of the physical thing, that what remains undetermined or open in the first place can be made determinate and intuitive in free phantasy. In the continuation of this always more perfect intuitional, more precisely determining process of phantasy, we are in a wide measure free; indeed, at random we can intuitionally ascribe to the phantasied centaur more precisely determining properties and changes in properties; but we are not completely free […] However arbitrarily we may deform what is phantasied, spatial forms are always again converted into spatial forms. (Husserl, 1983, 357–358)5

A few further passages from Ideen I bring to the foreground Husserl’s effort of defining the link between eidetic variation, freedom and free phantasy . It does not matter whether his [of the geometer] experiencing is hallucination or whether, instead of actually drawing his lines and constructions, he imagines them in a world of phantasy [Phantasiewelt].6 (Husserl, 1983, 16) If we produce in free phantasy [in der freien Phantasie] spatial formations, melodies, social practices, and the like, or if we phantasy acts of experiencing of liking or disliking, of willing, etc., then on that basis by “ideation” we can see various pure essences [reine Wesen] originarily and perhaps even adequately. (Husserl, 1983, 11)

Husserl specifies that we have to exercise (“üben”) free phantasy. Eidetic variation spurs us to identify and abide by certain constraints that characterize our restricted freedom: this process of identification is grounded in an unremitting exercise: “it is necessary to exercise one’s phantasy abundantly [die Phantasie reichlich zu üben] in the required activity of perfect clarification and in the free reshaping of phantasy-­ data [in der freien Umgestaltung der Phantasiegegebenheiten]” (Husserl, 1983, 159–160). Such an exercise is necessary: we do not grasp essences immediately. Indeed, we need to exercise free phantasy and our ability to perform eidetic variations. This is why there might be cases in which free phantasy and eidetic variation do not result in an eidetic intuition: more attempts are required. So, we realized that a restricted freedom defines the kind of phantasy involved in eidetic variation (i.e., free phantasy). Husserl keeps on describing this restricted freedom and argues that the identity of what we vary (eidetically) is an obstacle we 5  “Im Fortgang dieses immer vollkommener veranschaulichenden und näher bestimmenden Phantasieprozesses sind wir in weitem Maße frei; wir können ja dem phantasierten Kentauren nach Belieben näher bestimmende Eigenschaften und Eigenschaftsveränderungen anschaulich zumessen; aber völlig frei sind wir nicht […] Wie willkürlich wir das Phantasierte deformieren mögen, es gehen Raumgestalten wieder in Raumgestalten über” (Husserl, 1913, 311). 6  In the Italian version of Ideen I (Einaudi 2002), the term “Phantasiewelt” is translated into “imaginary world” (“mondo immaginario”). Such a translation is likely to make readership mistake phantasy for imagination. This is just an example: we do not intend to discuss all cases where similar misunderstandings might occur.

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cannot dodge. Both eidetic variation and pure phantasy entail the presence of this constraint. The identity of the object, which I vary from an eidetic point of view or fantasize about, acts as a constraint. We are using the term ‘identity’ with the following meaning: the traits that enable me to recognize the sameness of something. Consequently it is clear that, while I am fantasizing about centaurs and while I am eidetically varying a sound, I am hedged in by the identity of centaurs and the identity of the sound. I would not keep on varying the essence of a sound if I did not abide by the constraints that define sound’s identity, just as I would not keep on fantasizing about a centaur if I did not abide by the constraints that define centaur’s identity. Far from restricting our ability to fantasize, this restricted freedom (gebundene Freiheit) inherently characterizes free phantasy (and pure phantasy) and enables eidetic variation to play out, as Husserl specifies in this passage that we have already partly quoted: It is a generical eidetic insight that each imperfect giveness […] includes in itself a rule [eine Regel] for the ideal possibility of its being perfected. It belongs to the essence of the appearance of the centaur which I now have […] that I can trace out the different sides of the physical thing, that what remains undetermined and open in the first place can be made determinate and intuitive in free phantasy [frei phantasierend]. In the continuation of this always more perfect intuitional, more precisely determining process of phantasy, we are in a wide measure free [sind wir in weitem Maße frei]; indeed, at random we can intuitionally ascribe to the phantasied centaur more precisely determining properties and changes in properties; but we are not completely free [völlig frei sind wir nicht] provided we ought to progress in the sense of a harmonious course of intuition in which the subject to be determined is identically the same and can always remain harmoniously determinable. We are, e.g., bound [gebunden] by a law-conforming space as a frame prescribed for us by the idea of any possible physical thing whatever. However arbitrarily we may deform what is phantasied, spatial forms are always again converted into spatial forms. (Husserl, 1983, 357–358)

Both these abilities—free phantasy and pure phantasy—enable us to give rise to “as if” (als ob) experiences and “quasi” (quasi) experiences. Such experiences make us able to freely form (bilden) and freely alter (abwandeln) what we vary (eidetically) and fantasize about: we are free to modify the object at issue (Husserl, 2015, 144). In spite of this freedom, what we vary (eidetically) and fantasize about keeps its identity fixed (festhalten). This means that the possibilities that phantasy yields (ergeben) are restricted (Husserl, 2015, 182). These are the key terms at stake: freie Phantasie, frei gestalten, gebunden, festhalten, ergeben. Free phantasy yields possibilities that are at the same time free and restricted: while fantasizing, we are free only to a certain extent because of the identity of the object at issue: as much as we are free, we cannot withhold the identity of what we are fantasizing about through eidetic variation. On the one hand, eidetic variation requires us to question the identity of the object we are varying; on the other hand, the identity of the object acts as an insuperable limit. Let us consider a clarifying example: If we take a sound as our point of departure, whether we actually hear it or whether we have it present as a sound “in the imagination,” then we obtain the eidos sound as that which, in the course of “arbitrary” variants, is necessarily common to all these variants. Now if we take as our point of departure another sound-phenomenon in order to vary it arbitrarily, in

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3  Theories on Self-Imagination Do Not Solve the Fundamental Issue the new “example” we do not apprehend another eidos sound; rather, in juxtaposing the old and the new, we see that it is the same, that the variants and the variations on both sides join together in a single variation, and that the variants here and there are, in like fashion, arbitrary particularizations of the one eidos. And it is even evident that in progressing from one variation to a new one we can give this progress and this formation of new multiplicities of variation the character of an arbitrary progress and that, furthermore, in such progress in the form of arbitrariness the same eidos must appear “again and again”: the same general essence “sound in general.” (Husserl, 1973, 342–343)

While trying to grasp the essence of the sound, I can fantasize about a sound without a timbre and this means that I am modifying its identity. Nonetheless, I can modify this identity only to a certain extent: in fact, I draw the conclusion that a sound without a timbre is not a sound. I am referring to the identity of the sound as the pivotal parameter that enables me to discern whether I am thinking about a sound or not. Husserl’s account concerning the link between phantasy, freedom and eidetic variation spurs us to pose two main questions: how does his account make room for the link between phantasy and imagination? Does the fact that theories on self-­ imagination do not solve the fundamental issue of personal individuality—because of the reasons that we have explained—mean that imagination does not play any role in self-shaping?

Overview Over Husserl’s Stance on Phantasy and Imagination We examined the reasons why theories focused on self-imagination are not suitable for our goal (i.e., solving the fundamental issue of personal individuality). We realized that the main problem regards their relevance to the sphere of contingency: through self-imagination, we do not overstep this dimension. Consequently, these theories do not account for the (non-contingent) constraints that we experience while exploring our self-possibilities. We referred to Husserl’s stance on phantasy since he accounts for this trait: phantasy oversteps the sphere of contingency. For the sake of clarity, we will now move on to Husserl’s stance on imagination. This digression enables us to understand Husserl’s stance on phantasy appropriately: we will comprehend what function Husserl ascribes to imagination and how he describes the dynamic between phantasy and imagination (cf. Saraiva, 1970). Before we tackle Husserl’s stance, it is worth examining how Sartre broaches the same topic since his view is an insightful introduction to Husserl’s thought. Sartre brings to the foreground two main issues: he shifts the attention from imagination to imaginary and he regards Husserl’s standpoint as the best way to comprehend the imaginary. Sartre deals with this topic in two main works: L’imagination and L’imaginaire. In the first he examines how the topic of imagination has been tackled through the history of philosophy: he mainly deals with Descartes, Spinoza, Leibniz, and Hume. In so doing, he provides a brief philosophical history of the topic of imagination. Sartre argues that all these philosophers share a common mistake: they err in

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making the image coincide with the object. They err in putting on the same footing the object that is given to me through an image and the same object that is given to me through perception: they err in thinking that these two items coincide with the same object, which is given to me through an image or through perception. They err in arguing that, insofar as the image is the object, then the image exists as an object. According to Sartre, this warped account of imagination follows from neglecting the way in which we experience images. Consequently, Sartre wonders whether there is a specific kind of experience that enables us to grasp the essence of the image itself. He argues that this kind of experience is the phenomenological experience, as Husserl describes it: if we intend to comprehend the essence of imagination, we have to carry out imaginative experiences and focus on their essential traits. This is why the title of the second work where Sartre deals with the imaginative scope shifts from The imagination to The imaginary: what he propels us to investigate is no more the alleged faculty that sets the stage for imaginative experiences. Indeed, what we have to investigate is the experience itself and the phenomenological perspective implies that a focus on the experiential dimension allows us to grasp the essence of the kind of experience in question. The most remarkable breakthrough of Sartre is his effort of arguing that the image is not something that is present in our mind when we imagine. As Sartre himself stresses at the beginning of The Imaginary, this thesis is the distinguishing trait of Husserl’s stance on imagination: it is Husserl that argues that the image is a mode of presence and, subsequently, it is to be investigated as image consciousness, that is, as a mode of consciousness. Starting from Husserl’s standpoint, Sartre argues for the shift of attention from imagination to imaginary: he highlights how Husserl’s focus on imagine consciousness—rather than alleged images fluctuating in our mind—is the jumping-off point for his work, The Imaginary, which focuses on imaginative and phantasy experiences as modes of presence (noematic pole)— rather than on subjective alleged faculties (noetic pole), such as imagination or phantasy, that lay the foundation for such experiences. Sartre enables us to comprehend the absolute breakthrough of Husserl since he brings to light Husserl’s contribution to the traditional debate regarding imagination: Husserl makes us realize that we should shift the focus of our attention from the idea that we have images in our mind to the idea that image is a mode of presence. There are no images fluctuating in our mind: if we deny this claim, we are just mentalizing what we experience while staring at a landscape, a painting, and so on. Sartre propels us to broach the issue of imaginative experiences focusing on the experience itself rather than on the subjective side of the experience and this nudge spurs us to heed the dimension of the imaginary rather than the ability to imagine. Contrary to Sartre, in our analysis we will relate the imaginary to the dimension of self-shaping; like Sartre, we deem the imaginary as the noematic pole of every imaginative experience. We will deem the imaginary as the set of self-possibilities, of untaken possibilities that regard my individuality. Within this framework, an overview on Husserl’s stance on phantasy and imagination is useful for clarifying the overall framework where our analysis is set.

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According to Husserl (2005), there is no image consciousness without i) an image object and ii) a difference (Differenz) between image object and image subject. More importantly, Husserl maintains that without image consciousness there is no possibility for aesthetic experiences to arise. He claims: “only the consciousness belonging to immanent imaging plays a role in the aesthetic contemplation of the image. In aesthetic contemplation, we immerse ourselves in the image; our interest belongs to it, we see the subject in it” (Husserl, 2005, 39). And then he specifies: “image consciousness […] is the essential foundation for the possibility of aesthetic feeling in fine art. Without an image, there is no fine art. And the image must be clearly set apart from reality” (Husserl, 2005, 44). And again he claims: “the accompanying conceptual judgment that what is at stake is a mere image becomes ineffective against the perceptual semblance, and the inclination to take it as real is so great that might even believe for a moment that it is real […] Wax figures, imitating reality as closely as possible […] present perceptual appearances of human beings that coincide so perfectly with the human beings depicted that the moments of difference [die Momente der Differenz] cannot produce a clean-cut and clear consciousness of difference [ein reinliches und klares Differenzbewusstsein]; that is to say, a secure image consciousness [ein sicheres Bildlichkeitsbewusstsein]” (Husserl, 2005, 44). Within this framework, the concept of “die Differenz” sharply stands out. According to Husserl, the difference at stake is inherently double: on the one hand, it concerns the divide between image as a physical thing (das Bild als physisches Ding) and image object (Bildobjekt); on the other hand, it concerns the divide between image object and image subject (Bildsujet). In Phantasy, Image Consciousness, and Memory, Husserl points out two main sets of subtle distinctions. On the one hand, he distinguishes imagination (Imagination) from phantasy (Phantasie). On the other hand, he distinguishes image consciousness (Bildbewusstsein) from phantasy consciousness (Phantasiebewusstsein). With regard to the first divide (Imagination - Phantasie), imagination encompasses phantasy: “we attempted to understand phantasy presentations along with physical image presentations from the unitary point of view of the imagination [Imagination]” (Husserl, 2005, 30); “an essential distinction exists between imagination [Imagination] in the proper sense (e.g., physical imaging) and imagination [Imagination] in the sense of simple phantasy” (Husserl, 2005, 89). Moreover, “there are very different grades and levels of image consciousness” (Husserl, 2005, 34) and one of these levels embraces phantasy along with phantasy consciousness. The second divide (Bildbewusstsein - Phantasiebewusstsein) is related to the kind of experiences that the first divide makes possible. This implies that image consciousness is grounded in imagination and phantasy consciousness is grounded in phantasy. As we have already specified, the main difference at issue concerns the divide between image as a physical thing and image object, and the divide between image object and image subject. These divides are related to image consciousness only: they cannot be ascribed to phantasy consciousness too. In this case, the distinctions are quite simpler. It is enough to distinguish the image (Bild) from the subject

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(Sache) that it represents: “if the palace in Berlin hovers before us in the phantasy image, then the palace in Berlin is precisely the subject meant, the subject presented. From the palace in Berlin, however, we distinguish the image hovering before us, which naturally is not a real thing and is not in Berlin. The image presents the subject but is not the subject itself [das Bild macht die Sache vorstellig, ist aber nicht sie selbst]” (Husserl, 2005, 20). On the contrary, image consciousness calls for more categories to make itself understandable: “here the situation is somewhat more complicated. When we distinguish between subject and image in this case, we immediately note that the concept of the image is a double concept […] What stands over against the depicted subject is twofold: 1) The image as physical thing, as this painted and framed canvas, as this imprinted paper, and so on […] 2) The image as the image object appearing in such and such a way through its determinate coloration and form. By the image object we do not mean the depicted object, the image subject, but the precise analogue of the phantasy image; namely, the appearing object that is the representant for the image subject” (Husserl, 2005, 20). So, with regard to image consciousness, “we have three objects: (1) the physical image, the physical thing made from canvas, marble, and so on; (2) the representing or depicting object; and (3) the represented or depicted object. For the latter, we prefer to say simply ‘image subject’ [Bildsujet]; for the first object, we prefer ‘physical image’ [physische Bild]; for the second, ‘representing image’ or ‘image object’ [Bildobjekt]” (Husserl, 2005, 21). Husserl argues that “the difference” is a trait necessary for letting image consciousness arise—and so it is related to imagination—whereas phantasy consciousness is void of it—and so it is not related to phantasy: “the differences between representing image and image subject, between the object that genuinely appears and the object meant and presented by means of it, are quite diverse and vary a great deal. But such differences are always there. If the appearing image were absolutely identical phenomenally with the object meant, or, better, if the image appearance showed no difference whatsoever from the perceptual appearance of the object itself, a depictive consciousness could scarcely come about […] A consciousness of difference must be there, albeit the subject does not appear in the proper sense. The appearing object is not just taken by itself, but as the representant of another object like it or resembling it” (Husserl, 2005, 22). With regard to image consciousness, a conflict follows from the difference at issue: a conflict between something that is real and something that is unreal, something that is present and something that is absent (Husserl, 2005, 55). And this conflict depends upon a feature that Husserl ascribes to image consciousness only: pointing outward, pointing beyond itself (über sich hinaus). Image consciousness points beyond its primary image object. Since phantasy presentations lack image object, Husserl infers that they lack this pointing outward too: “imaging apprehensions and symbolic apprehensions have in common the fact that they are not simple apprehensions. In a certain sense, both point beyond themselves [beide weisen in gewisser Art über sich hinaus]. But the symbolic apprehension and, in addition, the signitive apprehension point beyond to an object foreign to what appears internally (cf. Dehaene, 2007; Hagège, 1985). In any case, they point outward. The imaging

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apprehension also points to another object, but always to a similarly formed object, to an analogous object presenting itself in the image; and above all, it points to the object through itself. In symbolic presentation, the meaning regard is pointed away from the symbol; in pictorial presentation, it is pointed toward the image” (Husserl, 2005, 37). On the contrary, “[in phantasy] interest and meaning is directed exclusively toward the image subject” (Husserl, 2005, 40). Subsequently, Husserl claims that imagination (Imagination) leads us towards aesthetic experiences since it makes us focus on image object, whereas phantasy (Phantasie) leads us towards non-aesthetic experiences since it lacks image object and so makes us focus on image subject. Nevertheless, Husserl specifies that sometimes phantasy experiences could turn into aesthetic experiences: “on exceptional occasions, one can also enjoy one’s phantasies aesthetically and contemplate them in an aesthetic manner. Then we do not merely look at the subject in the image consciousness [Bildbewusstsein]; rather, what interests us is how the subject presents itself there, what manner of appearing in image it displays, and perhaps how aesthetically pleasing the manner of appearing is” (Husserl, 2005, 40). Husserl highlights how image consciousness is inherently aesthetic since it points towards the image object by giving rise to a crucial difference between image object and image subject. In imaginative experiences, “what interests us is how the subject presents itself there, what manner of appearing in image it displays, and perhaps how aesthetically pleasing the manner of appearing is” (Husserl, 2005, 40). On the contrary, phantasy points towards image subject only: “when we phantasy, we live in the phantasied events; the How of the internal image presentation falls outside the scope of our natural interests” (Husserl, 2005, 41). In light of these remarks, one could wonder what ties phantasy as an instance of imagination—the palace in Berlin hovers before me in the phantasy image—to phantasy as an exercise of eidetic variation—I vary the token of a sound in order to grasp its essence. Are we talking about the same ability? It seems so. As we have just noticed, the hallmark of phantasy is its focusing on the ‘what’ of what we are fantasizing about and its lacking a difference between image subject and image object: phantasy entails the absence of the image object. These two hallmarks also characterize the cases where we appeal to phantasy in order to carry out eidetic variations: we do not heed the ‘how,’ indeed we heed ‘what’ we are varying, that is, the essence we are searching for through variation. Subsequently, phantasy as an exercise of eidetic variation does not entail any difference between image subject and image object. The common thread that these two instances of phantasy share is the trait that Husserl describes as “Möglichkeiten ergeben”: phantasy enables us to freely devise possibilities that loosen the constraints that we experience in reality. I could fantasize about my beloved since he is not here now and I could fantasize about shame varying its essential traits in order to grasp its essence: apparently there are no common aspects between these two experiences of fantasizing. However, at a closer look, it is clear that both these cases put me in a position (of restricted freedom) to escape the constraints I am hedged in by reality, where my beloved is absent and where I cannot actually experience all the circumstances that could help me to understand what shame is. It is worth noticing that we are facing a remarkable

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difference: there is a difference between a theoretical investigation—like the eidetic variation—and any other experience that strongly entails affective and practical traits—like the experience of fantasizing about my beloved. So, Husserl argues for an epistemic function of imagination that overcomes the scope of contingency. On the contrary, theories on self-imagination do not solve the fundamental issue of personal individuality since they confine the epistemic function of imagination to the scope of contingency. This outcome spurs us to treat the following question: does the fact that theories on self-imagination do not solve the fundamental issue mean that imagination does not play any role in self-shaping? The overview on Husserl’s stance on phantasy and imagination enables us to answer this question and understand how our analysis will play out. Husserl’s approach puts in the foreground the distinction between a noematic and a noetic pole: this distinction deals with the distinction that Sartre brought to light between imagination and imaginary. We will argue that imagination plays a role in self-shaping since the imaginary plays a role in this process. In our effort at developing a pattern of individuality that accounts for the coexistence of change and identity in self-­shaping, we will realize that the imaginary plays a pivotal role in self-shaping: we will deem the imaginary as the set of untaken possibilities that concern our individuality, the set of self-possibilities that we comprehend thanks to self-variation (and phantasy is the ability we appeal to in order for this self-variation to play out). As Husserl specified, the appeal to free phantasy occurs in light of non-contingent constraints that guide us through any kind of eidetic variation: with regard to personal individuality, this means that self-variation occurs in light of non-contingent constraints following from the core of our individuality. Anyway, before we understand this thesis, we must develop the pattern of individuality that enables us to solve the fundamental issue of personal individuality. We will achieve this goal in the fourth chapter.

Chapter 4

What Does My Self Consist in? A Multilayer Pattern of Personal Individuality

Our reflections regarding the perspectives focused on self-imagining and personal identity helped us to understand the requirements that our new pattern of individuality must fulfil. First of all, if I want to know how I will behave in the future and imagine myself in possible circumstances, I need to know the essence of my individuality since I must know what I can vary about myself and what I cannot vary about myself. So, which are the (non-contingent) constraints of my possible self-­ changes? In order to answer this question, our pattern will ascribe a key role to self-­ discovery. Secondly, since I cannot imagine everything about myself, our pattern of individuality will ascribe a key role to the influence that other persons can have on my process of self-knowledge and self-shaping. As we will discuss, this influence depends upon the specific essence of personal individuality, which will turn out to be objective in addition to being subjective. By virtue of its objectivity, others can comprehend aspects of my individuality in a better way than I can even plan to do on my own. It follows that our pattern will account for a pivotal role of self-change and self-discovery in self-shaping, because there are aspects of our individuality that are independent of us. Our main goal concerns personal individuality and, especially, its aspects that make it pliable and steady at the same time. This experience was the starting point of our analysis: I realize that there is a wide spectrum of possible self-changes, but every variation in my individuality does not warp the identity of myself: it is always me. It seems there is a core of my individuality I cannot question if I care about myself: what is this core and how to grasp it? In order to answer this question we will focus on Max Scheler’s thought. We will not totally endorse his claims. Indeed, we will rely upon a few facets of his thought and partly go beyond it so as to achieve our main goal. In fact, his framework provides specific coordinates that enable us to give rise to a pattern of individuality that accounts for the fundamental issue. This pattern will make us realize that personal individuality does not coincide with a fixed core that we grasp by reflecting upon ourselves: what distinguishes one © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 B. Bellini, How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality, Contributions to Phenomenology 116, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-81451-9_4

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individual from another one is the process of self-shaping. Individuality is a dynamic core that I gradually unveil if I am willing to question what I think about myself. Our pattern relies upon the following thesis, which we will discuss in this chapter: the essence of my individuality is my ordo amoris, which I gradually and unremittingly discover by appealing to a specific facet of my individuality that we will refer to as ‘readiness for being affected.’ The unchangeable core of my individuality is my ordo amoris and the knowledge I can gain of it has no outright end. Two further layers of my individuality stem from ordo amoris: “good-in-itself for me” (“An-sich-Gutes für mich”) and ethos. The former calls for an unremitting effort of grasping it, the latter is the layer that is liable to change: when I change myself I am changing my ethos since I have achieved a new stage of knowledge with regard to my ordo amoris. By considering these three notions—ordo amoris, ethos, “good-in-­ itself for me”—we will describe the pattern of individuality that we intend to develop (Chap. 4): in so doing, we will comprehend how self-discovery and self-­ change are fundamental keys to the core of our individuality. Then we will show how this pattern accounts for the role that change and identity play in self-shaping so as to solve the fundamental issue (Chap. 5) and comprehend the way in which other persons hold sway over our self-shaping (Chaps. 6 and 7).

 he Source and Rules of My Value-Preference T and Value-Depreciation When I change myself I am changing my ethos since I have achieved a new stage of knowledge with regard to my ordo amoris: in order to understand what we mean by ‘ordo amoris’ and ‘ethos,’ we must briefly refer to Scheler’s stance on axiology (1973a). In fact, in order to comprehend the meaning that we intend to ascribe to ordo amoris and ethos, we need to comprehend the meaning that Scheler ascribes to the quite ambiguous term ‘value.’ What is the phenomenological perspective on axiology and which are the hallmarks of Scheler’s stance on it? First of all, it is worth underlining how phenomenology draws our attention to four specific issues that guide us through our daily axiological experiences. Firstly, when we express axiological judgements, we are claiming that a corresponding state of affairs really exists: if I think that that deed is unjust, I am not indifferent to the truth of what I am saying. Indeed, I am claiming that a corresponding state of affairs really exists. Secondly, in the axiological scope, we believe that experience is valid only to a certain extent: the fact that I think that politicians’ deeds should be just is not affected by the fact that I realize that the deeds of the major part of politicians are unjust. These two issues—the claim and the belief—aid us in comprehending the keystones of phenomenological stance upon axiology (intentionality, realism, cognitivism) and focus on Scheler’s contribution to them (there is an axiological rank between personal and objective order of values). Thirdly, just as I perceive something, I fantasize about something, I think about something, while

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deeming an action as a just action, the issue of intentionality implies that there has to be ‘something’ related to the act through which I perceive a just action: this ‘something’ is a value and a specific kind of perception enables me to grasp it. Lastly, according to a phenomenological perspective, values are not mere subjective projections on the world: indeed, we find them in the world, we experience and perceive them through their bearers. The fact that I am able to strive to realize a certain value—for example, I strive to behave in a sincere manner—implies that the value of sincerity is something that I do not project on reality: it exists independently of me, I can know it, and I can make my deeds bearers of that value. What matters most is that we do not mistake the axiological perception—the act whereby I grasp values—for a mere axiological ‘intuition.’ According to Scheler, we grasp values through their bearers and values are messengers of the nature of what we are experiencing: A value precedes its object; it is the first “messenger” of its particular nature. An object may be vague and unclear while its value is already distinct and clear. In any comprehension of our milieu, for example, we immediately grasp the unanalysed totality and its value; but, again, in the value of the totality we grasp partial values in which individual represented objects [Bildgegenstünde] are “situated.” (Scheler, 1973a, 18)

Values are tertiary properties dependent on, but not reducible to, primary and secondary properties. They are messengers (“er ist der erste ‘Bote’ seiner besonderen Natur [eines Gegenstandes]. Wo er selbst noch undeutlich und unklar ist, kann jener bereits deutlich und klar sein,” Scheler, 2013a, 60). Values as messengers inform us about something: ‘Wert’ (value), from Latin ‘vertere,’ is a sign (it is related to, it refers to) of something else: it follows that the perception of values—far from being confined to a subjective emotional sphere—resembles my openness to the world and, at the same time, resembles the way through which the openness of the world plays out in me (Weltoffenheit is openness towards the world and openness of the world, see Cusinato, 2007, 57). Scheler describes the variedness of the axiological dimension: there are many different spheres of values. He encourages us to stretch our usual perspective and take into consideration, for example, the values related to the sphere of sensory agreeableness. We tend to confine the axiological discourse to the ethical or aesthetic dimension, whereas Scheler propels us to enlarge and stretch our horizon: No more than the names of colors refer to mere properties of corporeal things […] do the names of values refer to mere properties of the thing like given unities that we call goods. Just as I can bring to giveness a red color as a mere extensive quale, e.g., as a pure color of the spectrum, without regarding it as covering a corporeal surface or as something spatial, so also are such values as agreeable, charming, lovely, friendly, distinguished, and noble in principle accessible to me without my having to represent them as properties belonging to things or men. (Scheler, 1973a, 12)

Every savory fruit is characterized by its own pleasant taste: “it is therefore not the case that one and the same savor of a fruit, e.g., a cherry, an apricot, or a peach, is only an amalgamation of various sensations given in tasting, seeing or touching […] The value-qualities, which in these cases ‘sensory agreeableness’ possesses, are authentic qualities of a value itself” (Scheler 1973a, 12–13). Aesthetic values are

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related to terms like ‘charming,’ ‘pleasant,’ ‘beautiful,’ ‘sublime;’ ethical values are related to terms like ‘noble,’ ‘courageous,’ ‘innocent,’ ‘guilty,’ ‘evil,’ ‘good.’ We experience an endless spectrum of values. Phenomenological philosophers like Hartmann and Scheler argue that values are not confined to the moral sphere. Indeed, they are axiological qualities that characterize every facet of our experience: a fruit could be tasty, a behaviour could seem to me just, a room welcoming, an emotion pleasant, and so on, and so forth. The point is that “values […] are not definable. Despite their indubitable objectlike character, we must necessarily have already brought them to giveness with things in order for such things to be characterized as ‘beautiful,’ ‘lovely’ or ‘charming’” (Scheler, 1973a, 13–14). In order to grasp values we need to ‘experience’ their bearers: a single deed could be all I need to grasp the essence of the value in question. Which act enables me to grasp values? Which act enables me to say that that deed is noble? Values are feelable phenomena and I grasp them through their bearers thanks to this act of ‘feeling’ (“Werte sind klare fühlbare Phänomene,” Scheler, 2013a, 58). Anyway, values might be independent of the goods whereby they are exemplified. This happens since a value of an abject could be evidentially and clearly given without me knowing why this specific value pertains to this specific good: A man can be distressing and repugnant, agreeable, or sympathetic to us without our being able to indicate how this comes out; in like manner we can for the longest time consider a poem or another work of art “beautiful” or “ugly,” “distinguished” or “common,” without knowing in the least which properties of the contents of the work prompt this. Again, a landscape or a room in a house can appear “friendly” or “distressing,” and the same holds for a sojourn in a room, without our knowing the bearers of such values. (Scheler, 1973a, 17)

Values are feelable phenomena: our emotional responses to them are the keys to the axiological dimension of the world, and the emotional way through which we respond to this dimension sheds light on our individuality. Our emotional responses are the way through which we perceive values and discover our individuality. As we will show, Scheler ascribes a new meaning to the emotional life: far from being a mere chaos of confused states, it is authored by a strict lawfulness (see Scheler, 1973a, 1973b, 2007b). He argues that our emotional responses are the sole way whereby we can grasp the axiological substratum of the world: the world brims with values and our emotional responses to values depend upon and reveal our own individuality. This brief overview over Scheler’s axiology is fundamental for our comprehension of ordo amoris, which we deem as the core of individuality. Let us read the definition that Scheler provides about it. Whoever has the ordo amoris of a man, has the man himself. He has for the man as a moral subject what the crystallization formula is for a crystal. He sees through him as far as one possibly can. He sees before him the constantly simple and basic lines of his heart [Gemüt] running beneath all his empirical many-sidedness and complexity. And heart deserves to be called the core of man as a spiritual being much more than knowing and willing do. He has a spiritual model of the primary source which secretly nourishes everything emanating from

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this man. Even more, he possesses the primary determinant of what always appears to ­surround and enclose the man: in space, his moral environment; in time, his fate, that is, the quintessence [Inbegriff] of possibilities belonging to him and him alone. Nothing in nature which is independent of man can confront him and have an effect on him even as a stimulus, of whatever kind or degree, without the cooperation of his ordo amoris. (Scheler, 1973b, 100)

We interpret this quotation as follows. Ordo amoris is a sort of structure that prioritizes and assembles what I care about the most: it embodies my way of being in the world-of-life and being emotionally affected by it, it is my world-view. Ordo amoris pertains to the axiological order everyone gradually grasps by means of fühlen (i.e., our capacity to let us be affected by our emotional responses to the axiological richness of the world we live in). Ordo amoris marks the specific way everyone prefers and postpones values, it pertains to the specific way everyone loves and hates (the meaning of these two acts and the meaning related to the emotional dimension will be gradually explained). Scheler points out that I cannot perceive, for example, the beauty of a face or the warmth of a room if I am not willing to be open to this axiological richness, to make myself possibly affected by it. Given this openness, different types of values attract or repulse me by virtue of my ordo amoris, that is, by virtue of what I prefer and postpone, love and hate, in accordance with constant rules of preference and rejection. This attraction and repulsion determine what I actually note, what I actually neglect and what I possibly observe. This attraction and repulsion follow from and are defined by attitudes of interest and love that Scheler describes as dispositions to be affected by things. We refer to this kind of disposition as ‘readiness for being affected.’ This readiness lets my ordo amoris emerge and this is why we argue that it plays a pivotal role in self-shaping: Even prior to the unity of perception, a value-signal experienced as coming from things, not from us, announces, as though with a trumpet flourish, that “Something is up!” This is how the actual things as a rule announce themselves at the threshold of our environment and take their place in it from the far ends of the world […] Man’s ordo amoris and its particular contours are behind each such case of attraction and repulsion. (Scheler, 1973b, 101)

This means that we discover our individuality in light of our emotional responses. And the world of our emotional responses comes to light thanks to an attitude Scheler spurs us to take: the attitude of ‘listening to’ our emotional life, trusting our emotional responses, reflecting upon them, trying to grasp their meaning as well as their link with our personal core. The notion of ethos proceeds straight from this core: the term ‘ethos’ refers to the set of actual rules of my preferring and postponing values. It is about the rules stemming from ordo amoris and steering my acting in the world. Everyone’s ethos highlights the specific rules of one’s emotional life. His actual ethos, that is, the rules of his value-preference and value-depreciation, defines the structure and content of his world-view and of his knowledge and thought of the world, and, in addition, his will to submit to, or be master over, things. This is true of individuals and of races, of nations, of cultural circles, of peoples and families, of parties, of classes, of castes, and of professions. (Scheler 1973b, 111)

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4  What Does My Self Consist in? A Multilayer Pattern of Personal Individuality

We argue that ordo amoris and ethos define the deepest layers of individuality. Their corresponding contents change from individual to individual and this variation in content is exactly what individuality consists in: my ordo amoris and ethos are different from your ordo amoris and ethos, but both of us have an ordo amoris and ethos. Ordo amoris as an axiological structure brings about and lays the foundation for a set of actual rules of my preferring and postponing values. A set of actual rules proceeds from ordo amoris: such rules flow into ethos. This means that my value-­ preference and value-depreciation give rise to corresponding ways of acting. Such ways mirror ordo amoris and guide our acting in the world. In light of these remarks, it is clear that self-shaping entails self-revision: is the type of individual that I am becoming and I think I am square with what I know about my ordo amoris and ethos? Our pattern implies that I must be willing to question and revise myself. An unremitting effort of self-revision is necessary since ordo amoris calls for an unremitting discovery and systematization of what defines my individuality. This is why we argue for a multilayer pattern of individuality: the core of my individuality consists of deeper and deeper layers that I am called upon to grasp. There is always something new to be discovered about my individuality (i.e., about my ordo amoris and ethos). The knowledge I can gain of my ordo amoris is a process rather than a goal to attain. It follows that self-revision, self-discovery and (possible) self-changes play a key role in self-shaping. Subsequently, as human beings we are ‘unfinished totalities’ (Cusinato, 2008, 2014)1: there is no stage of our process of self-shaping where we could be firmly sure that nothing more is to be discovered about us. Of course, there is some truth in all this, but only up to a point. Every individual is an unfinished totality that needs to shape and reshape herself in light of new degrees of self-discovery and self-knowledge: only this continuous movement of personal ‘re-birth’ sets the stage for the formation of individuality. So, as a person and an individual I am ‘subject to’ the axiological richness of the world I live in: the way in which I am affected by the world gradually unveils my ordo amoris. This dynamic works for me as well as for everyone. The point is that the contents of ordo amoris change from individual to individual. There are not two persons with the same ordo amoris: the process that guided me through the discovery of my ordo amoris makes it absolutely unique. The uniqueness of the process through which I discover and shape myself makes me a unique individual. Since others are individuals different from me, they are characterized by a different ordo amoris, but they are persons exactly like me: just as the core of my individuality is defined by ordo amoris, so the core of their individuality is defined by ordo amoris. In order to discover my ordo amoris, I am supposed to rely on my emotional responses to the axiological richness of the world I inhabit. It follows that we must discover how we respond to the world. If we grasp this dimension (i.e., ordo amoris), then we are in a better position to shape our ethos accordingly. If we pay 1  Scheler himself uses a very similar expression when dealing with the pair “Einzelperson und Gesamtperson” (Scheler, 2013a, 998): he describes the essence of “Sozialeinheit” as “eine abschließbare Totalität.” In light of these remarks, we could describe personal individuality as “eine abschließbare Totalität.”

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attention to the way we love and hate, to what we love and hate, to what we prefer and postpone, we become gradually able to discover our ordo amoris. This means that if we heed the emotional dimension, then we become able to know and shape ourselves. I gradually know myself through my emotional responses to the world and in light of this knowledge I gradually shape myself. I understand the type of individual I have already become and I understand the type of individual I will make of myself. The essence of my ordo amoris needs unremittingly to be clarified, deepened and strengthened. What I have discovered about myself needs to be confirmed again. In this process of self-discovery and self-knowledge, I might come to face self-delusions. These outcomes lead us to start clarifying the fundamental issue of personal individuality. In fact, they bring to light the dynamic essence of individuality: far from being something static (a Bild), I am my process of knowing myself (my ordo amoris) and shaping myself (my ethos) accordingly. As individual persons we are not characterized by a definitive shape and essence (we do not have a Bild), we are an open-ended process of formation (we are a Bildung). Insofar as I am an open-­ ended process of formation, the knowledge I can gain of such a process is open-­ ended. Since I am a process, I am both liable to self-delusion and incessant self-knowledge. This means that I should take advantage of my dynamic essence since it enables me to continuously shape and reshape myself in light of what I discover about myself. I do not have to quash the temptation to question and better investigate my ordo amoris. Indeed, if I care about myself, then I should be interested in discovering how I respond to the world so as to try to act accordingly. But how do I discover the way in which I respond to the world? That is to say, how do I discover my emotional responses to the axiological sphere?

 ow to Grasp the Contents of My Ordo Amoris: What Do I Love H and Hate? First of all, it is worth noticing that Scheler completely recasts the meaning of the whole emotional dimension, the meaning related to that dimension where we are affected. Specifically, he spurs us to answer questions like ‘What affects me?’, ‘What do I love and hate?’, ‘What do I care about the most?’, ‘Which is the lawfulness that authors my emotional life?’, that is to say, ‘Which are the contents of my own ordo amoris?’ In order to know myself, I must answer these questions. In order to answer these questions, what matter are the axiological qualities that the things that I love or hate exemplify. The things that I actually love and hate are merely contingent. Things affect me by virtue of the axiological qualities whose they are bearers. I love or hate these qualities and my way of loving or hating makes my ordo amoris emerge (the expression ‘ordo amoris’ is inherently tied to a lawfulness and an order related to the emotional dimension). It follows that my way of loving or hating determines the way through which I am ‘subject to’ the world, determines the

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axiological order that defines the core of my individuality, the lawfulness of my emotional life. The order of the heart does not contain an arrangement of all the actual goods and ends which we can love and hate. Rather, even within the world of values and goods and the acts of love related to them, there exists a fundamental distinction between contingent and thus variable, and essential or constant legitimacies of rank-ordering and preference. Essential and constant laws of rank and preference exist only in relation to those values-qualities and their modalities which have been separated from their contingent, actual bearers. On the other hand, the way these qualities are combined in actual goods […] [can] vary ad libitum from subject to subject, from age to age, from society to society. (Scheler, 1973b, 122–123)

But what does it mean that we love and hate axiological qualities? According to Scheler, the act of hate is the antithesis of love: it is the emotional negation of value and the outcome of a confused love. Nonetheless, Scheler argues that “one form of lawfulness runs through all cases of hatred—every act of hate is founded on an act of love” (Scheler, 1973b, 125). This occurs since love and hate share a common nature: “they do not fall within the zone of indifference but take a strong interest in the object as the bearer of some value, this is primarily a case of taking a positive interest in” (Scheler, 1973b, 125). Furthermore, Scheler argues for a primacy of love over hate: this primacy mainly hinges upon the movement underlying both of them, that is, a movement that turns to the highest value. When we love, the value of an object or a person is deepened and it reveals its highest or most profound significance: love is a movement that turns to the highest value within the scope of higher values. By contrast, when we hate, the value of an object or a person is demeaned or degraded: hate is a movement that turns to the highest value within the scope of lower values (cf. Cusinato, 2007, 65). Hate and love are, thus, two antithetical modes of emotional behaviour, and this precludes the possibility of both loving and hating the same thing with respect to the same value and in one act. However, they are not equi-primordial modes of behaviour. Our heart is primarily destined to love, not to hate. (Scheler, 1973b, 126)

Love and hate are acts in which the perception of the value-realm is extended or narrowed: the former enables me to extend and stretch the perception of the axiological realm, while the latter forces me to shrink and narrow it. The movement underlying the act of love turns to the highest value and love is a kind of readiness for being open to the axiological realm: there is always something more we can discover within this realm. On the contrary, the movement underlying the act of hate is a closure. Nonetheless, Scheler stresses that the prime attitude has to be an openness, which then might eventually turn into a closure. Briefly, love is an act that broadens my axiological sight, while hate is an act that shrinks my axiological sight. Love and hate are related to the perception of the axiological realm, which is boundless: there is always something new I might come to discover about the axiological nature of the world, as there is always something new I might come to discover about the axiological nature of my individuality. The point is that my emotional responses to the world bring to light the values that I grasp—the axiological nature of the world—by virtue of the type of individual who I am—the axiological nature of my individuality.

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This overview on Scheler’s conception of love and hate is essential for the pattern of individuality we are devising. Love and hate play a fundamental role: thanks to them I can discover my ordo amoris. If I pay attention to the way I love and hate, to what I love and hate, to what I prefer and postpone, I start becoming gradually able to discover my ordo amoris. This means that if I heed the emotional dimension, I gradually know my ordo amoris through my emotional responses to the world and in light of this knowledge I gradually shape my ethos. Love and hate represent the most fundamental acts of our emotional life: if I know how you or I love and hate, then I have grasped the most fundamental core of your or my individuality. This core pertains to the systematization of one’s judgements and preferences. Scheler specifies that this set is ethos, while ordo amoris is the fundamental core of the same set. This means that ordo amoris is more basic than ethos. If I grasp my ordo amoris, I comprehend the order of what I love and what I hate, I comprehend the key to my ethical life. Scheler is a pivotal harbinger of an overarching reappraisal of the role and meaning of the emotional dimension. The specific nature of ordo amoris, love and hate is understandable only in light of this reappraisal, which mainly rests upon Scheler’s interpretation of the meaning and compass of love. “Love is the tendency or, as it may be, the act that seeks to lead everything in the direction of the perfection of value proper to it” (Scheler, 1973b, 109). It follows that love produces an “inner growth of the value of things” (Scheler, 1973b, 109). Scheler describes love as a specific kind of attitude that defines the core of one’s individuality. Love enables us to turn to the highest values we can ‘perceive’: “it can progress from value to value, from one height to an even greater height” (Scheler, 1973b, 112). Love always strives for higher values: “love loves and in loving always looks beyond what it has in hand and possess” (Scheler, 1973b, 113). This looking beyond could take on two main different forms. On the one hand, one could search for more and more pleasure flying rapidly from one object to the next. On the other hand, “the satisfaction of one who loves spiritual objects, whether things or persons, is always holding out new promise of satisfaction” (Scheler, 1973b, 113). This satisfaction completely differs from the other one since it is focused on the axiological nature of a specific object and does not find enjoyment in flying from object to object. Scheler describes love as a movement that holds out new promises of satisfaction and lets its ray peer out further beyond what is now given. This endless movement underlying love is the main reason of delusions: insofar as the movement of love does not have an end, I am deluded when believing that I have attained in a finite good a final fulfilment of my love-drive: We would like to use the old expression “infatuation” to designate the most general form of the destruction and confusion of ordo amoris, to which the more special forms of confusion can […] be traced. Infatuation is a word that quite plastically signifies both that a man is carried away and enraptured by some finite good without regard to his guiding center of personhood and that the character of his behaviour is delusive. We shall speak of absolute infatuation when a man finds the value of a finite good or type of good occupying the absolute position in his actual consciousness of value, a position which is necessarily present in everyone […] We shall call a good absolutized through delusion a (formal) idol. (Scheler, 1973b, 114–115)

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We are now in a better position to comprehend the reappraisal that Scheler proposes with regard to the emotional sphere. Love is to be regarded as readiness for being open to higher and higher values, this love-drive is guided by laws that are related to things (Dinges) in which the values and things of worth come to light for one’s heart. My heart is affected by certain things: it is not affected by everything. These things affect my heart by virtue of their values and because of the direction of my love-drive. This means that the way in which I love relies upon certain laws that do not coincide with the laws that author the way in which others love. This lawfulness inherently pertains to the acts of love. This implies that the emotional sphere, that is, the heart (what Scheler refers to as “das Gemüt”), “is no chaos of blind feeling-­ states which are attached to, and detached from, other so-called psychic givens by causal rules of some sort. The heart is itself a structured counter-image of the cosmos of all possible things worthy of love; to this extent it is a microcosmos of the world of values: ‘le cœur a ses raisons’” (Scheler, 1973b, 116). The emotional sphere is infused with this lawfulness: a reappraisal of this sphere entails a deep comprehension of the link that ties our heart to the axiological dimension. In fact, since the emotional sphere is infused with a strict lawfulness, then I must discover my own lawfulness. I must discover my own ordo amoris. I do not have to be victim of my lawfulness. Indeed, I must bring it to light: I am going about this way because my ordo amoris is such that I go about this way. Which is the lawfulness of my heart? The answer can be neither flawless nor immediate. If I care about myself, this question poses a challenge for me since a gradual process of self-knowledge is necessary. Love is a specific mode of perceiving values: love makes me open to the axiological realm. This kind of perception requires a constant effort of adequacy and correctness. Adequacy and correctness of my love do not depend upon the contents of this act: they do not depend upon what I perceive. Indeed, adequacy and correctness depend upon my ability to reflect upon what I perceive. This is why hate is to be regarded as a warped mode of love: by hating I narrow my perception of the axiological realm of the world, I do not narrow the axiological realm itself. Our heart is the key to “all possible things worthy of love” and the things that we love are inherently tethered to our way of loving, to our ordo amoris, to our individuality. This means that we have to ‘listen to’ our emotional responses to the world in order to grasp the deepest facets of our individuality. This issue implies that we can act in a way that is not square with our ordo amoris. This is possible insofar as our individuality turns out not to be an ‘x’ we can immediately grasp. Indeed, we must discover the way we love, what we prefer and what we postpone, what affects us mostly. This gradual self-knowledge enables us to gradually grasp our ordo amoris, but it is always a matter of a process of self-discovery and self-knowledge: this is why our individuality is well represented as a multilayer pattern. Not only there could be deeper layers we might come to discover about ourselves, but we could be also deceived into believing that something pertains to our individuality. I strive to unveil and discover the lawfulness of my heart. In light of what I discover about my individuality, then I endeavour to shape myself accordingly, that is, to act in a way resembling what I have grasped about my ordo amoris. If we realize

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that love refers to the readiness for being open to higher and higher values, then we become aware that we cannot identify a static end to this whole process of self-­ shaping. In fact, the reappraisal of the emotional sphere makes me prompt to continuously question my certainties about myself for the sake of the identification of my ordo amoris. The dimension of love is always open to higher values: the way the world affects me always reveals something new about my individuality. The way I love circumscribes the range of what I can experience: Man, before he is an ens cogitans or an ens volens, is an ens amans. The fullness, the gradations, the differentiations, and the power of his love circumscribe the fullness, the functional specificity, and the power of his possible spirit and of the possible range of contact with the universe. (Scheler, 1973b, 110–111)

Naturally, this reappraisal of the meaning of love might be easily misunderstood and mistaken for hedonism since the emotional dimension is often described as a dimension of confusion. On the contrary, Scheler spurs us to avoid this interpretation according to which emotional dimension consists in confusion or hedonism. The figurative expression “heart” does not designate, as both philistines and romantics think, the seat of confused states, of unclear and indefinite agitations or some other strong forces tossing man hither and tither in accord with causal laws (or not). Nor is it some static matter of fact silently tacked on to the human ego. It is the totality of well-regulated acts, of functions having an intrinsic lawfulness which is autonomous and rigorous and does not depend on the psychological organization of man; a lawfulness that operates with precision and exactness. Its functions bring before our eyes a strictly objective sphere of facts which is the most objective, the most fundamental of all possible sphere of fact. (Scheler, 1973b, 117–118)

So, Scheler propels us to discover the lawfulness of one’s emotional life, but the main problem to face regards the fact that the emotional life has often been deemed as a dumb matter of fact, something merely subjective and void of direction, autonomy, seriousness, meaning and sense. “Who tells you that there where you see only a chaos of confused states, there is not also an order of facts hidden at first, but accessible to discovery: ‘l’ordre du cœur?’” (Scheler, 1973b, 118). The emotional world calls for discovery: we discover our ordo amoris instead of positing it. We discover our individual essence instead of constituting it. Such self-discoveries might trigger an effort of self-knowledge and spur me to reshape myself accordingly. Naturally, my individuality and my ethos might not be square with my ordo amoris. This may happen for three main reasons: I do not investigate my emotional responses since I do not care about myself, I am deluded into thinking that my current individuality is square with my ordo amoris, I investigate my emotional responses but I do not want my life to be square with my ordo amoris (what if, for example, I discovered something that I do not like about my individuality? What if, for example, I came to realize that my partner does not make me happy? Sure, I can leave unaltered my ethos—I do not break the relationship—but in so doing I am deluding myself into thinking that this relationship makes me happy). A common awareness seems to be the background of these three possible reasons: since my individuality is a process of knowing myself and shaping myself in light of this knowledge, I must be aware that there could always be new layers to be discovered about myself.

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The dimension of emotional life is so vast and rich (harmonious and clear) and so void of utility-interest that it is accessible “only to a very few gifted men” (Scheler, 1973b, 118). If we endeavour to find our doorway to this dimension, then we become able to discover the connections that “govern the sense and meaning of our life” (Scheler, 1973b, 120). How to find this doorway? If we appeal to our axiological openness—we referred to it as ‘readiness for being affected’—then we become able to be no bar to the discovery of our ordo amoris: There is a hearkening to what a feeling of the beauty of a landscape, of a work of art, says to us, or to what is conveyed by a feeling of the characteristics of a person standing in front of us. That is, there is a heedful going-along-with this feeling and a serene acceptance of what stands at the point where it ends, so to say. We can have a good ear for what stands before us and a sharp testing of whether what we experience in this way is clear, unambiguous, determinate. We can cultivate a critical sense of what is “genuine” and “not genuine” here, of what lies in the line of pure feeling and what is only a wish […] All of this has been lost in the constitution of modern man. He has no trust in, no seriousness for, what he could hear in these areas. (Scheler, 1973b, 120)

If we care about ourselves, we aim to know ourselves. In order to attain this goal, we are supposed to discover how we respond to the axiological richness of the world. If we grasp this dimension (i.e., ordo amoris), then we are in a better position to shape our ethos accordingly. Now it should be clear that emotions are not mere reactions to stimuli: they represent a specific form of openness towards the world. Nevertheless, the notion of ‘openness’ is not neutral: every person has her own ‘openness’ towards the world. Ordo amoris systematizes my openness towards the world, it is not something merely inward. Emotions make my individuality emerge. Love means letting me be affected by values. My own openness towards the world is unique insofar as it enables me to grasp certain facets and aspects of the axiological realm that otherwise would be overshadowed. The more I discover my openness towards the world, the more I discover my individuality. Ordo amoris defines the core of personal individuality: self-discovery, self-­ knowledge, self-change and self-shaping are processes that inherently refer to this core. Before we keep on describing the essence of ordo amoris, it is worth specifying that we do not aim to demonstrate which types of individuality resemble a correct ordo amoris and which types of individuality resemble an incorrect ordo amoris. The focus of our research is self-shaping rather than moral judgement. This does not mean that we consider an uncorrected ordo amoris as given as the only normative control on self-shaping. On the one hand, if ordo amoris as given were intrinsically normative, then it would seem that the unfolding of individuality is a matter of becoming even more what one is already, and it would seem to preclude radical self-revisions. On the other hand, if it were not intrinsically normative, then the unfolding of individuality would require the appeal to a normative criterion to be found elsewhere that makes one suspect oneself as an individual and motivates the pursuit of self-knowledge and self-revision. On the one hand, if one’s ordo amoris as given were necessarily normative for the ongoing development of oneself as an individual, then the ethos of every person would be beyond criticism. On the

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other hand, if ordo amoris as given were not necessarily normative, then some other normative criterion would be required to make possible the judgement that the ordo amoris of another person (a serial killer, for example) is in need of revision. Naturally, we do not argue that ordo amoris as given is intrinsically normative since we acknowledged that self-shaping relies upon self-revision and self-change. So, where is this normative criterion that we cannot find in ordo amoris? Among the coordinates provided by our analysis, exemplariness will turn out to be what triggers the awareness that the ordo amoris of another person is in need of revision because it is not consistent with her individuality (Chaps. 6 and 7). Other persons play a pivotal role in my process of self-shaping since as exemplars—as we will discuss—they could radically hold sway over this process. The point is that other persons could be exemplars or counter-exemplars. Others’ influence could be positive or negative, constructive or deconstructive. Our analysis does not aim to comprehend which types of individuality are correct and which are incorrect, which should be reckoned as positive exemplars and which should be reckoned as negative exemplars. Indeed, we are trying to understand how we discover and know our individuality, and how our individuality takes shape.

Individual Destiny and “Good-in-itself for me” Ordo amoris is the core of my individuality and Scheler describes it as “the primary determinant of what always appears to surround and enclose the man: in space, his moral environment; in time, his fate” (Scheler, 1973b, 100). According to this description, ordo amoris determines one’s moral environment and one’s fate. What does it mean? Man is encased, as though in a shell, in the particular ranking of the simplest values and values-qualities which represent the objective side of his ordo amoris, values which have not yet been shaped into things and goods. He carries this shell along with him wherever he goes and cannot escape from it no matter how quickly he runs. He perceives the world and himself through the windows of this shell, and perceives no more of the world, of himself, or of anything else besides what these windows show him, in accordance with their position, size, and color. (Scheler, 1973b, 100)

We interpret this passage as follows. We cannot change our fate and moral environment as much as we cannot change our ordo amoris, which calls for a gradual discovery rather than an act of constitution. We cannot change the way we love and hate: we can just keep on unveiling deeper layers of what we love and hate. Nonetheless, we can change our desires, actions, wishes in light of what we discover about our ordo amoris; we can change our ethos in light of what we discover about our ordo amoris as much as we can interpret fate and moral environment as signs of our ordo amoris. It follows that such personal changes ensue from a new selfknowledge we gain with regard to our ordo amoris. So, how are fate and moral environment related to ordo amoris and to our individuality?

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Fate and moral environment are related to the circumstances that cannot be regarded as outcomes of desert or guilt. They refer to the situations that do not depend upon our choice or will. It is a matter of circumstances we find ourselves in, for example the social, historical and geographical context we are sunk into (cf. Spiegelberg, 1986). Nevertheless, however random they are, Scheler maintains that an essential connection tethers them to the individuality of the person that is characterized by that specific fate and that specific moral environment: they are inherently tied to the ordo amoris of that person since the structure and the content of one’s fate and moral environment depend upon one’s ordo amoris (cf. Guccinelli, 2016, 224–228). Two persons may experience the same circumstances that depend on factors beyond their control, but it does not follow that both of them experience the same fate and moral environment. There is a crucial link between such circumstances and the individuality of the person at stake. In fact, both fate and environment are based on ordo amoris and “are distinguished only by their assignment to the dimension of time (in the case of fate) and space (in the case of the environment)” (Scheler, 1973b, 101–102). The way in which fate and environment take shape resembles ordo amoris. Scheler is arguing that space and time are ‘sighted’ by one’s ordo amoris, which makes me experience time as my own fate and space as my own moral environment. It follows that fate itself is not to be confined to a mere sum of accidental events: indeed, it is inherently tethered to the individuality of the person. This means that my axiological sensitivity sieves the spectrum of my experiences, which are ‘sighted’ by the selective mechanism of ordo amoris. This mechanism circumscribes the range of my possible experiences: “where his ‘heart’ is attached, there, for him, is the ‘core’ of the so-called essence of things” (Scheler, 1973b, 111). These reflections spur us to pose the following question: if the conditions that do not depend upon me are inherently and unavoidably tied to the core of my individuality, then which aspect of my individuality sets the stage for such a nexus? If we appeal to Scheler’s thought, we can spot this missing element: it is what Scheler refers to as individual destiny. In fact, under the guidance of Scheler, we can distinguish fate (“Schicksal”) from individual destiny (“individuelle Bestimmung,” Scheler, 1973a, 489–494): what is this individual destiny? Ordo amoris and ethos mirror my individuality. Ethos depends upon ordo amoris. Besides ethos, what proceeds from ordo amoris? In light of Scheler’s remarks, good-in-itself for me (“An-sich-Gutes für mich”) proceeds from ordo amoris, which is the deepest layer of individuality. This notion refers to the personal and unique destiny everyone is called upon to discover: it is about our own personal vocation, our own individual destiny that gradually becomes clear to us through our capacity to fühlen (Scheler refers to this unique destiny also as our “Ruf,” “das Bewusstsein des individuellen Sollens,” our “persönliches Heil,” our “individuelle Bestimmung,” “individual-persönliches Wertwesen,” Scheler, 1973a, 489–494). My own individual destiny is my “good-in-itself for me.” Scheler describes this individual destiny as subjective and objective at the same time. It is “in itself” as well as “for me.” It is neither a relativistic nor a dogmatic notion (“für jede Person [gibt es] noch ein individualgültiges, aber nicht minder objektives und prinzipiell einsichtiges Gute,” Scheler, 2013a, 978). Scheler is emphasizing how the comprehension of my own

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individual destiny is not confined to myself: it is something that others could recognize too. I am not locked in my individuality like in a prison closed off to anybody else (Scheler, 1973b, 104): An individual destiny is not “subjective” in the sense that it can be recognized and realized only by the person whose destiny it is. Rather, it can very well be that another knows my individual destiny more adequately than I do myself. Also, another can energetically aid me in achieving my destiny’s realization. Sharing a life in common, working and producing together, sharing beliefs and hopes, living for one another and respecting one another are themselves a part of the universal destiny of every finite spiritual being. (Scheler, 1973b, 104)

Others can find a way towards my innermost personal core, just as I can help others in their effort of finding the way towards themselves: others can be the key to myself, just as I can be the key to the personal core of another person. Others could radically aid me in shedding light on my individual destiny, which Is good precisely in the sense of being “independent of my knowledge.” For this includes the “good-in-itself.” Yet it is the “good-in-itself” for “me” in the sense that there is an experienced reference to me which is contained (descriptively put) in the special non-formal content of this good-in-itself, something that comes from this content and points to “me,” something that whispers, “For you.” And precisely this content places me in a unique position in the moral cosmos and obliges me with respect to actions, deeds, and works, etc., which, when I represent them, all call, “I am for you and you are for me.” (Scheler, 1973a, 490)

So, others could help me to comprehend my individual destiny. This means that individual destiny calls for recognition, it demands to be unveiled: “[the individual destiny] is not something we have to posit, but something we have to recognize” (Scheler, 1973b, 103). We are called upon to recognize our own individual destiny and this act of recognition is to be regarded as a gradual process. Like the whole process of self-shaping, this kind of recognition too is a process since it relies upon a gradual effort of knowing, discovering and unveiling. It goes without saying that what is always present to us and is secretly at work in us, what always directs and leads us without forcing us, cannot be perceived as a separate and distinct content of consciousness—which is always only a “process” which stops, then starts again. Obviously the eternal wisdom which speaks in us and guides us is not loud and commanding, but a still and merely monitory wisdom. However, it speaks all the louder, the more we act against it. (Scheler, 1973b, 108)

Starting from these remarks, we realize that we cannot presume to identify a final stage of this process of self-knowledge: we should be willing to question ourselves, our certainties about our individuality. If we do not dare to be always open to reorchestrate ourselves in light of the new stages of self-knowledge we achieve, then we end up being stuck. It follows that we cannot presume to immediately catch the core of our individuality. Indeed, an effort of self-revision is continuously at stake: Individual destiny is a timeless and essential value-essence [Wertwesenheit] in the form of individuality. And, since it is not formed or posited by the spirit in man but is only recognized, since its fullness is only successively unveiled, as it were, in the course of our ­experiences of life and action, it exists only for the spiritual individuality in us. Individual destiny is, therefore, a matter of insight, while fate is only something to be confirmed, a fact which in itself is value-blind. (Scheler, 1973b, 106)

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For individual destiny—like ethos and ordo amoris—comes to light through a gradual recognition, delusions as well as errors are surely possible: “the subject can deceive himself about this [the individual destiny], he can (freely) fail to achieve it, or he can recognize and actualize it” (Scheler, 1973b, 104). We can be deluded into thinking that we have finally grasped our individual destiny, we can pretend to know our individuality, we can err in reckoning our individual destiny. The process of self-knowledge is as knotty as cloudy since there is no positive image of our individual destiny (Scheler, 1973b, 108): The mode of givenness of the particular material, the unique content of individual destiny […] is peculiar to each man alone. There is no positive, circumscribed image of it, still less a formulatable law. The image of our destiny is thrown in relief only in the recurrent traces left when we turn away from it, when we follow “false tendencies.” (Scheler, 1973b, 107)

According to Scheler, there is a fundamental link that tethers individual destiny to fate, which does not end up being confined to mere “accidents of birth” (Spiegelberg, 1986). Every person has to face her own fate: every person experiences fate through her own ordo amoris and, consequently, we cannot reckon everything that is accidental to be fate. What happens to me is my fate. No matter how random fate is, it is inescapably tethered to that person whose it is fate. This issue calls into question the topic of “moral luck.” This topic lies outside the frame of our interest, but it is worth mentioning it. As the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy explains, “moral luck occurs when an agent can be correctly treated as an object of moral judgment despite the fact that a significant aspect of what she is assessed for depends on factors beyond her control. The problem of moral luck arises because we seem to be committed to the general principle that we are morally assessable only to the extent that what we are assessed for depends on factors under our control.” This “general principle” is named “control principle”: “people cannot be morally assessed for [...] what is due to factors beyond their control” (Nagel, 1979, 25). Anyway, when it comes to countless particular cases, we morally assess agents for things that depend on factors that are not in their control. Bernard Williams, in his paper “Moral Luck” (Williams, 1981), and Thomas Nagel, in his reply to Williams (which was published under the same title, Nagel, 1979), examine instances of moral luck, that is, the cases in which that for which agents are to be morally assessed (at least) partly depends on factors which are not (at least not fully) within agents’ control. The hallmark of Scheler’s thought is the link between fate and individuality: things that depend on factors that are not in our control are not confined to “accidents of birth” or factors beyond our control. According to Scheler, what happens to me is my fate: no matter how random fate is, it is my individuality that experiences it. We are certainly not entitled to call everything that happens around us and in us which we know to be freely willed or produced by us “fate”; nor can we call everything which comes upon us purely from the outside “fate” […] We do require of fate that it come upon us unwilled and […] unforseen; however, we also demand that it present something other than a series of encounters and actions subject to causal necessity. Namely, we demand that it present the unity of a persisting and unvarying sense which presents itself to us as an essen-

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tial correlation between the individual human character and the events around and within him. (Scheler, 1973b, 102)

This quotation by Scheler makes us draw the following conclusion: we should endeavour to make fate turn into destiny. This transformation signifies an act of comprehending a unique connection, which my whole life gives rise to and in which my whole life is immersed. If we surveyed our own whole life, we would realize that the connection of every single event resembles the core of our individuality, even though we feel that single events are unforeseeable and accidental: “what is revealed to us in this uniform sense [Einsinnigkeit] of the course of a life is a harmony of world and man that is completely independent of will, intention, and desire, on one hand, and of accidental, objectively real events, independent of their conjunction and reciprocal action, on the other” (Scheler, 1973b, 102). If we endeavour to carry out this panoramic view on life (see Staiti, 2013), we could grasp this Einsinnigkeit, which makes us aware that the connection of single accidental events prevails over the single accidental events. This connection shows an inherent link with the core of our individuality. Such an awareness enables Scheler to endorse this insightful claim: “for as surely as fate embraces that content which ‘befalls’ man and is therefore beyond will and intention, so surely does it also embraces only that content which, when it ‘befalls,’ could ‘befall’ this one moral subject alone” (Scheler, 1973b, 102). In light of these Schelerian coordinates we aim to account for the fundamental issue of personal individuality, that is, for the existence of a core of our individuality (our individual essence) and for the coexistence of change and identity in self-­ shaping. The pattern of individuality we argue for consists of three main layers: ordo amoris, ethos, individual destiny. However, before going any further it is worth noticing that our pattern well defines the contribution and compass of our research, which purports to devise a theory of individuality starting from individuality rather than personhood. Our pattern identifies the coordinates that define my own personal individuality as well as other persons’ individuality. Starting from them it might be possible to take into account further parameters that enable us to account for personhood specifically (cf. Scheler, 1973a, 371–475; 2013a, 748: Scheler’s philosophy of personhood regards the person as unity of acts). The point is that we do not intend to account for individuality starting from personhood. Indeed, we intend to account for personal individuality starting from the traits that define my own essence, which is different from yours. We are trying to investigate the individual essence starting from the first-person perspective experience, starting from the mode whereby I experience my individuality: my own individuality seems to be pliable and steady at the same time. On the one hand, I face circumstances that force me to question and alter some facets of my individuality, but on the other hand, I have a clear sensation that some facets of my individuality cannot alter without radically transforming me into another individual. It seems there is a core of our own individuality we cannot question if we care about our own individuality. We have just devised a pattern of individuality that enables us to comprehend this experience: thanks to this pattern,

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we are equipped with the coordinates that allow us to describe and account for the fundamental issue of personal individuality, as we will explain in the next chapter. This specification could not be enough if one wonders the reason why our research deals with the issue of personal individuality rather than other kinds of identity, for example, political identity or religious identity. Our research purports to examine the individual and personal axiological essence (what Scheler refers to as “individual-persönliche Wertwesen”): what makes every person an individual? Again, we are focusing on personal individuality and my individual essence pertains to the axiological sphere (Wertwesen) insofar as it pertains to my way of being affected by the world, to my ordo amoris: the way through which I am affected by the axiological realm of the world brings to light the deepest layers of my individuality. How are we emotionally affected? How could we describe and explain the experience of being emotionally affected? Scheler offers an insightful account (1973a, 328–344) whereby he examines four different layers of our emotional life (sinnliches Gefühl; Lebensgefühl; rein seelisches Gefühl; geistiges Gefühl). Scheler is a pivotal harbinger of a theory that aims to account for the multilayer experience of our emotional dimension, for the stratification of our emotional life. Nevertheless, this specific facet of Scheler’s thought partly lies outside the frame of our research. We have to bear in mind the reason why we are now lingering over Scheler’s thought: we do not intend to examine his theses for its own sake. We are lingering over Scheler’s thought since it provides us with insights useful for comprehending the essence of the core of individuality. The final thesis of our research will be partly grounded in Scheler’s remarks, which will be reframed in light of the other outcomes we will achieve and the main goal of our research: how could I change without turning into someone else? What remains fixed while I vary myself? Are there layers of my individuality that are basic to the type of individual I think I am? Scheler partly helps us to answer these questions, especially thanks to his three coordinates—ordo amoris, individual destiny, ethos—which we interpret in light of our main purpose—solving the fundamental issue of personal individuality. My specific ordo amoris sets the stage for my individual destiny and for my ethos. These layers constitute my individuality, which inherently differs from the individuality of another person, which is affected by the world differently. Anyway— as we will explain—I am unescapably tethered to the individuality of other persons since they can grasp my individual destiny. It follows that others could radically hold sway over my process of self-shaping. Within this framework, the issue of political identity as well as religious identity, for example, should be investigated at a later stage: before we are religious subjects or political subjects, we are personal individuals. We are investigating the way in which we shape ourselves as personal individuals. Once that this dimension will be clear, then the political or religious facets of me as a personal individual might be investigated in light of the achieved outcomes. In fact, how could we broach the issue of religious or political identity if we did not know what personal individuality consists in? On the one hand, we could broach these issues since these kinds of identity are shared identities; on the other hand, before we are political or religious

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subjects, we are personal individuals, but then what does individuality consist in? My personal individuality is the core: my religious identity and my political identity refer to my personal individuality. If we examined the nature of my political identity right now, then our analysis would flow into a groundless description since my political identity depends upon my personal individuality. We intend to understand what personal individuality consists in and account for the nexus between identity and change in self-shaping: the pattern we have just developed will enable us to describe the individual essence, that is, the core of personal individuality that defines the constraints of the range of our possible self-variations.

Chapter 5

How the Multilayer Pattern Solves the Fundamental Issue. Self-Discovery and Readiness for Self-Reorchestration as Overriding Keys to Self-Shaping

Let us recap the outcomes so far achieved: the innermost core of individuality consists in ordo amoris and individual destiny (individuelle Bestimmung). Ethos ensues from this core. If we endeavour to know ourselves, we gradually grasp the contents of our ordo amoris and individual destiny and, subsequently, we gradually question and change our ethos. Ordo amoris and individual destiny are not liable to change: they are liable to a gradual and unremitting process of discovery and recognition. If I reflect upon the mode and contents of my way of loving, I come to discover the deepest layers of my individuality. If I reflect upon the way I am affected by the world, I come to discover the deepest layers of my individuality. ‘Readiness for being affected’ sets the stage for self-discovery and self-knowledge: I discover and know my individuality in the unique way through which I am affected by the world. The point is that such a way is authored by a lawfulness that characterizes my individuality: there is an order (ordo) in my emotional life (amoris). It is my ordo amoris that makes me say: ‘Something is up there,’ because I am affected by the world in a specific manner, that is my manner of being affected. If I am open to the world and attentive to my emotional responses, then I can gradually grasp the layers that constitute my individuality. Ordo amoris and ethos are strictly interwoven: I reflect upon my ordo amoris in light of my ethos and I reflect upon my ethos in light of my ordo amoris. My ordo amoris makes me understand what the best for me is. My individual destiny makes me understand what the best for me is. My ordo amoris as well as my individual destiny are inherently multilayer and this awareness should make me be willing to discover new facets of them, new layers of them. Such self-discoveries might trigger a process of self-­ knowledge: I reflect upon what I have discovered and try to comprehend it. Perhaps this new self-knowledge belies the previous self-knowledge I have gained. Nonetheless, as an individual I am an ‘unfinished totality’ and so there is no way to reach a final end of this process of self-discovery and self-knowledge. It follows that I might come to realize that I am not the individual I thought I was. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 B. Bellini, How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality, Contributions to Phenomenology 116, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-81451-9_5

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We are arguing for a multilayer pattern of individuality since we understood that the core of individuality is multilayer. Otherwise, how could we account for the common experience according to which we remain the same when we change ourselves in light of what we discovered about our individuality? How is it possible that even the most radical self-changes might not represent a threat for our personal individuality since we do not turn into someone else? This is why ‘availability to personal reorchestration’ plays such a fundamental role. And this is why we are referring to self-knowledge as a process. If am aware of this, then I am willing to question myself and ‘reorchestrate’ myself in light of new possible steps related to my self-knowledge. If I care about myself, I undertake a process of self-knowledge that enables me to ask and answer the following overarching questions: what type of individual am I now? That is, which are my ordo amoris, ethos and individual destiny? At least, what do I think my ordo amoris, ethos and individual destiny are? “Is it worthwhile to continue to be what I happen to be already, to commit myself to being what I just find myself being already? Should I be more than what I just happen to have become so far? Should I actually be less what I’ve become?” (Morelli, 2015, 283).

Personal Upheavals as Essential Keys to Individuality Under the guidance of the multilayer pattern, we realized that the process of self-­ knowledge entails the gradual process of grasping and discovering my individual destiny and ordo amoris by heeding my ethos. I pay attention to my deeds and actions so as to ascertain whether they resemble what I know about my ordo amoris and individual destiny. This effort implies a pivotal availability, because I must be willing to possibly discover something new about myself, and a pivotal readiness, because I must be ready to reorchestrate myself accordingly. For self-shaping begins with self-discovery, we should be open to endless self-­ reorchestrations, we should constantly strive to unveil new facets of our individuality’s core, we should be aware that moments of crisis might be moments of self-discovery. I can reshape myself every time I grasp new facets of my individual destiny: such moments of self-discoveries might trigger self-changes since they might represent opportunities of self-reorchestration. Such changes are not only possible, but they are also necessary for my process of self-shaping, because the deepest layers of my individuality come to light in the moments of crisis, in the circumstances where we radically question what we think about our individual destiny: self-shaping is an ongoing (self-)transformation (Bildung is Umbildung). Readiness for self-reorchestration along with availability to self-reorchestration represents the conditio sine qua non that sets the stage for any self-change: without this readiness and availability, I could not reshape myself in light of my new self-­ knowledge, I could not conceive of myself differently, I could not let me be possibly affected by others as exemplars and reshape myself accordingly. Without this readiness and availability, I could not be able to grasp exemplars’ influence since I would

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be locked into my own opinions about my individuality: I think to be this type of individual and I am not willing to question it. In this section we will delve into the inherent role of Umbildung: what is the role and meaning of the radical personal upheavals that occur in the process of formation of individuality? For example, what if a friend of mine suddenly died and I came to realize that I loved him more than I had ever showed to him? What role does this personal upheaval play in my process of self-shaping? What if I were a bully and pestered many students in my school, but one day a teacher preached to me in such an impressive way that I came to be greatly shocked by what she said to me and decided to stop pestering? What role does this personal upheaval play in my process of self-shaping? The availability to reorchestrate ourselves completely depends upon the ability to conceive of ourselves as different individuals from the individuals we think we are. If I realize that I should always strive to discover and unveil deeper facets of my ordo amoris, ethos and individual destiny, then I realize that there are persons and circumstances that could make me grasp something new about my individuality. This is why my Bildung—the whole process of self-shaping from self-discovery to self-knowledge—is inherently an Umbildung—a process of self-change: we face moments that might radically question our individuality and lead us to completely reorchestrate ourselves. Every self-discovery might represent a personal upheaval since it might encourage me to radically reorchestrate myself. Upheavals are possible insofar as my individual essence is inherently dynamic: far from being a fixed entity, I am a process of self-shaping. It follows that I could always come to know new layers of my individuality and, subsequently, I must be willing to reorchestrate myself in light of what I discover, I must be willing to face radical personal changes. Such upheavals constitute my individuality: personal coherence does not matter, personal identity does not matter. I do not have to strive to be identical through time. Indeed, I should be interested in unveiling the deepest layers of my ordo amoris and individual destiny. Since I am an unfinished totality, personal upheavals are not only possible, but they are also necessary for me to discover, know and shape myself. Self-examination or even self-interpretation are not enough if I want to know myself. If I intend to unveil the facets of my individuality that I still do not know, I must be willing to be open to the unexpected, which I embrace by re-orchestrating myself. This availability to personal re-orchestrations entails the availability to personal transformations. The process of self-shaping—Bildung—relies upon this unremitting availability to self-reorchestration: I am willing to discover new facets of my ordo amoris, new aspects of my individual destiny, new emotional responses to the world. I am willing to discover possibilities related to my individuality that are still untaken. What matters is the new self-knowledge I gain every time I unveil new facets of myself. And if I decide to reshape myself accordingly, this personal upheaval gives a new shape to my individuality. Personal individuality does not consist in personal identity: if we care about ourselves, we should endeavour to make our ethos consistent with our ordo amoris, we should be willing to constantly revise what we think we are. Naturally, an inherent continuity characterises self-shaping and

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self-knowledge: every progress with my process of self-shaping relies on and depends on the previous degrees of my self-knowledge. What I discover about myself defines this continuity rather than breaking it. Personal upheavals do not make our individuality scattered or void of any common thread. There is an unbreakable continuity that weaves every step of my self-shaping and self-knowledge. Knowing myself means transforming myself1: far from being arbitrary self-­ transformations, such self-transformations follow from the dynamic essence of my individuality. This dynamism implies that my process of self-shaping—Bildung— consists in a series of personal upheavals—each of them is an Umbildung. Insofar as there is always something new to be discovered about my ordo amoris and individual destiny (I am an ‘unfinished totality’), then personal individuality is always transcendent in comparison with what I can know about it. But this transcendence defines my individuality and accounts for any possible self-discovery and self-­ change: as long as I keep on being unfinished, I keep on being an individual.

 hat Do I Change When I Change Myself and How Can W I Change Myself Without Turning into Someone Else? Do I reshape myself in light of my self-discoveries? Am I willing to revise and reshape myself? If so, then the process of self-shaping entails a process of self-­ knowledge. If I aim to reshape myself, then I must know what I have just discovered about my individuality. This means that I must explore and reflect upon what I have just discovered. On the contrary, if I do not want to question and reshape myself, then I simply overshadow the self-discovery at issue and I am not surely interested in knowing what I have discovered. I radically come to know myself in the moments that radically question myself by shaking at the foundations my certainties about myself. Bildung is Umbildung since my individuality calls for a constant effort of self-discovery and self-­ reorchestration. However, if self-change is necessary for self-shaping, how can I be sure that a common ground exists between these different steps of self-shaping? Scheler draws our attention to this issue by distinguishing “Anderswerden” from “Veränderung”: he acknowledges that the fact that I become another type of individual (Anderswerden) does not entail a modification (Veränderung). Sure, the outcome is a personal change, but there is a common ground that makes the person and

1  This link between Bildung and Umbildung could be related to the topic of ‘cura sui.’ In L’herméneutique du sujet, Foucault brings to light the unbreakable nexus that ties self-knowledge to self-transformation: the subject tries to know herself and takes for granted that there is a ‘self’ ready to be grasped in its unity, but this theoretical effort focused on an alleged unified self is not enough. Furthermore, Foucault brings to light the role of other persons in the care of the self: taking care of oneself entails the presence of somebody else as a master. It worth specifying that one of his lectures (13 January 1982: First Hour) is entitled “The need for a master of the care” (Foucault, 2005). This remark could be meaningfully related to Scheler’s issue of exemplariness.

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the personal changes coexist (“in jedem voll konkreten Akt [steckt] die ganze Person,” Scheler, 2013a, 748). Scheler relates the concept of ‘variation’ (Variation) to the concept of ‘becoming another one’ (Anderswerden). Starting from this remark, we could surmise that a personal transformation (Umbildung) does not entail a transformation of the individuality of the person, but only a variation of the individuality of the person in its fundamental traits. What does this variation leave unaltered? That is to say, what keeps on being unaltered while I change myself? How to solve the fundamental issue of personal individuality? The answer to this question follows from the outcomes we have already achieved. The essence of my individuality is my ordo amoris, which I gradually and unremittingly discover by appealing to a specific facet of my individuality: ‘readiness for being affected.’ The unchangeable core of my individuality is my ordo amoris and the knowledge I can gain of it has no outright end. Two further layers of my individuality stem from ordo amoris: “good-in-itself for me” and ethos. The former calls for an unremitting effort of grasping it, the latter is the layer that is liable to change: when I change myself I am changing my ethos since I have achieved a new stage of knowledge with regard to my ordo amoris. Ordo amoris is the core of my individuality:

Ordo amoris is the perspective from which I can comprehend my individual destiny and shape my ethos accordingly. At the same time, ordo amoris is the perspective from which everything that happens to me (fate) is encompassed in my destiny and everything that I experience is encompassed in my moral-environment. Insofar as we succeed in making fate turn into destiny and moral environment turn into our moral-environment, then we are bringing to light the inherent connection that occurs between the deepest core of our individuality—ordo amoris—and the temporal and spatial conditions that do not depend upon us. This awareness makes us endowed with the ability to modify these conditions that apparently seem to us unchangeable: He can be so much under its [fate] spell that he does not even recognize it as fate (like fish in an aquarium); but he can also, by recognizing it, stand above it. Furthermore, he can surrender to it or resist and oppose it. Indeed, in principle, he can […] completely cast aside or transform the structure of his environment […] as well as his fate. (Scheler, 1973b, 106)

When I change myself, I change the sphere of myself that pertains to my actions, deeds, thoughts, beliefs, opinions, and so on, and so forth: I change my ethos.

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Surely, there is a wide spectrum of changes, from superficial changes to more radical changes. I can simply modify my belief that ‘cheesecakes are better than sackers’ and so I modify my actions: I do not eat sackers any more. But now we are dealing with a more radical kind of self-change (Umbildung), which affects the deepest facets of my individuality. For example, I can stop bullying my classmates. The reasons that trigger this choice might be greatly different: I can take this decision since I realize that robbing them is more profitable or I can take this decision since I realize that bullying is not a brave act. In the first case we face a variation in actions (Veränderung) that does not stem from a personal change (Anderswerden). In the second case we face a variation in actions (Veränderung) that stems from a personal change (Anderswerden). I change myself: I am changing my ethos since I have known new implications and facets of my ordo amoris. However, I cannot change the way I am affected by the world (ordo amoris): I can just discover it and change myself in light of this discovery. Every personal change stems from an increase in knowledge related to my individual destiny and my specific way of being affected by the world. I cannot change my individual destiny, just as I cannot change my ordo amoris: I do not posit the former, I do not constitute the latter. Both of them call for recognition and discovery. When I change myself, I am unveiling new layers of my individuality and shaping my way of acting accordingly. I reorchestrate myself in light of my new self-knowledge. It is also possible that my self-­ discoveries do not influence my way of acting: this happens, for example, if I disregard what I discover about my individuality. However, if I care about my individuality, then I will endeavour to make my ethos square with the self-knowledge related to my ordo amoris and individual destiny. While shaping ourselves, ordo amoris and individual destiny are the constraints that prevent us from varying ourselves unconditionally. My spectrum of possible self-changes has to abide by the unremitting effort of spotting my ordo amoris and individual destiny. Sure, it is absolutely possible that I decide not to make my ethos square with my self-knowledge or I flow into self-delusions. However, if I care about myself, then I want to discover the core of my individuality and make my life consistent with it. Subsequently, I consider my ordo amoris and individual destiny as constraints of my possible self-changes. For the sake of clarity, let us consider a literary exemplification of the thesis that we have just explained: self-changes entail a new degree of knowledge of my ordo amoris and, subsequently, of my individual destiny. We will take into account Address Unknown (ed. by Kressmann Taylor), an epistolary novel about the rise of Nazism. It is the story of two friends, a Jew living in San Francisco (Max Eisenstein) and his German business partner (Martin Schulse) who, in 1933, returns in Germany: At first the warmth between Max Eisenstein and Martin Schulse is palpable. With fabulous economy, Taylor maps their shared history and faintly diverging lives, the one still selling dud Madonnas to rich, vain Jews, the other with a perpetually pregnant wife. But as Hitler’s power grows (“the man is like an electric shock”), Schulse starts with the caveats, the “I have never hated the individual Jew…I have loved you, not because of your race but in spite of it,” and gives a German’s-eye view of the terrifyingly insidious spread of totalitarianism. Their correspondence shows how political ideology is played out on the personal plane. As

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Nazism spreads, along with Schulse’s enthusiasm for it, the friendship becomes corroded and the correspondence threatened. (Karpf, 2002)

This quotation well summarises the plot of the novel. What matters here is examining the personal change that Schulse experiences and, especially, how his friend perceives it. Two are the letters that better highlight this personal change and friend’s reaction: the first one is dated 9th July 1933 (from Schulse to Eisenstein) and the other one is dated 1st August 1933 (from Eisenstein to Schulse). However, before we read a few passages from them, we have to understand the nature of the friendship and its development. In the first letter of the novel Eisenstein writes: “you go to a democratic Germany, a land with a deep culture and the beginnings of a fine political freedom. It will be a good life” (Taylor, 1). In Germany, his friend Schulse could finally experience the breadth of intellectual freedom. Next letters describe the beautiful friendship between Eisenstein and Schulse, they recall the moments spent together with Schulse’s wife and sons, reflect upon the reasons one lives for and celebrate the uniqueness, importance and joy of their friendship. Hitler starts seizing power and this arouses Eisentein’s democratic and liberal ideas and Schulse’s critical thinking, although Schulse himself clearly acknowledges that Hitler could be somehow useful for a rebirth of Germany. He acknowledges that Hitler is making people hope again, but he is not sure about the nature of that man: is he a true leader or a black angel? Eisenstein has no doubt about his friend’s reaction to this political revolution that is taking hold in Germany: “I know your liberal mind and warm heart will tolerate no viciousness and that from you I can have the truth” (Taylor, 5). He is sure that his friend is a person like that: a person with a liberal mind and a warm heart. But then something changes and the personal upheaval of Schulse comes to light in the letter dated 9th July 1933: As for the stern measures that so distress you, I myself did not like them at first, but I have come to see their painful necessity. The Jewish race is a sore spot to any nation that harbors it. I have never hated the individual Jew—yourself I have always cherished as a friend, but you will know that I speak in all honesty when I say I have loved you, not because of your race but in spite of it. The Jew is the universal scapegoat. [...] But this Jew trouble is only an incident. Something bigger is happening. If I could show you, if I could make you see— the rebirth of this new Germany under our Gentle Leader! Not for always can the world grind a great people down in subjugation. In defeat for fourteen years we bowed our heads. We ate the bitter bread of shame and drank the thin gruel of poverty. But now we are free men. We rise in our might and hold our heads up before the nations. We purge our bloodstream of its baser elements. […] I am sure as I write, as with the new vision my own enthusiasm burns, that you will not see how necessary is all this for Germany. You will see only that your own people are troubled. You will not see that a few must suffer for the millions to be saved. You will be a Jew first and wail for your people. This I understand. It is the Semitic character. You lament but you are never brave enough to fight back. (Taylor, 5–6)

Eisenstein responds: It is so unlike you I can only attribute its contents to your fear of the censorship. The man I have loved as a brother, whose heart has ever been brimming with sympathy and friendship, cannot possibly partake of even a passive partnership in the butchery of innocent people. I

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5  How the Multilayer Pattern Solves the Fundamental Issue. Self-Discovery… trust and pray that it may be so, that you will write me no exposition, which might be dangerous for you,—only a simple “yes.” That will tell me that you play the part of expediency but that your heart has not changed, and that I was not deluded in believing you to be always a man of fine and liberal spirit to whom wrongs are wrongs in whosoever’s name they may be committed. […] I know that it is not my friend who has written to me, that it will prove to have been only the voice of caution and expediency. Eagerly I await the one word that will set my heart at peace. Write you “yes” quickly. (Taylor, 6)

He is sure that his friend is not the person who wrote that letter. He is sure that his friend is not the person who partakes in the butchery of innocent people. He is sure that his friend has a liberal spirit. These are the two key phrases: “your heart has not changed” and “I know that it is not my friend who has written to me.” Unfortunately, Schulse will write to him a letter that demonstrates the exact opposite: now he is that kind of person and this personal change has tremendous consequences not only for their friendship but also for the life of Eisenstein’s sister. “Your heart has not changed” and “I know that it is not my friend who has written to me”: let us examine these two phrases. The second one clearly harks back to the issue of personal individuality: is my friend who wrote this letter? Is this personal possibility tied to the spectrum of his self-possibilities? I know it is him, but he is different. Furthermore, Eisenstein says: “Your heart has not changed.” He means to say that the individuality of his friend has not changed: he is always Schulse, he is the same person, his heart has not changed. Eisenstein identifies the individuality of his friend with his heart. Actually, a personal change occurred and Eisenstein himself becomes aware of this personal upheaval by means of the letters that Schulse writes to him and, especially, when realizing that his alleged friend contributed to the murder of his sister. Eisenstein clearly perceives that his friend is not the same person. But it is always him, somehow. How to account for this? If we appeal to the thesis we argued for, we are able to identify what has changed—so that Schulse is not himself any more—and what has not changed—so that Schulse is always him. Schulse changed his way of acting, his way of thinking, his political ideas, his desires. This change stems from a deeper self-knowledge: he starts loving and hating new and different things, he is affected by the world in a different manner, he prefers and postpones different values. The value of friendship is postponed, the value of honesty is postponed. He does not love liberalism and democracy any more. He loves his country, the leadership of Hitler, the social advantages that he achieves by joining the National Socialists. He is not affected by the death of innocent people. He is not affected by the words of his friend. He is not affected by the death of his friend’s sister. Now this is the lawfulness of his emotional life. This ordo amoris is the perspective from which he lives in the world and from which he shapes his ethos. He has not changed what he loves and hates, he has changed his ethos in light of a new self-knowledge he had gained: he thinks he now knows himself better than before, he thinks he has discovered deeper layers of his individuality. There is a common background between the old Schulse and the new Schulse: his ordo amoris. Sure, it is now different, but the point is that he did not change it: he just thinks that he has discovered deeper layers of it. He thinks he has now grasped the true values, the true meaning of political life, the true meaning of

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human relations, the deepest core of his individuality. His way of being affected by the world is different: my ordo amoris is what makes me say ‘Something is up there.’ Now he ‘sees’ new and different things: he does not see his friend Eisenstein any more, he sees the glory of Hitler. The old Schulse doubted the leadership of Hitler, the new Schulse celebrates the glory of Hitler. Let us interpret this Umbildung in light of our pattern: i) Schulse’s personal change stems from a new self- knowledge: I now know the individual that I am, I am not camouflaging my individuality, I strongly believe that I am the person who believes in Hitler’s leadership; ii) without availability to personal reorchestration such a personal change would not be possible: Schulse is willing to reorchestrate himself in light of his new self-knowledge: he thinks to be the kind of person that believes in Hitler’s leadership, in the rebirth of Germany by means of the death of other persons, he thinks to be this kind of person and so reorchestrates himself accordingly, for example by denying the friendship with Eisenstein. Self-delusion is always possible and so a further personal reorchestration might be necessary, but now he is truly convinced that he is reorchestrating his ethos in light of a well sound new self-knowledge. Now he truly knows himself. He ascribes to his past actions a new meaning: he has loved his friend Eisenstein in spite of his race. This is the new meaning of their friendship and such a meaning follows from the reorchestration that Schulse is willing to perform; iii) the personal change at stake could not take place without the presence of another person, in this case Hitler: other persons are the most radical way through which I might come to discover new aspects of my individuality. The leadership of Hitler makes Schulse believe that he has reached a deeper degree of self-knowledge: regardless of the possible self-delusion at stake, Schulse achieves this self-knowledge thanks to another person. This kind of influence is related to the issue of exemplariness that we will examine in the next chapter. Sure, we have to draw distinctions between leaders, models, exemplars and counter-exemplars, but the point is that the radical personal change (Umbildung) of Schulse has its mainspring in the actions and beliefs of another person, who radically holds sway over his process of self-shaping. Upheavals make me question the type of individual I think I am. Upheavals make me discover new facets of my individuality and these facets might not be square with what I previously thought about the essence of my individuality. The dynamic essence of my individuality lets self-change and self-discovery play such a key role in self-shaping. It follows that availability to self-revision is as important as availability to self-reorchestration is. Our pattern regards self-discoveries and radical self-changes (i.e., upheavals) as fundamental keys to the formation of individuality: it accounts for the coexistence of change and identity in self-shaping. On the one hand, self-change is necessary for us to grasp new aspects of our individuality; on the other hand, ordo amoris and individual destiny are the core of our individuality and they are not liable to change. We gradually discover ourselves and, in so doing, know and shape ourselves. Although we do not posit or constitute ourselves, the processes that we have so far examined—self-discovery, self-knowledge, self-change—depend upon us: we shape ourselves. Without ‘readiness for being affected,’ we can discover new layers

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of our individuality to a very small extent; if we do not care about ourselves, then we do not try to know what we discover about our individuality; without ‘availability to self-reorchestration,’ we cannot give rise to radical self-changes; if we are not willing to question ourselves in order to grasp the core of our individuality, we cannot shape ourselves. The core of our individuality coincides with the main constraints—ordo amoris and individual destiny—that oversee our range of possible self-changes: if we comprehend them, then we are in a better position to shape ourselves and understand how our individuality might change over time.

 hat Triggers the Change? Exemplariness as the Linchpin W of Self-Shaping Self-knowledge entails the gradual process of grasping and discovering my ordo amoris and individual destiny, self-shaping entails the process of forming myself in light of my self-knowledge: I shape my individuality and act in the world in accordance with the knowledge I gain about the core of my individuality. My actions, my desires, my wishes—i.e., my ethos—should resemble what I think the core of my individuality is—i.e., my ordo amoris and individual destiny. Within this framework, previous chapters enabled us to understand why other persons might hold sway over one’s self-shaping: such an influence depends upon the fact that other persons could grasp my individual destiny better than I could ever do on my own. My individual destiny is a “good-in-itself for me.” It is “in itself” and this means that others could comprehend it better than I can even plan to do. Other persons are able to grasp aspects of my individuality that I would not comprehend on my own. We now pose the question as to how the impact that other persons could have over my process of self-shaping concretely plays out and we will argue that exemplariness is the way through which other persons might hold sway over one’s process of self-shaping. We have understood that Bildung is Umbildung: self-changes play a key role in self-shaping since our individuality is a process rather than a fixed core defined once and for all. For it is a process, it is liable to endless self-discoveries and the deepest facets of our individuality emerge through radical self-changes. We are not referring to any kind of self-change. Indeed, we are referring to disruptive self-changes that, far from being changes along the same path of development, are changes in the very direction of development. We have to keep in mind this key distinction: self-­ shaping that brings about changes along a continuous line of an individual’s development and self-shaping that brings about a change in the very direction of an individual’s development.2 We are going to argue that exemplariness is the strongest impact that other persons can have over the whole process of self-shaping: exemplariness is the source of the most radical self-changes (i.e., upheavals). Sure, there is  I thank Mark Morelli for suggesting this insightful distinction.

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a wide spectrum of other possible modes of influence, but we will argue that exemplariness is the sole that radically holds sway over the sphere of self-shaping and, to support this thesis, we will take into account other modes of influence (for example, others as models and leaders). So, we will argue that exemplariness is the most influential way in which other persons hold sway over my individuality and self-shaping. Subsequently, we will investigate the topic of exemplariness from this specific perspective: we will not investigate it for its own sake. Other persons are able to make me aware of facets of my ordo amoris and individual destiny that I did not even know.

‘ From Within’ View on the Self and ‘From Outside’ View on the Self If we intend to demonstrate that others as exemplars make me understand myself in a way in which I could not even be able to do without their influence, which view on the self should we appeal to? How can I make myself possibly affected by other persons? What if we found our individuality in our ability to transcend ourselves by being affected by other persons? These apparently shallow questions subsume a valuable doubt: is there a view on the self that enables us to fully comprehend and account for the impact of others in my effort of knowing myself? If we dodge this doubt, then we should run the risk of enlisting a view on the self that perhaps makes us frame this topic in the wrong way. In The Zoo Story (1959), Edward Albee made this pithy remark: “sometimes a person has to go a very long distance out of his way to come back a short distance correctly.” This phrase resembles the thesis that we endeavour to discuss in this section: in order to make myself possibly affected by others, I am supposed to labor to distance myself from myself. The major assumption of this claim is the thesis just discussed: as persons others could radically help me to comprehend the type of individual who I am. We often regard identity as the most crucial element with regard to our personal individuality. If the core of my individuality were something fixed, steady and static, then a change in a few aspects of mine could occur in a very simple way. The point is that we realized that such a core is not an ‘x’ that could easily be grasped. My individuality is not something defined once and for all or something that I posit: if it were so, then I would be able to change it overnight. Indeed, what defines the innermost sides of my individuality is the process that leads me to gradually discover myself and then shape myself accordingly. The development of this process inherently hinges upon the tipping points that radically question our individuality: there are circumstances that force us to alter ourselves and that may give rise to a radical self-change (Umbildung). This radical self-variation, rather than a mere exercise of self-interpretation, is the real opportunity we have to grasp the deepest facets of our individuality, ordo amoris and individual destiny.

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It follows that, in order for radical self-changes to occur, an outward element is necessary: a circumstance that greatly questions ourselves and turns our certainties upside down is necessary for me to grasp the most unexpected facets of my individuality. This circumstance could be exemplified by another person who questions and sheds light on a few facets of our individuality, and then we may decide to reshape ourselves in light of this new degree of self-knowledge. Let us hark back to the friendship between Eisenstein and Schulse. Eisenstein is experiencing one of these circumstances that force us to question and alter ourselves: he gradually discovers that his alleged friend believes in principles that he does not share, like the supremacy of the race or the idea according to which a few must suffer for the millions to be saved, or the indifference towards the death of innocent people. This moment represents an Umbildung for Eisenstein: one of his best friends turns out to be the murderer of his sister. Such a moment represents a fundamental step in his process of self-shaping: he better understands the meaning he ascribes to friendship, he heightens his faith in liberal and democratic values. Especially, this moment enables him to unveil an unknown facet of his individuality: he is willing to contribute to the murder of his ex-friend. He contributes to make Schulse murdered. This action represents an Umbildung, a radical self-discovery that triggers a radical self-change: he discovers something new about his self and reorchestrates his individuality accordingly. Other persons could make us comprehend facets of our individuality we tend to overshadow or facets we did not even know. However, as long as we keep on referring to a ‘from within’ view on the self, we could not realize the overarching sway of others over our process of self-knowledge and self-shaping: we cannot fully comprehend the overarching sway of others over our individuality if we keep on thinking about the self as a sort of inner space we have to dig deeper and deeper in order to identify our alleged true self.3 We intend to argue that, in order to comprehend how others could impact myself, we have to shift to a ‘from outside’ view on the self: we are used to ‘from within’ views on the self, that is, epistemological and hermeneutic perspectives on the self. Traditional stances on self-knowledge usually push us into thinking about the self as a sort of space we have to investigate, we often tend to think about ourselves as subjects who author and create plans for our lives: following this ‘from within’ view on the self, we come to know ourselves as masters and authors of our lives and individualities. What if we better knew and shaped ourselves by distancing ourselves from ourselves? What if we better knew ourselves in moments of crisis? We argue that, in order to know ourselves, we have to resist the temptation to direct our attention from ‘outwards’ to ‘inwards’: we have to overcome the ingrained habit of thinking about ourselves as an inner space that needs to be investigated. Indeed, we start knowing ourselves on condition that we shift the focus of our attention from ‘inwards’ to ‘outwards’: if I labor to distance myself from myself and look at myself ‘from outside,’ then I could grasp the impact of others and, subsequently,

 The expressions ‘from within’ view on the self and ‘from outside’ view on the self are my own.

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I could grasp aspects of my individuality that I did not know. In so doing, I come to discover untaken possibilities related to my individuality. We cannot understand exemplariness’ impact if we still appeal to ‘from within’ views on the self. Similarly, we cannot understand the key role of upheavals in self-shaping if we still appeal to ‘from within’ views on the self. Shifting the focus of our attention from ‘inwards’ to ‘outwards’ means being attentive to the way in which we are affected by the world, that is, to the way in which our individuality alters through time insofar as we are affected by the world. Being affected by the world means being affected by persons as well as situations, circumstances, events: every single moment and experience of my life affects me and, potentially, makes me change. The point is that I am not able to grasp the entire compass of such potential breaking points if I look at myself ‘from within.’ Indeed, I must reach a maximum distance from myself in order for me to know myself in light of what affects me in the ‘outward’ world: if I refer only to an alleged ‘inward world’ of my individuality, then I look at myself only ‘from within’ and I cannot grasp the potential impact that other persons—as exemplars—could have over me. It is worth noticing that our discussion regarding the dichotomy between ‘from outside’ view on the self and ‘from within’ view on the self seems to recall Ricoeur’s philosophy (1990, 1991), because his stance on narrative identity might be regarded as an instance of an approach that is ‘from outside.’ In fact, his appeal to narration seems to make the subject distance herself from herself: narration seems to make the subject reach the necessary distance to grasp herself from outside. At a closer look, however, the kind of narration Ricoeur talks about inherently concerns what one is or can be. Again, the subject is supposed to focus on her alleged inner space so as to grasp her self through narration. The blind spot of Ricoeur’s thought seems to be the unremitting focus on the identity: in order to know who I am, I am supposed to spot and weave the narrative threads of my self. I focus on my self, I appeal to a ‘from within’ view on the self and I gain the self I am searching for. But what does this alleged self consist in? It is the outcome of the narration unfolded by the subject, who focuses on her inner space to know herself. Surely, Ricoeur brings to the foreground the narrative identity of ourselves, that is, its dynamic essence, but the core of self-knowledge keeps on being the effort of knowing our intrinsic identity without appealing to a ‘from outside’ view on the self. It seems that S. Augustine, much more than Ricoeur, carried out a ‘from outside’ view on the self: he starts his path of self-knowledge by confessing not to knowing himself any more, while Ricoeur marks the beginning of his path of self-knowledge by narrating who he is or can become (Cusinato, 2014, 173–205). It seems that Ricoeur fails to realize that interpreting myself differently is not enough to become automatically different. According to Ricoeur’s view, our individuality is the outcome of our interpretation: but what guides me in this effort of self-interpretation and self-narration? The fundamental issue of personal individuality is again at stake since I cannot interpret myself and narrate myself without any kind of constraint. Nevertheless, it seems that Ricoeur’s philosophy does not account for any possible coordinate which might guide us through self-knowledge and self-shaping. These two processes seem to be regarded as activities of the subject, who appeals to a

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‘from within’ view on the self and disregards any possible ‘from outside’ view on the self. For we are referring to Ricoeur, it is worth specifying that Ricoeur too (1991) tackled what we named ‘the fundamental issue of personal individuality’: Ricoeur poses the question as to how it is possible to identify the invariant in the variation. The point is that Ricoeur answers this question in a way that differs from the one we are arguing for here and belies the ‘from outside’ view on the self: this kind of view on the self enables us to account for others’ influence on my self-shaping and deem exemplariness as a pivotal key to the formation of individuality. Let us try to understand the reason why Ricoeur’s perspective seems to lack something. The problem that Ricoeur broaches is, apparently, the same that we broached at the beginning of our analysis: in L’identité narrative, he explicitly wonders whether the self could keep on being as similar as possible if there were not an unchangeable core that inherently characterizes the person. But he also notes that human experience belies the alleged permanence of such an unchangeable core since we come to realize that in our experience there is nothing that is immune from change. Ricoeur argues that this dichotomy seems, at the same time, unsolvable and unavoidable. It seems unavoidable because the fact that we employ one sole term to designate the person from birth to death seems to entail the existence of this unchangeable core, whereas our experience of physical and psychic changes belies this identity of the “ipse.” It seems unsolvable because we appeal to notions and terms that are not suitable for accounting for the connection of life. These are the reasons why Ricoeur (1990) distinguishes the steady identity of the “ipse” from the dynamic identity of the “idem” so as to argue for a “narrative identity.” The fundamental issue of personal individuality marks the beginning of Ricoeur’s thought and our analysis, but the attempts to untangle it radically differ since we intend to shift from an epistemological and hermeneutic approach to an approach grounded in self-shaping so as to account for the role that others as exemplars play in my effort of grasping my individual essence. As we have already noticed, self-­ interpretation does not seem to be enough: we need an outward element to distance ourselves from ourselves so as to reach a maximum degree of distance from ourselves. We argue that this maximum distance is exemplified by the other as an exemplar, as we will clarify. Therefore, if we try to distance ourselves from ourselves, then we become able to perceive the possible impact that other persons might have over our self-­ knowledge. This effort entails the awareness that ‘from within’ views are not reliable and my individuality is not fixed once and for all. My individuality is possibly open to changes, which I comprehend in light of a ‘from outside’ view on the self. If others as exemplars could radically influence me, then my individuality consists in possible upheavals too: “the unity of the self, which therefore also constitutes its identity, is not something given but something achieved, not a beginning but a goal” (Nehamas, 1985, 182). Consequently, I should be willing to reorchestrate myself in light of self-discoveries since such upheavals define my self-shaping: personal coherence does not matter, personal identity does not matter. What matters is personal individuality. We are not claiming that personal identity does not matter in the

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sense that we are endorsing Parfit’s stance: “if we are reductionists […] personal identity is not what matters” (Parfit, 1987, 211). Indeed, it is exactly why personal identity as personal individuality matters that we are trying to account for the impact that other persons as exemplars could have. The point is that we cannot know ourselves on our own since there are aspects of our individuality that are beyond our grasp: the core of my individuality consists in a good in itself and for me. Thanks to its objectivity others could help me to know it or could grasp aspects of it that I completely ignored. Others as exemplars could make us reach the necessary distance to know ourselves, grasp untaken possibilities of ourselves, question ourselves and possibly reshape ourselves in light of these self-discoveries, that is, reorchestrate ourselves giving rise to personal upheavals. The deepest layers of our individuality better come to light thanks to those persons—exemplars—that radically question what we think about our individuality. In order to this impact to play out, we need to adopt a ‘from outside’ view on the self and we must yearn to really know ourselves—i.e., the deepest layers of our individuality. This view on the self allows us to regard exemplariness as the keystone and linchpin of the entire process of self-knowledge and self-shaping. On the contrary, if we adopted a ‘from within’ view on the self, we could account for exemplars’ role just in terms of a mere influence, something that does not crucially hold sway over me. But this is what exemplariness does: it crucially holds sway over my self-knowledge since exemplars make me question what I think about my individuality and this impact forces me to decide whether to reorchestrate myself or not. This is the reason why we endorse a view on the self that ascribes a key role to self-­ transformations, personal upheavals and self-reorchestrations: in the next chapter we will explain why exemplariness is the prime source of such changes. Definitively, it seems necessary to shift our attention from an epistemological-hermeneutic approach to a ‘from outside’ view on the self. The former focuses on the ‘inner’ dimension of individuality, while the latter focuses on the ‘outward’ dimension of individuality. Since we are going to argue that other persons as exemplars play a fundamental role in my process of self-knowledge, we must refer to a self-view that enables us to account for the radical impact of an outward element (i.e., exemplars).

Chapter 6

Exemplariness as the Key to My Self-­Possi bilities

So, our framework endorses a ‘from outside’ view on the self, which makes room for the impact that others have over my self-knowledge and self-shaping: this view on the self sets the stage for an overarching comprehension of others’ influence on the formation of my individuality. But to what extent do other persons play a role in my self-knowledge? Our multilayer pattern spurs us to acknowledge that we cannot presume to know ourselves without being open to others’ impact on us. The core of our individuality—individual destiny—is characterized by aspects and implications that only others are able to understand. This is why the readiness for being affected and the availability to self-reorchestration—two concepts that we coined previously—are two fundamental keys to the core of our individuality: without the former, we would not be open to others’ influence; without the latter, we would not be able to reorchestrate ourselves in light of our self-discoveries. There are possibilities stemming from our individuality that are still untaken since we cannot grasp them: we need others to grasp them and help us to understand them. This implies that individuality itself is not something steady and static. If it were so, then a change in a few aspects of mine could occur in a very simple way. Indeed, others’ impact might give rise to radical self-reorchestrations and personal upheavals: this means that my individuality is not an ‘x’ that could be grasped easily. Indeed, what defines the innermost sides of my individuality is the process that leads me to gradually discover myself, know myself and then shape and reorchestrate myself accordingly: other persons are inherent parts of this process. They make us grasp untaken possibilities of our individuality and spur us to reorchestrate ourselves accordingly: if we embrace their impact and question our self-knowledge in light of their influence, we are given the opportunity to understand what we do not know yet about ourselves. It is not a matter of a mere self-interpretation or even self-reflection: others turn our certainties upside down so as to make us grasp untaken possibilities of ourselves.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 B. Bellini, How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality, Contributions to Phenomenology 116, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-81451-9_6

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Within the wide spectrum of possible modes of influence, we argue that exemplariness is the most remarkable one: in this chapter we will lean on Scheler’s stance on exemplariness to describe its outstanding bearing. Nevertheless, our appeal to Scheler might seem a bit weird since many and different philosophical approaches have already tackled the issue of exemplariness. So, why should we rely upon Scheler’s theses? If we lean on his standpoint, we will be able to treat questions that traditional approaches do not even consider. Consequently, we will be able to unveil new traits of exemplariness so as to comprehend it in a different and new way. This chapter deals with a few perspectives focused on this topic so as to make clear why we should rely upon Scheler’s stance to comb through exemplariness as the key to self-knowledge and the linchpin of self-shaping. We could generally identify five overall philosophical perspectives that are somehow tethered to the issue of exemplariness: moral exemplarism in Aristotle’s works, exemplars and virtue ethics, exemplars and moral beauty, Linda Zagzebski’s stance, exemplarism in literature. Naturally, we might deal with exemplariness in light of other topics—such as moral perfectionism and utilitarianism—and from other perspectives. Nonetheless, the main purpose of this overview consists in bringing to light the extremely complex and enchanting horizon related to the issue exemplariness. In so doing, we will clarify the reasons why we lean on Scheler’s stance to delve into exemplariness. Firstly, Scheler makes us treat the question of exemplariness from the standpoint of the process of formation of individuality since exemplars hold sway over self-­ knowledge and self-shaping. Secondly, Scheler tethers exemplariness to individuality and shifts the focus of our attention from ‘the effort of picking out exemplars’ to ‘the effort of being open to exemplars’ impact.’

Why Scheler’s Stance on Exemplariness Is Noteworthy How to recognize exemplars? Which exemplars should I choose? How to emulate them? When dealing with philosophical stances upon exemplariness, we are usually faced with theories that mainly spur us to pose these and similar questions. Let us examine how these questions play out in the five aforementioned views on exemplariness. The contemporary philosopher Linda Zagzebski (2017) outlines a new moral theory that she calls “exemplarist moral theory,” which maps the primary set of moral terms—‘virtue,’ ‘right act,’ ‘good end,’ ‘good life’ etc.—around the features of exemplars, to whom we refer directly through the specific emotion of admiration. According to Zagzebski, making the foundation of a moral theory a set of persons rather than a set of concepts has theoretical and practical advantages since it spots a natural way in which human beings become moral beings (cf. Mordacci, 2003, 173). Moral philosophers often use a descriptivist theory of meaning for moral terms, whereas Zagzebski proposes defining those terms by direct reference to exemplars. What is bravery? It is like that brave person. Human beings become moral beings thanks to the concrete exemplification of the theoretical terms

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employed by moral philosophers. Explaining what bravery is does not coincide with the concrete person acting in a brave manner in front of me. This new approach makes a doubt arise: how can I recognize a brave act and, possibly, understand that this person who is acting bravely is an exemplar for me? Zagzebski stresses that we find out what makes exemplars good by admiration as the way to distinguish virtues. Exemplars elicit the admiration of other persons, a positively valenced comprehension of a person’s positive qualities. If I admire a person, then this admiration is a good reason for me to recognize the inherent exemplarity of that person. Admiring a person spurs me to account for this admiration and, in so doing, I may grasp the essence of her exemplarity or I may realize that my admiration was just a delusion. Naturally, the identification of exemplars is revisable and it can be changed or adjusted. In fact, when accounting for admiration, I may come to realize that my admiration is nothing else than a form of sympathy. Or I may come to realize that my admiration was simply unfounded. Admiration is a just way to distinguish virtues, whereas dis-admiration is a way to distinguish vices. With regard to the nature and compass of admiration, it is worth noticing that Zagzebski is not arguing that it is a moral emotion: it has a unique power since it helps us to grasp exemplars. It is a sort of natural form of learning. What matters is the practical side of admiration: emulation. Admiration motivates us to emulate admirable persons. I deem a person as an exemplar insofar as she embodies certain virtues that I have learned are like those persons. Consequently, I emulate the persons that I admire since I think they are exemplars. This implies that admiration is motivating and moral learning is grounded in emulation. Therefore, admirability is a signal that aids us in discerning that a certain person is an exemplar and emulation is a signal that shows that I am learning to be like the exemplar. Following Zagzebski, exemplariness is described as an excellence that can be learned through emulation. This means that a person who is admirable is an exemplar only on condition that she can be emulated. This is the reason why Zagzebski—despite the fact that she admits that gifted people are admirable— excludes them from the range of possible exemplars: gifted people exemplify inborn excellence that cannot be acquired by imitating this kind of admirable people. They cannot be exemplars since they do not exemplify an excellence that can be learned through emulation. This implies that Zagzebski embraces at least one case where someone can be admirable without being an exemplar. Zagzebski’s account includes a list of exemplars (cf. Scheler, 1973a, 583–596; Scheler, 1911–21): each of these exemplars is characterized by a different kind of admirable excellence: she describes (1) a Christian saint, (2) a hero, (3) geniuses and the athletically or artistically gifted, (4) a sage or wise person. These different kinds of person are exemplars insofar as their admirability exemplifies an excellence that can be learned by emulation. Admiration is the keystone of her theory: it is a necessary condition for recognizing exemplars and then emulating them. Zagzebski’s reappraisal of admiration is quite remarkable since she was among the first who favoured its retrieval after a long philosophical neglect: admiration is the means by which we identify exemplars and it spurs us to emulate them through moral learning. The picture of admiration that stems from Zagzebski’s account is

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square with a pleasant other-praising emotion directed to moral excellence. Moreover, she describes admiration in comparison with other emotions involved in moral life: she appeals to Kristjansson (2006) to distinguish pleasant admiration from admiring envy and admiring envy from spiteful envy. When dealing with the kind of emotion triggered by exemplars, Scheler describes it as a form of marvel without envy. A comparison between Zagzebski’s account of admiration, Scheler’s account of marvel without envy and Kristjansson’s account of admiring envy and spiteful envy would be interesting. These remarks pertain to an approach that wonders which emotions and feelings exemplars trigger: attraction, virtue-oriented admiration, talent-oriented admiration, envy or moral awe? Such pointers might make us wonder what we feel before exemplars: aesthetic admiration? Moral contempt? Attraction? Admiration? These questions are strongly related to another approach from which we could broach the issue of exemplariness. This kind of approach mainly focuses on the embodiment of virtues and the concept of moral beauty, which consists in the bodily expression of virtues, moral qualities, and excellence of the character. Ian Kidd (2017) could be regarded as a notable harbinger of this view. He argues that we need a sort of training path in order to be in a position to grasp what exemplars exemplify. The same training should take place from the perspective of exemplars, who should endeavour to express and display their moral beauty. This kind of inner beauty is subtle, difficult to discern, hard to spot. Sure, there are some virtues—like courage, for example—that manifest very forcefully, but not every virtue manifests in the same way. From this perspective, there is a mode of inner beauty that consists in the outer expression of inner virtues. What this approach seems to lack refers to the kind of impact that others play in self-shaping: does a person have an impact on me just because of her virtues? Following this approach, the impact is confined to the virtues that nourish the moral beauty of a given person. It seems that such an explanation does not make room for the circumstances in which I am affected by another person but such an impact does not depend upon the virtues that the other person exemplifies, eventually in a beautiful manner. As Zagzebski points out, “it is a good thing that there are people whose moral beauty attracts us. We are usually drawn to them initially because we admire something easily observable about them—typically acts…physical bearing or speech” (Zagzebski, 2017, 60). What Zagzebski’s account leaves unanswered is the following doubt: is admiration sufficient to deem a person as an exemplar? Her explanation seems to be monochrome insofar as it relies upon a mere admire-and-emulate model. Moreover, why does Zagzebski disregard the individuality of the exemplar? What this kind of approach seems to lack refers to the individuality of the exemplar and the person who is affected by the exemplar: Zagzebski deems recognition and emulation as the keystones of the impact that others as exemplars have on my process of self-shaping. The focus on recognition and emulation seems so distorting that the issue of exemplariness is not at all interwoven with the issue of individuality. How to describe exemplariness without accounting for its impact on individuality?

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Zagzebski’s account does not help us to answer a fundamental question related to exemplariness: why does this specific exemplar (with her specific individuality) affect me (with my specific individuality) and not someone else? Why me and not you? In order to answer these questions, we need to understand how the link between exemplariness and individuality plays out. Scheler’s philosophy helps us to achieve this goal and comprehend why the kind of approach that Zagzebski exemplifies seems to miss the point. Her framework ascribes a key role to the coordinates that Scheler will completely put on the sidelines: choice, recognition and emulation. According to Scheler, these coordinates have nothing to do with exemplars, while for Zagzebski they constitute the nature of exemplariness. This is the reason why she brings to the foreground questions that are focused only on exemplariness— ‘How to recognize exemplars?’, ‘Which exemplars should I choose?’, ‘How to emulate them?’—and answers them by outlining a dynamic between choice, admiration and emulation. She accounts for the link between exemplariness and choice, but the link between exemplariness and individuality is not at stake: I choose to follow the person that I admire and this act of following the exemplar turns into an act of emulation. In fact, if I find myself admiring that person, then I might choose to be like her and this implies that I labor to emulate her. If we tackled the link between exemplariness and individuality, then we would deal with another kind of questions—that Scheler will spur us to pose: why do I admire this person? Why do I want to be like this person? Why do I think that acting like this person is good? Disregarding the topic of individuality means leaving unanswered these questions. According to many philosophers who work on moral education—Martha Nussbaum for example—admiring and emulating moral exemplars is a fundamental step towards the apprehension of virtue. Zagzebski’s stance belongs to this tradition, yet her view puts forth a stronger claim: admiring moral exemplars is the sole non-­ conceptual foundation of a successful moral theory. Zagzebski’s virtue theory is a notable contribution to the field of moral philosophy and, particularly, to the (neo-­ Aristotelian) virtue ethics. Let us examine how the notions of recognition, choice, and emulation—that Scheler will omit from his account—play out in this the neo-­ Aristotelian perspective and then in the Aristotelian one. According to virtue ethics, our process of shaping ourselves depends upon the persons who exemplify virtues (cf. Mordacci, 2003, 173–200). If we take into account virtue ethics—for instance, let us refer to Murdoch’s standpoint (Murdoch, 2014)—we come to realize that other persons are exemplars we need to follow if we aim to be virtuous: there are certain persons—like the wise ones—who exemplify sets of virtues in such a bright manner that they are pivotal benchmarks in our effort of being virtuous. Moral exemplars are often associated with the theoretical framework of virtue ethics and within this frame the virtuous person is measure and living rule for human actions and she perfects the law by acting with excellence in particular contexts and circumstances. For the virtuous agent acts in particular and concrete situations with practical wisdom, she overcomes the generality typical of law and, in so doing, becomes a worthy object of imitation. Contrary to the kinds of ethics grounded in actions or oughts, virtue ethics focuses on the entire person, with her motivations and whole life, so as to account for the complexity of our moral life

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by considering exemplary persons rather than theories. Virtue ethics stresses that what matters is how one shapes oneself rather than the appeal to concepts like ‘just’ or ‘useful’: the standards of the virtuous action stem from the character of the person rather than from the act of following principles. From this standpoint, the virtuous agent functions as a living rule and measure and so we have to be somehow able to recognize her as such, to identify her as a bearer of a virtuous character. Virtue ethics makes us focus on morally good characters both real and fictional: it does not put emphasis on teaching moral principles and procedures. Such principles and procedures are exemplified by morally good characters. What this approach seems to lack refers to the individuality both of the example and the person who imitates the example: the influence of the former over the latter does not depend upon the specific individuality of the former and the latter. Indeed, this kind of influence is based only on the virtues that are exemplified. So, how could such an impact hold sway over self-shaping if the issue of individuality is left outside the frame? Similarly to Zagzebski’s, Aristotelian philosophy spurs us to broach the issue of exemplariness by considering those persons who exemplify the virtues we are focusing on. As Zagzebski maintains, her account is inevitably bound up with moral exemplarism in Aristotle’s works: “regarding practical wisdom we shall get at the truth by considering who are the persons we credit with it” (Aristotle, NE, VI, 5, 1140a, 24–25). These persons help us to understand the essence of virtues through their exemplification and then guide us through the process of learning a certain virtue. If we aim to define what prudence or wisdom are, for instance, we take into account the persons that we think are prudent or wise. This view emphasizes the importance related to the example of the phronimos, which is a benchmark for the citizens of the polis, particularly the youth. According to this approach, the moral corruption of vicious agents will partially inhibit their ability to recognize the virtuous person as the rule and measure. To the coward, the brave person appears rash, so how does the coward come to see the brave person as a rule and measure of what must be done? However, even the vicious agent is not totally bereft of the ability to recognize virtue in action. Dependability is the mark of the virtuous person: even the coward, who may think that the brave person behaves cowardly in the most challenging situations, will be able to recognize the dependability of the brave person. This dependability consists in behaving in a way that shows she is not dominated by the emotion of fear. Adopting the Aristotelian view enables us to comprehend the importance of historical portraits as moral examples, who guide us through the process of learning (see Plutarch, Parallel Lives). This remark brings to light a possible reference to another approach that focuses on recognition, choice and emulation while delving into exemplariness: just as we find exemplars in real life, so can we find a wide spectrum of exemplars in literature. Most of us find subjects to admire and/or emulate in narrative literature no less than in ‘real life.’ Zagzebski herself acknowledges that literary works could provide readership with a wide range of exemplars. Literature tells us that imagining the lives of others is a daily necessity for human

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beings since we best learn to understand, care, and behave well with others when we learn about imagining others’ lives. The idea of personal exemplification as a means to the education of qualities of moral character or virtue is of long pedigree and traceable at least to Aristotle’s Ethics and contemporary philosophers like Martha Nussbaum, as we have already noticed in the third chapter. In literature we find exemplars by recognizing them and then we could possibly choose to emulate them. The question that we should pose is the following: does literature provide us with models or exemplars? As we shall explain later, Scheler’s stance on exemplariness allows us to devise a clear and sound theory on the nature and compass of exemplars, who radically differ from models. Scheler’s theses will enable us to claim that literary subjects become models insofar as we, as readers, merely endeavour to emulate their way of acting, while they become exemplars insofar as we, as readers, find ourselves affected by their way of being. In the first case, we try to copy their actions, whereas in the second case we discover something new about ourselves. Within this wide spectrum of philosophical perspectives focused on exemplariness, why should we appeal to Scheler? When we consider philosophical stances upon exemplars, we are faced with theories that spur us to pose this main question: how do we recognize exemplars? Zagzebski regards admiration as the key to this process of recognition. If I admire a person, then this admiration is a good reason for me to recognize the inherent exemplarity of that person. Scheler propels us to turn the problem upside down: how are we affected by exemplars? Far from being a matter of recognition, he urges us to consider the influence of exemplars as a pre-­ logical process by which we find ourselves affected. Furthermore, Scheler makes us treat the question of exemplariness from the standpoint of the process of formation of individuality: exemplars hold sway over such a process. It is not simply a matter of admiration and emulation of actions. Indeed, it is a matter of a radical influence over the sphere of individuality. That exemplar affects me and not you since my individuality is such that it is affected by the individuality of that exemplar. In light of Schelerian remarks, we will argue for a twofold nexus between exemplariness and individuality, that is to say, a twofold reason that spurs us to tackle this issue right after we have broached the issue of individuality. On the one hand, exemplars hold sway over my process of self-shaping, that is to say, over the process through which I discover, know, shape and reorchestrate myself: other persons as exemplars represent a mode of self-knowledge. On the other hand, that specific exemplar affects that specific person by virtue of the specific individuality of that exemplar and the specific individuality of that person. Other persons could influence my self-shaping since they—as personal individuals—share the same pattern of my individuality—ordo amoris, ethos, “good-in-­ itself for me”—and since my “good-in-itself for me” can be grasped by others too by virtue of its objectivity. However, this influence is not boundless. My ordo amoris makes me say ‘Something is up there,’ where nobody else sees something, and makes me understand something about the individuality of another person, something that nobody else has perhaps never understood. So, the impact that others as exemplars have over the process of formation of individuality entails a deep

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self-discovery (when I understand that I was affected by someone as an exemplar, I might discover new facets of my individuality) and, consequently, this kind of impact radically defines my process of self-knowledge (I know new facets of my individuality, that is, new facets of my ordo amoris and individual destiny), self-­ shaping (I might decide to shape my individuality in light of this new self-­knowledge, that is, I reshape my ethos) and I gradually understand the type of individual I shall and should become. These starting remarks bring to light the blind spots of the previous accounts that we have just taken into account: not only do they focus on a sole aspect of the nature of exemplars—admiration/emulation—they even fail to recognize the link that inherently ties exemplariness to individuality: why does that specific exemplar affect me and not you? Thanks to Scheler’s remarks we will be able to understand how exemplariness can be comprehended only in light of its double link with individuality: it crucially holds sway over individuality and the reason why a certain person is affected by certain exemplars depends upon the specific individuality of the person and the exemplars. Furthermore, philosophical stances on exemplariness mostly focus on choice and imitation: how to choose exemplars? How to imitate them? Scheler makes us shift the focus of our attention: how are we affected by exemplars? How do they affect our individuality? If we merely focus on choice and imitation, then we are confined to examine what Scheler refers to as “models.” However, “exemplars” are far more important than models since they constitute a fundamental keystone of self-shaping, whereas models affect my actions only. Scheler makes us completely shift the focus of our attention to the following question: how do exemplars affect my individuality? If we adopt a ‘from outside’ view on the self, it is possible for us to realize the crushing impact that others as exemplars have over our process of self-shaping. It is not I who picks out exemplars. Indeed, I am picked out by them, I am chosen by them since they shed light on my individual destiny. Scheler makes us understand that the sphere of influence of exemplariness is the dimension of being rather than the dimension of acting. Exemplars do not affect how I act. Indeed, they affect the type of individual I think I am. Exemplars let new aspects of my individuality come to light and so make me reflect upon my ordo amoris and individual destiny: we can comprehend this impact only in light of a pattern of individuality that regards self-discoveries and upheavals as fundamental keys to the formation of individuality. Our pattern regards self-­ discoveries and radical self-changes (i.e., upheavals) as fundamental keys to the formation of individuality: it accounts for the coexistence of change and identity in self-shaping. On the one hand, self-change is necessary for us to grasp new aspects of our individuality; on the other hand, ordo amoris and individual destiny are the core of our individuality and they are not liable to change. We gradually discover ourselves and, in so doing, know and shape ourselves. The core of our individuality coincides with the main constraints that oversee our range of possible self-changes: ordo amoris and individual destiny. If we strive to grasp them, then we are in a better position to comprehend how our individuality might change over time. But

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self-knowledge is not a process where I am the sole subject involved: without the role of others, a few layers of my individuality will always remain beyond my grasp. We are not referring to shallow layers of our individuality: thanks to exemplars we comprehend the most crucial layers of our individuality.

 xemplariness as the Key to Unexpected and Essential E Aspects of my Individuality So, what are exemplars for Scheler? Exemplars refer to the dimension of a To-Be, to a “growth of the being of the person.” This occurs since they do not pertain to actions and propositions of oughtness that are universally valid, like leaders and norms. Exemplariness entails a personal growth rather than the universal obedience. In order to understand the hallmarks of exemplariness, it is worth taking into account the novel Les Misérables, which provides us with a jumping-off point that is useful for framing the issue. Jean Valjean is the main character, he is a scoundrel and the forgiveness he receives from a priest, which he robbed, triggers a crucial upheaval that leads him to completely transform the bedrocks of his life. Starting from this moment, he gains a gradual awareness of his individuality: he starts comprehending his ordo amoris, his ethos, his individual destiny. This personal upheaval stems from the self-­ knowledge he gained thanks to the priest. This is the reason why we deem the priest as an exemplar for him: The Bishop drew near to him, and said in a low voice:—“Do not forget, never forget, that you have promised to use this money in becoming an honest man.” Jean Valjean, who had no recollection of ever having promised anything, remained speechless. The Bishop had emphasized the words when he uttered them. He resumed with solemnity:—“Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to evil, but to good. It is your soul that I buy from you; I withdraw it from black thoughts and the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God.” (Hugo, 1862, 185–186)

The words of the priest make Valjean reflect about his individuality and his actual degree of self-knowledge. Hugo describes the path of personal self-reorchestration that Valjean experiences: since he gradually becomes aware of his individuality and ordo amoris, he wonders whether he is ready to reorchestrate himself accordingly. Thanks to the priest he discovers new layers of his individuality and tries to shape himself accordingly. He strives to reorchestrate and reshape himself in light of this new degree of self-knowledge. Consequently, his past life too acquires a new meaning: now his self-knowledge is completely different and so he ascribes a new meaning to what happened to him in the past. This change denotes a high availability to self-reorchestration. He is willing to reshape himself in light of his new self-knowledge. Jean Valjean left the town as though he were fleeing from it. […] He was conscious of a sort of rage; he did not know against whom it was directed. He could not have told whether he was touched or humiliated. There came over him at moments a strange emotion which he

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6  Exemplariness as the Key to My Self-Possibilities resisted and to which he opposed the hardness acquired during the last 20 years of his life. This state of mind fatigued him. He perceived with dismay that the sort of frightful calm which the injustice of his misfortune had conferred upon him was giving way within him. He asked himself what would replace this. (Hugo, 1862, 187–188)

Valjean examines himself and gradually grasps the crushing sway that the priest held over him. He perceives a breaking point in his process of self-shaping since he does not identify himself with the ‘old Valjean’ any more. Now he is a different type of individual and does not identify himself with the type of individual he was in the past. He is different and he is the same: the new Valjean does not coincide with the old Valjean, but he is the same Valjean. The fundamental issue of personal individuality is here at stake. His legs gave way abruptly under him, as though an invisible power had suddenly overwhelmed him with the weight of his evil conscience; he fell exhausted, on a large stone, his fists clenched in his hair and his face on his knees, and he cried, “I am a wretch!” Then his heart burst […] He could not yield to the evidence of what was going on within him. He hardened himself against the angelic action and the gentle words of the old man. “You have promised me to become an honest man. I buy your soul. I take it away from the spirit of perversity; I give it to the good God.” […] He was indistinctly conscious that the pardon of this priest was the greatest assault and the most formidable attack which had moved him yet; that his obduracy was finally settled if he resisted this clemency; that if he yielded, he should be obliged to renounce that hatred with which the actions of other men had filled his soul through so many years, and which pleased him; that this time it was necessary to conquer or to be conquered; and that a struggle, a colossal and final struggle, had been begun between his viciousness and the goodness of that man. […] That which was certain, that which he did not doubt, was that he was no longer the same man, that everything about him was changed, that it was no longer in his power to make it as though the Bishop had not spoken to him and had not touched him. […] At the moment when he exclaimed “I am a wretch!” he had just perceived what he was, and he was already separated from himself to such a degree, that he seemed to himself to be no longer anything more than a phantom […] He actually saw that Jean Valjean, that sinister face, before him. He had almost reached the point of asking himself who that man was, and he was horrified by him. […] He contemplated himself, so to speak, face to face, and at the same time, athwart this hallucination, he perceived in a mysterious depth a sort of light which he at first took for a torch. On scrutinizing this light which appeared to his conscience with more attention, he recognized the fact that it possessed a human form and that this torch was the Bishop. […] As the Bishop grew great and resplendent in his eyes, so did Jean Valjean grow less and vanish. […] All at once he disappeared. The Bishop alone remained; he filled the whole soul of this wretched man with a magnificent radiance. […] He examined his life, and it seemed horrible to him; his soul, and it seemed frightful to him. (Hugo, 1862, 194–199)

He is achieving a new self-knowledge and he is striving to reshape himself accordingly. His individual destiny is coming to light and he starts grasping possibilities of his individuality that were still untaken. The priest as an exemplar understands implications of Valjean’s individuality that Valjean himself did not even know. He understands that the individual destiny of Valjean has nothing to do with his behaviours as a scoundrel. As an exemplar, he tries to spur Valjean to reorchestrate himself in light of his individual destiny and Valjean finds himself affected by this exemplarity: he realizes that he is no longer the same man, that everything about him has changed, but he is the same.

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How could we account for the impact that the priest has on Valjean? Is it just a mere influence or something more? How does exemplars’ influence work? Scheler’s theses help us to solve such doubts. First of all, we have to focus on the German term Vorbild, as Scheler employs it. As Cusinato (2011) remarks, Scheler seems to ascribe a double meaning to this term. According to its thicker and most important meaning, it refers to a strength that transforms the individuality of the person who is affected; according to its superficial and more common meaning, it refers to a strength that works through imitation. Subsequently, we translate the first meaning into the word ‘exemplar,’ while the second into the word ‘model.’ According to Scheler, exemplariness is the primary vehicle for all changes that persons could give rise to. Exemplariness means giving rise to a radical self–change and self–transformation (“die Bewegung der Umbildung”) that are triggered by another person, the exemplar. The growing adaption (“Hineinbildung”) of the person to the exemplar brings about this radical self-change (“Umbildung”) and gives rise to a new process of self-shaping (“Neubildung”). Exemplars provide me with a starting inkling that something that strongly pertains to my individuality does not actually take place in my life: I can quash such an inkling and do not set the stage for a self-reorchestration, or I can let myself be affected by exemplars and revise myself. It depends upon me whether to be affected by the exemplar, change myself, give rise to a new self: I cannot choose to be affected by exemplars, but I can be willing and ready to question and reorchestrate myself. Scheler (1973a, 572–575, 583–584) draws a sharp distinction between norms (“Normen”) and exemplars (“Vorbilder”). Following Scheler, exemplars give rise to an ideal ought rather than a norm: exemplars tell me who I am meant to be, while norms tell me what I must do. Norms—and, subsequently, leadership—pertain to universal propositions of oughtness whose content is a specific action: leadership is a matter of doing something. On the contrary, exemplars do not pertain to the sphere of actions: they refer to the dimension of a To-Be: exemplariness regards my way of being and shows me an ideal ought. This ought-to-be is experienced as “it obliges me to follow” (“es verpflichtet mich zu folgen”), rather than “I am obliged to follow” (“ich bin verpflichtet zu folgen”). This means that exemplariness is a sort of powerful tug (“machtvoller Zug”) that stems from the exemplar. It is not the suggestive strength (“suggestive Kraft”) of somebody that is able to drag me. Before exemplariness, I realize that I am not choosing the exemplar: I am chosen by her. Jean Valjean did not choose the priest as an exemplar: the priest chose him and, in so doing, he became an exemplar. Exemplars draw us (“Vorbilder ziehen die Person, die sie hat, zu sich hinan”) towards them. Far from choosing to follow them, we find us affected by them. We do not actively move towards them: exemplars are goal-­ determining (“ziel-bestimmend”), they are not a goal in itself after which we strive or an end that we could even posit. In light of our pattern of individuality, it follows that without ‘readiness for being affected’ the impact of exemplars remains beyond our grasp. We are affected by them, we are chosen by them: we must be ready to be shaken by their impact, because it depends upon us whether to follow them or not. If we follow them, we start shaping ourselves differently since a “growth of the being of the person”

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occurs. Scheler describes as fidelity (“Folge,” “Nachfolge,” “Gefolgschaft”) the morally relevant transformation that stems from exemplariness. This “following” is not to be understood in the sense of willing and acting, which aim only at obedience to true commands or pedagogical pseudocommands, or at copying. Willing and acting can consist in this and can be partially heteronomous. “Following,” however, is to be understood in the sense of free devotion [Hingabe] to the content of personal value that is accessible to autonomous insight. (Scheler, 1973a, 580)

In so doing, we become like the exemplar as a person, we do not become what the exemplar is: we learn to will and do as the exemplar wills and does. We do not will what the exemplar wills and we do not act the same way in which the exemplar acts. Scheler remarkably stresses how the acts that underlie exemplariness are not grounded in acts of willing or imitating. Therefore, judgement and choice do not play any pivotal role here. Our consciousness of an [exemplar] is entirely prelogical and prior to the comprehension of even possible spheres of choice. It would be most naïve to assume that one must judge whether something is or is not an [exemplar] in order for it to become an [exemplar], or that one must judge and state what and who are supposed to be [exemplars] before they can be [exemplars]. (Scheler, 1973a, 578)

Within this framework, Scheler argues that fidelity (“Gefolgschaft”) is the link that ties a person to the individuality of the exemplar. This relation cannot be reduced to a mere imitation (“Nachahmung”) or an effort of copying (“Kopieren”). My individuality is not erased in light of exemplar’s individuality. Indeed, the morally positive personal values of the exemplar immediately bring about the birth of the same values for me. Nothing on earth allows a person to become good so originally and immediately and necessarily as the evidential and adequate intuition [Anschauung] of a good person in his goodness. This relation is absolutely superior to any other relation in terms of a possible becoming good of which it can be considered the origin. It is superior to B’s obeying the orders and commands of A, because this obedience can never follow from an autonomous and immediate insight into the value of what is commanded, and because this obedience can aim only at action, not at the moral tenor and not at all at the being of the person. (Scheler, 1973a, 574)

Subsequently, exemplariness preserves the autonomous will of the person who achieves fidelity. In fact, the transformation at stake concerns the being of the person rather than her willing and acting. This upheaval concerns the knowledge related to my ordo amoris: my unique individuality is understood in a better way from someone else other than me. If am ready to accept this fact, then I am taking the opportunity to shape myself in light of my individual destiny. This is the reason why Scheler argues that “the highest effectiveness [Wirkung] of the good person on the moral cosmos lies in the pure value of exemplariness [Vorbildwert] that he possesses exclusively by virtue of his being and haecceity, which are accessible to intuition and love” (Scheler, 1973a, 575). So, if we lean on these remarks, we realize that exemplars primarily concern a specific way of being and, then, acting and willing, while norms require a specific way of acting. Exemplars—rather than norms and leaders—play a pivotal role in

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self-shaping since they affect my self-knowledge. This variation in self-knowledge may spur me to reorchestrate myself, to act and will in a different way. Exemplars make my ethos change since they affect my self-knowledge: they spur me to revise my knowledge related to my ordo amoris and individual destiny. Exemplars concretely show the successfulness of their process of self-shaping, the flourishing of their individuality. They make me focus on their exemplarity rather than on their individuality since I become witness of the flourishing of their individuality. This flourishing is such that their individuality is able to have an impact on others’ individuality. Exemplariness shows the essence of self-shaping: far from being a private process, it is a process that requires the presence of others as exemplars. However, without ‘availability to personal reorchestration’ I could not be able to grasp exemplars’ influence since I would be locked in my own opinions about my self: I think I am this type of individual and I am not willing to question it. Such a belief does not make room for exemplariness since exemplariness pertains to the dimension of self-shaping. It does not pertain to the sphere of mere actions (“ein bloßes Tun,” Scheler, 2013a, 1098): if I intend to follow an exemplar, acting as the exemplar acts is absolutely not enough. Like norms, exemplars are anchored in evidential values, but exemplars pertain to a To-Be. Exemplars are tied to an axiological-individual essence of the person (“das individuale Wertwesen der Person,” Scheler, 2013a, 1098), whereas norms are based on contents and general validity. Exemplars tell me that my individuality is a To-Be; leaders tell me what I must do now, regardless of my individuality. This last paragraph has just brought to light the link between axiology and exemplariness: exemplars are tied to an axiological-individual essence of the person. Scheler treats the question of exemplariness from his axiological perspective: exemplars affect our emotional responses. In so doing, they sway our axiological order and give rise to a corresponding transformation of our individuality. Now, if we rely upon these remarks, we could argue that exemplars are axiological exemplifications. What does it mean? Values are messengers and my perception of values resembles my openness to the world and, at the same time, resembles the way through which the openness of the world plays out in me: Weltoffenheit is openness towards the world and openness of the world. Values are not grasped by a mere intuition and this is even clearer if we consider the case of exemplars: it is not a matter of a mere intuition. Indeed, I experience the other person as a Vor-bild: I am faced with—I am before—the concrete existence—a real person (not just a fictional character or a literary person; see ‘moral imagination approach’)—that exemplifies a specific process of self-shaping and this process of self-shaping strikes me since it exemplifies ‘something’ that deeply regards my individuality too. What is this ‘something’? Why did the other person strike me? Endeavouring to answer such questions means undertaking a process of self-shaping. Valjean tries to answer these questions and, in so doing, he finds himself realizing his individual destiny and ordo amoris. The experience of Valjean exemplifies how exemplars trigger the birth of a new self-knowledge, which spurs me to reshape myself accordingly. In so doing, I

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reorchestrate myself: the mainspring of this reorchestration is the influence of another person as an exemplar. Scheler describes this personal change as a transformation (Umbildung) of Bildung and the birth of a new Bildung (Neubildung). In addition to these two terms, he employs an expression that summarizes both these two meanings (change and rebirth): “Gesinnungswandel,” that is, the conversion of the heart: The new formation [Neubildung] or […] the transformation of the moral tenor [Umbildung der Gesinnung], its alteration [Gesinnungswandel], and the change in the person’s sense [Sinnesänderung] are only consequences of the growing adaption of the person to the model [eine Folge dieser wachsenden Hineinbildung in das Vorbild]. (Scheler, 1973a, 580)

Exemplars’ influence makes me will and act as the exemplar wills and acts. I do not will and act in the same way of the exemplar. The first kind of influence is typical of exemplariness, whereas the second is typical of imitation (“Nachahmung”), obedience (“Gehorsam”) and contagion (“Ansteckung”). The spheres that exemplars influence are not confined to the spheres of will and actions: “the ‘moral tenor’ encompasses not only willing but also all ethical value-cognition and preferring, loving, and hating, which are the foundation of all willing and choosing” (Scheler, 1973a, 580). “Gesinnungswandel” is a moral process that can be triggered only by the act of following an exemplar: it cannot be triggered by an order (“Befehl”), an admonition (“Weisung”), an advice (“Rat”) or even a suggestion (“Beratung”).1 Obedience turns to action, while exemplariness turns to Gesinnung (cf. Scheler, 2013a, 1102) and a conversion of my heart is not a mere self-change: exemplariness is not a simple influence of others over me. Exemplariness brings about a radical personal conversion, a radical conversion of my heart: the order of what I love, hate, prefer and postpone changes. I ‘see’ the world differently: subsequently, I ‘see’ myself differently. I grasp values of reality that were previously disregarded and so I discover new aspects of my ordo amoris. The knowledge of my individual destiny changes. This is the reason why we regard exemplariness as a fundamental keystone of the formation of individuality: there are many ways through which others influence me, but exemplariness is the most radical impact that others could have over me (cf. Scheler, 2013a, 1026). Nonetheless, without ‘readiness for being affected,’ such an overarching impact could not take place: readiness for being affected enables me to be affected by exemplars and, possibly, discover new layers of my ordo amoris and individual destiny. Such self-discoveries act as constraints on my process of self-shaping: if I care about myself, I must abide by my ordo amoris and individual destiny. Naturally, I can shape myself regardless of these constraints: in so doing, I betray myself. On the contrary, if I care about myself, I cannot shape myself in a completely free manner: the core of my individuality defines the range of my possible self-changes.

1  “Gesinnungswandel insbesondere ist ein sittlicher Vorgang, den […] nur die Folge gegenüber einem Vorbild bestimmen kann. Solcher Gesinnungswandel (ein anderes als bloße Gesinnungsänderung) aber vollzieht sich primär durch einen Wandel der Liebesrichtung im Mitlieben mit der Liebe des Exemplars des Vorbildes” (Scheler, 2013a, 1112).

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Self-delusions are possible: I can err in grasping the essence of my ordo amoris and individual destiny, as the experience of Valjean shows. Fortunately, self-shaping is not a private process: others as exemplars help us to grasp what really pertains to our individuality.

The Look of the Other Others as exemplars define self-shaping: they are able to see the deepest meaning of our individuality. They see something that we did not notice. Consequently, exemplars’ look is definitively constructive: I see the Other as someone who can help me to know and shape myself, the Other sees me as someone who can help herself to know and shape herself. According to our view, ‘availability to self-reorchestration’ is the necessary condition for exemplariness to unfold. Naturally, the Other is a simple object too: one of the modalities of the Other’s presence to me is object-ness, the Other whom I see is an object for me. This is the reason why we agree with Sartre who maintains that this object-ness is one of the modalities of the Other’s presence. In light of our account, exemplariness is another modality of the Other’s presence. We are referring to Sartre’s philosophy since his view helps us to describe in a better way the look of the Other deemed as an exemplar. Sartre does not deal with the topic of exemplariness; nonetheless, his remarks regarding the look of the Other put in the foreground the difference between two kinds of Other’s look: a constructive look (our view about exemplariness) and an objectifying look (Sartre’s view). According to Sartre, the Other is given to me as an object and a person: the Other as an object is given to me as a person. So, I am given as an object and a person. I know that the Other sees me as an object that is given as a person. Vice versa, I perceive the Other in this way, as an object whose mode of givenness is such that I perceive her as a person. I am in a public park. Not far away there is a lawn and along the edge of that lawn there are benches. A man passes by those benches. I see this man; I apprehend him as an object and at the same time as a man. […] Perceiving him as a man […] is not to apprehend an additive relation between the chair and him; it is to register an organization without distance of the thing in my universe around that privileged object. […] the lawn remains two yards and twenty inches away from him, but it is also as a lawn bound to him in a relation which at once transcends distance and contains it. […] The distance is unfolded starting from the man whom I see. (Sartre, 1992, 341–342)

Thus, the kind of relation between me and the Other is to be described as a relation defined by the permanent possibility of being seen by the Other: “the permanent possibility that a subject who sees me may be substituted for the object seen by me” (Sartre, 1992, 345). According to our view, the possibility of being seen by the Other defines our process of self-shaping in a constructive and positive way (‘from outside’ view on the self): without this possibility, we would look at ourselves only with our eyes (‘from within’ view on the self). As we discussed previously, if I look

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at myself only ‘from within,’ I cannot grasp the potential impact that other persons—as exemplars—could have over me. I need the look of the Other to know and shape my individuality. Similarly, Sartre argues that the Other makes me conscious of myself as being seen by the Other: I have my foundation outside myself. I am for myself as I am a reference to the Other. Moreover, this possibility implies that I can be permanently seen by the Other. According to our analysis, this possibility too is positive and constructive: I can be an exemplar for someone else and someone else can be an exemplar for me. This is the reason why we agree with Sartre’s definition regarding the relation with the Other: seeing the Other means being seen by the Other and the Other is who looks at me. It is worth noticing that a few remarks of Sartre help us to enrich our description of exemplariness: Sartre’s philosophy of the Other contribute to clarify the importance we are ascribing to the Other as an exemplar. While describing the look of the Other and the way in which the person who is seen experiences this look, Sartre argues for a few theses that can be referred to our description of exemplariness. “At each instant the Other is looking at me” (Sartre, 1992, 345) and “I see myself because somebody sees me” (Sartre, 1992, 349): the impact of the Other as an exemplar is to be described as the look of the Other. Exemplariness refers to a specific way in which the Other looks at me: the Other sees my possibilities, especially my untaken possibilities, unknown facets of my individuality. “My possibilities are present […] in so far as the Other is watching me. […] I apprehend my possibilities from outside and through him [the Other] at the same time that I am my possibilities” (Sartre, 1992, 353). We referred to a ‘from outside’ view on the self as the sole kind of look at the self that enables us to really constitute ourselves as personal individuals. “As Husserl has shown, the ontological structure of ‘my’ world demands that it be also a world for others” (Sartre, 1992, 363) and the look of the Other is “a look-­ looking and not a look-looked-at” (Sartre, 1992, 360): self-shaping is not a process that plays out in isolation. We need others since they look at us in a way that we find only in exemplars, who look at our untaken possibilities so as to let our ordo amoris and individual destiny come to light. Self-shaping demands that others contribute to unveil my individuality through their look: they see something that I disregarded. This means that the Other is a look-looking—I am aware that her look could turn out to be the keystone of my process of self-knowledge—and a look-looked at—I may be an exemplar for the Other. The force of others as exemplars consists in their way of looking at us: they are able to grasp something that inherently pertains to us but still it does not concretely take place in us. This comparison between our view and Sartre’s view makes clear that a few aspects of Sartre’s philosophy enlighten our theory. Nonetheless, the main difference between these two accounts comes to light when we consider the consequences that he draws from these starting remarks. In fact, according to Sartre, the Other represents the set of my possibilities and “the hidden death of my possibilities”: Every act performed against the Other can on principle be for the Other an instrument which will serve him against me. And I grasp the Other not in the clear vision of what he

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can make out of my act but in a fear which lives all my possibilities as ambivalent. The Other is the hidden death of my possibilities. (Sartre, 1992, 354)

“If someone looks at me, I am conscious of being an object” (Sartre, 1992, 363): the look of the Other objectifies me. I experience the anguish of being objectified in the experience of being seen. This process of objectivization occurs as a result of a necessary distance between my Being-for-itself and my Being-for-other (Sartre, 1992). For Sartre the look of the Other objectifies me, for our analysis the look of the Other as an exemplar shapes me in a positive, constructive and unique way (see Sartre, 1992, 366). This comparison with Sartre’s thought seems very useful for another reason: his reflections regarding the feeling of nausea help us to comprehend what happens when we are not ready to shape ourselves in light of others’ impact. Without ‘availability to self-reorchestration,’ self-discovery and self-shaping do not occur. Consequently, what we think about ourselves does not change and we even reinforce this opinion. We do not shape ourselves in light of our relationship with the world and others. Indeed, we look at ourselves as static individualities and consider ourselves as such. The feeling that describes this condition seems to be what Sartre refers to as nausea. Naturally, he ascribes this feeling to the relationship between the world and the individual, while we are ascribing it to the relationship between the individual and her gradual self-knowledge and self-shaping. Anyway, his description seems to enrich the relation we are describing now: the relationship between the individual and her individuality. My knife is on the table. I open it. Why not? It would be a change in any case. I put my left hand on the pad and stab the knife into the palm. The movement was too nervous; the blade slipped, the wound is superficial. It bleeds. Then what? What has changed? Still, I watch with satisfaction, on the white paper, across the lines I wrote a little while ago, this tiny pool of blood which has at last stopped being me. […] I roll the paper into a ball, my fingers clutching at the paper; smell of ink; my God how strongly things exist today. (Sartre, 2007, 171)

How strongly my individuality exists today: how strongly my desires and my preferences exist today. They exist strongly insofar as they seem to me unchangeable. I feel nausea in front of my individuality. I see my individuality as something that takes sides against me: I do not recognize myself as myself. “Now I knew: things are entirely what they appear to be—and behind them … there is nothing” (Sartre, 2007, 139): the idea that my individuality is just a mere appearance and there is nothing behind this appearance triggers a feeling of nausea. But when do I experience this kind of feeling? When my individuality seems unchangeable and I look for change. I look anxiously around me: the present, nothing but the present. As my eyes fell on the pad of white sheets, I was struck by its look and I stayed, pen raised, studying this dazzling paper: so hard and far seeing, so present. The letters I had just inscribed on it were not even dry yet and already they belonged to the past. […] I had thought out this sentence, at first it had been a small part of myself. Now it was inscribed on the paper, it took sides against me. I didn’t recognize it any more. I couldn’t conceive it again. It was there, in front of me; in vain for me to trace some sign of its origin. Anyone could have written it. But I … I wasn’t sure I wrote it. The letters glistened no longer, they

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were dry. […] I looked anxiously around me: the present, nothing but the present. Furniture light and solid, rooted in its present, a table, a bed, a closet with a mirror—and me. The true nature of the present revealed itself: it was what exists, and all that was not present did not exist. The past did not exist. Not at all. Not in things, not even in my thoughts. […] For me the past was only a pensioning off: it was another way of existing, a state of vacation and inaction; each event, when it had played its part, put itself politely into a box and became an honorary event: we have so much difficulty imagining nothingness. Now I knew: things are entirely what they appear to be—and behind them … there is nothing. (Sartre, 2007, 138–139).

What if we discovered that nothing is behind our individuality? What if we discovered that our alleged individuality is just a mere appearance that we designed? Nausea becomes the protagonist. Such moments of crisis might represent the starting point for a process of self-knowledge and self-shaping. Nonetheless, how is possible that we come to discover the complete nothingness of our individuality? We can answer this question by considering Sartre’s philosophy. In fact, in Nausea, he explains the main reason that might trigger this kind of self-delusion. For the most banal event to become an adventure, you must (and this is enough) begin to recount it. This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he lives surrounded by his stories and the stories of others, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his own life as if he were telling a story. But you have to choose: live or tell. (Sartre, 2007, 66)

This risk threatens any possible attempt to know and shape myself. This risk consists in supposing to know myself as if I were telling a story about myself (cf. Ricoeur, 1990, 1991). However, if I have to tell a story about myself, I must know myself. In so doing, I am just deluding myself. Just as we delude ourselves when mistaking models for exemplars or when daydreaming about ourselves, so we delude ourselves when identifying ourselves with the plausible and realistic variants of ourselves whose life we transform into a story to tell. Who are we talking about? Are we shaping ourselves when telling about our life? If so, then we are shaping ourselves regardless of who we are, regardless of our individual destiny and ordo amoris. Live or tell: Sartre dwells upon this difference and takes it to extremes. However, his reflections help us to comprehend how telling our life may distort our self-knowledge. Nothing happens while you live. The scenery changes, people come in and go out, that’s all. There are no beginnings. Days are tacked on to days without rhyme or reason, an interminable, monotonous addition. From time to time you make a semi-total: you say: I’ve been travelling for three years […] Neither is there any end: you never leave a woman, a friend, a city in one go. And then everything looks alike: Shanghai, Moscow, Algiers, everything is the same after two weeks. There are moments—rarely—when you make a landmark, you realize that you’re going with a woman, in some messy business. The time of a flash. After that, the procession starts again, you begin to add up hours and days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. April, May, June. 1924, 1925, 1926. That’s living. (Sartre, 2007, 67)

This quotation brings to light a possible risk related to personal individuality: when telling about our life, to what extent do we shape ourselves and to what extent do we posit ourselves (cf. Korsgaard, 2009)? In the first case, we appeal to what we know about our individuality to shape ourselves accordingly; in the second case, we

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disregard our individual essence and shape ourselves randomly and arbitrarily. We are what we want to be, but what about our individual destiny? Though Sartre does not relate his reflections to this topic, he underlines the ineffectiveness of stories that presume—unconsciously—to be true: Everything changes when you tell about life; it’s a change no one notices: the proof is that people talk about true stories. As if there could possibly be true stories; things happen one way and we tell about them in the opposite sense. You seem to start at the beginning […] And in reality you have started at the end. (Sartre, 2007, 67)2

If we consider the topic of self-shaping seriously, we must account for this risk too: how much of our individuality is the outcome of the actual attempt to discover the thrust of our individuality and how much of it is the outcome of the attempt to constitute our individuality in light of our desires about it? As we have already emphasized, it may happen that our self-discoveries do not line up with our desires: before this awareness, we might delude ourselves and start interpreting ourselves as we wish, or we might be willing to reorchestrate ourselves in accordance with what we have discovered. Since self-delusions may deceive ourselves, we cannot presume to know ourselves independently of others’ influence. This is the reason why exemplariness is so important in self-shaping.

 bjective and Personal Orders of Values: O A Phenomenological Perspective The topic of exemplariness represents the possible coexistence between personal and objective orders of values. In fact, the exemplar can have an impact on me because our individualities share a common feature: their essences consist in the “good-in-itself for me.” This influence brings to light another link: my personal

2  Another meaningful passage follows from this quotation. “‘I was out walking, I had left the town without realizing it, I was thinking about my money troubles.’ This sentence, taken simply for what it is, means that the man was absorbed, morose, a hundred leagues from an adventure, exactly in the mood to let things happen without noticing them. But the end is there, transforming everything. For us, the man is already the hero of the story. His moroseness, his money troubles are much more precious than ours, they are all gilded by the light of future passions. And the story goes on in the reverse: instants have stopped piling themselves in a lighthearted way one on top of the other, they are snapped up by the end of the story which draws them and each one of them in turn, draws out the preceding instant: ‘It was night, the street was deserted.’ The phrase is cast out negligently, it seems superfluous; but we do not let ourselves be caught and we put it aside: this is a piece of information whose value we shall subsequently appreciate. And we feel that the hero has lived all the details of this night like annunciations, promises, or even that he lived only those that were promises, blind and deaf to all that did not herald adventure. We forget that the future was not yet there; the man was walking in a night without forethought, a night which offered him a choice of dull rich prizes, and he did not make his choice. I wanted the moments of my life to follow and order themselves like those of a life remembered. You might as well try and catch time by the tail” (Sartre, 2007, 68).

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order of values (my ordo amoris) might be influenced by a different order of values (another ordo amoris). Consequently, these orders of values are personal since they define the individuality and objective since they seem to be different parts of an objective order of values. Otherwise, how can this influence be even possible? With regard to this issue, we intend to achieve two main goals that will enrich our previous outcomes: first, we will argue that axiological objectivity does not mean axiological dogmatism. Indeed, the existence of an objective order of values is inherently related to human destiny (what Scheler refers to as “Bestimmung des Menschen”), and such destiny consists in discovering this objective order of values. According to Scheler, the human effort at discovering this objectivity oversees the changes that affect individual, political and moral dimensions. Our knowledge of our individuality changes, political laws and moral norms change, but the objective order of values keeps being unaltered. Second, we will relate this outcome—the nexus between the objective order of values and human destiny—to the individual dimension, that regards personal orders of values and individual destiny (what Scheler refers to as “individuelle Bestimmung”). In so doing, we will describe the way in which the objective order of values coexists with personal orders of values: there is such a mutual influence that this coexistence is to be described as a way in which we discover our personal orders of values in the effort at discovering the objective order of values and vice versa. Therefore, examining the link between objective and personal orders of values means examining the nexus between human and individual destiny. We will describe the nexus between personal and objective orders of values as a link between individual and human destiny. Scheler argues for an objective order among value-modalities: he describes the a priori relation of rank so as to relate the discovery of this objective order of values to the human destiny. What is this rank? At the lowest level, we find the values ranging from the agreeable to the disagreeable: This modality is relative to beings endowed with sensibility in general. But it is relative neither to a specific species, e.g., man, nor to specific things or events of the real world that are “agreeable” or “disagreeable” to a being of a particular species. Although one type of event might be agreeable to one man and disagreeable to another (or agreeable and disagreeable to different animals) the difference between the values of agreeable and disagreeable as such is an absolute difference, clearly given prior to any cognition of things. (Scheler, 1973a, 105)

The proposition according to which the agreeable is preferable to the disagreeable is not based on observation or induction, but this preference lies in the essential contents of these values. The state of affairs that the agreeable is preferable to the disagreeable serves as a law of understanding external expressions of life and historical valuation: the proposition ‘the agreeable is preferable to the disagreeable’ is a presupposition of all observation and induction. So, for example, it is a priori to all ethnological experience. In the objective axiological rank, the second value-modality pertains to values correlated to vital feelings, values that belong to the sphere denoted by weal or wellbeing: the feeling-states of this modality include all modes of the feelings of

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life: the feelings of quickening or declining life, the feeling of illness and health, oncoming death and aging, strength, weakness. These values-qualities and their correlates also include emotional reactions like ‘being sad about’ or ‘being glad about,’ anxiety, courage, and so on. In the objective axiological rank, the third value-modality pertains to the realm of spiritual values: The main types of spiritual values are the following: (1) the values of “beautiful” and “ugly,” together with the whole range of purely aesthetic values; (2) the values of “right” and “wrong,” objects that are “values” and wholly different from what is “correct” and “incorrect” according to a law, which form the ultimate phenomenal basis of the idea of the objective order of right, an order that is independent of the idea of “law,” the idea of the state, and the idea of the life-community on which the state rests. (Scheler, 1973a, 107–108).

Finally, the fourth value-modality pertains to the values of the holy and unholy: Values of the last modality are those of the holy and the unholy. This modality differs sharply from the above modalities. It forms a unit of value-qualities not subject to further definition. Nevertheless, these values have one very definite condition of their givenness: they appear only in objects that are given in intention as “absolute objects.” (Scheler, 1973a, 108)

This is how Scheler describes the objective order among axiological spheres. Anyway, as Scheler himself points out, these four are independent of what has been considered by different people at various time: the fact that human history is characterized by different kinds of awareness related to these axiological spheres does not affect the objective axiological rank itself. Such changes represent the development of the human awareness related to this axiological rank. This is the reason why the variation in the positive representation of goods ensues from a different degree of knowledge related to the a priori phenomenology of values, but these changes do not affect the a priori phenomenology of values. If we consider the purpose and outcomes of our research, the following question comes to light: how could such an objective order of values coexist with the variations that we actually experience with regard to individualities, political laws and moral norms? In order to answer this question, we have to understand the role that Scheler—in Politik und Moral—ascribes to moral and politics. According to Scheler, a gradual discovery of the objective order of values underlies all historical changes (with regard to politics, morals and individuality) and human destiny consists in recognizing this objective order, which survives individuality, morals and politics and their corresponding changes: how to argue for this thesis? An objective order of values exists, and the awareness of it develops through time: we observe changes in the positive representation of goods, we experience changes related to our individuality, we observe changes in politics and morals, but the objectivity survives such changes. According to Scheler, politics and morals strive to resemble the objective order: human destiny consists in discovering this objective order of values. Arguing for an objective order of values does not entails underpinning an issue of axiological dogmatism. Indeed, arguing for an objective order of values entails underpinning an issue of axiological transcendence related

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to our human destiny. Scheler argues that politics and morals are two independent dimensions, but both of them have to rely upon this objective order of values. He argues for a dualism with regard to the essence of the political actions and the moral actions, the political laws and the moral norms, while his thesis argues for a monism with regard to the axiological system. It is worth delving into this distinction between morals and politics since it enables us to understand that personal orders of values are infused with a lawfulness related to an objective order of values. Politics and morals are autonomous and only the recognition of an objective axiological order has to be the common background of politics and morals. This objective axiological order does not depend upon politics and morals: murder would still keep being a bad action even if it were not deemed as a bad action. Both morals and politics are subordinated to an axiology, which they strive to resemble. Political behaviour and moral behaviour radically differ, although they both depend upon an axiological system. Scheler specifies how morals deals with norms that turn to individuals, while politics deals with laws that turn to communities like the State. According to Scheler, the State is a collective will rather than a sum of individual wills. However, its existence radically depends upon the persons that constitute it. Far from being a mere sum of individuals, the State is a collective reality. Politics deals with such a collective subject to which we cannot ascribe the same acts that we ascribe to individual subjects—with which morals deals—for example intentions, desires, and so on and so forth. In contrast to politics, morals could make room for pure altruism and sacrifice since it deals with individuals, rather than collective subjects, and since morals’ values exceed the axiological sphere typical of politics, that is, the one correlated to vital feelings. Furthermore, the reasons that trigger political actions do not coincide with the reasons that trigger moral actions. Politics faces with the salvation of humanity, the unique and concrete expediencies of the moment, and instinct for power is its mainspring. Expediencies of the moment cannot be faced by appealing to strict moral rules: politics is the sphere of what is relative. So, what is politics exactly? It is yearning for power in light of the objective axiological hierarchy. Scheler specifies that the values that power strives to realize make it good or bad. Power represents the innermost essence of politics, but if politics were untied to the sphere of axiology—as Machiavelli maintains—then it would turn into mere instinct for power. On the contrary, politics is not a mere instinct for power: politics is yearning for power in light of the objective axiological order and—Scheler maintains—it should be tethered to specific virtues like responsibility, prudence, patience and firmness. Moral norms turn to individuals and relations between individuals, while political norms turn to the State, which is the highest degree of an autonomous community. The fundamental task of human beings—their destiny—is their attempt to better comprehend the axiological order that guides them through their individual, political and moral life. This deeper knowledge we gain is the reason why norms, laws and self-knowledge change, while the order remains fixed. A just politics is a politics that is square with the axiological order, a just morals is a morals that is square with the axiological order, a true self-knowledge is a self-knowledge that is square

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with the axiological order, at least as far we know about it. This is why arguing for an objective order of values does not entails underpinning an issue of axiological dogmatism. Indeed, arguing for an objective order of values entails underpinning an issue of axiological transcendence related to our human destiny. Within this framework, Scheler asserts that the main constraint of the changes related to the political and moral dimension is the ethos of the corresponding community. Ethos refers to the set of rules underlying actions, the rules that oversee every value-preference and value-depreciation. Scheler maintains that ethics pertains to the ethos of the given community and ethos pertains to the axiological system that prevails in a certain community. Ethos itself is liable to change and so alters through time. Besides a collective ethos, a personal ethos exists, and this is the dimension of ethics. Just as the collective ethos is subordinated to an objective axiological order, so the personal ethos should be subordinated to an objective axiological order: what does it mean? Let us recap the main points: political laws, moral norms and ethos change; anyway, a gradual discovery of the objective order of values underlies this historical changes: human destiny consists in recognizing this objective order and the respective orders, which ensue from it and characterize self-shaping, politics and morals. This objective order survives morals and politics and their changes: there is an objective order of values and this is true for politics and morals, but for ethics too. This is true for the collective ethos and for the personal ethos. What does it mean that an objective order of values pertains to the personal ethos? We answer this question through three concepts that we have already explained: the axiological lawfulness of reality resembles an axiological lawfulness of my emotional life, (ordo amoris); when I discover new axiological facets with regard to reality, actually I am discovering new axiological facets with regard to my individuality; the axiological objectivity related to the personal ethos is a personal objectivity, what Scheler refers to as individual destiny (individuelle Bestimmung). This is how objective and personal orders of values coexist: in our effort at fulfilling our destiny as human beings, we fulfill our destiny as personal beings; in our effort at discovering the objective order of values, we discover the objective core of our individuality. Ordo amoris and individual destiny, which are two aspects of personal orders of values, set the stage for the nexus between personal and objective orders of values: ordo amoris is a personal order of values, infused with a lawfulness related to an objective order of values—that oversees my responses to the axiological substratum of the world (and a universal axiology shapes the link between morals and politics)—and ordo amoris is the key to the core of my personal order of values: my individual destiny. Just as reality transcends my knowledge of it, so individuality transcends my knowledge of it. And this happens since the axiological realm is transcendent with regard to our knowledge. The knowledge I can gain of my ordo amoris and individual destiny is a process rather than a goal to attain. This implies that self-revision and self-change have to play a key role in self-shaping and that the knowledge I can gain with regard to my ordo amoris and individual destiny is endless.

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There is an objective order of values that we discover gradually: this accounts for the changes that affect the political laws, the moral norms, and our knowledge related to our ordo amoris and individual destiny. Every personal individual shapes her individuality while being affected by the axiological substratum of the world: the nexus between objective and personal orders of values takes shape in light of two Schelerian concepts, ordo amoris and individual destiny. In order to describe axiological objectivity, we must relate this issue to the transcendence of the axiological realm: this transcendence refers to reality itself and to our individuality—reality transcends our knowledge of it, our individuality transcends our knowledge of it. The transcendence of reality refers to the objective order of values, while the transcendence of individuality refers to the personal order of values: this nexus is unbreakable since the only way in which we can know the objective order of values is through our responses to it, that is, through our ordo amoris, which we discover in the effort at knowing the objective order of values. This nexus comes to light through the personal objectivity of the individual destiny and the personal lawfulness of ordo amoris.

Chapter 7

Exemplariness in Comparison with Other Modes of Influence

If we adopt a ‘from outside’ view on the self, we come to realize the impact that others may have over us. However, there is a wide spectrum of modes in which others seem to hold sway over us: others could have such an impact as exemplars, models or leaders. In the first part of this chapter we will delve into these distinctions so as to highlight the hallmarks of exemplariness. In the second part we will take into account two other modes of influence that we will refer to as ‘personal influence on self-shaping’ and ‘participation.’

Exemplars, Leaders, Models Others as exemplars, models or leaders hold sway over me, but exemplariness is the sole manner of influence that affects the process of self-shaping since it turns to the dimension of a To-Be. On the contrary, models and leaders do not affect the process of self-shaping since they directly turn to the dimension of actions. The dimension of leaders and models is a matter of doing something, while exemplariness is a way of being. This crucial difference led us to linger over exemplariness rather than the superficial role of models and leaders. Nonetheless, it is worth focusing on the hallmarks of leaders and models so as to comprehend exemplariness more specifically. In order to broach the issue of models and leaders, Scheler’s stance on the matter turns out to be a fundamental landmark: we will take into account his theses, reflect upon them and partly go beyond them. If we lean on Scheler’s stance, we realize that exemplars primarily affect a specific way of being and, then, acting and willing: it is why my individuality is affected by exemplars that I change my way of acting. On the contrary, norms and leaders affect a specific way of acting: I change my way of acting, but my individuality is not affected by the leader who ordered me to follow specific norms. Furthermore, © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 B. Bellini, How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality, Contributions to Phenomenology 116, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-81451-9_7

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by considering Scheler’s thought, we realize that leadership and norms show their effectiveness in the social and public life, whereas the effectiveness of exemplars is more obscure and subtle insofar as they strive to shape the deepest layers of our individuality. Exemplariness’ outcomes regard self-knowledge, leadership’s outcomes regard actions: the former pertains to an inner dimension, the latter pertains to a plain and manifest dimension. Exemplars’ impact needs time to affect the plain and manifest dimension of actions. On the contrary, leadership’s impact needs time to affect the inner dimension of individuality: this accounts for the impact of leaders and norms on the dimension of individuality. This crucial difference between exemplars and leaders derives from their innermost core: exemplariness depends upon the axiological nature of exemplars’ individuality, while leaders’ impact is independent of the axiological nature of leaders’ individuality. As long as leaders command and there are those who abide by their orders, they are still leaders, it does not matter whether they command a charity foundation or a gang of thieves. Contrary to exemplariness, Scheler describes leadership as indifferent to values (“wertfrei”): leaders can be saviours as well as demagogues, they can be such in a positive sense as well as in a negative sense, like seducers (“Verführer”). On the contrary, exemplariness refers to a specific set of personal values. This implies that counter-exemplars coexist with exemplars. Exemplariness subsumes adequate and inadequate forms of exemplars, that is to say, exemplars and counter-exemplars. Exemplars spur the person who is affected to reshape herself in light of a new self-knowledge, while counter-exemplars spur the person not to arise again as a new individual, not to discover unexpected implications of her individuality. Most recent works on exemplarity focus on what we might refer to as ‘positive exemplarity’: exemplars are viewed as inherently valuable and attractive, as paradigmatic ideals to be imitated, emulated and pursued (cf. Blum, 1998; Kidd, 2017; Zagzebski, 2017). Nonetheless, several philosophers have pointed out that there is a flipside to this positive view of exemplarity: Alessandro Ferrara (2008) calls it ‘negative exemplarity’: this exemplarity reverses the normative polarity of the traditional reflections upon the exemplars “by pointing to that whose imitation or repetition must be prevented at all costs—or more precisely: that whose non-­ repetition provides the norm for the judgment of all situations” (Badiou, 2001, p. 62). The notion of ‘negative exemplarity’ seems to be useful for understanding counter-exemplars and the different kinds of normative authority expressed by different concrete exemplars. Following Ferrara and Badiou, the notion of ‘negative exemplarity’ seems to be the key to a proper understanding of normative exemplarity. Despite the link between exemplariness and axiology, we do not intend to examine the way in which different types of exemplars embody different sets of values. We are primarily interested in analysing the ontological framework of exemplars: what is an exemplar? However, it is worth mentioning that Scheler, in Vorbilder und Führer, identifies five sets of values and matches each of these sets with five exemplars. If this were our main purpose, then we would delve into the analysis of counter-­exemplars. This kind of analysis is not our main purpose. What matters here is Scheler’s stance on exemplariness rather than Scheler’s stance on an ordered rank

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among pure types of value-person (“Rangordnung reiner Wertpersontypen,” Scheler, 2013a, 1116) and, subsequently, Scheler’s stance on counter-exemplars. We are appealing to Scheler’s stance on exemplariness to account for the impact that others might have over me. Besides exemplariness and leadership, others as models might have an impact on me and this mode of influence differs in a radical way from exemplariness or leadership. Nonetheless, distinguishing exemplars from leaders seems to be quite easy since leadership is distinctly grounded in commands and obedience, while mistaking models for exemplars is fairly easy. Models’ way of influencing superficially resembles exemplars’ way of influencing: the former holds sway over the sphere of acting, while the latter holds sway over the sphere of being and, then, acting. Grasping their hallmarks is an important step in our pursuit of the remarkable impact that exemplars have on the process of self-shaping. The Latin verb that better explains exemplars’ impact is conduco, while the Latin verb that better explains models’ impact is seduco (see Cusinato, 2014). The former refers to a movement that takes place by virtue of the cooperation between the person and the exemplar; the latter refers to a movement that heads towards the person who is drawn and lured by the model itself. Exemplars’ impact needs us in order to actually unfold. Otherwise, this impact remains ineffective. We must be ready to grasp this impact and realize that we do not find us under duress when exemplars bear upon us: it fully depends upon us whether to follow or not to follow the exemplar that has affected us. Naturally, the beginning of this path does not depend upon us: at the beginning we experience just a powerful tug whose influence we cannot master; however, such a path keeps on playing out only on condition that we cooperate with the exemplar in reshaping ourselves. This means that we need to ‘empty ourselves out’ in order to let exemplars have a bearing on us. Otherwise, our view on our individuality represents an obstacle that constrains our process of self-shaping. On the one hand, the exemplar has such a huge amount of influence over me that I question myself and let me be shaped; on the other hand, it is the axiological order—ordo amoris—of my individuality that guides me through this process of personal transformation. I am called upon to discover new implications of my ordo amoris: this is the reason why exemplars do not brush my individuality aside. Indeed, they bolster my confidence in the type of individual who I am to be, they let my individuality come to light, they pierce the allegedly inaccessible core of my individuality and spur me to shape myself. Since we could be deluded into knowing who we are, exemplars are able to shake our confidence to its foundations. This is why we describe the relation between us and the exemplars as a kind of cooperation, whose common goal consists in shaping our individuality. Under the guidance of Maria Zambrano’s remarks (Zambrano, 2003), we could claim that exemplars are like a melody, whereas models are like a rhythm: the former inspires, whereas the latter requires imitation. Zambrano is another philosopher whose remarks help us to comprehend what exemplariness is. In fact, she examines the nature and role of the guía (in English, mentor or leader). In De la aurora (1986), Zambrano maintains that ‘mentors’ hint at and allude to so that the person who is

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attentive to them can find, in herself and thanks to the mentor, what she was searching for. Zambrano specifies that learning and apprehending are not enough to bring about a personal upheaval: what matters is the opportunity we are given, through mentors, to re-experience their path. This idea of re-experiencing someone else’s experiences so as to grasp what we were searching for is relevant for exemplars too. What are we searching for? Thanks to exemplars, we become aware that we are called upon to search for something. In order to let us be moved and affected by exemplars we have to dare to call into question the type of individual we think we are. Exemplars’ sway brings to light questions and doubts we have to face at our own risk. Exemplars spur us to give ourselves a new form: they do not dictate anything to us. This new form—this to-be—is what we are searching for. Every time we imitate someone else, we are erasing our individuality since we are refusing to search for what regards our individuality, unbeknown to us. Following a model is a very comfortable shortcut: I am just camouflaging myself by copying the model in the way she is. I am deceiving myself by thinking that I have already grasped the core of my self. I come to think that I do not have to search for anything. In so doing, my individuality vanishes since I yearn to become what another person is. I do not exist any more since I merely copy the existence of the model. This starting act of copying quickly lapses into further acts of copying so that I end up being dragged by a growing urge. Ultimately, I do not desire any more since I merely try to copy the desires of the model, I do not decide any more since I merely try to copy the decisions of the model. This ‘slippery slope’ transforms my existence into someone else’s existence, my desires into someone else’s desires, my decisions into someone else’s decisions, my individuality into someone else’s individuality. This relation probably leads to envy and resentment: since a perfect imitation is not possible, then I realize that I am not like the person I yearn so much to be. This awareness completely clouds my individuality and, consequently, any possible attempt to shape myself: how can I know what kind of individual I want to be if I do not know who I am? As we have already stressed, the difference between exemplars and models is so subtle that we often mistake models for exemplars. Another reason of this possible misunderstanding is due to the role of admiration, the keystone of Zagzebski’s stance. Since exemplars attract us, we find ourselves admiring them: what, then, is the difference between an imitator and an admirer? “An imitator is or strives to be what he admires, and an admirer keeps himself personally detached, consciously or unconsciously does not discover that what is admired involves a claim upon him, to be or at least to strive to be what is admired” (Kierkegaard, 1991, 245). This description accounts for the difference between persons who follow models—they strive to be what they admire—and persons who dare to follow exemplars—they keep themselves detached, consciously or unconsciously do not discover that what is admired involves a claim upon them, to be or at least to strive to be what is admired. Models even our individuality, while exemplars pick us out among others. Models disregard our hallmarks and differences, while exemplars are able to grasp them and make us stand out in light of them. Models force us to fix our eyes on them so as to become like them and, consequently, we become blind to ourselves. Models make persons

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equal, while exemplars make persons different. Exemplars let differences emerge in order for persons to become individuals. Models force us to copy and imitate, while exemplars give us the chance to cast doubt on ourselves in order for us to grasp the core of our individuality. Exemplars make us derail in order for us to find ourselves, while models make us walk down railway tracks and we end up being someone else rather than us. Models make us walk away from the opportunity of going beyond ourselves in order to know ourselves, while exemplariness is the primary vehicle for all changes. The role of exemplars is so remarkable that Scheler (2013a, 1102) describes the principle of exemplariness (“das Vorbildprinzip”) as the fundamental means that makes possible any change in the moral dimension (“das primäre Vehikel aller Veränderungen in der sittlichen Welt”). Upheavals take place thanks to exemplars and, according to our view, upheavals are necessary for self-shaping. This is the reason why, although being moved by models is tempting (we do not run any risk if we try to be someone else rather than us, we do not have to come to the fore since we are completely overshadowed by model’s individuality), we must resist the temptation to follow models rather than exemplars. Exemplars guide us beyond our self-views in order for us to understand what we care about the most. According to our ‘from outside’ view on the self, we need this distance to know ourselves. On the contrary, models fill this gap and do not make us get away from ourselves: they make us endorse a ‘from within’ view on the self. Thanks to exemplars, I learn how to care about myself: exemplariness embodies a space where I can maieutically shape and re-shape myself. It is not based on obedience, like leadership, or copying, like models: the exemplar is a concretely embodied opportunity I am given to reorchestrate myself. This reorchestration is triggered ‘from outside’ (the exemplar) and, at the same time, arises ‘from within’ (availability to self-reorchestration’). Exemplars enable me to ‘get rid of myself’: I manage to transcend myself, to go beyond the intrinsic boundaries of my individuality, to disregard my own views on myself. Subsequently, exemplars make me free to recognize and embrace my ordo amoris and individual destiny. This cooperation between me and the exemplars highlights the need for an ‘ethics of exemplarity.’ According to this ethics, my process of self-shaping cannot be separated from others, because it depends upon the exemplarity that others typify in light of their individuality.

How not to Mistake Models for Exemplars Models are frequently mistaken for exemplars and, moreover, obedience and emulation towards models often flow into blind and sort of warped obedience and emulation. Let us consider a literary exemplification so as to bring to light this common misunderstanding. In the novel Lord Jim, Joseph Conrad designs an anti-hero who dreams of becoming a moral heroic exemplar. Jim’s fantasises are inspired by his admiration for the

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heroes he finds in light literature. This admiration for the heroic moral exemplars appears to be in line with Zagzebski’s account of how exemplars should motivate: Jim admires these heroes and so he chooses to emulate them. Unfortunately, it is this very desire that leads to Jim’s downfall. His obsession with the grand acts he admires leads him first to feel contempt for minor acts of heroism, because he deems them unworthy of his own greatness. Even more tragically, when the opportunity for grand heroism presents to Jim, he responds with cowardice, abandoning a sinking ship before its passengers have been saved. How to account for Jim’s behaviour? Is he taking exemplars or models as landmarks? If we think that Jim is trying to follow an exemplar then we are mistaking exemplars for models. In fact, Jim’s actions are grounded in an unremitting effort of emulation, which is a trait of models rather than exemplars. Nonetheless, this emulation turns into a blind and warped kind of emulation insofar as Jim does not even wonder how great the distance is between his models’ achievement and his own. Jim lacks an accurate work of self-interpretation and self-knowledge: he does not wonder to what extent the models that he tries to emulate really pertain to his individuality. Moreover, his misuse of the cultural script of the stereotypical hero plays an important role in his failure. Jim’s error seems to be a form of what Bernard Williams refers to as “moral weightlifting” (Williams, 1995). This expression designates those circumstances when a person sets herself an inappropriate ideal in the hope that the attempt at emulation itself will skyhook her into living by the standards imposed by such an ideal. This seems to be a moral error that poses a problem for Zagzebski’s account: is it enough to admire someone in order to have good reasons to imitate her? According to Zagzebski, those who desire to emulate moral exemplars are acting appropriately, even when they are failing to pay any attention to the complicated process of moral development they would need to undertake in order to ever become like someone else. This literary exemplification brought to light a possible misunderstanding between exemplars and models. We can now consider another remarkable way of misunderstanding: the so-called supererogatory acts. From a moral point of view, acts of heroism and sanctity are considered supererogatory, that is, morally good but not morally required. Acts of this kind are usually acknowledged to be extremely praiseworthy. Could the subjects of these acts become exemplars? Do acts of this kind represent a good example to follow? One could argue that a moral agent might be doing something wrong when trying to follow a hero or a saint because of two main reasons. Firstly, heroic or saintly deeds are morally exceptional acts and this means that they are not only beyond the obligatory, but also beyond what is a feasible option for most moral agents. Secondly, this kind of acts often involves uncommon skills and capacities by their agents. It follows that heroism and sanctity seem to represent a moral goal that is not achievable to every agent, but rather exclusive to a few. While reasons for heroism and sanctity appear to their agents as strongly requiring reasons for action, it is not true that these reasons stand as a moral obligation to every agent: this is the reason why, from a moral point of view, they are considered supererogatory. So, which conclusions should we draw from these reflections? Do supererogatory acts represent

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counterargument to moral exemplarism? Or perhaps are they an undesirable outcome for a moral theory? How to account for morally ordinary and morally exceptional? Following a morally good exemplar is not confined to learning how to do it, but it is also about choosing wisely which exemplars we should follow. This implies that moral excellence is morally praiseworthy, but rather exclusive to handful of moral agents. Hence, a good exemplar is represented by moral achievements available to all moral agents rather than the morally best. First of all, this prudential answer endorses a misunderstanding between exemplars and models. Secondly, the issue of supererogatory acts is tethered to this alleged problem: how to select exemplars? How can I choose the exemplars that are suitable for me? If we appeal to Scheler’s remarks we could easily answer these two questions and, in so doing, it will be even clearer the reason why we rely upon Scheler’s stance on exemplariness. If we wonder whether we could follow the supererogatory acts of saints or heroes and solve the problem by claiming that there is usually a gap between these moral agents and common moral agents, then we are mistaking exemplars for models since we are taking for granted that following a moral subject coincides with imitating her deeds. Subsequently, we draw the conclusion that the deeds of saints and heroes cannot be imitated by the major part of common moral agents: they are supererogatory. Scheler makes us understand that models call for imitation, while exemplars have nothing to do with it. We follow models and we follow exemplars, we can choose models, but we cannot choose exemplars. We are affected by exemplars. Models pertain to the sphere of acting, while exemplars pertain to the sphere of being: models spur me to do what they do, exemplars spur me to unveil deeper layers of my individuality. Exemplars affect me by virtue of their individuality and do not threaten my autonomy. In light of this dichotomy, we regard heroes and saints as models insofar as we wonder whether we could imitate their deeds, whereas we regard heroes and saints as exemplars insofar as we wonder whether they could affect our individuality by virtue of their own individuality. Naturally, it is quite difficult that we could emulate their actions, whereas it is sure feasible that their exceptional deeds affect our individuality. It is worth specifying that Scheler does not argue that heroes and saints should be regarded as exemplars rather than models. He argues for the distinction between exemplars and models: we appeal to this pair to understand specific cases such as supererogatory acts. Our overview over models and leaders focuses on a pivotal feature of exemplars: they offer an embodied ‘proof’ with regard to their process of self-shaping. The main thrust of Scheler’s argument is that concrete exemplars are the keystone upon which the whole process of self-shaping depends (cf. Das individuelle Gesetz by Georg Simmel; Scheler, 2013a, 942–944). Exemplars urge us to look at them as exemplars, that is to say, they urge us to go beyond their inherent individuality: we should become able to regard their individuality in light of their exemplarity. Exemplariness is the key to the range of my untaken possibilities: if I care about myself, then I must be open to others’ influence. This means that I must be willing to continuously revise myself so as to ascertain whether my ethos is square with my ordo amoris and individual destiny. Otherwise, if I do not care about myself, it does

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not matter who I am (my individual essence), but it is enough that I continue to be what I happen to be already, to commit myself to being what I just find myself being already. So, we have examined the distinguishing features of exemplars, models and leaders and we have understood the reasons why exemplars’ impact prevails over models’ and leaders’ impact. This account clarifies the differences between Vorbilder and Führer, that is, between exemplars and leaders. It is worth noticing that Scheler employs two further terms while dealing with exemplariness: “Nachbilder” and “Exemplar.” What is Scheler referring to? The English version of Der Formalismus even does not translate the word “Nachbilder,” which is inherent part of the title of a section of this masterpiece. The German subheading “Vorbild und Nachbild” (Scheler 2013a, 1096) is translated into “model persons” (Scheler, 1973a, 572). According to our view, we should translate “Vorbilder” into “exemplars” and “Nachbilder” into “models.” Moreover, Scheler employs a third key term while dealing with exemplariness: “Exemplar.” This term just emphasizes the difference between the concrete exemplar and the type of exemplar that the concrete exemplar exemplifies. The former is an “Exemplar,” while the latter is a “Vorbild” (Scheler, 2013a, 1114–1116). While describing models, Scheler refers to them as Nachbilder. It is worth noticing that there is another philosopher who deals with the concepts of Nachbilder and Vobilder in order to account for a new view on the self. Astoundingly, this philosopher is Fichte, who draws a clear distinction between models (Vorbilder) and replicas (Nachbilder) in order to lay the foundation for a new educational system. This new education aims to shape individuality through models (Vorbilder)—rather than replicas (Nachbilder)—and appeals to autonomy and creativity—rather than imitation. The goal of this new educational system is not simply providing children with a valuable education; it consists in transforming education itself into the art of cultivating persons (“die Kunst der Bildung zum Menschen”). Scheler and Fichte employ the terms “Nachbilder ” and “Vorbilder.” Although the specific meaning that they ascribe to these two words is partly different, both of them deal with these concepts in light of the topic of self-shaping (Bildung). Moreover, both of them describe negatively the impact of imitation on self-shaping: for Scheler, models trigger imitation and exemplariness is the keystone of self-­ shaping; for Fichte, replicas trigger imitation and models represent the keystone of education. So, these similarities spur us to take into account Fichte’s viewpoint so as to enrich our portrait of exemplariness and, especially, this reference helps us not to mistake models (what Fichte refers to as replicas) for exemplars. In Addresses to the German Nation, Fichte draws our attention to a crucial dichotomy between cultivation/self-shaping (Bildung) and education (Erziehung) and, in so doing, he makes a very clear point about their nature: “the means of recovery I promised to indicate consists in the cultivation [Bildung] of a thoroughly new self […] I propose as the sole means for preserving the existence of the German Nation a complete transformation of the present educational system” (Fichte, 2013, 15). Fichte intends to investigate what has been lacking in education so as to identify what a new education is able to add “to the prevailing ways of shaping men

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[Menschenbildung]” (Fichte, 2013, 16). Here we are already dealing with two different items: education and cultivation. According to Fichte, cultivation is the way we should follow in order to carry out a transformation in the current educational system. The reason of this urge lies in the absence of autonomy and creativity in the educational system of his time. Education should aim to make pupils appeal— autonomously—to their creativity and, consequently, shape reality and themselves. Otherwise, pupils will be merely able to imitate reality and nothing new will arise from their actions. According to Fichte, the main problem of the current educational system does not concern any specific religious or moral issue, but primarily a specific exhortation: at his time, pupils are spurred to reproduce models (Vorbilder) of reality. And such a reproduction appeals to overall sayings and faint images. This means that pupils become able to reproduce and not to give rise to newness. This issue of Fichte’s thought recalls our framework of self-shaping and individual essence: self-­ shaping consists in self-reorchestration too. And self-reorchestration—as we will describe—entails self-newness: self-discovery entails our availability to reorchestrate ourselves. And such availability entails these elements that Fichte describes as lacking in the educational system of his time: autonomy and creativity. According to Fichte, education is not to be confined to a mere reproduction of reality: “education is the art of cultivating men [die Kunst der Bildung zum Menschen]” (Fichte, 2013, 16) and so education’s prior task consists in fostering and spurring pupils to shape (bilden) reality rather than to imitate it (Fichte, 2013, 17). “All cultivation strives to produce a being steadfast, determined and constant; one that is no longer becoming, but is, and can be no other than what it is” (Fichte, 2013, 21). Otherwise, education ends up being “an aimless game” (Fichte, 2013, 21). Naturally, we intend to read these quotes in light of the topic that we are investigating in this research. What does self-shaping strive for? A being that is no longer becoming, but is, and can be no other than what it is. This idea recalls two fundamental issues of our analysis. First, is it worthwhile to continue to be what I happen to be? If we are not able to answer this question, then it means that we are just becoming without any goal to attain. Second, we should become no other that what we are: what are we? Which is my individual essence? So, Fichte maintains that education should strive for cultivation. Education consists in cultivation in the sense that it aims to shape pupils’ being; and the bedrock on which it relies, in order to attain this goal, consists in models. Pupils should be taught the capacity to give rise to models for themselves by themselves. In so doing, pupils are not engaged in a mere and passive comprehension of images presented by education: they are engaged in a spontaneous construction of images by appealing to a capacity that cultivation provides them with: “the capacity to spontaneously construct images that are not at all replicas of reality, but are capable of becoming models for reality” (Fichte, 2013, 23). This implies that pupils appeal to a force that enables them to construct images that are models for reality: in light of these models they shape reality. Which is the force at issue? Fichte talks about a creative (schöpferisch) force that stimulates all our energies and grounds in an autonomous activity, a sort of mental energy. Such a force enables pupils to shape models and,

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consequently, shape reality accordingly. “It is clear [...] that this free activity of the mind [diese freie Tätigkeit des Geistes] is developed so that the pupil might with its aid freely outline [entwerfen] a model for an ethical order of actually existing life” (Fichte, 2013, 29). On the one hand, education strives for cultivation, that is to say, self-shaping; on the other hand, cultivation strives for “the capacity to spontaneously construct images that are not [...] replicas, but are capable of becoming models” (Fichte, 2013, 23). According to Fichte, it is exactly this capacity that produces cognition (Erkenntnis): “cultivation is therefore ultimately the cultivation of the pupil’s faculty of cognition” (Fichte 2013, 24). Moreover, “an education that directly stimulates the pupil’s mental autonomy produces cognition” (Fichte, 2013, 26). Nonetheless, it is worth noticing that, although cognition is an essential goal that cultivation is inherently supposed to achieve, “it cannot be said that the new education directly intends this cognition. Cognition follows from the new educational practice only indirectly” (Fichte, 2013, 26). This is the hallmark of the new educational system: cognition follows incidentally and not in an intended way, as the previous educational system strived for. It is possible to summarize Fichte’s stance on the link between Bildung and Vorbilder as follows: education aims for cultivation, since it aims to shape pupils in order to produce a being steadfast, determined and constant. So, cultivation primarily aims for self-shaping and, in order to achieve this goal, it relies on Vorbilder. Fichte regards Vorbilder as models that pupils shape in order to shape reality itself. Subsequently, cultivation aims for reality-shaping too. Now, it is worth making two points: Fichte directly deals with the link between Bildung and Vorbilder, Fichte directly maintains that Bildung has something to do with self-shaping. These two points enable us to put this angle of Fichte’s thought in relation to Scheler’s thought. In fact, Scheler too deals with this link (between Bildung and Vorbilder). According to Scheler, the link between Bildung and Vorbilder is to be explained on the basis of the sway of Vorbilder (exemplars) over Bildung (self-shaping), whereas according to Fichte this link is to be explained on the basis of the sway of Vorbilder (models) over reality-shaping. This implies that Scheler’s stance is able to enlighten the way Fichte deals with the sway of Vorbilder over Bildung. Mutually, Fichte’s stance will turn out to enlighten the way Vorbilder sway reality itself. Far from drawing a comparison between these two completely different philosophical perspectives, it seems that Fichte stance might help us to design a more comprehensive picture of the issue of exemplariness. First of all, three issues bring to light a significant common horizon between these two philosophers. As we have previously understood, both Fichte and Scheler highlight the key role that autonomy and creativity play in the process of self-­ shaping and the lacking role played by the will. Furthermore, both Fichte and Scheler regard education as a process that should foster pupils’ autonomy and creativity through Vorbilder. In fact, according to Fichte, pupils’ autonomy and creativity need to be fostered so as to make possible for them the construction of models for reality. According to Scheler, pupils’ autonomy and creativity need to be fostered so as to make possible the impact of exemplars on individuality. Moreover,

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both Fichte and Scheler deem Bildung as the process of self-shaping, not self-­ knowledge. Bildung deals with being, not with knowledge. The process of Bildung consists in shaping the self rather than intending to know it. Now, by considering these reflections we do not intend to make a comparison between Fichte and Scheler, especially because the two philosophical backgrounds at issue are completely divergent: this gap leads Scheler and Fichte to tackle the issue concerning the nature of Vorbilder in two different ways. On the one hand, Scheler grapples with it from his axiological perspective: exemplars affect our sensitivity and, consequently, our emotional responses preserve their traces. In so doing, they sway our own axiological hierarchy and give rise to a corresponding reorchestration of our own individuality. On the other hand, Fichte turns to the issue concerning the nature of Vorbilder by focusing on the link occurring between cultivation and education: education relies on cultivating pupils, on shaping their being, on letting them construct images as models in order to carry out new models of reality, instead of replicas. According to Fichte and Scheler, cultivation entails self-shaping insofar as it shapes persons by shaping their being and by fostering their creativity and autonomy. According to both of them, this process of self-shaping relies on Vorbilder. What changes is the meaning of Vorbilder: for Fichte, they are archetypes that pertain to reality; for Scheler, they are archetypes that pertain to the self. Thanks to the Schelerian thesis which states that self-shaping means shaping one’s own self in light of exemplars, we could enrich Fichte’s view as follows: cultivation entails self-­shaping not only insofar as it shapes pupils by shaping their being in light of the capacity to shape reality, but also because models—regarded as personal exemplars—are the inherent bedrock of cultivation. This means that, thanks to Schelerian remarks, we could stretch the meaning that Fichte ascribes to Vorbilder: that is to say, they are models for reality and persons. Putting in relation Fichte’s and Scheler’s stance on Bildung and Vorbilder discloses a new perspective: by means of autonomy and creativity, cultivation can be regarded as a process of self-shaping and reality-shaping. According to this new perspective, the concept of reality-shaping is not the same described by Fichte: it has its root and jumping-off point in his thought, but its overall meaning is different. The basic idea is that cultivation as self-shaping turns out to be a process of reality-shaping on the basis of the notion of Vorbilder: exemplars have an impact on individuality and, in so doing, we are supposed to do what Fichte regards as the prior task of the new education: we have to “bring about a particular state of affairs that does not exist in reality [...] [We have to] construct images that are not replicas of reality, but are capable of becoming models for reality” (Fichte, 2013, 23). Shaping ourselves in light of exemplars means letting us be affected by something that is a model for reality and for the self. Exemplars are models for reality insofar as they are models for the self. They give rise to something new in reality: the new self that arises when we shape ourselves in light of exemplar’s impact on us. We do not give rise to a mere replica—what Scheler refers to as models (Nachbilder). On the contrary, we reorchestrate ourselves so that a change in reality occurs: this change is the new self that follows from our self-reorchestration and self-discovery triggered by exemplariness.

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 ow Exemplariness Differs from Personal Influence H on Self-Shaping Exemplars are the most effective way whereby I am given the opportunity to unveil untaken possibilities tethered to my individuality. However, we have to keep in mind that other persons’ influence is absolutely not confined to exemplariness. As Scheler stresses, we have to distinguish the impact of exemplars from the impact of models and leaders, that is, an impact that pertains to the ‘outward’ dimension only. In order to understand completely the hallmarks of exemplariness, we go beyond Scheler’s thought and keep on spotting the differences between exemplariness and other ways of influence: in the last two parts of this chapter we will identify two other ways of influence that, as models’ and leaders’, differ from exemplariness. The cooperation involved in exemplariness seems to imply that a degree of awareness is somehow at stake. In fact, in order to let me be affected by exemplars, it seems I have to be somehow aware of this impact. Naturally, there is a wide spectrum of possible degrees of awareness. Nonetheless, exemplariness requires some degree of awareness to come into play. Otherwise, how could we possible reorchestrate ourselves if we were not aware that we have been affected by something? As Scheler highlights, the more the effectiveness of exemplars’ is deep and incisive, the less we are directly conscious of such an effectiveness. So, what degree of awareness does exemplariness entail? Moreover, where is the turning point? At which point does an absence of awareness make exemplariness ineffective? At which point does a surplus of awareness make exemplariness turn into something else? Reflecting upon these elements that mark the edge of exemplariness will enable us to distinguish exemplariness from ‘personal influence’ on self-shaping. We describe this ‘personal influence’ as another way in which others can have an impact on us. Besides leaders, models and exemplars, others seem to play another kind of role in our process of self-shaping. In Vorbilder und Führer, Scheler draws an insightful distinction between deeply effective exemplars and exemplars we reflect upon. Scheler argues that deeply effective exemplars work in a similar way of ‘artistic laws.’ Artists do not point voluntarily at these laws, but they apply them. The more artists do not point voluntarily at them, the more they become aware of them and their corresponding effectiveness. For Scheler, exemplars work in the same way in which ‘artistic laws’ work. This means that we are not fully aware of what is occurring: we are aware of a change that is taking place in us, but we cannot consciously master the way in which it plays out, as Valjean’s experience showed. This means that exemplariness requires awareness to a certain extent: I am aware that something is happening. Valjean is aware of his angst and doubts: he does not know how to change his life, but he knows that he is changing. He is aware to a certain extent. If he were fully aware, then exemplariness would be reduced to a mere intention, a project that the person intends to fulfil, a goal that he intends to achieve. The priest turned out to be an exemplar for him, because Valjean did not consider him as an exemplar when he was affected by the priest’s exemplarity. It is not a matter of a subjective purpose,

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something that sounds like ‘I want to follow that exemplar.’ Valjean did not want to follow the priest as an exemplar. He found himself affected by a person—a Vor-­ bild—who understands something about his individuality that he had never understood before. The more exemplariness plays out unconsciously, the more its impact is effective. Hence, according to Scheler, awareness does not play any pivotal role, at least at first: if we aim to be affected by exemplars, we will not be affected, and the influence itself does not play out if we aim to master it. Exemplars’ influence is something that affects us unexpectedly. It is not a dynamic we can author. Nonetheless, as Scheler claims, awareness may come into play at a later stage. Exemplariness does not play out if we consciously aim for it, and this is the reason why awareness does not play any role at the beginning of this dynamic of influence. However, even though I cannot oversee the process of influence, I can reflect upon what is happening to me, as Valjean does. Hence, awareness comes into play when we reflect upon the personal change that exemplars triggered: I cannot master the beginning of this impact and its development, but I can make me aware of what is happening to me. The description we have so far outlined is square with Scheler’s perspective: the meaning we related to awareness is square with his view. Nevertheless, there seems to be another meaning related to awareness. This meaning enriches Scheler’s view. In fact, it seems that awareness plays a key role as a necessary condition to let exemplars affect us. We argue that exemplars manage to bear upon us only on condition that we are attentive: this kind of attentiveness seems to be an instance of awareness. Subsequently, exemplariness is a matter of attentiveness rather than awareness: before awareness comes into play, it arises as attentiveness. I must be attentive to the opportunities that might question and challenge my ideas about myself. If I realize that my individuality needs to be discovered and shaped, then I realize that there are circumstances that might greatly affect this process. As Scheler (1973a) claims, our Bildung is inherently an Umbildung: our process of self-shaping is inherently a process of discovery and transformation. However, in order for this transformation to play out, we must be attentive. We face moments that could radically shape our individuality, we meet persons that could radically bear upon us by virtue of their exemplarity, but we must be ready to question what we think about ourselves. It follows that exemplariness seems to involve awareness in a twofold manner: firstly, it takes hold as attentiveness, which sets the stage for exemplariness; secondly, it takes hold as a gradual awareness of the impact that an exemplar had or is having on me. The person who is affected by exemplars is aware of this influence in the double sense we have just explained. What about the awareness of exemplars? To what extent are exemplars aware of their influence? Exemplars do not have to know to be such and do not have to want to be such. This means that exemplars cannot be aware of their influence, while leaders have to know to be leaders and models can be unaware of their influence. If I am a leader, I want others to follow my orders and so I have to be aware of the impact I am having on them. If I am a model, my hypothetical influence is not based on commands and orders, because it is based on imitation: someone could imitate my actions and I might be absolutely unaware that such an imitation is taking place.

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If I am an exemplar, it is possible that I am unaware of the impact I am having on someone’s process of self-shaping. We will argue that leaders cannot find themselves to be leaders without being aware of this status, models can find themselves to be models without being aware of this status, exemplars are such without being aware of this status. Furthermore, the persons that exemplars affect are aware of such an impact in a twofold manner, as we have just discussed: firstly, exemplariness takes hold as attentiveness; secondly, it takes hold as a gradual awareness of the impact that an exemplar had or is having on me. The two remarkable differences between models and exemplars concern the sphere of influence and the sphere of choice: the influence of models pertains to actions, while the influence of exemplars pertains to individuality; models can choose to be models, while exemplars cannot choose to be exemplars. I am totally free to decide to become a model for someone else: for example, if you aim to achieve the goal ‘x,’ I can suggest that you imitate my actions since I have already achieved the goal ‘x.’ Similarly, it could happen that—without me being aware that such an imitation is actually taking place—someone imitates my actions since I have succeeded in achieving the goal ‘x.’ On the contrary, the fact that exemplars cannot choose to be exemplars follows from the innermost nature of exemplariness: I become an exemplar if my individuality makes someone else aware of untaken possibilities of her individuality. This is the reason why models give rise to imitation, while exemplars do not give rise to something identical: far from urging me to imitate them, exemplars give rise to something new since they inspire me to reshape myself in light of the new self-knowledge I gain thanks to them. Exemplars aid me in understanding the type of individual I am and shall become, make me question my degree of self-knowledge, make me wonder whether my life is consistent with the core of my individuality and with my self-possibilities. Exemplariness is a radical kind of impact that others may have over us. However, it seems that we often experience a more superficial impact: we intend to argue that this superficial impact could be named ‘personal influence’ on self-shaping. The range of possible ways of influence is so wide that we have just spotted a fourth way, and the differences between these modes of influence are often so blurry that a phenomenological analysis focused on them is necessary for a comprehensive account of our experiences. First of all, exemplariness and personal influence share a fundamental trait: the person who helps me to shed light on my self-possibilities could be completely unaware of such an impact and could not even strive for it. I am supposed to be as attentive as possible so as to recognize this impact and reflect upon it. Despite this common feature, the crucial difference between personal exemplariness and personal influence consists in the content of this impact. The previous overview on the degree of awareness involved in exemplariness enables us to understand how this content changes from ‘personal influence’ to exemplariness. A literary exemplification turns out to be useful for comprehending this difference. In fact, the novel Scharlach (Zweig, 2015) seems to provide an insightful exemplification of what we are referring to as ‘personal influence.’

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Bertold Berger, the main character of this novel, moves from the country to Wien in order to start studying medicine at the University. Zweig describes how the life of Berger changes in the city: he discovers a new kind of life that totally bewitches him. He gradually neglects to study and overshadows his fascination for the medical field. What raises interest about this novel is that, suddenly, a personal upheaval— an Umbildung—takes place and what triggers such a turning point is a little girl, who lives in the same apartment building. Thanks to her and in light of her influence, he realizes that he was neglecting his deepest fascination and definitively wasting his youth. This awareness spurs him to completely transform his life. Zweig describes in a masterly way the profound relationship that arises between the little girl and Berger. She is greatly sick and he accidentally encounters her. She, as well as her mother, entirely trusts him insofar as they know he is studying medicine. This climax of reliability, trust and dependability makes him gradually aware of his individuality so that he decides to reorchestrate his life accordingly. What here matters most is not the end of the story—Berger dies of the same disease the girl recovers from (scarlatina). Indeed, what matters is the exemplification that Zweig provides about ‘personal influence’ on self-shaping. The little girl sheds light on veiled facets of the individuality of Berger, who gains awareness of untaken possibilities of his individuality and reorchestrates himself accordingly. She helps Berger to comprehend the untaken possibilities tethered to his individuality: she makes him understand that he was not the type of individual he thought he was. His emotional approach towards the world changes and such a transformation enables him to start discovering the core of his individuality and its veiled implications. It is an upheaval that modifies the bedrocks of his self-­ knowledge. She sheds light on the personal vocation of Berger, she helps Berger to comprehend his ordo amoris and his ethos: she makes him understand that his way of acting did not resemble his individual destiny. In light of this new self-­knowledge, an actual personal conversion takes place: it is a radical self-change that modifies the bedrocks of his individuality so that he starts reshaping himself. Again, this kind of impact is possible insofar as others share the same pattern of my individuality and insofar as my individual destiny is not confined to the subjective sphere: it is a good in itself for me. Other persons could better comprehend it and help me to shed light on it attuning my life to it. The girl affects Berger’s self-shaping since she trusts his medical competence (personal influence), the priest affects Valjean’s self-shaping since he comprehends what he cares about the most and how he is overshadowing key aspects of his individuality (personal exemplariness). Exemplars affect me by virtue of their individuality: their Bildung affects my Bildung. Personal influence refers to a more superficial impact: others affect me but there is no link between my self-shaping and their self-shaping. It just happens that their opinions, actions or deeds hold sway over me in such a crushing way that they influence my self-shaping. When awareness comes into play, I realize that the mainspring of this impact is not the individuality of others, as it is in the case of exemplars, but something more accidental and superficial, as it is in the case of ‘personal influence’ on self-shaping.

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How Exemplariness Differs from Participation According to our view, personal influence concerns a kind of impact that indirectly pertains to self-knowledge—I come to unveil untaken possibilities of my self—and self-shaping—I might decide to reshape myself in light of this self-discovery. On the contrary, exemplariness concerns a kind of impact that directly pertains to self-­ knowledge—I come to unveil untaken possibilities of my self—and self-shaping—I might decide to reshape myself in light of this self-discovery. Is this direct impact confined to exemplariness? Is it possible that I have a direct impact over someone else so as to question her self-knowledge and self-shaping, without being an exemplar? Thanks to Scheler we realized that exemplars make us discover untaken possibilities that pertain to our individuality, unexpected facets of our individuality. On the basis of this new stage of self-knowledge, we might decide to reshape ourselves accordingly. This framework entails the following dynamic: others as exemplars hold sway over my self-knowledge and, subsequently, I might decide to reorchestrate myself. This means that I reorchestrate myself in light of others’ influence. A stronger thesis would be that this variation is co-constituted by others: the exemplar is someone that motivates me to perform a variation, but a variation on myself that issues from the other would be a stronger argument. The impact of others is important, but the narrative that I live is also constructed by others, and this seems to be something distinct from exemplariness’ impact. Others’ influence is not confined to an impact on my process of self-shaping (exemplariness, or even personal influence), but it also pertains to the role that others play in my life-narrative. Exemplariness and co-constitution are two different modes of direct impact and both of them trigger a variation in my individuality. However, there are variations in my individuality that I cannot perform on my own and there are variations for which I need others to imagine for me and in this sense give to me. Exemplariness and personal influence regard the first kind of self-­ variations: exemplars make me discover something about myself, a possibility that I could not comprehend on my own since I cannot discover my uniqueness uniquely through what is possible for me to imagine about myself. On the contrary, co-­ constitution regards the second kind of self-variation: there are possibilities that I grasp only on condition that others imagine for me what I myself cannot imagine. In so doing, the Other becomes an author in my own autobiography. This is evident with children: you need to imagine for them a possibility for their own uniqueness. When I tell a child (or a friend) ‘Look, you can be this or do this’ I am here not an exemplar. But I am opening a possibility that they could not imagine and that sets the stage for a possible personal reorchestration. Others’ impact might trigger an autonomous self-variation or a co-constituted self-variation. Consequently, my self-reorchestration is performed autonomously or is co-constituted by the imagination of others. Our life-narrative, as produced through variation of the imagination, is not only impacted by others (directly through exemplariness and indirectly through personal influence), but co-­constituted.

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I will always be defined by the impossibility of imagining myself as otherwise than only the Other can imagine for me, and thus give me as my own possibility of being. There are possibilities that I cannot imagine for myself but which, once imagined, allow me to reshape myself. What it is for me to have a life is to be for-myself as well as for-others. A person, as an individual life unfolding in the world (as a who, not a what), is both self-constituting and other-constituted. My life is not only given to me, but given to others as well, much as others have given life to me […] We need the Other in order to achieve our own proper self-­ constitution and the Other needs us to likewise achieve her own self-constitution. Neither need (mine for hers, hers for mine) is prior to the other. (De Warren, 2017, 218, 222)

De Warren refers to this self-constitution as “participation” (De Warren, 2017, 223): “we are animated by a need for participation: to participate in the lives of Others and to have Others participate in our own lives” (De Warren, 2017, 223). The difference between participation and exemplariness consists in the fact that exemplars motivate me to perform this self-variation, while participation implies that the other person performs such a variation for me. On the one hand, others’ influence plays out as an impact that spurs me to vary and reorchestrate myself (exemplariness); on the other hand, other persons perform a variation of myself and this variation gives me an ‘I can’ that I could not imagine as possible for myself (“participation”). Exemplariness differs from participation since I can participate in the life of the other without being an exemplar. Furthermore, participation calls for a sort of climax since others’ participation in my life intensifies my need of participation: “my need becomes perpetually renewed through her participation. The more the Other needs me to participate in her life, the more my need becomes sharpened to need the Other to participate in mine” (De Warren, 2017, 223–224). There are possibilities that I cannot imagine for myself but which, once imagined, allow me to shape myself: “we need the Other in order to achieve our own proper self-constitution and the Other needs us to likewise achieve her own self-­ constitution. Neither need (mine for hers, hers for mine) is prior to the other” (De Warren, 2017, 222). There are possibilities that inherently regard my individuality but I cannot grasp them on my own: others co-constitute me in the sense that they imagine such possibilities for me. And this is why participation, like exemplariness, is a permanent and unavoidable bedrock of self-shaping: The fulfillment of our need for the Other thus possesses a “singular character.” With the Other’s participation in my life, my need for the Other does not become fulfilled in any form of self-satisfaction or satiation. With the former, I would experience my participation in the Other’s life as condescension or paternalism; with the later, I would arrive at a finality in my need for participation. (De Warren, 2017, 223)

This thesis we are dealing with—participation—brings to light a topic that we have already discussed: as individuals, we cannot shape ourselves independently of others. This occurs because of the essence of our individuality: my “good-in-itself for me” calls for others. Particularly, we described as exemplariness this role of others in our process of self-shaping. This is why we endorse ‘from outside’ views on the self rather than ‘from within’ views on the self. And this is why we are now

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endorsing the thesis of De Warren concerning participation. Others participate in my life. This kind of participation is a form of “living-in.” In fact, in addition to living with others, I live in others and others live in me: Wives, husbands, partners, children, friends, and companions—these are various forms in which the Other lives in me, as participating in the constitution of my own being (and likewise: I live in the Other). Evidently, not every relationship with others has this form of living-­in. Indeed, the majority of our daily and professional dealings with others takes the form of living-with. (De Warren, 2017, 223–224)

Others live in me since I participate in the constitution of their being, and vice versa: What I need of the Other is her need for my participation in her life as well as her need to have her participate in mine. I need the Other to participate in me, and need to be needed to participate in the Other’s life. What binds together this dynamic of participation is a mutual interest in the Other’s life as an investment of my own life. In this manner, we do not just live with Others, but, in those cases when we directly participate in the lives of Others, we come live in the Other much as the Other comes to live in me. (De Warren, 2017, 223)

The kind of self-knowledge I can gain on my own goes hand in hand with the kind of self-knowledge I can gain thanks to others, whose impact can play out as personal influence, exemplariness and participation. In this chapter we have described the hallmarks of these three modes of influence and brought to light the uniqueness of exemplariness, especially in comparison with the influence of models and leaders, whose impact does not affect my self-shaping. However different these ways of influence are, they make us understand that, without others, we would not comprehend the type of individual we are and want to become. We cannot presume to know and shape ourselves without other persons playing a fundamental role in such processes. Others make me grasp untaken possibilities of my individuality and, if I am willing to conceive of myself differently, then I give myself the opportunity to embrace these possibilities in my process of self-knowledge and reorchestrate myself in light of them. These possibilities regard my individuality, but they remain beyond my grasp if I do not adopt a ‘from outside’ view on my self, that is, if I am not willing to question myself in light of others’ influence. Before we move on to the next chapter, it is worth specifying three issues related to this dynamic of influence. Firstly, in light of others’ influence I might decide to reorchestrate myself; nonetheless, in light of our multilayer pattern of individuality we must keep in mind that, while shaping ourselves, ordo amoris and individual destiny are the constraints that prevent us from varying ourselves unconditionally. My spectrum of possible self-­ changes has to abide by the unremitting effort of spotting my ordo amoris and individual destiny. Sure, it is absolutely possible that I decide not to make my ethos square with my awareness of my ordo amoris or that I flow into self-delusions. However, if I care about myself, then I want to discover the core of my individuality and make my life consistent with it. Valjean carries out a personal change since he wants to make his life consistent with the degree of self-knowledge he has gained thanks to the priest. His new self-knowledge represents a constraint for him: he has unveiled overshadowed facets of his individuality and this discovery guides him

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through his process of self-reorchestration. On the contrary, if I am not willing to discover something new about my individuality, or if I experience self-delusions about the core of my individuality, or if I willingly do not accept to reshape my individuality in light of what I have discovered about it, then I am shaping my individuality in a way that makes me turn into someone else rather than me. I am not shaping myself in accordance with my individual essence. Secondly, other persons as exemplars are the mainspring of the most profound personal upheavals. Exemplariness is the deepest way through which my self-­ shaping could be affected. Others as exemplars are a fundamental keystone of my self-shaping since they embody untaken possibilities of myself: they help me to grasp aspects of my individuality that I could not grasp on my own and then it is I who decides whether to reorchestrate myself accordingly or not. This kind of self-­ discovery might trigger personal upheavals, which are a necessary step in self-­ shaping: my Bildung is a continuous Umbildung. Others as exemplars propel me to vary myself in light of what they make me discover about unexpected facets of my individuality: this variation is an Umbildung. Thirdly, in order to let me be possibly affected by others, I must be willing and ready to reorchestrate myself. I must be ready to discover new facets of myself, I must be willing to consider new variants of myself, I must be ready to think about myself differently than I did before and do now. In so doing, I let myself be possibly affected by others. If I were not willing to conceive of myself differently, I would never be affected by others since they radically question what I think about my individuality. It follows that the whole process of self-shaping depends upon an ability that enables me to delve into the spectrum of my self-possibilities and, by varying myself, spot those possibilities that mostly pertain to my individuality and finally reshape myself in light of my new self-knowledge. Throughout our analysis we have referred to this ability as ‘availability to self-reorchestration.’ In the next chapter we will show that this availability entails a specific kind of view on life. In order to broach this topic we will describe this availability in light of our multilayer pattern so as to comprehend the view on life at issue. In so doing, we will enrich our comprehension of the way in which the whole process of self-shaping plays out.

Chapter 8

Availability to Self-Reorchestration: A Panoramic View on Life

We found in ordo amoris and individual destiny the keys to one’s individuality. My ordo amoris and individual destiny make me an individual different from you. Ordo amoris and individual destiny determine a range of possible self-changes that prevent me from turning into another person every time I change myself. I change insofar as I discover new facets of my individuality and these opportunities of self-­ reorchestration do not coincide with mere moments of self-interpretation or self-­ examination. Indeed, these moments of reshaping oneself coincide with moments of crisis, that is, moments that bring to light new facets of my individuality, moments that radically question the type of individual I thought I was and trigger personal upheavals. They might represent a crisis insofar as what I have discovered about myself could upset me: do I reorchestrate myself in light of this discovery? Am I willing to reshape myself? Let us hark back to the friendship between Eisenstein and Schulse. Eisenstein discovers new facets of his individuality: not only does he realize that he is no longer able to love a friend who supports the Nazi ideology, but he also realizes that he is disposed to avenge the murder of his sister. This self-discovery could represent a moment of crisis: do I reshape myself in light of this discovery? This is what Eisenstein did: not only did he break up with Schulse, but he also contributed to make him killed so as to avenge the murder of his sister. Contemporary philosopher Roberta Guccinelli meaningfully wonders how to distinguish a mere variation in character from a real personal upheaval (Guccinelli, 2016, 232). Our analysis deals with radical self-changes that represent turning points in one’s self-shaping. This topic makes room for the issue of character, which could be regarded as a follow-up of our research: how to explain the essence of character in light of the outcomes so far achieved? This issue lies outside the frame of our research. However, it is worth noticing that an interesting starting point for this follow-up could be Edith Stein’s effort of developing a metaphysics of individuality and, especially, her appeals to key notions like individual form, whatness (Washeit) and essential being (see Stein, 2000). Stein (2002) argues that human © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 B. Bellini, How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality, Contributions to Phenomenology 116, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-81451-9_8

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beings are not confined to participate in the universal form of humanness: each of them also possesses an individual form, which has its own distinct intelligibility. She maintains that the universal form and the individual form, far from being independently co-present parts, are seamlessly united to produce the single substantial form and its unique essence. Stein names the form of every single person the ‘individual essence’ (individuelles Wesen). On the one hand, Stein recognizes that individual things share a character that renders each of them an individual: she recognizes that there is an essence of individuality, a form of individuals. On the other hand, she recognizes that there is a unique individual character of every individual, that is, what makes this individual this particular and not just a mere particular. It is easy to realize that these and similar reflections could be fruitfully related to the theses of our research, especially with regard to the individuality of personal individuals, which are not just individuals. The reason why we will not linger over the issue of character is the following: the focus we are examining is individuality’s core, that does not make me become someone else when I change myself. We argued that individuality’s core is inherently multilayer so that the self-­knowledge we gradually gain is always open to possible new self-discoveries. The pivotal hallmark of personal individuality is its ability to reorchestrate itself when a new degree of selfknowledge arises, its hallmark is not its alleged identity through time. Other persons are able to make me know myself better that I can do on my own since my individual destiny is objective and subjective. Our research focuses on this whole dynamic hinged upon self-reorchestration, exemplariness and self-shaping and, in so doing, aims to describe the individual essence. The issue of the personal character is relevant to this dynamic, but it is not its core. This dynamic between self-changes, self-discoveries, ordo amoris and individual destiny enabled us to account for the fundamental issue and enables us to answer these two questions: can I know everything about myself? Can I know myself on my own? We answered these two questions and brought to light two pivotal issues related to the formation of our individuality: the alleged possibility of a completeness of my self-knowledge and my alleged independence of other persons in my effort of knowing myself. We tried to belie these two issues and argued for a thesis that shows how these two questions cannot be treated separately: other persons play a key role in my process of self-knowledge since they make me discover untaken possibilities of myself. This means that others as exemplars make me discover veiled facets and new layers of my individuality. Specifically, we could not succeed in grasping these layers without others’ impact since we simply ignore the existence of such possibilities. The point is that this ‘ignorance’ does not stem from me since the degree of self-knowledge I can gain on my own is restricted: the core of my individuality is a good in itself, not only for me. It follows that, if I am not willing to make myself possibly affected by others, the whole meaning of my individuality will remain beyond my grasp. This implies that there is no an outright end of the process of self-knowledge since other persons could make me grasp untaken possibilities of my individuality that otherwise I would never grasp.

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Others comprehend something that pertains to my individuality although it does not take place yet: this ‘something’ is a possibility related to my individual essence, but it is still untaken. Others hold sway over my self-knowledge and so untaken possibilities of my individuality might come to light, but if I am not willing to question and vary myself in light of this impact, then I will find myself entrapped within my opinions regarding my individuality. If I am not willing to reinvent myself in light of others’ influence, then my process of self-shaping goes astray. Within a wide spectrum of self-possibilities, others make me grasp the range of my self-­possibilities in a twofold manner: they make me grasp my self-possibilities (exemplariness) or they grasp my self-possibilities and bring them to light for me, because I would not be able to grasp them on my own (“participation”). We cannot presume to know ourselves if we are not open to others’ impact on us. There are possibilities that stem from our individuality that are still untaken since we cannot grasp them: we need others to grasp them. This implies that individuality itself is not something steady and static. Others’ impact might give rise to radical self-reorchestrations and personal upheavals: what defines the innermost core of my individuality is the process itself that leads me to gradually discover myself, know myself and then shape and reshape myself accordingly. Who really am I? In a wonderful novel by Stefan Zweig (Rausch der Verwandlung), we find the description of the turning point that occurs in the life of the young Christine: the main character poses the question as to what her individuality really is (Zweig, 2015, 51). This question stems from a more radical doubt: how is it possible that I suddenly feel different from before? What set the stage for such a crucial self-change? Since it occurs to me that sometimes I face circumstances that make new facets of my individuality emerge so that I discover something new about my self and I feel a different individual, who really am I? Our thesis revolving around availability to self-reorchestration, self-shaping and exemplariness entails two issues that we cannot take for granted. The fact that we are able to reorchestrate ourselves in light of others’ influence or in light of a new comprehension regarding a deeper layer of ourselves entails the possibility that our personal life is given to us in experience as a whole and the possibility that availability to self-reorchestration is not enough when the self-discovery at issue is devastating. This chapter will deal with these two topics.

 ife Graspable as a Whole: The Possibility That Our Life Is L Given to Us in Experience as a Whole In this section we will discuss the following thesis: when I grasp something new regarding the core of my individuality, then I am ascribing a new meaning to my past and considering my past and future life as a whole: I reorchestrate the sense of my past so as to shape my future in a different way. This triggers two questions: firstly, why does self-reorchestration entail ascribing a new meaning to my past and

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considering my life as a whole? Secondly, how could we account for the ability to cast a panoramic view on life? We succeed in answering the first question if we realize that, when I am faced with a breaking point in the formation of my individuality, I am given the opportunity to reshape myself (in the future) on condition that I ascribe a new meaning to my past. We are arguing that a panoramic view on life (considering my life as a whole) sets the stage for any possible coherent self-reorchestration. When I am faced with a breaking point in the formation of my individuality, it is this kind of view that enables me to reorchestrate myself in a coherent way. Such a coherence depends upon the fact that this kind of view enables me to give rise to a connection between the type of individual I think I am now and the type of individual I thought I was in the past. When I discover something new about my self, I experience a breaking point in my process of self-shaping: I am no longer the individual I thought I was. I discovered that that individual is not me any more. I am a new individual. I am a new individual, that breaks up with a friend (Eisenstein) or stop robbing persons (Valjean). How could such a personal change coexist with the past version of myself? It is a panoramic view on my whole life that allows me to ascribe a new meaning to my past so as to reshape myself in light of my new self-knowledge. So, with regard to the past, this panoramic view on life is tied to self-revision: I reorchestrate myself by ascribing a different and new meaning to my past. Moreover, this panoramic view on life refers to the future too since the personal reorchestration at stake strives for a change in the future: self-revision and self-shaping are related to the past, to which I ascribe a new meaning, but they refer to the future too. In order to understand the reason why self-reorchestration relies upon a view that involves both past and future, let us consider the following example. For instance, if I realize that my individual destiny has nothing to do with my actual career (self-knowledge), then I might try to reshape myself accordingly (self-­ shaping) by wondering which new career could better resemble my “good-in-itself for me.” So, I could decide to take a leave of absence in order to take into account new job offers. This new self-knowledge makes me regard my past career in a completely different manner, but this new view would not be possible if I kept on thinking that my past career is square with my individuality. I come to realize that those past moments of my life were necessary for me to be what I am, but I come to realize that I am not any more that past variant of myself since I have discovered deeper layers of my individuality. In so doing, I am ascribing a new meaning to my past and this self-revision aims to reshape myself accordingly in the future. There is always something new to be discovered about my individuality and its innermost core (i.e., my individual destiny and ordo amoris) and so I am always given the opportunity to re-shape myself in light of my new self-knowledge. This is the reason why self-revision and self-reorchestration play a key role. Nevertheless, a specific kind of view on our life is the necessary condition to set the stage for such processes (i.e., self-revision and self-reorchestration). After understanding the reason why a view on our life as a whole is necessary for self-reorchestration to play out, we have to answer the other question at stake (how

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could we account for the ability to cast a panoramic view on life?). Otherwise, this ability seems to be elusive and vague. To this purpose, let us hark back to Jean Valjean’s experience of repentance: there is a passage in which this panoramic view on life clearly emerges as a fundamental key to any possible self-reorchestration: His past life, his first fault, his long expiation, his external brutishness, his internal hardness, his dismissal to liberty, rejoicing in manifold plans of vengeance, what had happened to him at the Bishop’s, the last thing that he had done, that theft of forty sous from a child, a crime all the more cowardly, and all the more monstrous since it had come after the Bishop’s pardon,—all this recurred to his mind and appeared clearly to him, but with a clearness which he had never hitherto witnessed. (Hugo, 1862, 199)

“All this recurred to his mind and appeared clearly to him, but with a clearness which he had never hitherto witnessed”: this is the panoramic view on life we are talking about. When we understand something new about our individuality, self-­ revision and self-reorchestration come into play on condition that a panoramic view on our whole life comes into play. Only by considering this view, which makes us see our life with a new clearness, we become able to ascribe a new meaning to our past, as Valjean does. We have to delve into this kind of view since it is the necessary condition for every upheaval and, subsequently, it is a crucial keystone of the process of self-shaping. We intend to show that two phenomenological philosophers— Scheler and Husserl—have something to say with regard to this topic. Subsequently, we will rely upon their remarks to account for the possibility of a panoramic view on life. What is a panoramic view on life and how does it play out? Scheler does not directly treat this question. Nonetheless, while explaining the anthropological meaning of repentance he provides insightful remarks regarding an overall view (“eine Gesamtanschauung”) of the peculiarity (“der Eigentümlichkeit”) of the way in which our life flows (“unseres Lebens-abflusses”) in relation to the steady nature of our personhood (the fact that we are persons): One can in no way fully understand Repentance unless one places it within a deeper overall conception [eine tiefere Gesamtanschauung] of the nature of our temporal life-stream [der Eigentümlichkeit unseres Lebens-abflusses] in relation to our permanent personal Self. That becomes at once apparent if one examines the sense of the argument that Repentance is the meaningless attempt to turn a past act into something which has never happened. If our existence as a person were a kind of river which flowed past in the same objective Time wherein natural events take place, resembling that stream even if differing in content, this way of talking might be justified. No ‘afterwards’ part of the river could then turn back over a part ‘gone before’ or effect any kind of alteration in it. (Scheler, 2010, 39–40)

We comprehend the essence of repentance insofar as we place it within a deeper overall conception of our temporal life-stream: repentance is not a force that enables us to change what happened in the past (“repentance is the meaningless attempt to turn a past act into something which has never happened”). This view on repentance would be square with a view on life according to which life itself is like a river that flows as objectively as the natural phenomena do. According to this view, the objectivity of the way in which time flows in nature is in line with the way in which time flows in personal life. Within this framework, what happens at a later stage could

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not influence what has happened previously (“no ‘afterwards’ part of the river could then turn back over a part ‘gone before’ or effect any kind of alteration in it”). But for Scheler this is not how we experience time since we do not experience it as “a uniform one-dimensional and one-directional continuum, lacking the tripartition into past, present and future” (Scheler, 2010, 39). This is “the continuous flux of inanimate nature” (Scheler, 2010, 39). The way in which we experience time is different: in every moment of our life, the structure and idea of the entirety of our life and personal selfhood (“die Struktur und Idee des Ganzen unseres Lebens und unserer Person”) are together present (“mitgegenwärtig”) to us. Scheler is claiming that we are able to grasp the structure and idea of the entirety of our life and personal selfhood since in every moment of our life this idea is present to us: Every single one of these life-moments, corresponding with just one indivisible point of objective Time, contains within itself its three extensions: the experienced past, the present being experienced and the future, whose ingredients are constituted by awareness, immediate memory and immediate expectation. It is by virtue of this wonderful fact that—perhaps not the material reality—but the sense and worth of the whole of our life [der Sinn und der Wert des Ganzen unseres Lebens] still come, at every moment of our life, within the scope of our freedom of action. (Scheler, 2010, 39–40)

“Eine Gesamtanschauung,” “die Struktur und Idee des Ganzen unseres Lebens und unserer Person” and—as we have just read—“der Sinn und der Wert des Ganzen unseres Lebens”: all these concepts refer to the same issue: we are constantly given the opportunity to grasp our life as a whole. This sort of panoramic view on life is such that I can always interpret my past in a different manner and—according to Scheler—this possibility of self-revision culminates in repentance: We are not the disposers merely of our future; there is also no part of our past life which— while its component natural reality is of course less freely alterable than the future—might not still be genuinely altered in its meaning and worth, through entering our life’s total significance [in den Gesamtsinn unseres Lebens] as a constituent of the self-revision which is always possible. (Scheler, 2010, 40)

The German expression “der Gesamtsinn unseres Lebens” strengthens the thesis we are discussing here, that is, Scheler employs a wide spectrum of expressions that refer to our ability to grasp life as whole: “eine Gesamtanschauung,” “die Struktur und Idee des Ganzen unseres Lebens und unserer Person,” “der Sinn und der Wert des Ganzen unseres Lebens,” “der Gesamtsinn unseres Lebens.” Our ability to grasp life as whole is, for Scheler, the basis on which repentance plays out, and a reorchestration of our past and self could actually take place. As long as we are alive, we can ascribe a new meaning to our past: “before our life comes to an end the whole of the past, at least with respect to its significance, never ceases to present us with the problem of what we are going to make of it” (Scheler, 2010, 40). Only death makes our past unchangeable in its meaning: The total efficacy of an event is, in the texture of life, bound up with its full significance and final value, every event of our past remains indeterminate in its significance and incomplete in value until it has yielded all its potential effects. Only when seen in the whole context of life, only when we are dead […] does such an event take on the completed significance and

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‘unalterability’ which render it a fact such as past events in nature are from their inception. (Scheler, 2010, 40)

For Scheler repentance is the key to an endless reorchestration of the meaning of my past and the sense of my self: repentance demands and entails this kind of panoramic view in order to take place. At a closer look, this kind of view has already come to light in our analysis. In the fourth chapter we examined the distinction between individual destiny (“individuelle Bestimmung”) and fate (“Schicksal”) and argued that Scheler spurs us to regard every accidental event as an inherent part of our individual destiny: it is something that does not depend upon my will but it still happens to me. When we survey a man’s whole life or a long sequence of years and events, we may indeed feel that each single event is completely accidental, yet their connection, however unforeseeable every part of the whole was before it transpired, reflects exactly that which we must consider the core of the person concerned. (Scheler, 1973b, 102)

“When we survey a man’s whole life or a long sequence of years and events”: definitively, we need a panoramic view on life to survey our whole past life or just a sequence of years. Definitively, Scheler seems to think that we are able to grasp life as a whole. It is worth noticing that Scheler does not broach this issue directly but, as we suggested, this topic is implied by his stance on repentance and individual destiny. He argues for the possibility of a panoramic view on life as the necessary condition for repentance and for the link between individual destiny and fate: in so doing, he coins really insightful expressions like “eine Gesamtanschauung,” “die Struktur und Idee des Ganzen unseres Lebens und unserer Person,” “der Sinn und der Wert des Ganzen unseres Lebens,” “der Gesamtsinn unseres Lebens.” If we now move on to Husserl’s stance on the same topic we will enrich these reflections since he directly broaches it and, in so doing, reveals new traits of this phenomenon as weird as vital. This link between self-shaping and a panoramic view on life is of paramount concern: if we were not equipped with the ability to consider our life as a shapeable whole, then every life-embracing decision we might take, after we understand something crucial regarding our individuality, would be confined to a mere series of repeated decisions and acts. Our reflections regarding Scheler’s stance on this topic could be fruitfully enriched through a reference to Husserl’s stance on the same topic. In fact, for Husserl too, our personal life can be given to us in experience as a whole to be shaped and determined: he employs the term “Überschau” to describe the kind of experience responsible for this achievement. In order to account for this notion, we will mainly rely on Husserl’s Die Lebenswelt. Auslegungen der vorgegebenen Welt und ihrer Konstitution (Husserl, 2008) and a remarkably insightful text of Andrea Staiti (2013). As we have already noticed, we are investigating this topic because it turned out to be radically involved in the process of self-shaping: it is the kind of experience responsible for any self-reorchestration. I could not reorchestrate the whole meaning of my self, if I were not able to turn to my life with a panoramic view on it. Within this framework, we are trying to understand the kind of phenomenon that

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this panoramic view is. We do not intend to delve into Husserl’s stance on Überschau, as Staiti does: we just aim to identify a few (Husserlian and Schelerian) coordinates that help us to better understand the kind of phenomenon we are faced with. So, what is Überschau? How is the experience of myself structured so that self-determination is possible and even necessary? Husserl, in attempting to answer this question, progressively focuses on a peculiar kind of act that he terms Überschau […] A possible English translation of Überschau could be ‘panoramic view’ or ‘comprehensive view’ […] Überschau is the kind of act in which we experience our personal life as a whole and, correlatively, the world as the constant horizon of this whole-of-life. In other words, Überschau is a correlative apprehension of totality. (Staiti, 2013, 22)

Überschau is “the originary mode of access to that peculiar kind of totality that our life is” (Staiti, 2013, 22). The fact that we stumbled into this issue while dealing with self-shaping is not casual: Husserl broaches this issue by relating it to self-determination: Granted that I am constantly self-aware and that I do perform acts of self-determination, how do I move from a general sense of myself as enduring self-awareness to the experience of my life as a given, shapeable whole, so that acts of self-determination become open practical possibilities (and even imperatives) in the first place? It is in trying to answer this fascinating question that Husserl discovers Überschau as a peculiar mode of totality-­ consciousness. (Staiti, 2013, 24)

So, we are going to treat two main questions: how is it possible that the accomplishment of a single act becomes determinant for ‘life in its entirety’? What is ‘life in its entirety’? We intend to grasp the phenomenological structure of Überschau. For Husserl, we grasp ‘life in its entirety’ in the ethical dimension since the essence of ethical life is “not about seeking fulfillment in just a momentary activity but about trying to secure genuine satisfaction for life as a whole” (Staiti, 2013, 24). The acts that constitute the essence of ethical life concern life as a whole since they determine my life in its entirety: As for ethical life, some kind of apprehension of life in its entirety is manifestly what is presupposed when we make life-embracing decisions such as choosing our professional career or getting married. No matter what happens with such a decision in the future—eventually its motivational force can diminish and even fade out completely—in the moment in which I seriously make the decision ‘I want to marry this person’ or ‘I want to become a philosopher,’ I am determining my life as a whole and committing it to this particular person or to philosophizing. (Staiti, 2013, 24)

Ethical life has to do with life-embracing decisions and this kind of decisions presupposes a comprehensive view on my life in its entirety. The examples that Staiti takes into account—‘I want to marry this person,’ ‘I want to become a philosopher’—hark back to the chapters of our analysis where we dealt with the Idea in Husserl’s thought and Scheler’s notion of individual destiny. These concepts entail life-embracing decisions. Let us read Husserl’s words describing this kind of comprehensive decisions: The human being does not posit for himself only singular goals and then—in case of failure—try to attain new singular goals. Rather the human being posits for himself “­ life-­goals”

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and envisages a “methodology” for his practical existence. This methodology rests upon a panoramic view on life up to the present moment in its successes and failures, on satisfaction and dissatisfaction so far. (Husserl, 2008, 156)

‘Life-goals’ stem from my self-knowledge (related to my Idea, according to Husserl’s view, and to my individual destiny, according to Scheler’s view) and life-­ embracing decisions follow from it: I want to marry this person, I do not want to kill a person, I want to become a teacher, and so on, and so forth. In our life we take decisions that are ‘comprehensive decisions’ and that, subsequently, need a ‘comprehensive view’ to play out. But we do not have to mistake these ‘life-goals’ for a mere series of indefinitely iterated singular goals, as Staiti specifies: From an external point of view, the life of a person who simply wakes up every morning and makes a temporary decision to do philosophy for that given day and the life of a person who has chosen philosophy as her life-goal may not differ in the slightest. They would, however, differ greatly from the internal point of view of lived-experience. The first person manifestly lacks the comprehensiveness and stability that would make her case a genuine instance of self-determination. On Husserl’s account […] the difference is not in intensity but in the underlying act on the basis of which the decision to do philosophy is made. In one case it is a restricted act, as it were, whereas in the other case the decision is built upon an explicit consideration of life as whole or, technically put, an apprehension of life in its entirety. (Staiti, 2013, 25)

“A life-goal is a goal established in view of my life in its entirety. It is a goal based on a panoramic, as opposed to a partial, gaze upon my life” (Staiti, 2013, 25): if we relate this sentence to the outcomes achieved in our analysis, then the nexus between Überschau and self-shaping becomes clear. The process of self-shaping is based on it: I need to cast a panoramic view on life every time I grasp a new facet of my individual destiny, every time I find myself affected by others, every time I reorchestrate myself. Such turning points of my life need an act of Überschau to really make me change my life. So, the function of Überschau consists in making our life graspable as a whole and thereby making it open to self-determination. Überschau enables us to consider our life in its entirety and take life-embracing decisions accordingly: Human beings can evaluate their own ends not only in the particular, but on the basis of a panoramic view [Überschau] of their own life and effort; with respect to the surrounding world grasped in their panoramic view [Überschau], human beings can ask about the highest end of their lives or about the best type-pattern [Typik] for single positings of goals, which would not result into just what is most beautiful and practically valuable in single cases but rather—in their order and consequence—into what is most beautiful and what is best for life in its entirety. (Husserl, 2010, 11)

Husserl is drawing the line between goal-positing acts grounded in single experiences and goal-positing acts grounded in a comprehensive view of life. These goal-­ positing acts do not differ in degree but in nature: “in the first case we have merely a ‘particular generality’ [besondere Allgemeinheit], in the second case a ‘generality overall’ [Allgemeinheit überhaupt]” (Staiti, 2013, 26). The distinguishing trait of this “generality overall” is its special link with past and future: “the simultaneous grasp of past and future is the peculiar trait of Überschau” (Staiti, 2013, 28). What does this mean?

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Let us consider an example: if I cast a panoramic view on my past year, what am I really doing? Sure, I am not reawakening every single act that I performed in the past year. When I speak about my past year as a whole, I possess it as a whole and I am able to determine it as a whole. It seems to be quite a vague definition, but this vagueness inherently pertains to Überschau. In order to get this point, we must bring to light the traits that make Überschau differ from imagination, recollection or expectation, as Staiti significantly suggests. Firstly, why does Überschau differ from imagination? “If Überschau were a form of imagination, it would not be able to offer a grasp of my real life as unfolding in real and not merely fantasized time. It would offer just imagined life” (Staiti, 2013, 28). This occurs since imagination is non-positional consciousness. Secondly, why does Überschau differ from recollection? As Staiti (2013, 28–30) points out, a recollection reproduces intuitively its content as unfolded in the past. On the contrary, Überschau refers to my personal life as a whole, not only in the past. Thirdly, why does Überschau differ from expectation? As Staiti (2013, 28–30) points out, an expectation reproduces intuitively its content as unfolding in the future. On the contrary, Überschau refers to my personal life as a whole, not only in the future. Therefore, “the intentional content of Überschau, which is our personal life itself, is grasped as ‘being located’ simultaneously both in the past and in the future. This is why, as Husserl points out: ‘the representing and grasping-as-being through Überschau manifestly has the character of an anticipating and vague grasp from afar and this is necessarily so’” (Staiti, 2013, 28). Überschau is not a reproductive mode of consciousness, like recollections and expectations: “Überschau is a simultaneous grasp of the past and the future from the vantage point of the present” (Staiti, 2013, 29). Überschau subsumes past and future from the point of view of present: ethical life demands such a panoramic view since it consists in life-embracing decisions that define the type of person each of us is and wants to be. The vagueness related to this kind of view does not downplay its role. Indeed, it is exactly its hallmark: if such a view were less vague, then it would not be Überschau. The “from-afar-ness” that characterizes Überschau does not impede the intentional reference to life as a whole […] The fact that we cannot visualize life in the same way in which we can visualize a past event (recollection), a future situation (expectation) or a fictional world (imagination) does not entail that the intention directed towards it is bound to remain altogether empty […] In acts of Überschau our total life is indeed given to us but […] its manner of givenness is, so to speak, inherently vague and bound to remain in a certain sense incomplete. The lack of total fulfillment […] can be considered essential traits of Überschau. (Staiti, 2013, 30)

This brief overview focused on the notion of Überschau helped us to better comprehend the act through which we cast a panoramic view on life when reorchestrating ourselves in light of new self-discoveries. Scheler’s Gesamtanschauung and Husserl’s Überschau examine, from different perspectives, this weird and paradoxical act that radically defines the way we experience time, according to Scheler, ethical self-determination, according to Husserl, the whole process of self-shaping, according to our analysis.

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The role that Überschau plays in the ethical life comes to light in another text, although Husserl does not employ this specific term here. In Einleitung in die Ethik. Vorlesungen Sommersemester 1920/1924, Husserl examines the relation between life in its entirety and the individual ought that stems from the Idea, which we discussed in the second chapter. We will take into account this text through the comments of Ullrich Melle, which helps us to understand a few passages of this text: these remarks will enrich the outcomes we have already achieved about the essence of our ability to grasp life as a whole. According to Husserl, the ethical life demands to take into account an endless horizon of future practical possibilities: “the practical domain includes at each moment an open future horizon of practical possibilities that are or might be attainable and that have to be taken into account at the moment of choice” (Melle, 2002, 237). By weighing the practical possibilities of my future life and casting a panoramic view on life, I can shape and change my whole life: Only a person can form an ethical will because only a person has a conception of the wholeness and unity of his life, i.e., of its past and future horizons. The ethical will is the will to change one’s life as a whole and to give it a new form and purpose. (Melle, 2002, 241)

As persons we can grasp our life as a whole: Überschau is a key concept for our ethical life. A view embracing past and future from the point of view of the present is the linchpin of our ethical existence. Personal life is historical; a person has a history. A person is concerned about her history, i.e., about her life as a whole. Therefore, the ethical question is always twofold: “What to do in this particular situation?” and “How to transform my life as a whole into an ethical life?” […] A person can draw together the totality of her previous life and can come to the insight that her first life was neither happy nor good because it was a life of dispersion and drifting or a naïve life guided by unquestioned traditional acceptances. She can then make a solemn decision that encompasses her entire future life from then on […] As it is expresses in a manuscript from 1931: “The ‘I’ must be able to look at, survey, and appraise its entire active life in such a way that all the decisions that it accomplishes and has accomplished can be continually affirmed in the will” (Ms. A V 22, 22a). This ideal of an absolutely rational life is the ideal of a person who would be absolutely true to herself and who would preserve herself in all her acts (Melle, 2002, 243–244).

This meaningful quotation well summarizes the far-reaching compass of the concept of Überschau and, with a few differences, Gesamtanschauung: for I am concerned about my life as a whole, I might come to realize that my past life is not square with what I have just discovered about my individual essence; such a discovery makes me take a solemn decision that encompasses my future life (as Valjean does, for example); in so doing, I look at, survey and appraise my whole life in its entirety. My strive for self-reorchestration calls for a panoramic view on life to actually take place. As we have examined, Bildung is Umbildung and self-shaping consists in upheavals that demand self-reorchestrations. And every single self-reorchestration demands a panoramic view on life, that is, a specific kind of view that embraces both past and future in light of the present self-discoveries.

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When Availability to Self-Reorchestration Is Not Enough We have brought to light the link between the availability to self-reorchestration and a panoramic view on life: when I discover something new regarding my individual essence and start revising myself, my life is given to me in experience as a whole. Now we intend to proceed with our attempt at describing this availability to personal reorchestration, which we deem as a fundamental keystone of the process of self-shaping. Besides its link with a panoramic view on life, there seems to be another link that inherently defines our availability to personal reorchestration: the link with repentance. We realized that our individuality is not a fixed core but a process consisting of self-changes, which inherently define the process of self-shaping so that my availability to personal reorchestration acquires a significant meaning in the formation of my individuality. Among these self-changes, we distinguished self-shaping that brings about changes along a continuous line of development of the individual and self-shaping that brings about changes in the very direction of an individual’s development. The former involves availability to self-reorchestration: since my individuality is multilayer, I can always discover new facets of it and this implies that I should be willing to reorchestrate myself in light of such discoveries. Previous chapters brought to light two links that define this availability: its link with a panoramic view on life; its link with the imaginary regarded as the set of untaken possibilities related to my individual essence (the core of my individuality) and for which I need others to imagine for me (participation) or comprehend for me (exemplariness). Nonetheless, in radical self-changes is availability to self-reorchestration enough? In order to answer this question we might appeal to the outcomes we have achieved by arguing that, far from being a fixed entity, I am a dynamic process of self-shaping and so I might always come to know new layers of my individuality and such self-discoveries spur me to reorchestrate myself. Unfortunately, this answer is not relevant. In fact, we are now posing a further and more radical question: when facing a radical self-discovery and a corresponding radical self-­ change—namely, the kind of self-discoveries and self-changes that exemplariness triggers—how can we reshape ourselves? It seems that availability to self-­ reorchestration is not enough. Let us try to understand why. Through previous chapters we have understood that Bildung is Umbildung: self-­ changes play a key role in self-shaping since our individuality is a process rather than a fixed core defined once and for all. For it is a process, it is liable to endless self-discoveries and the deepest facets of our individuality emerge through radical self-changes. We are not referring to any kind of self-change. Indeed, we are referring to disruptive self-changes that, far from being changes along the same path of development, are changes in the very direction of development. When I discover something radically new about my self, I experience a breaking point in my process of self-shaping: I am no longer the individual I thought to be. I discovered that that individual is not me any more. I am a new individual. How could such a personal change coexist with the past version of myself?

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It seems that, within the wide range of possible self-changes that we can experience, there are moments of self-change and self-revision so disruptive that self-­ reorchestration and self-knowledge cannot act as elements of continuity. It seems that self-shaping might be affected by self-discoveries that are so radical that might threaten individuality itself. We are drawing our attention to radical and disruptive self-changes, which we can name “vertical horizon-shifts.” This expression refers to the distinction made by the Belgian philosopher Joseph De Finance between horizontal and vertical horizon-shifts (see Lonergan, 1972, 40, 237). A horizontal horizon-­shift is an act of freedom which does not entail a fundamental change in the direction of one’s development, no major change in one’s orientation. A vertical horizon-shift is an act of freedom which entails a repudiation of a prior orientation: it is a ‘conversion,’ because it involves a change of direction and a repudiation. In this chapter we are dealing with vertical horizon-shifts. On the one hand vertical horizon-shifts may threaten my individuality, on the other hand they represent the most important moments in self-shaping. When experiencing vertical horizon-shifts, it seems that availability to self-reorchestration is not enough: when I face a disruptive change, the fact that I am willing to question and reinvent myself is not enough. The distinction between horizontal horizon-­ shifts (self-discoveries and self-changes that do not threaten self-shaping) and vertical horizon-shifts (self-discoveries and self-changes—personal upheavals—that might threaten self-shaping) spurs us to treat two questions: how can we face such moments without threating our process of self-shaping? How is it possible that radical self-­changes do not flow into a random and incoherent series of changes? Naturally, this second question follows from the first one: if a radical self-change threatens my self-shaping, then this means that I did not succeed in embracing it into my process of formation of individuality. We will answer these questions by considering the notion of repentance. We will describe repentance as a non-religious force of rebirth and renewal. Arguing for repentance playing a key role in self-shaping is a very controversial issue, but there seem to be good reasons for pursuing it anyway. Repentance is the trait of my individuality that allows me to ascribe a new meaning to my past so as to see my past in light of my new self-knowledge. So, we will describe repentance as availability to personal reorchestration before upheavals: it is the force that lays the foundation for any possible upheaval of my individuality. If we could not appeal to repentance when reshaping ourselves before radical self-discoveries, then the bedrock underlying Umbildung would remain beyond our grasp and we would be forced to admit that personal individuality is the result of a mere sum of personal changes. Naturally, the topic of repentance is inescapably interwoven with the religious experience and this is why we will distinguish a religious meaning of repentance from a non-religious one. In so doing, we will argue that a non-religious conception of repentance accounts for the force that enables us to reshape ourselves when the self-change at issue is radical and disruptive. We will argue that repentance represents a force we appeal to when facing radical changes of our individuality: repentance sets the stage for an endless rebirth before myself since it enables me to reorchestrate myself in a coherent way. Such a coherence depends upon the fact that

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repentance enables me to give rise to a connection between the type of individual I think to be now and the type of individual I thought to be in the past. Naturally, it would be empirically false claiming that this kind of view plays such a role in any self-variation, it would be empirically false claiming that every time we experience a self-change then we experience repentance. Indeed, we are referring only to upheavals, namely radical self-changes that completely turn upside down our certainties. We are referring to those moments of crisis that transform Bildung in Umbildung.

 hat Lays the Foundation for the Possibility of Changes W in the Very Direction of an Individual’s Development? How to describe repentance and distinguish its non-religious meaning from the widespread religious one? Could we consider repentance as a force of self-shaping, regardless of any religious implication? We find in Scheler’s phenomenological analysis of repentance valuable remarks that enable us to argue for the role of repentance in self-shaping. At the beginning of his essay on repentance, Scheler (2010) distinguishes a religious meaning from a non-religious meaning of this term: [Repentance] is a form of self-healing of the soul, is in fact its only way of regaining its lost powers. And in religion it is something yet more: it is the natural function with which God endowed the soul, in order that the soul might return to him whenever it strayed from him. (Scheler, 2010, 39)

Repentance is a force we rely on to give rise to a new start. If such a force is related to the religious field, then its compass is even broader: we do not give rise to this newness, it is God who enables us to give rise to this newness. Without this possibility, when we distance ourselves from God, we are detached from Him once and for all. But repentance is not confined to the religious experience only: “in religion it is something yet more,” Scheler claims. He leads us to distinguish a religious meaning of repentance from a non-religious meaning of repentance: “[repentance] is a form of self-healing of the soul, is in fact its only way of regaining its lost powers.” How to tackle the topic of repentance independently of any religious reference? If we succeed in answering this question, then we will comprehend the role of repentance in religious experiences. This means that we have to comprehend the anthropological essence of repentance so as to comprehend its essence in religious experiences (“in religion it is something yet more” and so its meaning is not confined to the religious area). In order to comprehend the anthropological essence of repentance, it is worth appealing to our experiences and try to deal with the following question: why do we ascribe different meanings to repentance related to the (Christian Catholic) religious sphere and repentance related to the non-religious sphere?

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Regardless of any philosophical analysis, forgiveness seems to be absent from the non-religious conception of repentance: I experience repentance and I have no experience of forgiveness, since forgiveness entails the presence of someone else that forgives me. This is the reason why forgiveness depends on plurality, “on the presence and acting of others, for no one can forgive himself […]; forgiving […] enacted in solitude or isolation remains without reality and can signify no more than a role played before one’s self” (Arendt, 1958, 237). On the contrary, the religious conception of repentance entails forgiveness: I experience repentance and God forgives me. This means that the religious conception entails forgiveness and, subsequently, plurality: it entails a relation that is absent from the non-religious conception of repentance. On the contrary, non-religious repentance does not involve forgiveness and its link with plurality. Moreover, if we keep delving into the distinctions between religious and non-­ religious meaning of repentance, it seems that religious repentance may involve God forgiving me even when I cannot or will not forgive myself. Regardless of my will or repentance, religious forgiveness might come into play anyway. On the contrary, non-religious conception of repentance depends upon my will: if I do not intend to ascribe a new meaning to a few key moments of my past life, then I will not experience repentance. The non-religious conception of repentance limits my availability to self-reorchestration by restricting my repentance only to those past actions for which I am willing to forgive myself. Maybe there is a bigger issue here: either we stand in religion to a merciful and forgiving God or we do not. If we do not, then there is no religious meaning for repentance. If we do, then the attempt to consider a non-religious meaning is an abstraction from the way things really are. We intend to explore the different implications of the religious and the non-religious conceptions of repentance for the possibility of re-orchestration and self-shaping without committing ourselves one way or another. We leave it to the reader to decide which conception is to be preferred. We will argue that a religious (Christian Catholic) conception of repentance coexists with a non-religious conception of repentance, which is not a mere abstraction since it differs from the religious repentance for three main reasons: it depends upon our will, it does not entail forgiveness, it does not depend upon plurality (in the way in which forgiveness does). In order to grasp this non-religious meaning of repentance, we have to take into account another passage from Scheler: We are not the disposers merely of our future; there is also no part of our past life which […] might not still be genuinely altered in its meaning and worth, through entering our life’s total significance as a constituent of the self-revision which is always possible […] It is not repented but only unrepented guilt that holds the power to bind and determine the future. Repentance kills the life-nerve of guilt’s action and continuance. It drives motive and deed […] out of the living centre of the Self, and thereby enables life to begin, with a spontaneous, virginal beginning, a new course springing forth from the centre of the personality which, by virtue of the act of repentance, is no longer in bonds. (Scheler, 2010, 40)

Repentance is a force that allows us to see our past in a new light: we turn to our past and review its meaning in light of the new meaning we ascribe to our individuality.

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Without the possibilities yielded by repentance, we would be unescapably suck into our past, hedged in by it. Repentance makes us experience a rebirth that frees us from our past since it frees us from the type of individual we thought we were. This rebirth brings to light our possibility to hold sway over the past and the future. Naturally, we cannot alter the contents of the past or predict the future. Indeed, we can hold sway over the meaning and sense of past and, consequently, such a power has a crashing impact on the way we live our present and future. Scheler specifies that “we are not the disposers merely of our future; there is also no part of our past life which […] might not still be genuinely altered in its meaning and worth, through entering our life’s total significance as a constituent of the self-revision which is always possible.” Describing repentance as availability to personal reorchestration before upheavals implies that our account of repentance is unescapably linked with the possibility that our life is given to us as a whole. In fact, this panoramic view on our life enables us to revise the meaning that we ascribed to our past. This panoramic view sets the stage for the possibility that the meaning of our life given to us as whole can change. We are describing how to face a devastating self-discovery: since the mere availability to self-reorchestration is not enough, the panoramic view makes room for an overarching self-revision that enables us to transform the radical self-discovery into a radical self-change. Repentance is this whole process of self-discovery that triggers the revision of the meaning of our life—given to us as a whole—and the corresponding self-change. Availability to self-reorchestration and the possibility that our life is given to us in experience as a whole are the two conditions for repentance: they are necessary—they must be present for repentance to occur—but not sufficient—they alone do not provide sufficient cause for the occurrence of repentance. Experiencing repentance means comprehending the self-change at issue: I know I am not this kind of person any more, and thus I ascribe a new meaning to my past. Repentance sets the stage for an endless rebirth before myself since it enables me to reorchestrate myself in a new, but coherent, way. Despite the vertical horizon-shift that is occurring and that spurs me to revise the meaning of my individuality, repentance enables me to reshape myself coherently. In fact, thanks to repentance my personal upheavals do not flow into a random and incoherent series of changes. Repentance enables me to face this vertical horizon-shift in light of my process of self-shaping so as to tether my personal upheavals to a new meaning I ascribe to my past. How did Jean Valjean face the vertical horizon-shift triggered by the priest’s exemplarity? He turned to his past and realized he was a wretched person. He experiences repentance and only this enables him to reshape himself coherently. This is the non-religious meaning of repentance: now it is clear why Scheler describes it as the only way, for our soul, of regaining its lost powers. [Repentance] is a form of self-healing of the soul, is in fact its only way of regaining its lost powers. And in religion it is something yet more: it is the natural function with which God endowed the soul, in order that the soul might return to him whenever it strayed from him. (Scheler, 2010, 39)

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Scheler links the non-religious meaning of repentance with the religious one: in religion repentance is something yet more. We intend to interpret this thesis of Scheler in light of the pattern of individuality we have so far described. Non-­ religious repentance allows me to ascribe a new sense and meaning to my past before myself and, in so doing, repentance sets the stage for a rebirth and renewal. Religious repentance allows me to ascribe a new sense and meaning to my past before God. In so doing, repentance sets the stage for an endless rebirth and renewal that define my relation with God.1 As Scheler points out, repentance enables the soul to “regain its lost powers,” to “return to God whenever it strayed from him”: it is “a form of self-healing of the soul.” God gives us the opportunity to endlessly reorchestrate ourselves by changing meaning and worth of our past actions and returning to Him as renewed persons. Repentance is the sole way back to God, is the sole rebirth we could appeal to in order to endlessly experience the mercy and forgiveness of God. Repentance sets the stage for an endless rebirth before God since it enables us to return to Him whenever we strayed from Him, as Scheler claims. What underlies this rebirth is the inherent possibility of change: thanks to this possibility, the doorway to God is always open. The chance to return to God is always open, it only depends upon our choice. The point is that without the possibility of an endless rebirth and renewal—which repentance makes possible—this chance would be shut off. The possibility of an endless personal rebirth defines the relation with God. Repentance depends upon us, it is up to us. It is I who endlessly has the chance to renew myself, experiences repentance with regard to that type of individual I thought I was. Repentance triggers a personal change that makes me a new person before God. My faith in God is such that the doorway to God is always open. Is there something that prevents me from returning to God? The sole obstacle to God is me. What does this mean? According to Christian religion, the relation that God established with human beings is based on two keystones: mercy and forgiveness. These two are the threads that tie us to God. Through mercy and forgiveness we are given the unconditional opportunity to endlessly experience the relation with God:

1  It is worth noticing that such a role ascribed to repentance is related solely to Catholic Christian religious experiences. Among different religious contexts, only Catholicism entails repentance as an inherent hallmark. Catholic Christianity is the sole religion in which God made Himself human: Jesus Christ is God. He Himself experienced human life and, consequently, human fallibility. For this reason, God’s mercy is endlessly open to human beings. Such a mercy has value only insofar as humans are faced with the experience of repentance. This thrust—hinged upon mercy, repentance, and the full humanity of Jesus Christ—is a trait typical only of Catholic Christianity. This role ascribed to repentance does not work with regard to the other main forms of Christianity, namely Orthodox Christianity and Protestant Christianity. This occurs for two main reasons. First, according to Orthodox Christianity, man was born pure, whereas according to Catholic Christianity man was born in sin. Second, according to Protestant Christianity, salvation occurs by faith alone, whereas according to Catholic Christianity salvation occurs by faith and works. These two hallmarks typical of Orthodox Christianity and Protestant Christianity prevent repentance from playing a key role in the corresponding religious experiences.

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As soon as we give God the chance, he remembers us. He is ready to completely and forever cancel our sin, because his memory—unlike our own—does not record evil that has been done or keep score of injustices experienced. God has no memory of sin, but only of us, of each of us, we who are his beloved children. And he believes that it is always possible to start anew, to raise ourselves up. […] Because even if the Holy Door closes, the true door of mercy which is the heart of Christ always remains open wide for us. From the lacerated side of the Risen One until the very end of time flow mercy, consolation and hope. (Pope Francis, 2016)

If mercy and forgiveness of God give us the unconditional opportunity to endlessly experience the relation with God, what prevents us from returning to God whenever we strayed from Him? If the possibility to return to God is always open, what could prevent me from experiencing, again and again, His mercy and forgiveness? Or, if we put it another way, what enables me to experience God’s mercy and forgiveness whenever I strayed from Him? Since God is willing to forgive me, then it is up to me whether to return to Him or not, but what allows me to give rise to such a return whenever I strayed from Him? It is repentance that makes room for this unremitting return to God whenever we strayed from Him. Repentance is the sole way back to God, the sole rebirth we could appeal to in order to endlessly experience the mercy and forgiveness of God. His mercy and forgiveness do not depend upon us. Repentance depends upon us, it is up to us: as repented persons, God’s endless mercy and forgiveness define human relations with God. Turning is capable of renewing a man from within and changing his position in God’s world, so that he who turns is seen standing above the perfect zaddik, who does not know the abyss of sin. But turning means here something much greater than repentance and acts of penance; it means that by a reversal of his whole being, a man who had been lost in the maze of selfishness, where he had always set himself as his goal, finds a way to God, that is, a way to the fulfillment of the particular task for which he, this particular man, has been destined by God. Repentance can only be an incentive to such active reversal; he who goes on fretting himself with repentance, he who tortures himself with the idea that his acts of penance are not sufficient, withholds his best energies from the work of reversal. (Buber, 2015, 8)

Repentance, rebirth, forgiveness and mercy are the traits that characterize the relationship that God decided—and endlessly wants—to establish with human beings, who endlessly have the chance to renew themselves, experience repentance with regard to those persons that they were or those actions that they did, cross the threshold into God’s mercy and forgiveness. Repentance triggers a personal change that makes me a new person before God. Now, it seems that a doubt arises: if repentance actually gives me the opportunity to endlessly alter myself in light of God, then how coherence is preserved? That is to say, provided that repentance is the availability to reorchestrate oneself, is coherence a goal to bear in mind? It does not seem so. God exemplifies the maximum case of incoherence: He made Himself human; and what is farther than flesh from God’s nature? This means that what matters is openness to God and availability to reorchestrate oneself accordingly, rather than personal coherence.

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So, repentance plays a key role in a twofold manner: it is the linchpin that nourishes the relation with God and it is the linchpin that nourishes the process of self-­ shaping. This double role is due to the inner nature of repentance, whose meaning exceeds the religious scope. Regardless of its involvement in religious experiences, repentance is a force we appeal to in the process of shaping ourselves when facing radical self-discoveries and corresponding self-changes. This means that repentance plays a role in such a process independently of any religious meaning. However, if such a religious meaning were present, then its role would be even broader, as Scheler stresses. We do not have to think that religious repentance and non-religious repentance completely differ. Indeed, regardless of the frame where repentance is set (religious or not), there seems to be a common trait that defines repentance: conversion. Conversion is the core of repentance: it is the upheaval that repentance triggers and demands to arise. And this is the ground where the other distinguishing features of repentance stand out. Nonetheless, it seems that the modification of the frame where repentance is set time after time brings about a radical modification of the role that conversion plays in defining the essence of repentance. The point is that conversion varies its nature depending on the frame at issue. To this purpose, etymological pointers come in handy: from Old French convertir, from Vulgar Latin convertire, from Latin convertere ‘turn around, transform,’ from cum ‘with, together’  +  vertere ‘to turn.’ Generally, conversion refers to a radical change; specifically, this change might occur in different cases: for example, the act of exchanging one type of money for another; with regard to the military scope, a change of front, as a body of troops attacked in the flank; or a change in the units or form of an expression, for example ‘conversion from Fahrenheit to Centigrade,’ and so on, and so forth. The change at issue entails a turning towards ‘something’ and in light of this ‘something’ the change plays out. Religious experiences of repentance entail a turning towards God and the personal change ensues from such a movement. The role ascribed to conversion in non-religious experiences of repentance still concerns a turning towards, but this movement regards a new self-knowledge and the personal change that ensues from such a movement. Hence, conversion in non-religious experiences of repentance pertains to a personal reorchestration that does not take place before God, which is no more the mainspring of this self-change. If we take into account our past life as a whole, we notice how our individuality changed over time. This panoramic view on our life enables us to understand that personal upheavals are necessary for our process of self-shaping. We are not the same, and we are not completely different since we are always us. This apparent paradox is what we named the ‘fundamental issue of personal individuality.’ Shaping ourselves means experiencing self-discoveries that might trigger self-­ reorchestrations. The most important self-discoveries trigger vertical horizon-shifts, radical self-changes that turn upside down our self-knowledge. The point is that this kind of self-change, which represents a conversion, is possible only on condition that repentance comes into play: independently of any religious implication, this means that I ascribe to my past life a new meaning in light of my new degree of self-knowledge. Repentance gives rise to an inherent continuity among the self-­ changes that characterize my process of self-shaping: it enables me to ascribe a new

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meaning to my past every time I experience a radical self-discovery, which might trigger an upheaval that makes me experience repentance towards the type of individual I thought I was. This experience of repentance frees me from the past variants of myself: now these past variants do not resemble the core of my individuality since I have grasped something new about it. I have discovered something new with regard to my individuality and so my past belief related to the essence of my individuality that spurred me to act in a certain way does not resemble my current knowledge of my individuality. Repentance does not turn to actions: it regards the degree of our knowledge related to our individuality. Far from turning to the consequences of past actions, repentance turns to the responsibility of a certain act that does not resemble my individuality any more since my individuality itself has altered in the meanwhile. If we put into brackets the religious meaning of repentance, we come to realize that repentance is the overall condition of the self: it sets the stage for any possible upheaval of my individuality since it enables me, as a person, to become a new individual, specifically, that individual I have discovered to be. It enables me to distance myself from the individual I thought I was and so it allows me to lay the foundation for a radical self-change. It enables me to be the same person even if I become an individual different from the one I was before. Repentance regards what I am not any more. Repentance is the sign of a deep personal transformation and the outcome of a personal rebirth. It is the sign of a breaking point in my process of self-shaping: I am aware of a breaking point between my past and the current knowledge of my individual destiny and ordo amoris. Repentance enables me to give rise to a personal rebirth that definitively distances myself from that past that does not resemble my individuality any more. The perfection that pertains to personal individuality is that it is an ‘unfinished totality’: far from being only ontologically new beings, as individual persons we are also—and first of all—ontologically innovative beings. My individuality does not take shape by being coherent: what defines my individuality is my ability to fail and to arise again as a new individual since I have discovered something radically new about my individuality, about my individual essence. Repentance is a force I rely on to give rise to this new start. Repentance is the force that allows me to see past in a new light and become someone else without turning into someone else. It is the force that warrants change and identity at the same time. The possibility of rebirth and change dependent on repentance brings out our inmost ability to hold sway over the sense and meaning of the past. As an unfinished totality, I can come to know something unexpected about my individuality and every step of my self-knowledge might require me to reorchestrate myself, revise myself and re-shape myself accordingly. Self-shaping is an enduring process, radically open to change and inherently grounded in repentance, which is the force individuality rests upon to never restrict itself to a final stage of self-knowledge. Repentance gives me the opportunity to actually become the new individual I have discovered to be. Repentance is the force that frees the person from her individuality, which is itself a goal to be endlessly achieved. There is no stage where the person could claim: “I am what I now am.”

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This occurs since individual destiny calls for an endless task of self-discovery: there are always new layers about it I could discover and there are points of this gradual self-knowledge that could represent an upheaval for me. In order for these upheavals to actually unfold, I must be equipped with an ability that allows me to free myself from my past self-knowledge. According to our view, repentance does not come into play when non-radical self-changes occur: self-shaping that brings about changes along a continuous line of development of the individual does not involve repentance. This kind of non-radical self-change involves availability to self-­ reorchestration. Nevertheless, this availability is not enough when we experience self-changes in the very direction of an individual’s development. Naturally, every kind of self-change involves availability to self-reorchestration: in order to shape ourselves in light of our self-discoveries, we must be willing to reshape and reorchestrate ourselves. Nonetheless, the most important and challenging self-­ discoveries cannot rely upon this availability to take place: this availability is necessary, but it is not sufficient. Repentance, and consequently the possibility of a panoramic view on our life, enables us to face such discoveries and reshape ourselves accordingly.

Chapter 9

Self-Shaping and Aesthetic Experiences

Repentance emphasizes the pliable nature of individuality, which is not hedged in by fate: as we pointed out, individuality is tied to an individual destiny, which is absolutely open to endless reorchestrations. When I realize that what I know about the essence of my individual destiny is different from my past knowledge about it, then repentance sets the stage for a personal rebirth and a renewal that give rise to a continuity with my past: repentance turns to what I am not any more. Repentance, self-reorchestration, imaginary, exemplariness: the keystones of self-shaping and their corresponding links entail the pliable nature of individuality, as we discussed. Nonetheless, a remarkable philosophical question follows from this thesis: to what extent is personal individuality pliable? In fact, if personal individuality were too pliable, then there would not be a personal individuality to be shaped and reorchestrated. This issue is particularly remarkable since our view entails phantasy playing a pivotal role in self-shaping, which consists in self-­ variation and it is phantasy that enables me to perform this variation. I explore my self-possibilities so as to understand which of them resembles my individuality. Exemplars and ordo amoris act as landmarks in this process of self-variation: exemplariness and ordo amoris are the main reasons why self-shaping does not turn into a random and arbitrary self-variation. Unfortunately, crossing the line while fantasizing seems to be quite easy and potentially risky. What if self-variation occurred without landmarks such as exemplariness and ordo amoris? What if self-variation turned into a mere game that consists in exploring unreal and imaginary selves without any limit (such as exemplars) that guides the person through this process of self-variation and without any goal to achieve (such as self-knowledge related to ordo amoris)? Such questions imply that the appeal to phantasy in self-shaping may occur in the wrong way and this leads to self-destruction rather than self-shaping.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 B. Bellini, How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality, Contributions to Phenomenology 116, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-81451-9_9

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 aladaptive Daydreaming: From Self-Shaping M to Self-Destruction Our analysis enables us to claim that the imaginary—regarded as the set of untaken possibilities related to my individual essence—is a keystone of self-shaping; however, is it possible that this role turns into something disruptive? In light of availability to self-reorchestration, we argued that personal individuality is so pliable that individuals appeal to phantasy so as to devise self-possibilities related to their process of self-shaping: is it possible that individuals appeal to phantasy in the wrong way and end up destroying themselves rather than shaping themselves? According to our analysis, the right way to appeal to phantasy has to do with phantasy as an exercise of eidetic variation where exemplars and ordo amoris act as landmarks: self-variation aims for the knowledge of my individual essence. Subsequently, self-variation is constrained: I do not vary myself unconditionally and arbitrarily. According to this view, the pliability of individuality is the necessary condition for eidetic variation to play out. Nonetheless, this appeal to phantasy and related self-possibilities may occur in the wrong way so that the person, through phantasy, destroys herself and does not shape herself. This is the reason why we will focus on a specific fantasy activity that we could deem as the wrong way to relate phantasy to the self so that self-shaping turns into self-destruction. Maladaptive Daydreaming seems to be an exemplification of this kind of boundless pliability and self-destruction (following from a wrong appeal to phantasy). Maladaptive Daydreaming is defined as an “extensive fantasy activity” (Somer, 2002, 197) and we will argue that this extensive activity follows from the attempt to relate phantasy to the self without the goal of self-knowledge and without the role of exemplars as landmarks. It follows that self-variation occurs without constraints—exemplariness and individual essence—and this makes the pliability of individuality turn into a disruptive quality rather than a trademark that enables us to shape, reshape and reorchestrate ourselves in light of our self-discoveries. Naturally, daydreaming itself is not destructive. Schooler et al. (2011), for example, argue that daydreaming turns out to be useful for broad adaptive functions, such as future planning, creativity, problem solving and dishabituation, which improves learning by means of short breaks from external tasks. In light of these positive effects, McMillan and colleagues talk about “positive constructive daydreaming”: Daydreaming can reinforce and enhance social skills, offer relief from boredom, provide opportunities for rehearsal and constructive planning, and provide an ongoing source of pleasure [...] Singer describes those who engage in positive constructive daydreaming as “happy daydreamers” who enjoy fantasy, vivid imagery, the use of daydreaming for future planning, and possess abundant interpersonal curiosity. (McMillan et al., 2013, 3)

Although we can argue for many of the costs associated with mind wandering, as Singer reports (1975), yet daydreaming plays in our daily lives a manifestly positive and adaptive role. There is a valuable correlation between daydreaming and creativity, storytelling activity, curiosity, attention and distractibility (Singer & Antrobus, 1963). Daydreaming is a quite usual activity and normally it does not end up being

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“an extensive fantasy activity.” Indeed, it could be regarded as a quite necessary fantasized bracket within real life. On the contrary, Maladaptive Daydreaming (from now on, MD) is defined as an “extensive fantasy activity that replaces human interaction and/or interferes with academic, interpersonal, or vocational functioning [...] Although MD seemed to have been preceded by a normal childhood propensity for creative imagination, aversive circumstances were seen to have contributed to the development of MD” (Somer, 2002, 197). MD is an extensive fantasy activity: this means that it is a distortion of a non-extensive phantasy activity, it is an extreme distortion of phantasy. Astoundingly, maladaptive daydreamers carefully design fantasized dimensions where they totally project themselves, even if they are strictly aware of the sharp distinction between reality and non-reality: All subjects claimed that an important function of their daydreaming was twofold: a disconnection from the pain of living and a magical transformation of misfortune into desirable experiences. Subject 2 started using daydreaming to block-out loud and violent altercations between his parents. He said: “These fantasies, basically, disconnect me from situations that are too painful for me. It’s as if it is easier for me to live in fantasy than in reality. In fantasy I can determine what will happen...I create myself a better life...I can imagine I have the things I want so much…a girlfriend.” (Somer, 2002, 203–204)

In order to disconnect themselves from painful situations, maladaptive daydreamers design scenarios where such situations turn into their opposite. The point is that they do not manage to create a balance between these two settings, the real one and the one just fantasized. They are aware of the degree of unreality related to such fantasized scenarios, they clearly know that such scenarios do not mirror reality: these scenarios reverse reality and mirror its opposite. Patients are aware of this entire dynamic. Nonetheless, they act in the real world by ‘staring at’ these fantasized scenarios: Subject 3 who spent up to 8 hours a-day in MD, seemed to understand the inefficient temporality of this coping method: “It’s an escape from what is happening in the here and now. There are many circumstances in daily life that frighten me. Daydreaming helps me not feel the fear…I feel so powerful in my fantasies. Too bad nothing of this power stays with me when I leave my imaginary world.” (Somer, 2002, 204)

Apparently, in MD there is no connection between fantasized scenarios and reality. On the contrary, if one fantasizes in a non-extensive way, a balance between fantasized scenarios and reality arises: in MD, such a balance breaks up. But somehow a degree of connection is still there: these patients refer to fantasized scenarios when acting in the real world. They actually move their body1 and take decisions in light of these scenarios:

1  This is the sole passage of the entire research where the term ‘body’ appears. This note aims to specify that this research does not intend to disregard the bodily component of personal individuals: this component is not taken into account since the main focus is the attempt to comprehend the essence of personal individuality. This note intends to specify that this research is dealing with bodily personal individuals. We are not denying the bodily component of personal individuals: we are just assuming that as individual persons we are bodily individual persons too. Scheler broadly examines the bodily component of individuality: see Scheler, 1973a, 398–424, 734.

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Subject 1 described how an imagined female companion sometimes accompanies him, both at home and outside: “When I am watching a film on TV, I imagine having a girlfriend sitting next to me. We talk about the movie. We share reactions. I embrace her…we snuggle up…this is a very enjoyable, loving experience.” (Somer, 2002, 204)

MD exemplifies a case where phantasy gives rise to warped experiences of reality. This means that the wrong way to appeal to phantasy could rip us from reality and dangerously head straight for fantasized worlds. Maladaptive daydreamers experience a lack of attunement to reality and this leads them to a warped experience of reality: how is it possible that daydreaming flows into maladaptive daydreaming? Where is the turning point? The case of MD triggers remarkable philosophical questions related to the link between phantasy and self-shaping. In order to enrich this starting portrait of MD, the following question seems crucial: does MD involve as-if consciousness and empathy? At first blush, it seems we are broaching a paradox: MD seems to involve and not to involve as-if consciousness and empathy. On the one hand, we could surely surmise that it involves as-if consciousness rather than empathy since we behold how these subjects consciously make believe certain scenarios to be real, although they actually know they are not so. On the other hand, MD seems to involve empathy rather as-if consciousness: it is all but inconsistent to assert that the subject who assesses to go to the cinema with her girlfriend is not engaged in any kind of empathy but just in mere form of as-if consciousness. Thomas Fuchs’ insights come in handy to face with such a plight. In his essay The Virtual Other. Empathy in the Age of Virtuality, Fuchs makes two interesting points: he distinguishes different kinds of empathy and investigates the kinds of as-if consciousness each of them is related to (cf. Plessner, 1928; Winnicott, 1971). By considering this account, we will describe MD as a borderline case of empathy and as-if consciousness, since such traits—which firmly characterize phantasy— here undergo a major change: MD stems from our ability to fantasize and exceeds it. In this essay Fuchs discerns three kinds of empathy: “primary empathy,” which “arises from direct, bodily contact with another person” (Fuchs, 2014, 157), “extended empathy,” which entails the “conscious envisioning of the situation of the other” (Fuchs, 2014, 158) and “fictional empathy” (Fuchs, 2014, 159), which points towards fictive entities. He maintains that only the second and third kinds require as-if consciousness. The former arouses as-if consciousness insofar as it entails “the conscious envisioning of the situation of the other […] a transposition into an ‘as-if’ scenario” (Fuchs, 2014, 158). The latter arouses as-if consciousness in different forms: for example, “I perceive this picture as a picture or this film as a film, that means, I perceive its content as if it were real” (Fuchs, 2014, 160). Now, MD seems not to be an instance of “primary empathy,” since the empathy evoked by MD does not arise from bodily contact with another person. The fantasized person simply does not actually exist: her existence is confined to a fantasized scenario that the subject plainly knows not to be real. Nonetheless, this awareness does not prevent the maladaptive daydreamer from acting in the real world as if such scenario defined a space within reality without being itself real. Furthermore, MD seems not to be an instance of “extended empathy,” since subjects do not appeal to

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any kind of “perspective taking or imaginative transposition” (Fuchs, 2014, 158): a sharp divide between the subject fantasizing and the object fantasized still endures. In order to solve this puzzlement, let us take a closer look at the words of this subject suffering from MD: I daydream to distract myself from the pain of everyday living, to allow some relief from emotional processing. The figures in the scenes I imagine enact feelings that I could have experienced in current contacts with people. I believe the figures also act out allegories of memories I don’t want to deal with, but I have to think about that some more. (Somer, 2002, 204)

This subject pinpoints an analogy between the kind of feelings enacted by real persons and the kind of feelings enacted by fantasized persons: the latter rests upon the former. Fantasized scenarios stem from real life and end up mirroring and warping it. Does this issue strike a blow for arguing that the kind of empathy MD involves is “fictional empathy”? This way seems to be the easiest one: for MD points towards fictive entities, then the kind of empathy at issue proceeds from this feature accordingly. Following this argument, the kind of empathy arising while reading Pride and Prejudice or while watching E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial and the kind of empathy arising while daydreaming a fantasized family are put on the same footing. Is it really sufficient arguing that, in all these cases, “fictional consciousness posits the other as not actually being given” (Fuchs, 2014, 161)? It does not seem so. MD is an “extensive fantasy activity” and so it exceeds the traditional understanding of empathy and as-if consciousness. The thrust of MD consists in a distortion of phantasy: what kind of phantasy are we appealing to when describing MD as a distortion of phantasy? If we refer to the distinction examined in the third chapter, it is clear that MD entails phantasy as pure phantasy rather than free phantasy. We are not referring to eidetic variation, but to the ability to fantasize about scenarios, like when the palace in Berlin hovers before us in the phantasy image. MD entails a distortion of pure phantasy and this is the reason why it exemplifies the wrong way to appeal to phantasy so that self-shaping turns int self-destruction. MD shows how pure phantasy, as an extensive phantasy activity, may come to play a key and destructive role in self-shaping. According to our view, free phantasy plays a key and constructive role in self-shaping, whereas MD is a distortion of pure phantasy that makes individuality seem so pliable that self-shaping turns into self-destruction. In MD we do not appeal to (free) phantasy so as to comprehend our individual essence and reorchestrate ourselves in light of our constraints (ordo amoris and individual destiny). In MD we appeal to (pure) phantasy so as to shape ourselves arbitrarily and randomly. There is no eidetic variation, there is just self-destruction. Pure phantasy enables us to devise scenarios, as we discussed in the third chapter. Regardless of their degree of realism, through these scenarios we give rise to sort of brackets within reality, something that distances ourselves from reality within reality, just as a tent distances ourselves from the surrounding within the surrounding itself. Phantasy enables us to device scenarios that encompass reality. Let us take an example into account: Peter loves travelling, but he has to work hard for the next 2 weeks. There is an asymmetry between what he wishes and what he has. So,

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he starts fantasizing about a wonderful travel around the world and, in so doing, he escapes from reality, he eludes reality. He knows that this fantasized scenario is not real, he knows that reality consists in hard work for the next 2 weeks, he knows that reality prevents him from travelling now. Nonetheless, he devises a scenario where this absence turns into a presence: in the fantasized scenario he is travelling around the world. He devises this scenario and visualizes it (cf. Kosslyn, 1994; Walton, 1990). He is just daydreaming: the asymmetry between reality and unreality does not turn into a break of the balance between these two poles. While fantasizing about his travel, he does not start moving around the room: he is just daydreaming, while sitting in front of his computer. This shallow example is helpful for grasping the trademark of fantasied scenarios: they inherently encompass reality. They do not collide with reality: surely, they reorchestrate reality, but such a reorchestration has no impact on the position of the subject in the real world. Surely, daydreaming could offer relief, contribute to enhance social skills, provide pleasure and opportunities for planning and so on and so forth. Despite all these effects on the subject, daydreaming still keeps on encompassing reality: we just elude reality temporarily. On the contrary, MD does not encompass reality: it is an extensive phantasy activity that tragically collides with reality. The level of fantasized scenarios blends with reality, the two dimensions fully mix, as this patient brings to light: After I see an attractive girl on the street I add her to the girl archives in my mind. At home I can spend hours masturbating while fantasizing about making love to her. I do it over and over again, until I have exhausted the thrill. This is a very old habit. It consumes a great deal of my time and energies. (Somer, 2002, 207)

When daydreaming, we do not make the level of fantasized scenarios blend with reality: fantasized scenarios encompass reality. The feature of encompassment strictly depends upon the awareness that guides us while fantasizing: we are aware that what we are fantasizing about ensues from an absence that we experience in reality, but it has no direct impact on reality. The link occurring between daydreaming and reality consists in the fact that reality itself is the main source of daydreaming and that daydreaming itself produces positive effects (such as pleasure or relief): there are no other kinds of connection. What if this awareness collapsed? If the level of fantasized scenarios blends with reality, then phantasy turns into an extensive ability that enables us to devise scenarios that keep reality out (instead of encompassing it) and give rise to sort of holes into reality (instead of brackets). Reality is no more encompassed: consequently, fantasized scenarios are not just brackets within reality. They are holes within it. They completely collide with reality. It is always a matter of phantasy, but it ends up being a warped experience of phantasy. This distorted and warped experience consists in MD: the distance between scenarios and reality vanishes, even if the contours do not completely fade out. What raises valuable interest with regard to MD is examining how phantasy varies in its features: the distance between scenarios and reality vanishes, these two spheres quite overlap. And two traits that firmly characterize phantasy undergo a major change: the traits at stake that call for a closer look refer to the role played by

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as-if consciousness and empathy. How do they alter from non-extensive fantasizing experiences to MD? Maladaptive daydreamers carefully design fantasized dimensions where they project their lives: they regard themselves as mere objects in the real world and as real subjects in the fantasized world. From their viewpoint, they live in this ureal world and really act in the real world as if they were living and acting in the unreal one. This means that the as-if consciousness at stake is equipped with a creative and active role of the subject, who designs scenarios by means of phantasy and refers to these scenarios while acting in the real world. Creativity is implied since maladaptive daydreamers make up the worlds where they get lost. Activity is implied since such worlds hold sway over the way in which these subjects act in the real world. The empathy stemming from reading the history of Anna Karenina entails neither a creative nor an active role of the subject. Surely, some form of perception is involved in empathy, but this is not the sense of activity here at stake. Creativity and activity do not define fictional empathy: the subject does not make the history up and, moreover, does not act in the real world as if she were acting in the world of Anna Karenina. No matter to what extent the subject could be moved by a history listened to, read or watched, surely she will not try to shape the real world in light of the fictional world and then act in this world as if she were acting in the real one. This pair characterizes MD only: no activity without creativity and no creativity without activity. What these patients build up holds sway over real life. This kind of engagement is out of the frame in fictional empathy. The instances of empathy and as-if consciousness that MD entails are imbued with a numbing feeling of reality. Such a feeling blurs the contours between fantasized scenarios and reality and, at the same time, rests on a sharp awareness of such contours. This numbing feeling of reality cripples a balanced acting in the real world as well as a balanced fantasizing in the fantasized scenarios. Reality demands a fictional refill that only daydreaming seems to provide: maladaptive daydreamers appeal to daydreaming and then push the envelope by conflating themselves into the scenarios they imagine through phantasy. Both MD and simple daydreaming ensue from a desire: I wish to reorchestrate reality since it does not fulfil my desires as I wish. The point is that, if I am just daydreaming, then such a reorchestration has an impact on my emotional dimension only: for example, I can feel relieved. On the contrary, this reorchestration works differently with regard to maladaptive daydreamers: it has a crashing impact on the way they act in the real world. The level of the fantasized scenario blends with the level of reality. The fantasized scenario is no more a bracket within reality: it is a hole that collides with reality. The primary source of this overlapping is an attempt to fulfil an emotional difference: I wish to have something I do not have or I wish to be someone I am not. I am basically a very lonely person who is uncomfortable around people. In my daydreaming I used to bring real people into my life, that is, people I would have liked to talk to but felt to awkward to strike up a conversation with. The fantasies provided me with company and made me feel not only like a normal human being but also loved and socially confident ... in imagined arguments I could have the last say. (Somer, 2002, 205)

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We could surmise that MD springs from a non-maladaptive attempt to fulfil an emotional difference and flows into a maladaptive desire to live in the real world in accordance with a fantasized scenario that fulfils such a difference. The case of MD consists in the distortion of the nature of fantasized scenarios: far from being brackets within reality they turn into holes within reality. Consequently, self-shaping turns into self-destruction and the constructive role of free phantasy in self-­ reorchestration turns into the maladaptive role of pure phantasy in self-destruction. Without free phantasy, we would not be able to reshape ourselves when discovering something new regarding our individual destiny: such self-discoveries—that inherently characterize self-shaping—may trigger corresponding self-changes that only phantasy enables us to actually perform. In fact, phantasy enables us to vary and reorchestrate ourselves in light of what we have discovered about our individuality. However, this self-­fantasizing is not unconditional: we appeal to exemplars in order to know how to vary ourselves, and we aim for our individual essence in order to know our ordo amoris and individual destiny.

Phantasy and Aesthetic Experiences According to our view, it seems that pure phantasy cannot play a positive role in self-shaping: it can provide us with relief, but we cannot appeal to it as a means useful for shaping ourselves. On the contrary, free phantasy plays a crucial role in self-­ shaping and exemplars act as landmarks in this process of self-variation. In order to enrich our portrait focused on the link between phantasy and self-shaping, we wonder whether there is a specific case in which the appeal to pure phantasy might have a positive and constructive influence on self-shaping. We will solve this doubt by considering the role of pure phantasy in aesthetic experiences, especially in the literary scope. At the beginning of our research, we brought to light Husserl’s perspective on the matter: according to him, pure phantasy might play a pivotal role in aesthetic experiences. In fact, Husserl maintains that imagination leads us towards aesthetic experiences since it makes us focus on the image object, whereas phantasy leads us towards non-aesthetic experiences since it lacks the image object and makes us focus on the image subject. Nevertheless, Husserl specifies that sometimes phantasy experiences might turn into aesthetic experiences: “on exceptional occasions, one can also enjoy one’s phantasies aesthetically and contemplate them in an aesthetic manner” (Husserl, 2005, 40). We will argue that this specific case—pure phantasy and its link with aesthetic experiences—represents the positive and constructive role that pure phantasy plays in self-shaping: pure phantasy gives rise to aesthetic experiences that might help me to discover, know, shape and reorchestrate myself. Particularly, we will focus on a specific type of aesthetic experience—literary experience—so as to argue that pure phantasy enables us to grasp and comprehend literary exemplarism, which plays a pivotal role in self-shaping, like exemplariness.

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We argued that exemplariness is a keystone of self-shaping and literary experiences seem to provide us with a wide spectrum of exemplars: literary characters as exemplars might help us to comprehend our individual essence, as we argued while describing exemplariness. This kind of literary experience makes literature a key to self-shaping. Anyway, what sets the stage for this kind of literary experience? How to transform a simple literary experience into an opportunity to know and shape my individuality in light of literary exemplars? Husserl’s view on aesthetics enables us to answer these questions. Thanks to pure phantasy, literary experiences might turn into aesthetic experiences. Naturally, it is possible that pure phantasy just enables us to regard literary works as springboards for fantasizing (for example, daydreaming). This means that the role of pure phantasy in literary experiences is double: it might trigger fantasizing (while reading a novel, I daydream about my beloved) or it might trigger an aesthetic experience, as we will show through an analysis focused on the works of the author Stefan Zweig. First of all, what does it mean that pure phantasy might trigger an aesthetic experience? According to Husserl, image consciousness is inherently aesthetic since it points towards the image object: a difference between the image object and the image subject comes to light. In imaginative experiences, “what interests us is how the subject presents itself there, what manner of appearing in image it displays, and perhaps how aesthetically pleasing the manner of appearing is” (Husserl, 2005, 40). On the contrary, phantasy points towards the image subject only: “when we phantasy, we live in the phantasied events; the How of the internal image presentation falls outside the scope of our natural interests” (Husserl, 2005, 41). While daydreaming, we are interested in the What rather than in the How. Daydreaming and maladaptive daydreaming rely on pure phantasy and focus on the What rather than the How, and this is the reason why daydreaming is not an aesthetic experience. Although daydreaming might be positive and constructive, it does not have an influence on self-shaping, as we have discussed. When it turns into maladaptive daydreaming, then its influence on self-shaping becomes even deconstructive. In order to better understand this distinction between the How and the What, it is worth referring to Moritz Geiger, especially his Zugänge zur Ästhetik. Geiger describes the principle that identifies a breaking point between aesthetic experiences and non-aesthetic ones. He termed it “das Grundprinzip ästhetischen Erlebens” (Geiger, 1928, 5): the fundamental principle of aesthetic experiences. We can avail ourselves of this principle as midpoint between aesthetic experiences and non-aesthetic experiences since it highlights the distinguishing feature of aesthetic experiences: only the experiences that inherently stem from the values of intended objects are to be deemed as aesthetic experiences. This means that we carry out an aesthetic experience only insofar as we focus our attention on the values of what we are experiencing, only insofar as we try to grasp the innermost traits that constitute the essence of a given object. Acting in light of this principle enables us to give rise to aesthetic experiences. This principle resembles the distinction that Husserl brought to light between the How and the What: phantasy gives rise to aesthetic experiences when it focuses on the How. Geiger devises this principle so as to avoid mistaking non-aesthetic experiences for aesthetic experiences. This

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misunderstanding depends on the fact that we ascribe more importance to the What rather than the How and, as Geiger describes, we still believe that the experience at issue is aesthetic. Before combing through Geiger’s principle, it is worth dwelling upon the term “value” (Wert). In Zugänge zur Ästhetik, Geiger does not seem to provide the reader with thorough explanations regarding its meaning. We do not find any detailed and specific account for this word as we can find, for example, in Scheler’s works. He seems to put on the same footing the notion of value and the notion of distinguishing feature (Geiger, 1928, 32). According to Geiger, the values of an object are those elements that turn to the deepest layers of that object’s essence and peculiarity. So, according to the fundamental principle—and according to Husserl too— aesthetics primarily regards a way of experiencing that points towards the values of the experienced object. It follows that, no matter what one is experiencing, an aesthetic experience could arise. Regardless of the type of object related to the experience at issue—a picture, an emotion, a landscape, a gaze, and so on—one can experience it aesthetically. This occurs on condition that one appeals to the principle that Geiger devises. There is no object that prevents us from experiencing it aesthetically. This implies that the possibility of experiencing something aesthetically mainly depends upon the subject rather than upon the object. According to this fundamental principle, Geiger pinpoints the most three common oversights that lead aesthetic experiences to turn into warped aesthetic experiences. Interpreting these oversights in light of Husserl’s view on phantasy, imagination and aesthetics enables us to understand in a better way the role that we ascribed to free phantasy in self-shaping and the role that we are ascribing to pure phantasy in self-shaping (Maladaptive Daydreaming represents a negative role of pure phantasy in self-shaping: what about a positive role?). Thus, Geiger identifies three different kinds of aesthetic deviance. First of all, it is worth noticing that such oversights mirror quite common and ordinary experiences: Geiger is not referring to seldom circumstances. Indeed, he aims to warn us against falling into these aesthetic traps, which bring to light our proneness to non-­ aesthetic experiences. In fact, all these three deviances stem from a non-aesthetic attitude we are prone to. It is a penchant we have to come to grips with. The first oversight consists in confusing the artistic content (“die Stofflichkeit des Kunstwerkes”)—the What—with the artistic form (“die künstlerische Form”)— the How. It follows that the aesthetic object (“der ästhetische Gegenstand”), and its values, is completely missed (Geiger, 1928, 6). For example, such an oversight takes place when a patriot gets excited while enjoying images of battles or while reading novels focused on history of homeland; or again, when a religious man gets excited while enjoying images or novels dealing with religious themes (Geiger, 1928, 6). All these cases share a common feature: enthusiasm for the artistic content (the What) is confused with enthusiasm for the artistic form (the How). This dynamic conflates these two items just like a person who is committed to ethical issues gets excited while reading moral descriptions in a novel and, in so doing, ends up believing that the object of the novel flows into its moral content. In this

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way, the essence of the aesthetic object is completely overshadowed and what stands out is merely the artistic content (Geiger, 1928, 6). Besides this first aesthetic deviance, Geiger pinpoints a second oversight that leads us towards warped aesthetic experiences, although we believe we are actually facing a genuine aesthetic experience. This second deviance concerns identification: this occurs when one identifies oneself with—for example—a character of a given novel, picture or drama. Geiger terms this instance of aesthetic deviance as the dilettantism in the artistic experience (“der Dilettantismus der stofflichen Einfühlung,” Geiger, 1928, 7). For example—he maintains—a reader who identifies herself with the main character of a novel focused on erotic adventures then ends up fictionally enjoying erotic adventures that actually she will never experience. This kind of fictional identification arouses feelings and emotions whose source is not the object itself. This second instance of aesthetic deviance clearly harks back to the first one since the source of such feelings and emotions ends up being the artistic content (the What) instead of the artistic form (the How). The object itself (“der ästhetische Gegenstand”), and its values, is laid aside and what primarily is put in the foreground is the artistic content. So, in both cases the aesthetic object is completely missed: it is confused with the artistic content or with the set of feelings and emotions it arouses. Lastly, Geiger turns to those who do not enjoy the aesthetic object, but the fantasized scenarios and histories they could draw from the object itself. This case too is to be deemed as an instance of aesthetic deviance. For example, while listening to a melody, it is possible that one lets images arise, ends up fantasizing and finally gets lost in reverie. This means that one is enjoying these images instead of the aesthetic object itself (Geiger, 1928, 8–9). As a whole, these warped aesthetic experiences do not act as simple concurrent experiences, that is to say, as experiences that match with the aesthetic ones. If they acted just as concurrent experiences, then they would enrich the aesthetic experience. For they substitute for it, then they demean the aesthetic nature of the experience itself. So, it follows that the hallmark of aesthetic experiences is their striving for values, that is to say, striving for the aesthetic object (“der ästhetische Gegenstand”) and the artistic form (“die künstlerische Form”). This theoretical outcome is quite a breakthrough since it brings to light the inmost nature of aesthetics and aesthetic experiences. A picture, a landscape, an emotion, a sculpture, a fantasized scenario: every intended object can be experienced aesthetically. Within this frame, it becomes possible to spot a clear nexus between aesthetics and philosophy of art: artworks are intended objects that demand to be experienced aesthetically, but aesthetic experiences are not confined to these. So, Geiger’s argument makes room for a specific stance on aesthetics: aesthetics is aesthetics of values (“Wertästhetik,” Geiger, 1928, 32) rather than aesthetics of effects (“Wirkungsästhetik,” Geiger, 1928, 32). By virtue of this meaningful divide, Geiger emphasizes how the keystone of aesthetic experiences is the object of experience rather than the subject of experience: aesthetics is grounded in the values of the object and in the corresponding subject’s attempt to grasp them. Aesthetics is not grounded in the effects (Wirkungen) of the object on the subject, as the three previous aesthetic deviances brought to light.

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According to the aesthetics of values, the unit of measurement of aesthetic experiences is the whole of values that define the experienced object. Consequently, the aesthetics of values poses the question as to how our experiences could be more or less adequate to the object itself (Geiger, 1928, 17). Geiger devises another theoretical principle, which enhances the previous one—the fundamental principle of aesthetic experiences. This second principle is helpful for identifying a standard of aesthetic appropriateness, which Geiger (1928, 15) refers to as “external concentration” (Außenkonzentration). External concentration—versus inner concentration (Innenkonzentration)—consists in focusing on the intended object’s essence, its values and traits. For example, while staring in wonderment at a beautiful landscape, one chooses whether to focus the attention on the feelings arisen while enjoying the landscape (inner concentration) or on landscape itself (external concentration)—that means on the external experienced object. In order to grasp the type of concentration at stake, it is enough identifying what we focus on while experiencing the intended object, no matter if it is a portrait or a landscape, a melody or a literary work. If we only focus on the effects that this object arouses—for example, feelings and emotions—then it is a matter of inner concentration. Contrarily, if we steer our attention primarily towards the values of the object itself (for example, the painting technique of a picture, as Geiger argues), then it is a matter of external concentration. Geiger (1928, 14) highlights how sentimentality (“die Sentimentalität”) is the most typical example of inner concentration. And if we let inner concentration prevails, what seems to us significant is the set of feelings we experience rather than the aesthetic object. Geiger draws two main conclusions from these remarks. Firstly, inner concentration rests upon enthusiasm and lays the foundation for an aesthetics of effects— instead of an aesthetics of values—since it rests upon the effects that the experienced object arouses. Secondly, it is worth noticing that leaving aesthetics of effects on the sidelines does not imply that aesthetic experiences should not entail any kind of effect, any kind of reaction from the subject. This simply implies that we should not substitute the effects for the values. More specifically, Geiger distinguishes superficial effects from deep ones. He distinguishes those effects that merely affect the surface of our living—like amusement or delight—from those that affect the innermost sides of our living—like the effects that can upset the observer who is before Rembrandt’s portraits. These effects should not and cannot be uprooted: they inherently define our aesthetic experiences. So, external concentration enables us to experience objects aesthetically by putting their values in the foreground. Aesthetic experiences could arise while feeling an emotion, gazing at a person, reading a book, working with others, talking to a person, etc. The key to the aesthetic degree of such experiences is our endeavour to mainly focus on the object’s values and the key to aesthetic appropriateness is our endeavour to mainly lean on external concentration. Hence, we could surmise that it is all about attunement: aesthetic experiences spur us to attune ourselves to the object rather than to ourselves. We could name this feature “aesthetic attunement.” And aesthetic appropriateness follows from it. This appropriateness drives us to focus on the How rather than the What (in Husserlian terms).

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By considering Geiger’s stance we have described Husserl’s focus on the How and What in greater detail. In so doing, we are in a better position to comprehend the link between self-shaping and the role of pure phantasy in aesthetic experiences in light of literary exemplarism.

Phantasy and Literary Exemplarism According to Husserl, on exceptional occasions, one can enjoy one’s phantasies aesthetically and contemplate them in an aesthetic manner. Geiger’s remarks enable us to specify that this occurs only insofar as we avoid the three oversights that he examined and insofar as we decide to appeal to external concentration rather than inner concentration. Our analysis is bringing to light two different kinds of phantasy. For Husserl, the hallmark of phantasy is its focus on the What and its lacking a difference between Bildsujet and Bildobjekt (phantasy entails the absence of the Bildobjekt). These two hallmarks also characterize the cases where we appeal to phantasy in order to carry out eidetic variations: we do not heed the How, indeed we heed What we are varying, that is, the essence we are searching for through variation. The common thread that these two instances of phantasy—and daydreaming too—share is the trait that Husserl describes as “Möglichkeiten ergeben”: phantasy enables us to devise possibilities that loosen the constraints that we experience in reality. I could fantasize about (or daydream) my beloved since he is not here now and I could fantasize about bravery varying its essential traits in order to grasp its essence: apparently, there are no common aspects between these two experiences of fantasizing. However, at a closer look, it is clear that both these cases put me in a position (of restricted freedom) to escape the constraints I am hedged in by reality, where my beloved is absent and where I cannot actually experience all the circumstances that could help me to understand what bravery is. Naturally, there is a difference between a theoretical investigation—like the eidetic variation—and any other experience that strongly entails affective and practical traits—like the experience of fantasizing about (or daydreaming) my beloved. Phantasy entails the absence of the Bildobjekt, regardless of the exceptional cases that we have already mentioned. The concept Bildobjekt pertains to the How, the mode through which something appears to us in the image consciousness: it is the medium, the means of appearance. Now, we intend to show that there is a specific dimension where the aesthetic importance of the How, in comparison with the What, comes to light vividly. Moreover, we intend to argue that this importance represents an opportunity we are given to shape ourselves by means of pure and free phantasy. Specifically, we are referring to the literary scope and, particularly, to what we refer to as “literary exemplarism.” It is worth noticing that we do not find a reference from aesthetics to literature in Husserl’s reflections. Anyway, this reference clearly follows from his remarks on aesthetic experiences and, especially, his remarks on the Bildobjekt. Does literature itself has a medium? It seems so. And this means that we can relate Husserlian

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remarks to this scope too. Which is the means typical of literature? Words. How do words aesthetically prevail over the contents they refer to? The aesthetic importance of the How in comparison with the What astoundingly stands out in the literary works of the author Stefan Zweig. Our reflections upon Zweig’s works will point out two insightful issues. Firstly, the divide between the image object and the image subject is not to be confined to the experiences that rely on an image as a physical thing (das Bild als physisches Ding). Indeed, it seems it can be related to every kind of experience where a divide between How and What is at stake. The aesthetic importance of the How in comparison with the What astoundingly stands out in the literary works of Zweig. Secondly, our reflection on Zweig’s works will show that when literary experiences turn into aesthetic experiences—so that the How prevails over the What—then it is possible to grasp literary exemplarism, which has an impact on self-shaping. So, why do we consider Zweig’s works so remarkable? Zweig’s works bring to light a crucial trait that distinguishes his way of unfolding literary worlds. Zweig describes literary worlds in such a way that he gives rise to an appealing dynamic that captures his readership: on the one hand, he draws readers’ attention to the words themselves (the How) rather than to what they refer to (the What); on the other hand, he makes readers aware of the inherent weakness of words, which are not enough to describe the innermost sides of human nature (cf. Merleau-Ponty, 1996). In spite of this weakness, Zweig is able to transform words into a means of presence: words make present what they refer to and by virtue of this power they overcome their inherent weakness. In so doing, words turn out to succeed in describing what seems to Zweig indescribable: the innermost sides of human nature. Zweig achieves this goal insofar as he does not lead readers to focus their attention on what words refer to. Indeed, he leads readers to focus their attention on how words carry out their references: he spurs readers to experience the multilayer meanings of words. He leads readers to ‘touch’ the thickness of words. Certainly, Zweig is not the sole author who typifies this feature. The point is that this trait stands out in his works in a really astounding way. Zweig’s descriptions bring things to life and make them inherently interwoven with human inmost sides. Zweig makes words means of life: through words, things and persons quite overlap (Zweig, 2015, 26). They exchange their corresponding qualities and contours fade out. Nonetheless, Zweig maintains that words keep on being a weak and ineffective means (Zweig, 2017, 86). Words seem to Zweig totally unable to mirror human nature and its countless meanings: he cannot trust them, he cannot lean on them to provide readers with a suitable and adequate description of human innermost folds. They are not enough (Zweig, 2016, 65). By means of words Zweig gives rise to worlds that uncannily stand before the reader: it seems to us we can ‘feel’ his literary worlds and the life of the characters inhabiting them. It is not about visualizing scenes, faces or flashes of happenings. Indeed, we can ‘feel’ characters’ experiences, their emotions and thoughts. It is as if we could ‘touch’ them: Zweig leads us to fully blend ourselves into the literary worlds he designs (Zweig, 2013, 534). We mingle ourselves with them: the contours between real world and literary world quite fade out and overlap, the literary world

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intrudes upon reality and we find ourselves before characters’ world and plunged into it. We find ourselves before and into this weird mode of presence (Zweig, 2017, 58). We become the characters that Zweig introduces to us since he makes us inherent parts of these worlds, we are not mere spectators. Absolutely, it is not a matter of literary empathy or emotional involvement (cf. Ingarden, 1972; Pavel, 2010; Walton, 1978a). Definitively, it is not a kind of fictional empathy that makes this ‘feeling of literary presence’ arise. What is here at issue is more likely a way of presence that the traditional categories (such as literary visualization, literary phantasy or literary imagination) rule out. It is something that goes beyond the customary ways of accounting for the concept of presence. Surely, from a phenomenological standpoint, we could lean on Husserl’s stance to explain this mode of presence, but this attempt would flow into a reorchestration of this issue in light of the categories we find ourselves equipped with. On the contrary, the hallmark that Zweig’s works exemplify cannot be downplayed in such a way. Zweig’s works typify a way of participating into characters’ worlds and such a way is neither emotional nor imaginative: it is merely verbal. Thanks to the power words are endowed with by Zweig, readers take part in these literary worlds insofar as they see what characters see, feel what they feel, think what they think. While reading a passage about the fear of a character, Zweig is able to make the reader feel the character’s fear. It is not an exchange of perspectives or an imaginative exercise consisting in adopting others’ perspective. It just occurs that I, as a reader, feel myself part of the world I am discovering by reading and this occurs since words make me see what characters see, feel what they feel, think what they think, and so on and so forth. Things turn into words and words turn into things and Zweig makes readers participate into such a conversion: this is the astounding mode of presence typical of Zweig’s works. The words we find in his works are endowed with the power to draw readers’ attention to their thickness and, in so doing, to make present what they refer to. Zweig’s literary worlds represent the aesthetic and literary importance of the How in comparison with the What: when literary experiences turn into aesthetic experiences—so that the How prevails over the What—then it is possible to grasp literary exemplarism. Literary exemplarism comes to light if we do not focus on the What exclusively: if we focus on the How too, we become able to deem literary contents as exemplifications. And such exemplifications, thanks to free phantasy, might have a positive and constructive influence on self-shaping. Phantasy enables us to reflect upon the literary work at stake: thanks to free phantasy readers reflect upon the phenomena that literary works exemplify and, by means of eidetic variation, they reflect upon the essence of these phenomena. Thanks to free phantasy we can reflect upon literary works and, consequently, acquire knowledge from them. This is the reason why literary exemplifications are possible, useful for any philosophical analysis and for self-shaping itself. Literary exemplifications represent the positive and constructive role that pure and free phantasy might have in self-shaping. The appeal to pure phantasy sets the stage for the comprehension of the exemplification: I enjoy my phantasies—aroused by literature—and contemplate them in an aesthetic manner; naturally, if the text

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itself ascribes more importance to the How rather than the What—as we noticed in Zweig’s works—this aesthetic turning point is more likely. Then the appeal to free phantasy sets the stage for the eidetic variation focused on this exemplification. This is the reason why we can acquire knowledge from literary works. In fact, eidetic variation is a source of knowledge. The knowledge we can acquire from literary works might be double. In fact, this kind of knowledge can be related to a contingent level or to a non-contingent one as well as to both of them. The contingent level of knowledge is acquired by readers involuntarily: when reading Les Misérables, readers automatically acquire knowledge concerning French history (French Revolution, Napoleonic Wars) and French society (the lowest social classes of eighteenth century). Contrariwise, the non-contingent level of knowledge is acquired by readers insofar as they aim for this goal on purpose: when reading Les Misérables, readers can decide to reflect upon some topics and phenomena that this novel exemplifies. They could ponder over forgiveness, repentance and bravery: this means that they take the novel as a notable exemplification and as a significant springboard for a reflection upon these phenomena. If readers reflect upon phenomena exemplified by literary works, they mentally vary these phenomena (by appealing to free phantasy): they regard literary works as starting points useful for examining these phenomena. Thus, they acquire a specific kind of knowledge that is related to a non-contingent level since it is independent of contexts. My knowledge about the essence of repentance is independent of contexts: surely, it can be affected and so revised, but it does not depend on contexts as my knowledge of French Revolution depends on the historical context of the eighteenth century. In order for this eidetic variation to play out, the reader appeals to pure phantasy to grasp the literary exemplification: I start reflecting upon repentance (through eidetic variation, through free phantasy) since, while reading Les Misérables, I do not focus only on the What. In so doing, my literary experience turns into an aesthetic experience. The priest might exemplify an exemplar for Jean Valjean, he might exemplify the virtue of bravery: these remarks might spur me to reflect upon the virtue of bravery and the phenomenon of exemplariness. It is worth noticing that literary characters can be exemplars for the reader. This follows from the core of our main thesis concerning exemplars’ impact, which inherently depends upon the individuality of the exemplar and the person who is affected. Consequently, a literary character can be an exemplar for us since her individuality might have an impact on our individuality (our individual destiny and ordo amoris). Literary characters can spur us to reflect upon what they exemplify. This is literary exemplarism. We are arguing that the appeal to pure phantasy simplifies the appeal to free phantasy: I start focusing on the How, rather than the What, and this drives me to reflect upon the exemplifications at issue. This means that I do not get lost in my phantasies. Indeed, I fantasize (pure phantasy) in order to comprehend (free phantasy) and this comprehension might have an impact on my self-shaping. Let us consider an example, Morts Sans Sépulture (The Dead without Burial) by Sartre. The What of this play has to do with its contents: the play recounts the adventure of a group of prisoners of resistance in the occupied Paris. Sartre describes the sense

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of membership and the fears of these activists against the imminent interrogation with torture for which there was no escape. The prisoners debate about the reasons to get involved with the liberation movement. Even before the interrogation, they are all dead unburied. Pure phantasy enables me to gradually turn to the How. This does not mean that I get lost in my phantasies spurred by this play. Indeed, this means that pure phantasy helps me to fantasize about what these prisoners are experiencing without making the aforementioned oversights and without appealing to inner concentration. In so doing, I gradually turn to the How. The How of this play has to do with the way in which Sartre represents the What: he brings to light the dichotomy between the inner sufferance of these prisoners and their sense of duty. Their inability to combine their bravery with their humanity arises from the way in which Sartre describes how these prisoners experience the idea of death, which is the protagonist of this play. The death is not present yet, but it is already there for them. This paradox arises from Sartre’s way of describing. Now, free phantasy enables me to reflect upon the phenomena that this play exemplifies (literary exemplarism): thanks to eidetic variation, I might reflect upon the meaning of duty, humanity or bravery, I do not reflect upon their humanity, bravery and sense of duty. I regard their experience as a valuable jumping-off point for my reflections. Subsequently, their experiences become an exemplification of bravery, humanity and sense of duty. Reflecting upon these exemplifications and examining the essence of the phenomena at stake might make unveil unknown facets of my individuality. I might come to know that, for me, the sense of duty is more important than the fear of death. Vice versa, I might come to know that the sense of membership does not drive me to sacrifice myself. Would I be willing to die to defend my party’s ideas? Would I be willing to betray my party? Would I be willing to kill a friend of mine? These and similar questions resemble the questions we posed in the first chapter when defining the fundamental issue of personal individuality: would I be willing to rob and then kill somebody? I may reflect upon the possibilities tethered to my individuality and then I could say, for example: ‘No, I could not do that. It would not be me.’ Through these questions we are bringing to light the fundamental issue of personal individuality, the issue of the invariant in the variation: under what condition is the self that I am varying not myself any more? It seems I abide by strict constraints while imagining myself in this circumstance and stretching the boundaries of my individuality: I imagine myself killing a friend of mine in the name of political ideals and I realize that that person could not be me. But how can I draw this conclusion so firmly? There has to be something that prevents me from identifying myself with that kind of person. My process of self-­ shaping has to abide by constraints that hedge me in and seem to ensue from the core of my individuality. But how can I understand which possibilities pertain to my individuality and which possibilities exceed the range of my possible self-­variations? I have surely experienced that my individuality is liable to changes, so how can I be so sure that I could not rob and then kill somebody? The outcomes we have achieved enable us to answer these questions. We know that the core of our individuality—our ordo amoris and our individual

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destiny—constrains our process of self-shaping. At the same time, we know that there are aspects of our individuality that we do not know. Consequently, availability to self-reorchestration is necessary if we care about ourselves. In this effort of discovering and shaping ourselves, literary exemplarism turns out to be very important: literary exemplifications are opportunities of self-discovery and self-­knowledge since they spur us to appeal to free phantasy and, thanks to eidetic variation, we improve our comprehension related to the essence of the exemplified phenomena and, consequently, our comprehension related to the essence of our individuality. Pure phantasy enables us to grasp literary exemplarism and, in so doing, it plays a pivotal role in self-shaping.

Chapter 10

The Transcendence of Personal Individuality and the Role of the Imaginary in Self-Shaping

The availability to reorchestrate myself depends upon the ability to conceive of myself as a different individual from the individual I think I am. This relation is mutual: in fact, the ability to conceive of myself as a different individual from the individual I think I am depends upon the availability to reorchestrate myself. This means that there is an imaginary of untaken possibilities that regards my own individuality. And, if I care about myself, then I should strive to explore this imaginary. How to unveil it? How to grasp my untaken possibilities? Thanks to the impact of exemplars, that is to say, through my ‘readiness for being affected,’ as we have already discussed. But what is this imaginary and why is it linked with our availability to self-reorchestration and, subsequently, self-shaping? “If we try to understand the imagination while taking for granted that fiction is its central or typical business, we go as badly wrong as we would if we tried to understand arms and legs while taking for granted that dancing is their central or typical business” (Williamson, 2016, 123): if the imaginary did not hold sway over self-shaping, the essence of my individuality would be a figment of my imagination or would be so ‘fixed’ that I could not discover anything new about it. Let us try to describe the role of the imaginary in self-shaping in light of our multilayer pattern of individuality and the outcomes achieved so far. First of all, we are using the term ‘imaginary’ according to the viewpoint of Sartre, which we partly examined in the third chapter. According to Sartre (2004), impatience and desire trigger the imaginary. For example, if my friend Pierre is absent and I wish he were here, the imaginary enables me to render present what I know to be absent: “my image of him is a certain manner of not touching him, not seeing him, a way he has of not being […] The belief, in the image, posits the intuition, but does not posit Pierre” (Sartre, 2004, 13–14). I fulfil the desire in a way the world does not fulfil it for me. Presence acts as nothingness and the way Pierre appears to me is through an image. Thanks to the imaginary I give myself a new world. Freedom turns into wanting it both ways: Pierre is not here and I imagine © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 B. Bellini, How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality, Contributions to Phenomenology 116, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-81451-9_10

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Pierre to be here. Imaginary is a power to say no to the no of the world, is a denial of the denials of the real, is a form of desire that gives itself the object, is the plenitude of a presence, which is not present. I give myself the pleasure of having things I do not have. Contrary to perception, imagination poses its object as nothingness: consciousness introduces nothingness in the world. Pierre is not here, but I imagine him being here. Imagination as intuitive consciousness poses its object as nothingness and introduces nothingness in the world. Through imagination, consciousness moves beyond itself.1 Sartre’s theses mainly rest upon what we could refer to as an ‘emotional difference’: a gap between what is present and what I wish were present triggers the imaginary. Sartre’s account meaningfully clarifies the nature of the threads that fantasizing weaves: what we do not have, what we wish to have, a chance to elude reality. Thanks to the imaginary, an absence turns into a presence. Reality is no longer appealing and so it is reorchestrated accordingly: I wish to reorchestrate reality since it does not fulfil my desires as I wish. We do not completely underpin Sartre’s account, especially its ‘emotional’ implications. We refer to his thought since we employ the term ‘imaginary’ in the following sense: a set of possibilities that the imaginary enables me to render present, although they are absent: and, subsequently, reality is reorchestrated accordingly thanks to my imaginary. Specifically, the set of possibilities we are referring to concerns self-possibilities, as we will clarify. If we do not ascribe any role to the imaginary in self-shaping, then we could not be possibly affected by exemplars since they radically question our current self-­ views. We realized that, in order to grasp my individual essence, I must vary and revise myself, I must reinvent myself, I must distance myself from myself so as to grasp the possibilities tied to my individuality, but still untaken. These possibilities, as a set, constitute my imaginary. This is the fundamental role of the imaginary in self-shaping. I must be ready to discover new facets of my self, I must be ready to think about myself differently than I did before and do now. If I were not willing to conceive of different variants of myself, I would never be affected by exemplars since they radically question what I think about my individuality. To know and shape ourselves, we need to reorchestrate and reinvent ourselves. Since upheavals define the process of self-shaping, I must be equipped with an ability that allows me to distance myself from my opinions regarding the essence of my individuality. I must be able to vary myself in my bedrocks. These are the reasons why the imaginary—and subsequently, (free and pure) phantasy—plays a pivotal role in self-shaping. And if I care about myself, I am supposed to explore my imaginary, that is, I am supposed to reflect upon the constraints that seem to restrict my range of self-changes and comb through the essence of my individuality so as to grasp my untaken possibilities (I do not want to be the type of individual who robs and kills another person) within a wide spectrum of self-possibilities (from a factual point of view, I could be the type of individual who robs and kills another person).

1  The main source of this interpretation of Sartre’s thought is Nicolas De Warren’ lessons held at KU Leuven in fall 2016.

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An overarching reappraisal of the imaginary is here at stake: not only does it overstep the fictional scope, but it also plays a pivotal role in self-shaping. Phantasy becomes the key to my imaginary: free phantasy enables me to vary myself in order to comprehend my individual essence in light of my contraints; pure phantasy enables me to rely upon literary exemplarism so as to vary myself thanks to free phantasy. I know myself insofar as I know the range of my self-possibilities through phantasy: this range is the imaginary, which I should be willing to explore since it defines my process of self-shaping, which relies upon unexpected self-discoveries related to the core of my individuality, namely ordo amoris and individual destiny. This core represents the set of constraints that guide us through self-shaping. When exploring my imaginary, I might unveil unknown facets of my individuality and question my beliefs about my individuality. This dynamic implies that I am supposed to let me be possibly affected by exemplars, to reshape myself in light of my new self-knowledge, to be attentive to those circumstances that could radically question the type of individual I think I am. While Valjean reflects upon the priest’s words, he is trying to understand the reason why he is so shocked: why did the words of the priest shock me so much? Why did they upset me? Valjean is trying to be attentive to his responses, to the way through which he is affected by the world and, in so doing, he comes to realize that the priest had an impact on him and now he feels that a personal change is occurring. He experiences a breaking point (Umbildung) in his process of self-shaping. He feels that the old Valjean has nothing to do with the new Valjean (Neubildung). In order for these feelings to turn into beliefs and actual self-changes, he must be willing to reorchestrate himself, to completely change what he thought about the essence of his individuality. The mainspring of this upheaval is another person that acts as an exemplar. Exemplariness enables us to grasp the untaken possibilities tethered to our individuality: the set of my untaken self-possibilities constitutes my imaginary. Exploring my imaginary allows me to question myself and vary myself so that new layers of my individuality can emerge and influence my self-shaping in order for me to reorchestrate myself. These reflections make us realize that the role of the imaginary—as the set of untaken possibilities of my individuality—in the process of self-shaping is not marginal or superficial. It constitutes a keystone of self-shaping: thanks to it, we are not locked in unchangeable self-views and we are given the opportunity to vary and reshape ourselves every time we discover that there are new and unexpected implications of our individuality that we did not know and have not taken place in our life yet. By virtue of the role of the imaginary, we argue that, as personal individuals, each of us is both an ens amans (Scheler, 1973b, 111) and an ens imaginans (McGinn, 2004, 5). Love is the key to discover and know the lawfulness that authors my openness to the world. In so doing, I gradually grasp my individual essence, my ordo amoris, my ethos, my individual destiny. This kind of self-knowledge is the key to grasp the range of my possible self-changes, the spectrum of my possible self-variations. Nevertheless, my individual essence is transcendent in comparison with my self-knowledge. Subsequently, self-shaping has to rely upon a dimension of the self where I can reinvent myself and discover new aspects of my individual

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essence in light of exemplars’ influence: this is the imaginary. In this dimension, varying myself enables me to understand what I am not (I am not the one who kills and then robs another person): in order to grasp my individual essence I must be faced with the possible variations of myself so as to distance myself from myself (‘from outside’ view on the self). It follows that the imaginary holds sway over self-­ shaping. The term ‘imaginary’ refers to the set of possibilities related to the core of my individuality but still untaken: if I grasp this set then it holds sway over my self-­ shaping. If I care about myself, then I am willing to continuously comprehend my range of self-possibilities and possible self-variations, namely my imaginary. Self-interpretation, self-knowledge and self-examination are not enough: Umbildung is necessary. I must turn upside down my beliefs about my individuality, I must question my individuality, I must be willing to discover new layers of it: I must explore my imaginary. These moments of self-discovery might trigger self-­ transformations and the process of self-shaping consists of them. Far from being a linear and coherent process, self-shaping is a process made of personal upheavals. If we try to understand individuality while taking for granted that identity is its central business, we go as badly wrong as we would if we tried to understand the imaginary while taking for granted that fiction is its central business. Exemplariness as a unique key to my imaginary does not make our pattern of individuality turn into a narcissistic and self-centred explanation. Furthermore, if we really regard repentance as the chance we are given to actually make individuality survive radical self-­ changes, we do not end up intellectualizing about ourselves in our account. Finally, for imaginary holds sway over self-shaping, we should be as ready as willing to reorchestrate ourselves in light of what unexpectedly may affect us. Imaginary, exemplariness, availability to self-reorchestration, individual destiny: this entire dynamic implies that my individuality is always transcendent in comparison with what I know about it. We argued that there are aspects of our individuality that are independent of us: it follows that self-knowledge is open to endless discoveries. We do not posit or constitute our individuality: we discover it and, in so doing, we shape ourselves. The link between destiny and fate accounts for the influence that the context where I live might have on my self-shaping. Nevertheless, however strong this influence is, our individuality keeps on being transcendent in comparison with our knowledge. This transcendence pertains to the core of my individuality (i.e., ordo amoris and individual destiny). We better shape ourselves starting from moments of crisis or failure since these circumstances of self-discovery—possibly triggered by exemplars—make us bring to light unexpected facets of our individuality that otherwise would not come to light. Exemplars guide us through these self-reorchestrations. However, if we do not start withholding and dispensing with a ‘from within’ view on the self and if we do not enlist a ‘from outside’ view on the self, we will not understand the far-reaching bearing of such moments on the dimension of self-shaping. As we discussed, in order for me to be an exemplar, I must be unaware of the impact I am having. This hallmark makes us understand the subtle but crucial difference between exemplars and the so-called ‘good examples’: if I intend to help someone to better know herself—for instance, by saying that she is taking a bad

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decision if she accepts that job offer—then I may become a ‘good example’ for her. Exemplariness requires unawareness from both side: I, as an exemplar, am unaware that I am having an impact on your process of self-shaping; you, as a person being affected by an exemplar, are unaware of such an impact, at least at first. The more we are unaware the more we might be affected or the more we might affect. ‘From outside’ view on the self, exemplariness and upheavals are pivotal coordinates that enabled us to reframe the issue of personal identity: what matters firstly is not identity, because my individuality does not take shape by being coherent. What defines my individuality is my ability to fail and to arise again as a new individual since I have discovered something new about my individuality. What I did not plan is what mostly shapes my individuality and, at the same time, makes me discover new layers of it. If I care about my individuality, I should take responsibility for my process of self-shaping, by searching for my individuality beyond social recognition and self-interpretation, and by being affected by the impact that others might have on me. Just as I should take care of my individual destiny and others as exemplars are a pivotal key to this effort, so should I take care of others’ individual destiny since I can comprehend it better than they can do on their own. I help others and I let others help me since I know that I might exemplify untaken possibilities of others and others might exemplify untaken possibilities related to my individuality. This means that helping others to better know themselves is a way of self-knowledge and if I better know myself then I may become an exemplar for others. Opening up to others is not confined to an effort of knowing others: opening up to others entails the possibility of being affected by others themselves. On the one hand, every individual is unique since she exemplifies a specific axiological perspective that nobody else exemplifies: this means that others could radically influence me. On the other hand, every individual is unfinished since she needs to continuously know herself in light of the exemplarity typical of other persons: this means that the knowledge I can gain of another person endlessly calls for revisions. I can know other’s ordo amoris and individual destiny, but there is always something new to be discovered. An important step in this process of knowing the individuality of another person consists in the comprehension of the exemplars that the other person follows: if I comprehend the kind of exemplars that are important for the other person, then I start comprehending deep layers of the individuality of this person. It is I who decides whether to discover, know and shape myself. This is the freedom we should strive for and be ready for. On the one hand, we should strive to shape ourselves in light of what we come to know about the core of our individuality, and, on the other hand, we should strive to be attentive to those moments that could question the type of individual we think we are. Every moment of my life is an opportunity to grasp and know axiological relations and perhaps I will never have this chance again (“jeder Lebensmoment einer individualen Entwicklungsreihe [stellt] zugleich die Erkenntnismöglichkeit für ganz bestimmte und einmalige Werte und Wertzusammenhänge dar, entsprechend dieser aber die Nötigung zur sittlichen Aufgaben und Handlungen, die sich niemals widerholen können,” Scheler, 2013a,

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950). The axiological realm is boundless (“die Fülle und Mannigfaltigkeit der sittlichen Werte,” Scheler, 2013a, 950); nonetheless, the axiological variety is not a clue for axiological relativism: indeed, this axiological variety is the condition basic to a full axiological evidence. Which are my responses to the axiological realm? What do I love and hate? This is what I love. This is what I hate. Exploring my ordo amoris means exploring my imaginary in order to discover every facet of my individual destiny. What guides me in this process is the awareness that my individual essence transcends my knowledge and that there are aspects of it that only other persons are able to grasp. It follows that I should strive to be open to others’ impact and, at the same time, I should strive to be as ready as possible to reorchestrate myself in light of self-discoveries. And when such discoveries are disruptive and the simple availability to reorchestrate myself is not enough, then the appeal to repentance can help me to give rise to a personal rebirth and renewal. Our account implies that a pivotal keystone of the whole process of self-shaping is the unexpected: there are untaken possibilities of my individual essence that can account for every new self-change—on condition that it is square with the core of my individuality, just as I might come to discover unexpected implications of my individuality and then decide whether to reorchestrate myself or not. Subsequently, if I care about the formation of my individuality, then I acknowledge and accept that “the unexpected, surprise and astonishment, are an essential part and characteristic” of it.2 “Is it worthwhile to continue to be what I happen to be already, to commit myself to being what I just find myself being already? Should I be more than what I just happen to have become so far? Should I actually be less what I’ve become?” (Morelli, 2015, 283). Such questions are remarkable for everyone who cares about her individuality and, consequently, strives to shape herself in a way that is consistent with her individual essence. In order to shape myself consistently with my individual essence, I must understand how the process of self-shaping plays out and how I can grasp all the facets and aspects of my individuality. This was the aim of our analysis and the goal of our account, which spurs us to be open to self-discovery and self-revision. In so doing, I might realize that my current self-knowledge is different from my past self-knowledge. As we discussed, it is repentance that enables me to give rise to a personal rebirth. By ascribing a new meaning to my past, I am given the opportunity to reshape myself and shape the future: I can shape my future only on condition that I might change the meaning of my past. Repentance as availability to self-reorchestration before upheavals is the outcome of an effort at taking care of oneself: this means that if I nourish my process of self-knowledge and self-shaping, then I am able to give rise to a personal rebirth when I am faced with a breaking point in the formation of my individuality. Nonetheless, this personal renewal can take place only insofar as we are willing to 2  “Ce qui n’est pas légèrement difforme a l’air insensible; d’où il suit que l’irrégularité, c’est-à-dire l’inattendu, la surprise, l’étonnement sont une partie essentielle et la caractéristique de la beauté” (Baudelaire).

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discover and know new and (so far) unknown facets of our individuality. Without this readiness for self-reorchestration, the formation of individuality cannot take place and the core of our individuality remains beyond our grasp, because others as exemplars comprehend aspects of our individual destiny that we are not able to grasp on our own. In order to let me be possibly affected by exemplars, I must be ready to reorchestrate myself. This availability to self-reorchestration and self-­ revision implies that I am willing to consider new variants of myself. I am ready to think about myself differently than I did before and do now. In so doing, I let me be possibly affected by exemplars, which are the sources of the deepest personal upheavals. If I were not willing to conceive of different variants of myself, I would never be affected by exemplars since they radically question what I think about my individuality. Exemplariness is the mainspring of radical self-changes, but the possibility of a personal renewal stemming from a self-reorchestration vanishes into the blue if I am not willing to appeal to repentance. Readiness for self-reorchestration nourishes self-shaping, but it is not just a useful source that guides us through this process. Indeed, it is the fundamental keystone that enables us not to be locked in unchangeable self-views. According to our multilayer pattern of individuality, I can always discover something new about my individual destiny and I can always reshape myself accordingly: this possibility depends upon the role that readiness for self-reorchestration plays within the dimension of the formation of individuality. This means that the normative outcome of our analysis is the fact that I should be willing to question myself and my beliefs about my individuality so as to let me be possibly affected by exemplars. Far from positing or constituting our individuality, we are called upon to discover it and its unexpected implications. This is why self-shaping begins with self-discovery: personal individuality transcends self-knowledge, because we do not posit it. We are called upon to discover (and then know, shape, reorchestrate) our individuality and readiness for self-reorchestration is the key to our unexpected horizon of self-discoveries.

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Index

A Aesthetics, 163–167 Amy Kind, 37, 38 Aristotle, 94, 95 Axiology, 54, 59, 60, 62, 101, 110, 111, 114

subjective and intersubjective, 14 theoretical and applicative commitment, 9 triple commitment, 8 Destiny, 89, 98, 101, 111, 112 De Warren, N., 129, 130

B Bestimmung, 66, 108, 111 Bildung, 74–76

E Eidetic variation, 42–46, 50, 51 Emotional difference, 174 Empathy, 161, 169

D Descriptive phenomenology clarification and comprehension, 8, 11 common accessibility and comprehension, 13 descriptive method of philosophical investigation, 8, 11 essential traits, 11 evidence and accessibility, 13 evidence and clarification, 10 fundamental issue of personal individuality, 9 human experience, 12 performative commitment, 10 personal experiences, 10 practice of justification, 14 reflection, 9, 13 self-change, 14 self-discovery, 14 self-shaping, 8, 14 self-variations, 14

F Fichte, J.G., 120–123 First-person perspective experiences, 6, 11, 12, 14 Free phantasy, 42–45, 51 Fuchs, T., 158, 159 G Geiger, M., 163–167 H Hugo, V., 97, 98 Husserl, E., 10, 12–14, 23–28, 30, 42–51, 137, 139–142, 163, 164, 167, 169 I Idyllic imagination, 31 Image consciousness, 47–50

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 B. Bellini, How Change and Identity Coexist in Personal Individuality, Contributions to Phenomenology 116, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-81451-9

189

Index

190 Image object, 48–50 Image subject, 48–50 Imaginary, 173–176, 178 Ingarden, R., 10 Intuition, 55 K Kirk, R., 30–33, 35 Korsgaard, C., 20–23 L Literary exemplarism, 169, 170 M Modes of influence awareness, 116 axiology, 114 Bildung, 123 cognition, 122 cooperation, 115 cultivation, 121 education and cultivation, 121 educational system, 120 emulation, 118 exemplariness, 113, 114 leadership, 113, 115 literary exemplification, 118 moral weightlifting, 118 Nachbilder, 120 negative exemplarity, 114 participation, 128–131 positive exemplarity, 114 re-experiencing, 116 reorchestration, 117 role of exemplars, 117 self-knowledge, 114 self-reorchestration, 121 self-shaping, 115, 119, 121, 122, 124–127 supererogatory acts, 119 transformation, 121 value-person, 115 Vorbilder, 120, 122 Moral environment, 57, 65, 66 Moral imagination, 30, 31, 33–35, 41 Murdoch, I., 93 N Nussbaum, M., 33–35

P Panoramic view on life, 136–139, 141–144 Personal identity personal individuality, 17 self-changes, 17 self-constitution, 20–23 self-imagination, 17 self-possibilities, 17 self-shaping, 23–28 third-person perspective, 18–20 Personal individuality awareness, 69 clear and sound theory, 3 constraints, 2, 7 descriptive phenomenology, 1 ethos, 54, 57, 58, 61, 66, 70 experience, 8 fate, 57, 65, 68, 69 first-person perspective experiences, 6 fluidity, 8 fundamental issue, 2, 4, 69 general principle, 68 “good-in-itself for me”, 54, 66 individual and personal axiological essence, 70 individual destiny, 67, 68, 70 invariant in the variation, 4 literary exemplification, 4 moral environment, 65 moral luck, 68 paradox, 3 personal identity, 53 personhood, 69 political identity, 70 radical impact, 6 self-changes, 2, 3, 5–7, 53 self-discovery, 53 self-knowledge, 3, 53, 67 self-possibilities, 4, 6 self-reorchestration, 5 self-shaping, 2, 3, 7, 53, 54 self-variation, 2, 6, 71 transformation, 69 type of individual, 2 values and values-qualities, 65 Personhood, 18, 19 Practice of justification, 14 Pure phantasy, 43, 45 R Reflective distance, 20, 23 Repentance, 176, 178, 179 Ricoeur, P., 85, 86

Index S Sartre, J.-P., 39, 46, 47, 51, 103–105, 107, 173, 174 Scheler, M., 53–57, 61, 63, 66–68, 70, 90, 93, 95, 96, 99, 100, 102, 109–111, 137–139, 141, 146, 147, 149, 151 Self-constitution, 20–23, 129 Self-destruction, 156–160, 162 Self-discovery, 53, 58, 62, 64 Selfhood, 18, 19 Self-imagination contingency, 36 diabolic imagination, 31 dynamic of stretching, 35 emotions, 35 empathy, 34 fundamental issue of personal individuality, 30 human nature, 33 identification and sympathy, 34 identity, 29 idyllic imagination, 31 imagination, 29, 31 influences, 34 literature, 31, 32, 34 moral imagination approach, 30 non-contingent, 36 normative consciousness, 32 normative function, 32 personal and social conduct, 33 personal identity, 30 qualitative differences, 35 qualitative distinctions, 35 radical ethical power, 33 role of change, 29 scope of contingency, 29 self-shaping, 29, 32–34, 36 social-justice, 34 sympathetic identification, 34 wardrobe, 30 Self-knowledge cognitive circuit, 40 contingency, 37, 39, 41, 42 epistemological approach, 36, 37 fundamental issue of personal individuality, 37 imagery, 41 imagination, 37, 38, 40, 46–51 imaginative resistance, 41 informative function, 39, 41 moral imagination approach, 37 phantasy, 46–51 scope of contingency, 42–46 self-possibilities, 37, 41 self-shaping, 37

191 Self-possibilities, 174–176 autonomous, 100 axiology, 101 dependability, 94 emotions, 92 emulation, 91, 92 exemplariness, 93, 101, 104 exemplarist moral theory, 90 exemplars influence, 102 feelings, 92 human beings, 90 individual destiny, 89 leadership, 99 look of the other, 103–107 messengers, 101 moral education, 93 moral emotion, 91 moral learning, 91 pattern of individuality, 99 personal individuality, 98 process of formation, 95 process of learning, 94 process of objectivization, 105 recognition, 92 self-change, 99 self-delusions, 103 self-discoveries, 89, 96, 102 self-knowledge, 89, 90, 96–98, 105, 106 self-reorchestration, 89 self-shaping, 89, 90, 92, 94–96, 101, 103–105, 107 self-transformation, 99 upheavals, 96, 97 values, 101, 107–112 virtue ethics, 93 Self-reorchestration, 74, 76, 87, 173, 176, 178, 179 availability, 144, 145 conversion, 151 “der Gesamtsinn unseres Lebens”, 138 ethical life, 140, 143 forgiveness, 147, 150 God, 146–150 individual essence, 134 issue of character, 134 life-goals, 141 mercy, 149, 150 metaphysics, 133 non-religious repentance, 149 ordo amoris and individual destiny, 133 panoramic view, 136, 137, 139, 142, 151 radical self-changes, 133 rebirth, 145, 149 religion, 146, 148, 149 renewal, 145, 149

Index

192 Self-reorchestration (cont.) repentance, 146, 147, 149, 150, 152 self-changes, 148, 151 self-discoveries, 133, 151, 152 self-knowledge, 134, 136, 151 self-possibilities, 135 self-revision, 136–138 self-shaping, 135, 136, 139, 146, 151–153 temporal life-stream, 137 Überschau, 139–141, 143 unconditional opportunity, 150 universal and individual form, 134 Self-shaping, 23–28 aesthetic experiences, 162–167 daydreaming, 156, 157, 160, 163, 164, 167 emotional difference, 174 emotional responses, 73 ethos, 73 fundamental issue of personal individuality, 86 identity, 75, 83 imaginary, 173, 178 imagination, 157, 162, 164, 169 individuality, 155 influence, 82 literary exemplarism, 167–172 literature, 163, 167, 169 multilayer pattern of individuality, 74 narcissistic and self-centred explanation, 176 ordo amoris, 73, 77, 78, 81, 155 personal individuality, 80, 175 phantasy, 155, 162–172 physical and psychic changes, 86 political revolution, 79 radical impact, 87 radical self-changes, 81, 82, 84 reflections, 175 repentance, 178 responsibility, 177 self-changes, 175, 178 self-delusion, 81 self-destruction, 155–160, 162 self-discoveries, 73, 74, 81, 86, 175, 178 self-examination, 75, 176 self-interpretation, 75, 176 self-knowledge, 73, 74, 76, 81, 82, 84–87, 175, 176, 178 self-possibilities, 174 self-reorchestration, 74, 173, 176, 179 self-revision, 178, 179 self-transformations, 76

self-variation, 155 transcendent, 176 Umbildung, 75, 81, 84 variation, 77 T Third-person perspective, 18–20 True self, 23, 25, 28 U Umbildung, 74, 76, 78, 82, 84 Upheavals, 75, 81, 86, 87 V Value-preference antithetical modes, 60 attraction and repulsion, 57 axiological dimension, 55 axiological perception, 55 claim and belief, 54 correctness, 62 effort of adequacy, 62 emotional dimension, 61 emotional life, 57, 60, 63, 64 emotional responses, 56–59 hate, 57, 59, 61, 65 infatuation, 61 love, 57, 59–61, 63, 65 ordo amoris, 64 pattern of individuality, 61 personal individuality, 59 self-knowledge, 59 self-revision, 58 self-shaping, 58 sensory agreeableness, 55 structured counter-image, 62 subjective emotional sphere, 55 types, 57 unfinished totality, 58 Virtue ethics, 90, 93, 94 Vocation, 23–26, 28 Vorbilder, 99 W World-of-life, 10, 11 Z Zagzebski, L., 90–92, 94, 95 Zweig, S., 126, 127, 163, 168–170