Maxine Sheets-Johnstone
‘[T]he intrinsic motivation to order one’s universe is an imperative of mental life. And the infant has the overall capacity to do so, in large part by identifying the invariants (the islands of consistency) that gradually provide organization to experience. In addition to this general motivation and capacity, the infant needs specific capacities to identify the invariants that seem most crucial in specifying a sense of a core self. Let us look closely at the four crucial invariants.’
(Stern, 1985, p. 76)
‘The Body is, as Body, filled with the soul through and through. Each movement of the Body is full of soul, the coming and going, the standing and sitting, the walking and dancing, etc. Likewise, so is every human performance, every human production.’
(Husserl, 1989, p. 252)
When we look at human life from beginning to end, and indeed look at all animate forms of life from beginning to end, we see movement. Animation is not simply a matter of being alive. It is a matter of movement. Eating, playing, searching, mating, fighting, stretching, crouching, and so on— even holding still—are essentially differentiated forms of animation that are analyzable in terms of differentiated qualitative dynamics. Moreover, animate forms of life are moved to move; that is, they are affectively motivated, most basically, to approach or to avoid. From this perspective, it is not just more reasonable to speak and write of mindful bodies rather than embodied minds, but more accurate. Indeed, evolution is a matter not of minds but of morphologies, specifically, morphologies in motion engaged in synergies of meaningful movement on behalf of their survival. The current attachment to embodiments of all kinds—not just embodied minds, but embodied self, embodied subjectivity, embodied language, even embodied movement (!)—is deflective; it straightaway packages an integral aspect of animate life that warrants proper elucidation. As pointed out elsewhere,
One finds the term ‘embodiment’ in all its forms to be, on the one hand, a lexical bandaid that covers over a 250-year-old still suppurating wound and, on the other hand, a linguistic implant that plumps up facets of humanness by giving them a body. It removes all thought of animation, i.e., of being a living body, from the scene of discussion and thus passes over recognition of animation as foundational to the discussion itself.
Sheets-Johnstone, 2010, p. 122; see also, for example, Sheets-Johnstone, 1999, p. 359/exp. 2nd ed. 2011b, pp. 310–311, 453, 496, 2009, 2011a, 2015)
In what follows, I begin by considering an ontogenetic account of animation, notably that of infant psychiatrist and clinical psychologist Daniel Stern, and a phenomenological account of animation, notably that of Husserl. The two accounts, one empirical, the other phenomenological, are complementary, and as we will see, their complementarity extends to psychoanalytic observations of Jung and to Buddhist observations of ordained monks.
Stern’s perspicuous delineation of the core self attests to his extensive, keenly observant and meticulously researched studies of infants. The delineation is based in particular on four different kinds of infant self-experience, which Stern discusses in ‘The Nature of an Organized Sense of Self’, a section of his chapter on ‘The Sense of a Core Self: I. Self versus Other’ (Stern, 1985, pp. 70–72). The four-fold experiences are in effect the sine qua non of an organized sense of self: they constitute the core self. What is clearly of moment in these experiences—self-agency, self-coherence, self-affectivity, and self-history—is the dynamic nature of self. Self is not a thing, not a spatial entity, and certainly not something that needs to be embodied. On the contrary, the self-experiences that Stern describes are quintessentially experiences of a tactile-kinesthetic/affective body. More precisely still, they are experiences not simply of a moving body, but a body that is preeminently affectively moved to move and that is volitionally capable of moving or not moving. In short, though Stern does not describe these self-experiences as such, tactility, kinesthesia and affectivity are clearly at the root of the core self.
The three dynamically felt bodily modalities are differentially evident in the way Stern describes the four kinds of core-self experience. He pinpoints ‘self-agency’ in terms of volition, that is self-generated action, and in the realization of consequential relationships—‘when you shut your eyes it gets dark’ (Stern, 1985, p. 71). He pinpoints ‘self-coherence’ in terms of a non-fragmented wholeness, whether moving or still (ibid.). He pinpoints ‘self-affectivity’ in terms of ‘patterned inner qualities of feeling’ (ibid.) that are interwoven with and inform other experiences of self. He pinpoints ‘self-history’ in terms of a continuing flow of experience from past to present and a sense of ‘regularities’ therein (ibid.). In short, the core self is unmistakably dynamic in nature and is essentially grounded in the tactile-kinesthetic/affective body. Its dynamic nature becomes all the more unmistakable when Stern goes on to dissociate the sense of a core self from a construct of any kind. He states,
A crucial term here is ‘sense of’, as distinct from ‘concept of’ or ‘knowledge of’ or ‘awareness of’ a self or other. The emphasis is on the palpable experiential realities of substance, action, sensation, affect, and time. Sense of self is not a cognitive construct. It is an experiential integration (ibid.).
Though Stern specifies ‘substance’, ‘action’, and ‘sensation’ as ‘palpable experiential realities’, it is evident from his descriptions that ‘The Nature of an Organized Sense of Self’ is anchored in a dynamically moving body. A brief vindication of particular word replacements—tactility for substance, movement for action, and dynamics for sensation—can easily draw first on Aristotle’s insights into the sense modality of touch. In essence, Aristotle observes that ‘without touch it is impossible for an animal to be’ (435b17–18). He gives a number of detailed reasons for the existential preeminence of this sense modality, basically and most notably that ‘without touch it is impossible to have any other sense’ (435a13–14), that ‘every body that has soul in it must. . . be capable of touch’ (435a14), that ‘touch is as it were a mean between all tangible qualities’ (435a22–23), and that ‘the loss of this one sense alone must bring about the death of an animal’ (435b4–5). He explicitly states furthermore that the uniqueness of touch ‘explains. . . why excesses of the other sensible objects, i.e., excess of color, sound, and smell, destroys not the animal but only the organs of the sense’ (435b8–10) . . . whereas excess in tangible qualities, e.g., heat, cold, or hardness, destroys the animal itself’ (435b14–15). We might also note that since living bodies are always in touch with something, the sense modality of touch is readily recognizable experientially and thereby warrants being given its due.
A further living reality of touch, specifically in relation to movement, goes unmentioned in Aristotle’s otherwise keen observations. When we bend an elbow or knee, for example, or stoop to pick up an object, one body part touches another body part. The jointed anatomy of many forms of animate life, but particularly of humans whose skin is covered neither with fur nor feathers, makes tactile self-reflexivity in the context of self-movement a natural built-in of everyday movement. While clothes may mute the experience of self-reflexive tactile contact, the pivotal importance of tactile experiences in moving can hardly be denied. When in learning a new skill, for example, one is told to bend more this way or that, or to open one’s arms to a further degree, or to bring one’s leg further back in preparation for a kick, tactile pressures are in turn increased or decreased and one’s movement is in turn spatially altered. The significance of tactile self-reflexivity can be of specific moment in psychotherapeutic contexts in which patient awarenesses may be directed to habitual postures, ones that, for example, may dramatize a constricted sense of self by way of a constricted tactile self-reflexivity, as when a patient’s arms are consistently folded across his or her chest, a constricted sense that might be reinforced by tensely rigid folded arms.
As to replacing movement for action and dynamics for sensation, it is obvious that ‘action’ packages real-life, real-time movement into nameable ‘doings’ of one kind and another and ignores the distinctive qualitative dynamics of movement in a way not dissimilar from the way in which embodiments package real-life, real-time dimensions of animate being. Action packages movement into running, for example, or eating, or hammering, or even turning around or picking up dropped keys. In so doing, it bypasses the fact that in each instance, the movement unfolds a distinctive qualitative dynamic, a qualitative dynamic that can be parsed in terms of its particular spatial, temporal, and energic structure, a parsing that gives insight into the intricate ways in which the movement flows forth dynamically, including how it begins and how it ends. In brief, by simply putting a label on a certain ‘doing’, the word action gives no hint, much less insight, into the qualitative dynamics that constitute the doing and its qualitative nature from beginning to end. In effect, action effectively bars awareness of the myriad ways in which a movement can qualitatively flow forth. One can walk hesitantly, for example, quickly, determinedly, lethargically, openly, sneakily, and so on, and so on, and furthermore, in dynamic congruity with such kinetic possibilities, walk joyfully, dejectedly, fearfully, angrily, with wonder, with curiosity, and so on, and so on, being motivated by untold other affective surges.
As for dynamics over sensation, it is—or should be—clearly evident that the experience of running, or eating, or hammering, or turning around, or picking up one’s keys is not like an itch or a flash of light or a felt shove. A sensation is temporally punctual and spatially pointillist. The experience of running is not a sensation or even a multitude of sensations, but a particular kinesthetically felt dynamic. Any time we care to pay attention to it, there it is. Indeed, as neuroscientist Marc Jeannerod points out, ‘There are no reliable methods for suppressing kinesthetic information arising during the execution of a movement’’ (Jeannerod, 2006, p. 56). ‘‘Information’’ terminology aside, especially in the context not of position or posture but of movement, Jeannerod’s declarative finding speaks reams about the foundational ongoing reality and significance of kinesthesia. Moving bodies create and at the same time constitute a kinesthetically felt dynamic.
Stern’s specification of the sense of self as the ‘experiential integration’ of four invariants may be specified phenomenologically as the experientially integrated dimensions of the ‘ uniquely singled out’ animate organism that is my animate organism (Husserl, 1973, p. 97). There is, in fact, a ready-made correspondence between Stern’s account of a core self that distinguishes self from other and Husserl’s ‘sphere of ownness’ that distinguishes what is personal from all that is alien, the word ownness having no reference to something possessed, but referring in a precisely analogous way to Stern’s distinction of self and other.1
Husserl distinguishes five dimensions within the personal sphere: ‘fields of sensation’, ‘I govern’, a repertoire of ‘I cans’, ‘self-reflexivity with respect to organs of sense and objects of sense’, and ‘psychophysical unity’ (Husserl, 1973, pp. 97–98). He specifies this personal sphere of experience in terms of a distinctive living phenomenon, namely, an ‘animate organism’ that is ‘ uniquely singled out’ within Nature as ‘my animate organism’ (ibid., p. 97).2 Fields of sensation constitute a ‘field of warmth and coldness’, a field of light and dark, and so on. ‘I govern’ is a matter of being the animate organism who ‘“ rule[s]and govern[s]” immediately, governing particularly in each of its “organs”’, as when ‘[t]ouching kinesthetically, I perceive “with” my hands’. ‘I cans’ refer to abilities, for example, ‘I can push, thrust, and so forth’. ‘Self-reflexivity’ means that ‘ I experience (or can experience) all of Nature, including my own animate organism, which therefore in the process is reflexively related to itself. That becomes possible because I can perceive one hand ‘by means of the other’. ‘Psychophysical unity’ describes the unity of animate organism and psyche or ‘personal Ego’ which anchors the living reality of self and world (ibid., p. 97).3 Though recognized and specified from a different perspective, this anchoring personal ego might be seen as fleshing out Freud’s observation: ‘The ego is first and foremost a bodily ego’ (Freud, 1955, p. 26).
Experiential specifications of Husserl coincide with those of Stern regardless of their difference in naming. Agency and ‘I govern’, for example, home in on the same self-experience, as do agency and ‘I cans’. Self-coherence and self-reflexivity are inherently related in that a non-fragmented wholeness underlies the reality of both. While Stern’s ‘inner qualities of feeling’ (p. 71) and temporal flow go unmentioned in Husserl’s specifications, they are prominent elsewhere in Husserl’s writings, ‘inner qualities of feeling’ in his consistent references to ‘affect and action’ (Husserl, 1989, 2001), temporal flow in his painstaking elucidations of transcendental subjectivity and internal time consciousness (Husserl, 1964, 1970, 1977). What is furthermore of foundational significance is that each of Husserl’s five dimensions originates in tactile-kinesthetic/affective experience, precisely as does Stern’s (1985) core self. We can see this even more closely in terms of Stern’s affirmation that ‘In order for the infant to have any formed sense of self, there must ultimately be some organization that is sensed as a reference point. The first such organization concerns the body: its coherence, its actions, its inner feeling states, and the memory of all these’ (Stern, 1985, p. 46; italics added). With respect to this ‘first such bodily organization’, a repertoire of ‘I cans’ corresponds to ‘coherence’ as well as ‘actions’ the former insofar as Husserl recognizes a build-up of abilities, a history of learning on the basis of experience, precisely as in his seminal observation, ‘I move precedes I do and I can’ (Husserl, 1989; italics added). The affective/ tactile-kinesthetic body is indeed foundational throughout insofar as ‘actions’ are propelled by felt dispositions, urges, motivations, and the like, and are themselves experienced kinesthetically and tactilely, the latter as in kicking, when the knee flexes and the back of the lower leg touches the back of the thigh. Notable too is the fact that ‘psychophysical unity’ corresponds to all four dimensions of the core self that is similarly, the locus of meaningful actions, of intentionalities that consistently play off my movings and doings, comings and goings, hesitancies and rushings, curiosities and wonderings, and more. In sum, the five characteristics that Husserl says ‘[bring] to light my animate organism’, bring to light, and in the most foundational sense, my tactile-kinesthetic/ affective body, precisely as do Stern’s dimensions of the core self. Clearly, when we juxtapose Husserl’s specification of self-experience that differentiates what is strictly personal from what is alien or other, hence experience akin to what Stern describes as ‘sense of self’ as distinct from sense of other, we find basic animate complementarities.
Stern’s core self and Husserl’s ‘uniquely singled out animate organism’ have an affinity with Jung’s analysis of symbols of self and his perspective on the intimate relationship of psyche and matter. Jung states ‘Since psyche and matter are contained in one and the same world, and moreover are in continuous contact with one another and ultimately rest on irrepresentable, transcendental factors, it is not only possible but fairly probable, even, that psyche and matter are two different aspects of one and the same thing’ (Jung, 1969, p. 125). While Jung’s analysis and perspective have a broader scope—they are not concerned with basic aspects of the self but with psychoanalytic factors with respect to the self—they remain firmly anchored in the body and reverberate in living realities of being a body. With respect to symbols of self, Jung writes,
The symbols of the self arise in the depths of the body and they express its materiality every bit as much as the structure of the perceiving consciousness. The symbol is thus a living body, corpus et anima. The deeper ‘layers’ of the psyche lose their individual uniqueness as they retreat farther and farther into darkness. ‘Lower down’, that is to say as they approach the autonomous functional systems, they become increasingly collective until they are universalized and extinguished in the body’s materiality, i.e., in chemical substances. The body’s carbon is simply carbon. Hence ‘at bottom’ the psyche is simply ‘world’. . . The more archaic and ‘deeper’, that is the more physiological, the symbol is, the more collective and universal, the more ‘material’ it is. The more abstract, differentiated, and specific it is, the more its nature approximates to conscious uniqueness and individuality, the more it sloughs off its universal character.
(Jung, 1968b, 2nd ed., p. 173)
Symbols of self are thus clearly not a construct but an expression of living bodies, an expression that at its deepest level is a reflection of a common humanity: the symbol, in Jung’s terms, is an archetypal image. Of particular significance are Jung’s probing comments on the relationship of archetype to instinct. He writes, for example, ‘The fact that all the psychic processes accessible to our observation and experience are somehow bound to an organic substrate indicates that they are articulated with the life of the organism as a whole and therefore partake of its dynamism, in other words, they must have a share in its instincts or be in a certain sense the results of the action of those instincts’ (Jung, 1969, p. 90). At a later point, he reflects, ‘It is very probable that the archetypes, as instincts, possess a specific energy which cannot be taken away from them in the long run’ (ibid., p. 129, note 124). Such an energy relationship is part and parcel of the inherent relationship, that is, the natural conjunction of psyche and matter.
That the natural conjunction of psyche and matter in the living world leads Jung to consider them as being of a piece, a singular piece, is significant in that his perspective runs counter to the common Cartesian distinction of mind and body as two absolutely different ‘substances’, a distinction that indeed runs counter to the evolution of animate forms of life. Animate forms of life move, and in different ways and to different degrees, are aware of their own movement. Jung does not develop his perspective in this direction, but it is surely evident that kinesthesia plays a central, even pivotal role in the natural conjunction of psyche and matter as does its forerunner proprioception in the form of an awareness of deformations and stress.4
Jung’s comments about emotion also tie in with Stern’s ‘inner qualities of feeling’. With respect to archetypes, he comments, ‘It would be an unpardonable sin of omission were one to overlook the feeling-value of the archetype. This is extremely important both theoretically and therapeutically’ (Jung, 1969, p. 119). He goes on to give an example of natives he met in equatorial east Africa whose morning movement ritual at sunrise was not explicitly understood by them, that is, whose meaning they could not explicitly state, but whose meaning Jung relates to Westerners’ Christmas tree ritual: ‘The behaviour of the Elgonyi certainly strikes us as exceedingly primitive, but we forget that the educated Westerner behaves no differently. What the meaning of the Christmas-tree might be our forefathers knew even less than ourselves, and it is only quite recently that we have bothered to find out at all’ (ibid., pp. 119–120).5
Jung’s keen observation about the nature of emotions is of further significance with respect to the spontaneity of ‘inner qualities of feeling’. Jung points out that emotion ‘is not an activity of the individual but something that happens to him’ (Jung, 1968a, 2nd ed., pp. 8–9). He does not analyse the nature of that happening, but it is surely of moment to ask, ‘what is the nature of that happening?’ Careful phenomenological analysis shows that the happening is clearly a bodily happening, a dynamic happening that is qualitatively distinct in the way that it moves through the body and moves the individual to move, or to stay still. The answer is significant in light of common talk about emotions as states of being. The further one moves from the body, whether on psychotherapeutic grounds or in a quest to understand the nature of human life, the further one moves from real-life, real-time human experience. Liabilities ensue, including the liability of focusing exclusive attention on the brain (the elevated human one, of course) in the absence of a whole-body nervous system. In many instances, including high profile ones, experiential ascriptions are made to brains. Thus we read, ‘If you see the back of a person’s head, the brain infers that there is a face on the front of it’ (Crick and Koch, 1992, p. 153); ‘In my view, emotional feelings represent only one category of affects that brains experience’ (Panksepp, 2005, p. 162); ‘An object’s image varies with distance, yet the brain can ascertain its true size’ (Zeki, 1992, p. 69). A much older ascription is significant in succinctly epitomizing the liabilities of living in a brain-tethered world: ‘Nonhuman animals have brains capable of cooperative hunting’ (Harding, 1975, p. 255), as if brains are out there hunting in concert on the savannah.6
Vipassana Buddhist teachings warrant attention in this context of recognizing the dynamics of bodily life and being true to the truths of experience. As Buddhist monk and clinical psychologist Jack Kornfield observes, ‘When we listen to our bodies, our bodily wisdom grows. We can feel the body’s urge to move and honor its cycles of rest, we can meditate and dance, we can respect its need for solitude, we can allow its lively senses, and we can know its pleasures and limitations. ‘Instead of fearing our body, its losses and strange vulnerability, we honor it’ (Kornfield, 2000, p. 188). Joseph Goldstein points out, ‘While it is true that there is no enduring entity, no unchanging self that can be called “I,” it is also quite obvious that each of us is a uniquely changing and recognizable pattern of elements’ (Goldstein and Kornfield, 1987, p. 112). In particular, when we cultivate certain feelings, they grow stronger and thus easily arise again. As Goldstein comments, ‘We tend not to pay attention to this conditioning factor of our experience, thinking instead that once an experience has passed it is gone without reside or result. That would be like dropping a stone in water without creating any ripples’ (ibid.). His experiential insights accord with Stern’s ‘experiential integration’ and Husserl’s ‘personal sphere’. Though not specified in such terms, it is clear that the changing ‘pattern of elements’ (the flux of experience) are anchored in the fact that being a body is a dynamic whole-life developmental reality, an ontogeny that spans the whole of life. Such anchorage in movement and change coincides with Aristotle’s perspicuous observation that ‘Nature is a principle of motion and change. We must therefore see that we understand what motion is; for if it were unknown, nature too would be unknown’ (200b12–14). It coincides further with Husserl’s perspicuous observation that ‘consciousness of the world. . . is in constant motion’ (Husserl, 1970). The anchorage thus also makes evident questionable if not deflective and even false concepts and formulations of self, notably, the concept of self as ‘embodied’ (e.g., Gallagher, 2005; Gallagher and Zahavi, 2012), the concept of self-tethered to ownership (Gallagher and Zahavi, 2012; Zahavi, 1999), and the concept of self as a basically spatial entity whose solidity precludes bona fide recognition of the dynamics of movement and affectivity and the realities of ontogenetic temporal change (ibid.).
In sum, living realities of being a body are integral to veridical conceptions of self, conceptions that are true to the truths of experience. Because they specify essential dimensions of being a body and illuminate these dimensions in first-person experience, they are essential aspects of psychotherapeutic practices that are rooted not in language but in movement. Movement indeed forms the ‘I’ that moves before the ‘I’ that moves forms movement, which is to say that movement is our mother tongue. That existential reality resonates with Jung’s therapeutic advice: ‘[L]earn your theories as well as you can but put them aside when you touch the miracle of the living soul’ (Jung, 1999, p. 22). The living soul is a Body. As Husserl affirms, ‘The Body is, as Body, filled with the soul through and through. Each movement of the Body is full of soul, the coming and going, the standing and sitting, the walking and dancing’. Moreover, as Kornfield (2000) affirms, the living soul is a source of wisdom: ‘When we listen to our bodies, our bodily wisdom grows’ (ibid., p. 188). Clearly, the living soul is anchored in the tactile-kinesthetic/affective body and is thus a matter of movement and of feelings that move the body to move. Bodily wisdom, in effect, grows in listening to kinesthesia and affectivity.
1 It is of critical importance to emphasize that Husserl’s sphere of ownness refers not to possession but to a foundational ‘hereness’. Husserl wrote of the ‘zero point of orientation’ as an always present bodily hereness in relation to a thereness. In what follows, I consider the ‘zero point’ tout court, namely, an always present bodily hereness, what might be termed an existential hereness. Though one might relate this always present bodily hereness to a self and go on from there to speak of self-reference or self-affection, such terms would mislead us: they make an ontological entity, a self, out of a construct. The construct is largely linguistic, even an outgrowth of the linguistic practice of ‘referring’ to ‘oneself’, ‘myself’, ‘yourself’,‘our-selves’, ‘themselves’, ‘herself’, ‘himself’. What this common practice implicitly claims is not just a ‘self’, but a self that is ‘mine’, or ‘yours’, and so on, in short, a self that is ‘owned’ by someone. Ownership is thus a built-in of linguistic selves. When we compare this ontological-linguistic entity with infant psychiatrist and clinical psychologist Daniel Stern’s closely detailed account of the ‘core self’, we not only appreciate its falseness, but are led to a highly instructive developmental ‘sense of self’.
2 See note #1 above regarding hereness as opposed to possession.
3 Being only briefly identified, the characteristics are incompletely analyzed, both in themselves and, most importantly as a composite whole. Although one may certainly find references to, and fuller discussions of each of the characteristics in other Husserlian texts, they are not fleshed in the present context as the integrally-related structural units of wholly personal experience that Husserl identifies them to be. Indeed, Husserl explicitly states with respect to the intentionalities of self-constitution that ‘admittedly we have not investigated them in these meditations. They belong to a distinct stratum and are the theme of vast investigations into which we did not and could not enter’ (Husserl, 1973, p. 110; for a further discussion, see Sheets-Johnstone, 1999, p. 99).
4 ‘Sense organs capable of registering continuously deformation (changes in length) and stress (tensions, decompressions) in the body, which can arise from the animal’s own movements or may be due to its weight or other external mechanical forces’ (Lissman, 1950, p. 35; quoted in Mill, 1976, p. xvi). In a word, proprioceptive sensitivity is continuous. Not only is a creature’s surface in contact continuously with other surfaces in the environment, whether it is moving or whether it is still, but its own conformations continuously change in the course of moving.
5 Jung proceeds to point out that ‘The archetype is pure, unvitiated nature, and it is nature that causes man to utter words and perform actions whose meaning is unconscious to him, so unconscious that he no longer gives it a thought’ (1969, p. 120).
6 Perhaps the most outlandish if not egregious of all is a Teaching Company advertisement on behalf of a course taught by a neuroscientist. The course, titled ‘How Your Brain Works’, is described as follows: ‘Everything you hear, feel, see, and think is controlled by your brain. It allows you to cope masterfully with your everyday environment and is capable of producing breathtaking athletic feats, sublime works of art, and profound scientific insights. But its most amazing achievement may be that it can understand itself’ ( Teaching Company, 2014, p. 3).
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