Have you ever become confused when you reached to pick up a pencil because you suddenly couldn’t tell the difference between yourself and the pencil? Of course not. But why not? You are a physical object, and so is the pencil. Why does it matter which one you are?
It matters because experience has a personal, subjective feel to it. The sense that you are the owner of your experience is what makes your thoughts yours. Psychiatrists sometimes call that ipseity, or personal identity, and its failure is a characteristic of schizophrenia. What would it be like if you had thoughts that did not seem like they were yours? It would be exactly like hearing voices.
Insights such as that can be won from Dan Zahavi's difficult book, Subjectivity and Selfhood: Investigating the First-Person Perspective. The book is difficult because the questions are difficult. What is subjectivity? What makes us self-aware? What is the self?
Without an account of subjectivity, Zahavi writes, we cannot understand what a self is, and if we cannot understand that, we will not be able to consider that some pathologies, such as schizophrenia and autism, are comprehensible. I would add that without understanding subjectivity, we cannot understand anything about human culture, from politics to the arts to literature. Modern human life is 90% in the head.
There is no clue anywhere in the physical world that consciousness exists. Self-awareness alone reveals it. But how does that work? Zahavi argues that experience always has a subjective aspect. There is no free-floating experience out there on its own. Every experience is somebody's experience, so subjectivity must be intrinsic to consciousness. It follows, then, that subjectivity must be inherently self-aware, albeit in a prereflective, noncognitive, nonintrospective way.
Zahavi suggests that subjectivity is fractured within itself, fragmented or cracked just enough to create a thin shadow of self-alienation, the tiniest precursor of the epistemological subject-object divide. That is enough for subjectivity to get a look at itself. Strange as that sounds, Zahavi desperately needs this concept, for without it, as Husserl wrote, "I cannot grasp my own functioning subjectivity because I am it” (p. 92).
I agree that subjectivity, at its core, is self-alienated and unstable. That instability is what allows subjectivity to be revealed to itself in deliberate reflection. Subjectivity is, then, the knife that can cut itself. The conclusion should have been stated in boldface, uppercase letters, but Zahavi is not prone to bold statements.
Zahavi also takes up the question of intersubjectivity, the problem of how people know each other's mind. You say “ouch” when you bang your thumb and that is what I would say, so you must have feelings like I do. Zahavi convincingly shows that analogy is not how we know each other, despite what common sense would say. I was skeptical at first, then thoroughly persuaded.
All Zahavi's arguments appeal to scientific findings, philosophical sources, logic, and intuition to support ideas that one presumes come from phenomenological analysis. But phenomenology is not a well-defined epistemological method like science, so there are no criteria for judging the validity of its output. The book is thus a set of arguments that aims to be persuasive, not a presentation of consensus findings. Personally, I was persuaded and much-enriched in the process.
Zahavi's main method of argument is exegesis of Husserl's writings, on which he is a well-known expert. He also explicates passages from Heidegger, Sartre, Merleau-Ponty, and other phenomenologists. He deserves high praise for making Husserl's turgid writing accessible, going beyond even the published sources to provide his own translations of posthumous letters and notes. Yet for all Zahavi's scholarship, this book suffers from a bit too much Husserl and not enough Zahavi. Time and again, I looked to the author for direction, only to find another set of arguments from Husserl. Remarkable for a book endorsing a first-person perspective, there is little of it apparent.
This is an exciting book, though, rich in ideas, with practical implications, on perhaps the most important topics a psychologist ever confronts: subjectivity and selfhood. My head nearly exploded. It may be too difficult for the average reader.