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Being No One: The Self-Model Theory of Subjectivity. 53 Metzinger’s view is that there is no static “self” as a permanent entity or substance. Rather, he says, mental processes continually create a self-model, the illusion of a “center-self.” Driven by bodily signals, this is a physical and spatial anchor for the phenomenal self.

. Brain research shows that alongside a sequential processing of bodily and environmental stimuli there exist many parallel lines of processing without any localizable integration center. Rather, the parallel, spatially distributed neuronal processing modules are linked together to form a whole, in which they are coded as operating “simultaneously.” This present-time linking of the processes might be the mechanism that ensures the conscious experience of a self in the present moment. Through this we have an idea of a self, a self-model of the “I.”

In our conversation, Stefan Schmidt brought up the following idea: experience is primarily timeless. Only the introduction of an observer introduces time. This is the ability to distance oneself from the now, to be mentally elsewhere, to compare. This leads to the creation of time consciousness

We need the sense of time, because we want to communicate, because we make plans; it is something meaningful, but it is not already part of experience. Certain species of animal also have a time consciousness. These are the species to which we also attribute self-consciousness and a theory of mind. Theory of mind is the ability to adopt the subjective perspective of a fellow member of your species. Crows, great apes, elephants, dolphins, and whales have a consciousness of themselves and they also plan for the future.5

: The more one gives up the need for control and orientation, the more intensively one enters a region where time no longer plays a role. Time plays an important role for people, as it is concerned with control. If I no longer pay attention to time, then I no longer pay attention to the self in time.

temporal experience alters according to the intensity of emotions and is linked to the accompanying physical processes. In this, the experience of self and the sense of time fluctuate in their intensity. In periods of boredom, the perception of self and the sense of time (which is ticking away all too slowly) are both intensified. Before the climax of ecstasy, temporal experience expands and the sense of self is heightened in the extreme. In an extreme experience of flow or even in mind wandering, by contrast, we perceive ourselves and time less intensively.

n 2009, the brain researcher A. D. (Bud) Craig of the Barrow Neurological Institute in Phoenix, asserted that temporal experience was dependent on body signals.7 According to Craig, the sense of time passing arises from the continuous construction of representations of the body in the brain.

Through a gradual processing and integration of these body signals with other sense impressions and thought processes and with motivational and situational conditions, an all-encompassing representation of the present condition is created in the anterior insular cortex. This is what Bud Craig calls a “global emotional moment,” and it represents the self, updated from moment to moment, as “how I feel now.” Consequently, the concept of self is based on physical conditions that alter with time; in this way the sense of time arises as a perception of self through time.

Time and self are one: this is a powerful hypothesis put forward by phenomenology and the neurosciences. If it is correct, then perception of self and time perception would have to be interchangeable. To put it another way, the concept of self and the experience of time should display a high correlation. As became clear in chapter 1, extraordinary states of consciousness entail precisely this. But even in everyday states of consciousness the relationship is clear to see. In situations we find boring, we are forced back on ourselves and feel ourselves in an unpleasantly intensive way. On a boring Sunday afternoon, time spent alone passes only too slowly. Psychological studies show that people who are prone to feeling bored experience time passing more slowly when engaged in monotonous activities than do people who are seldom bored.11 Boredom actually means that we find ourselves boring. It’s the intensive self-reference: we are bored with ourselves. We are tired of ourselves.

Pure time, its pure presence. Boredom—that is, the moment when no one notices that time is passing because it will not just then pass, when one cannot drive it away, make it pass, or, as the saying goes, fill it meaningfully. … It refuses to pass, it stands still, it holds one in inert immobility, it “thralls.” This comprehensive paralysis reveals that time is not simply a medium in which we move, but that it is something that we produce out of ourselves.

To maintain the experience of the present, one directs one’s focus toward specific areas of the body; for example, attentively monitoring regular inhalation andand exhalation—this is intended to help avoid mind wandering. This procedure leads to an increase in the experience of bodily presence, and thus directly to the experience of time expansion.

. Typically, as soon as we become aware of ourselves and of the time, we are astonished at how much time has elapsed. In the flow of intensive activity, the perception of self is reduced and the feeling of time disappears. This is a paradoxical situation. On the one hand we have achieved something that will be permanent—writing this text, solving a syntax problem in programming—but our life as a whole has almost disappeared for minutes or even hours. We were concentrating fully and completely on the matter at hand, but in doing so we did not notice ourselves: a loss of the experience of both self and time. Expressing it negatively this way also shows how the perception of self and that of time are jointly modulated.

Dostoyevsky writes about Prince Myshkin’s ecstatic state during auras that lasted for seconds: The sense of life, of self-awareness, increased nearly tenfold in these moments, which flashed by like lightning. His mind, his heart were lit up with an extraordinary light; all his agitation, all his doubts, all his worries were as if placated at once, resolved in a sort of sublime tranquillity, filled with serene, harmonious joy, and hope, filled with reason and ultimate cause.

ecstatic auras as an extraordinary state of consciousness: Those moments were precisely only an extraordinary intensification of self-awareness—if there was a need to express this condition in a single word—self-awareness and at the same time a self-sense immediate in the highest degree.

By using such terminology, Dostoyevsky describes an extraordinarily intensified feeling of presence.

In addition, the phenomena of extraordinary states of consciousness seem to be linked to an uncontrolled overactivation of the insular cortex. A heightened feeling of presence is produced, and this can ultimately result in a dissolution of the boundaries of the bodily self in space and also a dissolution of the sense of time. If confirmed, these findings illuminate how the physical sense of self is modulated by processes taking place at a neuronal level. A sensual exaggeration of the self goes hand in hand with an increase in the activity of the insular cortex. Beyond a certain threshold, if the activity becomes too strong, the senses tip over, leading to the disappearance of the feeling of self.

The Best Moments of Life

To be sure, the common desire for a “more aware” life stems from the feeling of being unable to enjoy the moment. 21 A corollary of the thought that one is not living “in the now” is the feeling that one’s experience lacks intensity. The feeling arises that life is passing us by and we are not “really” living: experiences come and go, yet they lack meaning. We often look forward to a special occasion, but afterward it seems to have occurred without genuine emotional involvement on our part. We did not take in the events as consciously as we had hoped. The intensity of lived experience proves lacking. Only too late do we lament: If only I had lived more fully when I was with someone dear to me (that is, more intensely, savoring the moment). Frequently, it takes a blow of fate to realize just how thoughtless and unaware one’s life has been.

Alternatively, we intentionally pursue several things at the same time—even if none of them receives our full attention. It is understandable, then, that experiences seem less intense: our attention must be divided (or, more precisely, it shifts back and forth quickly) between tasks. Moreover, activities prove increasingly subject to error because focused attention is wanting

Where full attention is lacking, intensive experience is impossible. The Stanford literary theorist Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht expresses it as follows: what is missing is presence.

The attention of these individuals has been thoroughly detached from their bodily presence. Presence is not simply a matter of mental focus; it also concerns the corporeality of the moment. The experience of presence occurs when body and mind, space and time, constitute a unity: here and now. According to Gumbrecht, our fascination with sports derives from the possibility—whether actively, as an athlete, or simply as a spectator—of participating in events that promote becoming “lost in focused intensity.”

Breathing necessarily involves feeling the presence of the body, for its rhythm unfolds as one moment passes to the next. It is no accident that a period of a single relaxed breath lasts for about three seconds. The span of a breath lasts for the precise duration of a moment of lived experience.

Another view holds that the sense of duration comes about through the feeling of intellectual and emotional exertion. 13 Novel events are felt to last longer because they make greater claims on the faculties of perception, thinking, and emotional assessment. In contrast, familiar items do not require special analysis or evaluation; perceiving them is not as intensive.

Hoagland concluded, on this basis, that the fever had produced a level of physiological activity higher than average, and that this had made her count faster and, by the same token, overestimate temporal duration

Numerous studies from the field of cognitive psychology have shown that the subjective duration of a span of time depends on the number of events stored in memory and the number of changes experienced in this period. The more events or contextual changes that occur within a given stretch of time, the longer it is subjectively experienced. 2 Contextual changes concern changes in environment, thought, or feeling. A large quantity of changes perceived over a stretch of time causes duration to expand subjectively, compared to the same span spent under conditions that are monotonous and poor in experience. When a period offers many experiences that can be recalled, it appears to have lasted longer in retrospect. An exciting week on vacation that yielded many new impressions lasts much longer, subjectively, than a week following the same old routine while commuting between home and the office.

Experiences that are exciting and new expand time. But when what was novel becomes a matter of routine, time starts to pass quickly again. The narration of The Magic Mountain also develops on the model of how phenomena of perception and memory unfold over an extended span of time. At the outset, detailed descriptions of the first few days at the sanatorium in the Alps fill page after page. The novel’s protagonist, Hans Castorp, views his surroundings and the events there with new eyes, and so there is much that warrants telling. Hours take up whole pages. Later on, the same amount of space is devoted to weeks and even months; far longer stretches of time must pass for the same number of pages to be filled

Israeli researchers have provided empirical proof for Mann’s insight by observing life and the world. At the end of a holiday period, they interviewed people at the beach. The responses provided by forty-one vacationers demonstrated how the time seemed to pass faster and faster over the course of their stay; the first days stretched out, subjectively, and then they grew shorter and shorter. 3 In addition, the researchers showed that people whose professions involved more routine experienced time as passing more quickly than others.

Fuller Experience Means Longer Life

Many studies have demonstrated that the feeling of duration depends on the number of changes experienced and retained by memory; as such, it is possible to influence how time is felt by way of experiences in life. Storing more memories in a given period will result in feeling that a longer time has passed. Here, emotions play a role: events are subject to more frequent and more detailed recollection when they are connected with feelings. In general, we can say that events are stored because they are charged with a certain level of affect. 8 Alternatively, the episodes in our lives that we remember depend on the feelings we associate with them. The greater the store of lived experience—that is, the more emotional coloration and variety one’s life has—the longer one’s lifetime seems, subjectively.

With this knowledge, we can formulate directions that may lead to changes in our experience of time. In order to feel that one’s life is flowing more slowly—and fully—one might seek out new situations over and over to have novel experiences that, because of their emotional value, are retained by memory over the long term. Greater variety makes a given period of life expand in retrospect. Life passes more slowly. If one challenges oneself consistently, it pays off, over the years, as the feeling of having lived fully—and, most importantly, of having lived for a long time. Nevertheless, one qualification—which seems rather melancholy—must also be made. As a matter of course, even active and flexible people experience the feeling of repetition at one point or another—say, when one travels to the twentieth exotic land or develops the latest in a long series of innovative business ideas. After all, experience means having done things in life, and so many things and events no longer seem unexpected and novel. What stands out are the experiences that occur for the first time; as such, events from the early phases of life prove especially enduring. Additionally, we must reflect on the value of our experiences. It takes decades of professional experience to yield expertise that proves invaluable. An extreme change in circumstance—say, moving from one profession to another—can render superfluous all the expert knowledge one has accumulated. Accordingly, one’s subjective experience of his or her lifetime may involve more than deploying the knowledge and skills one has acquired; the trick might be to use them in different contexts, and not always on the same, well-trodden path.

One might say that the appeal of murder mysteries lies in the effort to uncover the secrets of death. In fiction, a mystery can be solved that defies explanation in real life.

Dream narratives simulate real life in a “safe setting” and help people adjust emotionally to similar occurrences. Of course, dreams may be interpreted in many ways, just as one might read a detective novel for different reasons. But one function such stories perform might be to simulate encounters with death and dying without risk: ultimately, the fiction promises to explain the mystery of death.

Moreover, in Seneca’s opinion, life only seems short to us—that is, to pass faster and faster—because we waste time on so many useless activities. “Useless” does not necessarily mean lazy Sunday afternoons on the couch. Seneca endorses anything but an unconditional work ethic. On the contrary, he wants to demonstrate that many of our pursuits in life—and especially the work we choose, which eats up all our time—keep us from things that would really prove fulfilling and offer an emotionally rich existence. At this juncture, the reader may reflect on his or her own activities. What is keeping us from doing what we really want to do? In other words: life is, in fact, long, if only we know how to use our time. In the language of memory psychology: Live in such a way that your life is varied and emotionally rich; then you will live for a long time.