Contributions to Phenomenology 122

Jeff Yoshimi
Philip Walsh
Patrick Londen   Editors

Horizons
of Phenomenology
Essays on the State of the Field and Its
Applications
Contributions to Phenomenology

In Cooperation with The Center for Advanced

Research in Phenomenology
Volume 122

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 Member

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
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.
Jeff Yoshimi • Philip Walsh • Patrick Londen
Editors

Horizons of Phenomenology
Essays on the State of the Field
and Its Applications
Editors
Jeff Yoshimi Philip Walsh
Department of Cognitive Software Engineering Research
and Information Sciences Gartner
University of California Stamford, CT, USA
Merced, CA, USA

Patrick Londen
Department of Philosophy
University of California
Riverside, CA, USA

ISSN 0923-9545     ISSN 2215-1915 (electronic)

Contributions to Phenomenology
ISBN 978-3-031-26073-5    ISBN 978-3-031-26074-2 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2

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Contents

Introduction������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    1
Patrick Londen, Philip Walsh, and Jeff Yoshimi

Part I Internal Horizons


Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature�����������������������������   17
Pablo Contreras Kallens and Jeff Yoshimi

Phenomenology Park: The Landscape of Husserlian Phenomenology������   49
John J. Drummond
Constitution Through Noema and Horizon:
Husserl’s Theory of Intentionality������������������������������������������������������������������   63
David Woodruff Smith
The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development
of Husserl’s Philosophy�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������   81
Burt C. Hopkins
Heideggerian Phenomenology������������������������������������������������������������������������  107
Hakhamanesh Zangeneh

The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought����������������������������������������������  123
Robin M. Muller
Beyond “Dreydegger”: The Future of Anglo-American
Existential Phenomenology ����������������������������������������������������������������������������  157
Patrick Londen
Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology: Metaphysics������������������������������������������  171
Steven Crowell

v
vi Contents

Part II External Horizons: Embodiment and Identity


Phenomenology at the Intersection of Gender and Race ����������������������������  197
Céline Leboeuf
The Phenomenology of Zozobra: Mexican
and Latinx Philosophers on (Not) Being at Home in the World������������������  211
Francisco Gallegos
Merleau-Ponty and Standpoint Theory ��������������������������������������������������������  231
Rebecca Harrison

Part III External Horizons: The Arts

Are Artists Phenomenologists? Perspectives
from Edith Landmann-­Kalischer and Maurice Merleau-Ponty ����������������  247
Samantha Matherne

The Reading Process: An Intertextual Approach ����������������������������������������  265
Manuel M. Martín-Rodríguez
Phenomenology and Architecture: Examining Embodied
Experience and Graphic Representations of the Built Environment����������  285
Jennifer A. E. Shields

Part IV External Horizons: Archaeology and Anthropology

The Life and Afterlife of Phenomenology in Archaeological
Theory and Practice����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  307
Holley Moyes

Reconstructing Past Experience Using Virtual Reality��������������������������������  325
Graham Goodwin and Nicola Lercari

Anthropological Phenomenology and the Eventive Ground������������������������  337
Christopher Stephan and C. Jason Throop
Introduction

Patrick Londen, Philip Walsh, and Jeff Yoshimi

1 Overview

100 years ago Edith Stein had just ended her term as assistant to Edmund Husserl,
and Martin Heidegger was beginning his. Both were in the early stages of their own
notable careers in phenomenology. They were drawn to the prospect of a new way
of studying the world, oriented around the manifestations of entities, and their
meanings to us, rather than to their objective properties. For example, the experi-
ence of living in a building, hearing a passage of music, or worshiping a sacred
vessel, as opposed to a construction report, an acoustic analysis of tonal properties,
or an archaeological description. Since then thousands of researchers have been
drawn to the field and its many texts and themes, sweating through its extensive and
jargon-filled primary literature, in the process creating a huge secondary literature
and organizing into hundreds of groups and professional organizations, many of
them associated with specific schools of interpretation.
Phenomenology continues to have broad appeal, both as a research program
within philosophy and as a methodology, where researchers seek ways to supple-
ment purely objective descriptions with more experiential, personal, or otherwise
phenomenological descriptions. However, anyone entering the field, and even those
with some familiarity, are faced with a problem: how to get one’s bearings in an
ever-expanding landscape of technical concepts, historical texts, and competing

P. Londen
Department of Philosophy, University of California, Riverside, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]
P. Walsh
Software Engineering Research, Gartner, Stamford, CT, USA
J. Yoshimi (*)
Department of Cognitive and Information Sciences, University of California,
Merced, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 1

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_1
2 P. Londen et al.

schools of thought? The primary literature is daunting, and the secondary literature
is massive. Introductions and anthologies exist, many of them excellent, but they are
typically focused on particular phenomenologists or topics, or offer an encyclopedic
catalog of the discipline. What is missing is a broad characterization of the field as
a whole—one that canvasses its many schools, camps, and styles—as a way to get
situated in the area. What follows is such a guide, a kind of handbook or map of
current research, to orient established scholars in areas outside of their primary
expertise and also to orient newcomers, who can read these essays alongside intro-
ductory texts. This volume is thus a supplement to existing resources, a guide to
further study, providing a selective overview of many of the paths the field has taken
in the last 100 years, a summary of where things stand today, and indications of
where they are going.
The volume is organized around a horizon metaphor. A literal horizon, the place
where earth meets sky, serves to orient us in space, and is suggestive of both an
outermost limit and of the many ways one can push forward into an area. The hori-
zon allows us to find our way among objects and in the wider world. This metaphor
was used by all the major phenomenologists. In Husserl “horizon” is a technical
term with several meanings. He distinguishes an internal from an external horizon.
The internal horizon of an object is the “systematic manifold of all possible percep-
tual exhibitings belonging to it harmoniously” (Husserl, 1970, 162). In other words,
the set of possible ways an object can appear to a perceiver. An object’s external
horizon is the field of “co-given” objects to which it is related, which “points finally
to the whole ‘world as perceptual world’….the universe of things for possible per-
ceptions” (ibid.). Heidegger opens Being and Time by describing the provisional
aim of the treatise as disclosing time as “the possible horizon for any understanding
whatsoever of Being,” a kind of underlying background on the basis of which any
understanding of being makes sense, a background which must be “laid bare” as
part of ontological research (Heidegger, 1962, 40).
We don’t intend to make use of any specific technical sense of the term “horizon”
here; this is not a treatise about the concept of horizon. Rather, we draw on the
imagery of a horizon, and on the broad outlines of the philosophical concept, to
organize the volume. Our aim is to consider some important points of reference for
the field as a whole, as a way of orienting readers in the field, attuning them to its
possibilities, and opening up ideas and avenues of future research. As a whole, the
essays provide a broad sampling of contemporary approaches to phenomenology,
both in terms of the state of current research within the field (“internal horizons”)
and in terms of applications of phenomenology to other areas of research (“external
horizons”).
Of course, any such guide is bound to be selective, reflecting the social networks
and interests of the editors. This is not meant as an encyclopedia, but as a guided
tour of the field, focusing on trends, approaches, and methodologies that have been
left out of other collections. The volume originates in a conference convened at UC
Merced, in California’s central valley, and attended by many scholars in California’s
public higher education system (the University of California and the California
State College systems). Still, we were fortunate to gather scholars with very
Introduction 3

different backgrounds and training, to write essays on the broad outlines of the field
and its many applications.
The first part of the book, on the “internal horizons” of the field, surveys the state
of phenomenology today and raises questions that the field faces going forward.
This part of the book provides an overview of some of the main schools of thought
in phenomenology, the questions that animate them, and examples of projects and
directions of research being pursued. Several schools of Husserlian and Heideggerian
thought are covered, including more analytic “West Coast” phenomenology, the
pragmatic form of existential phenomenology associated with Hubert Dreyfus and
his students, and broad surveys of Heidegger and Merleau-Ponty scholarship which
includes coverage of several European research traditions. Many (but not all) of the
topics covered in this part of the book are internal to phenomenology itself, such as
exegetical and philosophical questions about being and consciousness, and clashes
between rival schools of interpretation.
The second part of the volume showcases the “external horizons” of phenome-
nology, treating it as a living discipline that can both contribute to and draw inspira-
tion from other areas. We do not cover several areas of application that are already
well established, e.g. phenomenology and cognitive science, or phenomenology and
the social sciences.1 Instead, we focus on: (1) embodiment and questions of identity,
(2) the arts, and (3) archaeology and anthropology. Each of these connections shows
how phenomenology can open up new paths of thinking in an area.
The way that identity is embodied has long been a focus of phenomenological
work. The theme is already apparent in Husserl and Heidegger, namely in their dis-
cussions of how structures of consciousness take shape through processes of histori-
cal genesis. Sartre and Merleau-Ponty both explore these issues in detail, treating
the “transcendence” of consciousness as inextricable from its concrete, embodied,
historical situation—its “facticity.” This set the stage for groundbreaking investiga-
tions into the way identity is gendered and racialized by Simone de Beauvoir and
Frantz Fanon. Beauvoir’s The Second Sex and Fanon’s Black Skin, White Masks set
the agenda for entire research programs, establishing connections between embodi-
ment, socio-historical processes, and identity as enduring horizons for both phe-
nomenological research and philosophy more generally.
Art has been a prominent topic within phenomenology from its inception. The
experience of works of art provided key insights for some of the most influential
texts in phenomenology (Heidegger on van Gogh; Merleau-Ponty on Cézanne,
etc.). Art theorists and critics have, in turn, recognized how phenomenology offers
a useful theoretical framework for understanding works of art, thus highlighting that
a shared interest in investigating the structure and meaning of experience character-
izes both fields. Art practitioners and theorists have also made use of

1
 For a comprehensive overview of phenomenology and the cognitive sciences, see Petitot et al.
(eds.) 1999. A survey of more recent work at this intersection is in Yoshimi (2020). The earlier
literature on phenomenology and the social sciences is associated with Schutz (1972). Also see
Natanson (1973). More recently phenomenology has been developed into one of the five main
approaches to qualitative research in the social sciences (Creswell & Poth, 2016).
4 P. Londen et al.

phenomenological concepts for their own creative and theoretical ends, often devel-
oping these ideas in ways that go beyond the simple application of a philosophical
framework. Phenomenological reflection is not just a way for philosophers to under-
stand art, but can also be a tool for artists and art theorists to investigate the subject
matter of creative work. Understanding how artworks themselves can embody phe-
nomenological investigation helps us see what philosophers can learn from those
working in the arts.
Finally, archaeology and anthropology have a history of interaction with phe-
nomenology, extending back to Husserl’s early interactions with Levy Bruhl (Moran
& Steinacher, 2008) and his dismissal of Heidegger’s Being and Time as merely
“philosophical anthropology” (Husserl, 1997), which reflects a mixed relationship
between the areas. On the one hand, it is natural to supplement objective data about
human societies with experiential accounts of life in those societies. Phenomenology
has natural affinities with ethnographic field research, where an anthropologist
spends an extended period of time with a group (for example, the Yanomami, a
street gang, or the crew of a ship) and then describes those experiences in a detailed
report. In a similar way, archaeologists are naturally led to consider what the experi-
ences of those living in the ancient settlements they study might have been. However,
phenomenological and ethnographic methods are subject to the criticism that they
reflect the sensibilities of present-day phenomenologists or scientists in implicit and
sometimes damaging ways. This was a source of controversy in Changon’s early
ethnographic studies of the Yanomani (Albert, 1989), and also the basis of Husserl’s
own pejorative use of the phrase “philosophical anthropology” to characterize what
he thought of as armchair speculations about contingent features of human experi-
ence. The contributions in this volume revisit these questions and suggest ways of
overcoming or addressing them.

2 Internal Horizons

The section on internal horizons provides an overview of contemporary phenome-

nology, largely organized around major figures and scholarly directions in the field.
The contributions focus on Husserlian, Heideggerian, and Merleau-Pontyan phe-
nomenology, and give a sense of the main controversies, methodologies, and stylis-
tic tendencies in these areas. The discussion is not comprehensive (none of the
chapters is focused on Sartre or Beauvoir, for example). The goal, again, is to
develop an illuminating rather than a comprehensive selection.
Pablo Contreras Kallens and Jeff Yoshimi open the section with a literal map of
the phenomenology literature based on citational patterns. This is, to our knowl-
edge, the first application of bibliometric methods to phenomenology, which prom-
ises to supplement our intuitive understanding of the structure of the phenomenology
literature with objective citation data. The map contains nearly 12,000 nodes and
70,000 links, where nodes correspond to authors and links correspond to citations
between authors. A clustering algorithm was used to identify groups of authors who
Introduction 5

cite each other more than they cite authors in other groups. The results confirm the
central status of Husserl, Heidegger, and Merleau-Ponty in contemporary phenom-
enology. Other large clusters are organized around “embodied” approaches to cog-
nitive science, contemporary philosophy of mind, and Kantian-Hegelian influences
on phenomenology. The analysis is then recursively applied to the Husserl,
Heidegger, and “French phenomenology” clusters, shedding light on internal divi-
sions within these areas. The map also highlights a few areas that this volume
largely passes over, e.g. contemporary discussions of theology and phenomenology
in French phenomenology, as well as discussions of phenomenology in relation to
Eastern philosophy and psychotherapy.
The next three chapters focus specifically on Husserlian phenomenology, begin-
ning with John Drummond’s overview, which takes the form of a walk through
“Phenomenology park.” This paper can be read as a first-person counterpart to the
Husserlian section of the bibliometric map; a fun, opinionated overview of schol-
arly tendencies in the field. It is associated with an annotated bibliography.
David Woodruff Smith describes “West Coast” or “California School” phenom-
enology (Yoshimi et al., 2019), which is focused on links between Husserlian phe-
nomenology and analytic philosophy. Smith’s style exemplifies a core practice of
classical phenomenology: extended analysis of concrete perceptual experiences.
Husserl spent several pages describing an apple tree in his garden (Husserl, 1982;
section 88). Raymond Aron, pointing to a cocktail glass, told Sartre “You see, my
dear fellow, if you were a phenomenologist, you could talk about this cocktail and
make philosophy out of it” (Beauvoir, 1920, 112). Smith contemplates a Podocarpus
tree in his backyard and a snowy egret in Merced. These simple acts are expressed
using phenomenological descriptions like: “Phenomenally in this very experience I
now here see attentively and intuitively that tall white egret stepping slowly through
waving grass.” Smith identifies the logical form of this statement with the logical
form of the experience it describes. This formal structure is associated with a hori-
zon of implied meanings, which refer to possible worlds in which the egret might
have been different. Smith also describes a “constitutive realism,” according to
which our consciousness of the egret is built up over time but refers to an actual
physical egret in the world.
Burt Hopkins considers a set of fundamental questions in Husserlian phenome-
nology, and in doing so exemplifies a different style of analysis. He considers expe-
rience of unity and manifolds in time, e.g. the ability to hear a manifold of five notes
unfolding in time as five notes. This kind of ability occupied Husserl throughout his
career, from his early work on the constitution of numbers in Philosophy of
Arithmetic, to his late work on historicity, which Derrida famously critiqued, insofar
as Husserl seems to assert that timeless essences develop in time (Derrida, 1989).
Hopkins, who has worked extensively on this topic (Hopkins, 2005, 2013), returns
to the issue here, focusing on Husserl’s account of time consciousness. Hopkins
argues that there are several tensions in Husserl’s analysis, and indicates future
research directions based on an account of time-consciousness which addresses
these tensions.
6 P. Londen et al.

The next two chapters are focused on Heideggerian and Merleau-Pontyan phe-
nomenology, respectively. Hakhamanesh Zanganeh develops a taxonomic overview
of Heidegger scholarship and argues that only one position in this taxonomy actu-
ally corresponds to “Heideggerian phenomenology.” Syncretic approaches put
Heidegger’s work in contact with other areas of contemporary philosophy (the
Dreyfus school, discussed by Londen, can be located here); whereas scholarly read-
ings focus on textual exegesis. Within the scholarly readings, Zanganeh further dis-
tinguishes between a dual phased reading that organizes Heidegger’s thought
around a central Kehre or turn, a teleological reading that sees the later texts as the
goal towards which the earlier works develop, and genealogical readings that
emphasize continuities in the development of Heidegger’s thought. Within the gene-
alogical reading Zanganeh emphasizes one that he argues is properly phenomeno-
logical; a reading which is “mostly genealogical but tries to preserve the specificity
of individual works and topics.” Zanganeh ends the paper by pursuing some work
within this reading, arguing that Heidegger’s account of temporality can be read as
a Kantian/Husserlian project.
Robin Muller’s contribution turns to Merleau-Ponty, providing a comprehensive
survey of Merleau-Ponty’s work organized around the central Hegelian conception
of ambiguity. Muller shows how Merleau-Ponty applies this concept to topics inter-
nal and external to phenomenology, including questions about phenomenological
method and the structure of perception, as well as questions at the intersection of
phenomenology and psychology, art, anthropology, and other disciplines. Muller
traces the development of Merleau-Ponty’s thought from his early work drawing on
psychology (which has been of particular interest to philosophers of mind and cog-
nitive science), to his later work focused on aesthetics and ontology. She defends a
“unified reading” of Merleau-Ponty, whereby he engages with ontological problems
throughout his career, and argues that this unified reading opens up new points of
contact between Merleau-Ponty and several strands of contemporary research.
Patrick Londen provides an overview of a more or less unified school of existen-
tial phenomenology deriving from Hubert Dreyfus’ work, what he calls “Anglo-­
American Existential Phenomenology.” Often thought of as a particular interpretation
of Heidegger (or “Dreydegger,” as it is sometimes called)—indeed, it may be the
dominant approach to Heidegger interpretation in philosophy departments in the
English-speaking world—this school of thought also draws from Merleau-Ponty
and other figures, as well as more recent philosophy from the U.S. and U.K. It can
be contrasted with European approaches to Heidegger interpretation which are
focused more on textual exegesis (cf. Zanganeh’s “scholarly readings”) than on
thematic developments or syncretic connections to other philosophical work.
Londen focuses on four key issues in Anglo-American existential phenomenology:
(1) the primacy of practice or “knowing how” over theoretical contemplation; (2) an
understanding of practical know-how as coping, which fluidly responds to the
nuances of a situation; (3) the role of ontology in background practices, whereby
even in doing something like shopping for groceries we implicitly enact a back-
ground understanding of what humans and the goods they shop for are; (4) the way
a meaningful life comes from taking a stand on one’s background practices. The
Introduction 7

final section includes a discussion of how individuals can manifest their “culture in
a distinctive way and thereby… reinvest in that culture by clarifying its style,” and
how marginalized communities can transform pervasive background practices by
introducing marginal practices into the mainstream.
We end the section with Steven Crowell’s discussion of what Husserl (2013)
calls Grenzprobleme or “limit problems” in phenomenology: birth, death, animal
consciousness, the unconscious, and the afterlife. These are seemingly un-­
phenomenological topics because they involve a study of what is not given to con-
sciousness. This in turn raises the question of how phenomenology is related to
metaphysics, which is arguably the most fundamental Grenzproblem opened up by
phenomenology, and a central theme for all the classical phenomenologists: the
relationship between phenomenology, which discloses conditions on the possibility
of being, and metaphysical studies of being itself. Crowell summarizes a range of
positions on the issue (which has been active in recent scholarship), including
Husserl’s own late metaphysical view that being emerges from a network of inter-
acting minds in an “inter-monadic community.” Crowell concludes on a skeptical
note about phenomenological and metaphysics: “transcendental phenomenology is
and ought to be metaphysically neutral; it should leave worldview proposals to the
scientists and theologians.”

3 External Horizons: Embodiment and Identity

Céline Leboeuf’s chapter, “Phenomenology at the Intersection of Gender and Race,”

functions as the volume’s pivot from internal to external horizons of phenomenol-
ogy. The concrete ways in which one’s sense of identity becomes constituted
through material and socio-historical conditions has always been a core concern of
the “classical” phenomenological tradition. Beauvoir’s and Fanon’s systematic
studies of gender and race, respectively, delineated major research trajectories for
the second half of the twentieth century, and are some of the most active and inter-
disciplinary areas of phenomenology today. Leboeuf’s contribution situates these
trajectories within the broader contemporary landscape of feminist philosophy and
philosophy of race by developing her own “intersectional” phenomenological anal-
yses of the lived experience of women of color. Classical phenomenologies of gen-
dered and racialized embodiment (such as Beauvoir’s or Fanon’s) tended toward
overly general descriptions of being a woman or being Black, while neglecting the
particularities that come when identity categories like Black and woman intersect.
Women of color do not necessarily experience the male gaze in the same way that
white women do, nor do they necessarily experience the white gaze the way Black
men do. In addition to her careful intersectional analysis of the gaze, Leboeuf also
considers the particularities of women of color’s lived experience of body image,
and the possibilities for “embodied resistance” in an oppressive society.
An important feature of Leboeuf’s chapter is that it articulates a shift from purely
descriptive to critical phenomenology. Critical phenomenology emphasizes the role
8 P. Londen et al.

of contingent historical and social structures in normalizing oppressive power

relations. Francisco Gallegos’s chapter explores this horizon of phenomenology
through the distinctive lens of Mexican and Latinx philosophy from the mid-twen-
tieth century through the present. A central topic in this tradition is the concept of
zozobra: “an anxious condition characterized by the inability to be at home in the
world.” Gallegos goes beyond psychological accounts of zozobra to a more funda-
mental phenomenological analysis of how this condition arises at the level of our
basic structures of sense-making, or what Heidegger would understand as the struc-
tures in virtue of which one “has a world” at all. In bringing together contemporary
Latinx philosophers like Gloria Anzaldúa and Mariana Ortega with classical
Mexican phenomenologists such as Jorge Portilla and Emillio Uranga, Gallegos
guides us through a complex dialectic of what it means to be at home in the world.
The concept of home can function as both ground of identity and mechanism of
exclusion; as both illusory ideal and site of negotiation.
Rebecca Harrison’s chapter on Merleau-Ponty and standpoint epistemology
rounds out this section by taking up foundational questions concerning  the very
concept of a standpoint associated with a social identity category. Standpoint epis-
temology is a variety of feminist epistemology which claims that knowledge is
always conditioned by socio-historically constituted perspectives, or “standpoints”
relative to which members of different groups literally see the world differently.
Harrison draws on Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenology of perception to provide an
analysis of this kind of situated perception, and in the process addresses a core chal-
lenge for standpoint epistemology: how is it that different standpoints “have differ-
ent but nonetheless real experiences of a single external reality” such that some
standpoints can make better or “less false” claims about that reality than others?
Merleau-Ponty’s accounts of perspectival realism, the horizonal structure of the per-
ceptual object, and the normativity of perception (cf. Muller’s discussion in this
volume) serve as a model for understanding feminist standpoint epistemology’s
central insight: that some people are better situated to see certain realities than oth-
ers. Harrison notes that in everyday perception, certain spatial orientations can offer
better perceptual access than others: I can see someone better (for most purposes) at
ten feet than at one hundred. Harrison argues that, for Merleau-Ponty, perspective
isn’t limited to spatial orientation. Social, cultural,  and historical orientation can
offer similar privileged perspectives: the Parthenon does not look the same way to
us today as it did to the ancient Greeks, and they were better situated to appreciate
its original significance. In the same way, Harrison points out, women in hetero-
sexual domestic relationships tend to have a more accurate view of the unequal
distribution of domestic labor than men, because occupying a social category like
“woman” may offer a privileged position for seeing “certain gendered phenomena
in the world, or how pervasive certain gendered phenomena are”.
Introduction 9

4 External Horizons: The Arts

Phenomenology has a rich history of engaging with art and artists. Phenomenologists
have often looked to artworks to enrich their philosophical accounts of perception,
consciousness, and ontology, and philosophers interested in art and aesthetics have
often drawn from canonical works in phenomenology. Artists and those working in
the arts more generally are often interested in phenomenology and use these ideas
in their own theoretical discourse. These applications of phenomenological theory
don’t always make their way back into philosophy. This section explores some of
these discussions of phenomenology in the arts, and the relevance of artistic practice
for phenomenology.
Samantha Matherne investigates the relationship between the work of artists and
phenomenologists in her chapter, “Are Artists Phenomenologists?” She compares
Merleau-Ponty’s frequently discussed views on art and artists with the lesser-known
views of Edith Landmann-Kalischer. While both authors construe lived experience
as the shared subject matter of artistic practice and phenomenology, the two dis-
agree on whether artists themselves count as phenomenologists. Matherne argues
that this disagreement lies in their differing views on the nature and goals of phe-
nomenology. For Landmann-Kalischer, the phenomenologist “is a kind of psychol-
ogist who aims to analyze, classify, and lawfully-determine lived experience,”
whereas the artist seeks to produce works that “mirror lived experience in a faithful
way.” On this view, the phenomenologist and the artist approach the same subject
matter in fundamentally different ways. For Merleau-Ponty, however, the phenom-
enologist and the artist share a goal as well as a subject matter: both aim to “present”
lived experience so as to “evoke” that experience in the viewer, reader, or audience.
Matherne thus identifies a common goal among artists and phenomenologists in the
Merleau-Pontyan approach: their shared “endeavor to express, exhibit and evoke
our still-mute experience.”
Manuel Martín-Rodríguez explores the role of phenomenology in theories of the
reader’s experience of literature, focusing on the experience of encountering refer-
ences to outside texts within a literary work: how does a reader negotiate an allusion
to an unfamiliar text? Martín-Rodríguez reviews the development of reader response
criticism, from Roman Ingarden’s pioneering phenomenological work on the inten-
tionality of the reader’s experience of a text, to Wolfgang Iser’s analysis of the active
role the reader plays in helping to constitute the meaning of a text. But Martín-­
Rodríguez’s views on reader experience are grounded not only in these theoretical
debates but also in his own experience working through literary texts with students.
He draws from his students’ reading of José Antonio-Villareal’s Pocho, an early
work of Mexican American literature that contains a scene in which characters
respond to a reading of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, a work unfamiliar to
the students. Without any direct citations of Dostoevsky’s novel, the reader of Pocho
must negotiate this literary reference based solely on the characters’ reactions to
hearing the story read aloud. By gauging his students’ frustrations with and insights
into these intertextual gaps, as well as the evolution of that initial understanding
10 P. Londen et al.

upon reading Dostoevsky’s novel, Martín-Rodríguez constructs an “intertextually-­

based” account of reader experience that emphasizes the way any reading experi-
ence depends on and informs experiences of reading other texts. This empirically
informed investigation into reader experience of intertextuality points the way to a
decentralized and “more organic understanding of the history of literature than the
one currently available to [students] from educational and other cultural
institutions.”
In “Phenomenology and Architecture,” Jennifer Shields investigates how phe-
nomenology and perceptual psychology are informing creative work in the fields of
design and architecture. Shields notes the central role that two-dimensional graphic
representations play in design, including exploratory sketches at the beginning of
the design process, computer renderings that communicate finished designs to cli-
ents, and instructional graphics to aid in construction. Shields argues that we need a
better understanding of how viewers experience two-dimensional images as repre-
sentations of three-dimensional space. She draws from her own empirical work into
the perceptual experience of graphic representations of three-dimensional space,
including tracking eye movements in response to different kinds of images, and sug-
gests that architects have a responsibility to better understand this phenomenologi-
cal data. “If we could anticipate how spaces will affect the occupant’s
phenomenological experience by how they respond to images of it,” Shields argues,
“we could design a better built environment.”

5 External Horizons: Archaeology and Anthropology

Phenomenology is obviously relevant to anthropology, which interprets the lived

experiences of human social groups, and also to archaeology, which studies past
peoples via their physical remains. We begin with two papers on archaeological
research. While it may seem impossible to get any insight into the phenomenology
of long-dead peoples and civilizations, there is in fact a (controversial) tradition in
archaeology of drawing on phenomenology. Both contributions to the volume return
to phenomenological archaeology, but in a way that addresses concerns with earlier
approaches. Both draw on objective methods (considerations about cognitive archi-
tecture, lab experiments, virtual reality research, and geo-spatial information mod-
els) to make informed conjectures about the experiences of past peoples, and also
try to recreate certain aspects of those experiences.
Holley Moyes begins her chapter with a history of phenomenological archaeol-
ogy, starting with Christopher Tilley’s well-known landscape studies, which
involved him walking through ancient sites like Stonehenge, and on that basis
describing what he thought the experience of those living in at the time might have
been like. The approach was meant to shed light on meaningful structures of the
environment obscured by what Tilley (drawing on Heidegger and Merleau-Ponty)
took to be an over-emphasis on objective data. However, Tilley was widely criti-
cized for the potentially biased perspective of his “solitary strolls.” Moyes describes
Introduction 11

the subsequent history of this controversy, then unpacks her own approach, which
draws on multiple lines of evidence in developing an account of past phenomenol-
ogy, including neural and psychological evidence about shared cognitive architec-
ture, and laboratory experiments which test responses to physical features of the
environment such as light and darkness. She then describes how she has used this
methodology to study the ritual significance of darkness in caves.
Graham Goodwin and Nicola Lercari also describe ways of using objective data
to develop plausible accounts of past phenomenology, in part by recreating past
phenomenology. This is done using virtual reality, augmented reality, and multi-­
sensory displays, built around detailed reconstructions of physical sites. In this way
Tilley’s solitary and interpretive strolls around Stonehenge could be replaced with
immersive and empirically grounded phenomenological simulations. Several case
studies are described, including a site reconstruction of Catalhöyuk in modern-day
Turkey. Graham and Lercari caution against an oculocentric emphasis associated
with this kind of approach (VR tends to be focused on visual data), or on systems
that only provide visual or auditory information. They describe ways to integrate
visual and auditory data in multi-modal simulations, and argue that this provides for
a more immersive, affective, and embodied form of recreated experience.
Finally, Christopher Stephan and Jason Throop turn to anthropology, which has
its own long and at times fraught relationship with phenomenology. They develop
the concept of an “eventive ground,” which can be understood in contrast to simplis-
tic alternative conceptions of an event, including Husserl’s own concept of an event
as a moment of life, “bracketed” in an epoché, and then reflected on in order to
identify general essences. Stephan and Throop argue that events should not be
understood in this way, nor should they be understood as anecdotes or curiosities
which can be used to enrich existing phenomenological accounts. Instead, they con-
ceive of events as generative structures that can direct our thinking “through” par-
ticulars to whole worlds. An event can be a “touch, a turn in conversation,
recapitulations of ritual, a silence” whereby “a world (as well as a style of being in
it) begins to become discernible.” Their discussion is critical of traditional phenom-
enology but also aspirational. Anthropology is at its best when it “holds close to” the
event, and in this way phenomenological anthropology has the potential to be “an
in-between which aims to think phenomenologically from an eventive ground that
always exceeds and transforms the grasp of the familiar.”

6 Conclusion

The world is more than an aggregation of physical objects; it is a meaningful world,

a lived world, a source of action and reflection. Across many areas of science and
inquiry, the need for a discipline which studies these meanings has been felt. Gender,
race, identity, artworks, novels, graphical representations, past civilizations, social
groups, and present-day human societies all involve lived and meaningful experi-
ences. Artworks produce experience in the viewer or reader, but also represent the
12 P. Londen et al.

experiences of those involved, and can in some cases give insight into concealed
features of everyday experience. Identity is experienced differently by those “in a
standpoint” than by those outside of it, who construct it in multiple ways.
Archaeology involves a reconstruction of past phenomenology from scant evidence,
and even recreations of that phenomenology. Phenomenology itself can be pursued
in many ways, from studying the logical form of the mundane experience of a tree,
to describing the unreflective experience of getting on in the world, to delving into
the most fundamental mysteries of temporality, the emergence of unities from the
flux of ongoing experience.
Throughout these many domains of investigations deep and difficult questions
arise. What are the proper categories of phenomenology? What is its method? Is it
subject to inescapable bias? Are its many ambiguities something to be overcome or
is this ambiguity the proper essence of phenomenology? Does phenomenology shed
light on being, or is it metaphysically neutral? Is it best pursued using the austere
categories of analytic philosophy or are those categories themselves problematic?
Does it provide a way to overcome the limitations of the scientific method, or should
it draw on scientific methods to supplement its inquiries?
We hope to give a sense of these many questions that arise at the horizons of
phenomenology, in hopes of continued research, further pushing its boundaries and
potential as it enters its second century.

Acknowledgments  We are grateful to the many individuals and institutions who helped to make
this volume available in an Open Access format. Some support came from faculty drawing on their
research funds: David Woodruff Smith at UC Irvine and Nicola Lercari at UC Merced. Other sup-
port came from grants and other institutional sources, including the Franklin & Marshall College
Open Access Publishing Fund, the Rice University Creative Ventures Fund, University of
California, Department of Anthropology and Heritage Studies, UC Merced Center for Humanities,
UC Merced Office of the Provost, and Wake Forest University. Soraya Boza helped with graphic
design in several chapters, and drew the image in Drummond’s “Phenomenology Park.”

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Open Access  This chapter is licensed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0
International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits use, sharing,
adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate
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the copyright holder.
 Part I
Internal Horizons
Bibliometric Analysis
of the Phenomenology Literature

Pablo Contreras Kallens and Jeff Yoshimi

Phenomenology studies the structure and significance of conscious experience, or

human existence, or being (terminology varies and there are definitional disputes;
see Dreyfus, 1991). It is associated with several philosophical movements, includ-
ing existentialism, post-structuralism, and Continental philosophy broadly, which
emphasize human subjectivity, agency, and meaning; embeddedness in historical
and social structures; and alternatives to scientific reasoning as a basic mode of
access to knowledge. Phenomenology is often thought of as being organized around
specific philosophers (e.g., Husserlian phenomenology, Heideggerian phenomenol-
ogy, and Merleau-Pontyan phenomenology), or into regional or linguistic groups
(French phenomenology, German phenomenology, Anglo-American phenomenol-
ogy). It can also be organized by topic (phenomenology and race, embodiment, art,
cognitive science, etc.). Some of these groupings can be further subdivided: for
example, Husserlian phenomenology in America is sometimes divided into “West
Coast” and “East Coast” schools of interpretation (Yoshimi et al., 2019) and several
schools of Heideggerian and Merleau-Pontian phenomenology can be distinguished
(Muller, Chapter “The Landscape of Merleau-­Pontyan Thought” and Zangeneh,
Chapter “Heideggerian Phenomenology”, this volume; also see Sheehan, 2001).
It is not clear to what extent these divisions are reflected in the organization of
work done within the field, as expressed by patterns of communication between
authors. To assess this, we analyze the phenomenology literature using bibliometric
methods (Osareh, 1996). This makes it possible to supplement an intuitive under-
standing of its structure with an empirically grounded analysis of citation patterns.
In particular, we extract an author-wise citation network (Radicchi et al., 2012) for

P. Contreras Kallens
UC Merced, Merced, CA, USA
Cornell, Ithaca, NY, USA
J. Yoshimi (*)
UC Merced, Merced, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 17

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_2
18 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

the published phenomenology literature, a network of nodes and connections, where

nodes correspond to authors of articles or books about phenomenology, and connec-
tions correspond to citations from one author to another. The resulting graph has
11,980 nodes and 69,324 connections.1 We then study clusters in this network, that
is, groups of authors who cite each other more than they cite authors in other clus-
ters and compare this more bottom-up image of communication dynamics within
the field to the different sub-groups identified in expert historical reconstructions.
We begin by considering how phenomenologists themselves describe the struc-
ture of the literature, drawing on the contents of anthologies, syllabi, and other
sources. We then describe the author-wise citation network. We show that the self-­
descriptions and the citation network agree on large patterns—in particular, the idea
that Husserl, Heidegger, and Merleau-Ponty are major organizing figures. We also
show that there are interesting discrepancies between the two. We then recursively
apply these methods to the Husserl, Heidegger, and French phenomenology litera-
tures, to identify citational sub-clusters of those groups. Finally, we discuss the
strengths and limitations of this type of research, and survey some of the many
potential directions for further research.

1 Self-Understanding of the Phenomenology Literature

The self-understanding of a scholarly literature can be documented in several ways.

Direct evidence is available via published accounts of the literature and qualitative
interviews with practitioners. However indirect evidence is also available in anthol-
ogies, introductory texts, syllabi, and curated databases, which reflect expert deci-
sions about how to present and organize the structure of that field. For example,
Kuhn (1962) saw textbooks as reflecting the current paradigm in a scientific disci-
pline, guiding students’ perceptions of relevant problems and consensus viewpoints
about valid attempts to solve those problems (e.g., Kindi, 2005).
We first considered anthologies about phenomenology. We focused on sources
organized around authors since anthologies organized in other ways did not produce
clear patterns. Our search yielded 6 such anthologies published since 2000.2 We
then considered their chapter headings. Those authors who appeared in chapter
headings of more than two of these anthologies are shown in Table 1.

1
 The terms “node” and “vertex” are used equivalently in what follows, as are “link”, “connection”,
and “edge”; and “network” and “graph”.
2
 The anthologies used were: (Moran, 2000; Solomon, 2001; Lewis & Staehler, 2010; Luft &
Overgaard, 2013; Grossman, 2015; Käufer & Chemero, 2015). To find these sources we searched
Google scholar in Summer 2020 using the following phrases, without quotes: phenomenology
anthology, introduction phenomenology, and companion phenomenology. In each case we consid-
ered the first 10 pages of results and focused on edited volumes and introductory texts with section
titles keyed to named figures. We omitted anthologies organized only by topic (intuition, evidence,
existential phenomenology, intersubjectivity, etc.) or focused on specific figures (e.g. Husserl) or
applications of phenomenology (media, science, literature, religion, mind, etc.).
Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 19

Table 1  Authors appearing in chapter headings of three or more anthologies about phenomenology,
ordered by their number of appearances
Author Appearances
Husserl 6
Heidegger 6
Sartre 6
Merleau-Ponty 5
Brentano 5
Levinas 3
Derrida 3

Table 2  Authors appearing in three or more phenomenology syllabi, ordered by their number of
appearances
Author Appearances
Husserl 17
Heidegger 16
Merleau-Ponty 14
Sartre 9
Beauvoir 4
Brentano 4
Fanon 3

Second, we searched for syllabi of introductory phenomenology courses, again

with a focus on phenomenology courses organized around authors (as the majority
were).3 Syllabi for 17 phenomenology courses taught after 2000 were identified.4 In
each syllabus, we tallied every phenomenologist discussed as part of a section of the
course or included as required reading. Authors that appeared in at least 3 of the
syllabi appear in Table 2.
Third, we consulted the PhilPapers database, a comprehensive index of research
content in philosophy. Within each research area of the database, section titles and
organization are hand-curated by professional philosophers with relevant expertise.
The section on phenomenology is curated by Ammon Allred of the University of
Toledo. The top-level categories of the phenomenology section with the most asso-
ciated references are Husserl (14,000), Heidegger (10,000), Merleau-Ponty (3000),

3
 We searched using the phrase “phenomenology syllabus” (no quotes) and identified 17 syllabi
from the first 10 pages of results. We focused on syllabi where “phenomenology” was in the title
of the course and excluded courses on some more specific topic like “eco-phenomenology”,
“Husserlian phenomenology”, or “cognitive phenomenology”. We also excluded syllabi for pro-
posed courses and courses without a named instructor.
4
 The syllabi were from CSU Northridge, CUNY Albany, Dickinson, Elon, Fordham, George
Mason, Georgetown, George Mason, Guelph, Kentucky, SUNY Newpaltz, UC Berkeley, UC Los
Angeles, UC San Diego, University of Nebraska, University of San Francisco, and UT Arlington.
20 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

and Levinas (2000). Allred’s introduction organizes the field around the work of
Husserl and Heidegger:
The historical movement called phenomenology is generally regarded as beginning with
Edmund Husserl, who made phenomenological questions central to his entire philosophical
approach, arguing that a phenomenological investigation of consciousness should ground
philosophy construed broadly as well as the sciences. Under the influence of a second gen-
eration of phenomenologists, most famously Martin Heidegger, the centrality of conscious-
ness was often called into question. Nonetheless, the name phenomenology continues to be
used to describe the whole tradition that developed out of this Husserlian/Heideggerian
framework.

Allred goes on to refer to Stein, Scheler, Merleau-Ponty, and Derrida.

Similar statements occur in encyclopedia entries on phenomenology and in
introductory texts, but we did not perform a comprehensive review of these sources.
We will consider some of what phenomenologists themselves have said about par-
ticular sub-literatures of phenomenology when we turn to that topic below.

2 Bibliometrics and Scientometrics

Bibliometrics is “the application of mathematics and statistical methods to books

and other media of communication” (Borgman, 1989). It is closely related to scien-
tometrics, the “science of science”, which applies the concepts and techniques of
bibliometrics to scientific communication (Braun et  al., 1985; Garfield, 2009;
Mingers & Leydesdorff, 2015). One use of these methods is to produce quantitative
measures of journals, scholars, articles, books, disciplines, and research areas.
Examples include impact factor (based on the yearly average of citations of a jour-
nal) as a measure of journal quality, and the h-index (based on an author’s publica-
tions and citations of these works) as a measure of researcher productivity. Within
these broad areas, we focus on citation analysis, which studies patterns of citation
between documents, authors, journals, and other entities.5
Citation networks are graphs, that is, collections of nodes and links between
those nodes, which represent patterns of connections (in this case, citations) between
documents, people, or research areas (the nodes of the graph). We focus on an
author-wise citation network, where nodes correspond to authors and links between
nodes correspond to citations between authors. Moreover, our network is directed,
reflecting the fact that citation is an asymmetric relation: a citation from author a1 to
author a2 does not imply a corresponding citation from a2 to a1. Furthermore, these
connections are weighted: each link has a magnitude corresponding to the number

5
 They have existed “Since the pioneering work of Derek de Solla Price (1965), who realized that
bibliographic data have a natural mathematical representation in terms of directed graphs”
(Radicchi et al., 2012, p. 233). Other kinds of relations are studied, including co-authorship rela-
tions, where two documents are linked if they have the same author, and co-citation networks,
where two articles are linked if they both cite a common source.
Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 21

of times that particular author-to-author citation occurs in our data; in other words,
our graph reflects not only that a1 cited a2, but also the number of times they did so.
For example, the weight of the link from “Yoshimi J” to “Husserl E” in our data is
8, which indicates that Yoshimi cites Husserl 8 times. This example also makes it
clear that these links are asymmetrical: Yoshimi cites Husserl, but Husserl does not
cite Yoshimi.
In the remainder of this section, we review some of the techniques we use to
study author-wise citation networks.
First, at the level of individual nodes, we consider the properties of authors in the
graph. The in-degree of a node is the total number of nodes that are connected to it.
For an author in our dataset, this corresponds to the total number of unique authors
who cite them, regardless of how many times they have been cited. In contrast, the
strength of a node corresponds to the number of times an author has been cited in
the dataset, which is represented by weighted in-degree, that is, the sum of the
weights from all the nodes connected to it (therefore, strength is generally higher
than in-degree, as each author considered for the in-degree calculation necessarily
contributes to strength by at least 1). These metrics are used in the tables in the rest
of this paper to indicate how prominent authors are in the dataset, in terms of how
many people cite them and how often they are cited.
Citation graphs can help to represent groups or “communities” of researchers
who frequently cite each other’s work (we will use the terms “group”, “cluster”, and
“community” synonymously). Community detection methods identify groups of
nodes in a graph which are more densely connected to each other than they are to
other groups. In this case they detect groups of authors who tend to cite one another
frequently. The whole graph can then be thought of as a collection of sub-graphs,
each representing a community of nodes more densely connected to each other than
to the rest of the network. Community detection algorithms work in many ways and
there is not yet a consensus on how to determine which method is best for specific
applications.6 We used the “Louvain” method (Blondel et al., 2008), which is easier
to interpret than some of the alternatives, though future work may suggest reasons
to prefer other methods.7 The Louvain algorithm assigns individual nodes to differ-
ent communities by optimizing the modularity of the graph, which refers to the
proportion of within-community links as compared to between-community links.
The more “community-like” a network is, the higher its modularity. Because the

6
 Cut-based or “clique” methods try to find communities which are as disconnected from each other
as possible, e.g. groups of authors who cite each other but do not cite authors in other groups.
Dynamical methods involve imagined “walks” through the network from one author to another
cited author. Communities are then groups of authors that such an itinerant reader would tend to
stay within over time. For a more detailed description of these and other methods, see
(Fortunato, 2010).
7
 We ran all of the available algorithms in the R (R Core Team, 2020) igraph (Csardi & Nepusz,
2006) package on the network, with generally poor results (e.g. one large community or many
small ones). Two exceptions are Spinglass and Walktrap, which may be worth further analysis.
Fast-greedy (an optimized variant of the Louvain method) produces results nearly identical to
Louvain.
22 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

Louvain algorithm depends on an initial random assignment of a community to all

nodes, the results are not strictly deterministic. The specific version we used is
included in the network analysis package igraph (Csardi & Nepusz, 2006) for R (R
Core Team, 2020).
We also produced a direct visualization of our citation graph. A visualization of
a graph is a “graph embedding”. As with community detection, there are several
ways to perform a graph embedding, and they are generally non-deterministic.
Their main goal is to represent connectedness (in the sense of number of edges
between nodes) as distance in a visualized network; the more connected two nodes
are, the closer they should be in the visualization (on “distance-based” visualiza-
tion, see (van Eck & Waltman, 2014)). We use a “force directed layout”, OpenOrd
(Martin et al., 2011), which achieves this goal by treating edges as springs. Edge
weights are used to determine spring stiffness, so that authors who cite each other
more are pulled toward each other. There is also a small repulsive force between
nodes which ensures they do not end up on top of each other. The relative equilib-
rium state of these forces reflects a balance between pulling groups of densely con-
nected nodes towards each other and a visually appealing “spread” of nodes
within groups.
Note that a force directed layout like OpenOrd and a community detection algo-
rithm like Louvain correspond to two distinct ways of representing community
structure. In our study, the first uses spatial position to represent communities (com-
munities are “pulled together” by citations), and the second uses color (communi-
ties are groups of nodes with the same color). A set of colored nodes organized
using a force-directed layout thus allows for comparison between the two tech-
niques. To the extent that the two methods agree, points of the same color will be
spatially near each other. Combination plots like this can produce a kind of center/
periphery structure. Authors at the “center” of communities tend to cite and be cited
by members of their community. Authors on the “edges” of their communities are
more “hybrid”, frequently citing and being cited by authors in other communities.

3 The Structure of the Phenomenology Literature

In this section we describe how we obtained and filtered our data, how we analyzed
it using the bibliometric methods described above, and summarize the main results
of our analysis. All the code and data we used are available on a public code
repository.8

8
 https://github.com/jyoshimi/scientometrics. All results in this paper are reproducible using the
code there. High resolution color versions of Figs. 1 and 2, in pdf and svg format, are also available
in the “Figures” directory.
Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 23

3.1 Methods

We searched Web of Science (WoS) for journal articles whose topic field contained
the word “phenomenology” in the years 1900–2020, yielding 5869 results.9 The
topic field is based on an article’s title, keywords, and abstract. Since articles in all
languages must include an English-language abstract for indexing purposes, articles
in multiple languages were returned.10 The results were, nonetheless, primarily in
English, reflecting a well-known Anglophone bias in public indexing systems (e.g.,
Baneyx, 2008). These results were further filtered to only include journal articles in
philosophy (this removed tens of thousands of results, many of them using the word
“phenomenology” in the technical sense of physics and other sciences). The word
“phenomenology” occurring in the topic field of a philosophy article is thus our
operational definition of an item in this dataset being “about” phenomenology.
The results were in some ways skewed. Journals like Phenomenology and the
Cognitive Sciences are heavily represented in the Web of Science dataset while such
journals as Heidegger Studies and Research in Phenomenology are not.11 Early
readers of this manuscript highlighted several biases this introduces, for example a
skew towards “syncretic” approaches to Heidegger that emphasize connections to
other areas of philosophy (Zanganeh, Chapter “Heideggerian Phenomenology”, this
volume).12
Moreover, even though over 100 years of articles were extracted, the results are
heavily weighted towards recent work, which is better indexed by WoS, resulting in
a sparse representation of the primary literature in phenomenology (see Fig.  1).
However, WoS still provides a useful avenue for initial exploratory analysis, as its
strict requirements for indexing ensure that the included references have a homoge-
neous structure, including information about citations to other sources provided in
a consistent format. For instance, all journals indexed in WoS are required to have

9
 “Web of Science” was previously “Web of Knowledge”. See http://apps.webofknowledge.com/
Accessed on June 17, 2020.
10
 English (3523), Spanish (676), French (395), German (295), Russian (231), Italian (190),
Portuguese (141), Czech (138), Slovak (62), Lithuanian (57), Slovene (41), Chinese (39), Dutch
(34), Croatian (28), Polish (6), Catalan (4), Ukrainian (4), Unspecified (3), Turkish (2).
11
 581 Journals are in the dataset. Journals containing more than 1% of the data, along with number
of articles they contain, are: Phenomenology And The Cognitive Sciences (176), Investigaciones
Fenomenologicas (166), Journal Of The British Society For Phenomenology (149), Eikasia-
Revista De Filosofia (141), Continental Philosophy Review (137), Studia Phaenomenologica
(134), Filosoficky Casopis (125), Horizon-Fenomenologicheskie Issledovaniya (112), Husserl
Studies (112), Journal Of Consciousness Studies (105), Philosophy Today (101), Voprosy Filosofii
(100), International Journal Of Philosophical Studies (86), Research In Phenomenology (83),
Phainomena (79), Filozofia (77), Tijdschrift Voor Filosofie (62), Philosophy And Phenomenological
Research (59).
12
 One reader noted: “For Heidegger scholarship the main venues have been Heidegger Studies and
especially Gatherings (the journal of North American Heidegger circle). For Merleau-Ponty the
clear leading venue for scholarship is Chiasmi.”
24 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

Fig. 1  Histogram showing number of sources in the dataset by year. Mean year of publication is
2010, with a standard deviation of 10 years. The data is clearly biased towards more contemporary
work, occurring in journals indexed WoS

an English-language title, an abstract, and Roman script information about the

authors, affiliations, and references.
For multi-authored articles only the first author was used. Authors were repre-
sented in a standardized last-name/first-initial format. These names were manually
cleaned up by creating a table in which author names listed in WoS citations were
mapped to standardized names. For example, “Aristotle” is written differently in
different languages, and his name is sometimes misspelled in the database (varia-
tions include “Aristotel”, “Aristote”, and “Aristóteles”). Over 50 separate terms
were mapped to “Merleauponty M”. In some cases, books or article references were
listed instead of authors, e.g., citations to “Hua”, or “Husserliana” (standard abbre-
viations for Husserl’s collected works). These canonical literature references were
mapped to their corresponding author, e.g., “Hua” was mapped to “Husserl E”.
After mapping all author entries to standardized names, further filtering was per-
formed. Authors only cited once were removed, and authors who only cited these
single-citation authors were also removed.
This filtered data was used to create a list of edges, represented as triples of the
form “(source name, target name, citation count)”, for example “(Yoshimi J, Husserl
E, 8)”, indicating 8 instances of Jeff Yoshimi citing Edmund Husserl in the data set.
This list of individual connections between authors was converted to a citation net-
work using the R package igraph (Csardi & Nepusz, 2006). The resulting graph
contains 11,980 nodes (authors) and 69,324 directed weighted connections between
nodes (citation counts between authors).
Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 25

Because the concepts behind the Louvain method for community detection do
not easily apply to directed graphs, we merged citing and cited authors into the same
level when detecting communities. The community detection procedure was thus
applied to an undirected version of the graph, that is, a graph where the directions
of citations were ignored (in such a graph, citations from author a1 to a2 are not
distinguished from citations from a2 to a1). This is one source of differences between
the force-directed layout of the nodes visible as spatial position in Fig. 2 and the
community structure analysis visible as color in that figure.
Note that authors who did not write directly about phenomenology can appear in
the graph because they are cited by someone who did write about phenomenology.
In a similar way, although nobody writing prior to 1900 should appear in the dataset
as a citing author,13 authors writing prior to 1900 do appear, e.g., Aristotle, Plato,
and Kant, because they are cited. Emergent patterns in this data can also reflect con-
nections between older authors: authors who are not directly connected can never-
theless be connected through an author who cites both.

3.2 Results

Table 3 shows a list of authors in the total dataset, ordered by the number of cita-
tions they received (strength), which gives some sense of their prominence in
the data.
We ran the Louvain community detection algorithm on the dataset to identify
groups of authors who tend to cite each other more than authors in other clusters.
This produced 19 clusters. The six largest, in terms of total citations, are shown in
Table 4.14 Each cluster is discussed in the next section, where the labels we chose
are also motivated. We will refer to clusters using all caps labels, for example using
“HEIDEGGER” as shorthand for “The Heidegger cluster”. We also perturbed the
data and re-ran the analysis to confirm that none of these results were artifacts of the
randomization associated with the Louvain algorithm. In no case were the results
substantially altered, though minor changes did occur, particular in the smaller
clusters.15

13
 There are exceptions, as some of the journals include republished older material and translations.
An example from our dataset is (Husserl, 1998), a translation of several essays from a 1921 manu-
script published in Continental Philosophy Review in 1988. These publications are, however, rare.
There are eight for Husserl and one for Heidegger.
14
 Top authors of the remaining communities are (with size in parentheses): Fuchs (768), Schutz
(395), Peirce (270), Bakhtin (266), Stein (228), Ortega y Gasset (195), Richir (158), Wittgenstein
(109), Dussel (106), Cheyne (85), Demeterio (9) and Lapshin (2).
15
 For example, Wittgenstein sometimes formed into a larger cluster, drawing in Schutz, Ryle, Ihde,
Heelan, Cavell, and Hacking (who otherwise are in the Schutz, Husserl, Peirce, or Merleau-Ponty
clusters).
26 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

Fig. 2  The graph embedding of the entire dataset, laid out using OpenOrd, and colored using the
Louvain algorithm. Each dot corresponds to an author. Dots that are near each other have been
“pulled” near each other by citations, which are treated like springs by the layout algorithm. Dots
are colored by which community they are in. Communities are hand-labelled (the choices for
labels are justified in the main text). To prevent the visualization from becoming too crowded, we
only colored and labeled the six major clusters

Table 3  Most cited authors, ordered by total number of citations (strength). Number of unique

citing authors (in-degree) is also shown
Author Strength In-Degree
Husserl 3796 1550
Heidegger 1999 1122
Merleau-Ponty 1585 909
Kant 687 516
Ricoeur 640 414
Hegel 639 407
Derrida 638 410
Levinas 631 384
Sartre 616 427
Zahavi 529 372
Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 27

Table 4  The six largest clusters ordered by total citations (strength), along with number of authors
(size), number of unique citing authors  (in-degree), and the top 10 most cited authors. Cluster
labels are motivated in the main text
Cluster Husserl Heidegger Phil-mind French Embodied Kant/
Hegel
Total strength 19,061 15,845 15,808 10,736 8718 7384
Total 13,734 12,186 13,166 8528 7112 6193
in-degree
Size 1686 2056 1975 1640 1458 1125
Top 10 Husserl Heidegger Dennet Merleau-­ Dreyfus Kant
members Zahavi Ricoeur Searle Ponty Gallagher Hegel
Scheler Derrida Chalmers Sartre Varela Habermas
Fink Levinas James Foucault Thompson Taylor
Bernet Gadamer McDowell Deleuze Noë Adorno
Brentano Marion Horgan Waldenfels Depraz Marx
Spiegelberg Henry Tye Barbaras Gibson Hyppolite
Steinbock Patočka Fodor Bergson Damasio Cassirer
Sokolowski Nietzsche Clark Freud Dewey Pippin
Drummond Descartes Nagel Butler Sheets-­ Fichte
Lacan Johnstone

Figure 2 shows the graph embedding of the entire dataset combined with the
results of the community structure analysis. The nodes are arranged using the force-­
directed algorithm OpenOrd such that the distance between two nodes is propor-
tional to their degree of connectedness; moreover, each node was colored using the
Louvain community detection algorithm. Labels for the six largest clusters were
placed by hand near the center of mass of each cluster. As discussed above, using
both methods makes it possible to compare the results of these two community
detection methods. Cases where dots near each other are the same color show where
the layout and the community detection algorithm agree; cases where dots of differ-
ent colors are near each other show cases where the two algorithms disagree. A
center-periphery structure is evident in all of the clusters, with some same-colored
dots pulled near each other by OpenOrd, reflecting the “core” of a cluster, compris-
ing authors who primarily cite each other in the dataset. Some same-colored dots
are further away from this center and more dispersed, reflecting authors with more
diverse citational practices, who are also cited by authors in other clusters. Notice
that the center of the figure contains a mix of different colors, reflecting authors
producing more “hybrid” citations.
Since OpenOrd is non-deterministic, we performed multiple runs to ensure that
the results we report are robust. Each time we ran it, the main topological features
shown in Fig. 2 persisted, though the actual locations and shapes of the main clus-
ters varied. HUSSERL, HEIDEGGER, and FRENCH always overlapped in a large
“supercluster”; EMBODIED was always between that supercluster and PHIL
MIND, and both PHIL MIND and KANT/HEGEL were always relatively isolated
from the other main clusters. We provide some interpretations of these features of
the dataset below.
28 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

Since it is difficult to make out details in Fig. 2, Fig. 3 shows a smaller graph in
which communities themselves are represented as nodes and are positioned using a
circular layout. Colors continue to represent communities, and links are colored
according to their source community. The links between communities are direc-
tional and indicate the number of citations from authors in the source community to
authors in the target community. For example, the link going from HUSSERL to
HEIDEGGER is associated with a weight of 2127, which means that there are 2127
citations from authors in the HUSSERL community to authors in the HEIDEGGER
community. Link widths are scaled according to this number. Note that, in this case,
no spatial algorithm was used for the layout, so the distances between the nodes are
arbitrary.

Fig. 3  An alternative presentation of the data that only shows communities. The same colors are
used as in Fig. 2 to represent the clusters, but clusters are now represented by single oval-shaped
nodes. Links between nodes indicate the number of citations from authors in one cluster to authors
in another. Links are colored by their source node. This makes it easy to see, for example, that
HUSSERL and HEIDEGGER authors cite each other much more than HEIDEGGER and PHIL
MIND scholars do, for example, which explains why the HUSSERL and HEIDEGGER clusters
are closer to each other in Fig. 2 than the HUSSERL and PHIL MIND clusters are. To make the
visualization more easily interpretable, we only show the six major clusters in the dataset
Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 29

3.3 Discussion

We first consider the node attributes shown in Table  3, which largely match the
field’s self-understanding. Husserl, Heidegger, and Merleau-Ponty are the three
most cited authors in the dataset (see Table 3) and are among the top 4 most refer-
enced authors in syllabi, anthologies, and introductory texts. Sartre, Derrida, and
Levinas are also among the most cited authors, and appear frequently in anthologies
and syllabi. On the other hand, there are discrepancies. Sartre is frequently treated
as a canonical phenomenologist (third most referenced in anthologies and fourth in
syllabi) but is the ninth most cited in the dataset, possibly reflecting a decline in
interest in his work or the English-language bias of our sample.16 Brentano, Beauvoir
and Fanon are notable for appearing in syllabi but not as top cited authors in the
citation data (they are the 28th, 120th, and 309th). In the case of Beauvoir and
Fanon this may reflect recent efforts to diversify the curriculum, which are not yet
evident in citational practice.17 A related explanation might be their interdisciplin-
ary appeal: both Beauvoir and Fanon are known for their contributions to fields like
gender studies, race studies, and cultural studies (Alessandrini, 2005; Simons,
2010), but less so for their contributions to phenomenology.
The six largest clusters in the dataset are shown in Figs. 2 and 3 and their top
members and statistics are shown in Table 4. In the remainder of this section, we
describe these clusters and their top authors in a qualitative way, comparing them
with the results of the anthology and syllabus data presented in Sect. 1. In Sect. 4 we
consider the three “core” phenomenology clusters in more detail.
The authors in HUSSERL are the most-cited authors in the dataset (both in terms
of number of citations and number of citing authors). However, it is not the largest
cluster: it contains fewer authors than HEIDEGGER or PHILOSOPHY OF
MIND. Its top authors are primarily Husserl scholars. Zahavi, Bernet, Sokolowski,
Moran, and Drummond are notable contemporary Husserl scholars. Others in this
cluster were associates of Husserl. Brentano was Husserl’s teacher and is often con-
sidered to be his most important influence (hence his presence in anthologies and
syllabi). Scheler was an active member of the Munich and Göttingen circles, two
groups of early scholars associated with Husserl, and a co-editor of the Jahrbuch für
Philosophie und phänomenologische Forschung, a prominent early journal founded
by Husserl for dissemination of phenomenological thought. Spiegelberg wrote an
influential account of the phenomenological movement in the 1950s, that is orga-
nized around Husserl and discusses the early social networks and scholarship asso-
ciated with Husserl (Spiegelberg, 1981).

16
 Rodney Parker (personal communication) offered the following explanation: “My guess would
be that some sort of Anglo-American bias would account for both any decline in research that
engages with his work and why he is not cited as much by English speakers. The received wisdom
is that his politics made him quite unpopular in the US.”
17
 A collection of resources on the topic is maintained by the American Philosophical Association:
https://www.apaonline.org/page/diversity_resources
30 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

HUSSERL occupies a central position at the top of Fig. 2, between HEIDEGGER

and FRENCH (short-hand for “French phenomenology”, broadly construed to
include Merleau-Ponty and Sartre and areas of largely Francophone philosophy
inspired by phenomenology). The three clusters overlap heavily, as can be seen by
comparing the force-directed layout—which aggregates these authors closely in
terms of spatial position—and the Louvain algorithm, which was used to color the
vertices purple, blue, and black. These three colors of vertex overlap, indicating that
they are part of a larger supercluster. There are also numerous citations between
these three clusters, evident in Fig. 3. This is suggestive of a classical phenomenol-
ogy grouping, a “core phenomenology” supercluster that captures the canonical
work of Husserl, Heidegger, Merleau-Ponty, Sartre, and others working within the
phenomenological tradition, who are also the most cited authors in the syllabus and
anthology data.
The HEIDEGGER cluster is the second-most cited cluster and also the largest,
making up nearly 20% of the total dataset in terms of number of authors. This
reflects the prominence of Heidegger in contemporary phenomenology. The cluster
is more variegated than HUSSERL: in addition to Heidegger scholars, it contains
philosophers associated with other schools  such as Gadamer, Ricoeur, Derrida,
Levinas, Henry, and Marion. This is perhaps most obvious in the case of Derrida,
known more for his work on deconstructive approaches to literary criticism than for
his work in phenomenology.18 Gadamer, Ricouer, Levinas, Henry, and Marion are
also arguably founders of schools in their own right; these are discussed further in
4.2. Historical figures often cited alongside Heidegger also appear in the cluster:
Descartes, Aristotle, Plato, Kierkegaard, and Nietzsche.
Descartes’ presence is an example of what we will call “oppositional clustering”,
a tendency of clusters to combine authors who cite each other as part of a critical
engagement. Heideggerian phenomenology is openly anti-Cartesian, and
Heideggerians often cite Descartes as an opponent (Dreyfus, 1991). That Descartes
shows up with Heidegger rather than Husserl, who was famously Cartesian (Husserl,
2013), shows that the negative act of citing an opponent can produce more citations
than the positive act of citing an ally. As one reader noted, justifying a critique of an
opposing view sometimes requires more citations than giving credit to a friendly view.
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND is the third-largest cluster, both in terms of total
authors and citations. It is composed largely of contemporary philosophers of mind
and cognitive science, who use the term “phenomenology” to refer to first-person,
subjective processes. In the 1970s Nagel was among the first analytic philosophers
to argue that first person experience was irreducibly subjective, describing bat echo-
location as something that could be objectively described but never really under-
stood by humans (Nagel, 1974). Searle, Dennett, Chalmers, Block, and Tye all
wrote on consciousness during the wave of interest in consciousness that began in
the late 1980s and early 1990s (Searle, 1992; Dennett, 1993; Block, 1995; Chalmers,

 Although Derrida’s dissertation and earliest works were on Husserl (Derrida, 2003, 2010) and he
18

maintained an interest in phenomenology throughout his career.

Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 31

1995; Tye, 1995). Dennett was a vocal critic of the concept of consciousness in this
period and his inclusion in the cluster is (at least in part) another instance of oppo-
sitional clustering. Horgan, Clark, Fodor, and McDowell are philosophers of mind
who either address consciousness directly or are cited by others who do. James is a
historical figure who introduced such seminal concepts as “the stream of conscious-
ness” and was among the first to attempt to understand consciousness in a scientific
way (James, 2007).
Authors in this cluster make some reference to the phenomenology literature but
are primarily in conversation with other contemporary philosophers of mind.
Consistently with these observations, the force directed layout (Fig. 2) places this
group further away from the main phenomenology supercluster, as a separate
“island”. Authors in PHILOSOPHY OF MIND cite authors in the EMBODIED
cluster (which is also focused on contemporary issues) more than authors in any
other cluster in the dataset. There are relatively few citations in either direction
between this cluster and HEIDEGGER or FRENCH (see Fig. 3). That PHILOSOPHY
OF MIND is distinct from much of classical phenomenology is consistent with the
self-understanding of the literature. These authors do not typically occur as chapter-­
headings in phenomenology anthologies or named sections of phenomenology syl-
labi. Many of these authors do appear in the PhilPapers database, but under separate
headings, in particular “Philosophy of Consciousness.”19 However, there are a sub-
stantial number of citations to authors in HUSSERL, which may reflect Husserl’s
well known analytic orientation and status as a putative founder of analytic philoso-
phy (Dummett, 1996; Walsh & Yoshimi, 2018).
The fourth largest cluster is FRENCH, as a shorthand for “French phenomenol-
ogy”, broadly construed to include authors working in phenomenology or in
areas of Francophone philosophy inspired by phenomenology.20 In Fig.  2, it
appears as a third area of “core phenomenology” overlapping HUSSERL and
HEIDEGGER. Further supporting the concept of a core phenomenology superclu-
ster are numerous citations between these three clusters (Fig. 3). Merleau-Ponty and
Sartre are the two most cited authors in this group, consistently with the dominance
of Merleau-Ponty and Sartre in anthologies, syllabi, and introductory discussions of
phenomenology. Many of the most-cited authors in this cluster (Merleau-Ponty,
Sartre, Foucault, Deleuze, Bergson, Freud, Butler, and Lacan) also appear as top-­
level sub-categories of the PhilPapers page on Continental Philosophy. Several of
the authors in this group (e.g., Barbaras and Waldenfels) are Merleau-Ponty schol-
ars. The cluster also includes schools of thought that are distinct from but influenced
by phenomenology. Butler, Deleuze, Foucault, and Lacan, for example are associ-
ated with poststructuralism, cultural studies, feminism, and continental psychoanal-
ysis, respectively, all of which are subcategories of “Continental philosophy” in

19
 https://philpapers.org/browse/philosophy-of-consciousness
20
 As a reminder, the Louvain algorithm automatically produced the cluster, and we chose a cluster
label that seemed best to describe the authors in it.
32 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

PhilPapers. Freud and Bergson were also influential historical figures in these areas.
This cluster is discussed further in 4.3.
The fifth largest cluster, EMBODIED, encompasses philosophers of mind, psy-
chologists, and cognitive scientists who emphasize the role of the body and environ-
ment in cognition, against more traditional conceptions focused on internal mental
representations. Most of the top members of this group (Dreyfus, Gallagher, Varela,
Thompson, Noë, Gibson, and Damasio) appear in the Stanford Encyclopedia of
Philosophy entry on “Embodied Cognition” (Wilson & Foglia, 2017) and these
same authors are mentioned in the top-level description of the PhilPapers category
“Embodied and Situated Cognition”.21 Also included are key precursors to the
embodied approach, in particular JJ Gibson and John Dewey.22 Like PHILOSOPHY
OF MIND, it is separated from the core phenomenology supercluster in Fig.  2,
placed between PHILOSOPHY OF MIND and FRENCH. Authors in these three
areas frequently cite each other (see Fig. 3), which is consistent with its status as a
broadly analytic sub-field of the philosophy of cognitive science that also draws on
ideas associated with Continental philosophy, French phenomenology and espe-
cially Merleau-Ponty.
KANT/HEGEL consists largely of Kant and Hegel scholars who are in some
way linked to the phenomenological tradition. Kant was a key influence on all the
major phenomenologists, but especially Husserl and Heidegger. Husserl’s transcen-
dental philosophy is explicitly Kantian (Kern, 1964). Heidegger wrote several
important works on Kant (Heidegger, 1997a, b) and pursued a broadly Kantian tran-
scendental project in his early work (Zangeneh, Chapter “Heideggerian
Phenomenology”, this volume). Though there are important links between Hegel
and Heidegger (Boer, 2000), his major influence on phenomenology was via Kojève
and Hyppolite, who gave lectures in France attended by Sartre, Merleau-Ponty and
many other French intellectuals of the mid-twentieth century (Stone, 2017).23
KANT/HEGEL also contains most of the major members of the Frankfurt School
of critical theory (Adorno, Horkheimer, Habermas, Marcuse, and Lukács), all of
whom drew on Hegel. The cluster also contains Marx, arguably Hegel’s most
famous and important reader, and among the primary sources of the Frankfurt
school. These critical theorists drew on phenomenology, though often in a critical
way, suggesting that their presence in the phenomenology dataset is due in part to

21
 https://philpapers.org/browse/embodiment-and-situated-cognition
22
 In their classic book on the topic, Lakoff and Johnson (also in this cluster, but not shown in the
table) say “We want to honor the two greatest philosophers of the embodied mind… John Dewey,
no less than Merleau-Ponty, saw that our bodily experience is the primal basis for everything we
can mean, think, know, and communicate” (Lakoff & Johnson, 1999, p. xi). Moreover, it has been
argued (see Lobo et al., 2018) that Gibson’s work was influenced by Merleau-Ponty’s ideas on the
body and perception.
23
 One concern with this cluster was whether it was artifactual, given that the term “Phenomenology”
occurs in the title of Hegel’s major work, The Phenomenology of Spirit. To check this, we removed
the 232 entries in the dataset that mention this book in their title, keywords, or abstract. This did
have the effect of moving Kant to the HEIDEGGER cluster, but a Hegel cluster remained and was
largely unchanged in its top authors.
Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 33

oppositional clustering. Adorno, for example, was dubious about Husserl’s account
of the lifeworld as absolutely given and saw totalitarian possibilities latent in phe-
nomenology, which for Husserl is a pure rational science of essences (Wolff, 2006).
He also developed a Marxist critique of the Heideggerian/existentialist concept of
authenticity (Adorno, 2002). Fichte and Schelling are associated with Kant and
Hegel via the broader historical movement of German idealism. The cluster also
contains such contemporary Kant scholars as Ameriks, Guyer, and Henrich, as well
as Hegel scholars like Pippin and Houlgate (some of whom are outside of the range
of the top 10 figures shown in Table 4).

4 The Internal Structure of Core Phenomenology

In addition to analyzing the phenomenology dataset as a whole, we also studied the

three clusters within it comprising “core phenomenology”: HUSSERL,
HEIDEGGER, and FRENCH. As a reminder, all-caps names refer to clusters in the
total dataset. In this section we treat each of these sets of authors and citations
between them as datasets in their own right and identify clusters within them.24
These sub-communities will not be written in all-caps but referred to in terms of
their most-cited authors, e.g., “Scheler” within HUSSERL and “Butler” within
FRENCH. We only report sub-communities containing more than 1% of the total
number of authors in a dataset.
We did not have as much data about the self-understanding of these sub-­literatures
as we did with phenomenology as a whole. However, descriptions of Husserlian,
Heideggerian and French phenomenology exist. In addition to these descriptions,
we also considered existing categories of the PhilPapers database and consulted
experts in these areas.

4.1 Husserlian Phenomenology

We begin with the dataset derived from HUSSERL. As a baseline for comparison,
we consulted several discussions of the scholarly landscape of Husserlian phenom-
enology (Spiegelberg, 1981; Bernet et  al., 1993; Smith & Smith, 1995; Welton,
2000) as well as an extensive discussion of its North American reception (Ferri &
Ierna, 2019). Welton refers to an earlier phase of Husserl scholarship focused on
“exegesis and appropriation” and then describes two subsequent interpretive ten-
dencies: an analytic reading focused on “detailed critical engagement, especially

24
 Another approach would have been to re-create a dataset using keywords like “Husserl”,
“Heidegger”, or “Merleau-Ponty” instead of “phenomenology”, which would amount to analyzing
those as separate literatures, rather than looking inside these three clusters of the main cita-
tion graph.
34 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

with [Husserl’s] theories of meaning, perception, and judgement” and a continental

or deconstructive reading originating in Derrida’s early work on Husserl. Welton
mentions the following authors in association with these two camps:25
1. Analytic approaches. Tugendhadt, Theunissen, Smith, Føllesdal, Mohanty,

Dreyfus, McIntyre.
2. Deconstructive approaches: Derrida, Levinas, Berger, Sartre, Ricouer.
The Cambridge Companion to Husserl (Smith & Smith, 1995) distinguishes several
readings of Husserl, which can be thought of as sub-divisions of Welton’s “analytic
approach”. Their discussion is focused on competing models of a specific technical
notion in Husserl—the concept of “noema” (also see Smith, Chapter “Constitution
Through Noema and Horizon: Husserl’s Theory of Intentionality”, this volume)—
but they are also associated with broader interpretive tendencies:
1 . Neo-phenomenalist model: Gurwitsch
2. Intentional object model: lngarden
3. Content-as-sense model: Føllesdal, Dreyfus, McIntyre, Miller, and D.  Smith.
These authors are also sometimes referred to as members of the “West Coast” or
“California School” of Husserl interpretation (Yoshimi et al., 2019).
4. The aspect model: Sokolowski, Drummond,
5. Aristotelian: Mulligan, B. Smith, Willard
The clustering algorithm identified 12 communities in the HUSSERL dataset. These
communities, labelled by their most cited authors, and listed in order of their size
(number of authors) are: Husserl (352), Quine (273), Schuhmann (223), Zahavi
(200), Mohanty (126), Brentano (123), Ingarden (91), Steinbock (87), Sokolowski
(60), Hopkins (52), Ryle (42), Patzig (25) (Table 5).
This dataset is notable for consisting almost entirely of Husserl scholars, whereas,
as we will see, HEIDEGGER and FRENCH are more variegated.
The largest group within HUSSERL is associated with Husserl himself and
might be referred to as “textually” or “philologically oriented”. The group contains
the former directors of the Husserl archives in Leuven (Bernet and Melle), who are
also the main series editors of Husserliana. They, along with Kern, Biemel, and
Lohmar, have also edited individual volumes in the series. Welton is included in this
group, consistently with his own reading of Husserl, which is focused on the “full
scope” of Husserl’s thought (Welton, 2000, p. 1), as represented not just in the pub-
lished text but in the thousands of pages of unpublished manuscripts housed at the
archives and collected in Husserliana volumes. This group also includes several of
Husserl’s own collaborators, like Fink and Landgrebe.
The Scheler group contains authors associated with the “earlier phase of exegesis
and appropriation” Welton refers to. It includes members of the Munich Circle

 Other authors besides these are mentioned by Welton, either as interlocutors in debates or as
25

commentators on these readings.

Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 35

Table 5  Largest clusters in the Husserl data, in terms of numbers of authors (see main text for the
cluster sizes)

Up to 10 authors are shown in each cluster, alongside the number of citations they received. Only
authors with more than 20 citations are shown

(Scheler, Lipps, Pfänder) and Göttingen Circle (Reinach, Geiger),26 as well as

Spiegelberg, perhaps the first to document these early social networks surrounding
Husserl. Ingarden and Stein were members of the Göttingen Circle, but Ingarden
shows up as his own sub-grouping of HUSSERL, and Stein is lead author in a sepa-
rate cluster of the entire dataset. Schuhmann, who is also associated with the
archives and author of the only major source on the events of Husserl’s life
(Schuhmann, 1977) is also in the group.
The group containing Zahavi comprises a great deal of contemporary Husserl
scholarship, and many of the authors listed by Welton as part of the analytic approach
(Welton, 2000). In fact, members of all the competing schools listed in the
Cambridge Companion to Husserl are grouped together in this cluster (Drummond,
Willard, D. Smith), suggesting some oppositional clustering. Mohanty, who Welton
groups with analytic readers, is in a separate cluster that includes earlier generations
of largely American Husserl scholars, including Dorion Cairns, Marvin Farber, and
James Edie.27 Authors associated with Welton’s “deconstructive” reading of Husserl
(Derrida, Levinas, Sartre, Ricoeur) do not show up in HUSSERL at all, but rather in
HEIDEGGER.
Other clusters are associated with separate lines of research related to Husserlian
phenomenology. The Brentano cluster consists largely of early figures in analytic
philosophy and philosophers emphasizing connections between Husserl and

26
 A history of the Munich and Göttingen circles is in Salice (2020).
27
 See (Ferri & Ierna, 2019), especially part II.
36 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

analytic philosophy. Dummett, for example, is notable for treating Husserl as a

founder of analytic philosophy (Dummett, 1996), and Rollinger for emphasizing a
tradition of “Austrian phenomenology” centered on Brentano, Husserl, and Meinong
(Rollinger, 2013). The cluster led by Quine contains Tieszen, Weyl, Gödel, Parsons,
and Becker, all philosophers of mathematics influenced by Husserl, or mathemati-
cians associated with these philosophers (for an overview, see Tieszen, 2005).
The cluster containing Hopkins also emphasizes Husserl’s approach to mathe-
matics, with an emphasis on historical questions extending back to Plato about the
status of numbers—the unity and multiplicity involved in grasping, say, the number
three—as fundamental to phenomenology as a whole (Hopkins, 2011; Hopkins,
Chapter “The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s
Philosophy”, this volume); the cluster includes the Plato scholar Jacob Klein, as
well as Newton and Galileo. Authors in the cluster containing Steinbock emphasize
Husserl’s late “monadology” (Crowell, Chapter “Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology:
Metaphysics”, this volume), and “generative phenomenology” (Steinbock, 1995),
according to which our sense of reality can be understood in terms of the associative
genesis of meanings via Leibnizian “monads with windows” (Iribarne, 1991), and
communal and historical meanings emerging from intersubjective structures across
these monads (Steinbock, 1998).

4.2 Heideggerian Phenomenology

For the dataset derived from HEIDEGGER we had several sources to draw on as a
baseline for comparison. Thomas Sheehan has written on the topic, and organizes
Heideggerian phenomenology using a left-right political spectrum:
(1) On the extreme right stands the ultra-orthodox interpretation which finds expression in
the journal Heidegger Studies. This tendency is generally associated with the work of
Friedrich-Wilhelm von Herrmann and the Heidegger Gesellschaft in Germany and with the
Beaufret-Fédier-Vezin school of Heideggerians in France. (2) On the extreme left stands the
rejectionist wing, much of it inspired by the revelations of Heidegger’s scandalous involve-
ment with the Nazis… (3) The center-right represents the orthodox position, comprised of
scholars dedicated to getting Heidegger right, not unlike the “Dantisti” of Italian studies
whose goal is a close reading of every line of the Divina Commedia… (4) On the center-left
stand the liberal-assimilationists. Beyond getting Heidegger right, these scholars seek to put
his work into dialogue with other contemporary philosophers and perhaps to amend or cor-
rect him in the process…. (Sheehan, 2001)

The specific authors Sheehan mentions in connection with these interpretations are:
1 . Far right: von Herrmann, Beaufret, Fédier, Vezin
2. Far left: Caputo
3. Center right: Kisiel, van Buren.
4. Center left: Dreyfus.
Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 37

We also have the work of Zangeneh (Chapter “Heideggerian Phenomenology”, this

volume), who organizes the field as follows:
1 . Syncretic readings: Sallis, Scott, Schmidt, Dreyfus, Haugland, Olafson.
2. Scholarly genealogical readings: Biemel, Pöggeler, Courtine, Dastur.
3. Scholarly teleological readings. Schürmann, Granel, maybe Derrida, Mitchell.
4. Scholarly dual-phased readings. Richardson, (early) Sheehan, Grondin, Polt.
The algorithm produced 15 communities of the Heidegger literature. Ordered by
number of authors (shown in parentheses), they are: Heidegger (408), Marion (241),
Levinas (194), Henry (191), Derrida (164), Ricoeur (159), Patočka (122), Gadamer
(103), Buber (100), Arendt (97), Otto (78), Kierkegaard (65), Nietzsche (64), Rorty
(42), and Dilworth (28) (Table 6).
A central cluster is organized around Heidegger himself and prominent Heidegger
scholars (more on this below), but the other main clusters are associated with phi-
losophers who are arguably founders of schools of their own: Marion, Levinas,
Henry, Derrida, Ricoeur, Gadamer, Arendt, Buber, Patočka, and Rorty.28 Consistently
with this idea, all of these authors except Henry appear as top-level subcategories of
the PhilPapers category of “Continental philosophy”. Derrida, founder of decon-
struction, is grouped with deconstructionist thinkers such as Jean-Luc Nancy.
Gadamer was a student of Heidegger’s who became “the decisive figure in the
development of twentieth century hermeneutics” (Malpas, 2018). Gadamer is
grouped with his biographer Grondin. Marion and Henry both developed theologi-
cal readings of Heideggerian phenomenology.

Table 6  Largest clusters in the Heidegger data, filtered in the same way as Table 5

 Of course, the distinction between a Heidegger scholar and a founder of a school influenced by
28

Heidegger is a matter of degree.

38 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

Many of the authors in this group are oppositionally clustered, insofar as they
have participated in a debate about these theological readings (Janicaud, 2000;
DeLay, 2018).29 Levinas was among the first French philosophers to recognize
Heidegger’s importance (Fagenblat, 2015) and went on to become a noted reader
and critic of Heidegger (Drabinski & Nelson, 2015). The Levinas cluster contains
Levinas scholars such as Franck and Peperzac. Arendt, Heidegger’s student and
critic of totalitarianism, is grouped with Agamben and Taminaux, contemporary
philosophers who have engaged closely with her thought and, like Arendt, have a
close association to political philosophy as well as phenomenology.
All the authors associated with Sheehan’s “right wing” reading of Heidegger
(von Herrmann, Beaufret, Kisiel, van Buren), and most of Zangeneh’s scholarly
readings (Courtine, Dastur, Mitchell, Richardson, Sheehan, Granel) are in the main
Heidegger cluster, which is a philologically oriented group of scholars comparable
to the cluster in the Husserl dataset including Husserl himself and the Husserliana
editors.30
On the other hand, authors associated with the “left wing” and “syncretic” read-
ings of Heidegger appear in other parts of the larger dataset corresponding to phe-
nomenology as a whole, which is not surprising given that these readings emphasize
connections to other philosophical topics and thus involve distinctive patterns of
citation. Thus, Dreyfus, Haugeland, and Olafson are in EMBODIED, Scott is in
FRENCH, Schmidt is in KANT/HEGEL, and Biemel is in HUSSERL. Others end
up in other sub-clusters of the Heidegger cluster, including the “far left” Caputo in
the Marion cluster and “syncretic” readers Sallis and Derrida in the Derrida cluster.
Zangeneh’s scholarly teleological readers of Heidegger appear in several places:
Schurmann in the Nietzsche cluster, Granel in the Patočka cluster, and Grondin in
the Gadamer cluster.

4.3 French Phenomenology

For the dataset derived from FRENCH, there are few discussions of the area as a
whole which could be used as a baseline for comparison.31 Thus, we primarily con-
sidered existing categories in the PhilPapers database. Moreover, for Merleau-Ponty
scholarship we had comments provided by Robin Muller as she prepared her critical

29
 Consistently with this, most of the figures in the Marion cluster are associated with a debate
about these theological readings. For example, a book on this debate, Phenomenology and the
“Theological” Turn: The French Debate (Janicaud, 2000), includes discussions of Marion,
Lacaste, Chretien, as well as Ricouer and Henry (who appear as leads of separate clusters).
30
 Minus a few authors who didn’t appear more than once in the entire dataset (Vezin, Fedier).
31
 There are some discussions of specific topics, including Sartre scholarship (see the journal Sartre
Studies and the PhilPapers category on “Sartre”) and Merleau-Ponty scholarship (Muller, Chapter
“The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought”, this volume). A source we only became aware just
as the article was going to press, which merits further study, is Dupont (2014).
Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 39

survey of the Merleau-Ponty scholarship for this volume (Chapter “The Landscape
of Merleau-Pontyan Thought”). She distinguishes the following approaches to
Merleau-Ponty interpretation:
1. Philosophy of mind: Gallagher, Noë, Dreyfus, Marratto, Zahavi, Varela,

Romdenh-Romluc
2. Engagement with classical phenomenology: Barbaras, Carbone, Johnson,

Lefort, Foti.
3. Unified readings: Toadvine, Morris, Dillon, Hass.
Muller characterizes group 1 as drawing connections between Merleau-Ponty and
contemporary philosophical work (compare Zangeneh’s “syncretic readings” of
Heidegger), with a focus on earlier texts, in particular Phenomenology of Perception
(Merleau-Ponty, 2012). She also describes a division in this group between scholars
like Zahavi who see a close affinity between Husserl and Merleau-Ponty and those
like Dreyfus who instead see an affinity between Merleau-Ponty and Heidegger.
Scholars in group 2 challenge classical Husserlian phenomenology and tend to
emphasize Merleau-Ponty’s later works in aesthetics and ontology. Scholars in
group 3 develop a unified reading of Merleau-Ponty with a focus on ontology.
The clustering algorithm identified 13 clusters in the French phenomenology
dataset, associated with: Merleau-Ponty (310), Butler (297), Deleuze (148), Sartre
(133), Sobchack (125), Bachelard (124), Foucault (117), Freud (86), Waldenfels
(76), Csordas (72), Grosz (54), Dufrenne (54), and Gilligan (29) (Table 7).
Two of the largest groups in this dataset correspond to Merleau-Ponty and Sartre,
i.e., classical French phenomenology. The Sartre group is associated with Sartre
scholars, such as Canguilhem, Gardner, and Flynn. The Merleau-Ponty cluster is
associated with Merleau-Ponty scholars and schools of interpretation. In fact, the
entirety of Muller’s groups 2 and 3—representing two distinctive approaches to
Merleau-Ponty scholarship—are combined (in part, we suspect, due to oppositional

Table 7  Largest clusters in the French phenomenology data, filtered in the same way as Table 5
40 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

clustering) into the same cluster (Barbaras, Carbone, Johnson, Lefort, and Foti,
Toadvine, Morris, Dillon, and Hass). Thus, all of the textually based Merleau-Ponty
scholars are grouped together. On the other hand, the majority of authors in the
more syncretic group of Merleau-Ponty scholars, Muller’s group 1, appear in the
EMBODIED cluster of the total dataset (namely, Gallagher, Noë, Dreyfus, Varela
and Romdenh-Romluc).32
The rest of this dataset divides up into coherent groups of Continental thinkers
inspired by but distinct from classical phenomenology (in this way FRENCH is
similar to HEIDEGGER, but different from HUSSERL). The post-structuralist
Foucault is oppositionally clustered with the structuralist Levi-Strauss, and with
Foucault scholars such as Oksala and Gutting. The Butler community includes
influences on Butler’s work such as Beauvoir, Irigiray and Kristeva (Butler, 2006),
as well as contemporary figures in feminist scholarship, including Alcoff, Young, Le
Doueff, and Weiss, most of whom are also discussed in the PhilPapers entry on
“Continental feminism”. Deleuze is clustered with Bergson, who he wrote a book
on—Bergsonism (Deleuze, 1988). Deleuze is oppositionally clustered with Badiou,
who is notable for his critique of Deleuze (see Smith & Protevi, 2020, sec. 6.2).
Freud is grouped with Lacan, known for his re-interpretation of Freudian psycho-
analysis (Fink, 1996). This group corresponds to the PhilPapers category of
Continental Psychoanalysis.

5 Discussion and Critical Reflection on Methodology

There is a certain irony in our describing phenomenology using bibliometric meth-

ods, given that all of the classical phenomenologists argued that such empirical or
“ontical” inquiries are derivative on the more fundamental investigations of phe-
nomenology (Heidegger, 1962). Husserl refers to a historical process whereby
mathematical objects came to be regarded first as stand-ins, and then as replace-
ments for the Lebenswelt, that is, the “real world” given in perception:
we must note something of the highest importance that occurred even as early as Galileo:
the surreptitious substitution of the mathematically substructed world of idealities for the
only real world, the one that is actually given through perception […] our everyday life-­
world. This substitution was promptly passed on to his successors, the physicists of all the
succeeding centuries. (Husserl, 1970, pp. 48–49)

Heidegger, famously extending this line of thought in the Question Concerning

Technology (Heidegger, 1977), argues that our current age is characterized by a
pervasive form of “enframing”, whereby things are drained of their primordial
meanings and encountered as mere resources, to be calculated, harnessed, and opti-
mized: “The earth now reveals itself as a coal mining district, the soil as a mineral

 Zahavi appears in HUSSERL, consistently with his emphasis on affinities between Merleau-
32

Ponty and Husserl. Marrato is in the Butler cluster.

Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 41

deposit. The field that the peasant formerly cultivated and set in order appears dif-
ferently than it did when to set in order still meant to take care of and to maintain”
(Heidegger, 1977, p. 14). From this perspective, a bibliometric analysis of scholarly
activity transforms one the deepest forms of human activity into a manipulable,
quantifiable resource, a collection of h-indices and citation counts to be used in
assessing scholarly performance.
We approach the issue in a pragmatic way. Bibliometric methods provide a use-
ful but limited view on an academic literature. By utilizing multiple tools and rec-
ognizing their limitations it is possible to gain insight about an academic literature
without “surreptitiously substituting” it for the reality of that literature. Compare
cartographic maps, which obviously leave a great deal out about the fundamental
reality of the areas they describe. There is much more to Africa or Russia than a
piece of paper can convey, including the subjective experiences of those who live
there. That is immediately understood by anyone who uses a map. Many forms of
maps exist, each of which describes different features of a region. By combining
these maps—physical, political, topographic, etc.—we can piece together an
increasingly detailed (but always fundamentally limited) picture of an area. Doing
this responsibly simply requires that we have a clear understanding of what each
method reveals and in what ways it is subject to distortion or misuse.
In terms of virtues, bibliometric methods provide a relatively unbiased perspec-
tive on a field. They are less subject to individual bias than narrative reports and
anecdotal data. From this standpoint, it is interesting to consider both cases where
the data confirm the field’s self-understanding, and cases where there are surprises.
These comparisons can have practical value. Maps like this could be used to direct
work to new areas, help identify under-explored areas, facilitate literature searches,
and in some cases correct our self-understanding.
As we’ve seen, the broad self-understanding of the field is supported by the cita-
tion data, in particular its organization around Husserl, Heidegger, and Merleau-­
Ponty, and its loose coupling to embodied cognitive science, philosophy of mind,
and Hegel. However, some features of the data were unexpected. We would have
expected Fanon, Brentano, or Beauvoir to be cited more, given their prominence in
syllabi and anthologies. There was no indication from anthology and syllabi that
Zahavi would dominate to the extent that he does, although this may reflect the
specific publication venues tracked by our data. Clusters organized around Stein,
Schutz, Ortega y Gasset, Bakhtin, and Fuchs suggest the emergence of separate,
coherent literatures in these areas.33 In these and other cases there are multiple
potential ways to explain the observations (beyond those already mentioned), which
could serve as a fruitful basis for future research.
This kind of work also facilitates “serendipitous browsing” in a kind of virtual
library. Speaking for ourselves and our specializations, we discovered some new
work while we studied this data, including some new sources in embodied

 In the case of Ortega y Gasset, this might be due to the Anglophone bias of our sample, as most
33

scholarly work done about his work is published in Spanish.

42 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

approaches to phenomenology (Jones, Depraz, Sheets-Johnston) and some unex-

pected connections, e.g., between Agamben and Arendt. Compare someone making
discoveries and pursuing suggestive leads while perusing books at a physical library
or records in a music shop.
In terms of limitations, citations graphs can convey a false sense of objectivity.
As noted above, the data is biased towards English, and towards articles published
in the last 20 years. Most of the literature before 1970 is ignored—including the
whole bulk of the original phenomenology literature. Even with a better sample,
there would be limitations. Citations don’t capture everything about a research com-
munity, and suffer well-known problems, which call to mind Husserl’s and
Heidegger’s critiques of mathematization and technology. The h-index as a way of
measuring faculty quality promotes a rich-get-richer effect, where highly cited
papers tend to get cited more often, and at certain point it is just taken for granted
that the most cited research is the most important research.34 When these metrics are
tied to institutional incentives it can also lead people to game the system in certain
ways, for example by angling for citations and over-citing their own work.

6 Future Work

This is, to our knowledge, the first analysis of the phenomenology literature using
bibliometric methods. The research is preliminary, but we hope to see more work
along these lines in future studies, both in phenomenology and in other areas. One
could imagine specific studies of the Frankfurt school, or Continental feminism, or
critical race theory, or a deeper dive into Bakhtin or Buddhism in phenomenology.
Or similar studies of literary theory as a whole, or some particular area of litera-
ture, such as psychology, or cognitive science. The methods are straightforward and
should generalize to other scholarly literatures: identify a criterion to use in obtain-
ing a dataset, create an author-wise citation network, identify communities, and
create “maps” of the resulting networks using graph embeddings. Of course, these
networks could be analyzed using other methods as well.
Focusing specifically on our study of the phenomenology literature, a great deal
of additional work remains to be done. An obvious next step would be to expand the
dataset. Scopus has coverage of more journals but was not easily integrated into our
scripts. Google has more complete data but is proprietary. If there were a way to
obtain more complete coverage of the published literature it would of course allow
for a fuller, and less temporally or linguistically biased picture of the literature.
Further data cleanup could also prove useful (e.g., Austen Clark and Andy Clark are
collapsed to “Clark A” in our data). This may improve with further data curation,
e.g., with broader use of unique author ids. A promising resource that meets some
of these conditions already is the Open Commons of Phenomenology (ophen.org),

34
 The literature on the rich-get-richer effect in bibliometrics is reviewed in (Siudem et al., 2020).
Bibliometric Analysis of the Phenomenology Literature 43

which provides free access to many of the primary texts as well as clean meta-data
and author ids.
Analysis of filtered subsets of our data is another area for further study. This
could facilitate an analysis of changes in the literature over time. A series of maps
could be generated, to see how the literature has changed from one decade to the
next. With improved coverage of the earlier literature this would be especially inter-
esting. This method could be used to test the hypothesis that Sartre was more promi-
nent in the earlier literature, or that Merleau-Ponty has risen in prominence in recent
decades, or whether the presence of Beauvoir and Fanon on recent syllabi reflects a
growing interest in these authors. The data could also be filtered by language, to
focus, e.g., on the French or German phenomenology literature.
So far, we have discussed ways of filtering the data and re-running the same
types of analysis as those canvassed above. However, there are many other ways
these types of dataset could be analyzed. (1) A co-citation analysis, where nodes are
still authors, but the connections between them reflect the number of times they
have appeared as references in the same paper. This captures higher-level statistics
and identifies links between authors that appear in similar articles even if they don’t
directly cite each other. Since co-citation networks are undirected, this would also
allow us to use the same network in the community detection algorithms and the
spatial layout algorithm. The interpretation of these networks is more difficult,
given that they involve “relations of relations”, which is why we chose to use the
directed citation network in the present study. However, we have pursued prelimi-
nary co-citation analysis of this data and the initial results are promising. (2)
Alternative graph embeddings (i.e. ways of laying out the network), and alternative
community detection algorithms would allow us to better understand in what ways
our results are artifacts of OpenOrd and Louvain. (3) Finally, the analysis of cita-
tions could be supplemented with semantic methods that extract information from
the content of the articles, using for example the abstracts of papers in a specific
field (an analysis along these lines of the cognitive science literature is (Contreras
Kallens & Dale, 2018)). The focus on content over pure citational practice could be
used to determine what the main topics or categories of work are in these data (for
example, discussions of temporality, cognitive science, the body, theology, the self,
etc.). This would provide another means for comparing the self-understanding of
phenomenologists with the actual content of their work.
In his preface to the English translation of Ideas, written late in his career and
decades after the German edition was first published, Husserl describes his phenom-
enological investigations in cartographic terms, characterizing himself as an
explorer who has “wandered in the trackless wilds of a new continent”.35 He
expresses disdain for those who would “exempt themselves” from such a journey
based on the “refusals of geographers” who rely only on their maps and habitual
prejudices. Husserl’s imagery is evocative, and his message is basic to phenomenol-
ogy (don’t just rely on what others say; consult the phenomena yourself!), but the

35
 Reprinted as the epilogue to (Husserl, 1990). See p. 422.
44 P. Contreras Kallens and J. Yoshimi

imagery is in other ways problematic, and his attitude towards geographers is mis-
leading. Maps can play a crucial role in orienting explorers in large, complex
domains, such as the millions of pages of the phenomenology literature.
We have created the first draft of a map of a literature that could direct work to
new areas, help identify under-explored areas, adjust intuitions about the field, and
facilitate new lines of study. However, more could be done. A good start would be
the online publication of a more detailed map than Fig.  2, one which could be
searched and explored and zoomed in on, in order to locate and contextualize spe-
cific authors and groups. Our longer-term hope is that more maps like this will be
developed, in multiple areas and with rich interactive tools, to better orient those
exploring the vast landscapes of contemporary scholarship.

Acknowledgments  Thanks to Juan Diego Bogotá, Soraya Boza, Dan Hicks, Patrick Londen,
Robin Muller, Lace Padilla, Rodney Parker, Fidel Machado-Perez, Alexander Petersen, Ken Stuart,
Philip Walsh, and Hakhamanesh Zangeneh.

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Phenomenology Park: The Landscape
of Husserlian Phenomenology

John J. Drummond

Perplexed was I when invited to contribute a paper addressing the “landscape of

Husserlian phenomenology.” I had no idea of the intended import of the landscape-­
metaphor. The issue was further complicated by the fact that the paper was to be part
of a collection titled “Horizons of Phenomenology.” “Horizons” I get; it’s a techni-
cal term for Husserl, who distinguishes between inner and outer horizons. So, were
I to talk about horizons, I would talk about phenomenology’s inner horizons, that is,
about the possibilities for further explication of the implications of various, already
articulated phenomenological approaches and positions. And I would talk too about
phenomenology’s outer horizons, that is, about new areas indicated for phenomeno-
logical reflection by already existing analyses, including and especially those areas
that bring phenomenology into contact with other philosophical approaches and
other disciplines. So, “horizons” I could have dealt with. But “landscape”?
It so happened that while attending a conference on the University’s Lincoln
Center campus, I decided to spend the lunch break in Central Park—one block away
from campus. I took a sandwich over to the park, ate while sitting on a park bench,
and then walked through the park for the remainder of the break. Suddenly, it hit
me: here was this beautiful landscape in the center of New York City that had this
host of smaller, named areas within it. And thus was born the idea of Phenomenology
Park—a vehicle to present the “lay of the land” in Husserlian phenomenology (see
Fig. 1).
I’ll add just three caveats. First, I take it to be the case that the first great Husserlian
phenomenologist —after Husserl, of course—was Heidegger. That, given the clear
differences between them, sounds a bold claim, but it is clear to me that Heidegger—
at least the Heidegger of the 1920s—understood what Husserl was doing and put his
own stamp on it rather than simply rejecting it. Second, the philosophers mentioned
herein are selected somewhat arbitrarily. I do not intend to give a comprehensive list

J. J. Drummond (*)
Fordham University, The Bronx, NY, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 49

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_3
50 J. J. Drummond

Fig. 1  An artist’s rendition of phenomenology park (Soraya Boza)

of philosophers working in Husserlian phenomenology or of positions taken by

Husserlian phenomenologists. Third, I am selecting representative thinkers, but all
of them are also thinkers who connect their phenomenological reflections to devel-
opments in other philosophical approaches. I am selecting, in other words, philoso-
phers—again, by no means all of them—who also expand the outer horizons of
Husserlian phenomenology. The selections undoubtedly reflect my interests, but,
then again, it’s my park!
So, take a stroll through the park with me, and you’ll discover my somewhat
snarky, semi-serious, probably semi-accurate, certainly semi-inaccurate, and very
brief survey of the current state of interpreters and interpretations of Husserl’s phe-
nomenology (broadly construed).
You enter the park from the south on a path taking you about 25 yards into the
park. It’s a beautiful day, and tourists are streaming into the park, among them many
philosophers. In fact, people are coming in droves. Phenomenology Park has
become a tourist attraction!
To the left of the path is Brentano Garden. It’s appropriate that it borders the
entry path to Phenomenology Park, since Brentano’s descriptive psychology is a
forerunner of phenomenology. Brentano reintroduced the scholastic doctrine of
intentionality, and he identified intentionality as the mark of the mental. As an
empiricist, however, he did not recognize the transcendental dimension of intention-
ality and, to that extent, fell short of phenomenology. In the gardens, I can see Uriah
Kriegel (2018)  and Tim Crane  (2014), both of whom are indebted to Brentanian
ideas, albeit not always the same ideas.
It’s fitting, too, that on the other side of the path is Manchester Meadow, a tribute
to Austrian philosophers and members of the Munich Circle that were Husserl’s
interlocutors or influenced by Husserl’s early thought but who were ambivalent
Phenomenology Park: The Landscape of Husserlian Phenomenology 51

about, if not opposed to, Husserl’s transcendental turn. Arranged in a circle at the
center of the meadow are busts of Bernard Bolzano, Theodor Conrad, Hedwig
Conrad-Martius, Johannes Daubert, Moritz Geiger, Roman Ingarden, Anton Marty,
Alexius Meinong, Alexander Pfänder, Adolf Reinach, Max Scheler, Edith Stein, and
Gerda Walther. Walking in the meadow and viewing the busts are Kevin
Mulligan  (1990; see also Cesalli and Mulligan 2017), Peter Simons  (2014), and
Barry Smith (1994)—no surprises there!
At the end of the entry path, you come upon two large statues of—you guessed
it!—Husserl and Heidegger. What immediately catches your attention is that the
statues do not directly face the entry path. Nor do they face one another, but they
don’t have their backs to one another either. Each is turned about 45°—not quite in
harmony, but not quite opposed either. It looks like they are simultaneously trying
to keep the other in view while appearing to ignore him.
At the north end of the entryway and moving to the left from the statues, there’s a
small grassy plain, and I can overhear Charles Siewert explaining phenomenology to
someone. Is that John McDowell? McDowell’s Mind and World names the inten-
tional correlation, the main theme of phenomenological investigations, so it’s possi-
ble it’s him. Siewert (2007) on consciousness, McDowell (1994) on intentionality—no
matter how close to phenomenology, it still ain’t transcendental phenomenology.
Continuing northward, you cross the plain and come to a spot where the terrain
slopes down toward a lake. The sudden and sharp contrast between the shore of the
lake (there’s a little beach there) and the quickly rising terrain adjacent to the beach
could almost remind you a bit of the west coast. Dagfinn Føllesdal, Ron McIntyre
and David Woodruff Smith are sharing a picnic on the beach. Of course, you’ll
immediately understand that “west coast” here is not a geographic name, even
though Føllesdal, McIntyre, and Smith have all taught on the west coast (California).
Like Husserl’s use of the term “Europe,” “west coast” and it opposite “east coast”
refer to certain ideas, in particular, ideas about how best to understand the Husserlian
doctrines of the phenomenological reduction and the structure of intentionality,
especially the noema (more on that when we get to the other side of the park).
That’s a Husserlian west coast, but there’s a Heideggerian west coast as well.
That accounts for the recent busts of Hubert Dreyfus and John Haugeland placed at
one of the entrances to the beach. This part of the beach sees gatherings of folks like
Bill Blattner (1999), Taylor Carman (2003), Jeff Malpas (2006, 2012)—I wonder
why he’s not landscaping the park!—Mark Wrathall  (2006), Steven Crowell
(although he’s something of an east-coast infiltrator), Mark Okrent  (2019), and
Michael Kelly (2016a). It’s not so much that these folks are committed to the same
positions as the Husserlian west-coasters down the beach. It’s more that they (again,
excepting Crowell) think the Husserlian west-coasters are right about what Husserl
did say whereas the east-coasters are correct about what Husserl should have said.
(I’ve heard that the Heideggerian west coasters have moved the get-togethers to the
east coast!)
Beyond the west coast’s lake, we come to the north end of the park. As you con-
tinue across the north end toward the eastern edge of the park, you come to Speakers’
52 J. J. Drummond

Corner right where you’re forced to turn south. Here your attention is called to
expressive experiences of various kinds. Don’t stop now, though; we’ll return later.
Just keep forging ahead, and you’ll soon come to the east-coast pond, an area where
east-coasters gather to talk about the general structure of intentionality. A quick
glance at some of the people here reinforces the idea of “east coast” as a non-­
geographical term: Robert Sokolowski and John Brough (District of Columbia),
John Drummond and David Carr (New York), Dan Zahavi (Copenhagen), Richard
Holmes (Ontario), Lenore Langsdorf (Illinois), Steven Crowell (Texas), James Hart
(Indiana), Rudolf Bernet (Leuven), and many others as well. No coastline ties those
places together! Nevertheless, these folks hang out together at the pond.
What divides the east-coasters and west-coasters is not the middle of the park but
a dispute over the status of what Husserl calls the “noema”—what is thought about.
West-coasters think that Husserl’s noema is an intensional entity distinct from the
intentional (intended) object (Føllesdal, 1969, 1990); Smith & McIntyre, 1984).
Consequently, the phenomenological reduction is for the west-coasters a method-
ological device that transfers our reflective gaze from worldly entities to intensional
entities by virtue of which we intend those worldly entities, which might or might
not exist. The east-coasters, by contrast, hold that the phenomenological reduction
is a change in attitude. In other words, the east-coasters reject the idea that the
reduction discloses an entity that is not manifest in ordinary, straightforward experi-
ence. The change in attitude is a shift in focus from the object as significant for us
to the significance of the object for us. One object, one significance, but a shift of
focus from the entity to its meaning as disclosed by subjects with an experiential
history, particular interests and concerns, and a particular structure of embodi-
ment—but, nevertheless, with shared traditions (Holmes, 1975; Sokolowski, 1984;
Langsdorf, 1984; Bernet, 1989; Drummond, 1990, 2012).
Everyone in the park is also interested in more particular forms of intentionality.
Consequently, people, even though partial to a particular part of the park, regularly
move to and fro among the different areas. Since it’s in the areas along the path
between the lake and the pond that the more particular forms of intentionality get
discussed by folks from both coasts, let’s backtrack a bit and see what we find.
In the nord du parc, many conversations tend to revolve around the themes of
subjectivity and intersubjectivity. These themes encompass the consciousness of
inner-time, self-awareness, the self, the body, empathy, personal identity, we-­
consciousness, and ultimately, community—all those things that make us the kind
of beings we are. The regulars in this area include John Brough (1972, 2008, 2011),
Dan Zahavi  (1999, 2008, 2014, 2015), Shaun Gallagher  (2006, 2017; see also
Gallagher and Zahavi 2020), Søren Overgaard  (2017a, b; see also Krueger and
Overgaard 2012; Overgaard and Michael 2015), Thomas Szanto (2018, 2020; see
also Szanto and Krueger 2019;  Szanto and Slaby 2020), Steven Crowell  (2001,
2013, 2015), Komarine Romdenh-Romluc (2008,  2011, 2013), Sara
Heinämaa (2010, 2017), Matthew Ratcliffe (2012), Jakub Čapek (2017, 2019a, b),
Joona Taipale  (2014, 2015, 2019; see also Taipale and Salice 2015), Rudolf
Bernet  (1993, 2020), Robert Sokolowski  (1999, 2008), John Drummond  (2006b,
2021), David Carr  (1991, 1999, 2014), Daniel Dahlstrom  (2000, 2003; see also
Phenomenology Park: The Landscape of Husserlian Phenomenology 53

Dahlstrom et  al. 2015), Nicolas de Warren  (2009), James Dodd  (1997, 2005),
Antonio Calcagno (2007, 2018), David Woodruff Smith (1986, 2005, 2011a), Ed
Casey (2004), Hans Bernhard Schmid (2012, 2014a, b, 2018), Klaus Held (1966,
2000, 2007), James Jardine (2014, 2015; see also Jardine and Szanto 2017)), Donn
Welton (2012), Sebastian Luft (2011), Hanne Jacobs (2014, 2016, 2021), and Dermot
Moran (see Jensen and Moran 2012, Szanto and Moran 2015a, b). Quite a crowd,
but this isn’t even a complete list because it’s impossible to talk about intentionality
at all without talking about subjectivity and intersubjectivity.
Recent discussions here in the nord du parc have centered on conceptions of
empathy, the “we,” and community in Husserl, Edith Stein, Gerda Walther, Max
Scheler, and similarly minded thinkers. In such a large group of people as men-
tioned in the previous paragraph, there are bound to be differences of opinion, but
what is striking about the discussions of these issues is that there appears to be a
unified research program that continues to develop in cooperative and complemen-
tary work.
Heading over to Speakers’ Corner, we find people focusing on language and
knowledge claims, on emotions and their expressive character, on action, including
moral action, and on religious beliefs and practices. Just about everyone we saw up
at nord du parc will turn up here at some time or another as well. With respect to
language, however, standing out is the work of Robert Sokolowski (1974, 1978),
Lenore Langsdorf  (1983; see also Angus and Langsdorf 1992), Andrew
Inkpin  (2016), and the young upstart Hayden Kee  (2018, 2020); with respect to
knowledge, the work of Walter Hopp (2009, 2011) comes immediately to mind;
and with respect to Husserlian approaches to religion, I think of Anthony
Steinbock  (2007a, 2012), Crina Gschwandtner  (2012, 2015, 2020), and Bruce
Benson (2013; see also Benson and Wirzba 2005).
When we turn to emotional expression—more generally, our affective lives—the
explosion of work over the last 30 years or so has been enormous. There are fissures
in this work. Fundamental is the division between axiological realists and construc-
tivists, that is, the division between early phenomenologists (e.g., Husserl, Stein,
Scheler) who believed that values are disclosed in and by intentional feelings and
emotions and a later generation of phenomenological constructivists who believe
that values are constituted in our exercises of freedom (e.g., Sartre, Merleau-Ponty,
Beauvoir). Then, among the feeling-axiologists, there is a division on the issue of
realism and the relation between intentional feelings and cognition. Schelerians, for
example, Anthony Steinbock (1994, 2007b,  2013, 2014; see also Steinbock and
Depraz 2018) and Zachary Davis (2005, 2012; see also Davis and Steinbock 2019),
are strong realists, claiming that intentional feelings grasp a priori values directly
apart from any cognitive basis. The cognition of an object is only the occasion for
the feeling’s apprehension of the value and its recognition of the object as a bearer
of the value. By contrast, those following Husserl’s suggestions, for example, Íngrid
Vendrell Ferran (2006,  2008, 2015a, b,  2018,  2020, 2021, forthcoming), Sonja
Rinofner-Kreidl (2009, 2014a, b, 2016), and John Drummond (1995, 2006a, 2010,
2013, 2017,  2018, 2019, 2021; see also Drummond and Rinofner-Kreidl 2017,
Drummond and Timmons 2021) might be called weak realists. They claim that the
54 J. J. Drummond

axiological sense of the object—its value—is grounded in the non-axiological prop-

erties of the object. The sense of the object is given in a value-perception—an inten-
tional feeling (or emotion) directed to the object as possessing the axiological
attribute and the relevant non-axiological properties. This sense can be “percep-
tual,” that is, pre-predicative rather than propositional, although some complex
emotions, while involving perception, have a propositional sense. Another way to
characterize this opposition is to say that the strong realists understand emotions to
be responses to the felt value, whereas weak realists apprehend the value (of the
particular thing) in a feeling- or emotion-response to the thing’s non-axiological
properties that are salient in the light of the subject’s physical constitution, experi-
ential history, interests, and commitments.
The group of phenomenologists working on the emotions is large. Just a few oth-
ers that I see up here by Speakers’ Corner, in addition to those already mentioned,
are Sara Heinämaa  (2020), Anne Ozar  (2006, 2010, 2013), Sean Kelly (2002),
Michael Kelly (2016b, c), and Paul Gyllenhammer  (2011). There’s also another
group up here, specifically Matthew Ratcliffe (2008, 2009, 2014, 2017)  and Jan
Slaby (2008, 2017); see also Slaby and Stephan (2008), Slaby et al. (2019), Schmitz
et  al. (2011), who take a different approach to the emotions. They exploit the
Heideggerian discussions of Befindlichkeit (what John Haugeland called “sofind-
ingness”), moods, and emotions and thereby expand the consideration to affectivity
or affectedness or disposedness (depending on your translation of Befindlichkeit) in
general. This captures the sense of how all these affective experiences are tied to
what matters to us and how they encompass the evaluative dimension of our encoun-
ters of the world and entities therein.
Since actions express thoughts (perhaps more honestly than words!), Speakers’
Corner also attracts phenomenologists who connect their phenomenological reflec-
tions to ethics (and metaethics). Some of these thinkers are ones we’ve already seen
in the park, ones who connect their (metaethical) discussions of feelings and emo-
tions as evaluative to discussions of the actions undertaken to achieve the goods
valued in our emotional experiences. Among those we’ve already mentioned in the
discussion of emotions are Íngrid Vendrell Ferran, Sonja Rinofner-Kreidl, John
Drummond, Anthony Steinbock, Paul Gyllenhammer, Sara Heinämaa, Anne Ozar,
and Michael Kelly. Also contributing to these discussions are Ullrich Melle (1991,
2002, 2007)  and Henning Peucker  (2012), both of whom, in addition to editing
Husserl’s ethical writings, have offered careful commentary on those writings. Jack
Reynolds (2013), Janet Donohoe (2004), and James Hart (1992, 2009) have devel-
oped ethical views in relation to Husserl’s philosophy. Sophie Loidolt (2012, 2014,
2017, 2018, 2021)  has developed ideas from both Husserl and Hannah Arendt,
while Steven Crowell (2013, 2015), William Smith (2011b), and Irene McMullin
(2018)  have addressed the question of moral normativity from a Heideggerian
perspective.
We’re back to the east-coast pond. Let’s complete the trip around the perimeter
of the park. Wedged between the pond and Manchester Meadow lies a structure with
a domed top and skylights that makes me think of a domed observatory with its
opening for a telescope. I imagine that the skylights retract at night, and telescopes
Phenomenology Park: The Landscape of Husserlian Phenomenology 55

emerge to explore the night sky. Of course, that would never work in New York with
all its ambient light. And alas, in any event the structure is less romantic than that; it
just a meeting house, and a group interested in the purely formal side of Husserlian
phenomenology meets in there now and then. (They should get out in the sunlight
and fresh air!) Arguing the finer points of the interpretations of Husserl’s philosophy
of mathematics by Gian-Carlo Rota, Richard Tieszen, and Robert Tragesser are
Burt Hopkins (2002, 2011), Stefania Centrone (2010, 2017), Claire Ortiz Hill (2002,
2009, 2016), Dieter Lohmar  (2002, 2010, 2011), Mark van Atten  (2007, 2010,
2015), and Mirja Hartimo (2006, 2010, 2017).
We’ve been skirting the edges of the park, but all the while I’ve noticed that many
folks are heading toward the middle of the park and the well-known Great Lawn
where many a concert has been performed. Let’s follow the crowd. Ah, now I see
why all those folks were earlier streaming into the park. There, on the Lawn, is an
open-air, physically distanced conference whose program promises something to
satisfy the interests of all the park-goers. In our covid-times, deprived of live music
for so long, I confess I’d prefer an open-air concert.

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Constitution Through Noema and Horizon:
Husserl’s Theory of Intentionality

David Woodruff Smith

1 To the Things Themselves: Phenomenology Emergent

What is phenomenology? Merleau-Ponty posed the question in 1945, pondering

why the question needed to be asked nearly 50 years after Husserl had launched
phenomenology. Today the question is well posed again, for philosophers have
developed a variety of “phenomenologies”, and we are gathered in this volume to
reflect on the horizons of our tradition of phenomenological reflection.
Phenomenology is the study of experience as lived in familiar forms of percep-
tion, thought, imagination, emotion, and action. Husserl characterized phenomenol-
ogy as the “science of consciousness”, the disciplined study of acts of consciousness,
as enacted or experienced from the first-person perspective: for example, “I see …”,
“I think …”, “I imagine …”, “I feel angry about …”, “I act with intention to do …”.
In the science of phenomenology, Husserl proposed, we are to focus on the char-
acter or structure of our lived experiences. This study is not an empirical study like
psychology, but rather a logic of the phenomena of pure consciousness. Thus, we
study various forms of consciousness we find in our everyday experience: most
fundamentally, what Husserl called “intentionality”.
The leading principle of phenomenology, in Husserl’s program, holds that con-
sciousness is typically a consciousness of something: each act of consciousness is in
that sense intentional, i.e. directed toward something in a certain way. Suppose, for
example, I am gazing up at a tree in my backyard. This form of experience is more
or less familiar to us all, and we may begin to reflect on what this experience is like.
This token experience shares a type or essence with other token experiences. In
reflection on this type of experience, we begin to analyze the form of visual con-
sciousness itself. Thus, while watering plants around the patio, hearing a crow caw-
ing high in the tree overhead, I raise my head and look upward into the tree. And

D. W. Smith (*)
University of California, Irvine, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 63

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_4
64 D. W. Smith

now “I see”—I have a visual experience of “this towering Podocarpus tree over-
head, its plentiful needle-shaped leaves obscuring the crow high in the tree”.
Husserl introduced technical terms designed to articulate the structure of inten-
tionality. On Husserl’s account, my current act of consciousness in seeing the tree
unfolds in a shifting flow of sensory visual impressions informed by a cognitive
apprehension of this large Podocarpus tree. My visual experience consists, in
Husserl’s terms, in a fusion of sensory data informed by an interpretive “noesis”
yielding my experience of seeing “this Podocarpus tree …”. The noetic part of my
experience realizes an ideal type that Husserl calls a “noematic content”, or
“noema”, glossed as “the tree as perceived”. (Echoing Aristotle, Husserl draws on
the Greek terms: nous, noesis, noema—for mind, mental process, mental content.)
So, for Husserl, my act of consciousness is an occurrent process of conscious-
ness, and the act’s noema is the ideal form by virtue of which the act is directed in
a certain way. Moreover, my visual experience in seeing the tree carries a horizon of
further significance, a pattern of further expectations about the same tree, expecta-
tions drawing on my prior experience of this and other trees—as when I have
observed crows circling trees in the neighborhood.
With Husserl writing in the wake of Brentano, phenomenology would analyze
the structure of an act of consciousness, featuring intentionality. Thus, in the above
case of visual perception (adapting Husserl’s famous example), I see this huge tree
in my backyard. In phenomenological reflection on this experience, we distinguish:
my conscious experience, the noematic content of my experience, and the object of
my experience, the tree before me. Here we distinguish the tree itself, the botanic
thing in nature, from the way the tree is given in my experience, viz. as a huge
Podocarpus looming over my backyard patio. For Husserl, the noema carried in my
act of consciousness embodies this way of being given in phenomenal conscious-
ness. This noematic form of meaning (Sinn, in German) fans out to include a hori-
zon (Horizont) of implicated meaning including something of the biology of the
tree and something of its cultural significance, the latter featuring my patio and my
city’s designation of this particular tree as a “heritage tree”.
While scholars have debated how to read Husserl’s texts defining noema, I here
leave aside the interpretation of Husserl’s texts and focus on results of phenomeno-
logical analysis in a Husserlian style.1 We’ll focus on the structure of intentionality,
the form of consciousness central to phenomenology in Husserl’s wake: including
inter alia the ontology of noematic meaning and the cognate form of meaning called
horizon.
Thus, we turn to “the things themselves”: phenomena, in the original sense of
things as we are given them in our experience of the world around us. The ways
things are given in consciousness we call noemata, forms of experience carrying the

1
 Two competing models have developed, nicknamed the “West Coast” and “East Coast” approaches
to the analysis of this phenomenological structure Husserl called “noema” (from the Greek for
what is known or “minded”). Roughly, the “West Coast”, or “California”, model takes the noema
to be a richly structured form of ideal meaning (Sinn), abstracting the way the object is given,
whereas the “East Coast” model takes the noema to be the object just as given.
Constitution Through Noema and Horizon: Husserl’s Theory of Intentionality 65

meaning that structures our consciousness of things in the world. The present aim is
to lay out fundamentals and motivations of the California approach to phenomenol-
ogy—a particular research program in the field of phenomenology (Yoshimi
et al., 2019).
On the story to follow, you might say, we bring the logic to the phenomena in
phenomenology. Or, inversely, we bring the lived phenomena to the logic in phe-
nomenology. For, as Husserl distinguished formal ontology from material ontology,
the logic is the formal structure shaping the lived forms of experience we appraise
in phenomenology.

2 Phenomenological Description and Analysis

Phenomenology begins in description: pure description of experience, just as it is

lived and given from the first-person perspective.
“Plain” phenomenology proceeds, to begin the enterprise, with formulating a
description of an everyday form of experience. Husserl famously used an example
of his seeing a tree in blossom, a similar example being my seeing a huge Popocarpus
tree. I begin discussion now with an example bearing a rich horizon of meaning.
I am seated near a large window, glass from floor to ceiling. I am gazing thought-
fully out the window. I see—as my eyes follow—a tall white egret, stalking some-
thing, stepping silently, stealthily, through tall April-green grass waving gently in a
breeze I can almost feel even this side of the glass. I am at the Horizons of
Phenomenology conference (in April 2018), beginning to think about phenomenol-
ogy itself just as our group is stirring into discussion.
We may form a phenomenological description of my experience, indicating a bit
of structure, in everyday language:
I am attentively watching that elegant tall white egret, stepping stealthily through the wav-
ing grass, one long and slow step at a time, hunting something, perhaps a mouse.

More formally, simplifying for purposes of phenomenological analysis, we say:

I now here attentively see that tall white egret stepping through waving grass.

The point of this description of experience is to begin analysis of various features of

the experience as lived: a conscious, phenomenal, intentional experience, a fairly
simple act of consciousness. Indeed, as I watch the serene scene of the egret’s move-
ment, I am beginning to reflect on this visual experience itself, because colleagues
and I are gathered to consider varieties of forms of phenomenology more than a
century after the discipline took shape.
In the California approach to phenomenology with Husserlian roots, we begin to
analyze forms of experience by looking to forms of our language about our own
experience which “intends” forms of things in our surrounding world. In this
approach we model our consciousness of things in our language about our own
experience as of those things. Adapting techniques of contemporary logic,
66 D. W. Smith

specifically semantic theory, we focus on attendant structures of meaning realized

in our experience. With this emphasis, we approach the “semantic” model of phe-
nomenal intentionality.
In this mode of phenomenological analysis, we spell out a semantic alignment of
forms of language, forms of experience, and forms of things in the world. This
model articulates the basic structure of intentionality.
That said, we must bear in mind that our phenomenological descriptions are
designed to articulate a model of our lived, sensuous, meaningful experience such
as that of my seeing the egret as I crane my neck to look out the window during our
conference. In a meta-phenomenological perspective, we may even adapt model
theory or possible-worlds semantics to model more precisely the rich phenomenal
content of our lived experience. Still, the formal structures so modelled are pre-
cisely structures realized in phenomenal experience. Indeed, I rely on my reader’s
empathic sensibility for grasping the character and structure of the type of experi-
ence I am appraising and modelling.

3 The Logical/Semantic Turn in Phenomenology

Husserl brought a mathematician’s eye to Brentano’s conception of the descriptive

analysis of the structure of consciousness. Husserl re-conceived phenomenology as
a logical rather than an empirical, “psychologistic”, account of mind. Phenomenology
as we know it was thus introduced in Husserl’s Logical Investigations (1900–01),
which unfolded a complex structural analysis of world, language, consciousness,
and knowledge: with intentionality central to the structure. In Husserl’s conception
of phenomenology, “pure” logic models the relations among mind, language, and
world. Accordingly, pure phenomenology mirrors pure logic in articulating the logi-
cal structure of intentionality: where an act of consciousness is by virtue of its con-
tent or Sinn directed intentionally toward an appropriate object in the world. Husserl
amplified his logical account of phenomenology in subsequent works, including
Ideas I (1913). Therein he introduced the transcendental technique of epoché: we
are to “bracket” questions of the existence of things we experience, and thereby to
focus on the way we experience things, thus the meaning things have for us in
consciousness.
To appreciate Husserl’s mathematical sense of structure, and its role in phenom-
enology, we should bear in mind that the notion of manifold, a structured whole, is
featured in all of Husserl’s writings, from early to late: echoing Riemann’s axiom-
atic re-fashioning of geometry and Leibniz’s ideal of a mathesis universalis.
Nineteenth century logicians had championed a notion of ideal meanings includ-
ing propositions (aka Satz an sich), articulated by Bernard Bolzano, and also
Hermann Lotze and others. However, contemporary mathematical logic was taking
further shape right around Husserl, in the works of Cantor, Peano, Weyl, Hilbert,
and Frege. In the 1930s Alfred Tarski and Kurt Gödel revolutionized logic with
theorems about the powers of logical systems. Tarski’s semantic theory of truth (for
Constitution Through Noema and Horizon: Husserl’s Theory of Intentionality 67

formalized languages) introduced the idiom of semantics as we know it today. A

formal semantics would prescribe a structured pattern of relations—a mathematical
model—between expressions in a language and the objects designated by the lan-
guage: or a model, following Husserl’s “pure logic”, of the structured correlation
between language and world, between structures of language and a model of struc-
tures of things in the world. This form of semantics can be seen as a mathematized
model of intentionality expressed in language. And Tarski himself, though a pure
mathematician, had studied with Polish philosophers trained by Brentano. Years
later Gödel found in Husserl a philosophical vision supporting Gödel’s own view of
both truth and mathematical intuition.
The logical side of Husserl’s thinking caught the eye of Dagfinn Føllesdal as he
worked in mathematics and modal logic while reading Husserl, Frege, and Bolzano.
Further, as model-theoretic semantics developed after Tarski, possible-worlds
semantics emerged as a philosophical logic, specifically in the work of Jaakko
Hintikka. Reading Kant and Husserl and Descartes and Aristotle alongside modal
logics, Hintikka devised formal systems of semantics for our language about knowl-
edge, belief, perception, and ultimately intentionality: philosophically inspired
“models for modalities” (Hintikka, 1969).
The California approach to Husserlian phenomenology evolved in the light of
these developments in logic and semantics. And accordingly, following that
approach, a “semantic” conception of intentionality features a conception of noe-
matic content as a structured ideal meaning.

4 The Fregean Perspective on Noema

As phenomenology developed in the 1960s, Føllesdal proposed a way of under-

standing the Husserlian notion of noema by comparison with Gottlob Frege’s notion
of sense, or Sinn. Frege’s logic (or semantics) of sense and reference, of Sinn und
Bedeutung, was familiar to many analytic philosophers who were largely unfamiliar
with Husserl and phenomenology. So Føllesdal—who worked in logic and philoso-
phy of mathematics alongside phenomenology—defined a structural parallel
between reference via sense (per Frege) and intentionality via noema (per Husserl).
For Frege, a linguistic expression (say, ‘the morning star’) expresses a sense (an
ideal meaning) in virtue of which the expression designates or refers to an object
(the planet Venus); similarly, for Husserl, an act of consciousness (say, seeing the
morning star) has a noema (a form of ideal meaning) in virtue of which the act is
intentionally directed toward an object (the planet Venus).
Frege himself said very little about what a Sinn is, but what little he said is illu-
minating. A Sinn embodies a “way of being given” (Art des Gegebenseins): that can
only mean, a way of being given in thought, viz. in consciousness. The sense of a
declarative sentence (say, ‘the morning star is a planet’) Frege called a “thought”
(Gedanke). This is unmistakably the terrain of Husserlian phenomenology, and in
68 D. W. Smith

fact Husserl detailed his own schematic logic of sense and object, or Sinn and
Gegenstand, technical details differing here and there from Frege’s scheme.
From this semantic perspective on noema, and its role in intentionality, California
phenomenology proceeds to study the rich formations of experience that Husserlian
phenomenology explores: time-consciousness, space-consciousness, embodied per-
ception, intersubjectivity, sociality, the life-world, and onward. Noematic analysis
thus articulates the structure of the many ways in which we experience things.
There are, however, several ways this idea is commonly misunderstood.
First, noematic meaning does not reside in some other-worldly Platonic heaven.
Noematic meaning takes its ontological place within the concrete act of conscious-
ness. An act’s noema is drawn into the act as ideal correlate of the noesis in the act.
In Husserl’s idiom, the noesis is a dependent part (Moment) within the act, and the
noema correlated with the noesis is thus an abstractable aspect of the temporal act
in the stream of consciousness. Husserl said the act “harbors” or “carries” the noema
in itself (in sich zu bergen). Ronald McIntyre and I said the act “entertains” the
noema, or literally “holds” it “in” the act. Importantly, the noema is an ideal entity,
as opposed to a spatiotemporal entity. A first cut on noematic meaning is that the
noema of an act is simply the type of a token act of that type, what Husserl called
the act’s intentional essence (Wesen). A more refined “director’s cut” on the notion
holds that meanings, including noemata, are a distinctive kind of ideal entity, distin-
guished by their role in consciousness. (On these distinctions, see Smith, 2013).
Second, an act’s noema does not stand like a veil of appearance between con-
sciousness and the object intended. The Kantian distinction between phenomena
and noumena has sometimes been taken to imply that consciousness reaches only
phenomena, things-as-they-appear, and never reaches noumena, things-in-­
themselves. Kant interpretation aside, the so-called Fregean model of noema does
not entail that consciousness is directed toward the noema, behind which lies the
object. Rather, the act is directed toward the object (if such exists) but only by virtue
of the noematic content the act entertains.
Formally, on the “Fregean” view, the intentional relation of act to object is a
composition of two relations: the act’s entertaining a noema and that noema’s pre-
scribing a certain object (enjoining the terms McIntyre and I employed). A success-
ful intentional relation obtains only if there exists an object that satisfies the noema.
If no such object exists, the act is intentional, but merely as if veridically of an object.
The noema is not, then, an intermediate object of consciousness that serves as a
Platonic “representative” of the real thing, say, the actual egret which I see in the
waving grass. Rather, the act’s noema is an abstraction of the way the act is directed
toward its “intended” object. And a bona fide intentional relation is achieved only if
the “intention” is successful. Only in phenomenological reflection does the noema
of my experience come into view as an object of my consciousness: that is the aim
of the technique of “bracketing” the question of the existence of the egret as visually
given in my experience.
An important extension of this semantic approach to intentionality invokes the
actual context of an experience, especially in the case of perception. What I see, as
I am visually presented “that tall white egret stepping through waving grass”, is an
Constitution Through Noema and Horizon: Husserl’s Theory of Intentionality 69

object in a situation within my spatiotemporal surroundings—my Umwelt.

Accordingly, the indexical content “that … egret” semantically invokes the actual
context of my experience: I am visually presented “that egret (actually now here
before me and affecting my eyes)”. Perceptual acquaintance thus requires a sharp
distinction between the object in my Umwelt and the noematic content in my visual
experience. As Husserl already emphasized, the “object as perceived” is distin-
guished from the object itself that is perceived. Indeed, the object has physical prop-
erties that the content does not—even if the content is indexical. Thus, the focal
content in my visual experience of the egret already implicates features beyond, say,
the purely sensory qualities of color and shape, and there we feel the pull of “hori-
zon”. For I experience the external object itself—white and egret-shaped and mov-
ing egretly—as drawing me to look it over from different perspectives in the
space-time of my current experience.

5 The Horizon of Meaning in an Intentional Experience

A crucial part of the intentional content of an experience is what Husserl called

“horizon”. When I see the white egret stalking through the grass, I would be very
surprised if on a closer look I saw the egret moving with three long legs rather than
the expected two spindly legs. Accordingly, part of my seeing the egret moving is
my expectation that it move as I expect birds to move—having seen many birds strut
around, from pigeons to crows and even long-legged egrets. The egret’s having
three long legs is not a possibility motivated by how I experience the egret; however,
its searching for a mouse in the grass is a motivated possibility regarding what I am
seeing. Thus, Husserl held, the content of my experience “predelineates” a horizon
of further motivated possibilities left open by the content.
In California phenomenology, the notion of horizon has been explicated, a bit
more formally, in terms of noema. Føllesdal has sometimes characterized an act’s
noema as a “pattern of expectations”, building horizon into the noema itself.
McIntyre and I characterized an act’s horizon as the structure of meaning implicit in
the act’s noema, a pattern of further noematic meanings indicating—predelineat-
ing—an open-ended array of further possibilities “left open” yet motivated by the
explicit specifications in the noema.
On this model, an act of consciousness entertains a noema which takes its place
in a manifold of interrelated meanings that define a horizon of meaning accruing to
the act. Thus, the noematic Sinn entertained in my experience of seeing the egret
implicates a system of further noematic meanings that characterize the same object
in different ways compatible with and motivated by what the core noema prescribes
of that object as so given. In the case of perception, as I regard “that egret stepping
through waving grass”, the motivated possibilities are circumscribed by my imme-
diate Lebenswelt, as I turn my eyes toward the egret outside the window at
UC Merced.
70 D. W. Smith

In this scheme, we may speak of a correlation among horizons of object, act, and
meaning. Thus, we define a correlation among object-horizon, act-horizon, and
meaning-horizon. Accordingly, in an act of consciousness the object is given with a
horizon of further possibilities regarding the object; the object is so given by virtue
of a horizon of noematic meanings prescribing those possibilities; and the act takes
its place within a horizon of further possible acts regarding the object so given.
Thus, we may say: the object of a particular experience is given within a horizon
of possibilities, and so given via a horizon of meanings, a system of meanings enter-
tained in a horizon of possible experiences presenting the object in various aspects.
The system of noematic meanings entertained in appropriate experiences, actual
and possible, then forms a model of the range of possibilities for the object as
intended in the act and its associated further possible acts. This model structure cor-
relates object-horizon, act-horizon, and meaning-horizon: for simplicity, however,
we just speak intuitively of horizon, assuming the intentional relationship among
act, meaning, and object.
Such formal models chart basic structures of lived experience, where phenome-
nology in practice delves into the concrete ways in which we experience time,
space, perceived things, ourselves and others, our Lebenswelt. The rich notion of
horizon keeps phenomenology grounded in our lived everyday experience. At the
same time, the complex structure of horizon is aptly modelled by what has come to
be called “possible-worlds” semantics, to which we turn briefly.

6 The Possible-Worlds Structure of Intentionality

The notion of horizon draws possibility—modality—into the very structure of con-

sciousness. Thus, we define the horizon of my experience in seeing the egret as my
sense of the range of possibilities left open by the noematic content in my visual
experience: motivated possibilities, possible situations compatible with what I see
just as I see it (“that egret stepping through waving grass”). That the egret is hunting
a mouse is such a possible situation; that it is hunting a lion is not. That the egret
flew in from marshlands to the west is such a possibility; that the egret is a clever
robotic drone is not such a possibility, for my current visual experience.
The Leibnizian notion of possible worlds can be used to develop a formal model
of the Husserlian notion of horizon. Leibniz was one of Husserl’s heroes, the notion
of possible worlds occasionally appears in Husserl, and Husserl speaks of “modali-
ties” of belief. However, we turn to more recent logical theory to amplify the
Husserlian notion of horizon. In the 1950s, in the wake of Rudolf Carnap’s work in
the 1940s, Jaakko Hintikka (with Stig Kanger) began a style of formal semantics for
modalities, not only the logic of possibility/necessity, but also the logic of obliga-
tion. And in the 1960s Hintikka outlined a style of possible-worlds semantics for
expressions of knowledge, belief, and perception. McIntyre and I subsequently
deployed a variation on Hintikka’s logic of perception, explicating thereby the
Husserlian notion of horizon as part of the formal structure of intentionality.
Constitution Through Noema and Horizon: Husserl’s Theory of Intentionality 71

Consider again the case of my seeing the egret, characterized thus:

I now here see that tall white egret stepping through waving grass.

Not only does this experience aim toward or intend a particular egret outside the
window where I’m seated. The experience intends that object within a horizon of
perceptually possible worlds compatible with what the noema in my experience
prescribes: a horizon of further possibilities involving the egret at work in the grass
before me—not merely logically possible states of affairs à la Leibniz, but perceptu-
ally possible situations, that is, intentionally possible situations, those “motivated”
in line with the noema in my experience.
On this possible-worlds model, the structure of intentionality in the egret case is
a complex structure comprising: me (“I”), my visual experience (the act wherein “I
see …”), the noema in my experience (the meaning prescribing “that egret” before
me), the horizon of associated noematic meanings (prescribing expected features of
the egret’s legs and habits), and the horizon of alternative intentionally-possible
“worlds” compatible with the noema conditioned by its associated meanings.
Accordingly, the possible-worlds structure of intentionality may be formally ren-
dered—mathematized—as a style of model theory: where the experience, or its
phenomenological description, is structurally aligned with an appropriate array of
intentionally possible worlds, and thereby this “manifold” of possibilities is pre-
cisely a model of the intentional structure of the experience featuring what is
“intended”.
As Husserl would have insisted, this mathematized model-theoretic structure is
an abstraction from our lived phenomenal experience in our Lebenswelt. We draw
upon the logical form of semantics in order to clarify the rich structure we find in
our own lived intentional experience of things in our surrounding world.

7 The Constitution of Our World by Virtue of Noema

and Horizon

According to Husserl’s phenomenology, the familiar things we encounter in every-

day experience—trees, egrets, people around us—are “constituted” in our con-
sciousness. This idiom invites misunderstanding.
Husserl’s doctrine of “constitution” may seem to be saying that things around us
are constructed in our consciousness. The flavor of “is constituted” in English may
encourage this view, but the German form is “sich constitutiert”, a reflexive form of
grammar not retained in English. If we say the egret “is constituted” in my experi-
ence, one may want to ask: what does the constituting? Is it I qua subject, or is it the
act qua intending? No, nothing like that. The literal rendering is “constitutes-itself”,
or “self-constitutes”, but there is no entity that does the constituting.
Rather, in a typical act of consciousness, the object is given as “constituted” in a
certain way, as having a particular constitution: viz., a structure of features pre-
scribed by the act’s noema cum horizon. Husserl’s analysis of “constitution” follows
72 D. W. Smith

his paradigm case of looking at an object from different sides. On Husserl’s account,
the object is “intended” with a pattern of adumbrations (Abschattungen), compris-
ing aspects of the object as it might be seen from different perspectives.
Abschattungen, literally, are shadings as in different perspectives in the shifting
light. Thus, when I see a thing before me, I am visually given a thing with a back
side, indeed, with many different sides, each potentially visible from a particular
perspective, visible with a particular adumbration of shape, color, kind, and spatio-
temporal perspective (being now there before me).
The constitution of an object in consciousness is defined by a complex structure
of intentionality. On Husserl’s analysis, an object is intended in an act of conscious-
ness by virtue of the act’s noema within its horizon of further possible meaning. The
constitution of the object in consciousness arises within this structure: wherein the
object is intended as having a variety of features surrounded, as it were, by a horizon
of further possible features. The constitution of the object consists, accordingly, in
the array of properties and relations prescribed for the object by virtue of noema
cum horizon.
And that complex structure is precisely the form of phenomenal intentionality
realized, for example, in my experience of seeing the egret stepping through the
waving grass as I am seated at the Horizons conference at UC Merced.
Husserl’s texts have been read by some as endorsing an absolute idealism where
all the world is drawn into pure consciousness: as absolute consciousness consti-
tutes itself and all things in the world as mere intentional artifacts (cf. Ideas I, §§ 49,
55). Here, by contrast, we follow a constitutive realism running through the results
of California phenomenology. Husserl seemed to experiment with a form of ideal-
ism, a transcendental idealism, yet he regularly inveighed against a subjective or
Berkeleyan idealism, and he ultimately abandoned talk of “idealism”. In the spirit
of reflective equilibrium, then, we pursue a model of mind and world that preserves
a basic realism in the structure of intentionality. And so the egret and I are acquainted
in the very real world in which my consciousness of the egret takes shape, including
its “constitution” in my experience.2
On Husserl’s account, we should bear in mind, constitution is achieved in a
dynamic process of consciousness. As I notice the egret moving stealthily in the
grass, I turn my head and move to get a better look at the object. Is that an egret?
Looking more closely, I see, more clearly, yes, “that egret …” (not a blue heron,
certainly not an osprey or an eagle …). Were I not looking through the tall window,
I might walk toward the egret for a closer look. What is it doing, hunting for a fish?
No, the grass I can see is not in standing water. So I take it the egret I see is stepping
through the grass while tracking something moving in the grass, perhaps a mouse?
I am reminded of once seeing an egret spearing something in tall grass, then tossing
it in the air and catching and swallowing it. Here we see the process of my experi-
ence flowing along in time, as my anticipations regarding the egret are gradually

2
 See the concept of “Constituted Platonism” developed in (Tieszen, 2011) and “constitutive real-
ism” in (Smith, 2020), which was originally suggested by Dagfinn Føllesdal in reference to
Tieszen’s work.
Constitution Through Noema and Horizon: Husserl’s Theory of Intentionality 73

fulfilled by what I am seeing as the egret moves slowly within my visual field. Here
the constitution of the object is a shifting pattern of significance, as I see “that white
thing”, then “that white bird”, then a moment later “that egret”, then “that egret
moving step by step”, then “that egret hunting a mouse in the waving grass”. As my
stream of experience unfolds, my visual noesis at one moment is followed by a
sequence of evolving noeses, each carrying a distinctive noematic content. The
evolving constitution of the egret I see consists in this structure of noemata—each
bearing a horizon of meaning—realized in a temporal sequence of noetic phases in
my process of observing the egret in motion.
What Husserl called “genetic” phenomenology begins with the temporal dynam-
ics of intentional experience wherein different forms of noematic meaning are suc-
cessively drawn into the subject’s flowing stream of consciousness. Clearly, in the
case of my evolving visual perception of the egret, rather sophisticated forms of
meaning appear in the constitution of the egret in my experience. That is to say, the
horizon of meaning accruing to my experience comprises ideas and concepts richer
than pure sensory impressions. As I am sitting by the window, something “white”
catches my attention, I see “a white bird” in the grass, I see “that white egret step-
ping through the grass”, I see it “hunting a mouse”. The concepts involved in this
pattern of meaning depend on a background of not only my own experience (having
seen egrets before), but also the experience and theorizing of biologists and birders
who have formed the concepts I have acquired from their practices. Without those
concepts, extant in my wider culture, I would not be able to see “that egret … stalk-
ing a mouse”. Accordingly, genetic phenomenology places my particular experi-
ence, in seeing the egret beyond the window, within a Lebenswelt beyond my stream
of consciousness.

8 Ontology Amid the Transcendental Turn

in Phenomenology

Around 1907 Husserl took a transcendental turn, reconfiguring his fundamental

conception of phenomenology, incorporating something of a Kantian perspective
into his philosophy. Thus, in Ideas I (1913), Husserl re-launched phenomenology
with the transcendental methodology of epoché. It is said that phenomenology turns
away from the world with epoché. For we are to bracket, or withhold judgment
about, the actual existence of what we intend in our activities of consciousness.
Metaphysics, or ontology, is then to be bracketed as we practice phenomenology, or
so it is said.
However, as Husserl developed his transcendental form of phenomenology, he
made full use of the ontology he outlined at the opening of Ideas I. For Husserl,
formal ontology features categories including ideal species, part-whole relations,
dependencies, states of affairs, and numbers, sets, manifolds. Material ontology fea-
tures substantive regions including nature (spatiotemporal things), consciousness
74 D. W. Smith

(intentional experiences), and Geist (social formations). Material structures of

mind, nature, and society are accordingly shaped by formal structures of parts/
wholes, dependence, states of affairs, groups, etc. This categorial scheme of formal
and material structures weaves through the whole of Ideas I and Ideas II and onward
into the late works of Formal and Transcendental Logic (1929) and the Crisis
(1935–38). The transcendental in phenomenology should thus be seen through
Husserl’s own eyes, rather than in terms of the neo-Kantian program of avoiding
both radical skepticism and all metaphysics.
Kantian transcendental philosophy seeks the “necessary conditions of the possi-
bility of cognition”: defining synthetic a priori knowledge of things in space and
time as necessarily constrained by fundamental conceptual categories that shape the
sensory manifold defining what is possible in the phenomenal world—setting aside
the noumenal world that lies beyond our cognitive reach. Husserl’s transcendental
phenomenology follows a structure of formal and material ontological categories
that find motivation not in the Kantian retreat from noumena to phenomena. Rather,
the formal ontological categories envisioned by Husserl draw motivation from the
developments of logic and mathematics in Husserl’s day. Husserl’s early conception
of pure logic defined an alignment of forms among mind, language, and world, and
this proto-model theory configures Husserl’s results even as he follows his transcen-
dental turn.
When we deal with ideal forms, in the practice of pure mathematics, or pure
logic, or pure phenomenology, however, Husserl holds that we posit such forms
with “evidence” or “intuition”. In this way ontology and phenomenology work
together—interdependently—in Husserl’s systematic philosophy.3
Thus, epoché in Husserl’s methodology does not eschew all metaphysics, by
“reducing” the world to mere phenomena. Rather, Husserl explicitly uses an intri-
cate ontology of formal and material categories that structure the world: including
our own consciousness in its relations to the surrounding world. The structure of our
consciousness is defined in terms of the material features of intentionality, noema,
and horizon framed by the formal features of kinds and properties and relations,
parts and wholes, dependence and independence, as well as number, set, manifold,
etc. That complex structure, realized in consciousness, comprises the “necessary
conditions of the possibility” of phenomenal intentional experience. Whence
Husserl’s logical turn in phenomenology is not replaced but ramified in his tran-
scendental turn. This perspective is evident in Husserl’s rather late work, Formal
and Transcendental Logic (1929). Basically, transcendental logic is formal logic
grounded in intentionality theory: in a more contemporary idiom, a semantic theory
of intentionality.
The doctrine of “constitutive realism” at work here (cf. Smith, 2020) fits com-
fortably in a complex system of ontology along the lines of Roman Ingarden’s

3
 Cf. Ideas I, §§10ff on formal and material ontology; §16 on synthetic a priori knowledge, prefig-
uring the introduction of epoché in §§27ff; and §59, on epoché allowing “evident” use of “formal
logic and the entire mathesis [universalis]”, which includes a pure logic that embraces formal
ontological categories.
Constitution Through Noema and Horizon: Husserl’s Theory of Intentionality 75

monumental work, The Controversy over the Existence of the World (written in the
mid-1940s). Ingarden studied with Husserl but argued against Husserl’s transcen-
dental idealism, which Ingarden took as a form of subjective idealism. In my view,
Ingarden’s ontology can be seen as a richly detailed extension of key ideas in
Husserl’s system of formal and material ontology, obviating any radical idealism. In
particular, Ingarden’s system details a variety of different “modes of being”. Thus,
cultural works (from art to law) are, for Ingarden, intentional artifacts, dependent in
their existence on our intentional activities; by contrast, things in nature are not
ontologically dependent on our intentional experiences of perception, judgment,
and scientific theorizing. Here is realism within a framework of intentionality and
the “constitution” of egrets, mice, and fields of grass.4
Following Husserl, we may say both actual and possible situations are duly con-
stituted in intentional activities but with different modes of being. Thus, the egret’s
movement is constituted in my perceptual experience as actual, whereas the egret’s
stalking a mouse is constituted in my perception merely as perceptually possible for
my experience. Adapting Ingarden, we may specify the ontology more fully. Thus,
the egret’s walking in the grass is a situation whose mode of being is: actual, and
intended in my perception, but ontologically independent of my perception. By con-
trast, the egret’s stalking a mouse under foot is a situation whose mode of being is:
not actual, but horizonally intended in my perception, and so perceptually possible
for my perception, and ontologically dependent on my perception. That is, the hori-
zonal situation (that of the egret stalking a mouse) is an intentional artifact of my
visual experience, whereas the situation I see (that of the egret stepping through
grass) is actual and not merely an artifact of my experience. To be clear, however, it
is the same individual, that particular egret actually before me, which figures in both
situations, the actual and the perceptually possible.
As we look to ontology on the horizon of phenomenology, we note that our phe-
nomenal intentional experiences occur in a world whose structure clearly outruns
the limits of our forms of consciousness and our evolving Lebenswelt. In the Crisis
(writings from 1935 to 1938), Husserl worried about the “mathematization” of
nature. Husserl had in mind Einstein and relativity physics, considering the differ-
ences between Riemannian and Euclidian geometry, the former defining spacetime
in a relativistic way that differs from the way we seem to experience spacetime as in
accord with Euclidian principles. Moreover, quantum mechanics was already on the
horizon in Husserl’s day, as Einstein himself saw the challenge of how quantum
physics could even conceivably relate to observable objects or events (cf. the
Einstein, Podolsky, Rosen thought experiment circa 1935). In a kindred spirit of
“crisis”, we worry today about the reduction of the intentional structure of experi-
ence to the mathematical structures of computation, as in the ontology of Artificial
Intelligence. And if our lived conscious experience is ontologically grounded in
neural processes in the human brain, which arguably run on quantum-mechanical

4
 Ingarden’s complex ontology is laid out in two volumes, recently translated into English as
(Ingarden, 2013, 2016).
76 D. W. Smith

principles in our natural universe, then the mathematization of consciousness is all

the more problematic. Constitutive realism entails that our consciousness and the
objects we experience in our Umwelt are real and are constituted for us through our
perception, thought, and action—including our best scientific and mathematical
theorizing about all the above. We await twenty-first century developments!

9 The Modal Model of Consciousness

The horizon structure of intentionality, as outlined above, assumes a notion of inten-

tional modality—such as perceivability as opposed to metaphysical possibility. This
notion leads into a significant extension of Husserl’s own theory of intentionality.5
Husserl distinguished two basic components in the noema of an act of conscious-
ness. The noematic Sinn, the core of the noema, articulates the way the object is
given in the experience. The Sinn is modified by a component that articulates the
“thetic” or “positing” character of the experience, as it were, the way the act is
enacted by the subject, whether positing the object by seeing, by judging, by imag-
ining, by willing, etc.
For example, the noematic content of my experience in seeing the egret we may
characterize, simply, as follows—using angle brackets to specify noematic meaning:
< I see (that tall white egret stepping through waving grass) >

The first part of the description, < I see >, expresses the act’s basic thetic content, by
virtue of which the object is posited perceptually. The second part, < that tall white
egret … >, expresses the act’s Sinn content, by virtue of which the object is pre-
sented or intended as such and such.
Hintikka’s logic of perception would cast the act’s linguistic description in a
propositional form, say:
David sees that (that egret is walking in grass)

schematically rendered as
Sd ( p ),

5
 See Banick (2020), Hintikka (1969) and Smith and McIntyre (1982). A reviewer asked how
modes of being given (as in perception) are being distinguished from modalities. A “modality” in
the modal-logical sense is already a “mode” of a special sort: a modification in being that carries
us into relevantly “alternative” situations in “worlds”, thus the special trick of two-world indexing
invented by Hintikka and Kanger. The terms are etymologically fused. What has been largely
missed in the literature is that, beyond the model-theoretic moves in the semantics of modal-logics,
and beyond Hintikka’s assimilation of ‘It is necessary that’ with ‘It is perceived/believed [by a]
that’, we should see a genuine ontological assimilation: a modification of the status of being from
actual to relevantly/motivationally alternative to the actual. This in turn has links to the method
of epoché.
Constitution Through Noema and Horizon: Husserl’s Theory of Intentionality 77

where the perceptual modifier “Sd” is treated as a modal operator governing the
sentence “p”, which specifies the perceived situation. Semantically, per Hintikka,
the perception description is interpreted as asserting: in every perceptually possible
world compatible with what the subject d sees in the actual world, it is the case that
p. Following this possible-worlds style of semantics, then, the possible-worlds
model of intentionality assumes an ontological framework of intentional modalities
alongside the familiar ontic modalities of possibility/necessity. (Similarly, probabil-
ity theory divides between subjective probability, as a measure of belief, and objec-
tive probability, as a measure of physical propensity.)
Assuming these perspectives drawn from Husserl and Hintikka, I’ve proposed a
modal model of the structure of self-consciousness (cf. Smith, 2004). The aim is to
articulate, and to distinguish, several formal elements in the overall noematic struc-
ture of an act of consciousness. For the case of my seeing the egret, we may expand
on a basic phenomenological description of the experience in the following form—
again using angle quotes to specify noematic meaning:
* < Phenomenally in this very experience I now here see attentively and intuitively that tall
white egret now there stepping slowly through waving grass >

Within this complex expression (*), we indicate different formal elements of noe-
matic content, each articulating a distinctive phenomenological trait in the experi-
ence. The separated underlinings mark out these distinguished traits: familiar
aspects of experience, each a target of phenomenological study over many years,
beginning not least with Descartes’ “cogito”, or “I think …” .
The leading idea, in this modal model, is the distinction between the mode of
presentation of the object, and the modality of presentation in the experience. Thus,
the object of consciousness is presented in a certain way by virtue of the content,
< that tall white egret … >

Here lies the mode of presentation of the object in the experience. By contrast, the
act of consciousness is executed in ways experienced by virtue of the modal content,
< phenomenally in this very experience I now here see attentively and intuitively >

There lies the modality of presentation in the experience.

On this modal model, we detail an integrated structure of specific phenomeno-
logical traits as follows:
< Phenomenally>: the phenomenal character per se of the experience.
< in this very experience>: the character of inner awareness of the experience.
< I >: the subjective or egocentric character where “I” enact the experience.
< now >: the temporal character of the experience flowing off in “inner time”.
< here >: the spatial character of my experience as oriented around “my lived body”.
< see >: the principal thetic character of my experience.
< attentively >: the qualifying character of focus in my experience.
< intuitively >: the evidential character informing my experience.
< that tall white egret now there stepping slowly through waving grass >: the form of
presentation of the intended object, including the sense of “outer time” as the egret moves.
78 D. W. Smith

In particular, we note three vital aspects of consciousness given a formal twist in the
modal model. Phenomenality is treated as a primitive and ubiquitous modal form,
often indicated by the theater metaphor of a spotlight, within which things appear in
consciousness. Inner awareness is treated as a modal qualification of the act, rather
than, say, a peripheral higher-order presentation of the act alongside the object, both
presented by virtue of the Sinn component. Self-awareness—i.e. awareness of the
subject “I” in action, in seeing, or in thinking, or in willing, etc.—is treated also as
a qualification of the act, not as a presentation of the subject along with the intended
object, placing myself and the egret within the purview of Sinn, making an object of
both. Awareness of temporality and spatiality appears also within the modal content,
as distinguished from the presentation of the object; the egret is indeed given “now”
“there” before “me”, but these presented features do not “make an object” of act,
subject, time, or place.
Paradigmatically, these modal features in an act of consciousness are mutually
interdependent. In the case of my seeing the egret, for example, consciousness does
not consist simply in the appearance of “that tall white egret …”. Rather, conscious-
ness takes the form of “see[ing] that tall white egret …”, and moreover the first-­
personal form of “I see that tall white egret …”. Of course, consciousness takes the
form of “phenomenally I see that tall white egret …”; that goes without saying in
phenomenology. Further, consciousness typically includes a certain awareness-of-­
awareness, and so takes the form of “phenomenally in this very experience I see that
tall white egret …”. In Husserlian ontology, the features of phenomenality, inner
awareness, and subject-awareness thus form a whole wherein these features are
mutually dependent parts (or “moments”): thus comprising a basic “modal” charac-
ter typical of everyday consciousness. As we turn to everyday visual perception,
moreover, we find an intrinsic sense of spatiotemporal embodiment, as conscious-
ness takes the form of “phenomenally in this very experience I now here see that tall
white egret …”—and where “I …” typically move around, bodily, turning my eyes
and head toward the object. In the normal course of everyday experience, these
distinguishable characters do not come apart, but are mutually constitutive of con-
sciousness. For a detailed study of interdependencies of noematic content, as
assumed in the modal model, see the reconstruction of Husserl’s system in
(Smith, 2013).
The modal model thus adds complexity to the basic form of intentionality. For
intentionality consists not simply in a direction of consciousness toward an object,
but in a directedness duly modified by a complex modal character comprising phe-
nomenality, inner awareness, self-awareness, and even awareness of embodiment.

10 Conclusion

Our reflections have moved through horizons of phenomenological analysis, formal

and material, reconfiguring the “transcendental” conditions of phenomenal inten-
tionality. Husserl’s writings constantly demonstrate an interplay between formal
Constitution Through Noema and Horizon: Husserl’s Theory of Intentionality 79

and material aspects of lived experience. Consider: our consciousness of the flow of
time, our perceptual awareness of the space around us, our lived as opposed to
physical bodies, our experience in bodily action, our empathy with the experience
of others, our collective or intersubjective experience, our normative sense of what’s
happening in our Lebenswelt, the historical and social genesis of so many of our
concepts or noematic meanings, the constitution of social reality, and so on. Of
particular significance today is social ontology. What count as social relations,
social groups, social and legal norms, and the basic forms of social reality turn on
the structure of intersubjectivity grounded in empathy and informing our evolving
communal Lebenswelt. Accordingly, the foundations of social phenomena are inter-
woven with the phenomenology of empathy and intersubjectivity, explored initially
in Husserl’s Ideas II (1912/1989) and sharply articulated in Edith Stein’s On the
Problem of Empathy (1916).
The formal side of phenomenology is not a rigid and absolute constraint on what
we can see in reflection on experience. We abstract from phenomena. We reflect on
the phenomena and the forms we recognize therein. We revise our sense of the phe-
nomena. And on we go, seeking a reflective equilibrium between what we experi-
ence just as we experience it and what we make of the forms of experience, the
noematic and horizonal meanings that inform our everyday experience.

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tated by Arthur Szylewicz. Peter Lang GmbH.
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80 D. W. Smith

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The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold
in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy

Burt C. Hopkins

1 Introduction

Husserl’s most systematic phenomenological work, Ideas for a Pure Phenomenology

and Phenomenological Philosophy. First Book: General Introduction to Pure
Phenomenology (Ideas I) (Husserl, 2014), differentiates pure transcendental phe-
nomenology, as an eidetic science, from the eidetic science of mathematics.1 In line
with the tradition of transcendental philosophy arguably—ante rem—stretching
back to Plato, Husserl contrasts transcendental phenomenology with mathematics
and argues that its conceptuality cannot be appropriately articulated and conceived
in analogy with mathematics. While both mathematics and transcendental phenom-
enology are eidetic sciences, phenomenology “belongs to a basic class of eidetic
sciences … [that is] totally different from that to which the mathematical sciences
belong” (Husserl, 2014, 136). The key differential between these two sciences on
Husserl’s view concerns the nature of the essences that are the subject matter of
each discipline. Mathematics deals with exact essences, which he characterizes as
ideas in the Kantian sense. Phenomenology deals with inexact essences, which
Husserl characterizes as morphological.
Significantly, Husserl formulates the precise issue of the difference between the
two kinds of essences at issue here in terms of the answer to the question: “Is the
stream of consciousness a genuine mathematical manifold (Mannigfaltigkeit)?”2

1
 Husserl defines an “eidetic” science as “a science of essences” in contrast with a “science of mat-
ters of fact”, such as empirical psychology (See Husserl, 2014, 5).
2
 The term ‘manifold’ (Mannigfaltigkeit) as employed by Husserl has a range of meanings, all of
which are related to the basic phenomenon of, on the one hand, a multitude (Menge) of items, and,
on the other, their unity (Einheit). Multiplicity (Vielheit), collection (Kollektivum), totality
(Inbegriff), are closely related terms and generally used by Husserl with the same intended mean-

B. C. Hopkins (*)
Université de Lille | UMR-CNRS 8163 STL, Lille, FRANCE

© The Author(s) 2023 81

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_5
82 B. C. Hopkins

(Husserl, 2014, 132). His answer is “no.” The discussion to follow will focus on
Husserl’s distinction between a mathematical and a phenomenological manifold in
light of the development of his thought, together with an invariant problematic run-
ning through most of it, which is behind that distinction. For the purposes of this
discussion, Husserl’s development will be divided into three phases: (1) the early
descriptive psychological account of mathematical manifolds, (2) the pure transcen-
dental phenomenological account of mathematical and phenomenological mani-
folds, and (3) the transcendental phenomenological account of the historicity of the
different meanings determinative of both kinds of manifolds. The invariant prob-
lematic running through the second and third phases of the development of Husserl’s
thought, the phenomenological account of the unity and multiplicity proper to the
manifold of internal time consciousness, will also be discussed.
My discussion will endeavor to show that Husserl’s phenomenological account
of the formal structure of a mathematical manifold does not adequately distinguish
the formality of meanings that are ideal from that of those that are formalized.
Symptomatic of this is Husserl’s use of the term “formal,” which refers to both ideal
and formalized meanings in a manner suggesting that they share a common essen-
tial structure of “formality.” That they do not will be shown to be an important
implication of Husserl’s phenomenological analysis of the constitution of ideal—in
the sense of “ideas in the Kantian sense”—and formalized—in the sense of sym-
bolic mathematics—meanings. Two phenomenologically significant consequences
will be drawn from this.3 On the one hand, Husserl’s account of a mathematical

ing, which is, again, the presentation of a phenomenon that is essentially characterized by more
than one item that is nevertheless somehow unified as a whole or a totality. The technical, formal-
ized mathematical meaning of ‘manifold’, discussed below, of course also figures in Husserl’s use
of the term, and is clearly what is meant in this quote.
3
 Husserl consistently distinguishes formalized universality from generalized universality and the
processes of formalization and generalization constitutive of them (Husserl, 2014, 27). On the one
hand, generalized universality manifests the hierarchical structure of meanings constitutive of the
material regions of being, from a given region’s highest genus down to the infima species determi-
native of the meaning of the manifold of individuals that instantiate the material region. Husserl
characterizes the process of generalization that constitutes generalized meanings in terms of the
variation that begins with examples drawn from factical (faktisch) experience and culminates in the
imaginative variation that yields the essence of the various levels of generic universality (Husserl,
1973, 339–364, 1977, 53–63). On the other hand, Husserl characterizes formalized universality in
terms of the non-hierarchical universality of the formal region “any object whatever” (Etwas über-
haupt), which encompasses—without being reducible to—the generalized universalities constitu-
tive of the meaning structure of the material regions of being. Husserl mostly characterizes the
process of formalization in terms of the “emptying” of material meaning from generalized univer-
sal meaning structures, a process that is then sharply distinguished from the variation operative in
the generalization that yields generalized universality (Husserl, 1973, 357). But he sometimes also
characterizes formalization in terms of variation (Husserl, 1969, 249, 306). While Husserl is quite
clear that the essential forms of meaning that characterize generalized and formalized universality
do not share a common genus (Husserl, 2014, 27), in the case of the essential forms of meaning
characteristic of ideas in the Kantian sense and formalized universality, Husserl often speaks as if
both shared the essential commonality “ideal.” That they cannot do so on grounds intrinsic to
Husserl’s own phenomenological analysis, will be shown in Sect. 8 below.
The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy 83

manifold will be shown to be problematical, insofar as that account has a dimension

that is determined by a logical norm rather than a descriptively constituted eidos.
This is, of course, problematical, because phenomenology as a descriptive eidetic
science cannot legitimately base its cognition, without more ado, on the appeal to
norms, logical or otherwise. In the case at hand, its cognition must rather provide an
account of a mathematical manifold that is based in the cognition of its descriptively
constituted eidos. On the other hand, Husserl’s account of the constitution of the
temporal foundation of the manifold that composes the stream of consciousness will
be shown to be crucially determined by the appeal to eidetic structures whose for-
mal conceptuality is mathematical rather than phenomenological. That is, Husserl’s
account of the formal unity and multiplicity constitutive of any given phenomeno-
logical manifold does not adhere to the distinction between a mathematical and
phenomenological manifold presented in Ideas I. Hence, the formal character of the
concepts Husserl employs to account for the unity of a phenomenological mani-
fold—that is to say, their formal “conceptuality”—are mathematical, not phenom-
enological.4 This is, of course, therefore inconsistent with the eidetic distinction
Husserl himself draws between mathematical and phenomenological manifolds.
Once this is established, a detailed account of the phenomenological shortcom-
ings of Husserl’s employment of exact mathematical concepts to characterize the
constitution of a phenomenological manifold will be provided. Its focus will be on
the inability of the mathematical concept of a continuum5 to account for the phe-
nomenal discontinuity of the past from consciousness of present, both in the case of
the manifold streams of consciousness that begin and end and the foundation of
those manifolds in the living present. This discontinuity will be shown to be mani-
fest in the phenomenon of forgetting, which Husserl’s appeal to the “law of modifi-
cation” to account for the retentional and protentional flow of consciousness as a
continuum is unable to account for. The connection between sedimentation and

4
 Mark van Atten (in an email exchange) pointed out to me that “Husserl realizes (at least some-
times) that in his account [of the manifold of time] the mathematical is an idealization—see the
Bernauer Manuskripte, Hua XXXIII, p. 66 line 16, p. 307 lines 16–18.” In the first instance, the
idealization in question concerns the ideal givenness of the limit of the modification responsible
for the generation of the temporal manifold, insofar as its retentive flow fades into the infinite “in
[a] mathematical idealization (my translation).” In the second, Husserl characterizes the duration
of time—as the summation of concreta—in terms of “a performance that is ordered formally and
systematically” and thus the “matter of a mathematical technique (my translations).” While these
appeals of Husserl to mathematical idealization and mathematical technique are doubtlessly
related generally to the question of the role of the mathematical in his account of the manifold of
time consciousness, it is important to note that what I wish to call attention to here is not Husserl’s
idealized mathematical characterization of the extension of the concrete manifold of consciousness
qua its flowing or streaming. Rather, what I want to point out is that Husserl’s account of the very
genesis of this streaming—which according to his presentation of the phenomenological method
must have constitutive priority over its putative formal structure—already employs the (exact)
formal conceptuality of mathematics. See below, Sects. 14, 15, and 16.
5
 “The running-off continuity of an enduring object is therefore a continuum whose phases are the
continua of the running-off modes belonging to the different time-points of the duration of the
object” (Husserl, 1991, 30).
84 B. C. Hopkins

forgetfulness made by Husserl in a late manuscript will provide the occasion to

articulate the horizons of four future tasks for phenomenology: (1) investigate the
role of the phenomenon of forgetfulness in the constitution of both internal and
historical time consciousness; (2) reassess Husserl’s account of recollection in mak-
ing present transcendent objects in the living present, in light of the discontinuity of
the horizon of the past from that of the present; (3) investigate the role of sedimenta-
tion, forgetfulness, and recollection in the constitution of the unity and multiplicity
of the manifolds of consciousness that begin and end; and (4), investigate the
intentional-­historical meaning that is sedimented in the origins of the universal for-
malization that is the sine qua non for a mathematical manifold in contemporary
mathematics.

2 The Collective Unity of a Manifold and the Formalized

Unity of Its Units in Husserl’s Early Work

The unity of a manifold emerges as a problem in Husserl’s thought within a specifi-

cally mathematical context (Philosophy of Arithmetic, PA) (Husserl, 2003). The
manifold in question is a multitude of discrete units whose unity is irreducible to
either any property (or properties) of the individual units or to their simple aggrega-
tion. Because of this, the unity in question is termed “collective,” in the precise
sense of its capacity to unify the discrete units that compose a multitude into a
whole while being neither a property of any one of the individual units nor of their
aggregate; and to do so without the collective unity itself being predicable of any
individual unit. The specific problem here is that of accounting for the peculiar col-
lectivity of the unity in question. This is a problem given the inability of the whole-­
part structure of individual objects and their aggregation to account for it. This is to
say that neither an account of the whole-part unity of each individual object, nor the
unity of anything that can be predicated of such objects, can address, let alone
account for, the collective unity that composes the collection of such objects.
The nature of this problem has a mathematical context, because the most basic
objects of mathematics—natural numbers beginning with two—are characterized
by their collective unity, which determines exactly how many units each specific
number is composed of. Each number unifies collectively an exact amount of units,
no individual unit of which is intelligible as a numerical entity, because only as a
collection do the units belong to the number that determines their amount. For
instance, the first number, “two,” is composed of a unit and a unit, each of which is
one, not two. Their exact amount—“two”—is therefore not predicable of either unit
taken in isolation but only when both units together are part of the collection whose
amount is “two.” Despite the mathematical context of this problem, however,
addressing it is not a mathematical but a philosophical one. This is the case not only
because mathematical knowledge and the cognition behind it are perfectly capable
of realizing themselves without philosophical reflection upon their basic objects and
The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy 85

concepts, but also because at issue in the foundation of collective unity is the intel-
ligibility of the most universal and most fundamental phenomenon available to
human understanding. “Every complex phenomenon which presupposes parts that
are separately and specifically noticed, every higher mental and emotional activity,
requires, in order to be able to arise at all, collective combination of partial phenom-
ena” (Husserl, 2003, 75). Moreover, “simple relations (e.g., identity, similarity,
etc.)” (ibid.) could not be presented “if a unitary interest and simultaneously with it,
an act of noticing did not pick out the terms and hold them together as unified”
(ibid.).
Another foundational issue arises here: the formal categorial structure of the
concept of a unit is such that any arbitrary object from any domain of being what-
ever—perceptual, conceptual, imaginary—can fall under it. But again, the problem
is one whose scope is not limited to a multitude composed of the arbitrary objects
unified by number and therefore to mathematics. In this case, the problem is that of
foundation of the intelligibility of the most basic concept of logic, that of the materi-
ally empty and therefore formalized category of “anything” (Etwas).

3 The Failure of Husserl’s Descriptive Psychological Account

of the Objectivity of the Collective Unity of a Manifold
and Its Formalized Units

Husserl’s attempt to account for the philosophical foundation of the intelligibility of

natural numbers addressed both the objectivity of the collective unity and the for-
malized unity of the individual units that compose the collectively unified multitude
determinative of number. That is, for Husserl accounting for the intelligibility of
number involves the answer to two questions. One, what is responsible for the pecu-
liar unity of the units it unifies, given their materially empty and therefore formal
universality? Two, how is it possible that a multitude of such units are unified as a
multiplicity whose unity is neither derived nor derivable from the unity of each of
the units belonging to their multitude, but that, as such, is nevertheless able to
encompass them all? Husserl’s early work, however, attempted to account for this
within the context of the method of descriptive psychology, which focused on the
psychological acts in which each kind of objectivity is given. In the former case, the
act in question was that of collective combination, wherein the items in a multitude
are successively combined into a unity, with the acts in question being indicated by
the word “and.” In the latter case, the act in question was that of the presentation
(Vorstellung) in which any object of perception is given. In both cases, the descrip-
tive psychological account of the inner perception (or, equivalently, reflexion6) of

6
 “Reflexion” is preferable to “reflection” for translating the German word “Reflexion” within the
context of Husserl’s early work under discussion here. That work was informed by the Empirical
account of the opposition between inner and outer perception, neither of which involved or other-
86 B. C. Hopkins

the acts in question was supposed to be capable of abstracting from the contents of
the acts the objective meanings in question. In the acts of collective combination,
the objectivity of the ‘collective unity’ is at issue and in the acts of perceptual pre-
sentation, that of the formal category of ‘anything’ is at stake. But as Husserl him-
self soon came to realize, from the inner perception of or reflexion on the
psychological acts all that can be abstracted is the concept of the act in question and
not the objective unity given in it.7 The method of descriptive psychology therefore
was rejected by Husserl, because it is incapable of providing the philosophical foun-
dation for the collective and formalized unities that make intelligible the whole-part
structure of the exact meaning of the natural numbers.
The fallacy of “psychologism” at issue in Husserl’s initial foray into the founda-
tional problems connected with the most basic objects of mathematics, it is impor-
tant to note, however, was not the logical variety that claimed that the exact meanings
in question are in truth really psychological realities. That is, it wasn’t the kind of
psychologism that Husserl criticized in the Prolegomena to the Logical Investigations
(Husserl, 1970a). Rather, despite being fully aware of the non-psychological basis
of the objectivity of the collective unity and the formal category of ‘anything’
(Etwas), Husserl’s initial approach to accounting for their foundations nevertheless
sought to ground the origin of that objectivity in the description of its psychological
genesis.
It’s important to note here, because it is often not recognized, that the philosophi-
cal problem of accounting for the foundation of the collective unity of a multitude
and the formalized category determinative of its units remained a problem for
Husserl’s thought subsequent to his rejection of the psychological method he had
initially employed to address it. Thus, after Husserl’s rejection of the act of collec-
tive combination as the source of the objectivity of the collective unity of a mani-
fold, accounting for that unity’s foundation remained a problem for his thought.8
Likewise, the problem of accounting for the philosophical foundation of the formal-
ized category of ‘anything’ also remained after his rejection of the descriptive psy-
chological account of that category’s origin.

wise presupposed what Husserl would later characterize as the “thematic” mode of conscious
awareness that is intrinsic to, for instance, the meaning of the English term “reflection.”
7
 In 1913 Husserl concluded, “from the reflexion on acts” of collecting “the concept of collect-
ing … is all that can result” (Husserl, 1975, 127) and therefore not the concept of the unity of the
collection.
8
 See (van Atten, 2013) for a recent phenomenological attempt to account for this unity on the basis
of the objectivation of the temporal form of the pre-given absolute flow of consciousness.
The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy 87

4 Husserl’s Self-Critique of the Descriptive Psychological

Account of the Logical Foundation
of Symbolic Mathematics

What’s behind the lack of recognition noted is Husserl’s response to the second
foundational problem in mathematics he sought to address in his early work.
Namely, the foundation of the logic that allows both the blind manipulations of
meaningful symbols and the use of meaningless symbols as if they had a meaning
to achieve mathematical cognition. Husserl sought to establish the foundation of
this logic by appealing to an understanding of “symbol” that took it to be a surrogate
for the presentation of genuine mathematical objects. The genesis of symbolic sur-
rogation on this view involved three crucial steps. One, the idealizing extension of
the mind’s finite powers of apprehending large and indeed infinite mathematical
objects. Two, the substitution of sense perceptible signs for the idealized concepts
generated by this idealization. And three, the manipulation of those signs according
to other signs that express algorithmic rules for their combination and separation in
the complete absence of any reference to the following: both the idealized concepts
the signs that are the substitutes for and the original mathematical objects of which
those concepts are the idealized extensions.
Husserl’s account of the third step in his first book, Philosophy of Arithmetic
(Husserl, 2003), led him to realize that the descriptive psychological thesis of the
surrogative function of symbols in relation to the concepts of mathematics that had
guided that book’s account of the foundation of the logic of symbolic mathematics
was wrong.9 As Husserl related it in his famous letter to Karl Stumpf (Husserl,
1994, 12–19) (written after the book’s completion), symbolic mathematics “is not a
matter of the ‘possibility’ or ‘impossibility’ of concepts” (Husserl, 1994, 16), but
“an accomplishment of the signs and their rules” (ibid.). Husserl concluded that
symbolic mathematics, therefore, is “no science, but a part of formal logic” (ibid.,
17), albeit a part that doesn’t yet exist, as he knew “of no logic that would even do
justice to the possibility of ordinary arithmetic” (ibid.).

5 Husserl’s Account of Categorial Unity of Numbers Does

Not Account for the Objectivity of Their Collective Unity

Husserl’s next book, Logical Investigations (LI) (Husserl, 1970a), sought to lay the
groundwork for formal logic, one that would include the capacity to account for the
foundation of both the objectivity of natural numbers and the logic of symbolic
mathematics. However, readers searching for non-psychologistic solutions to either
of the two foundational issues raised in Husserl’s earliest work will search in vain.

 See (Willard, 1980) and (Hopkins, 2011a, b, Ch. 13).

9
88 B. C. Hopkins

Regarding the foundation of the objectivity of the natural numbers (beginning, as

noted above, with the number two), Husserl included the species of those numbers
among the categorial objects whose objectivity the breakthrough discovery to pure
phenomenology—categorial intuition—was tasked with providing non-­
psychological perceptual access. Thus, for instance, in the case of the number five,
the multitude of objects that compose that exact number were said to be “instances”
of the categorial species “five,” whose objective unity is given as an ideal object that
is irreducible to the psychological experience in which it is given. However, the
question of the source of the ideal givenness of the collective unity of the multitude
that composes any instance of the objective species “five” is nowhere addressed in
that work nor anywhere else in Husserl’s account of categorial intuition in general.
Husserl, in fact, notes explicitly in the LI that its investigations do not explore the
foundation of the categorial unity of “collectiva.”10

6 Husserl’s Phenomenological Account of a Definite

Mathematical Manifold

With regard to the foundation of the logic of symbolic mathematics, what Husserl
presented in the LI (Husserl, 1970a, §§ 69–70) proved to be the basis of his defini-
tive account of that logic, namely, his definition of a mathematical manifold.11
Termed a “definite manifold” or “mathematical manifold in the precise sense” in
Ideas I (Husserl, 2014, 130), this account of the logic of symbolic mathematics
remained the basis of his account of that logic in his later published works, Ideas I
and Formal and Transcendental Logic (FTL). The logic in question has its basis in
a finite system of axiomatic propositions and axioms that completely and univocally
encompass the essence of a given mathematical domain (e.g., that of Euclidean
geometry). As a result, every proposition formed from this finite set of propositions
and axioms—no matter what its logical form—is either a formal logical conse-
quence of them or their formal logical contradiction. In addition, this account of a
definite or precise mathematical manifold also characterizes for Husserl the mani-
fold that ensues when the material particularization of all the special domains of
mathematical objects is subject to formalizing universalization. What then results is

10
 In § 51 of the LI, “Collectiva and Disjunctiva,” Husserl calls attention to the lack of sensible
perception of the collectivum and the “unitary object which corresponds” to the “act of collection.”
However, significantly, he does not provide a foundational account the objective unity of that
object, but instead refers to the investigations in his Philosophy of Arithmetic of the signitive refer-
ence to a multitude that “does not therefore as yet possess the character of a genuine intuition of
the collection as such” (Husserl, 1970a, 799).
11
 In FTL (Husserl, 1969), 29 years after the publication of LI, Husserl quotes extensively from §
70 of LI, noting that “I shall repeat here the strict characterization of the idea of a formal theory of
theory forms—correlatively, a formal theory of manifolds. I cannot improve on it” (Husserl,
1969, 91).
The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy 89

the pure definition of a mathematical manifold, which accounts for the specialized
logical form of any symbolic mathematical manifold whatever.

7 Fundamental Phenomenological and Logical Problems

with Husserl’s Account of Definite
Mathematical Manifolds

There are two fundamental problems with Husserl’s account of both specialized and
pure mathematical manifolds, one that is based in his account of the difference
between mathematical and phenomenological manifolds and the other in the devel-
opment of the logic of mathematics in the early twentieth century.
The first problem is that Husserl’s definition presupposes the possibility of a
system of formalized axioms encompassing both the essence of the objects of the
various specialized mathematical domains as well as the forms of the axioms of any
such specialized domain. This possibility, however, is not established phenomeno-
logically by Husserl. That is, Husserl nowhere provides concrete descriptive analy-
sis of the morphological (inexact) essence or essences of the genesis12 of formalized
mathematical axioms and the propositions formed on their basis that refer ade-
quately to (or otherwise denote): (1) the essence of either a given specialized domain
of mathematical objects, or; (2) the essence of the forms of the axioms of any spe-
cialized domain of mathematical objects whatever. On the one hand, (1) would
require a foundational phenomenological account of both the essence of a given

12
 The paradox of a phenomenological account of the descriptive “essence” of mathematical—and
therefore exact—cognition that would employ inexact essences, per Husserl’s Ideas I account of
phenomenology as a descriptive eidetic science, disappears when it is considered that Husserl’s
original foundational engagement with mathematics in PA was concerned with the genesis of sym-
bolic mathematical cognition. The radicality of that concern and the problem of the foundation that
characterizes what Husserl would later (in FTL, with explicit reference to PA) term the “constitu-
tion” (Husserl, 1969, 87) of the intelligibility proper to formalized mathematics, prevents account-
ing for the “essence” of the genesis of exact mathematical structures on the basis of essences that
are themselves already exact. The paradox, then, is that the phenomenological essence of the gen-
esis of the exactness of formalized cognition cannot itself be exact, because precisely what is at
stake in that essence is an account of the origin of the peculiar exactness of formalized cognition.
In other words, if—per impossible—the origin of exactness was already exact, it wouldn’t properly
be an origin. In this connection, it is interesting to note that Husserl’s pure phenomenological
distinction between “static” and “genetic” phenomenological approaches to the problem of phe-
nomenological constitution reintroduced his original concern with the problem of genesis in PA
into his transcendental phenomenology. It is also interesting to note that his concrete genetic analy-
ses (both published and unpublished) did not return to the original problem of the genesis of sym-
bolic mathematical cognition. Only in his final texts, so-called Crisis texts, did he return to this
problem, albeit significantly in those texts the transcendental phenomenological problem of gen-
esis was connected, on essential grounds, with the problem of the historicity inseparable from the
genesis of the essence of the exact meanings constitutive of symbolic mathematics, and the math-
ematical concept of a manifold determinative of that mathematics.
90 B. C. Hopkins

specialized domain of mathematical objects and of its specialized axiomatic formal-

ization. On the other hand, (2) would require a foundational phenomenological
account of the universal formalization of the formalized axioms of the various spe-
cialized domains of mathematical objects.
As Dieter Lohmar (1989, 191ff) and most recently Thomas Seebohm (2015,
207) have shown, the context for Husserl’s definition of a definite manifold was not
only Hilbert’s mathematical notion of axiomatic completeness, but the fact that
Husserl accepted that notion as both mathematically and logically sound. Soon after
Husserl published FTL Gödel proved that not all formalized axiom systems in math-
ematics are complete (“definite” or “precise” in Husserl’s terminology), from which
it follows that the universal scope of Hilbert’s logical norm of axiomatic complete-
ness is not well-founded mathematically. This development in logic renders
Husserl’s phenomenological account of a mathematical manifold problematic.13

8 Equivocation of Ideal and Formalized Meanings

in Husserl’s Account of the Mathematization of Nature

Husserl’s pre-Crisis account of the formalized objectivity constitutive of mathemat-

ics is both sparse and inconsistent. He sharply distinguishes formalized universality
from generalized universality and the processes of formalization and generalization
constitutive of them (Husserl, 2014, 27). On the one hand, generalized universality
manifests the hierarchical structure of meanings constitutive of the material regions
of being, from a given region’s highest genus down to the infima species determina-
tive of the meaning of the manifold of individuals that instantiate the material
region. Husserl characterizes the process of generalization that constitutes general-
ized meanings in terms of the variation that begins with examples drawn from facti-
cal (faktisch) experience and culminates in the imaginative variation that yields the
essence of the various levels of generic universality (Husserl, 1973, 339–364, 1977,
53–63). On the other hand, Husserl characterizes formalized universality in terms of
the non-hierarchical universality of the formal region “any object whatever” (Etwas
überhaupt), which encompasses—without being reducible to—the generalized uni-
versalities constitutive of the meaning structure of the material regions of being.
Husserl mostly characterizes the process of formalization in terms of the “empty-
ing” of material meaning from generalized universal meaning structures, a process
that is then sharply distinguished from the variation operative in the generalization

 For comprehensive discussions of the implications of Gödel’s incompleteness theorems for the
13

concept of mathematics that guides Husserl’s account of a definite manifold, see (Okada, 2002)
and (van Atten, 2022).
The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy 91

that yields generalized universality.14 But he sometimes also characterizes formal-

ization in terms of variation.15
In the Crisis Husserl tends to equate the mathematization of nature with its ide-
alization (Husserl, 1970a, b, 23, 35, 66, 301). Husserl’s traces this tendency to
Galileo’s employment of the exact essences of Euclidean geometry to idealize both
the primary and secondary qualities of the cognition of sensible bodies (Husserl,
1970b, 35). Hence, in Husserl’s account the process of mathematization per se is
not always distinguished from its idealizing origins. This is the case despite the fact
that Husserl himself recognized that the mathematization initiated by Galileo did
not employ the formalized symbolic mathematics invented by François Vieta’s ana-
lytic method (pure algebra) (Husserl, 1970b, 44). Moreover, Husserl recognized
that the implicit “arithmetization of geometry” (ibid.) and mathematics generally—
made possible by Vieta’s analytic innovation—led to the formalization of mathe-
matical manifolds (Husserl, 1970b, 45). The latter formalization, then, is what leads
for Husserl to the radical “emptying” (Husserl, 1970a, b, 44, 46)—by mathematiza-
tion—of the intuitive meaning inseparable from the ontology of the life-world.
That said, however, Husserl’s account in the Crisis of the constitution of the
objective meaning operative in the mathematical sciences employed in the service
of modern physics’ mathematization of nature goes beyond his pre-Crisis accounts
in two crucial regards. One, the condition of possibility for the constitution of the
objectivity proper to the exact meaning operative in mathematical physics is tied to
history, insofar as the handing down by tradition of such meaning is explicitly rec-
ognized by Husserl as a sine qua non for its objective constitution (Husserl, 1970b,
369). Two, Husserl’s recognition of the historicity of the foundational meaning of
the exact sciences (and its transmission by tradition) has as its condition of possibil-
ity the phenomenon of sedimentation (Husserl, 1970b, 362).16 Thus, the constitution
of the meaning of the exact sciences cannot be reduced or otherwise be traced back
to the intentional modifications of perception, as Husserl had thought prior to the
Crisis (Husserl, 1969, 158). And, indeed, it cannot be so reduced even if such modi-
fications are understood to extend beyond that of merely subjective to the

14
 “But formalization is something essentially different from variation. It does not consist in imag-
ining that the determinations of the variants are changed into others; rather, it is a disregarding, an
emptying of all objective, material determinations” (Husserl, 1973, 359).
15
 See Formal and Transcendental Logic, where Husserl explicitly connects the constitution of
“analytico-formal universalities” (Husserl, 1969, 249) to “phantasy variation” (ibid.). See also
(ibid., 306).
16
 Husserl’s last writings introduce the radical claim that “history is from the start nothing other
than the vital movement of the coexistence and interweaving of original formations and sedimenta-
tions of meaning” (Husserl, 1970b, 372). By “sedimentation” Husserl means “the constant presup-
positions” of the scientist “of his constructions, concepts, propositions, theories,” such that these
“mental products” take on “the form of persisting linguistic acquisitions, which can be taken up
again at first merely passively and be taken over [merely passively] by anyone else” (Husserl,
1970b, 52). Husserl speaks in this context “about the possibility of complete and genuine reactiva-
tion [of the sedimented meanings] in full originality, through going back to the primal self-­
evidences, in the case of geometry and the so-called ‘deductive’ sciences” (Husserl, 1970b, 365).
92 B. C. Hopkins

i­ ntersubjective constitution of perception (Seebohm, 2015, 187). Thus, as the origi-

nal editor of Husserl’s core Crisis texts, Eugen Fink, reflected in the subtitle he
added to Husserl’s “Origin of Geometry,” the function of sedimentation in the con-
stitution of the objective meaning of geometry, and, by extension, of the exact sci-
ences in general, exhibits an “intentional-historical” (Husserl, 1970b, 353)
dimension.
Husserl thus saw in the Crisis that the formalization of meaning presupposed by
modern mathematics is inseparable from its institution in an intentional-historical
process. This formalization cannot be accessed by the empirical methodology
employed by the positive science of history (Husserl, 1970b, 371). The conceptual
suppositions behind the method and facts established by empirical history on
Husserl’s view make it blind to the region of the formal concepts that compose the
mathematical objects of modern algebra and the analytic conceptuality generally
that is constitutive of modern mathematics. And empirical history’s explanatory
methodology, rooted in the notion of efficient causality as the engine that drives
historical change, is incapable of accounting for the kind of change that occurs in
the historically dated conceptual transformations at issue in the history of ideas. It
is precisely the latter kind of change, operative in the mathematization of nature
initiated by Galileo, that Husserl sought to account for in the Crisis by aligning
transcendental phenomenology’s epistemologically foundational concerns with his-
torical reflections whose quarry is not historical facts but the historically dated ori-
gins of the exact meanings that are both presupposed by and that drive the exact
sciences (Husserl, 1970b, 72, 370).
As already mentioned, despite recognizing the distinction between the idealized
conceptuality of Euclidean geometry and the formalized conceptuality of algebra
and symbolic mathematics generally, Husserl was wont to use the terms “mathema-
tization” and “idealization” interchangeably. Moreover, notwithstanding, as already
mentioned, his attentiveness to the arithmetization of geometry responsible for the
primal institution of formalization and the intuitive emptying of the life-world
inseparable from the conceptuality of formalized mathematics, Husserl himself
never analyzed the epistemological-historical origins of formalized mathematics.

9 Phenomenological Manifolds in Husserl’s Pure

Transcendental Phenomenology

Husserl’s phenomenological account of the manifold of the stream of consciousness

has its basis in the reflective thematization of the subjective experience in which the
objective identity of the things in the world and the world itself as their horizon
appears. Prior to the methodological intervention requisite for the phenomenologi-
cal description of the stream of consciousness, the objective identity of things and
the world horizon appear directly, without any explicit awareness of the subjective
experience that is disclosed by phenomenological reflection to be a condition for the
The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy 93

appearing of objectivity as such to consciousness. This phenomenological reflection

thematizes the subjective experience in which the objective identity in question
appears. As thematized, the experience in question itself appears, and does so as the
manifold of perspectives that are conscious of the objective identity of both the
things in the world and their worldly horizon. These latter, in turn, appear as unities
that stand out from the multiple perspectives directed to the unity of each that com-
poses the manifold stream of consciousness.
The manifold of perspectives thematized by phenomenological reflection per-
tains to what Husserl terms the “eidetic singular” (Husserl, 2014, 26), which is an
essence’s lowest specific difference. What is singular here is precisely the flowing
perspectives that compose the manifold as a concretum, that is, the essence of that
dimension of subjective experience that is “absolutely independent” (ibid., 30) of
any other essential determination. The descriptive articulation of the essence of the
concretum brings to the fore the objective unity of the thing that appears in the flow-
ing perspectival appearances. The latter flowing of experience cannot be “conceptu-
ally and terminologically” (ibid.) secured. Rather, only “the essential content in the
fullness of its concreteness” can be so secured and thus cognized eidetically. Hence,
while there can be “no talk of a univocal determination of eidetic singularities”
(ibid., 135), in this case, of all that belongs to the flowing manifold of consciousness
that composes the essence of the subjective stream of experiences in which objec-
tive identities appear, the content of that essence itself can be taken as something
univocal. Namely, “as an ideally identical essence that, like any essence, could be
instantiated, not only hic et nunc but in countless exemplars” (ibid., 134). In the case
at hand, it can be instantiated in any arbitrarily given reflectively thematized subjec-
tive experience in which the unity of objective identity appears.
Presumably, the “essence” at issue in the phrase “like any essence” here refers to
the non-exact, descriptive essences that are the concern of the eidetic science of
phenomenology. Thus, for instance, the account of the manifold perspectives of the
subjective experience in which the unity of the identical object appears through its
flowing is descriptive, since flowing does not appear as the specification of an
essence with the characteristic of an Idea in the Kantian sense. The essential status
of ‘flowing’, therefore, is not—per impossible—that of a moment in the extension
of experience inseparable from the passage to an exact (and therefore) mathematical
limit. Rather, ‘flowing’ is an instance of the ideally identical descriptive essence of
any arbitrarily given subjective experience in which the appearance of the unity of
the objective identity of things and the world horizon appears.17 As the instance of

17
 The question whether Husserl’s account of the ideally identical character of the descriptive
essence, whose status is inexact according to Husserl’s eidetic distinction between the exact status
of mathematical essences and the morphological status of phenomenological essences, tacitly pre-
supposes the idealization in some sense of the descriptive essence, cannot be addressed here in
detail. What can be remarked here, however, is that the status of the ideality of the descriptive
essence for Husserl is radically different from that of the mathematical essence. It is so, above all,
because the ideality of the latter but not the former requires for its constitution the passage to a
limit that according to Husserl is essentially characteristic of mathematical exactness. To the extent
that Husserl’s phenomenological account of the descriptive essence is not just terminologically but
94 B. C. Hopkins

an essence, ‘flowing’ therefore does not refer to anything individual according to

Husserl, that is, to something whose unity is empirically determined and therefore
contingent, because as contingent it can always appear otherwise.

10 The Constitution of Internal Time Consciousness

The flowing manifold of the stream of subjective experience exhibits a phenomeno-

logical unity, which according to Husserl is constituted in “internal time conscious-
ness.” The meaning of ‘internal’ here is initially developed in contradistinction to
the time of the clock, so-called “external” or “objective” time. However, the subjec-
tivity of Husserl’s account of time consciousness and the temporality constituted
therein is in no way opposed to the time of the object. Rather, it is tasked with pre-
senting the constitution of the unity of the object’s presentation as objectively pres-
ent in subjective experience from within the temporality of that experience’s flowing
manifold. This is the case, because subsequent to the epoché, the ontological oppo-
sition between the perception of “inner” and “outer” objects is transformed into the
transcendental distinction between the constitution of “immanent” and “transcen-
dent” meanings (Sinne). The constitution of the unity of the latter meanings, there-
fore, cannot be accounted for in an opposition between the manifold of the stream
of consciousness and the unity of an object external to it, but rather, it must be
sought precisely in the phenomenon of the flowing manifold itself. This is to say, the
phenomenological unity of the immanent and transcendent meanings must be
sought within the manifold that composes the stream of consciousness.
Husserl’s phenomenological account of the temporal unity of the manifold of
consciousness tracked the development of his phenomenology from “static” to
“genetic.” On the one hand, the static account employed the perceptual presentation
of the transcendent object and the unity of its meaning as the “guiding” clue to
account for the constitution of the temporal unity of the manifold of consciousness.
On the other hand, the genetic account sought to account for the constitution of the
immanent unity of the temporal manifold of consciousness itself on the basis of
syntheses of consciousness that are both passively given and pre-objective. Both
accounts apply the same correlation between the three phases of time conscious-
ness—retention, primal impression, and protention—to the temporality of objective
presentation, i.e., past, present, future. In the static account, this correlation is pre-
sented by Husserl as the essence of the temporal unity of the finite streams of con-
sciousness that come and go (Husserl, 2014, 157). In the genetic account, the
correlation is presented as the essence of the absolute, pre-objective and

also substantially related to both the status and controversy over the true being of the eidê in Plato
and Aristotle—and that extent on my view is considerable—the definitive answer to this question
requires the disambiguation of that status and controversy which is sedimented in Husserl’s self-­
interpretation of phenomenology as an eidetic science. (For a detailed discussion of this, see
Hopkins, 2011a, b, especially 21–82 and 254–272.)
The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy 95

unobjectifiable, standing-streaming origin of the living-present wherein appear and

disappear the manifold finite streams of consciousness.

11 Husserl’s Static and Genetic Accounts of the Constitution

of the Temporal Unity of the Ego

The methodological commitment of transcendental phenomenology to account for

the unity of the phenomenological manifold without appeal to objects or objective
meanings that do not have their source in the transcendental immanence of that
manifold, as has been remarked often enough, is broken by Husserl’s Cartesian self-­
interpretation of the phenomenological manifold’s subjectivity. For my purpose,
only the implications of this for his account of the unity of the phenomenological
manifold will be taken up. These implications concern Husserl’s account of the
static and genetic constitution of the unity of the transcendental Ego as an object
immanent to the phenomenological manifold.
In the case of Husserl’s static account of the Ego’s unity, that unity is accounted
for as a pole that underlies the manifold flowing perspectives of the stream of con-
sciousness, which are intentionally directed to the unity of the meaning of the tran-
scendent object. As such, the Ego’s unity, as a pole, is constituted in opposition to
the objectivity of the meaning of the transcendent object, which is itself character-
ized by Husserl as a pole whose unity underlies—in the technical sense of tran-
scending—the manifold perspectives in which it appears to consciousness. Husserl’s
static account of the constitution of the Ego’s unity is therefore dependent on it
being posited in opposition to the unity of the object’s meaning as transcendent.
One consequence of this is that the constitutive account of its unity as an object
immanent to the phenomenological manifold is derivative. It is derivative in the
precise sense that the account of its unity as a pole presupposes that of the objective
pole to which it is opposed in Husserl’s descriptive account of its unity.18
Husserl’s genetic account of the Ego’s unity recognizes that because the Ego’s
static unity as a pole belongs to the stream of consciousness, its unity as an enduring
identity in the temporality of the flowing of that stream is something whose consti-
tution must be accounted for in terms of its genesis in that temporality. The static
account of the Ego’s unity is limited in this regard, as its status as a pole underlying
the temporal flowing of the manifold of consciousness places its unity as somehow
being constituted outside of that flow. Husserl attempts to get around the temporal
limits of this static account by providing an account of the temporality of the Ego’s
mode of givenness as a unity. This account attends specifically to the Ego’s mode of
appearance as an object immanent to the flow consciousness, wherein its identity as

18
 See Klaus Held’s (Held, in Drummond, 2019, 212–213) definitive analysis of the correlation
between the Ego as pole and the object pole and the dependence of the former on the latter in
Husserl’s account of the static constitution of the Ego.
96 B. C. Hopkins

the “subject” of that flow presents itself as a unity not only in that flow’s present
moment but also in the moments of that flow that are no longer present and therefore
past. As such, the unity of the Ego’s identity must encompass two temporal dimen-
sions, those of the present and the past. The genesis of its unity therefore requires an
account of how the two different temporal moments that compose its identity are
unified.
Husserl’s account of the ‘how’ in question appeals to the act of reflection in
which the Ego is given as a reflected phenomenon that manifests itself in terms of
the radically different dimensions of time that characterize the how of its phenom-
enal manifestation. The reflective act in question is charged by Husserl with the task
of synthesizing the Ego’s givenness as a unity having been present and therefore as
no longer present but past, with its givenness as enduring in the present. Such a
synthesis is supposed to take place on the basis of the recognition that both the pres-
ent and past temporal dimensions of the Ego are essential components of its identity
as Ego, such that its unity as the same Ego is constituted. The Ego’s unity is there-
fore constituted as a unity in temporal difference or, equivalently, as a difference in
temporal unity.19 Husserl’s term for the peculiar temporality of this unity is the “liv-
ing present.”

12 Problems with Husserl’s Genetic Account of the Ego’s

Temporal Identity

There are two interrelated and fundamental problems with this genetic account of
the Ego’s temporal identity. The first concerns the phenomenological status of its
unity. The second concerns that of the phenomenological origin of the manifold its
unity putatively unifies.
Regarding the account of the constitution of the Ego’s unity as an identity that
encompasses its past and present temporality, it is evident that Husserl’s account of
the form of this unity does not originate in the manifold that composes that tempo-
rality. But rather, it is imposed on it from without, by an act of reflection that does
not belong to that manifold. The resulting ‘unity’ of the Ego, as the putative living
present wherein the past and present phases of the Ego are supposed to be united in
the genesis of the Ego’s identity despite the difference between these temporal
phases, therefore has its basis in the unity of another temporal manifold: namely, the
act that generates the reflection on these phases. The genesis of the unity of this
second manifold cannot be accounted for by the unity of the Ego’s identity since it
is supposed to be responsible for that unity. It is therefore apparent that this account

 For a particularly nuanced account of the lack of priority of ‘unity’ and ‘difference’ in the tem-
19

porality of the Ego at issue here, see (Mickunas, 2001, 164–165).

The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy 97

of the genesis of the identity of the Ego, as that which encompasses the living pres-
ent, does not have its basis in a unity generated from a phenomenological manifold.
Instead, it has its basis in a form-content schema that is, in effect, a reconstruction
of that which it is supposed to provide a phenomenological account of: namely, the
Ego’s unity as an identity constitutively generated by the phenomenological mani-
fold to which it belongs. The ‘form’ in question is the living present that is supposed
to be synthetically generated from the reflective act of recognition that the tempo-
rally discrete past and present phases of the Ego’s temporality belong to the same
Ego. The ‘content’ in question is the temporally determinate manifold composed of
the discrete temporal phases whose unity as temporal the form of the living present
is supposed to unify.
Regarding this content, that is, the manifold phases of temporality that the reflec-
tive act is supposed to synthesize into the unity of the living present, a closer look at
Husserl’s account of its genesis will disclose that this account, too, has its basis in
the form-content schema. As such, this account reconstructs rather than evidentially
discloses the descriptive essence of the flowing stream of consciousness that com-
poses a phenomenological manifold. Moreover, Husserl’s account of this content
itself, on closer inspection, will be disclosed as having its basis in the conceptuality
of exact mathematical essences. As mentioned, Husserl’s account of the subjective
phenomenon of time articulates it in terms of the essential correlation between the
phases of time consciousness and those of temporality. Hence, essentially correlated
to the temporal phase of the past is the consciousness of the past consciousness—
retention—while to the temporal phase of the future is correlated the consciousness
of the future—protention—and to the temporal phase of the present is correlated the
consciousness of the originary now—primal impression. These three phases of time
and the consciousness of them are meant both to capture the essence of three of the
four phenomenal dimensions of the unitary phenomenon of time and to prepare the
way for capturing the essence of time’s fourth dimension, that of its succession.
Husserl’s account of succession employs the descriptive terms “flowing” or
“streaming” to characterize the morphologically eidetic singular movement of time
consciousness. Husserl traces this movement in terms of an account of the relation
of retentions and protentions to the originary now. Retentional consciousness is
described as the awareness of the past that at once is a succession of just passed
(elapsed) nows and an enduring awareness of the passing of the elapsed nows that
takes place in the primal impression of the originary now. Protentional conscious-
ness is described as the awareness of the future that is at once the arrival into the
originary now of a succession of anticipated nows and the enduring awareness of
their anticipation in the original now’s primal impression.
98 B. C. Hopkins

13 Three Salient Aspects of Husserl’s Account of the Essence

of Temporal Succession

Three things stand out in this account of the essence of the successive movement
characteristic of the phenomenon of time. One, although it characterizes the essence
of a succession, the essence in itself is not successive. That is, both the elapsing and
arriving nows are characterized in terms of their relation to the original now’s
impressional awareness, which, unlike the nows that elapse and arrive, is character-
ized as unmoving. It is so characterized, since as the reference point for elapsing
and arriving units of meaning, it itself does not move. Two, despite its non-motion,
the primal impression is nevertheless the origin of the movement of time by virtue
of its status as the source of the multitude of nows that compose the temporal mani-
fold of consciousness. This is the case because Husserl’s descriptive account of that
manifold maintains that each just passed elapsing now retains a relation to the
impressional now, which, among other things, can only be possible if each elapsing
now is replenished by a fresh now that is fully present just insofar as it hasn’t elapsed
yet. And three, nowhere so far in this account of the content of the manifold of the
phases of temporality and the consciousness of those phases has the eidetic singu-
larity of the peculiar differentia of the units of meaning that compose these temporal
and conscious phases been accounted for. Insofar as the differentia in question here
concern the constitution of each of the phases and the consciousness of them as an
instance of something that is multiple, this is to say that Husserl’s account of the
temporal manifold of consciousness discussed so far does not address the phenom-
enological conditions of the possibility of its givenness precisely as a phenomeno-
logical manifold.

14 Husserl’s Account of the Constitution of Time

Consciousness Does Not Reflect His Late Criticism
of the Immediacy of the Givenness of Impressions

Husserl’s early investigations of inner time consciousness account for the differen-
tia in question on the basis of a characterization of the material (sachlich) content of
the primal impression, namely its phenomenal status as a sensation. In contrast with
the characterization of sensation in empirical theories of perception, namely, as un-­
unified bundles, Husserl initially maintained that the phenomenon of sensation
appears as a “datum.” As such, its “apprehension makes us conscious of something
objective as given, ‘in person’, which is then said to be objectively perceived”
(Husserl, 1991, 7). Sensory or “hyletic data” composed half of Husserl’s initial
account of the most fundamental and primitive distinction in the composition of a
phenomenological manifold, the other half being “intentional form.” While
Husserl’s mature investigations in the Crisis rejected the fundamentality of this
hylo-morphic schema and with that, of hyletic data as being “immediately given”
The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy 99

(Husserl, 1970b, 125), he nevertheless did not abandon the crucial role of the primal
impression in his late manuscripts’ account of time. Indeed, the primal impression
remained absolutely essential in Husserl’s account of the source of the most basic
units of the meanings proper to the temporality of the phenomenological manifold.
Specifically, it is essential to his account of the original now given in it as something
punctual, namely, as a “now point.”
Husserl’s account of the now as a point, as an ideal limit, as something abstract,
as a form, gives rise to two crucial questions. On the one hand, in what sense, if any,
are these terms descriptive, in the precise sense of the criteria Husserl presented in
Ideas I for distinguishing essences that are phenomenological from those that are
mathematical? On the other hand, what methodological perspective is responsible
for discerning this as well as the other essential characteristics of the flowing mani-
fold of time consciousness?
Mindful of Husserl’s criteria for distinguishing mathematical, which is to say,
exact essences from phenomenological, i.e., morphological essences, the first ques-
tion can be reformulated as follows: is it possible to understand the terms in ques-
tion—point, ideal limit, abstract, form—morphologically? On the surface, the
obvious answer would seem to be “no.” ‘Point’ and ‘ideal limit’ signify something
exact. And while ‘form’ and ‘abstract’ need not signify something exact, neverthe-
less, if the form and abstraction in question referred to a point and ideal limit, both
would appear to mean something that is exact. But these terms are meant to describe
not this or that individual phenomenological manifold but the essence of any arbi-
trarily given manifold, and therefore, to describe the essence in the sense of an
eidetic singular. So, the question may be refined, such that what is under interroga-
tion is whether the phenomenologically peculiar ideal status of the essence itself
that is characteristic of the flowing dimension of the phenomenological manifold is
appropriately characterized—in reference to the phenomenon of flowing—by terms
that have exact conceptual meanings, even though that which instantiates this
essence is something that is inexact. Point and ideal limit, then, would characterize
that which makes possible the appearance of something like a flowing that, in its
concreteness, is neither punctual nor limited in the exact sense.
The answer to this refined version of the question is no doubt connected with the
answer to the question regarding the methodological perspective from which the
basic units of the temporal phases of time are differentiated and time consciousness’
relationship to them discerned. In general, of course, the perspective in question is
governed by the methodological protocol of the epoché. More particularly, the
reflection in question is directed to the mode of givenness of the phenomenon of
time, which is to say, its appearance. As mentioned already, Husserl’s account of its
appearance tracks the static and genetic phases of the development of his thought,
and for both the crucial aspect characteristic of the appearance in question is the
primal impression. Husserl’s methodical access to the phenomenon of time clearly
presupposes the attempt to grasp the primal impression, whether in terms of its
static correlation with the appearance of the object or its pre-objective and passive
genesis. Crucial to either methodical approach is the resolution into a unity of that
100 B. C. Hopkins

component of the primal impression that is designated as ‘flowing’, together with an

account of the origin of the movement associated with that flowing.

15 Ambiguity in Husserl’s Account of the Origin

of the ‘Now’

Leaving aside for the moment the implications of Husserl’s own late recognition
that impressions are not immediately given for his account of the origin of the
movement in question, his account of the relation of the primal impression to the
now can be seen to be problematic on its own terms. On the one hand, new impres-
sions or sensations are characterized by him as already informed by the now, in
which case the now is not presented as the content of the impression but as its form.
“[T]he primordial temporal form of sensation, or, as I can also put it, the temporal
form of primordial sensation, here of the sensation belonging to the current now-­
point and only to this … must, in strictness, be defined through primordial sensa-
tion, so that the proposition asserted has to be taken only as an indication of what is
supposed to be meant” (Husserl, 1991, 69). On the other hand, the primal impres-
sion is characterized by Husserl as the phase of time consciousness that “has as its
content that which the word ‘now’ signifies… Each new now is the content of a new
primal impression” (Husserl, 1991, 70).
What is problematic here is not so much the “circular definition” (Bernet, 1982,
103)—or, better, fallacy of equivocation evident in the account of the relation
between the primal impression and the now but the methodological presuppositions
responsible for the ambiguity behind it. That is, the logical problem implicit in the
characterization of the ‘now’ as both the form of the primal impression, and thus as
a structure inseparable from its appearance, as well as its content, and thus as some-
thing that appears to and therefore is other than the primal impression’s appearance,
is derivative. As such, it has its source in the methodical attempt to grasp the eidetic
singular of temporal flowing according to a form-content schema. Once this schema
is projected onto the phenomenological manifold composed by time consciousness,
the inexact essence of its flowing is divided exactly in two. A symptom if not a sign
of this is Husserl’s characterization of the ‘now’ as belonging both to the form of the
impression and to its content.
The methodological inappropriateness of Husserl’s employment of exact terms
to characterize the inexact essence of the phenomenon of flowing determinative of
time consciousness is compounded by his use of the concept of a continuum to
characterize the essence of the temporal flow proper. The units of the continuum are
characterized as a manifold of nows, each one of which has a temporal position rela-
tive to the primordial now point in which it originates and to which its temporal
position remains related as it shifts with each fresh now. The continuum is com-
posed of two dimensions, the past and future, from which the single dimensional
flowing of time consciousness is constituted. The key to Husserl’s account of the
The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy 101

manifold of nows as continua of past nows and nows to come (future) is the “law of
modification” (Husserl, 1991, 31, 339) that governs the generation of their temporal
position. The now point, as an ideal limit, manifests the form of the ever-new nows
generated by the primordial impression. The law of modification governs the move-
ment of these nows in the temporal dimensions of the past and future. The former
dimension is constituted by the modification of the primordial impression called
retention and the latter by the modification of it called protention. In retention the
primordial impression’s now is initially divided into the originary now and the just
past now, which as just past remains a part of the primordial impression. Husserl
terms this initial retention primary memory.
Retention is also responsible for the modification of the just past now into the
just-just past now, and again, the just-just-just, past now, and so on, such that a con-
tinuum of retended nows is composed that recedes from the originary nows associ-
ated with the primordial impression. The law of modification also governs each
retention’s retention of all the just, just past nows, and so on, divided from the
impressional now “preceding,” as it were, its division from the now point limit con-
nected with the primordial impression. Thus, on Husserl’s account, the law of modi-
fication governs the generation of the phenomenon of the past as a series of just past
nows, each one of which is itself a retentionally generated continuum containing
retentions of all the just past nows up to the primordial now from which it was origi-
nally divided. This continuum of retended nows forms the retentional horizon of the
originary nows wherein is constituted primary memory. Husserl contrasts the unme-
diated relation of primary memory to its origin in primary impression with the
mediated relation to the originary nows of secondary memory, which he designates
as “recollection.” On Husserl’s account, the retentional horizon exhibits the capac-
ity to be awakened, such that that which was originally presented in the primal
impression is recalled as an identity that transcends the unmediated flow of primary
impressions ceaselessly slipping away in the continuum of retentions. The making
present (Vergegenwärtigen) of the identity in question constitutes the transcendence
of the thing in the living present as something that is identical, and therefore as
something that stands in objective contrast to the subjective manifold of the unmedi-
ated pre-objective passive flow of the continuum of impressions and retentions in
which it originally presented itself.
Three things stand out in Husserl’s account of the essence of the phenomenologi-
cal manifold of time consciousness, that is, his description of the eidetic singular
that articulates the phenomenological condition of possibility of this manifold’s
flowing movement. (1) The ambiguity of the now, which is manifest in its charac-
terization by Husserl as both the form and content of the primordial impression,
makes it impossible to discern eidetically the origin of the phenomenological mani-
fold in which time consciousness is constituted. This is the case, above all, because
the origin of the form and content of this manifold is attributed to the same struc-
tural phenomenon, i.e., the now. Thus, in the cases of both the finite and absolute
manifolds at issue here, it is impossible to discern on the basis of Husserl’s account
whether the source of the multiplicity of nows that constitutes them is formal or
material (sachlich). (2) Either way, the division of the unity of the present now into
102 B. C. Hopkins

the continua of just past nows and nows to come, each one of which—just past or to
come—according to the law of modification, presupposes rather than accounts for
the phenomenal basis of the cuts in question. That is, rather than appeal to the how
in their appearance the temporal shifts come about that constitute the flowing stream
of just past nows and nows to come, the (exact) concept of continuum invoked by
the law of modification is supposed to account for the phenomenological condi-
tional of possibility of these shifts.20 (3) The priority of memory in the making pres-
ent of the transcendent object, brings to the fore the question of the relation of the
phenomenon of forgetting to both memory and to the emergence of that which
appears as present in the living present.

16 Husserl’s Methodological Presuppositions Block

a Phenomenological Account of the Unity and Multiplicity
of a Phenomenological Manifold

For our purposes, Husserl’s use of an exact mathematical concept to characterize

the eidetic singular putatively responsible for the flowing of the temporal manifold
will be the focus of the discussion of these points. The difficulty if not the impos-
sibility of accounting for the phenomenon of forgetting once the concept of con-
tinuum is invoked in connection with the law of modification is evident in the
answer to the following question: Does the law of modification in the case of reten-
tional consciousness admit exceptions? If not, the original now in which the con-
tinuum of any finite phenomenological manifold is generated should always be
capable of being remembered. Husserl, in fact, admits as much: “idealiter a con-
sciousness is probably even possible in which everything remains preserved reten-
tionally” (Husserl, 1991, 32). This account of memory is thus challenged to account
for the fundamental discontinuity of the phenomena of both the past and that which
is forgotten from present consciousness. Moreover, one searches in vain in Husserl’s
manuscripts on time consciousness for an account of forgetting.
Likewise, in the case of the protentional scope of the law of modification, there
is the related difficulty of accounting for the phenomenon of the emergence of
something to come that is unanticipated and therefore discontinuous with what is

20
 Thus my claim here is not that Husserl employs the mathematical concept of a continuum to
model the non-exact essence of the phenomenal (intuitive) “continuum” of the manifold stream of
time consciousness, but rather: that his very account of the phenomenological genesis of the
streaming of time illegitimately employs exact concepts, in this case, that of a continuum, in its
descriptive account of the phenomenological essence of the genesis proper to time consciousness’
eidetically singular streaming. On my view, then, the issue here isn’t the putative priority of an
intuitive continuum over a mathematical continuum, an issue that implicitly posits or otherwise
presupposes their opposition. On the contrary, the issue as I see it is that of the legitimacy of char-
acterizing the phenomenological essence of the manifold of time consciousness as a continuum at
all. See (Tarditi, 2018, especially, 144) for an account of the view I am opposing here.
The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy 103

unexpected. Given Husserl’s account of the symmetry between protentional and

retentional modifications, as well as the role of the latter in the structure of the for-
mer, the answer to the following question is crucial: whether exceptions to the law-
ful foundational role of retentions in the constitution of protentions are possible. Or,
in other words, can the lawful modification that generates protentions account for
the phenomenal emergence of something that is completely unanticipated? Given
the tight connection in Husserl’s account between retention and protention, wherein
the continuum of retentions adumbrates the horizon of the continuum of proten-
tions, the answer to this question would seem to be no.21
Husserl’s appeal to exact mathematical concepts to characterize the eidetic sin-
gular of the flowing unity of the manifold of time consciousness has been shown to
be inadequate to the task of accounting for the essential inexactness of both the
unity and multiplicity of the phenomenon in question. The phenomena of unity and
multiplicity, however, remain, and indeed, they remain in need of a phenomenologi-
cal account of their essential conditions of possibility. At issue, then, is an account
of the constitution of the unity and multiplicity of the phenomenological manifold
uncovered by Husserl’s transcendental phenomenology, which, as we have seen,
involves the appearance of two manifolds: (1) that of the living present and (2) that
of the (finite) streams of lived-experience that come and go in the living present.
Accounts of both are therefore tasks for the future, the horizon of which will be
sketched in the remainder of this discussion.

17 Historicity of the Unity and Multiplicity Constitutive

of Phenomenological and Mathematical Manifolds

Husserl’s last work, Crisis (Husserl, 1970b), introduced historical meditations on

both the essences of the meanings operative in the exact sciences and the most
immediate experience of the world. In both cases, manifolds are involved, and
therefore the constitution of both the unity and multiplicity out of which they are
composed. Because of the fragmentary nature of these meditations, however, they
only offer hints about how to advance the problematic. In order to advance beyond
those hints, the historical horizon of the meaning inseparable from the unity and
multiplicity of manifolds adumbrated in Husserl’s last work will be delineated.
There are three manifolds in play here: (1) that composing the living present, (2)
that composing the finite streams of lived-experience that come and go in the living
present, and (3) that composing the domain of mathematics. As we have seen above,
Husserl’s account of both the unity and multiplicity composing each of these

21
 Husserl’s sole discussion of surprise in his analyses of time consciousness (Husserl, 1991, 144)
does so in terms of an unfulfilled expectation, in which the unexpected now to come doesn’t come.
This account, however, does not address the condition of possibility for the appearance of a pro-
tended continuum of nows that arrives in the primal impression that is neither expected nor
anticipated.
104 B. C. Hopkins

manifolds cannot withstand phenomenological self-critique. In the first two mani-

folds mentioned here, that is because both the unity and multiplicity of each are
accounted for on the basis of illegitimate appeals to mathematical (exact) concepts.
In the last-mentioned manifold, it is because both unity and multiplicity are
accounted for on the basis of a logical unity that is not phenomenologically estab-
lished and, moreover, rejected by the development of the science of logic in the first
half of the twentieth century.
In the version of the text “Die Frage nach dem Ursprung der Geometrie als
intentional-historisches Problem” published by Eugen Fink (Husserl, 1939), a con-
nection between “sedimentation” and forgetting is made. “Sedimentation is always
somehow forgetfulness” (Husserl, 1939, 212).22 This connection provides a crucial
hint for future research on phenomenological manifolds, as it points in the direction
of the phenomenological fundamentality of forgetfulness over memory in the con-
stitution of the past. In connecting the passive diminishment of the original meaning
of words and concepts constitutive of the phenomenon of sedimentation with the
phenomenon of forgetfulness, Husserl seems to recognize the phenomenological
priority of discontinuity in the constitution of the horizon of the past in relation to
the consciousness of the present.
Sedimentation is inseparable from the traditional transmission of knowledge.
The phenomenon of tradition, on Husserl’s view, manifests the intentional-­historical
dimension of the past that constitutes an essential horizon of the living present. In
Husserl’s fragmentary analyses in the Crisis, the multiplicity of present-day phi-
losophies is symptomatic of the lack of unity crucial to the essence of philosophy. It
is precisely this lack of unity that motivates Husserl’s historical reflection back to
the original intentional-historical processes constitutive of the foundational mean-
ings of the exact, natural, and philosophical sciences. Husserl’s term for the goal of
this reflection, “reactivation,” however, indicates that he is still under the spell of his
account of the primacy of memory in the constitution of the past that is evident in
his account of internal time consciousness.
Hence, a first task for future phenomenological research is the investigation of
the role of the phenomenon of forgetfulness in the constitution of both internal and
historical time consciousness.
Related to this first task is the second of reassessing Husserl’s account of ‘recol-
lection’ in the making present of the transcendent object in the living present. This
is the case, because once the discontinuity between the horizon of the past in rela-
tion to the present is recognized, the phenomenological account of the horizon of
the past being directly accessible to acts of recollection, such that the latter exhibit
the unmediated capacity to “awaken” primary memories, becomes problematic. It
does so, because recognition of the essential discontinuity between the phenomena
of the present and past presents evidence that challenges any phenomenological
account that presupposes, without further ado, the direct access of present acts to the

 This sentence is left out of Biemel’s Husserliana (Husserl, 1976) version of the text, translated
22

by Carr (Husserl, 1970b).

The Problem of the Unity of a Manifold in the Development of Husserl’s Philosophy 105

past appearances to consciousness of both objects and their modes of presentation.

In connection with this evidence, the investigation of the phenomenological appro-
priateness of the descriptor ‘recollection’ for a phenomenon—namely, recollec-
tion—in which there is no forgetfulness in play, is another task for future
phenomenological research.
The third phenomenological task involves the investigation of the constitution of
both the multiplicity and unity of the immediately given manifolds that begin and
end. Absent the immediacy of impressions in their givenness, and absent, too, the
priority of memory in the constitution of their flow, the investigation of the role of
the phenomena of sedimentation, forgetfulness, and recollection in their constitu-
tion in the living present is called for.
A fourth and final phenomenological task involves the investigation of the con-
stitution of the logic proper to the symbolic mathematics that determines “what in
fact, and in a way practically understandable in mathematical work, a coherent
mathematical field is” (Husserl, 1970b, 45). This task is called for, because Husserl
still holds that the answer to this question is to be found in his notion of “theory of
manifolds” (ibid., 46) as “the universal science of the definite manifolds” (ibid.).
That is, Husserl’s answer to this question in his last work is the same as that in his
first phenomenological works, as his footnote in (ibid, 46) makes clear, by referring
the reader of the Crisis to “a more exact exposition of the concept of the definite
manifold” (ibid.) in Ideas I and the Logical Investigations. Inseparable from this
task is an account of the intentional-historical meaning that is sedimented in the
origins and development of the “universal ‘formalization’” (ibid, 45) that is the sine
qua non for contemporary mathematics and therefore, of foundational importance
for the intelligibility of its meaning. Such an account would have to be attentive to
the distinction between idealized and formalized mathematical meanings mentioned
above. In connection with this investigation, the possibility of complete reactivation
of these origins in light of the role of forgetfulness in the constitution of the phe-
nomenon of sedimentation will also have to be critically explored.

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Heideggerian Phenomenology

Hakhamanesh Zangeneh

Was Heidegger a phenomenologist? Can his work be considered phenomenologi-

cal? Can he be affiliated with phenomenology in some way beyond biographical
contingencies? The answer to these questions is neither obvious nor uncontrover-
sial. In the following, I propose to address these questions by starting from a typol-
ogy of the literature on Heidegger. My hope is that with such an overview it will
become easier to identify a specifically phenomenological (as opposed to herme-
neutical, deconstructionist, etc.) development in and of his work.
Unlike many philosophers, Heidegger was neither unknown nor obscure during
his lifetime. Having acquired a reputation early in his career,1 his works have by
now been widely read, interpreted, and developed in variegated directions. A side-­
effect of this longstanding, broad reception is that the field of Heidegger studies is
so differentiated, dispersed, and fragmented that it becomes impossible to adjudi-
cate conflicting claims on a purely conceptual level. There are simply not enough
shared assumptions to open a genuine debate among the rival interpreters (herme-
neuticians, deconstructionists, pragmatists, phenomenologists, etc.). This state of
non-communication is reflected at an institutional level as well. The different types
of Heideggerians have, by now, competing societies, conferences and even summer
workshops.2
I propose to remedy this situation by way of what might be called a ‘philological
reduction.’ I want to look at the literature by bracketing the claims made by
interpreters concerning Heidegger’s philosophy and focusing instead on the

 See Hannah Arendt (1978), Van Buren (1994).

1

 To take but two camps, the hermeneutical Heideggerians meet annually, in the summer, in
2

Northern Italy, while the pragmatist Heideggerians, shunning the Italy workshop, hold their own
workshop but at a secret time and location (reputed to be Asilomar, Ca.).

H. Zangeneh (*)
CSU Stanislaus, Turlock, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 107

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_6
108 H. Zangeneh

philological foundations of those claims. By organizing the different readings

according to the empirical ways in which they take-up Heidegger’s texts, i.e. what
counts as central, what is marginal, what relates to what, etc., by indexing claims to
their textual conditions of possibility, we can produce a simple taxonomic classifi-
cation of the field. Having carried out this simplification it will be easier to identify
a specifically phenomenological reading of Heidegger, to appreciate its context and
to understand its limitations. While previous presentations of the literature have
organized the field according to competing conceptual claims or varying interpreta-
tive decisions (we can call these first-order claims), my scheme is more akin to a
meta-study (a second-­order view).3 Whereas, on a first-order level, the mutual
intractability may suggest that it would be impossible to find a level of analysis to
which all groups might acquiesce, on the meta-level all such differences disappear.
The following are the second order categories of Heidegger interpretation
employed in this paper. First, I make a distinction between scholarly readings (SR),
focused historically on the texts and on the development of Heidegger’s thinking,
and selective syncretic readings (SSR), focused more on linking selected topics in
Heidegger to non-Heideggerian material. Within the scholarly readings, I distin-
guish three approaches: a genealogical reading (GR), focused on early texts and the
continuity of the corpus, a teleological reading (TR) focused on later texts, and a
dual-phase reading (DR), which emphasizes the distinction between earlier and
later phases organized around a “turn.” I will focus on GR, the genealogical reading.
This reading further divides into a strict construal that is very heavily focused on
textual sources, and a loose construal, that aims to emphasize the specificity of
Heidegger’s individual works. Finally, I argue that Heideggerean phenomenology
should be located in the loose construal of the genealogical reading. This is the
“phenomenological interpretation” of Heidegger, that emphasizes the Kant book
and other earlier sources.

1 The Philological Reduction – SR vs SSR

Regardless of how interpreters of Heidegger construe his topic, goal, or method, in

order to count as readings of Heidegger, they would sooner or later have to make
contact with Heidegger’s writings. This is where my typology of readings sets in.
How do the different readers refer to the texts (and again, we are ignoring their
properly philosophical claims in those texts)? What do they focus on, what do they
take into consideration, and what do they leave out of consideration? What patterns
do we find when the mutually opposed groups are reduced to their textual bases? To
begin with, adopting this level of analysis has the merit of placing all readings on

3
 There are surprisingly few literature reviews in Heidegger studies. Sheehan (2017) is an example
of a (highly polemical) first-order scheme, while Janicaud (2001) is a different type of second-­
order scheme, using history as opposed to philology, and limited to work in France.
Heideggerian Phenomenology 109

one plane – after all, to count as an interpretation of Heidegger, any reading must
contain a discernible construal of Heidegger’s texts.
As far as these texts are concerned, they are published in the Heidegger
Gesamtausgabe (complete edition), in non-chronological order.4 As of this writing,
95 volumes of the 102 total have been published. There are 16 volumes containing
everything that Heidegger published during his lifetime (these range from 1910 to
1973). Another 47 volumes contain fully developed manuscripts used in his lecture
courses (1919–1944). Some 17 volumes contain completed but unpublished book
manuscripts. Finally, 20 volumes contain more fragmentary teaching materials,
notes and diaries.
The first obvious distinction to make in the literature on Heidegger is between
interpretations that tackle a large number of the above volumes and those that do
not. This is a distinction between what I will call scholarly readings of Heidegger
(because they seek to make a contribution, among other things, also to the scholar-
ship of the complete works) and selective-syncretic readings of Heidegger (because
they syncretically relate selections from Heidegger to material foreign to him). This
basic distinction yields a number of descriptive features.
The selective-syncretic readings (SSR) have a smaller footprint in the GA and do
not consider the task of accounting for the whole of Heidegger’s work to be of
philosophical interest. The selection of Heidegger’s texts is based least of all on
context or chronology. Instead, they read Heidegger in connection with and through
works by authors foreign to Heidegger. As such, this literature harbors interdisci-
plinary, emergent, but also anachronistic topics. These approaches are highly inno-
vative with respect to Heidegger, insofar as they connect his ideas with material that
he had never engaged with. The preponderance of English-language, indeed
U.S.  American, work on Heidegger fall in this camp. The two most well-known
representatives of SSR are Hubert Dreyfus in Analytic philosophy and John Sallis
in Continental philosophy.
In the case of Dreyfus, it is well-known that in his most widely read work, the
textual base in the GA is limited to approximately one half of Being and Time, Sein
und Zeit (SZ hereafter). Even there, the resources he draws upon to elucidate
Heidegger’s ideas are drawn from a wide array of figures beyond Heidegger. The
selection is importantly not led by context: Wittgenstein, Bourdieu, Latour, James
and Dewey all play roles.
In the case of Sallis, the textual base in the GA is wider, but not in any way sys-
tematic. While various works are analyzed in distinct moments, there is no project
of attempting to account for the whole of those texts. At the same time, Heidegger
is read through insights developed by his philosophical progeny, so to speak, namely
Hans-Georg Gadamer, Jacques Derrida.

 Abbreviated as GA followed by volume number. Published by Klostermann, Frankfurt, 1976.

4
110 H. Zangeneh

Both of these approaches led to novel consequences. Dreyfus, based on his inter-
pretation of Heidegger, famously developed an early critique of certain forms of
artificial intelligence (AI) and subsequently oriented generations of his students
towards a theory of what he called “skilled coping.” A good compendium of the
work of two generations of Dreyfus students is Wrathall and Malpas (2000a, b).
Sallis for his part, crafted readings of classical German philosophy on the topic of
the imagination, and later in a series of works rooted in Plato’s Timaeus, developed
a project he termed “chorology,” after the Platonic chora. Freydberg (2012) Maly
(1995) both attest to the influence of Sallis. The common denominator in all this is
that Heidegger of course was either ignorant of these topics (AI) or had paid little
attention to these texts (the Timaeus).
Grouping these two highly influential U.S.  American Heideggerians together
will undoubtedly raise eyebrows, if not incite outright insults! Despite the familiar
way in which Analytic and Continental philosophers are opposed, the philological
reduction here places the two camps together, united in the empirically observable
ways in which they reference Heidegger’s GA. The major distinction in Heidegger
literature now turns out to be not one between Analytic Pragmatists and Continental
‘Postmodernists’ but rather a distinction between Anglophone Analytics and
Continentals on one side, and French-German historical, contextualists on the
other side.
The scholarly readings of Heidegger (SR, as opposed to the SSR), as already
mentioned, are characterized by the attempt to account for all of Heidegger’s
works – all or as many as possible. They thus put considerable effort into integrating
every new publication of the GA, which they reference in the original German. They
are also bibliographically more holistic viz. the GA, or more ‘conservative’ depend-
ing on one’s perspective. When SR makes a foray outside of Heidegger’s works, it
is into contextual texts and authors. Distinctive features of the outcome of this
approach are an account of the development of Heidegger’s thought as well as
insights into his linguistic manner of expression. While SR has explanative power
with respect to Heidegger’s texts, it does not foray into the emergent topics, the
interdisciplinary extensions or the subsequent figures after Heidegger. Instead, these
interpretations develop the discourse tied to traditional philosophical notions such
as subjectivity, time, freedom, truth, art etc. The overwhelming majority of work
stemming from Europe has fallen into this camp (Table 1).

Table 1  Two types of Heidegger readings

-
Scholarly Readings (SR) Selective-Syncretic Readings (SSR)
French & German Uniquely USA/Anglophone
Holistic, historical, textual H. Dreyfus – Analytical/Pragmatist
Classical philosophical problems J. Sallis – Continental/Hermeneuticist
Interdisciplinary, emergent topics
Heideggerian Phenomenology 111

2 Species of SR: GR, TR and DR

For the sake of my goal here, I will now suggest some distinctions, still of a purely
philological nature, which can be observed within the field of SR. I propose to fur-
ther distinguish the scholarly readings into three subgroups: the genealogical, the
teleological, and the dual-phased readings of Heidegger (GR, TR, and DR respec-
tively). One group of scholarly readers have organized their bibliography so as to
investigate the genealogy, or the origins, of Heidegger’s philosophy. These latter
(GR), privilege chronology, linear development, and a continuity of project, striving
to stay true to Heidegger’s earliest, more classical insights. Their claim is that these
insights and commitments are never dropped but only developed in continuity there-
after. Another group foregrounds later writings, explicating texts where Heidegger
employs his most challenging modes of presentation. These texts are taken to be the
telos towards which the early work is striving (hence TR), and thus the interpreta-
tion takes from the early only that which elucidates the late. Some of the significant
contributors here were also post-WWII acquaintances of Heidegger such as Jean
Beaufret and Friedrich Wilhelm von Herrmann, but also younger scholars such as
Reiner Schürmann. Finally, the dual-phase reading (DR) accords autonomy to two
separate spheres of thinking within the Heideggerian corpus, the early Heidegger vs
the late Heidegger, construing them almost as two entirely different philosophies.
The names that stand out here reach back to some of the earliest publications on
Heidegger such as Alphonse de Waelhens (1942), and William J.  Richardson,
S.J. (1963).
While my tripartite grouping of the scholarly readings remains largely applicable
today, capturing most activity in the field, it is also the case that the three groups are
not as equally active anymore. Here, my taxonomy departs from the purely empiri-
cal philological scheme – though only very minimally. Within the field of scholarly
readings, the predominant amount of activity in recent years has been within the
genealogical readings. This is because, I would suggest, DR has been exhausted and
TR contradicted. As far as DR is concerned, ever since its first articulation by Bill
Richardson, S.J., it has faced the problem of being unable to adequately explain the
alleged “turn” from Heidegger I to Heidegger II. Postulating two autonomous phi-
losophies with distinct sets of texts cohering around two chronologically separated
epochs raises the obvious question of the relation between the two. While attempts
will undoubtedly continue to be made to solve the problem of the “turn,” the com-
munis opinio has largely abandoned that paradigm in recent decades.
A similar fate has met TR, though this development is not as widely noted. But
that is likely due to the relatively less conventional appeal of the TR paradigm to
begin with. The motives behind this development are rooted in the publication his-
tory of the collected works. Starting in 1989, the GA began publishing manuscripts
from the completed but unpublished set (these are GA64–73). The major manu-
script from that set, GA65, the Beiträge zur Philosophie (vom Ereignis), contains
elements of Heidegger’s ‘auto-interpretation,’ or self-critique. Written roughly ten
years after SZ and reflecting on that decade’s intellectual itinerary, Heidegger, in
112 H. Zangeneh

Fig. 1  Scholarly readings of Heidegger

GA65, explicitly rejects a teleological relationship between his works, rejecting the
notion that his later works are the culmination of his earlier project. This same rejec-
tion of TR has resurfaced in other volumes which have been published since (e.g.
GA66, GA69, also viz. his Kant-book of 1929). Although one might argue that this
rejection is but one interpretation among others, the fact that Heidegger himself is
the origin of the rejection has likely contributed to the demise of TR (Fig. 1).

3 GR

Regardless of the reasons behind the demise of the TR and the DR paradigms, it is
empirically the case that GR has been ascendant over the last two decades. But it is
important to note that the prototypes of this interpretation were already developed
during Heidegger’s lifetime by German philosophers, e.g. Otto Pöggeler (1963), as
well as Heidegger’s former students, e.g. Walter Biemel (1976). While the first
exemplars of GR were penned by Germans, the most influential work in this vein,
both for the US and Europe, was undoubtedly Ted Kisiel (1993). In fact, Kisiel’s
work turned the attention of Anglophone readers back to his European predeces-
sors, e.g. the unjustly neglected Italian Franco Volpi, as well as Jacques Taminiaux,
both of whom then enjoyed a delayed reception in English. These readings always
privilege chronology, while also affirming an evolution in Heidegger’s “path of
thinking,” but this is an evolution which has more continuity than is implied by the
‘the turn.’
More concretely, what this means is that Heidegger’s works are understood viz.
a sequence of authors whom he had studied in an empirically ascertainable order.
We know that Heidegger entered the University on a church scholarship, having
declared theology and natural science as interests. Once enrolled however, the bulk
of his training focused on Aristotle and Medieval Philosophy. This culminated in his
Heideggerian Phenomenology 113

dissertation on medieval logic and grammar in the work of Thomas of Erfurt

(pseudo-Duns Scotus). Given this well-defined body of work, GR seeks the founda-
tion of Heidegger’s magnum opus, SZ, in Aristotle (or in Heidegger’s Aristotle
interpretations). The beginning of Heidegger’s professional career subsequently
brought him into the proximity of Husserl and of his circle; this move is contempo-
raneous with Heidegger shifting the focus of his attention to Kant’s Critique of Pure
Reason. It is in this period that the publication of SZ occurs and, therefore, GR seeks
the methodological orientation thereof in Kant (or, again, in Heidegger’s Kant inter-
pretations). Beyond the magnum opus, in tracking down the subsequent decades,
GR serially engages with Nietzsche, Hölderlin, the Pre-Socratics, Ernst Jünger, and
so forth, guided by the chronological sequence in which Heidegger wrote about them.
The evolution of GR has led to some basic high-level claims garnering broad
consensus among interpreters. To begin with, it is now fairly well understood that
the analysis of being-in-the-world is (or emerges out of) an interpretation of
Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics VI, or the intellectual virtues, arête dianoetike. The
set of distinctions between praxis-poesis, phronesis-techne, is widely taken to be
the core constituent5 of Heidegger’s notion of Eigentlichkeit, canonically, if unfor-
tunately, translated as ‘authenticity’ since Macquarrie & Robinson (1962). What
Heidegger terms the ‘existential analytic’ overlaps with what he refers to in his
earlier works as a ‘hermeneutics of facticity.’ That, in turn, consists in an Aristotle
interpretation focused on the Nichomachean Ethics but with the important, and
original, addition of the Physics as key to opening the dimension of existence called
the ‘movedness of factical life.’ This latter is the idea that life (later: care, and thus
time) can be analyzed as structured by what Aristotle calls kinesis. As these few
statements already suggest, one feature of GR, particularly when strictly construed,
is that the specificity of individual works by Heidegger is dissolved into a much
larger project with very broad scope. The side effect of this is that topics that occur
in isolated fashion throughout the corpus receive little explication.
Here, I would suggest it is useful to make a further distinction, though it will be
admittedly less empirically obvious and less philologically clear-cut. We can
roughly separate a strict construal GR from a loose construal GR. In the strict con-
strual, the identification of sources takes the upper hand and the predilection for
continuity in the corpus leads to an undervaluing of ideas which do not occur over
a broad stretch of time. I would contrast this with the loose construal GR, i.e. an
approach which is mostly contextualizing and mostly genealogical but tries to pre-
serve the specificity of individual works and topics by resisting a reduction to
sources.
I argue that Heideggerian phenomenology is located in the loose construal of
GR. In other words, it is only when the texts have been construed in this particular
way that Heidegger has emerged as a phenomenologist and it has only been on this
philological basis that Heidegger’s works have been developed with strictly

5
 Core constituent but not the only constituent: Husserl of course also employs the distinction
eigentliche vs uneigentliche Vorstellungen. See Logical Investigation V.
114 H. Zangeneh

phenomenological goals and interests. Which is to say that debates between phe-
nomenological, pragmatist, hermeneuticist and deconstructionist interpreters of
Heidegger are really not debates about the same author, much less the same topic.
We see here, I would argue, in the field of Heidegger studies, an excellent illustra-
tion of Thomas Kuhn’s insight into the different function of paradigms in the natural
sciences and in the humanities (or ‘creative disciples’ in his terminology). Whereas
paradigms in physics succeed one another sequentially (such that, e.g., it is no lon-
ger possible to hold to the Newtonian paradigm for the orbit of Mercury), in phi-
losophy, on the other hand, paradigms only multiply and do not replace one another
(e.g. Kantian ethics has not replaced Aristotelian ethics but exists alongside it)
(Fig. 2).

4 Phenomenology and Heidegger

The obvious reason why Heideggerian phenomenology is encountered in loose GR

is above all that Heidegger makes positive references to phenomenology in a set of
texts clustered in a specific period of his oeuvre. The less autonomy is attributed to
this textual cluster, the less phenomenological Heidegger’s philosophy will appear.
While this period does not have precise termini, it is conventionally thought, per
Greisch (1994), that 1919–1929 constitutes Heidegger’s “phenomenological
decade.” The biggest reference points in that cluster are: (a) the claim to phenom-
enology as method in 1927, in SZ; (b) two manuscripts eight years apart, both
entitled Basic Problems of Phenomenology (1919/20, GA58, and 1927, GA24) (c)

Fig. 2  Heidegger readings

Heideggerian Phenomenology 115

five manuscripts in between carrying the term ‘phenomenology’ in the title (these
constitute the Aristotelian sub-cluster): Phenomenology of Intuition and of
Expression (1920, GA59), Phenomenology of Religious Life (1920/21, GA60),
Phenomenological Interpretations on Aristotle (1921/22, GA61), Phenomenological
Interpretation of Selected Aristotle Treatises on Ontology and Logic (1922, GA62),
and Introduction to Phenomenological Research (1923/24, GA17); (d) a substan-
tial analysis of Husserl (with some reference to Brentano) in a manuscript mislead-
ingly entitled History of the Concept of Time: Prolegomena (1925, GA20); (e) a
manuscript from 1927/28 entitled Phenomenological Interpretation of Kant’s
Critique of Pure Reason (GA25). Taken individually, outside of this contextual
cluster, any one of these references can look like a highly idiosyncratic version of
phenomenology. However, read as a genealogical whole, they display an intrinsic,
evolving, thematic focus as well as a clear continuity with their intellectual context
(the main rivals of phenomenology in Germany during that period, Neo-Kantianism,
Lebensphilosophie and Weltanschauungsphilosophie are all targets of Heidegger’s
arguments in these texts).
It is important to note as well that this cluster of texts has only been accessible in
English relatively recently. Of the eight phenomenology books mentioned above,
five have only become available in English translation since 2001, the most recent
one dating from 2013 and one is still untranslated as of this writing. This is a very
late development as far as the history of the interpretation of Heidegger’s philoso-
phy is concerned. When one considers the publications of the main champions of
alternative paradigms of Heidegger research, particularly in the Anglophone world,
it is clear that their limitations are correlated with the lack of access to texts. Some
notable exceptions to this are to be found in Dahlstrom (1991) who chronicles the
evolution of Heidegger’s writings on Kant, as well as more recently Engelland
(2017) who presents a more recent interpretation of the transcendental nature of
Heidegger’s phenomenological project. Works on Heidegger’s Aristotle studies in
light of SZ can be found in McNeill (1999) and (2006). A first, basic commentary in
English on Heidegger’s analysis of Husserl in GA20 can be found in Moran (2000).
But perhaps, the biggest representatives of the phenomenological development of
Heidegger are to be found in France and Germany. In order to move things along
more quickly I will now point to just a few French works and leave the German ones
for another occasion.
Working out Heidegger’s project as a specifically phenomenological one, and
thus as extending rather than rejecting Husserl’s project, has been the hallmark of
Françoise Dastur’s work from Dastur (1990) to Dastur (2016). Central to her
approach to Heidegger is the idea, found in SZ §7, according to which the phenom-
ena of phenomenology are not directly given and thereby make phenomenology
necessary as method to begin with. This methodological directive to wrest the phe-
nomenon from the given, being from beings, resonates with Husserl’s directive of a
reduction or epoché of the given. This methodological state of affairs is what makes
phenomenology suitable to Heidegger’s ontological project, to the point that the
two, phenomenology and ontology, according to Dastur (2016), become
synonymous.
116 H. Zangeneh

From the outset, her work has championed the notion of time as the central focus
of Heidegger’s phenomenological ontology. Thus, Dastur (1990) works out the
foundational role of temporality in Heidegger’s philosophy and brings it again into
the proximity of a Husserlian phenomenology which considers consciousness to be
ontologically grounded in time. While noting such points of affinity between
Husserl and Heidegger, she is nonetheless careful to emphasize where Heidegger
goes beyond Husserl, e.g. on the issue of the finitude of time, the relationship
between truth and history, or the contrast between the ego and Dasein (Dastur 2004).
This line of interpretation has led Dastur (2004) to contextualize Heidegger’s
phenomenological decade by way of references to his readings of Kant’s first
Critique, and more specifically, the doctrine of apperception as auto-affection, in
addition to the much-noted importance of the faculty of imagination and of sche-
matism. Examining Heidegger’s Kant interpretations of the phenomenological
decade, she finds the metaphysical structure of Heideggerian temporality to repli-
cate that of (or at least bear great resemblance to) Kantian apperception, which then
extends the affinity of Heideggerian phenomenology through Husserl to Kantian
transcendental philosophy. While defending this transcendental reading of the phe-
nomenological Heidegger, she also suggests that Heidegger’s awareness of this ide-
alist ‘excess’ leads him to compensate from an opposing standpoint in his works
subsequent to the 1920s. Finally, it is also noteworthy that Dastur has rigorously
defended her construal of the phenomenological Heidegger against later systematic
criticisms from Levinas, Ricoeur and Derrida, e.g. in Dastur (2016).
Another long-term project dedicated to elaborating and clarifying the sense of
phenomenology in Heidegger’s writings, particularly in light of his relationship to
Brentano (as well as to Neo-Kantianism), is in the work of Jean-Francois Courtine.
While Husserl readers are familiar with Brentano from the latter’s Psychology from
an Empirical Standpoint, Courtine emphasizes the importance of Brentano’s work
on Aristotle’s ontology and psychology, in order to show a continuity of concerns
with Heidegger. Heidegger had himself referred to Brentano’s early study On the
Manifold Senses of Being in Aristotle (1862) as having been formative for his path
and Courtine has been able to elaborate on this in some detail, e.g. in Courtine
(2005). While Aristotle writes that being (to on) is ambiguous, he spells out the
components of that ambiguity in terms of the categories, act/potency, essence/acci-
dent, and truth. Brentano had argued that the chief sense driving Aristotle’s concep-
tion of being was to be found in the categories. According to Courtine, this type of
approach to Aristotle’s ontology is inherited by Heidegger, who then argues for
truth as the focal point, instead of the categories. What persists despite the change
in focus is an orientation towards a unified, central meaning of being, from which
other meanings would eventually be derived. Much like Dastur, Courtine thus con-
strues Heidegger’s central problematic as an ontological one. Indeed, to a large
extent, Heidegger’s ontological interest appears firmly situated in the tradition of
the medieval doctrine of the ‘analogy of being,’ Courtine (2005). However, through
a series of transformations, Courtine shows that the topic of this ontology is given-
ness itself (Gegebenheit) and Heidegger thereby rejoins Husserl’s conception of
phenomenology as inquiry into the origin of the given. Pursuing the thread of the
Heideggerian Phenomenology 117

given in the early manuscripts up to SZ, Courtine (2007) elaborates the phenomeno-
logical aspect of the investigation by reference to Heidegger’s notions of ‘factical
life’ and facticity. This usage of terms related to life, leben, Erlebnis, is also an
instance of Heidegger engaging with philosophers of his period. Another instance
thereof can be found in the development of Heidegger’s views on logic and lan-
guage. Here, Heidegger is seen as engaging with Husserl’s but also Lotze’s views,
in particular when he formulates a phenomenological critique of judgment as the
site of truth (Courtine 2007).
In general, the interpretations of Heidegger that have integrated the writings of
his first decade into phenomenology  – and done this with a specific historical
sense  – have been written by authors who have published equally as much on
Husserl. This is the case for Dastur and Courtine, as mentioned above, but also for
Bernet (1994), who for his part explicates continuities but can also articulate criti-
cism of some of Heidegger’s positions, for example on the issue of the hierarchy of
temporalities in SZ.
Among the younger generation of phenomenological readers of Heidegger, the
work of Alexander Schnell stands out. Schnell (2005) argues that Heidegger’s
development through 1929 exhibits an almost unnoticed shift from the problem of
being to a phenomenology of world (which is then inherited by Eugen Fink). More
interestingly, Schnell (2010) analyzes the relationship between subjectivity and
temporality and develops an original conception of transcendental philosophy,
which he integrates with Heidegger’s phenomenology. Starting in the first Critique
and then working through the major authors of Classical German Philosophy,
Schnell emphasizes the function of notions of possibility in the definition of the
transcendental project, arguing that Heidegger’s phenomenological project (in addi-
tion to those of Husserl and Fink) attributes a central role to possibilization, or mak-
ing possible, Ermöglichung.

5 Phenomenological Critique of Kantian Reflection

via Temporality

If we were to now outline the phenomenological interpretation of Heidegger in

broad strokes, we might say that (1) it takes Heidegger’s goal to be ontology, in a
sense much more traditional than not, (2) it involves a form of phenomenological
method that is an extension of Husserlian method, (3) it construes this method as a
transcendental one, and (4) it engages Heidegger’s theory of time in depth, as the
culminating element of the phenomenological decade. In this final section I would
like to briefly outline an example of an active research project situated within the
genealogical reading, loosely construed, and conforming to the above features.
To begin with, we establish a philological basis: we are here limiting ourselves
to GA 21, Logic: The Question Concerning Truth, GA 25, Phenomenological
Interpretation of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, GA 3, Kant and he Problem of
118 H. Zangeneh

Metaphysics – the Kant readings from the phenomenological decade. Heidegger’s

Kant readings from the period of SZ have long been interpreted as an important
ingredient in the history of SZ. We propose instead to take the Kant readings as part
of the genealogy of the Kant-book, GA3 and not of SZ. By taking the systematic
treatise out of that development we can construe the 1929 Kant-book as an install-
ment in the project, promised in SZ, of a critical engagement with the history of
philosophy by way of the concept of time. The Kant-book is then an instantiation of
the destruction of the history of ontology that follows the guiding thread of tempo-
rality – which was promised in the introduction to SZ.
This modest philological reordering might seem inconsequential at first blush
but it opens novel implications in Heidegger’s Kant encounter. When we subordi-
nate GA3 to SZ, we can evaluate, or situate Kant, based on the argumentative frame-
work supplied by fundamental ontology, particularly with respect to the notion of
time. Based on the variety of temporalizations elucidated in division two of SZ
(authentic time, inauthentic time, the time of concern, common Now time), we can
reflect on the significance of Kantian thought having access to that particular tem-
poral conception which it employs. At a very basic level, this means that we would
read the Kant-book not as an interpretation but more as an argument in a systematic
context. Thus, we can wholly eschew the question of the soundness of Heidegger’s
interpretation. The importance of subordinating GA3 to SZ lies in the following.
The Kant-book (1929) contains substantially less detail in the analysis of temporal-
ity than does SZ (1927). This is not because Heidegger had abandoned that detailed
theory in 1929. Noticing exactly which instance of temporality from the SZ-account
recurs in GA3 makes the critical nature of Heidegger’s encounter clear. Heidegger
argues that in the Kantian context, very simply put, time is to be equated with the
Self. We then explicate which concept of time and what understanding of Self,
thereby refocusing attention on the critical dimension in these readings.
Throughout his interpretations of Kant (that is, in GA 21, GA 25, GA 3),
Heidegger develops a link between subjectivity and temporality. If we can expand
on this in detail as far as the temporal side of the subjectivity-temporality equation
is concerned, then we must also pay close attention to what is understood by subjec-
tivity in that equation. Our analysis of that claim, in all its manifestations, shows
that the sense of subjectivity invoked there bears profoundly idealist affinities. We
can show how Heidegger, in each one of his different engagements with Kant from
1925 to 1929, despite the differing interpretative routes he takes within the first
Critique on different occasions (again in GA21, GA 25, GA 3), each time, Heidegger
construes Kantian subjectivity in a manner which hearkens strongly back to idealist
conceptions. Previous commentators, hewing closely to Heidegger’s own stated
declarations, have emphasized the notion of finitude in these texts, and have thus
been prevented from affirming the idealist affinities of Heidegger’s Kant. Again,
whether the focus of Heidegger’s reading is on apperception as auto-affection or on
the imagination, whether he more deeply investigates the Transcendental Aesthetic
or the Schematism, the A deduction or the B deduction, and these are all variations
that occur between 1925 and 1929, in all readings, Heidegger emphasizes patterns
Heideggerian Phenomenology 119

of auto-position in Kant  – whether this invokes ‘positing’ (setzen) explicitly, or

renders positing through the lexicon of form (bilden, Bild).
As we mentioned already, Heidegger’s SZ presented a plurality of concepts of
time. Now, it is crucial to note that these different instances of time are not merely
a set of independent descriptions. Heidegger’s aim was not to catalogue the variety
of temporal experience. Rather, on Heidegger’s account, each notion of time has
some domain of validity or applicability. Furthermore, the various instances of time
exhibit relations of foundation and derivation amongst each other. Now, in the
course of our project we are able to identify the persistence of a specifically deriva-
tive temporality in Heidegger’s Kant interpretations – what he terms the temporality
of concern. We then recall that this is always occurring within a reading of Kant
(albeit unfolding along different textual routes). If the Kant readings, despite their
variety, keep linking a derivative temporality with a notion of the Self, then perhaps
this is because according to Heidegger’s SZ framework, Kant’s idealist standpoint
on the Self and Subjectivity can only lead to a derivative temporality. If the amount
of textual evidence pointing to an idealist Self in the Kant interpretations cannot be
overlooked, then the most plausible reading seems to suggest that, for Heidegger,
the Kantian philosophy of reflection, Reflexionsphilosophie, is limited to a tempo-
rality of concern.
With SZ as backdrop, we can claim that the instance of temporality which is
disclosed through Kant never accedes to what is termed authentic temporality,
namely running ahead-repeating-instant. Instead, the temporality of subjectivity is,
in all three of Heidegger’s approaches to Kant, a time derived out of Nows. This is
the case when Heidegger focuses on apperception, when he focuses on the three
syntheses of the A Deduction and when he focuses on the formative imagination.
While Heidegger’s three approaches show chronologically progressive depth, they
never break beyond the confines of the temporality of concern and of what he terms
‘common’ Now-time. Thus the lesson of the three Kant readings is that the philoso-
phy of reflection, the philosophy construing the self as idealist auto-position, is
bounded by and limited to the derivative time of concern and of the Now.
The argument of the Kant book as concerns temporality is not a modification of
the argument of SZ nor is it simply identical to it. It is rather, a deriving of the SZ
conception’s implications for Reflexionsphilosophie. Contrary to what might be
thought when the texts are lined-up strictly chronologically, authentic temporality is
not the absolute subjectivity of the idealist tradition. It is rather the ground of abso-
lute subjectivity.
The consistent evolution of the Marburg Kant-readings, from before SZ to after,
shows that construing these to be the culmination of SZ temporality is mistaken. The
idealist reading of temporality is fatally flawed hermeneutically. SZ is not a piece of
that development, rather the Kant-interpretation of the 1920s shows that the phi-
losophy of reflection is bound to the temporality of concern.
120 H. Zangeneh

References

Abbreviations of Heidegger’s Works

GA 58. (1993). Grundprobleme Der Phänomenologie (1919/20). Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann.

GA 59. (1993). Phänomenologie Der Anschauung Und Des Ausdrucks: Theorieder Philosophischen
Begriffsbildung. Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann.
GA 20. (1994). Prolegomena Zur Geschichte Des Zeitbegriffs. 3. durchgesehene Aufl. Frankfurt
am Main: Klostermann.
GA 60. (1994). Phänomenologische Interpretationen Zu Aristoteles: Einführung in Die
Phänomenologische Forschung. 2. durchgesehene Aufl. Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann.
GA 21. (1995a). Logik: Die Frage Nach Der Wahrheit. 2. durchgesehene Aufl. Frankfurt am Main:
Klostermann.
GA 60. (1995b). Phänomenologie Des Religiösen Lebens. Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann.
GA 25. (1995c). Phänomenologische Interpretation von Kants Kritik Der Reinen Vernunft: 3. Aufl.
Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann.
GA24. (1997). Die Grundprobleme Der Phänomenologie. 3. Aufl. Frankfurt am Main:
Klostermann.
GA 62. (2005). Phänomenologische Interpretationen Ausgewählter Abhandlungen Des Aristoteles
Zur Ontologie Und Logik. Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann.

Other Works

Arendt, H. (1978). Martin Heidegger at eighty. In Murray, Michael. Heidegger and modern phi-
losophy: Critical essays. Yale University Press.
Bernet, R. (1994). La vie du sujet: Recherches sur l’interprétation de Husserl dans la phénomé-
nologie. Presses Universitaires de France.
Biemel, W. (1976). Martin Heidegger: An illustrated study. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich.
Courtine, J.-F. (2005). Inventio analogiae : métaphysique et ontothéologie. J. Vrin.
Courtine, J.-F. (2007). La cause de La Phénoménologie. Presses universitaires de France.
Courtine, J.-F. (2013). Archéo-Logique: Husserl, Heidegger, Patocka. Presses universitaires
de France.
Dahlstrom, D. (1991). Heidegger’s Kantian Turn: Notes to His Commentary on the ‘Kritik Der
Reinen Vernunft’. The Review of Metaphysics, 45(2), 329–361.
Dastur, F. (1990). Heidegger et la question du temps. 4e éd 2011. Presses universitaires de France.
Dastur, F. (1994). Dire Le Temps: Esquisse d’une Chrono-Logie Phénoménologique. La Versanne
[France]: Encre marine.
Dastur, F. (1998). Heidegger and the question of time. Atlantic Highlands, Humanities Press.
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Dastur, F. (2004). La phénoménologie en questions. Problèmes et controverses, J. Vrin.
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Hermann.
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rality, finitude. Fordham University Press.
De Waelhens, A. (1942). La Philosophie de Martin Heidegger. Éd. de l’Institut supérieur de
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Engelland, C. (2017). Heidegger’s shadow: Kant, Husserl, and the transcendental turn. Routledge,
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Janicaud, D. (2001). Heidegger en France (Vol. 2). A. Michel.
Kisiel, T. (1993). The genesis of Heidegger’s Being and Time. Berkeley: University of
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Maly, K. (1995). The path of archaic thinking: Unfolding the work of John Sallis. State University
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McNeill, W. (1999). The glance of the eye: Heidegger, Aristotle, and the ends of theory. State
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McNeill, W. (2006). The time of life: Heidegger and ethos. State University of New York Press.
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The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan
Thought

Robin M. Muller

1 Introduction

Merleau-Ponty wrote prolifically throughout his life on psychology, aesthetics, and

politics, on pedagogy, physics, and painting. Between his appointment to the
Université de Lyon in 1945 and his sudden death in Paris in 1961—a copy of
Descartes’ Dioptrique on the desk in front of him—the survey of courses he taught
is dizzying in scope. For all its promise, however, the interdisciplinary nature of
Merleau-Ponty’s work, and the abruptness of its end, raises the question of how
these projects connect. The question is encouraged by Merleau-Ponty’s own notes,
which indicate that the book he was working on at the time of his death was meant
to return to problems left “insoluble” in Phenomenology of Perception (VI 200).
Did he hope for this work to supersede the Phenomenology? to correct for its false
start? to press on in the same direction?
That his career would be punctuated by this kind of ambiguity is fitting. Merleau-­
Ponty is, as de Waehlhens noted, a “philosoph[er] of the ambiguous” (SB xviii). We
emerge from his first major text, The Structure of Behavior, having undermined,
rather than clarified, productive oppositions between stimulus and response, cause
and effect, form and content, and Phenomenology of Perception blurs the boundar-
ies that separate conscious subjects from the world of objects that cannot think or
perceive. “Eye and Mind,” Merleau-Ponty’s last complete philosophical work,
seamlessly weaves Cartesian vision science and the metaphysics of painting. From
an interpretive standpoint, moreover, it would go against the spirit of Merleau-­
Ponty’s work to resolve these ambiguities: Though he does not name it until the
1950s, Merleau-Ponty strives to resist what he calls “bad dialectic”—that is, any
dialectical argument that culminates in a “final synthesis” (VI 143). In this sense, he

R. M. Muller (*)
California State University, Northridge, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 123

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_7
124 R. M. Muller

comes to see phenomenology as an ongoing interrogative process that never arrives

at a positive answer.
An effect of this method is, of course, that it introduces considerable difficulty:
Researchers hoping to find their footing by locating Merleau-Ponty in the history of
phenomenology will discover that he resists doing the kind of exegetical work or
textual commentary that would make clear how he views the tradition of which he
is a part, and without careful attention to the rhythms of the dialectic, it is easy to
mistake the views he means to undermine for his own. Moreover, since Merleau-­
Ponty’s task lies as much in muddying as in clarifying the scientific and philosophi-
cal problems within his own core areas of interest, we discover that certain key
terms—the body, perception, habit, movement, consciousness, nature—do not
exactly have the same sense by the time Merleau-Ponty has finished with them. An
effect is that otherwise opposing camps have been able to conscript Merleau-Ponty
to their side. Can we ‘naturalize’ Merleau-Pontyan phenomenology and so revolu-
tionize the sciences of mind,1 or is his concept of nature incompatible with contem-
porary natural or cognitive science?2 Is Merleau-Ponty an idealist, perhaps even of
a straightforwardly Kantian sort,3 or a realist?4 The ripple effects of these ambigui-
ties are evident in a scholarship now so fractious that we are sometimes left with the
impression that there is no single Merleau-Ponty, perhaps not even in the space of a
single text.5
My aim here is to offer a way out of these difficulties. Taking seriously a remark
Merleau-Ponty made in a 1946 interview—that his philosophy seeks to “escape
idealism without falling back into the naïveté of realism” (CPM 85)—I will argue
that everything from Merleau-Ponty’s ontology of nature to his interest in the psy-
chology of perception, from his aesthetics to his critique of Liberal politics, contrib-
utes to this aim. The method by which he arrives there, however, owes a profound
indebtedness, not only to Husserl and Heidegger, but—crucially—to the human-
ized, Marx-inflected Hegel of the French tradition, who came to Merleau-Ponty
through Jean Hyppolite and Alexandre Kojève. Understood through this lens, we
discover that Merleau-Ponty does not mean to endorse either the classical realism of
the natural sciences or an idealism of the transcendental or absolute sort, but to
show how the phenomena philosophy tries to lay hold of will always resist or escape
clarification in the abstract concepts handed down by the history of philosophy and
science. The result is a uniquely ‘aesthetic’ phenomenology, involving a process

1
 For the classic expression of this line of argument, though centering Husserl, see Petitot et al.
(2000); see also Dorfman (2013). For discussion of the problem of method for this project, see
Zahavi (2004), Smyth (2010), Moran (2013), and Cerbone (2016).
2
 See Morris (2013); see also Gardener (2017). For a critical presentation of this incompatibility,
see Baldwin (2013)
3
 See, e.g., Baldwin (2013); for the view that it is an “original” idealism, see also Gardner (2015);
cf. Pollard (2014).
4
 See Kelly (2007) and Allen (2019). See also Harrison’s essay in this volume, according to which
Merleau-Ponty’s position is a kind of perspectival realism (this volume)
5
 See, on this point, Hyppolite (at Pr.P 39), Gardner (2015).
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 125

Merleau-Ponty calls, in The Visible and the Invisible, “vertical history” (VI 186).
Properly practiced, a vertical history does not map out the linear progression of
events or ideas, but demands that we return to the things themselves—to embodied
perception, the political subject, nature, organic life—again and again, the way we
might return to an enigmatic poem or to a painting to catch it in a new light.
I want to approach this chapter in that Merleau-Pontyan spirit, returning to
Merleau-Ponty’s texts to center their ambiguity. I begin in §2 by addressing the
question of method, positioning Merleau-Ponty in the landscape of classical phe-
nomenology by focusing on his modification of Husserl. I then show, in §3, how this
modification could open up so many different interpretive possibilities, inspiring
radically different modes of interdisciplinary uptake in contemporary scholarship. I
then return to Merleau-Ponty’s own thought. In §4, I reconstruct the basic architec-
ture of his dialectical method and show where the transcendental status of ambigu-
ity uncovered by that method urges, for Merleau-Ponty, a fundamental rethinking of
the traditional categories of philosophy and science. I conclude, in §5, by consider-
ing the ‘unthought-of” in Merleau-Ponty’s thought, sketching where the idea of a
transcendental ambiguity could point toward new, and more radical possibilities for
phenomenology.

2 Approaching Merleau-Ponty: The Problem of Method

In the Preface to Phenomenology of Perception, Merleau-Ponty writes that the aim

of phenomenology is not to explain or analyze conscious experience, but to describe
it, with the goal of understanding what Husserl called “the natural attitude.” From
outside the phenomenological tradition, this approach seems peculiar. What does it
mean to understand something through description and not through analysis? And
to what extent does this involve, as Merleau-Ponty argues, a “disavowal of science”
(PP lxxi)? This is perhaps an odd demand for a philosopher who draws from sci-
ences ranging from physics to empirical psychology.
Initially, Merleau-Ponty avails himself of a Husserlian answer: Phenomenologists
should suspend or “bracket” any judgments about the objects of experience, facili-
tating a rigorous re-description of conscious experience that is, ostensibly, ‘theory’-
free. This move disavows science, then, only in the sense that it is a refusal to
pre-endorse the scientists’ account of the ‘reality’ of the objects of experience.
However, Merleau-Ponty also stresses the dependence of science on phenomenol-
ogy—a point he expresses by repurposing Husserl’s method of “reduction.” Whereas
the suspension of judgment, for Husserl, is supposed to identify the transcendental
pre-conditions of the natural attitude through a momentary reduction to “pure” con-
sciousness, Merleau-Ponty argues that it is always in the perceived world that any
kind of “understanding’ arises, including, he argues, Husserl’s understanding of
“pure” consciousness. On this view, a ‘reduction’ to the plane of pure conscious-
ness, far from helping to illuminate the conditions of possibility of experience,
126 R. M. Muller

would require us to artificially bifurcate those conditions by excising perceiving

consciousness both from the material body and from the world.
In proposing this objection, it should be stressed that Merleau-Ponty is making
two claims. First, he is identifying the world of lived perception as the ground of any
conceptual or cognitive understanding of the structures of conscious experience and
therefore as the world of which science—including a science of consciousness—
“always speaks” (PP lxxii). The rigorous descriptions phenomenologists pursue, he
argues, should therefore be of the “perceived world” in which we are always already
inserted—a prescription that loosely aligns Merleau-Ponty with Husserl’s “existen-
tial dissidents” (PP lxxvii), most notably Heidegger and Sartre. Second, however, he
is noting that this does not entail a repudiation of Husserl. To the contrary, locating
the source of our idea of pure consciousness in embodied, innerworldly perception
highlights the “most important lesson of the reduction” (PP lxxvii), which is that if
we bracket not just our judgments about the metaphysical status of intentional
objects, but also the world of lived perception from within which phenomenology is
practiced, we bracket too much. Merleau-Ponty concludes from this that the reduc-
tion—indispensable though it may be as a tool of the phenomenological method—
is, despite Husserl’s intentions, “impossible” to “complete” (ibid.).
There is considerable debate as to where the convergence of these points locates
Merleau-Ponty in the history of phenomenology. For some commenters (e.g.,
Dreyfus, 2005; Carman, 2008), Merleau-Ponty’s embrace of an existential method
of phenomenology represents a sharp break from the transcendental strategy pur-
sued by Husserl. For others (e.g., Heinämaa, 2013; Morris, 2013), it is a modified
continuation of it.6 Before I return to this difference below, however, I want to iso-
late two conclusions we might be tempted to draw from Merleau-Ponty’s own
method of “reduction.”
The first is this: that, despite Merleau-Ponty’s explicitly positioning his project
as an “escape” from idealism, it nevertheless remains idealist, as Searle puts it, “in
a rather traditional sense” (Searle, 2008, 125); after all, Merleau-Ponty ‘recasts’ the
reduction as a demand for a certain kind of self-critical perspective that is, qua per-
spective, still pursued from within perceptual experience itself. As we expect,
Merleau-Ponty will be adamant in resisting this charge. “To return to the things
themselves,” he writes, taking up the Husserlian slogan, “is absolutely distinct from
the idealist return to consciousness” (PP lxxii). His reasoning is that, if there is to be
some kind of unifying act on the part of the ‘subject’ (say, in a perceptual judg-
ment), there must already be the “spectacle” of a world demanding to be unified—a
spectacle, Merleau-Ponty argues, that always overflows our judgments about it (PP
lxxiii). He concludes that the world disclosed in perception cannot be the

6
 For a discussion of some of the ambiguities in Merleau-Ponty that point in these diverging direc-
tions, see Jack Reynolds (2017). As Reynolds notes, readings that tend to “deflate” or downplay
the transcendental dimensions of Merleau-Ponty’s thought are generally “more ‘analytic’ in orien-
tation” or are “the work of the more empirically-minded phenomenological philosophers who
engage very seriously with Merleau-Ponty.” Here, Reynolds names Hubert Dreyfus, Shaun
Gallagher, Evan Thompson, and Alva Noë (81).
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 127

construction of an insulated consciousness, but is material and real, comprising

stones and rivers, works of art and cups of coffee, all of which “motivate” me to take
them up, in perception or action, in multiple ways.
As I will suggest below, efforts to assess how successful Merleau-Ponty is in
wielding this discovery against the charge of idealism require us to first puzzle
through the issue of how, precisely, Merleau-Ponty and his critics are using that
term. But Merleau-Ponty’s own defense already invites a second temptation. For, as
Merleau-Ponty argues, this spectacle of the real is present to the perceiver thanks in
part to the ‘medium’ of the body. This emphasis makes it tempting to see phenom-
enological description as useful chiefly as an adjunct or even a corrective to tradi-
tional accounts of consciousness precisely because it enables us to properly highlight
the role of the body in perceptual and intellectual life.
Merleau-Ponty’s work on embodiment has indeed been put to productive use in
this way—including, most recently, in 4-E research programs in cognitive science.7
In fact, Varela et al.’s seminal introduction to enactivist psychology positions itself
as a “modern continuation of the research program … founded by Merleau-Ponty”
(Varela et al., 1991: xv). But this framing, I think, risks missing that, even if the
body is ‘infused’ with mindedness, or if “mind” is “rooted in” the body, the body is
not, for Merleau-Ponty, the Cartesian extended thing, encased in skin, any more
than “I” am an isolated “cabinet of consciousness” separable from my body.
Whatever we make of Merleau-Ponty’s uptake by cognitive science, in other words,
it is important to stress, first, that embodiment for Merleau-Ponty chiefly describes
the way in which the perceiving ‘subject’ is enmeshed in a world and that it is, sec-
ond, in embodied experience that she learns what and where her body is. Since
embodied perception always overflows the idea I have of my body, we cannot
ground a new science on the phenomenological discovery of the body unless we
first account for the way in which the body emerges as a body in my experience of
a material world. With the conjunction of these points, we arrive at the central ten-
sion—and, I argue, the crucial methodological insight—of Merleau-Ponty’s
thought.
Let us begin from the side of the tension: On the one hand, Merleau-Ponty has
argued that the world is present to—is present thanks to—the perceiving body. On
the other hand, he has argued that the world always transcends what is immediately
given. The objects in my milieu withhold their backsides from my view, even when
they “show” themselves to objects located elsewhere (PP 71); “my body as given to
me by sight is broken at the height of the shoulders” even though “I am told that an

7
 4-E research programs are those that stress (some or all of) the theses that “minds” are not sepa-
rable from the body, that mindedness can therefore extend beyond the boundaries of the skull, and
perhaps even beyond the boundaries of the physical body, in which case mind is defined in part in
terms of its modes of interaction with the surrounding environment, and last that the environmental
‘stimuli’ to which embodied minds are responsive are at least partly constituted by the agent (a
process of quasi-construction known as ‘enaction’). In sum, 4-E cognition is an umbrella term for
a family of views that treat mind as Embodied, Extended, Enactive, and/or Ecologically embed-
ded. For a range of discussions in this area, see Newen, de Bruin, and Gallagher (2018).
128 R. M. Muller

object is visible for others in this lacuna in which my head is located” (SB 213); my
life is bookended by a birth I cannot remember and a death I could never live
through. It appears, in other words, as if a “contradiction” is inserted “at the center
of philosophy” (PP 382). Merleau-Ponty formulates this contradiction as a ques-
tion: “How,” he asks, “can I be open to phenomena that transcend me” if these
phenomena “only exist to the extent that I take them up and live them” (PP 381)?
Rather than responding to this question, however, he takes it as a demand for phe-
nomenology: If perceptual experience ultimately discloses a fundamental—
Merleau-Ponty here uses the term “transcendental” (ibid.)—ambiguity, this is a
point we can appreciate only if we turn the phenomenological method on phenom-
enology itself. “To phenomenology understood as a direct description, a phenome-
nology of phenomenology” must therefore “be added” (PP 382).
What, exactly, does a phenomenology of phenomenology entail? It is sometimes
lamented that Merleau-Ponty does not fully develop this idea. It seems, neverthe-
less, that the phenomenology of phenomenology functions throughout his work as
a kind of hermeneutic principle that asks of the phenomenologist not only that she
suspend judgment about the objects of experience but also suspend the judgment
that the concepts deployed in the phenomenological attitude could ever be wholly
adequate to the experience they seek to describe. In this light, Merleau-Ponty’s
point about the incompleteness of the reduction takes on a different valence. What
it urges is not just a refusal to pre-endorse the explanations of conscious experience
furnished by the sciences and by so-called “common sense,” but also resistance to
the finality or completeness of phenomenological description. Merleau-Ponty’s
criticism of Husserl emerges in this light as ambivalent: He charges Husserl both
with going too far in the reduction, and with not going far enough.8 Too far, that is,
in supposing we could ever arrive at a plane of pure consciousness. Yet because
Husserl fails to ‘bracket’ precisely that presupposition when interrogating percep-
tual experience, he does not go far enough.
We can return with this ambivalence in mind to the idea of phenomenology as a
disavowal and continuation of science. As Merleau-Ponty writes in an evocative
analogy, what the phenomenologist uniquely grasps is that the world of knowledge
and ideas is dependent on the world of lived experience, much as “geography” is
related to “the landscape in which we first learn what a forest, a meadow, or a river
is” (PP lxxii). As he reads it, this dependence demands two things: first that we be
rigorous in ensuring that any science—indeed any body of knowledge—recognize
where it remains tethered to the perceived world out of which its organizing con-
cepts are abstracted, and second that we resist ever concluding that our bodies of
knowledge could wholly capture what can be said or known of that world. Merleau-­
Ponty’s method here emerges as essentially “open”: Just as the landscape is express-
ible as geography, so is it expressible in other ways—as a painting, for instance, or
in a poem. This principle of openness, moreover, applies just as much to the world
of perception as to the history of phenomenology: much as we return to Husserl’s

 For helpful discussion of this point, see Heinämaa (2002) and Smith (2005).
8
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 129

Ideas or to Heidegger’s Being and Time and find something new there on each read-
ing, the phenomenologist should return again and again to the “original text” of
“perception itself” (PP 22), not—importantly—to find out what it “really says,” but
to grasp what in it lends itself to a multiplicity of descriptions. It is this principle of
openness, I think, that is the definitive insight of Merleau-Ponty’s career.

3 Surveying the Scholarly Terrain

As we have seen, Merleau-Ponty transformation of the phenomenological method

signals his recognition of the ongoing, interrogative nature of phenomenology. But
it also presents an interpretive challenge: If Merleau-Ponty resists “final answers,”
how exactly can we make use of his insights?
That this is a significant challenge is evidenced first of all by the fractious and
often contradictory state of the philosophical scholarship on Merleau-Ponty, second
by the replication of those fractures in the interdisciplinary engagement with his
thought. For instance, Merleau-Ponty’s work has attracted interest in fields as wide-­
ranging as architectural theory (Locke & McCann, 2016) and animal studies
(Westling, 2014; Lestel et al., 2014); environmental thought (Abram, 1997; Cataldi
& Hamrick, 2007; Toadvine, 2009) and archaeology (Malafouris, 2013); physics
(Wiltsche & Berghofer, 2020) and psychopathology (Fernandez, 2018; Sheets-­
Johnstone, 2019), yet these fields often draw on very different, and sometimes
seemingly incompatible aspects of Merleau-Ponty’s work. They are encouraged,
moreover, by a scholarship that finds radically different arguments within the pri-
mary texts. My presentation so far has been intended to smooth over some of these
differences. But an important question concerning the aim and the unity of Merleau-­
Ponty’s method—Is there a turn in his thinking, and if so, where?—now emerges as
essential for justifying the pluralism of Merleau-Ponty’s legacy on philosophical
grounds.
From the outset, it must be stressed that the question of a turn in Merleau-Ponty
does not receive a simple “Yes” or “No” answer. Some scholars (e.g., Barbaras,
2005) emphasize apparent philosophical or methodological shifts that occur
between the completion of The Structure of Behavior in 1938, and the publication
of Phenomenology of Perception in 1945. Others (e.g., Evans & Lawlor, 2000)
locate an even sharper turn, perhaps away from the “humanism” of phenomenology,
in Merleau-Ponty’s later ontology. Against these discontinuous presentations, we
find scholars who emphasize—as I will—the unity of Merleau-Ponty’s thought. For
some, however (e.g., Foti, 2013; Landes, 2013), this is a thematic unity that may
demand a new start through the later, more explicitly metaphysical works, and for
others (e.g., Dillon, 1997; Morris, 2018), Merleau-Ponty’s work is both metaphysi-
cal and phenomenological from beginning to end. What these otherwise divergent
readings share, I take it, are two points: that the “early” and “later” Merleau-Ponty
are distinguished by sharp differences in style, and that the question of
130 R. M. Muller

Merleau-Ponty’s relation to other thinkers is complicated both by those differences

and by the openness of his method.
To appreciate these complications, let us first consider the question of Merleau-­
Ponty’s place within classical phenomenology. One debate in this area, which gen-
erally takes place at the intersections of phenomenology, philosophy of mind, and
cognitive science, is how far Merleau-Ponty is from Husserl. Does he mean to
include Husserl under the targeted heading of “intellectualism”—a family of views
that broadly correlate perception and judgment and which is painstakingly critiqued
throughout Phenomenology of Perception? If so, does he misread Husserl? These
questions do not only touch on the fate of Husserl in Merleau-Ponty’s work. They
speak directly to the originality of Merleau-Ponty himself, since many commenta-
tors who would include Husserl as a target of the critique of intellectualism (Hubert
Dreyfus, Francisco Varela) find gestures in Merleau-Ponty that point toward a radi-
cal new form of cognitive science the seeds of which others (Zahavi, Thompson)
already see in Husserl.9
One approach to resolving this question is historical. Part of Merleau-Ponty’s
charge of intellectualism is the failure to recognize the rootedness of thinking in the
body. Since Husserl makes the lived body a part of his thinking as early as 1907, the
extent to which Merleau-Ponty’s emphasis on embodiment is unHusserlian is there-
fore resolvable with close attention to these aspects of Husserl’s work and to what
Merleau-Ponty says of them.10 This approach requires attention to biography and
context. For instance, we know that Merleau-Ponty formed his appraisal of Husserl
in part on the basis of unpublished manuscripts housed in Louvain, where Merleau-­
Ponty conducted research beginning in 1939 (Van Breda, 1992). Thus, as Zahavi
(2002) has argued, scholars who compare Merleau-Ponty’s reading of Husserl only
to the “published” Husserl risk being misled.11 But the greater challenge for this
approach is that it requires getting clear on Merleau-Ponty’s actual appraisal of
Husserl’s thought. And this task is frustrated by Merleau-Ponty’s refusal to mine
philosophical texts for evidence of what they “really” say—that is, to engage in
what he dismisses as “philology” (PP lxxi). For just as we do not want to say defini-
tively that the text of the perceived world is limited to our propositional judgments
about it, neither, Merleau-Ponty argues, can we reduce the history of phenomenol-
ogy to a pile of books. By consequence, even in his more direct engagements with
fellow phenomenologists, such as his compelling re-reading of Husserl in “The
Philosopher and His Shadow,” Merleau-Ponty centers his efforts less on commen-
tary than on unearthing the “unthought-of element” in their thought (S 160).
Embracing this point, it might be offered that the very idea of a positive answer to
the question of the Husserl/Merleau-Ponty relation runs against the grain of
Merleau-Ponty’s conception of phenomenology.

9
 For discussion of the difference between these views, see, for instance, Thompson and Zahavi
(2007, esp. p. 83n2).
10
 For a range of approaches to this topic, see Toadvine & Embree (eds.) (2002).
11
 Zahavi specifically names Dillon, 1997 and Madison, 1981 as examples of this narrowed scope.
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 131

Initially, it appears as if we can sidestep this problem by narrowing the focus to

Merleau-Ponty’s place in the field of existential phenomenology. After all, as many
scholars note, there are clear affinities between Merleau-Ponty and other existen-
tialist thinkers, including Heidegger and Sartre. Each figure, for instance, shares in
the view that our orientation toward practical value takes precedence over detached
theoretical contemplation or deliberative reasoning and so each offers sharp cri-
tiques, not just of classical psychology, but of the internalist orientation of much of
contemporary analytic philosophy of mind.12 These criticisms are powerful regard-
less of whether or not they also target Husserl.
Stressing this shared line of criticism has been enormously fruitful. Pursuing a
Merleau-Pontyan alternative in the direction of embodied action, for instance, has
been instrumental in breaking down a number of boundaries between so-called
“analytic” and “Continental thought”13 and has inspired new research programs in
embodied and enactivist psychology. But this strategy comes up against a different
problem. For Merleau-Ponty also advances sharp criticisms of his fellow “existen-
tial dissidents,” affording a central place to certain phenomena—perception, life,
embodiment—that are conspicuously left out of the formal analysis of Being in
Being and Time14; in Phenomenology of Perception, he repudiates Sartre for over-
emphasizing human freedom, for failing to grasp, as Merleau-Ponty puts it, that “I
do not choose myself continuously from nothing” (PP 478). (More damningly, The
Visible and the Invisible includes an entire chapter charging Sartre with a dualism
Merleau-Ponty seeks to overcome [VI chap. 2].) Indeed, we see on closer inspection
that whether we stress Merleau-Ponty’s proximity to Heidegger and Sartre, on the
one hand, or his distance from them, on the other, we are pulled in contradictory
directions. Does Merleau-Ponty defend a non-conceptualist, pragmatic conception
of embodied action, or do we instead find resources in his early writings that gesture
in a more conceptualist direction?15
Strikingly, Merleau-Ponty’s refusal to give positive answers may light a way out
of the problem: as I will show in a moment, Merleau-Ponty ultimately means to
argue that any opposition between bodily habit and thought, between conceptual
and non-conceptual contents, between form and content, existence and essence,
matter and idea, must derive from a deeper ambiguity. If this is right, Merleau-­
Ponty’s most impactful contribution may well be that he enables us to move beyond
this kind of debate. But it is also here that the impression of disunity, and the diver-
sity of style in Merleau-Ponty, present an interpretive roadblock. His interest in
ambiguity, for instance, leads him to experiment with philosophical methods
(including the attribution of philosophical work to painting and poetry) and to

12
 See, for instance, Dreyfus (2002) and Dwyer (1990). For further work in this area that does not
necessarily stress these connections, see Romdenh-Romluc (2015) and Noë (2004).
13
 For more on this point, see Hass and Olkowski (eds.) (2000)
14
 For rich discussions of this issue, see Aho (2005) and Askay (1999).
15
 On this topic, see Bimbenet (2008). For a defense of the non-conceptualist reading, see, e.g., Noë
(2004), Carman (2008), Kelly (2001). For the alterative, see, e.g., Berendzen (2010, 2013) and
Matherne (2016).
132 R. M. Muller

introduce new ontological categories (including the quasi-Romantic conception of

a sense-generating nature) that are, on the surface, a poor fit for uptake in the ana-
lytic philosophy of mind. An effect is that the scholarship on Merleau-Ponty largely
continues to re-entrench certain intra-disciplinary boundaries. It is common, for
instance, to see Merleau-Ponty compared, approvingly, to thinkers as wide-ranging
as Wittgenstein and Deleuze, Peirce and Derrida, but rarely in the space of a sin-
gle work.
With respect to Merleau-Ponty’s interdisciplinary applications, these boundaries
are especially unfortunate. In the posthumous The Visible and the Invisible, for
instance, Merleau-Ponty names the deeper ambiguity he discovers “flesh.” This text
therefore affords a metaphysical status to an ambiguous “element,” “partway
between matter and idea,” that produces the supposedly opposing terms that struc-
ture much of the history of thought. At the same time, the currents of criticism in
that work, which run throughout his writings on aesthetics and ontology and are
directed, inter alia, against the phenomenological strategies of Husserl and Sartre,
make it tempting to see these later projects, and so Merleau-Ponty’s understanding
of ambiguity as a metaphysical category, as separable from the project of
Phenomenology of Perception. Noting this, it is common among philosophers of
mind to take on board Merleau-Ponty’s embodied and existential phenomenological
strategy without attention to the broader metaphysical implications of this thought.
The effects of this reverberate in other fields that have found productive use for
Merleau-Ponty’s embodied method of phenomenology.
Let me offer one example: I suggested above that Merleau-Ponty’s modification
of phenomenology has inspired a variety of new approaches to thinking about the
“embodied mind,” which has in turn transformed disciplines ranging from archaeol-
ogy (Boivin, 2008; Malafouris, 2013) to theater studies (Tribble, 2011). In the case
of archaeology for instance, Merleau-Ponty offers an alternative to ‘idealist’
research programs, which generally seek to reconstruct the intentions and values of
past human societies by analyzing symbolic or representational meanings preserved
in ‘inert’ matter, without this entailing a return to their positivist antithesis, which
had focused on the observable record. This can impact, for one, how the archaeolo-
gist conceives of her role: As Moyes demonstrates, an archaeological method that
centers the embodied practices of the archaeologist—wandering the landscape, con-
juring a field of sensory experience—can make newly accessible a living past that
overflows its material record (Moyes, this volume). It can also impact how we think
about the meaning of the record. For instance, as Malafouris and others have
argued—drawing from Merleau-Ponty and other phenomenological efforts to
rethink the boundaries between minds and the material world at the level of action—
a cognitive archaeology that looks ‘beyond’ the dualism of activity and passivity, of
matter and idea, can open new avenues in thinking about the evolutionary history of
mind by stressing the constitutive role of matter in shaping human cognition (see,
e.g., Malafouris, 2018). Considered in this context, we are urged to reconceptualize
a material artefact not as the reservoir of symbolic meanings and values, as if mean-
ing were stamped onto matter like words on a page, but as the effect of a bi-­
directional coordination between ‘mind’ and world’—a coordination in which the
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 133

environment considered in its materiality both constrains and motivates its own use
within human beings’ collective symbolic and practical activity.
But here is the concern: If cultural meanings and values are to be understood as
both motivated and constrained by non-human matter—if there is, in other words, a
kind of inchoate meaningfulness discernible in matter that is not, as Merleau-Ponty
argues, “posited by thought” (N 3)—are there certain claims about the metaphysics
of meaning we have to take on board? What does it mean, for instance, from a devel-
opmental perspective, to say that matter can actively “press back” on the mind in its
organic and social development?16 Does a material engagement framework enable
us to preserve the distinction between perceivers and the sensible world, or does
Merleau-Ponty’s ontology of flesh—an category meant to express the originary
mutual imbrication of mind and body and world—entail, perhaps, some form of
panpsychism?17
If we see Merleau-Ponty’s embodied methods as detachable from his ontology,
these kinds of questions about the metaphysics of meaning can remain unasked.
That is, they can remain beyond the scope of research for those for whom phenom-
enology is a practical apparatus above all else. Perhaps this is not to the obvious
detriment of those fields. Even without consideration of ontology, for example, we
see in archeology where the phenomenological framework brings to the foreground
certain aspects of the archaeological record—hesitation marks in knapped stone
(Malafouris, 2018), the color or texture of soil (Boivin, 2008)—that had not been
previously incorporated into our understanding of our cognitive pre-history. Yet to
proceed without raising these questions is to avoid probing a connection on which
Merleau-Ponty himself insists. Asked, for instance, whether his descriptions of per-
ceptual activity in Phenomenology of Perception—the basis for much of his endur-
ing impact on the phenomenology of mind—“entail the philosophical conclusion on
‘the being of sense’ which [he] … developed after it,” Merleau-Ponty answers:
“Yes” (Pr.P 116). Merleau-Ponty himself, in other words, rejected any separation
between his philosophy of perception and action, on the one hand, and his later
considerations on the metaphysics of meaning, on the other.
We return to our challenge: How can we pursue this connection when there is so
little scholarly agreement as to what Merleau-Ponty ‘actually’ thought? What con-
sequences follow from the idea of a consistency—beneath differences of style—to
Merleau-Ponty’s work? And last, how can we demonstrate the range of radical new

16
 While it is outside the immediate field of phenomenology, see, however, Barad (2007).
17
 These questions are not entirely ignored by those concerned with Merleau-Ponty and the phi-
losophy of mind. See, for instance, Thompson (2011) and Zahavi (2017)—both of whom argue for
the necessary preservation of an ontological distinction between the flesh of the perceiver and the
perceived. Discussions of the ontology of flesh, however, are more often pursued within the con-
text of Merleau-Ponty’s philosophy of nature or among those we might describe as Merleau-­
Ponty’s more ‘Continental’ interpreters. Thinking beyond these boundaries, for a range of views
on which an ontological distinction is crucially preserved within the category of flesh, see Dillon
(1997) and Dastur (2000). For the view that flesh may suggests some version of panpsychism, see
Abram (1996) and McWeeny (2019). For the view that panpsychism would be incompatible with
the first-person stance of phenomenology, see Toadvine (2005, 2007).
134 R. M. Muller

possibilities that follow from this idea? To answer these questions, let me engage in
a bit of “vertical history” returning to the question of Merleau-Ponty’s methodol-
ogy. My hope is that a reconstruction of Merleau-Ponty’s thinking here that presents
it in a single voice can make headway in breaking down the intra- and interdisciplin-
ary boundaries that fracture the field.

4 The Architecture of the Dialectic

Let us recall at this point Merleau-Ponty’s stated aim, which is to escape idealism
without falling back into realism. So far, these terms have been loosely defined. This
is no less the case in Merleau-Ponty, for whom they are sufficiently capacious as to
cover a range of thinkers from Skinner to Kohler, from Spinoza to Kant. This diver-
sity of representatives suggests, I think, that we should think of these terms less as
isolating specific positions than as capturing two ways to express the relationship of
a conscious subject and the environing world. “Realism,” in this context, encom-
passes a range of views on which it is the “world”—however conceived—that acts
on the subject; “idealism” emphasizes the construction by the subject of that world.
A desire to move “beyond” realism and idealism—whether this movement occurs
within philosophy or in contemporary science—is a desire to think beyond the dual-
istic language of activity and passivity, construction and impact through which these
positions are presented as alternatives.
Initially, the aim of thinking beyond realism and idealism closely aligns Merleau-­
Ponty with other thinkers of his generation, who, in their own way, saw those alter-
natives as precluding any genuine understanding of the relationship of consciousness
and world. We find this kind of framing, for instance, in Being and Nothingness,
where Sartre characterizes the challenge facing phenomenologists as the challenge
of finding “another solution” when, having “ruled out a realist conception of the
phenomenon’s relation with consciousness” as well as the “idealist solution … ,
[w]e seem to have closed every door” (Sartre 2018, 25). In his own career, however,
Merleau-Ponty begins this movement not within phenomenology itself, but by iden-
tifying a problem that conscious experience poses for natural science. The need for
a phenomenological methodology arises in this context out of the discovery that the
frameworks of “realism” and “idealism” are wholly inadequate to the human behav-
iors they seek to explain—an inadequacy that is evident only when close attention
is paid to the lived dimensions of conscious experience. As we will see, Merleau-­
Ponty’s deployment of this method affords a unique place in experience to the ‘natu-
ral’, ‘material’ world. In attending to materiality, for instance, he discovers that we
must think of the natural world not in terms of the “matter” of physical science, but
as the ambiguity of flesh—an expression that is meant to capture the way in which
material reality could be both the repository and the “Ur-sprung” of sense. It is the
conjunction of these points that unifies Merleau-Ponty’s otherwise scattered criti-
cisms of his fellow phenomenological thinkers, from Husserl to Sartre: Each of
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 135

these figures, he argues, has failed in different ways to see how phenomenology
emerges from a specific exploration “at the margins of science” (CPM 85).
There is any number of ways we could reconstruct the movement beyond realism
and idealism and so uncover Merleau-Ponty’s critical thought. In the spirit of a ver-
tical history, however, I want to begin, not (as Merleau-Ponty does) in the narrower
context of early twentieth century natural science, but with an experience that con-
tinues to animate philosophy today: the tingling of skeptical anxiety as it arises in
visual perception. Beginning here, I argue, lets us track throughout the history of
philosophy and perceptual psychology a series of competing explanations for that
anxiety whose shortcomings point, not toward a new or better explanation for it, but
toward a common way of misunderstanding its significance. I will then show how
Merleau-Ponty deploys this objection in order to unearth the ground from which
realism and idealism, activity and passivity appear for us as opposing terms in the
first place.

4.1 The Prejudices of Naïve Consciousness

Let us begin by adopting the position of “naïve consciousness,” which is roughly

synonymous for Merleau-Ponty with the “natural attitude.” In the case of visual
perception, what is distinctive of this attitude, for Merleau-Ponty, is the effortless
way in which my gaze alights upon objects and finds them “where they are” (SB
185). If I open my eyes and glance around my room, for instance, I will see, with no
special effort, the desk and the computer in front of me, or my pitbull, Marlowe,
who is curled up on the rug with a view of the hillside through my window. “I see,”
as Merleau-Ponty says—alluding to Husserl—“the things themselves” (VI 3).
If I like, I can next put this visual perception into words. As I do so, I will feel as
if I am recording the contents of a genuine reality. But then the tip of a tree branch
disperses and takes flight; I realize it was not a tree branch, but a gathering of black
birds. Whereas at first, I had such a vivid and immediate experience of closeness
with the world, I am now confronted with a question: If I can manage to get things
‘wrong’ in this way, how can I know that my experience is of things as they are?
Much like the experience of illness dissolves the otherwise tight connection I feel
with my body, this question threatens to unravel the perceptual threads that in my
everyday experience connect me to the world.
This feeling of untethering is important for Merleau-Ponty for two reasons. First,
unlike the everyday perceiver, who might shrug her shoulders, content to let this
peculiar experience recede into memory, the philosopher feels the tug of anxiety:
Without a theory of perception, she worries, how can I avoid entrapping myself in a
skeptical paradox? This is a worry for the philosopher, moreover, because, second,
when I try to put this feeling of unravelling, this shaking of my “perceptual faith”
(VI 3) into words, I discover those words are rife with ambiguities: When I say, for
instance, that “My eyes deceive me,” do I really mean to impute that deception to
my eyes—that is, to my perceptual system as a physical complex—or to my mind?
136 R. M. Muller

If I say that “I was misled,” do I mean with this peculiar grammatical construction
to signal a passive undergoing, or do I take myself to have performed some active
miscalculation? This problem constitutes, for Merleau-Ponty, the distinctive pre-
dicament of the philosopher, whose “distinguishing trait” is to possess “inseparably
the taste for evidence and the feeling for ambiguity” (IPP 17). The philosopher, in
other words, craves certitude precisely because she feels where it continually
evades her.
This characterization of philosophy underlies Merleau-Ponty’s reconstruction of
the history of perceptual psychology. That history, he argues, flees continually in the
direction of “certainty”, pursuing that certainty as a series of competing attempts to
‘correct’ the reports of “naïve consciousness” by resolving its ambiguities: Perhaps
error really arises at the point of bodily receptivity, as when catastrophic injury
affects the transmission of the sensory stimulus to perceptual consciousness. Or
perhaps the error is internal to perceptual consciousness, in which case there is a
range of views attributing that error to the process of assembling associated sensa-
tions or to the infinite scope of the will. If this is right, of course, then what we find
in this history is not, on Merleau-Ponty’s view, the work of genuine philosophy—
which would be marked, as he distinguishes it, by a willingness to make ambiguity
“a theme”—but instead the misleading efforts of a range of thinkers who are
“menace[d]” by ambiguity and strive to eradicate it (IPP 17). This framing thus
helps isolate what, for Merleau-Ponty, is the failure of the history of psychology: it
offers us a series of competing solutions to the problem of skeptical anxiety, which
are misleading, not because they are wrong, but because they are solutions.
This is, admittedly, a peculiar objection, so let us look closer. For it is essential
to appreciating its force that we isolate what was genuinely “naïve,” for Merleau-­
Ponty, on the part of naïve consciousness.
One tempting answer is to say that everyday perception is realistic, without
being realist. That is to say, the naïve perceiver is naïve in the sense that she has no
need for an underlying theory of perception at all. This kind of naïveté would
explain, then, why the everyday perceiver shrugs at an experience that sends the
psychologist in pursuit of a theory: to the former, the world displays itself to her
consciousness as if impacting her without any effort on her part—a feeling that
persists without her needing to explain or account for the nature of that impact. The
psychologist is not satisfied without such an account. But Merleau-Ponty wants to
preserve the perceiver’s “naïveté” in light of a deeper worry. The reason the perceiv-
ing subject does not have to choose among competing theories in her everyday
attitude is not that she remains naïvely uncommitted. She does not have to choose,
he argues, because each available explanation shares the same presupposition: that,
whatever misfiring of perception we discover, it arises from me and not the world.
Merleau-Ponty calls this shared presupposition “le préjujé du monde” (PP 5). When
he urges our return to the natural attitude so that we might replace the “naïveté of
realism” with the rigor of phenomenological description, it is this prejudice, this
unquestioned belief in a world to which the mind will adequate itself, that he hopes
to dislodge.
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 137

Let me take a moment to underline here that “le préjujé du monde” is a key
expression in Merleau-Ponty’s thought, rendered by Smith as the “prejudice in favor
of the objective world” and by Landes as “the unquestioned belief in the world.”
Each of these translations preserves (and each erases) different subtleties. I first
want to urge, then, that what is initially at issue for Merleau-Ponty is a prejudice in
favor of, or an unquestioned belief in the world and not a thesis about the world.
This is not because that belief has no metaphysical implications, but because those
who endorse it are not forced to make it explicit and so may not recognize it as a
thesis at all. Second, the expression captures what is, historically, a belief in the
world or a prejudice in favor of an objective world in the sense that that belief con-
cerns something—“the world”—understood to be distinct from the “subjective”
distortions of a perceiving mind. Merleau-Ponty calls this certitude about the objec-
tive world “objectivism.” It is this implicit and uncritical endorsement of a shared
objectivist framework that underlies, for Merleau-Ponty, the range of available posi-
tions—from the most realist to the most idealist—in the history of perceptual
psychology.
Admittedly, the idea that this otherwise varied history is animated by a single
presupposition is surprising. But consider, as one example, the opposition between
empiricist and “intellectualist” accounts of the epistemology of perception, whose
confrontation Merleau-Ponty stages in the Introduction to Phenomenology of
Perception. As is well known, these are diametrically opposing accounts of the
source of the ideas implicated in conscious perception, at least on a traditional pre-
sentation. Do the ideas that help structure experience come from nature via the
medium of the body, thus retaining their link to the sensible world, or are they there
innately thanks, as Descartes argues in the third Meditation, to nature or to God, in
which case they first arise in us without the mediation of the body? The conse-
quences of this dispute at first seem massive for the epistemology of perception. If
they come from nature via the body, for instance, then perceptual error has to arise
somewhere upstream of that transmission, in my process of association, maybe, or
in the projection of memories (PP chap. 2). But if they are there innately, the gap in
our experience would arise from the gap between the operations of judgment and
the contents delivered by sensibility (PP chap. 3). Merleau-Ponty argues, however,
that those who hold these opposing views do not actually disagree on the infrastruc-
ture out of which perceptual experience is built. In other words, both empiricism
and intellectualism construct competing ‘solutions’ from precisely the same com-
ponents, whose contours, whose appropriateness to the task, are never in question.
It is for this reason—and not because they are wrong—that Merleau-Ponty finds
fault with both of them.
So, what are these components? As I read Merleau-Ponty, he discerns in objec-
tivism four points. First, the conceptual resources from which objectivist theories
are built are in each case the same: they are consciousness and nature, passive body
and active mind. Second, each objectivist theory takes perception to be analyzable
into sensation, on the one hand (considered generally as the atomic content of expe-
rience), and idea, on the other (considered as the form of, or the form given to, some
relation of sensations). Third, each objectivist theory locates Nature at the ground
138 R. M. Muller

floor of perception, where—at both the empiricist and the intellectualist extremes—
it serves as a causally impactful external world of which the bodies and the ideas
that structure our perceptual judgments are the effect. Fourth, and finally, each com-
peting account shares the very same idea of nature: ‘Nature” is “a given nature” (PP
41) that is opposed—conceptually, ontologically—to consciousness or to mind.
These commonalities bring into view for Merleau-Ponty the overarching limitation
of objective thought: that, as he puts it, it “knows only dichotomies” (PP 50).
Armed with this discovery, we can now see why Merleau-Ponty returns to assess
the natural attitude and finds in it a kind of crisis. No theory pursued within objec-
tivist limits can resolve the skeptical anxiety, because those limits dissolve theoreti-
cal differences into a shared belief that is itself betrayed by the experience those
theories are supposed to ‘explain’. Objectivism, in other words, holds apart what
naïve consciousness experiences as a basic, ambiguously expressible contact with
the world and so leaves that contact perpetually out of our conceptual reach.
This discovery now sets us at the threshold of phenomenology. On the one hand,
in grasping that the original reports of naïve consciousness, in their ambiguous
fusion of active and passive, body and mind, get us closer to understanding lived
perception than any theory of perception that would resolve those ambiguities on
one side or the other, we have arrested that flight toward certainty that characterizes
the history of science. Yet we do not thereby give up our “taste for evidence,” which
the philosopher, Merleau-Ponty argues, must possess “inseparably” from her feel-
ing for ambiguity. The demand therefore emerges for a new, no less rigorous meth-
odology that will not only allow us to remain attentive to lived experience, but will
also equip us to make ambiguity “a theme” (IPP 17).

4.2 The Naturalist Thesis, the Idealist Antithesis, and Their

Synthesis in Phenomenological Ontology

We have set ourselves a specific task: to dislodge from the natural attitude any
uncritical belief in a “given nature” considered as the objective world external to
and independent of consciousness. If we are able to expose and overcome that prej-
udice, the ambiguous reports of naïve consciousness will appear less as problems in
need of resolution than as calling for attention on their own terms. As Merleau-­
Ponty shows in his early work, this turns out to be transformative for any science
that hopes to account for experience, since it means, as we will see, that that science
must be able to ground experience in neither matter nor mind, neither nature nor
consciousness, but in something ambiguous between these. On Merleau-Ponty’s
view, however, the centering of this ambiguity will not pull phenomenology wholly
apart from science, even as it undermines the implicit assumptions that have driven
the history of science. Instead, it is emblematic of what he calls “good ambiguity”:
that is, of an ambiguity that “contributes to establishing certitudes” (IPP 17) without
confusing these certitudes for final answers.
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 139

How do we arrive at this “good ambiguity”? The path, for Merleau-Ponty,

involves first of all ‘clearing’ away solutions to the problem of the relation of con-
sciousness and nature that are offered by realism—under the heading of “natural-
ism”—in the natural sciences and by the Critical idealism of neo-Kantian philosophy
of science. The interpretive challenge is then that this clearing is accomplished not
through direct criticism from a classically phenomenological posture, but through a
dialectical confrontation between those competing positions: his first goal is to
show how naturalism gives way to its idealist antithesis; the second is to demon-
strate where, in absorbing the ‘truth’ of naturalism, we are led, not to idealism itself
but to a phenomenological synthesis. In centering this dialectical strategy, we see
that the ‘phenomenological’ heritage Merleau-Ponty calls upon is quite diverse. He
unifies under that heading not just Husserl and Heidegger, but a range of thinkers—
Hegel and Marx, Nietzsche and Kierkegaard—whom he sees as urging us to think
beyond the choice of realism and idealism considered as an either/or.
To see why this broader heritage is significant, let us begin by looking more
closely at the first move. So far, we have come to see Merleau-Ponty’s desire to
avoid “falling back” into the “naïveté” of realism as an attempt to avoid the pull of
the objectivist prejudice. From the perspective of certain natural and physical sci-
ences, however, the pull toward the ‘objective world’ is straightforwardly appealing.
It is appealing in the case of a science of perception, for instance, because it enables
us to trace each perceptual judgment back to the certain reality of a law-governed
nature, whether nature is present in the ‘law’ that structures the basic operations of
rational consciousness (as in contemporary cognitivism) or as a residue in every
sensation (as we find in empiricist philosophy of mind). In this context, the furthest
empiricist extreme is represented by behaviorism, a framework that brackets “naïve”
consciousness entirely, counting as relevant only the observable effects of ‘con-
scious’ perceptions in the motions of the body. This is where Merleau-Ponty opens
his first major text, The Structure of Behavior.
From the behaviorists’ perspective, the decision to bracket consciousness has an
obvious advantage. By blocking appeals to consciousness, the scientist is purport-
edly granted access to a “bare” transaction in nature, enabling her to render ‘percep-
tion’ as it ‘really is’: a reaction of the body to sensory stimuli. Notice, however,
what is distinctive about the behaviorist strategy here: that it raises the prejudice in
favor of the objective world to an explicit principle. That is, it supposes it is possible
to purge from science any “feeling for ambiguity,” allowing the scientist to ‘explain’
perceptually guided behaviors without having to correct for the subjective distor-
tions of perceiving consciousness. In precisely this supposition, Merleau-Ponty
argues that the behaviorist betrays her own strategy: Any description—say, a
description of the motions of bodies—is necessarily of the object as disclosed to
perceptual consciousness. In presuming, then, that ‘natural’ events are “objectively”
describable in themselves, the behaviorist misses that her bracketing of conscious-
ness could never be “complete.”
I am framing the objection in this way in order to bring out one interpretive
thread, which is that Merleau-Ponty’s assessment of behaviorism mirrors a criticism
he later lodges against Husserl: Just as Husserl had presumed, on Merleau-Ponty’s
140 R. M. Muller

reconstruction, that we could gain access to “pure” consciousness by suspending a

thesis about the reality of its intentional object, the behaviorist proceeds as if she
could avail herself only of what is accessible in her object of study considered phys-
iologically—as if she could gain access to events of nature, in other words, by sus-
pending any contribution on the part of consciousness. In both cases, Merleau-Ponty
argues, it is impossible to complete this task. For instance, it is precisely in suppos-
ing that her object—bodily behavior—could reduce to a series of causal transac-
tions observable within physical nature that the behaviorist reveals she has not gone
so far as to suspend her judgment about the nature of the object itself. Perhaps
because of this parallel, Merleau-Ponty does not shore up this line of criticism by
juxtaposing behaviorism to a phenomenology considered under that name, but by
bringing into view certain behaviors that are inexpressible in behaviorist terms.
Let me offer an example. Consider the seemingly reflexive pain reaction that is
produced when I take a sip of scalding coffee and recoil. Were we to adopt the
behaviorist’s interpretive framework, we would have to insist that this ‘instinctive’
behavior consists in a bodily reaction. That is, it is causally provoked by certain
physical properties expressible, say, in the quantitative model of a Fahrenheit scale,
which properties belong to the stimulus considered independently of its impact on
my body. Merleau-Ponty would counter, however, that my reaction is equally
impacted by my expectation of what those properties will be. My expectation, for
instance, that the coffee will have cooled since I poured it precedes my reaction and
shapes it—even if there is no ‘real’ change in the temperature of the stimulus. What
is especially striking about this expectation is that it does not come to behavior in
the form of a propositional belief; it is carried by the body—as a certain tension in
my lips, for instance, and in the position of my tongue. Merleau-Ponty reasons from
this that the role of bodily anticipation in determining how the stimulus will show
itself to me undermines any description of the behavior as purely a reaction. At the
same time, it supports the behaviorists’ idea that behavior must be analyzed through
the movement of the body. This discovery urges him to reorient the study of behav-
ior in such a way that we can bring into view the entire “intentional arc” that dynam-
ically links the perceiving body to the perceived environment.
Through examples like this, Merleau-Ponty unearths new and distinctive phe-
nomena that are inexpressible in traditional natural scientific terms. It is here, for
instance, that we find his earliest gestures toward the concept of motor-­intentionality
and his first accounts of the ‘enactive’ role played by the body in the constitution of
its intentional object. These concepts have become central for enactivist, embodied,
extended, and ecological theories of mind, and through them for considerations of
embodied action from the philosophy of technology (Ihde, 1990) to the phenome-
nology of dance (Bergonzoni, 2017). Yet it is equally important that these phenom-
ena are also inexpressible in the language of idealist philosophy of science.
Merleau-Ponty’s primary goal is not to augment existing scientific or philosophical
frameworks through the simple addition of new concepts, but to show that those
frameworks as they are traditionally understood preclude the addition of the rele-
vant concepts, and preclude it in precisely the same way. For Merleau-Ponty, the
clearest way into this double critique is by staging a dialectical confrontation
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 141

between these competing frameworks and to show that this confrontation resolves,
not on one side or the other, but into a synthesis that is ambiguous between them.
This confrontation requires Merleau-Ponty to take up the neo-Kantian position in an
instrumental way.
What does this look like? As Merleau-Ponty reconstructs it, the relevant objec-
tion posed within neo-Kantian philosophy of science concerns the possibility of a
science pursued “without consciousness.” As the neo-Kantians argue, any assump-
tion on which behavior would be reducible to causal transactions within nature does
not, in the end, serve to exclude or bracket consciousness, but in fact to swallow
nature within it. “What we call nature,” Merleau-Ponty writes, “is already con-
sciousness of nature,” just as “what we call life is already consciousness of life” (SB
184). The idealist finds confirmation of this point already lurking in the realists’
own theories—returning to the clash between empiricism and intellectualism, for
instance, she sees that what unified these theories was precisely the same idea of
nature. While Merleau-Ponty takes on board the spirit of this objection, however, he
argues that the idealist way of cashing it out will not work. What naturalism objecti-
fies in fact, idealism objectifies as an idea (N 96). In other words, idealism explicitly
says that we do not have access to nature considered independently of human con-
sciousness, yet it shares with naturalism the assumption that consciousness and its
‘inner’ active operations are conceptually opposed to the idea of external nature
comprising causal forces and physical laws. Their apparently massive methodologi-
cal disagreement, Merleau-Ponty notices, now dissolves into a dispute regarding
which side of this dualism—the side of consciousness or of causal nature—an
‘objective’ science must prioritize. When Merleau-Ponty says that he wants to
escape idealism without falling back into the naïveté of realism, he means that he
wants a way out of this dispute. And we could just as easily frame his objective in
the inverse way: The aim is to resist the gravitational pull of realism without this
meaning we must go so far as endorsing idealism.
Before I look more closely at this point, let me pause to note three things. First,
Merleau-Ponty explicitly stages this dispute as one between naturalism in the sci-
ences and idealism in the philosophy of science. Yet contemporary philosophers of
science rarely subscribe to the kind of neo-Kantian position that plays the role of
“idealism” in The Structure of Behavior. It should be emphasized, for this reason,
that Merleau-Ponty’s target, as we just saw, is not any specific formulation of ideal-
ism so much as the division of nature as the “realm of law” from an autonomous
sphere of consciousness to which is attributed the work of imposing “order” or
“meaning.” As Rouse (2006) points out, the view from which he wants to “escape”
therefore includes not only transcendental idealism, but any constructivist position,
including those that attribute the imposition of form or meaning on matter to history
or culture. While it is originally presented as a confrontation between empirical sci-
ence and the idealist philosophy of science, the dialectic Merleau-Ponty stages here
applies equally to any discipline shipwrecked by disputes between realist or materi-
alist and idealist or constructivist frameworks. Indeed, throughout the 1940s and
‘50s, Merleau-Ponty reapplies this same strategy to disputes in anthropology, child
development, politics, even literary theory.
142 R. M. Muller

Second, while I have argued that we should hear the terms “realism” and “ideal-
ism” in the loosest sense—that is, as designating two different ways to organize the
relation of consciousness and its (natural or phenomenal) object—it should be clear
that the choice of behaviorism as the stand-in for realism in The Structure of
Behavior is not arbitrary. Just as the goal is to show, nourished by idealist criticisms,
that considerations of behavior cannot proceed without consciousness, a ‘science’
of consciousness that proceeds without consideration of the natural, material world
also fails. We discover this through a psychology that analyzes ‘experience’ in terms
of the material body. It is only in those moments that escape behaviorist description
that we discover a dimension of “consciousness” in which its distinction from any
‘object’—and therefore in which the boundary between mind and world—is
“obscured” (CPM 86). The force of this point is easy to miss, given the humanist
and existentialist directions of Merleau-Ponty’s thought, but a philosophy that
begins from the assumption that the reduction cannot go so far as to sever the per-
ceiver from her world has now emerged as one that also considers that world at least
partly in naturalistic, material terms.
If we mean to take this point seriously, then, last, the dialectical structure of
Merleau-Ponty’s strategy is especially significant. As a point about method, his
argument is reasonably described as indifferent to questions of ontology: Does it
matter whether we take the dualisms he undercuts—cause and effect, stimulus and
response, matter and idea—to be merely conceptual or whether we really take those
concepts to fail because they do not carve the world at its joints? What the Hegelian
legacy suggests, however, is that, for Merleau-Ponty, the purpose of any dialectical
process is not to find more data in experience so that we might resolve philosophical
conflicts on one side or another, but to reveal why those conflicting options have
appeared to us as the only alternatives. On his view, they appear to us as alternatives
because, remaining uncritically within the grips of objective thought, we know
“only dichotomies”; freed from that grip, we are no longer compelled to flee ambi-
guity. What this means for science is then that we can absorb what is “true” in both
realism and idealism and think beyond their apparent contradictions.
We have already encountered these truths. First, phenomenology must absorb a
“truth” from idealism: that we are always already ensnared by consciousness.
Merleau-Ponty argues, however, that the consciousness that ensnares us is a natural,
historical consciousness. This is because we must also absorb a truth from natural-
ism: that our ideas necessarily trace back to their origin in nature itself. Absorbing
both of these truths, Merleau-Ponty argues, requires a different ontology: the con-
sciousness from whose perspective we cannot escape must be an embodied con-
sciousness that resonates not just to values and ideas but to material meanings, or
sense. Conversely, the nature to which embodied perception connects and out of
which the body is formed cannot be the objective nature of externally impactful and
causally interacting things partes extra partes, but a nature in which sense—that is,
“the idea in its nascent state” (SB 206)—already inheres. A phenomenology that
embraces these truths will center on the living body, then, precisely because it is, for
Merleau-Ponty ambiguous between matter and idea. The very idea we have of the
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 143

body as bounded thing is a product that emerges from our dynamic bodily interac-
tions with the material world from which that body is formed.
If we take a step back here, I think, we are now in a position to glimpse the gen-
eral trajectory of Merleau-Ponty’s career: Establishing the phenomenological
method and bringing out how it must be centered on the body is a crucial task of The
Structure of Behavior and Phenomenology of Perception.18 Merleau-Ponty then
reanimates the question of method in his “late ontology” in order to uncover the
status of nature as the “auto-production of meaning” (N 3). This angle also enables
us to appreciate Merleau-Ponty’s interest in both empirical science and in poetry
and painting. As I have said, Merleau-Ponty’s concern is always to return to the
experience that empirical science attempts to explain, with the goal of re-describing
it. We have just seen that this means re-describing it without presuming that the
terms of our description, the ontological categories at our disposal, or even the
aspects of the experience those descriptions will have to try to capture, are limited
to those pre-endorsed by the history of philosophy or science. Indeed, what Merleau-­
Ponty discovers is ultimately that any term is outstripped by what is there in the
experience itself. Since this overflowing of experience, this refusal of the world to
obey conceptual boundaries, is a central concern of poetic metaphor and expressiv-
ist painting, he will come to see these as alternative ways of demonstrating the
dependence of our organizing concepts on a ‘real’ that always transcends them.19 It
is this feature of Merleau-Ponty’s thought that leads the philosopher Émile Bréhier,
in attendance at Merleau-Ponty’s 1946 lectures on the Primacy of Perception, to
note, somewhat ambivalently, that Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenology appears less as
philosophy than it “results in a novel” (Bréhier to Merleau-Ponty, PP 30).
To assess the significance of this comment, let us return once more to the percep-
tual scenario with which we began and re-describe it, centering the moments of
ambiguity Merleau-Ponty picks out.

4.3 Back to the Things Themselves

We are back in my office. I am trying to capture to the best of my descriptive capaci-

ties what it is like to perceive. To do this, I settle in my chair, lift my hands off the
keys and focus on the computer screen in front of me. I find that I can trace with my
eyes the various items in my perceptual field, carving them out one by one. There is
my screen, rimmed by the solid metal frame of my laptop, there is the desk it is rest-
ing on, lined with books set against the white plaster wall. As I continue surveying
the scene, I discover layer upon layer of complexity all the way out to the fuzzy
outer boundaries where I am sensing… something, a blur of color that is no color in

18
 See also “Cézanne’s Doubt,” published the same year as Phenomenology of Perception, in which
Merleau-Ponty attributes to Cézanne the desire to “depict matter as it takes on form,” and through
this to reconnect the “sciences” with the “nature” on whose “base” we “construct” them (SNS 13).
19
 For further discussion, see, especially, Carbone (2004) and Toadvine (2004).
144 R. M. Muller

particular, a hazy horizonal limit I cannot name. Something moves there. I turn my
head. It was a flick of Marlowe’s tail. I realize that no matter where I turn, my visual
field is always limned by a horizon where determinable perceptual objects seem to
bleed at their edges and evaporate away. This is not a limit in the sense of a hard line
I cannot cross, so much as a rich outer zone always potentially filled with things I
could access with a turn of my head. I realize, now, that I encounter this limit even
if I close my eyes to try to isolate the pure sensation of color; I only ‘see’ the point
of color against the un-bordered blackness of my eyelids. In the direction of com-
plexity and of simplicity, I come up against the indeterminacy of perception at the
edges of the perceptual field.
The first thing to isolate through this description is what Merleau-Ponty identi-
fies, following Gestalt theory, as the figure/ground structure of experience. This is a
central concept for the entirety of his thought, and in Phenomenology of Perception,
Merleau-Ponty uses it to undercut the basic building block of empiricism and intel-
lectualism: the atomic sensation. Since sensation, he argues, “corresponds to noth-
ing in experience” (PP 3–4), any theory that depends upon sensation rests on a
postulate we cannot use to recompose the experience it purportedly explains. He
also recognizes, with Gestalt theory, that the background against which the sensible
datum appears as a datum is always edged by a hazy and indeterminate border zone.
I cannot perceive the background, then, without its thereby constituting a bounded
figure and so ceasing to be the background.
For Merleau-Ponty, these reveal two things: First, returning to the experience I
have been focused on, if I were to engage in any kind of deliberate aspect shift that
could bring the background into focus (say, the plaster wall instead of the figure of
the books), I could do this only by making that background the figure of another
ground whose borders would then evade my perceptual grasp. Second, these shifts
are not only initiated by deliberate thought: Like rack focus in cinema, lived percep-
tion finds things come into relief and retreat into a blurry indeterminacy in accor-
dance with dynamic environmental demands and ongoing practical aims. As I sit
here trying to capture the character of visual perception, for instance, that aim brings
into focus the visible faces of things. But the feeling of hunger or a glimpse at the
title of a book on my desk might suddenly disclose to me aspects of the environment
I did not originally intend.
For Merleau-Ponty, these insights take us beyond the discovery of the structure
of experience and point to an ineradicable ambiguity at its center. As we have just
seen, what belongs to the background of any given experience may shift, but there
is always some background, and thus something indeterminate that is left “out of
view.” He counter-poses this point to Gestalt theory: It is possible to bring the fig-
ure/ground structure into view as the “essential” structure of perception, only by
backgrounding the material support in which the idea of form originally inheres. Or
more plainly: We can have the idea that structure is constitutive of meaningful per-
ception only if that idea (viz., structure, form) is an ideal that has been abstracted
from a range of material grounds. The promise of a genuinely “self-critical” phe-
nomenology—one that never forgets the rootedness of ideas in the world on which
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 145

they depend—now becomes the promise to see the “structure” of perception as one
expression of the original unity of matter and form.
Merleau-Ponty reaches for different terms to express the original fusion—what
he calls the “transcendental ambiguity”—of form and content over the course of his
career: “Actual structure,” “sense,” “lived body,” “flesh.” In each case, Merleau-­
Ponty sees his emphasis on ambiguity as distinguishing his approach, not just from
Gestalt theory, but also from those pursued, on some readings, in Husserlian tran-
scendental phenomenology and Heideggerian fundamental ontology. Yet the insight
is relevant beyond plotting the diversity of phenomenological research. When I turn
this point against my original description, for instance, I discover that the ambigui-
ties uncovered in visual perception left me barely cognizant of other ambiguities as
ambiguities: the fuzzy connection where I end and the chair begins, which is not
given to me until I feel a pain emanating from my tailbone, the fact that this object
holding down my papers does not appear as a water glass until the tickle of thirst is
in my throat, the admixture of chance and circumstance that place me here, at this
desk, in this room, in Los Angeles—even the peculiar intertwining of vision and
other sense modalities that I express, perhaps inadvertently, when I say, glancing at
the window, that it looks as if it is warm out. What I now realize is that I am not
capturing perception in itself here so much as I am mining an experience for what in
it is relevant to the phenomenon—in this case, visual experience—I am trying to
describe. Whatever I do, that phenomenon always outstrips my descriptions.
This is a point about phenomenology, as we have seen, but also about the idea of
interdisciplinarity: different disciplinary engagements with the same phenomenon
will necessarily carve it out from the background in different ways. It makes no
more sense to rank their results in terms of their access to the “real,” than to say that
my desk’s woodiness is more real than its being the desk from my childhood bed-
room. Recognizing this, the apparent contradictions in Merleau-Ponty scholarship
appear, perhaps, less as contradictions than as different ways of carving figures from
the ambiguities Merleau-Ponty unearths in his work.

5 Returning to the Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought

In an unpublished text, Merleau-Ponty speculates that the “insolubility” of certain

problems in Phenomenology of Perception likely stems from a failure to appreciate
what he calls the ambiguity of sense. The worry, he says, is that “the study of per-
ception could only teach us ‘bad ambiguities’,” which he understands, roughly, as
an equivocation between opposites. The later ontology, by contrast, will strive to
found these in a “good ambiguity”: a foundation that “gathers” oppositions—mind
and body, “past and present, nature and culture” together “in a single whole” (Pr.P
11). In this last section, I want to point toward some of the possibilities opened up
by a return to the question of the figure/ground structure in Phenomenology of
Perception in light of this concern.
146 R. M. Muller

Let’s go back one final time to our description. Since we are closer at this point
to the material dimension of the experience, one thing I might grasp, which I had not
centered before, is that I cannot fully understand the interplay of figure and back-
ground except in a framework that includes the active body: The indeterminacy of
the perceptual field, after all, does not mean that aspects of that field are indetermin-
able, but the perceptual determination of a figure always involves, at a minimum, a
movement of the body—the turn of my head toward the flash of color, the darting of
my eyes along the borders of the computer screen, which carves it out from the
background of the plaster wall. Even the fact that I am sitting at my desk and not on
the couch by the window means that items in my visual field show this face to me
and not others—presentations that would change were I to lean ever so slightly in
this or that direction.
From the intention of developing a “theory” of perception, this simple centering
of the active body makes clear the gap between perception and judgment: As I move
my head to the left or right, for instance, the coffee mug will cease to be perceived
as a coffee mug before it will slip out of view. One thing that has been especially
productive in Merleau-Ponty’s work, then, is that his objections to intellectualism
also stress what belongs to that “gap.” Specifically, intellectualism misses that,
before I can perceptually determine an object as this or that thing, I must first par-
ticipate in a process that makes it perceptually available. In the language of phe-
nomenological biology, I “enact” it. Let us follow this thread.
We encountered enaction earlier as an ongoing interchange of body and world,
as an ambiguous concept partway between activity and passivity. In that context,
enaction was introduced in order to undercut the behaviorist reduction of behavior
to reaction. It is equally important that there is nothing ‘unnatural’ about it. Consider
the case of an animal’s perceptual responsiveness to the environment. As we have
seen, the behaviorist would want to characterize this responsiveness as the reaction
of the animal body to a causal impact from the outside. But the animal’s perceptual
system had to evolve to be naturally responsive to those environmental ‘stimuli’ and
not others. If we want to say that the animal remains ‘passively’ responsive to exter-
nal impacts, then, we must also admit that the animal’s responsiveness is shaped by
the evolutionary history of the species, which molds its perceptual system through
a process of development that unfolds from the ‘inside’. As Merleau-Ponty argues,
the animal’s responsiveness is thus equally describable through the lens of activ-
ity—as the organism “selecting” its stimuli in accordance with its evolutionary role.
With this admixture of activity and passivity, inside and outside—with this nesting
of the organism within a situation within a developmental phase within the natural
history of a species—the organism evades considerations as either robotic performer
of a biological law or as the continuous production of pure freedom. And we are not
limited to finding the “good ambiguity” of active productive and passive reception,
of freedom and constraint, in the body of the organism. There are traces of it every-
where, from the Chartres Cathedral (Boivin, 2008, 156ff.) to the quantum world
(Barad, 2007).
In his early work, Merleau-Ponty names the ambiguous fusion of freedom and
law normativity. Moving beyond the context of animal behavior and into the
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 147

so-called ‘human order,” he then shows, in Phenomenology of Perception, where

perception, considered as ambiguously ‘enactive’, infuses both the perceiving body
and the perceived world with normativity in such a way that when I perceive an
‘object’ in my visual field, I do not only find what in it is relevant to my biological
being, but perceive it through the lens of “what one does” with things. When the
dryness of my throat motivates me to lift my hands from the keys and respond to my
thirst, for instance, what is illuminated by this intention is the glass of water to my
right and not the puddle of rainwater on the patio. This is a kind of cultural ‘knowl-
edge’ I carry in my body; I do not have to choose the tap water over the rain puddle,
I simply reach for the glass. (There are, as many readers note, close connections
here between Merleau-Ponty’s interest in practical value and the central consider-
ations of American pragmatism.20).
Merleau-Ponty’s fusion of body and mind, of freedom and determinism, re-­
centers normativity in the psychology of perception and the science of behavior. But
what is left out here? One answer is that Merleau-Ponty does not seem to appreciate
the diversity of lived experience among human bodies, especially those we can
describe, following Garland-Thompson (1996), as “non-normate”: How, for
instance, does the ‘disabled’ body experience a world that does not afford it the
same bodily opportunities?21 Merleau-Ponty’s conception of the body also seems
indifferent to the race or gender of those bodies. Young points out, for instance, that
Merleau-Ponty has little to say directly about how gender could inform one’s sense
of the body as situated in space (cf. Young 1980). And what might it mean at the
level of lived experience to be persistently seen as an object and not the subject of
experience?22 For someone so concerned with materiality, is there not a peculiar
blindness in Merleau-Ponty to the material differences among bodies?
These are important questions, though it is equally important that they are not
Merleau-Ponty’s. His approach explicitly re-formulates the traditional concept of
intentionality as essentially bodily—something only appears as a figure against the
background of a world disclosed to a bodily ‘subject’—but the importance of the
cultural and historical meaning of the body across social categories is not part of
that approach.23 This is a strange lacuna, since Merleau-Ponty also argues that in
order to theorize intentionality as the unity of subject and object, I must first grasp
the origin of those categories in both individual and cultural history. Yet precisely

20
 See, for instance, Gallagher (2009). This interpretive tradition is initiated by Dreyfus and pur-
sued also, most prominently, in Carman (2008). See also, in this spirit, Dwyer (1990). For a clear
line of objection to this approach, see, for instance, Heinämaa (2010).
21
 The literature on Merleau-Pontyan approaches to disability often points both to the limitations
and the latent possibilities of Merleau-Ponty’s thought here, given his centering of the body. For a
range of approaches to this topic, see Joel M. Reynolds (2017); Weiss (2015); Salamon (2006), and
Ahmed (2019).
22
 See Beauvoir 1949/2011 and Fanon, 1952; for further work in this direction, see also Alcoff
(2006), Lee (ed.) (2015). See also Leboeuf (this volume), who argues that phenomenologists must
not only consider questions of race or gender, but also their intersection.
23
 See, on this point, Irigaray “The Invisible in the Flesh,” in Irigaray (1993). Cf. Chanter (2000).
148 R. M. Muller

that concern for origins, when coupled with Merleau-Ponty’s understanding of the
figure/ground structure, may point toward radical possibilities for an answer to the
question Merleau-Ponty does not pose. Let me turn to that now.
Consider first that in Phenomenology of Perception, Merleau-Ponty unearths the
origins of the subject-object categories in perception itself. When I make contact
with the environing world, for instance—when I pick up the water glass or shake
another’s hand—it is these points of contact that ‘teach’ me the boundaries of my
body. On this view, the lived body is the condition of possibility for my awareness
of my body as sheathed in skin. If we broaden our phenomenological scope beyond
this immediate moment of contact, however—a moment already richly discussed in
the literature on habit and the body-schema24—we recognize that even the body
sheathed in skin is not purely a physical thing. It is, as Merleau-Ponty puts it in The
Structure of Behavior, the “acquired dialectical soil” (SB 210) on which an inter-
twining of nature and culture is preserved. If the object is only an object against the
background of bodily subjectivity, in other words, the bodily subject is only a body
against the background of a nature intertwined with human history.
If we take Merleau-Ponty’s ontological commitments seriously, he is already
trying to show how our conceptual categories bear traces of this material history.
This must reasonably include categories—of race or gender, sexuality or ability—
consigned to the background of that history. Working in this spirit, and at the outer-
most horizons of phenomenology, Spillers (1987) has argued that what
Merleau-Ponty would call “the flesh of history”—though she does not explicitly
reference Merleau-Ponty—functions as a “zero-degree of social conceptualization”
(Spillers, 1987: 67) in which a dominant culture marks out some bodies as subjects
and conceals others under other (racial, gendered) categories.
Yet we do not have to take up this broad historical perspective to bring this point
out. Consider that, when I grasp a water glass or the hand of the other and I feel the
faint line, that centripetal limit, that distinguishes what is me from what is not me, it
is this limit that Merleau-Ponty argues I idealize as the “subject”-“object” distinc-
tion. Yet this is only an idealization, he tells us, since the line ‘separating’ what is
me from not me can shift. Just as my hand held in front of me can function as the
perceivable object, and so occupies the objective pole of my perceptual field, so can
the car I am driving, the pen I am holding, recoil “on the side of the subject” (Pr. P
5). In this context, we discover both that embodied experience is the origin of the
subject-object distinction and an experience within which the clarity of the lan-
guage of “subject” and “object” begins to break down.
There are two points about the figure-ground structure to be detangled here. One
lesson Merleau-Ponty underlines is that the subject/object structure is reversible.
Much in the same way that my body can become an object for me—when, for
instance I hold my hand out to count the bones that appear as so many ridges under
my skin—so can material things (a pen, a notebook) be taken up into the sphere of

24
 See, for a range of discussions, Moran and Jensen (eds.) (2014); for a conceptual discussion of
the “body schema,” see Gallagher (1986).
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 149

subjectivity; there are resonances in this reversal, as commenters have noted, of a

theory of “extended mind.”25 Yet it is equally important that this reversibility is fig-
ured against a far more stubborn background. When I hold my hand in front of me,
try as I might to spread my body between the subjective and objective poles to their
breaking point, nothing I do can make it so that I not perceive that hand as belonging
to me in a way that other objects in the perceptual field do not. In the perpetual slip-
page between my body as the subjective and objective aspects of a unitary experi-
ence, what cannot be ‘reduced’ away is my always being located somewhere.
Merleau-Ponty thus describes embodiment as an original opening or perspective
necessarily limned by the indeterminate sphere of “situational spatiality” (PP 102).
This space, he argues, functions like a “vague reserve of power” for every perspec-
tive my body could take up: It is “the darkness of the theater required for the clarity
of the performance, … the zone of non-being in front of which precise beings, fig-
ures, and points can appear” (PP 104.). It is the constitutive background. So, what
would it mean to bring this background into view?
In one sense, the “vague reserve of power” in Merleau-Ponty’s own work remains
underthought. When he refers to it, it is often to say how forcefully it is kept out of
view. As he writes in “Film and The New Psychology,” for instance, “the idea we
have of the world would be overturned if we could succeed in seeing the intervals
between things—the space between the trees on the boulevard—as objects and,
inversely, if we saw the things themselves—the trees—as the ground” (SNS 48–9).
But he does not reject the possibility of this “overturning.” His interest in Cézanne’s
expressivist landscape painting, for instance, is an interest precisely in the fact that
Cézanne paints these intervals and reawakens “wonder” at the world.
Perhaps this movement from phenomenology toward painting is too hasty, too
evasive of the political dimension of “overturning” the “idea we have of the world.”
This is a point Sara Ahmed (2006) explicitly takes up: returning to descriptions of
experience in Merleau-Ponty and other classical phenomenological thinkers, for
instance, she uncovers where their work is dependent on a background that can
remain ‘invisible’ to them only because of the (gendered, racialized) labor per-
formed to keep it out of view. What they do not see, she argues, is, moreover, the
way in which that background is a reserve of sedimented values that guide behavior
by orienting bodies in “the right way.” Playing around with the phenomenological
concept of “orientation,” she finds radical opportunities here for “queering”
phenomenology.
In a different spirit, Fanon writes in Black Skin, White Masks (1952) of his expe-
rience existing in that stubborn background—that “zone of non-being”—using phe-
nomenological resources to describe the “extraordinarily sterile and arid region” to
which Black existence is historically consigned (Fanon, 1952: xii). Picking up on
this language, the frameworks of Afro-pessimism and Black nihilism offer radical

25
 See, for instance, Zavota (2016).
150 R. M. Muller

opportunities to think racial identity through the lens of constitutive exclusion26—

that is, in terms of bodies and ways of being that, thanks to the force of violence and
history, are held in the background, in the “reserve of power” of dominant bodily
subjects. To return to Merleau-Ponty here, perhaps what he has left unthought is not
just the status of “non-normate” bodies, but also how anything like a variable
“reserve of power” belongs, as a reserve, only to certain kinds of historically and
culturally constituted subjectivities. If Merleau-Ponty’s method is “open” in the
way that I have argued, a critical interrogation of the cultural and historical “back-
ground”—in the past as well as the present—should be understood as inseparable
from the practice of phenomenology itself.

6 Conclusion

In this essay, I have chiefly presented Merleau-Ponty as a thinker of ambiguity. The

goal has not been simply to translate his work into a more ‘approachable’ idiom, but
to understand the philosophical motivations for its difficulty: In order to overcome
the roadblocks in any discipline—politics, linguistics, anthropology, physics—it is
necessary first to break free from the objectivist prejudice that resolves both the
object of inquiry and the process of inquiring onto on one side or another of a
dichotomy.
There are countless dichotomies Merleau-Ponty confronts over the course of his
work: stimulus and response, cause and effect, body and mind, matter and idea,
essence and existence, nature and history. These terms function like puzzle pieces
out of which most of philosophy and the natural and human sciences have been
constructed. The concern for phenomenology is then that the various positions into
which these have been constructed have never been fully adequate to experience
itself because the world of experience—whatever its metaphysical status—always
escapes or spills over the boundaries that separate those concepts. In one sense, this
desire to think beyond dualisms puts Merleau-Ponty in conversation with certain
obvious methodological cousins, from the pragmatists to Bergson and Deleuze. But
it has also led him beyond the traditional limits of philosophy itself. Expressivist
painting, for instance, does not strive to reproduce the sharp lines that separate cat-
egories or other abstract concepts but to express their ambiguity. It is important to
underline that this is not, for Merleau-Ponty, a way to turn away from a more rigor-
ous philosophy. The philosopher must possess both a feeling for ambiguity and a
taste for evidence and possess them “inseparably” (IPP 17).
The approach, of course, has certain limitations. It forces us to recognize,
for instance, that in carving up experience in any way, I cut it off from a

26
 For an overview of Afro-pessimism, see Gordon et al. (2017); see further discussion in Gordon
et al. (2017) and Slaby (2019); on Black nihilism, see esp. Warren (2018).
The Landscape of Merleau-Pontyan Thought 151

background—perceptual, historical, personal—that partly constitutes it. A perspec-

tive that is not narrowed in some way or another is impossible. But what his dialecti-
cal strategy uncovers bit by bit is an ontological category inexpressible in the
dualistic conceptual framework of either traditional philosophy or science, one
“partway between matter and idea,” accessible only to a method—phenomenol-
ogy—that gives ultimate status to neither.
Appreciating this last point will prove useful, I hope, in two ways. It is useful,
first, for navigating the sometimes overwhelming landscape of Merleau-Pontyan
thought. I have drawn out his method, for instance, through the contrast of phenom-
enology and science, but I have also suggested that we find the same argumentative
structure repeated elsewhere: The autonomous subject of classical Liberal politics is
an abstract ideal that forgets the materiality of the body that gave rise to it. The adult
who conceives of herself as wholly independent misses how she is wrested from her
bodily intertwining with the body of the mother only via a developmental process
that inserts her into the fabric of culture and history. Even phenomenology, Merleau-­
Ponty reminds us, cannot be reduced to what Husserl or Heidegger have said of it
without reducing its history to a paradox. Second, it helps us appreciate Merleau-­
Ponty’s commitment to phenomenology, considered as an ongoing process that can
return to those phenomena again. Its project is unfinished, and so invites its own
critical turn, not because of Merleau-Ponty’s untimely death, but because of the
nature of phenomenology itself.

References

Abbreviations of Merleau-Ponty’s Works

PP Phenomenology of perception. Trans. Donald Landes. New York: Routledge, 1945/2013.

Pr.P The primacy of perception. Trans. William Cobb. Evanston: Northwestern University
Press, 1964.
SNS Sense and non-sense. Trans. Hubert Dreyfus and Patricia Dreyfus. Evanston: Northwestern
University Press, 1992.
SB The structure of behavior. Trans. A. L. Fisher. Boston: Beacon Press, 1942/1963.
VI The visible and the invisible. Trans. Alphonso Lingis. Evanston: Northwestern University Press,
1964/1968.
CPM The contemporary philosophical moment. In The Merleau-Ponty reader, ed. Ted Toadvine
and Leonard Lawlor. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1946/2007.
N Nature: Course notes from the Collège de France. Trans. Robert Vallier. Evanston: Northwestern
University Press, 2003.
S Signs. Trans. Richard McCleary. Northwestern University Press, 1964.
IPP In praise of philosophy. In In praise of philosophy and other essays. Trans. John Wild.
Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1988.
152 R. M. Muller

Other Works

Abram, D. (1997). The spell of the sensuous: Perception and language in a more-than-human
world. Vintage Books.
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Beyond “Dreydegger”: The Future
of Anglo-American Existential
Phenomenology

Patrick Londen

Although there are many philosophers responsible for introducing phenomenology

to philosophy departments in the United States and United Kingdom (e.g. Charles
Taylor and Richard Rorty), arguably none has been as broadly influential as Hubert
Dreyfus (1929–2017). It may not be too much of an exaggeration to claim (as some
have; see Kelly, 2005), that the reading of Heidegger taught in most philosophy
departments in the English-speaking world is some descendent of Dreyfus’s
Heidegger—or “Dreydegger” as it is sometimes called. This portmanteau is at once
a term of endearment and of derision. The union of the two thinkers represents some
of the best of Dreyfus’s personal contributions to philosophy: the willingness to
look to philosophical texts of the past for insights that can help untangle current
theoretical problems; and the boldness in appropriating and reimagining the think-
ing of one of the most influential thinkers of the past century. But the term also
stands for a certain style of reading texts in the history of philosophy that, some
argue, gives short shrift to the historical context of the thinking that went into it, the
life and legacy of the philosopher who wrote it, and most starkly, the original inten-
tions of the text itself. As Marjorie Grene, a contemporary and colleague, remarked,
Dreyfus “purveys his Heidegger, not wholly uncritically, but with deep intellectual
passion and undoubted pedagogical brilliance to all—hundreds a year—who come
to listen, and uses that Heidegger, in turn, for his own philosophical purposes”
(Grene, 1976: 33).
I have argued (with Mark Wrathall) that the approach to phenomenology inaugu-
rated by Dreyfus is better described as “Anglo-American Existential Phenomenology”
for its fusion of pragmatist and analytic currents in academic philosophy with exis-
tential approaches to phenomenology, as found in Heidegger, Merleau-Ponty and
others (Wrathall & Londen, 2019). We identify a number of core commitments or

P. Londen (*)
UC Riverside, Riverside, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 157

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_8
158 P. Londen

claims that characterize Dreyfus’s philosophical teaching and writing, as well as a

collection of views put forward by his many collaborators, colleagues, and students.
In this chapter, I build on that proposal by examining the challenges and pros-
pects of this ongoing research program. My goal is not to present a history or a cata-
logue of this view, or family of views, but to lay out its internal logic, with an eye to
the gaps in that logic and areas that stand to benefit from further philosophical
investigation.
Let me start by listing these core commitments:
1 . The Primacy of Practice thesis.
2. The paradigm for understanding practice in general is highly skilled, fluid coping.
3. Ontology is contained in background practices.
4. A meaningful life comes from taking a stand on one’s existence.
Broadly construed, the Primacy of Practice thesis holds that practical engagement,
agency, or doing is in an important sense more fundamental to human life than theo-
retical engagement, cognition, or knowing. The most basic way we have of finding
ourselves in a world, of relating to others and to ourselves, is by acting in the world
rather than thinking about it.
This thesis is a response to a traditional view about the kind of intelligence that
characterizes human understanding. A traditional view in the history of philosophy,
which Dreyfus, following Heidegger, traces at least back to Descartes, holds that
knowledge and cognition are basic to human understanding, and that intelligence is
modeled on reflective thought (Heidegger, 1962, 44; Dreyfus, 1972, 147, 1991, 3).
Practical engagement, on this view, involves representing both the stuff we engage
with and what we are doing in that engagement. This capacity to represent the world
and what we are doing is taken to involve our “higher” faculties of reasoning and
knowing. Thinking of practical engagement along these lines often leads to explana-
tions of human activity in terms of beliefs, desires, intentions, and causal connec-
tions among these states.
The Primacy of Practice thesis seems to invert this relationship. What is basic,
Dreyfus argues, is not the experience of being a detached observer reflecting on
one’s mental states. Rather, we manifest our intelligence primarily in skillfully
responding to the world, or as Dreyfus says, in “coping” with it, without that engage-
ment being mediated by mental states that represent the world. As Wrathall puts it,
“So rather than starting from cognition as the primary locus of intelligence, and
building out to an account of action, Dreyfus starts with the premise that skillful
activity itself is the consummate form and foundation of human intelligence, and
derives an account of cognition from coping” (Wrathall, 2014, 3).
But the Primacy of Practice thesis is not just the inversion of the traditional view.
Dreyfus insists that it would be a mistake to construe Heidegger’s commitment to
the primacy of practice as the claim that the tradition views two ways of relating to
objects, one practical and the other theoretical, and that the issue concerns which
comes first. “Heidegger does not merely claim that practical activity is primary,”
Dreyfus explains; “he wants to show that neither practical activity nor contempla-
tive knowing can be understood as a relation between a self-sufficient subject with
Beyond “Dreydegger”: The Future of Anglo-American Existential Phenomenology 159

its intentional content and an independent object” (Dreyfus, 2014, 77). The problem
with the traditional view is that it regards all manifestations of human intelligence,
including skillful practical activity, in terms of the relation between an intellect and
a world that is the object of its representations. The Primacy of Practice thesis holds,
more precisely, that practical engagement has its own kind of intelligence distinct
from that of the intellect and that the form or structure of intelligibility manifested
in practical engagement is basic to human experience, and the form of intelligibility
native to cognition is derivative.1
This thesis thus assumes that cognition and practical activity, respectively, are
embodied in attitudes with distinct forms or structures. The idea is that attitudes like
believing and desiring, understood as native to cognition, make recourse to proposi-
tions, whereas basic practical engagement in the world is not faithfully expressed in
these kinds of attitudes. For example, when I enter a room with a crooked picture
frame and am moved to adjust it, we might understand what I am doing in terms of
the mental states of belief and desire: I might believe that the frame is crooked and
want to fix it. The belief that the picture frame is hanging crooked on the wall
involves being in a certain relation to the proposition that this picture frame is hang-
ing crooked on the wall or to the meaning of the sentence that expresses that fact.
The desire to make the picture frame parallel to the ceiling and floor has a similar
propositional structure, in wanting it to be the case that the picture frame be parallel
to the ceiling and floor. This point about attitudinal structure is that much of our
ordinary practical engagement in the world, as we experience that engagement for
the most part, is not best captured by these kinds of attitudes. The claim is that when
I enter a room with a crooked frame and am moved to adjust it, I don’t need to rep-
resent the states of affairs identified in the above-mentioned propositions. The atti-
tude responsible for making the adjustment need not be identified by these
propositions and my way of relating to them. Instead, I can be drawn to make the
adjustment by my grasp of the whole context in which the frame stands out as
crooked and needing adjustment. What I experience in this case is an invitation or a
solicitation to make a certain adjustment; that’s what strikes me when I enter the
room in this case. This view of practical engagement draws from Heidegger’s con-
ception of understanding as a kind of know-how and his analysis of everyday equip-
ment as ready-to-hand (available for use), Merleau-Ponty’s conception of
motor-intentionality, and ecological views in perceptual psychology, especially the
concept of affordances developed by James J. Gibson.2 This kind of attitude, which
is operative when things stand out as directly soliciting my engagement with them,
has a different form from the attitudes that involve representing states of affairs in

1
 This follows William Blattner’s formulation: “I have maintained that Heidegger’s early philoso-
phy embraces a thesis that I call “the primacy of practice,” namely, that the intelligence and intel-
ligibility of human life is explained primarily by practice and that the contribution made by
cognition is derivative” (Blattner, 2007: 10).
2
 Being and Time, The Phenomenology of Perception, Gibson’s The Senses Considered as
Perceptual Systems (1966) and The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception (1979).
160 P. Londen

the way sketched out above. The Primacy of Practice thesis is the claim that the
former attitude is basic and the latter derivative.
Before raising some questions about this thesis, let me first review the second
core commitment, which is closely related to the first. While the Primacy of Practice
thesis concerns the relationship between the form of intelligibility manifest in
everyday practical engagement and that manifest in the cognitive attitudes, the sec-
ond core commitment concerns which model of action is taken to be the paradigm
for practical engagement. We can contrast Dreyfus’s preferred model of action—
“coping”—with a more traditional philosophical model of action. We can call the
traditional model “deliberative action” (following Wrathall, 2015, 194). On this
model, action proceeds from a judgment about what to do, made on the basis of
reflection or a process of rational deliberation. Typically, this involves careful con-
sideration of what one wants to do or what one’s ends or goals are in acting, as well
as the courses of action one believes will satisfy those desires or ends. This process
is characterized by the formation of an intention to act which constitutes the agent’s
reasons for acting and represents the conditions of satisfaction of that activity. This
model of action places rationality and reflection at the heart of agency. What it
means to act well is to act rationally—that is, to act in light of what one judges to be
a good reason to act, and this judgment is epitomized in the conclusions of delibera-
tive reasoning.
By contrast, what Dreyfus identifies with the term “coping” is a form of activity
that responds immediately and fluidly to solicitations to act within a given practical
context. Everyday activities that rarely issue from acts of rational deliberation, like
getting dressed in the morning or navigating a crowded supermarket, fall within this
model of action. When we are coping at our best in these activities, we do so without
any explicit sense of effort, responding intuitively to the unfolding of circumstances
without having to stop and think about our desires or ends, what is needed in order
to satisfy these, or otherwise needing to represent the conditions of satisfaction of
this activity. “Highly skilled, fluid actions,” Wrathall explains, “are experienced, not
as the deliberative outcome of my aims and desires and beliefs, but as being drawn
out of me directly and spontaneously by the particular features of the situation,
without the mediation of occurrent mental or psychological states or acts”
(2015, 195).
According to this second core commitment, coping is taken to be the paradigm
for practical engagement generally. On this view, action that flows from rational
deliberation, far from being exemplary of consummate action, is actually the hall-
mark of a defective practical engagement. It is only when I am not directly and
fluidly responsive to the ways the practical situation solicits me to act that I am
forced to consider explicitly what I am doing or trying to do and what reasons I have
for so acting. This doesn’t mean that fluid coping is rote, mechanical, or insensitive
to meaningful changes that affect appropriate responses. On the contrary, fluid cop-
ing is meant to embody skills that are highly sensitive to the nuances of the situa-
tion. In developing the coping model, Dreyfus drew not only from his reading of
German and French phenomenologists, but also from observations and empirical
work on expertise: experts, Dreyfus argues, are precisely those who are able to
Beyond “Dreydegger”: The Future of Anglo-American Existential Phenomenology 161

respond in highly skilled and nuanced ways to a range of situations in their domain
of expertise without having to stop and think about what they are doing.3 Careful
deliberation, then, is characteristic of the early stages of learning a skill, when the
skill is still new and has yet to be mastered. This model of expertise is meant to carry
over into the everyday activities of navigating the world, which we often don’t think
of as domains of expertise but with which we are often highly adept. The need to
deliberate might arise when a given situation fails to present a clear possibility for
action, or when one’s competence in a given domain is not up to what the situation
demands. Such cases of “breakdown” often require more explicit consideration of
one’s desires, beliefs, and whatever thinking is needed to get back into the flow
of action.
These first two core commitments raise a number of questions for this school of
thought. A question raised by some of its proponents is whether there really is a
clear distinction between cognition and practical activity. Some have critiqued the
“unthinking” character of many forms of practical expertise based on empirical
evidence (see e.g. Montero, 2013, 2016), or argued that thought itself is a kind of
activity that requires phenomenological investigation of the sort that the ordinary
habitual activities have received (Braver, 2013). Others argue that cognition
enhances our ability to act skillfully in many ways: making judgments, reflecting,
and deliberating can reorient us to the practical situation so that we are in a better
position to respond fluidly. So this phenomenological approach to action should not
construe thought to be inimical to fluid coping.
Another question concerns the nature of the dependence relation asserted in the
Primacy of Practice thesis: in what way is cognitive intelligibility derivative of prac-
tical intelligibility? There are at least two ways to understand this claim. First, we
can understand this as the foundational claim that the cognitive attitudes are made
possible by the practical attitude operative in fluid coping; this is the claim that the
cognitive attitudes are grounded in or are explained by practical engagement.
Second, we can understand the Primacy of Practice thesis as also including a genetic
claim—that the cognitive attitudes arise out of a modification of a pre-existing prac-
tical attitude; this claim asserts a particular developmental story about the origins of
the cognitive attitudes in experience. According to the genetic claim, we first engage
in coping, responding immediately and skillfully to the solicitations of the environ-
ment. “At some point,” Dreyfus explains, “because of some breakdown, or just
through intrinsic interest, I may come to focus on some aspects of this navigational
know-how. I may begin to classify things as ‘obstacles’ or ‘facilitations,’ and this
will change the way I live in the world” (Dreyfus & Taylor, 2015). By focusing on
particular features of the environment, I can isolate these features from the context
in which they have their practical significance, transforming my mode of engaging
with the world: “analytic attention brings about a radical transformation of the
affordances given to absorbed coping. Only then can we have an experience of

3
 Hubert Dreyfus first developed his account of skill acquisition and expertise working with his
brother Stuart, starting with a report for the Air Force Office of Scientific Research at the University
of California, Berkeley. See Dreyfus & Dreyfus, 1980, 1986, 1987.
162 P. Londen

objects with properties, about which we can form beliefs, make judgments and jus-
tify inferences” (Dreyfus, 2014, 123). While the foundational claim is the one that
is central to the Primacy of Practice thesis, the genetic claim is often taken to be
included in this thesis because the foundational claim is often justified by appeal to
the genetic claim: it’s because propositional attitudes like believing and desiring
only arise out of a modification of the pre-existing and ongoing practical attitude
that we have support for the claim that those propositional attitudes are grounded in
the more basic practical attitude. The problem with this strategy is that defending
the Primacy of Practice thesis would then require an account of how exactly those
propositional attitudes, or their intentional contents, emerge from skillful coping.
Furthermore, even with such an account, there is the additional question of how this
genetic account is supposed to support the foundational claim at the core of the
Primacy of Practice thesis.4
Attempts to justify the foundational claim independently of the genetic claim
raise further concerns. One of the reasons offered to think that cognition is a deriva-
tive mode of intelligibility is that practical intelligibility is too fine-grained to be
expressed in propositional terms: the seasoned boxer, for example, is able to respond
to incredibly nuanced and subtle cues in her opponent’s movements that she would
not be able to express fully in a declarative sentence. Another putative reason is that
fluid coping is too indeterminate to be adequately captured by propositional or sen-
tential attitudes, or by the conceptual apparatus that comes with logical analysis of
these attitudes. Finally, the fact that attitudes like belief are taken to be in principle
available to explicit thinking is sometimes offered as a reason to think that highly
skillful exercises of practical expertise, the nuances of which are often not explicit
even to the expert, are thus more basic than those cognitive attitudes. These strate-
gies often appeal to Heidegger’s critique of the pervasiveness of the subject-­
predicate form of judgment, and the linguistic structures that judgment embodies
(Heidegger, 1962, 196). But the model of judgment that is the target of Heidegger’s
critique does not match up with more recent conceptions of the propositional and
sentential attitudes that do not rely on this predicate logic or instantiation in a natu-
ral language sentence (for this argument, see Golob, 2014). There are prominent
views on which one can believe things for good reasons “without being able to say
what those reasons are” (Harman, 1973, 28) and in which propositions or their
equivalents can be as fine-grained or as indeterminate as can be.
Nonetheless, one potential strategy for establishing a dependence relation
between basic practical intelligibility and the cognitive attitudes is to point to the
apparent logical structure of those attitudes. A feature of mental states is that their
representational contents are isolatable from the attitudes that are directed toward

4
 Dreyfus credits Samuel Todes (1969) for providing an account of the “transformation of the
embodied, involved attitude into the disembodied, spectatorial attitude” and notes that Todes is
committed to the view that “embodied perception is more basic than disembodied thought”
(Dreyfus, 2014, 100–101). Yet Dreyfus also cites Todes’s claim that in these two kinds of attitudes,
“We have two irreducibly different ways of experiencing things… Neither capacity is derivable
from the other” (Todes, 2001, 201; cited in Dreyfus, 2014, 102).
Beyond “Dreydegger”: The Future of Anglo-American Existential Phenomenology 163

those contents. As Gilbert Harman puts it, “The belief that Benacerraf is wise, the
hope that he is wise, the fear that he is wise, and the desire that he be wise are all
about Benacerraf, and all represent him as wise. The difference between these men-
tal states is a matter of the difference in the attitude they represent toward
Benacerraf’s being wise” (Harman, 1973, 57). Using Merleau-Ponty’s vocabulary
of motor intentionality for basic practical intelligibility, Taylor Carman notes,
“[W]hereas the propositional contents of cognitive attitudes are detachable or
abstractable from the psychological attitudes in which they are embedded, motor-­
intentional content is constituted by and dependent on the concrete exercises of
bodily skill they inform and govern” (Carman, 2013, 175).5 So while a defining
feature of propositionally structured mental states appears to be the separability of
those attitudes from their representational content, a defining feature of coping or
motor-intentional attitudes is the inseparability of those attitudes from their “con-
tent” or meaning. The goal of the Primacy of Practice thesis would be to show not
just that thinking about the world requires first engaging in it, but that our ability to
treat the content of our acts of thinking and judging as independent from those acts
themselves requires identifying that content in terms of the ways we engage in and
with the world. If, furthermore, there is reason to doubt that it makes sense to think
of a propositional content or thought in the absence of an attitude that is directed
toward that content, then there may be room for arguing that we need an account of
the constitutive relation between our intentional attitudes and their content. The
account of practical, embodied engagement may be able to provide an account of
this constitutive relation between intentional attitude and intentional content. But
more work would need to be done to show how this constitutive relation applies in
the case of practical engagement, and how this informs the relation between inten-
tional attitudes and their contents more generally.6
The third core commitment of this school of thought flows from the extension of
the model of fluid coping within a particular domain of expertise to practical engage-
ment in a world more generally: just as we can be experts in particular domains like
cooking, dancing, or chess, we are generally already experts at being in a world.

5
 Here Carman (2013) is characterizing Sean Kelly’s (2002) strategy, but he does so in order to
endorse it. While both Kelly and Carman point to the attitude/content or force/content distinction
to argue for the Primacy of Practice thesis, neither clearly distinguishes that argument from those
that depend on the claims that propositional attitudes are not fine-grained enough, too determinate,
or too tied to explicit thinking to capture basic practical intelligibility.
6
 There is one more central question raised by the first two core commitments of this school of
thought, which concerns the coping model specifically: if fluid coping does not require represent-
ing success conditions, what establishes the kind of normativity that guides this form of activity? I
don’t go into this question here, because this question is treated in more detail than I can here in
(Wrathall & Londen, 2019). In brief: Dreyfus appeals to Merleau-Pontyan notion of having maxi-
mal grip on the situation (or of forming an optimal whole or Gestalt with the situation, so that
solicitations to act are directly met with the appropriate response). Action in this context is guided
by a sense of maintaining this optimal self-world gestalt, by way of felt tensions as one deviates
from this gestalt. We still need more of the details of this picture to get a better account of the
normativity of action on the fluid coping model.
164 P. Londen

Just as our understanding of what there is and what we are doing in a particular
domain consists not in our beliefs about that domain or objects in that domain, but
in our ability to navigate that domain skillfully, the same can be said of our under-
standing of the world and our place in it more generally. Thus the third core com-
mitment: ontology is contained in background practices. If we think of our
being-in-the-world as a kind of practical engagement that is in the background of
more particular domains of practical engagement, then our understanding of that
broadest of domains consists in our ability to navigate skillfully within it. This
means being able to tell what ways of engaging are appropriate or inappropriate
given the social and normative constraints that structure one’s engagement in that
domain. Thus background practices (of being a body in a world, or of living with
others) manifest and reinforce our understanding of what entities are and the kind of
being they have. When I engage in a practice like shopping for groceries, I comport
myself in distinctive ways when perusing the aisles, or paying at the register. In
doing this, I’m also participating in and reinforcing an ontology—an understanding,
for example, of groceries, or of what it means to be a human being. My comport-
ment as I walk down the supermarket aisle expresses my recognition of grocery
items as food, just as my interaction with the person at checkout expresses and
reinforces my understanding of what it means to be a human being. To understand
these categories of entities means seeing how they function within the practices in
which they have meaning as the things they are. And like the objects on the super-
market shelves, the ontology of the entities of nature as they are studied by the natu-
ral sciences are also wrapped up in our practices. (For a model of natural science
that construed its objects as functions of their role in scientific practices, see
Haugeland, 2000, 2013).
To say that ontology is “contained” in background practices could entail one of
two competing metaphysical theories, namely that background practices give us
access to the entities we interact with, or that they constitute these entities. Thus this
third core commitment about ontology makes room for both realist positions (that
there are entities that have determinate structures that are independent of us and our
practices; see Carman, 2003; Dreyfus & Taylor, 2015) and idealist positions (that
entities do not have these independent structures; see Blattner, 1994, 1999).
Whereas there has been a healthy debate on the ontology of the objects of natural
science in this school of thought, on the topic of social ontology there is still con-
siderable room to grow. Of particular interest would be an ontology of some basic
categories of identity, including race, gender, and sexuality. Although examples are
often given that make use of the idea of what it means to be a woman, or Japanese
vs. American (Dreyfus, 2013), the implications of the larger model of ontology has
yet to be explicitly thematized in relation to these social categories. To wit: given
that our understanding of what entities are is expressed in our ability to navigate
practices in which they play a role, what are race, gender, or sexual orientation? An
articulation of background practices for which race, gender, and sexuality play a
shaping role—practices that are surely more pervasive than is typically recognized
in much of philosophy—could offer a compelling account of the ontology of these
categories. Such an account may prove quite valuable given some of the
Beyond “Dreydegger”: The Future of Anglo-American Existential Phenomenology 165

alternatives. For example, essentialist views about race and gender often involve the
claim that there is a fact of the matter concerning these categories that could be
stated and understood independently of the practices in which these categories make
sense. On the other hand, social constructivist views are sensitive to the historical
and social conditions that give rise to these categories, but these views generally
provide accounts of where these categories come from or how they function rather
than what these categories are.7 A pragmatist and phenomenologically sensitive
view of ontology that views ontological categories as they are expressed in our
practices, like that offered by the Dreyfus school, may offer some compelling
answers to the relevant ontological question about these social categories, if there
are those willing and able to develop these accounts.
The last core commitment concerns the broadly ethical dimension of human life,
namely that a meaningful life comes from taking a stand on one’s existence. This
claim is broadly ethical in the sense that it concerns how one should live, but the
claim springs from the previous core commitment concerning ontology. Many of
the background practices that shape our basic understanding of entities and of our-
selves are pervasive but are themselves contingent. Since it is in these background
practices that we can come to understand what it means to be, say, a human being,
this understanding is itself contingent. This reflects the fact that human existence is
fundamentally contingent, finite, and vulnerable, that our lives are deeply marked
by our mortality and our place in human history, and that our basic frameworks for
understanding the world and ourselves can change, fade, or collapse. Recognizing
this contingency and vulnerability, in who and what we are, is essential to finding
meaning and purpose in our lives. On this view, more traditional sources of meaning
that come from things that are eternal and unchanging are ruled out: metaphysical
construals of God, the afterlife, the eternal soul, or immutable structures of experi-
ence are incompatible with the ways we understand human life from within our
contingent practices.8 One assumption on this view is that the recognition of the
contingency and vulnerability of one’s meaning-giving practices can itself be a
source of meaning: an individual can sometimes “sense that their culture’s finite
understanding of what is meaningful and worthy is not grounded in reason or God
but depends on them, so they devote themselves wholeheartedly to articulating the
culture’s current understanding of being” all while remaining open to “the vulner-
ability of their current understanding of being” (Dreyfus, 2017, 70). It’s in part
because of the recognition that my basic framework for understanding myself and
the world is itself contingent and vulnerable that I can invest that mode of under-
standing with purpose and meaning. Combined with the previous core commit-
ments and their implications for the contingency of our modes of understanding,
this recognition is required for finding meaning in life—it’s the only option we have
left after alternative sources of meaning have been ruled out.

7
 For a discussion of these problems for existing views, and a hermeneutic alternative to them that
is closely allied with existential phenomenology, see Georgia Warnke (2008).
8
 As Dreyfus says, “our practices can never be grounded in human nature, God’s will, or the struc-
ture of rationality” (Dreyfus, 1991, 37).
166 P. Londen

There are, however, obstacles to our recognizing the contingency of our back-
ground practices, obstacles which Dreyfus and others unpack in their readings of
Heidegger on technology. Although our sense-making practices have always been
historical and contingent, there is a tendency in the history of philosophy to offer an
account of all entities that prioritizes a particular understanding of being.
“Metaphysics grounds an age,” Heidegger argues, “in that through a specific inter-
pretation of what is and through a specific comprehension of truth it gives to that
age the basis upon which it is essentially formed” (Heidegger, 2002, 57). This all-
encompassing and exclusive understanding of things and people, what Julian Young
(2001) calls “the absolutization of a horizon of disclosure” (37), reaches a particu-
larly condensed form in our current age, defined by our relationship to technology.
While the medieval age understood the basic ontological categories in terms of the
demand to conform to God’s will, and the modern age understood these in terms of
the mastery of nature through reason, the technological age attempts to understand
things and people such that they are reliably efficient and predictable, not to pro-
mote any particular goal or ideal, but to maximize options for consumption and
commodification (Dreyfus, 2017, 185). This offers a particularly potent form of the
tendency toward an all-encompassing and exclusive understanding of being, since
every attempt to offer an alternative understanding of things and people is construed
within technological practices as just another option, implicitly reinforcing technol-
ogy’s injunction to maximize options. Following his reading of Heidegger, Dreyfus
observes that we are “caught in especially dangerous practices, which… produced
man only finally to eliminate him, as they more and more nakedly reveal a tendency
toward the total ordering of all beings” (Dreyfus, 2017, 162). These dominant back-
ground practices “eliminate man” to the extent that they ignore the role that human
beings play in establishing those practices in the first place and sustaining them
through continued participation in these practices.
If we can break through these dominant modes of thinking and recognize our
practices’ finitude and contingency alongside our own, we can derive meaning in
our own lives by taking a stand on how each of us fits into our culture. One way to
re-engage in practices with a recognition of this contingency is to become what
Dreyfus calls a “social virtuoso”—someone who is an expert in the current cultural
environment, and who seeks to manifest that culture in a distinctive way and thereby
to reinvest in that culture by clarifying its style (Dreyfus, 2017, 40). Or one could
become a “cultural master,” a “charismatic figure” who introduces some set of mar-
ginal practices into the mainstream culture, effectively changing the mainstream
culture itself (Dreyfus, 2017, 41). A marginal practice is a background practice that
exists outside or alongside the background practices that dominate the culture and
the age. Dreyfus gives examples like the practices of publishing and the indepen-
dent dissemination of ideas introduced with the printing press at the dawn of the
modern age, which began as a marginal practice, and came to define the modern age
(Dreyfus, 2017, 52). Dreyfus also points to the little sacred moments, like making
the perfect cup of coffee on a winter’s day, that can offer a reprieve from the domi-
nant modes of technological thinking when one approaches routine practices with a
Beyond “Dreydegger”: The Future of Anglo-American Existential Phenomenology 167

sense of ritual, attentiveness, and care (Dreyfus & Kelly, 2011, 255–258). Sacred
moments like these do not offer full-fledged alternatives to the dominant modes of
thinking and acting, but they offer reprieves that may allow individuals to get a bet-
ter sense of their relationship to and independence from the dominant background
practices.
But, it should be noted, it’s not only the practices which are marginal in relation
to the dominant ones, but also importantly the practitioners of those practices who
are marginalized within the wider culture. This point is under-developed in the
Dreyfus school, and as a result the examples of “marginal practices” tend toward
familiar examples from history or toward mundane examples (like making the per-
fect cup of coffee). But if we think of marginal practices in light of the marginaliza-
tion of the people who engage in those practices, the discussion is greatly enriched.
Consider the practices that emerged within gay communities in response to the
AIDS crisis in the U.S. As a result of being excluded from the dominant culture, the
health needs of LGBTQ individuals were at first largely ignored even as those same
communities were devastated by the AIDS epidemic. In response, organizations like
the Gay Men’s Health Crisis emerged to promote practices of safe sex among a
community that had been excluded from the “monogamous” sexual and relationship
practices extending from the traditional institutions of marriage and the nuclear
family to various aspects of personal and professional life. As a result of these
efforts, widespread education campaigns emerged to spread a new model of healthy
sexual practice—use of condoms, open communication about sexual history, etc.—
as an alternative to the dominant practices surrounding monogamy, abstinence, and
sexual shame. As one chronicler of this history notes, “gay people invented safe
sex” (Crimp, 2004, 64). Not only did these safer-sex practices develop on the mar-
gins of dominant sexual practices; they developed precisely because of the margin-
alization of those who developed them. It is because of this marginalization that
genuine alternatives to dominant practices could emerge. While we might find little
sacred moments in our everyday activities that can offer sanctuary from the domi-
nance of the current paradigm, the practices developed within marginalized com-
munities have the potential to offer rich and compelling alternatives to the dominant
and pervasive practices of the age. It’s within those groups that we can hope to find
examples of individual “cultural masters,” or change-making communities, with the
resources to forge new possibilities for redirecting or enriching available practices.
My hope in this chapter has been to raise some questions and concerns for the
productive research program launched by Dreyfus and championed by his many
colleagues and students, in order to identify areas on the horizon that are ripe for
further philosophical investigation.9

 Thanks to Jeff Yoshimi and Yvonne Tam for helpful comments on this chapter.
9
168 P. Londen

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Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology:
Metaphysics

Steven Crowell

In approaching the topic of this volume – “horizons” of phenomenology – my first

thought was simply to list the contents of Husserliana volume 42, Grenzprobleme
der Phänomenologie. In homage to the great Alan Ginsburg’s dictum  – “first
thought, best thought”  – I provide the short list of those contents here (Husserl,
2014, v–xvii):
1. Phenomenology of the unconscious and the limit-problems of birth, sleep,

and death
2. Phenomenology of the Instincts
3. Metaphysics: Monadology, teleology, and philosophical theology
4. Reflections on Ethics
My second thought was to focus on the problems or open questions that have loomed
large in my own phenomenological work, a list that partially overlaps with Husserl’s:
1 . Phenomenology of reason
2. Ontological pluralism and metaphysics
3. Phenomenology of thinking
4. Second-person phenomenology
But a list is not an essay, and so I will limit myself to a question that arises in reflect-
ing on the relation between phenomenology and metaphysics. Among the various
topics mentioned in Grenzprobleme under “metaphysics,” I will mostly leave teleol-
ogy and theology aside and will focus on monadology – more specifically, on how
to understand monadology in light of the relation between givenness and being
established by the transcendental reduction.
The editor of Husserliana 42, Rochus Sowa, distinguishes, within the general
heading of Grenzprobleme, between “margin” or “limit” problems (Randprobleme)

S. Crowell (*)
Rice University, Houston, TX, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 171

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_9
172 S. Crowell

and “totality” problems (Ganzheitsprobleme). The former treat issues – e.g., animal
consciousness (animal “monads”), birth, death, and the unconscious – that are moti-
vated within the field of direct phenomenological evidence but require “privative”
or “constructive” methods for their elucidation. The latter, among which Husserl
includes “metaphysical” problems, concern totalities such as the community of
monads (and its ultimate theological “teleology”) and “the constitution of the world
as a totality” (Husserl, 2014, xxiv–xxix). Though the two sorts of Grenzprobleme
communicate with one another in significant ways, my focus in what follows will be
on totality-problems. In my view, Husserl’s (tentative) approach to these totality-­
problems entangle him in something like Kant’s Antinomy of Reason: the purely
dialectical extension of concepts that have validity within the realm of experience to
totalities that escape such experience in principle yields equally compelling, yet
contradictory, conclusions. I will illustrate this matter (rather than demonstrate it)
with reference to Theodore Sider’s physicalistic metaphysics, in which the subjec-
tivity that Husserl takes as metaphysically basic is eliminated through such pure
argumentation.
Among the many questions that arise along this path, I will focus on whether the
transcendental reduction entails that the physical world metaphysically depends on
consciousness. My own view – to state this up front – is that it does not, though
Husserl seems to have thought that it did. This is why the question of “monadology”
is not only a “margin problem” (e.g., animal monads) but also a “totality-problem”
for transcendental phenomenology, one horizon for phenomenological investiga-
tion. To set the stage, I will first present some reflections on what I take transcenden-
tal phenomenology to be (§1), moving from there to a contrast between the resulting
“metaphysically neutral” conception of transcendental philosophy and A. D. Smith’s
version of a “metaphysically idealist” conception that draws on Husserl’s concept
of the monad (§2). I shall then briefly examine three other accounts of the relation
between phenomenology and metaphysics, only one of which (I argue) really con-
fronts the kind of metaphysical monadology that we find in the Grenzprobleme
volume, i.e., Husserl’s own conception of what “metaphysics” is. This, in conclu-
sion, will lead to a warning of problems ahead if we follow Husserl’s lead here (§4).

1 Phenomenology and Contemporary Philosophy

Elsewhere, I have argued that what is distinctive of transcendental phenomenology

is its focus on normatively structured meaning (Crowell, 2001, 2013). This is what
defines, or ought to define, the phenomenological approach to consciousness, being,
phenomenality, and other such concepts. For some, this focus on normativity veers
away from what is distinctly phenomenological toward concerns more typical of
analytic philosophy. Phenomenologists tend to understand such concerns in much
the way Husserl understood Paul Natorp’s neo-Kantianism – namely, as motivated
by “top down” logical construction, conceptual presuppositions, and dialectical
argumentation, rather than by “bottom up” descriptions of how such constructions
Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology: Metaphysics 173

are evidentially grounded in the givens of pre-reflective consciousness, the proto-­

logic of perceptual experience. But while this “proto” dimension can no doubt be
explored phenomenologically, the main philosophical reason for doing so, I think,
is to better understand intentional – that is, meaningful – experience. I don’t claim
that consigning transcendental phenomenology to the “space of meaning” is origi-
nal with me; on the contrary, my claim is that this is what Husserl had in view in the
approach to consciousness made possible by the transcendental reduction. Similarly,
I have argued that whatever Heidegger meant by “being,” the phenomenologically
defensible takeaway is the distinction between an entity and what it is/means to be
that entity.
Today, many Husserlians seem to think that a position is phenomenologically
significant only if it “genetically” pursues intentional content back to modes of
consciousness that lack normative structure, and many Heideggerians seem to
believe that Heidegger’s real phenomenological contribution consists in breaking
with transcendental “subjectivism” in favor of an ontology of the “event” (Ereignis).
I remain unconvinced. As I see it, such proposals are to be evaluated on the basis of
whether they are necessary to account for normatively structured meaning (i.e.,
canonical intentionality, the “as-structure”). That is our best point of reference for
assessing their validity; in the absence of such a point of reference we are free to
accept or reject such proposals, according to our whim, as more or less interesting
speculative visions.
This insistence on there being some check on the validity of philosophical claims
informs the phenomenological principle of Evidenz, and it determines the specific
sense in which phenomenology is a transcendental philosophy. More pointedly, to
retain its distinctive kind of epistemic authority phenomenology cannot abandon its
focus on intentional correlation. Phenomenological philosophy is what one gets
when one adopts the reflective stance and remains exclusively within it (Crowell,
2001). But even if reflection picks out the topos of phenomenological inquiry  –
namely, experience as a descriptively accessible correlation-structure – it is equally
important to emphasize that the meaning which inhabits this experience is norma-
tively assessable. For instance, experiencing something as a snake, tree, or apple
involves conditions of satisfaction that are right there in the experience, at stake in
it, and the “operation” of such normative conditions must therefore be reflectively
described; neither logical reconstruction nor neurological or cognitive-scientific
explanation can do the job. If this is true, then whatever ground is attained by a
phenomenological reflection on conditions of possibility – or, put otherwise, what-
ever is supposed to elucidate the constitution of meaning – must be something that
is responsive to norms as normative. This puts strong constraints on what can be
invoked in phenomenological philosophy.
Like logic, phenomenology is not restricted to philosophy, transcendental or oth-
erwise. Logic serves as a necessary tool in all domains of inquiry, and phenomenol-
ogy, understood as careful attention to the way things show up for us in first-person
experience, has a similarly essential role to play in any discipline where something
like Evidenz establishes what that discipline is about. Sometimes phenomenology’s
contribution is a critical one. For instance, phenomenological reflection can identify
174 S. Crowell

points at which physicalist presuppositions distort the way questions about percep-
tual content are raised in cognitive psychology. As Husserl said already in relation
to the psychology of his time: those who deny the importance of “armchair” descrip-
tions of first-person experience in the study of perception, insisting on nothing but
what can be confirmed experimentally, must already appeal to such experience to
determine whether their experiments actually have perception in view at all (Husserl,
1983, 181–190). Sometimes the contribution is more positive. Phenomenological
reflection on embodiment and temporality contributes directly to work in cognitive
science, and phenomenological reflection on empathy and intersubjectivity has sig-
nificant implications for research in the social and human sciences. But if we are
talking about phenomenological philosophy, things look different.
Philosophy is a complex practice of inquiry with its own norms and stakes that
circumscribe what is at issue in “doing” philosophy. Of course, as a social practice,
the norms and stakes of philosophizing are frequently contested and hierarchized in
different ways, producing “schools” and “traditions” within a broader field in which
at least some commitments are shared. Here is not the place to analyze this sort of
practice in detail. My point is only that, in contrast to phenomenology’s role in rela-
tion to other disciplines, phenomenological philosophy must – according to Husserl,
and rightly in my view – be pursued within what Husserl called the “epoché.”1 That
is, philosophy (which has a stake in “ultimately grounded” truth and so follows the
practical norm of “presuppositionlessness”) can borrow nothing from other sciences
as premises for its own inquiry. The strength of the reasons for this commitment to
the autonomy of philosophy vis-à-vis empirical and formal sciences is disputed, but
Husserl was quite right to insist on it, as was Heidegger.
Husserl introduced these reasons in his critique of “naturalism,” or better, “sci-
entism.” There need be no necessary conflict between “consciousness” and “nature”
in all possible understandings of these terms, but both Husserl and Heidegger
objected to the idea that natural science should dictate the terms in which philo-
sophical questions are asked and answered. Instead, philosophical questions must
address the field of normatively structured meaning that becomes thematic through
the transcendental-phenomenological “reduction.” The questions on the horizon of
phenomenology – its “open questions” – are thus the open questions of philosophy
generally, questions that stay open since there is always more to be said about what-
ever stage the discussion has reached. But what is distinctive about phenomenologi-
cal philosophy is that those questions will always entail a stance on the meaning of
the reduction. By way of example, I will here explore the relation between
transcendental phenomenology and metaphysics: Does the reduction permit of a
metaphysics carried out entirely on the ground of transcendental phenomenology?

1
 In a recent Special Issue of Continental Philosophy Review, Matthew Burch argues that “applied”
phenomenology is necessarily a collaborative and interdisciplinary research program (Burch,
2021). In the same issue, Dan Zahavi argues that in such contexts it is not necessary to invoke the
epoché and transcendental reduction (Zahavi 2021). However, it is otherwise in phenomenological
philosophy.
Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology: Metaphysics 175

Both Husserl and Heidegger view phenomenology as a way of investigating the

disclosure or constitution of that meaning through which entities are given, rather
than as a direct investigation into properties of entities. In contrast, it is often thought
that metaphysics investigates the essential properties of entities and provides causal
(or otherwise “grounding”) explanations for “what there is.”2 So the question arises:
by what means could phenomenology segue from a transcendental concern with
meaning to a determination of the basic properties of entities – i.e., to a metaphysics
of what Husserl called “ultimate facta” and Heidegger called “beings as a whole”?3
If the positive (empirical) sciences, broadly construed, explore the properties of
entities (“empirical realism”), perhaps Kant was right to hold that philosophy has no
access (via argument, or some intuitus originarius) to more “basic” metaphysical
properties of those entities. And if that is so, metaphysics as an inquiry into “ulti-
mate facta” or “beings as a whole” (ta onta) is not a cognitively grounded inquiry.4
When it seeks to establish cognitive bona fides by drawing premises from the posi-
tive sciences, metaphysics becomes world-view. Theodore Sider’s physicalism is
refreshingly direct about this: his argument for being metaphysically realistic about
what he calls “structure” concludes by summarizing the “worldview” that results. It
consists of an “ideology” (a set of primitive terms), a “fundamental theory phrased
in terms of the ideology” (identifying metaphysical laws that are more basic than
the laws of physics), and a “metaphysical semantics for nonfundamental discourse”
(using the ideology as a translation manual for ordinary linguistic behavior) (Sider,
2011, 292).5

2
 The idea that metaphysics deals with “what there is” has a long pedigree, but in recent analytic
metaphysics its proximal source is Quine and refers to the “ontological commitments” of a lan-
guage or theory. In a phenomenological context, this can be confusing since, for Husserl (and, I
would argue, for Heidegger also), “ontology” and “metaphysics” are distinct, though related,
inquiries. For Husserl, as we shall see, ontology is an eidetic inquiry which deals with possibilities,
whereas metaphysics deals with ultimate questions of fact. The analytic literature treats ontology
as part of metaphysics, while recognizing that metaphysics is not exhausted by questions about
“what there is” – for instance, there are questions about what grounds what, ultimate causes, mere-
ology, teleology, fundamentality, perdurance through change, free will, and so on. See Hofweber
(2009). Though many of these topics are also taken up in Grenzprobleme, I will focus here exclu-
sively on the question of whether “what there is” metaphysically depends on transcendental
subjectivity.
3
 On the conception of metaphysics that is shared, despite significant differences, by Husserl and
Heidegger, see Crowell (2018).
4
 Uriah Kriegel (2013) carefully examines the various epistemological options open to “revision-
ary” metaphysics for establishing the cognitive significance of its theses and finds them all lacking.
While he does not consder transcendental phenomenology specifically, I would argue that his criti-
cal insights apply to any metaphysics supposedly grounded in the latter.
5
 We shall return to Sider’s “knee-jerk” metaphysical realism (2011, 20) below. In Sider’s terms,
Husserl’s idealistic “worldview” would also consist of an ideology (a set of primitive terms pro-
vided by monadic structure of consciousness), a fundamental theory (of “constitution” as the meta-
physical “law” of monadology), and a metaphysical semantics or translation manual (e.g., recasting
ordinary things as “noemata”).
176 S. Crowell

Some contemporary phenomenological metaphysics is pursued in a similar way:

just as the physicalist moves from a sense of “physical” established in natural sci-
ence to a (quasi-) reduction of all phenomena to the physical as their metaphysically
“fundamental” reality, some phenomenologists inflate a certain concept that derives
from phenomenological reflection on first-person experience (e.g., flesh, desire,
Erscheinung als solches, possibility, monad, the given/gift) into a fundamental prin-
ciple of the whole of what is. Such approaches pose a challenge to the claims – in
comparison, very modest ones – of transcendental phenomenology, and in my view
the Husserl of the Grenzprobleme falls into this category. But in what sense, if any,
do such phenomenologically crafted concepts retain their meaning and authority
when extended to domains where no first-person evidence is possible, to the “actu-
ally” infinite totalities  – world, God, monad  – which Husserl calls “totality-­
problems”? That, it seems to me, is an open question.6

2 Transcendental Phenomenology and Metaphysics

I thus arrive at the horizon of phenomenology that I wish to explore in some detail:
Is transcendental phenomenology  – governed by the reduction, for Husserl, and
inseparable from transcendenal idealism (Husserl, 1989, 419–20) – a metaphysical
idealism? Does it have metaphysical “implications”? Husserl argued that though
phenomenology “excludes every naïve metaphysics that operates with absurd things
in themselves,” it “does not exclude metaphysics as such” (Husserl, 1963, 38). But
what does Husserl understand by “metaphysics” here?
This question has recently received a good deal of attention, focused on Husserl’s
idea that transcendental subjectivity has the character of a “monad” and that the
“ground” of the “world” is a “community of monads” which exists “absolutely” and
to which the world, with all its “transcendent realities” is “relative.”7 A clear state-
ment is found in Cartesian Meditations where, after describing the ego as both a
“pole of identity” and as a “substrate of habitualities,” Husserl proposes to call the
“ego taken in full concreteness” by “the Leibnizian name: monad.” He continues:
The ego can be concrete only in the flowing multiformity of his intentional life, along with
the objects meant  – and in some cases constituted as existent for him  – in that life.
Manifestly, in the case of an object so constituted, its abiding existence and being-thus are
a correlate of the habituality constituted in the ego-pole himself by virtue of his position-­
taking (Husserl, 1969, 67–68)

6
 Of course, there are approaches to metaphysics that take direct aim at phenomenology  – for
instance, so-called “speculative realism,” which proceeds by adopting the logico-mathematical
idea of “possible worlds.” And many versions of “new realism” proceed on phenomenological
grounds but reject Husserl’s idealism: for instance, Gabriel (2016), Figal (2010), and Keiling
(2015). Here, however, my focus will be restricted to the question of what Husserl’s own meta-
physical “idealism” is and whether it can be defended phenomenologically.
7
 For some critical discussion, see Mertens (2000), Tengelyi (2014), Loidolt (2015), De Palma
(2015), Loidolt (2017), Jansen (2017), Zahavi (2017), De Santis (2018).
Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology: Metaphysics 177

So the monad is neither simply a “pole of identity” nor the stream of conscious
experiences as such, but that stream insofar as it involves a form of self-awareness
that can “habitualize” itself into the constitution of “existent” (transcendent) objects.
This, in turn, as Husserl writes later in the same text, is possible only if the monad
“is in communion with others like himself: a member of a community of monads”
without which there can be no objective “world of experience.” Such communion,
established by way of empathy, replaces Leibniz’s pre-established harmony: Husserl
argues that because “communion” between monads is in principle unlimited, “there
can exist only a single community of monads” and “only one objective world”
(1969, 139–40).
All this raises as many questions as it answers, of course, so to make a start
toward clarifying the picture, I will here focus on a single strand of the monadology
issue: Within transcendental idealism, what does it mean to say that the world
depends on consciousness?
Now, this question is not unambiguous, and the ambiguity turns on the meaning
of the phenomenological reduction. In Ideas I (1913) Husserl introduced the reduc-
tion in the context of an “epistemological” project involving a “Cartesian” search
for a “presuppositionless” beginning in philosophical inquiry (Husserl, 1983, 66).
The ordinary realism of the natural attitude – roughly, the view that the world and
the things in it are simply “there” as they present themselves in experience and serve
as the ground of all cognitive and practical projects – is to be “suspended” (epoché)
in order to reflect “critically” on the perceptual and other conscious acts in which
worldly things are given as the things they are. These acts, responsive to norms of
validity, enable experiences to be “mutually legitimated or corrected by means of
each other” instead of merely “following upon” or subjectively “replacing” one
another (Husserl, 1965, 87). The “transcendental reduction,” then, is the reflective
method that discloses the correlation between conscious acts and their intentional
objects (“noemata”) and the syntheses of identification in which the meaning of
those objects is “constituted.” Husserl calls this correlation-structure “absolute con-
sciousness,” and I will argue that this “absolute” should be understood in a meta-
physically neutral way.
What do I mean by “metaphysical neutrality”? The epoché precludes us from
“positing” the existence of the objects that show up in the natural attitude; that is,
“we make no use” of their supposed “valid being” in any kind of philosophical
explanation (Husserl, 1983, 61). Of course, we do not deny their existence either;
rather, they are reflected upon solely as “unities of meaning” (Husserl, 1983, 128)
correlated with specific (types of) acts of consciousness united with one another in
the unity of one stream of consciousness by means of temporal and “founding” rela-
tions. According to Husserl, it is exclusively within this correlational unity of con-
sciousness that the Evidenz supporting all natural-attitude positing of being can be
critically assessed for its scope and adequacy. The transcendental-­phenomenological
concern, in other words, is not whether this tree or this state of affairs actually
exists; rather, it is solely the “epistemological” one of identifying the essential evi-
dential demands involved in posting the tree or state of affairs as what it is,
178 S. Crowell

including its claim to exist.8 If metaphysics has to do with claims about “what there
is,” then transcendental phenomenology is metaphysically neutral in the sense that
it makes no such claims but only claims about how things present themselves evi-
dentially as being. Dan Zahavi summarizes the view: “On such a reading” – he is
referring to David Carr’s – “all that transcendental subjectivity can be said to be
constituting is the meaning of the world and not its being” (Zahavi, 2010, 78).
But what does “being” mean here? Husserl’s account of the reduction in Ideas I
might appear to undermine the metaphysically neutral interpretation. A key text in
this connection is §44 of Ideas, where Husserl argues for the “merely phenomenal
being of something transcendent” (here, empirical reality) and the “absolute being
of something immanent” (i.e., consciousness). What does “absolute being” mean?
Husserl initially approaches the term by considering the different kinds of
Evidenz in which consciousness and transcendent reality are given.9 A transcendent
thing is given in “profiles” that always entail more than what is sensuously given;
hence, the evidence for its existence is always “presumptive.” In contrast, con-
sciousness or immanent being, grasped in the evidence of reflection, is not presump-
tive. Consciousness is not “adumbrated” (Husserl, 1983, 96), so the existence of
consciousness is “apodictically” given in any genuine grasp of one of its moments,
even though the temporally structured stream of consciousness as a whole can no
more be given adequately than can a transcendent thing. So consciousness is abso-
lute being in the sense that the validity of its claim to exist now does not depend on
the further course of experience. On this picture, transcendental phenomenology
can remain metaphysically neutral because, in considering this kind of evidence, it
can acknowledge the distinctive way in which the existence of consciousness is
given without, however, making any use of it in explaining the (metaphysical)
nature of things. Phenomenology is not in the business of explaining the nature of
things; it is transcendental clarification of the meaning and validity in which things
of whatever sort, including consciousness itself, are given. Transcendental idealism
is just the recognition of this (asymmetrical) correlation structure that underlies the
realism of the natural attitude: “transcendental idealism contains natural realism
entirely within itself” (Husserl, 1962, 254).
However, the language of §44 might be read in a more metaphysical way when
Husserl later seems to suggest that transcendent reality is not merely “relative” to
consciousness in the sense that its meaning and validity is given through (consti-
tuted in) consciousness, but rather depends on consciousness for its existence.

8
 This locates phenomenology in the neighborhood of verificationism, and A. D. Smith interprets
Husserl’s metaphysical idealism as requiring an “ideal verificationism” (2003, 186). However, if
one sets aside Husserl’s own metaphysical ambitions, phenomenological verificationism might
support a “deflationary” understanding of metaphysics as “descriptive” rather than “revisionary,”
akin to that proposed by Amie Thomasson (2015).
9
 Indeed, in copy A Husserl changes “Being” to “Givenness” in the title of the section. However, he
also adds a marginal note: “None of §44 can be used!” It is interesting to observe that as late as the
1950s Heidegger still urges that historical “account-settlers” might find “much to consider” in
“comparing” Ideas §44 with §44 of Being and Time (on truth as disclosedness), though the numeri-
cal overlap is “entirely coincidental” (Heidegger 2020, 12).
Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology: Metaphysics 179

Reality is “according to its sense, a merely intentional being” which can be “deter-
mined […] only as something identical belonging to motivated multiplicities of
appearances: beyond that it is nothing.” Indeed, “in the absolute sense [reality] is
nothing at all” (Husserl, 1983, 112–13). Further, Husserl argues that “no real being
[…] is necessary to the being of consciousness itself” (1983, 110).
The metaphysical picture would then be this: through the reduction I grasp that
consciousness exists necessarily, while its intentional correlates are phenomena
bene fundata  – posits whose existence has continually demonstrated itself in the
evidence of ongoing experience, and in relation to which nothing currently speaks
against the expectation of their continued existence. On such a reading, conscious-
ness is a “monadic unity” with its own “thoroughly peculiar ‘forms’,” a unity that
“in itself has nothing at all to do with nature, with space and time or substantiality
and causality” (Husserl, 1965, 108). Worldly things, in contrast, as unities grounded
in syntheses of identification (the intuitive fulfillment of intentional implications),
depend on consciousness, cannot exist without their metaphysical ground. If “abso-
lute” means metaphysically fundamental, transcendental idealism would be a meta-
physical idealism.
The ambiguity in §44 is incorporated into Husserl’s conception of consciousness
as a “monadic unity.” In Philosophy as Rigorous Science Husserl introduced the
term in a metaphysically neutral way, namely, by highlighting two distinct modes of
givenness. The monad’s unity is provided by normative forms or laws that enable its
experiences to “correct” or “refute” one another rather than simply replace one
another in time, whereas “nature” or transcendent reality is governed by non-­
normative relations of space and time, substantiality and causality. Here, monadic
unity is “Leibnizian” only in the sense that normative laws do not permit admixture
with non-normative laws of “nature” – and not in the sense that only monads truly
exist as, e.g., “metaphysical points.”10 As Husserl says in the Crisis, consciousness
is a realm of “mental [geistige] processes” – not psychological (psyche) but norma-
tive, “minded” – that “constitute forms of meaning […] entirely out of mental mate-
rial.” But by this time a hint of Husserl’s metaphysical idealism is unmistakeable:
The monad is “completely closed off within itself, existing in its own way” (Husserl,
1970, 112). This way of existing allows for “communalization;” indeed, the indi-
vidual monad “functions constitutively only within intersubjectivity” (1970, 172).
That is, the “world” as a valid “meaning-construct [Sinngebilde]” is grounded in a
community of monads (1970, 113). As Daniele De Santis (2018) has shown, in
Cartesian Meditations Husserl uses this transcendental premise to argue to a “meta-
physical result [Ergebnis]” concerning one of the Grenzprobleme’s “totality-­
problems” – namely, that there can be only one actual world.
Still, by itself such a metaphysical “result” does not directly address the question
of whether the world itself – and everything in it – “depends” on the monadic com-
munity for its existence. The claim that it does is at the heart of A.  D. Smith’s

 On the Leibniz-Husserl relation, see the essays in Cristin (2000). Also Mertens (2000), and
10

Pradelle (2007).
180 S. Crowell

metaphysical reading of transcendental idealism. Smith argues that, for Husserl,

consciousness – the monad, or rather, the monadic community – exists absolutely
and physical (transcendent) things supervene on consciousness. Given the right
concatenations of acts, a physical world must exist as the noematic correlate of con-
sciousness, but physical things can no more exist apart from those acts (their “super-
venience base”) than a game of rugby can exist without its supervenience base in
“human behavior, intentions, etc.” (Smith, 2003, 184). The supervenience relation is
asymmetrical, since all sorts of human behavior can exist without a rugby game
existing – or, more to the Husserlian point, all sorts of concatenations of conscious-
ness can exist (e.g., ones in which, as Husserl imagines, the ongoing course of
experience allowed for no syntheses of identification) without a physical world
existing. Thus the existence of the latter depends on the existence of consciousness:
“physical facts are ‘nothing over and above’ experiential facts” (Smith, 2003, 185).
To pose the question of metaphysical dependence more precisely, I will look at
three recent papers which examine Husserl’s transcendental idealism, focusing on
how each construes the dependence of reality on consciousness. I choose these
papers because they neatly present the dialectic in Husserl’s thinking about meta-
physics, though they by no means exhaust their authors’ views on the topic. Each
author embraces the claim that Husserl’s idealism is consistent with empirical real-
ism, and each recognizes the broadly verificationist role of reflection on intentional
correlation (concerned with the “meaning and validity” in which things are posited,
rather than with actually positing anything). Further, all three seem primarily inter-
ested in showing that transcendental idealism is not wedded to its Cartesian begin-
nings: the constitution of “actual reality” requires that transcendental subjectivity be
embodied, embedded, and intersubjective, that it “realize itself” along with the
world that it constitutes.11 But this argument leaves the metaphysical dependence
question open: Rudolf Bernet defends something quite close to a metaphysically
neutral conception of Husserl’s idealism. Against this, Dan Zahavi argues that tran-
scendental idealism does have metaphysical implications, namely, of an “anti-­
realist” sort. Ullrich Melle, finally, poses the dependence question in the context of

11
 In the Crisis Husserl argued that his original way of motivating the reduction in Ideas I by
“reflectively engrossing oneself in the Cartesian epoché of the Meditations” had the “shortcoming”
that it “brings the ego into view as apparently [my emphasis] empty of content” (Husserl 1970,
155). As our authors emphasize, Husserl’s mature view acknowledges that constitution of the
world is the achievement of transcendental intersubjectivity (or a community of monads) bound
together through empathy, and so through a necessary embodiment. Nevertheless, Husserl retains
a certain priority for the “indeclinable” and “primal ‘I’” which is “actually called ‘I’ only by
equivocation,” whose “transcendental life” involves “making itself declinable,” whereby “it consti-
tutes transcendental intersubjectivity” (1970, 184-85). The point of mentioning these perplexing
aspects of Husserl’s transcendental idealism is this: even granting that a real world requires inter-
subjective constitution, the “fundamental” phenomenological (and eventually, metaphysical)
ground is the individual monad.
Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology: Metaphysics 181

what Husserl himself understood by “metaphysics.”12 If Melle’s picture captures

what Husserl thought transcendental idealism entails, I suggest that we not follow
him. Though I will not be able to provide the full argument here, it seems to me that
a metaphysical understanding of monadology is not entailed by the transcendental
reduction but rests on arguments that are, just as in Kant, antinomical.13

3 Three Approaches to Transcendental Idealism

Rudolf Bernet characterizes Husserl’s transcendental idealism as an “epistemologi-

cal type of idealism that is exclusively concerned with the relationship between
knowing and the known” (Bernet, 2004, 10), but he marshals Husserl’s revisions to
the Sixth Logical Investigation, composed around the time of Ideas I, to argue for
an idealism that owes more to Leibniz than to Descartes and is “less problematic”
than the one found in Ideas I (2004, 4). While Bernet does discuss the dependence
of empirical reality on consciousness, his real concern is to show that consciousness
is not a metaphysical absolute. Properly understood, transcendental idealism will
“no longer have any reason” to take the “dependence” of things on consciousness to
entail the independence of consciousness from its “intentional objects.” A con-
sciousness that can constitute an actual world must belong to that world, must “be
‘empirical’ in a sense that would not run counter to its purity” under the reduction
(2004, 16). The crux of his analysis is found in the distinctions Husserl draws
between ideal possibility, real possibility, and actuality (Wirklichkeit).
For present purposes, the distinction between “ideal” possibility and “real” pos-
sibility concerns empirical objects, not mathematical or logical “idealities.” An ide-
ally possible object (e.g., a centaur) is one that can be imagined quite apart from any
connection with the motivated course of our actual world-experience. A real

12
 Husserl uses the term “metaphysics” differently in different contexts, and we cannot sort them
our here. Thus both Bernet and Zahavi can be said to treat some aspects of what Husserl under-
stood by the term. But only Melle’s approach deals with the kind of “totality-problems” which
were the ultimate horizon of Husserl’s metaphysics. Zahavi (2017, 65), for instance, lists five
senses of metaphysics, one of which is “a speculatively constructed philosophical system dealing
with the ‘highest’ and ‘ultimate’ questions concerning the existence of God, the immortality of the
soul, etc.” Leaving aside the issue of whether Husserl’s ultimate position is “speculative” (in the
phenomenologically “bad” sense, as I will argue it is), these are surely questions that Husserl
understood as on the horizon of transcendental phenomenology. But Zahavi limits his concern to
another of these senses, namely, “the issue of whether reality is mind-dependent or not.” Following
Melle, I will argue that for Husserl himself the answer to this question (as a metaphysical rather
than a transcendental one) is not decideable in abstraction from his “speculatively” constructed
monadology.
13
 Kant, of course, attempted to get around the limits placed on metaphysics by the antinomy of
reason with an appeal to the demands of “pure practical reason” and its “postulates.” Husserl
makes a similar attempt at a “rational faith” grounded in an “absolutes Sollen” (eg., Husserl 2014,
317), which provides another path from transcendental “monadology” to a metaphysical teleology
and theology. Though I won’t go into that aspect of Husserl’s metaphysics here, I find it unconvinc-
ing for reasons that are extensively, if uncharitably, articulated by De Palma (2019).
182 S. Crowell

possibility, in contrast, is motivated; it is one “for which something makes a case,”

one that could “fit in with [our actual] realm of reality,” or world. For instance, it is
really possible that, when I cut holes in the walls and ceiling of my study, I will find
wooden joists and studs. Such objects, “were they actually given,” would “be inte-
grated harmoniously into the actual reality that is the field of our common experi-
ence”; it is motivated by our previous experience (Bernet, 2004, 8). A real possibility
becomes an “actual reality” through its “realization” – that is, through the “accom-
plishment of an act of [intuitive] fulfillment” (2004, 8). A purely “ontological”
(eidetic) approach to possibility, such as Husserl pursued in the Logical
Investigations, cannot account for “actual” being, but a “phenomenological”
approach, which appeals to the criterion of intuitive fulfillment, can (2004, 4).14 And
for Bernet, “it goes without saying” that this account of actuality “is a phenomeno-
logical thesis not a metaphysical one” (2004, 9). What are the implications of this
approach for the question of whether actual things depend on consciousness for
their existence?
First, to be actual is to be more than just a “particular case of the essence of real-
ity,” since this is still only real possibility; the actuality of an object “entirely
depends on the intuitive and actual givenness of this object” (2004, 10). But if, as
Husserl claims, no series of perceptions can “verify the actual existence of a thing,”
how can such a thing be distinguished from real possibility? Bernet’s answer is two-­
fold. On the one hand, establishing something as actual through the “realization” of
a prior (real) possibility depends on a consciousness that itself “actually exists”
(2004, 11). Such a consciousness is worldly in the sense that it is the course of its
own previous experience that provides the “norm” of “adequate knowledge” gov-
erning the possible validity of its anticipation. But second, this norm is “not imposed
from the outside”; rather, it is the (actual) thing itself (2004, 15) – a regulative idea
or “Idea in the Kantian sense” – a teleological concept that depends on infinitizing
the contingent, empirical way things show up for us.15 Thus the “actual reality of the
world depends phenomenologically on the actual reality of consciousness,” i.e., “on
the actual course of pure experience” (2004, 12–13).
An “empirical” but “pure” consciousness is thus a Faktum; consciousness has the
“necessity of a fact” (Husserl, 1983, 103). Husserl explains that while an eidetic
(rational) ontology contains the grounds for a possible nature, it contains “nothing
of a factic one,” and so “facticity is not the terrain of phenomenology and logic [i.e.,

14
 Ontology is an eidetic investigation which takes the “world” into account as a possible “content-
ful” (empirical) manifold governed by “consistency and compossibility”; that is, ontology “con-
structs the logos of a possible world.” All such possible worlds, including the actual world, are
“real” in Husserl’s sense. What makes the actual world actual is not a distinction in ontological
status but rather the fact that, if we are to discover its logos, we must “begin from the factically
empirical,” consult what is intuitively given (Husserl 1959, 213-14). This “facticity” will become
the terrain of Husserl’s metaphysics, but it follows that such metaphysics can only rest on a condi-
tional apriori: if the factic course of experience continues to validtate itself, then its apriori world-
ontology must hold. Hence metaphysics cannot be purely eidetic  – a mere “doctrine of
categories” – and this raises questions about its cognitive ground.
15
 On the infinite in Husserl’s metaphysics, see Tengelyi (2014, 534-548).
Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology: Metaphysics 183

ontology] but of metaphysics” (Husserl, 1956, 394). And, he continues, “the miracle
here is rationality”: since there is no eidetic necessity that the course of conscious
experience allow for a strict natural science, the “miracle” – from the transcendental
point of view  – is that “a correlation obtains between factic consciousness and
empirical science” in the actual world, a point registered in the conditional charac-
ter of the phenomenological apriori (see fn 14).
Bernet cites Husserl to the effect that “it is inconceivable that a thing would
exist” without this “relation to the hic et nunc” of “the one who actually determines
it,” but he interprets this to mean that such situatedness is necessary for any epis-
temic verification of actuality (Bernet, 2004, 17; Husserl, 2002b, 271). He thereby
reproduces the ambiguity surrounding the metaphysical dependence question we
encountered in §44. Bernet does not leave it at that, however. He concludes by dis-
tinguishing between idealism in a “broad” sense – the ontological thesis of a “nec-
essary correlation between the possibility of objects and the possibility of an
intuitive consciousness of such objects” – and idealism in a “strict” sense, which
“goes much further” (2004, 19). This latter is metaphysical in the sense just eluci-
dated, having to do with the facticity of the world. It “makes claims about ‘things in
themselves’” and “it makes their actual existence depend on the actual existence of
embodied subjects” (2004, 19). If it is “banal” (2004, 3) to say that “there are no
thinkable things without a consciousness that thinks them,” it is far from banal to
say that “no transcendent empirical things can exist without there existing embod-
ied subjects that have an actual […] experience of them” (2004, 19).
In the end, then, does Bernet think that transcendental phenomenology entails this
“strict” or metaphysical form of idealism? It is hard to tell. On the one hand, he notes
that when Husserl claims that “the meaning of the being of the object depends on its
intuitive givenness,” this promotes “consciousness to the role of supreme judge of all
issues concerning being” (Bernet, 2004, 20). On its own, however, this says nothing
about existence-dependence. Husserl’s account of how the meaning of “actual”
being depends on consciousness is easily understood in metaphysically neutral
terms. On the other hand, Bernet also notes that Husserl “undoubtedly set about
bringing to light a dependence of the nature of objects and of their modes of being
on acts of intuitive consciousness,” and he (rightly) argues that this sort of “transcen-
dental idealism” is inseparable “from Husserl’s phenomenology” (2004, 20). But to
say that the “nature” (essence) and “modes” of being (ontic modalities) of objects
depend on intuitive consciousness just restates the thesis of “broad” ontological ide-
alism, underwritten by the reduction as our methodological access to all such mean-
ingful distinctions. It need not entail metaphysical dependence. Indeed, Bernet
concludes by reminding us that transcendental idealism is grounded in Husserl’s
“phenomenology of knowledge,” and he warns that “every extrapolation of the
meaning of Husserlian idealism beyond the limits” of this epistemological approach
“is exposed to the worst sorts of misunderstandings” (2004, 20). To my ears, this
sounds like a version of metaphysically neutral transcendental phenomenology.
But if transcendental idealism is not directly a metaphysical idealism – i.e., is
concerned with meaning and validity rather than with positing an absolute meta-
physical Faktum or ground – might it nevertheless have metaphysical implications?
184 S. Crowell

Dan Zahavi answers this question affirmatively, so we might wonder whether the
existential dependence of real things on consciousness is among those implications.
Like Bernet, Zahavi seems primarily concerned to undermine the view that tran-
scendental subjectivity is a Cartesian consciousness cut off from the world; and, like
Bernet but against Dermot Moran and A. D. Smith, he argues that transcendental
idealism is not a “speculative” and “baroque” form of “metaphysical” idealism
(Zahavi, 2010, 75). Finally, again like Bernet, the position he defends is transcen-
dental idealism in a “fundamentally and essentially new sense,” as Husserl put it,
“the proof [of which] is phenomenology itself” (Husserl, 1969, 86; quoted in
Zahavi, 2010, 76). Such an idealism aims “not to offer a metaphysical account of
reality, but to justify and understand what it means for the world to count as real and
objective;” that is, it aims to elucidate “mundane transcendence through a system-
atic disclosure of constituting intentionality” (2010, 77). Thus, for Zahavi, the phe-
nomenological correlation, revealed by the reduction, is basic; the necessity of such
correlation, and any “dependence” of things on consciousness that follows from it,
does not entail “metaphysical dependence” (2010, 78).
At the same time, Zahavi rejects the metaphysically neutral interpretation of the
reduction, according to which phenomenology excludes “the actual existence of the
world from consideration” in order to focus on its “sense or meaning” (Zahavi,
2010, 78). This won’t do, because it would mean that transcendental phenomenol-
ogy is “in principle compatible with a variety of metaphysical views, including
metaphysical realism or subjective idealism” (2010, 78)  – and Zahavi is keen to
show that transcendental phenomenology is incompatible with metaphysical real-
ism. Hence the dependence question, signaled in the title of his paper, looms large:
in what sense is consciousness “absolute” such that transcendent things, as meta-
physical realism understands them, could not exist without consciousness?
Beginning with metaphysical idealist interpretations such as Smith’s, Zahavi
examines and dismisses several suggestions for what the “dependence” of things on
consciousness might mean. Causal dependence is dismissed, since this would turn
“transcendental subjectivity” – the embodied, embedded, intersubjective “realiza-
tion” of “pure” consciousness, as Bernet put it  – into a “prime mover” in direct
competition with empirical cosmological theories like the Big Bang. Supervenience
is also dismissed, since it suggests a phenomenalism that Husserl explicitly rejects
(Zahavi, 2010, 79–80).16 Against such views, Zahavi holds that “Husserl’s decisive
point” is that “reality, far from being some brute fact that is detached from every
context of experience and from every conceptual framework is rather a system of

16
 Zahavi also briefly considers whether the relation might be one of Fundierung, which he seems
to identify with supervenience, arguing that this would entail a form of “panpsychism” (2010, 80).
While I do think that panpsychism might follow if Fundierung were a relation of metaphysical
grounding – which, while not necessarily a causal relation, operates on the same “ontic” explana-
tory level as causality – I would argue that phenomenological founding is a transcendental relation
and is the best candidate for clarifying the kind of dependence of transcendent things on conscious-
ness that Husserl has in view. See Crowell (2021).
Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology: Metaphysics 185

validity and meaning which needs subjectivity […] if it is to manifest and articulate
itself” (2010, 80).
One might think, however, that this changes the subject. Of course – one might
say – if reality is understood as a “system of validity and meaning,” it can show itself
only in a correlational context. But this seems to get us no further than real possibil-
ity in Bernet’s sense. It does not justify Husserl’s apparently stronger claim (Husserl,
1983, 129), referenced by Zahavi, that “reality depends on subjectivity” because “it
is just as nonsensical to speak of an absolute mind-independent reality as it is to
speak of a circular square” (Zahavi, 2010, 80). Zahavi understands this to mean that
“an objectivistic interpretation of [the world’s] ontological status” must be rejected
on phenomenological grounds. Husserl’s idealism thus “redeem[s] rather than
renounce[s] the realism of the natural attitude” (2010, 80). But – such a realist might
ask – doesn’t the natural attitude understand the existence of the things it deals with
precisely as metaphysically (or “ontologically”) mind-independent?17
Zahavi’s position on the absolute character of consciousness, and so also on the
meaning of Husserl’s idealism, involves accepting the sort of argument pursued by
Bernet – “no object is thinkable as actual without an actual subjectivity capable of
realizing such an object in actual cognition” (Husserl, 2002a, 277; cited in Zahavi,
2010, 82) – and also involves formulating the precise sense in which the relation
between subject and object is asymmetrical: “the absoluteness that Husserl ascribes
to subjectivity pertains to its manifestness”; that is, as “self-manifesting or self-­
constituting” it possesses “something that all objects per definition lack.” Objects
“are relative and dependent” in the sense that “the condition for the appearance of
any object is located outside that object itself” (2010, 83). So far, this is entirely
compatible with a metaphysically neutral interpretation of the reduction. But fur-
ther, Zahavi affirms that transcendental idealism “doesn’t deny the existence of
mind-independent objects in the uncontroversial sense of empirical realism but only
in the controversial sense of metaphysical realism” (2010, 84). So to address the
metaphysical dependence question it is necessary to understand what metaphysical
realism is.
As a first approximation, Zahavi describes it as the view that a transcendent real-
ity “exists independently of any thought or experience” we may have of it (2010,
85). This could mean two things: first, that it is possible for something to exist that
in principle precludes all possibility of our experiencing it, a Kantian Ding an sich.
Husserl, Bernet, and Zahavi all reject this view.18 Second, it might mean that a given
transcendent thing, correlated to a specific veridical act (or series of acts), exists
whether or not such acts take place. On either meaning, the metaphysical realist
holds that if we want to grasp reality, we need to “strip away the subjective” from
our experience of the world – all the ways in which “it happens to present itself to
us human beings” (2010, 85). Thus Zahavi seems to have in mind a view like

17
 As we shall see, Ullrich Melle argues that precisely because Husserl’s idealism is metaphysical,
it poses a direct challenge to the realism of the natural attitude.
18
 There is much to be said about this matter, but we will have to leave it aside here. For arguments
against Husserl’s thesis, see Yoshimi (2015).
186 S. Crowell

Theodore Sider’s, who aims, by means of an artificial language (“ontologese”), to

theorize the (metaphysically) “real,” abandoning both experience and “conceptual
frameworks” other than physics, our “best empirical theory” about “what is.”
Sider expresses incredulity at the thought that subjectivity could play a role in
metaphysics (Sider, 2011, 18). Further, “knee-jerk realism requires that the physical
description of reality be objectively privileged” because, he argues, “physical
notions carve [nature; what is] at the joints” (2011, 20). In phenomenological terms,
Sider is convinced that what Husserl calls the “physicalistic abstraction” from all
subjectivity, which defines the “naturalistic attitude” (Husserl, 1989, 27–29), leaves
nothing metaphysically fundamental out of account. According to Zahavi, Husserl’s
transcendental idealism “amounts to a rejection” of this sort of “metaphysical real-
ism” (2010, 85). Hence it is not metaphysically neutral because the reduction has
this negative metaphysical implication: a mind-independent physical world, as
Sider understands it, is just as “nonsensical” as a “round square.” But is it really?
Zahavi’s argument that it is hinges on the claim that transcendental idealism is
“defined” by its “deliberate blurring of the distinction between ontology and episte-
mology”: the “meaning” of being, existence, actuality, and so on is defined by
reflecting on how that meaning is given and constituted. But why should this entail
that a physical world metaphysically independent of consciousness cannot exist?
Zahavi admits that the “deliberate blurring” in question might appear to yield “a
rather deflationary definition” of idealism (Zahavi, 2010, 85), but if it is a form of
deflationary ontology, then it precisely leaves the existence-dependence question
out of account, or else denies that it is meaningful. Amie Thomasson, for instance,
sees Husserl as embracing a “meta-ontological deflationism” that rejects “substan-
tive” metaphysical questions, such as existential dependence, precisely because
there is “no sense to ‘ontological’ questions in which they cannot be answered eas-
ily, by perfectly ordinary standards” (Thomasson, 2015, 295–317).19 Along these
lines, as we saw, Zahavi explicitly denies that Husserl’s idealism entails that “con-
sciousness is the metaphysical origin or source of reality.” But he also admits that,
as a philological matter, “Husserl might indeed consider consciousness as a neces-
sary condition for reality” and that, if he does, “Smith is right in saying that for
Husserl nothing would exist in the absence of consciousness” (Zahavi, 2010, 86).
But if that is truly Husserl’s position – that is, if, in contrast to the view of idealism
Zahavi himself defends, Husserl’s own conception of idealism includes “a theoreti-
cal investigation of the fundamental building blocks, of the basic ‘stuff’ of reality”
(Zahavi, 2019, 51) – then it is a metaphysical idealism. There would be something
metaphysically impossible (and not just “nonsensical” in the deflationary sense) in
the very idea of a purely physical world. Husserl’s idealism would be the mirror
image of Sider’s physicalist metaphysics: according to both, but by appeal to pre-
cisely opposed metaphysical arguments, phenomenal beings (ordinary tables, art-
works, and trees) do not metaphysically “exist.”

 Identifying what these standards are is not necessarily “easy,” but there is nothing metaphysically
19

arcane about them.

Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology: Metaphysics 187

I will argue that Ullrich Melle is right to find such a metaphysical view on the
horizon of Husserl’s idealism. The point about Zahavi’s position that I want to
emphasize here, however, is that his “deflationary” reading of transcendental ideal-
ism differs from a metaphysically neutral reading only in its argument for the “nega-
tive” metaphysical implication that (supposedly) rules out metaphysical realism.
The argument is grounded in the distinctively phenomenological, or transcendental,
“blurring” of ontological and epistemological motifs, but this blurring is not itself
defended metaphysically. Hence the “anti-realism” toward which it points us
(Zahavi, 2010, 87) is, I would argue, best understood in metaphysically neutral
terms  – that is, as eschewing any argumentation that aims to draw metaphysical
“implications,” whether idealistic or realistic. For any such implication will run both
ways: If phenomenology entails that a reality metaphysically independent of con-
sciousness is impossible, this equally implies that reality metaphysically depends on
consciousness.
Ullrich Melle takes up many of the themes and arguments that we have already
encountered in the previous two papers, but with the advantage (in this context) of
interpreting them in light of Husserl’s own “strict,” or explicitly metaphysical, inter-
pretation of transcendental idealism. Hence it becomes possible to locate more pre-
cisely the steps in Husserl’s argument where metaphysical theses are supposedly
entailed by the reduction  – and to evaluate the plausibility of this supposed
entailment.
To begin with, Melle takes note of the fact that Husserl’s claims – for instance, in
§44 of Ideas I – about the “relativity” of empirical actuality to consciousness belong
to an eidetic analysis of the different ways in which consciousness and reality are
evidentially given – that is, they are meant to motivate the reduction and are carried
out “still on the ground of the natural attitude” (Melle, 2010, 94).20 The “abyss”
between consciousness and reality (Husserl, 1983, 111) that results from this “epis-
temological” reflection poses the ontological problem of how the two can be related
to one another at all, a problem that non-phenomenological approaches often
attempt to solve by means of a “picture” theory or “sign” theory of perception. In
Transzendentaler Idealismus (Husserl, 2003), many of whose texts were written at
the time of Husserl’s articulation of the transcendental reduction, Husserl expends
much effort refuting such theories: there is no phenomenological basis for “indi-
rect” theories of perception; in perception, the object is “given in person [leibhaft
gegeben]” (Melle, 2010, 96). But this introduces a further problem, namely, a poten-
tial “gap between the [transcendent] object and its [immanent] appearing.” It is this
gap that the reduction is supposed to close, and in the texts of Transzendentaler
Idealismus such closure has a “strict” metaphysical meaning (2010, 96).
As Melle notes, Husserl’s argument hinges on the idea that perception, in being
directed at the real thing, is simultaneously “directedness toward validity” in a “pro-
cess of demonstration [ausweisen] and justification.” The “being” or “actuality”
(Wirklichkeit) of a transcendent thing “does not appear” as the thing does; it must

 All translations from Melle’s original German are my own.

20
188 S. Crowell

“prove itself” (2010, 96). If we ask how this directedness toward validity, revealed
by the reduction, can overcome the gap that threatens to leave us stuck in imma-
nence – why the “thing itself” cannot lie beyond the reach of all experience – Husserl
will respond that we have understood “immanence” psychologically and have
thereby fallen back into an “indirect” theory of perception (Melle, 2010, 97). The
reduction, then, facilitates Husserl’s “refutation of this [kind of] skepticism and the
false metaphysics of a thing-in-itself bound up with it” (2010, 97). But it does so, as
Melle explains, by means of an idealism that understands the dependence of things
on consciousness in a metaphysical way, one that goes beyond the “deliberate blur-
ring” of epistemology and ontology.
To appreciate this point it is important to note, as Melle does (2010, 93), that in
these texts Husserl – uncharacteristically, given his frequent rejection of such “dia-
lectical argumentation” – is constructing a proof for transcendental idealism; that is,
he is constructing an argument, based on transcendental (“verificationist”) premises
established within the phenomenological reduction, to a metaphysical conclusion
which itself escapes any, howsoever mediated, phenomenological Evidenz. We are
familiar with these transcendental premises: In order to posit the existence (“actual-
ity,” Wirklichkeit) of a transcendent thing, it is necessary that the thing show itself
and maintain itself in an ongoing and norm-responsive (Geltung-tracking) series of
experiences of various sorts. Though this is never definitive, so long as the thing
consistently shows itself in such experience there is no reason to doubt it, and so
also no reason to think that it is “merely an appearance [blosser Schein]” (Melle,
2010, 98). The price we pay for this “securing of transcendence,” however, is the
“assertion of an in principle relativity” of actuality to consciousness, which means
that the connection between transcendence and consciousness cannot be “external,
additional, and contingent.” As Melle unpacks this point: “no being and no truth is
thinkable without possible givenness and without possible knowledge” (2010, 99).
To show how this entails a metaphysical conclusion, Melle draws on the distinc-
tions between ideal possibility, real possibility, and actuality central to Bernet’s
account of Husserl’s “Leibnizian” approach to transcendental idealism, incorporat-
ing them into Husserl’s “proof” of metaphysical idealism. First, the idea of an actual
thing-in-itself (or actual world outside our own) is merely an “ideal” possibility,
something for which nothing in our experience speaks. It is thus equivalent to a “fic-
tion.” Matters stand otherwise with respect to the idea of an actual transcendent
thing which is not now being experienced, since we conceive such things as real
(that is, motivated) possibilities. But this sort of motivation presupposes “some con-
nection with and reference to a current [aktuelle] experience” that can be motivated
by it (2010, 100).
So far, so good; all this remains intelligible within a metaphysically neutral read-
ing of the reduction. But for Husserl it follows that “the world owes its actuality to
consciousness,” that without the latter “there is and can be no actuality.” Or, as
Husserl writes, “If one says that a world could exist [existieren] without an existing
ego that grasps [erfasst] it, this is nonsense” (Husserl, 2003, 119; quoted in Melle,
2010, 101). This direct statement of existential dependence is immediately hedged,
however: the reason it is nonsense is that the truth of the claim that such an actual
Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology: Metaphysics 189

world could exist “is nothing without groundability [Begründbarkeit] in principle,”

and groundability presupposes, as we have seen, an aktuelles Ich.
So despite Husserl’s metaphysical conclusion, the reasoning behind it still turns
on the verificationist premises established by the reduction; roughly: The very idea
that an actual world could exist independent of consciousness is absurd. This is
because phenomenology shows that the world is intrinsically (i.e., not “externally
and contingently”) relative to consciousness. Intrinsic relativity is established
through the reduction to the necessary correlation between the positing of any actual
being and an actually existing ego, a coherent, Geltung-tracking series of intentional
experiences (monad). Thus, no claim about an actually existing world that excludes
consciousness can be justified.
Melle then examines certain predictable objections. In his responses we can see
how Husserl’s proof is supposed to work, and why, despite its verificationist prem-
ises, it must be given a “strict” metaphysical reading. The first objection holds that
even if the groundability of the truth of positing an actual empirical object presup-
poses an “actual” ego capable of intuitive acts of fulfillment, as Bernet argued, this
does not mean that “the existence of the object of that truth” requires it; it does not
entail the dependence (Abhängigkeit) of the object on consciousness (Melle, 2010,
102). Melle’s Husserl dismisses this objection: whatever we think we mean by it,
once phenomenology has shown that without reference to an actual ego we are in
fact only trading in “ideal possibilities” equivalent to “fictions,” the distinction
between truth and “actual” existence itself proves to be “groundless” (bodenlos). Of
course, as Husserl notes, consciousness can take many forms, some of which are
incapable of the norm-responsiveness required for any consciousness of meaning
and validity; the existence of a rational consciousness, then, is a “pure factum” (“the
miracle here is rationality”) which we continually experience in ourselves. We ratio-
nal beings can and do make distinctions between ideal and real possibilities, and we
do so on the basis of “actual” experience, which therefore can and must serve as the
“norm” of all being (Melle, 2010, 104).
A second objection is more worrisome. It attacks the conclusion of the argument
through a seeming reductio, drawing on the “fact of the evolution of consciousness
in natural history” (Melle, 2010, 103): How can the actual emergence of conscious-
ness be understood, when, prior to that emergence, there was no actual ego to anchor
its intuitive fulfillment? Husserl answers that just as the actual existence of things
contemporaneous with, though not currently experienced by, my actual conscious-
ness can be established as real possibilities thanks to motivated “experiential paths
that lead from actual experiencing to the ends of the earth,” so too there is a tempo-
ral experiential path, “anchored” in my present, that leads from now to the most
distant ages of natural history (Melle, 2010, 100, 103).
As Melle goes on to explain – thereby making common cause with Bernet and
Zahavi – the full argument requires that the consciousness in question be “worldly,”
i.e., that it has “realized” itself in the world constituted through its intentional
achievements. No sense can be made of an “anchoring” in an “actual” ego that is not
itself experienced as embodied, embedded, and intersubjective (Melle, 2010, 104).
But, as Melle shows, Husserl takes this point to entail a metaphysically idealist
190 S. Crowell

conclusion. First, if Husserl’s “proof” has gone through, then, as Zahavi also argued,
“a merely material world is impossible; the actual world must be a psycho-physical
world with […] humanoid creatures in it” (2010, 104). This does not mean that the
existence of the world metaphysically depends “on a part of it” (namely, the current
human community); in regard to that “part,” we are still on the ground of the verifi-
cationist or conditional phenomenological apriori: an actual world can only demon-
strate itself if there is a suitably rational monadic community (2010, 105). Such a
view is consistent with a metaphysically neutral interpretation of the reduction, but
Melle’s reading highlights Husserl’s metaphysical intentions: To say that “the world
does not exist independently of consciousness” means that “the world cannot [first]
exist as a merely material world in which, subsequently and contingently, certain
material things attain [erhalten] a conscious appendix” (2010, 105). Understood in
this metaphysical way, the empirical “emergence” of consciousness in natural his-
tory presupposes the prior “absolute” existence of consciousness. So Husserl
accepts the supposed reductio but does not see the conclusion as absurd because he
doubles down on the idea that grounding, in the sense of justification, has meta-
physical import.
With a good deal of understatement, Melle notes that this idea “has far-reaching
metaphysical consequences” (2010, 105). For instance, Husserl’s position some-
what resembles the strong anthropic principle: since the current world is one in
which rational minds can successfully pursue science, the emergence of such sapi-
ent life is somehow necessary, though this necessity cannot be derived from the
laws of physics. But Husserl’s claim is in fact much stronger: because a merely
material world is not possible, the metaphysical ground of the world must include
consciousness. Phrased otherwise, if anything exists, then consciousness must exist.
This is not panpsychism, since Husserl does not maintain that transcendent things
themselves possess consciousness as one of their real parts. Rather, the metaphysi-
cal ground is absolute consciousness itself, the monad – or rather, the mondadologi-
cal community (Monadenall) whose members “realize” themselves as human
beings within the limits of birth and death but whose metaphysical actuality is, as
Melle puts it, “from eternity to eternity” (2010, 106).

4 The Horizon of Phenomenological Metaphysics

This last point directs us to one place (among many) in the Grenzprobleme where
Husserl’s metaphysics of the monad appeals to a dialectical argument that moves
from a phenomenologically evident premise to a conclusion about a “totality-­
problem” that far exceeds such evidence (Husserl, 2014, 145–53). First, given the
essentially temporal (protentional-retentional) structure of consciousness, Husserl
argues that it is impossible for consciousness to begin or end. If that is so, it follows
that in what we imagine to be geological periods in which all consciousness was
absent, the monadological community did in fact exist, but in a state of “torpor”
(Dumpfheit). Husserl does not pretend to have done more to clarify what this means
Grenzprobleme of Phenomenology: Metaphysics 191

beyond making a metaphysical argument for its necessity, based on premises deliv-
ered by the reduction’s transcendental ontology, its clarification of the meaning of
being. Nor, as Melle notes, does this argument establish “why absolute conscious-
ness or the monadic community awoke to world-constitution, and how much neces-
sity or contingency there is in this awakening and in the course of world constitution
itself” (Melle, 2010, 106). These are the “teleological” questions that, for Husserl,
remain on the horizon of phenomenological metaphysics.
As Melle explains, such arguments go beyond the ontological “relativity” (or
deflationary ontological “pluralism”) that follows directly from the reduction.
Husserl’s proof is meant to “free us from the limits of the natural attitude” – naïve
realism – and so constitutes “an argumentative alternative to the method of epoché
and reduction.” In contrast to Zahavi, Melle argues that “both paths lead to the same
metaphysical truth about absolute being,” a truth that “stands in contradiction to the
general thesis of the natural attitude” and is, indeed, “the exact mirror-image
[Widerspiel]” of the latter (Melle, 2010, 106).
In this respect, Husserl’s metaphysics is the “exact mirror image” of Sider’s. For
both, ordinary things are phenomena bene fundata but do not figure into the funda-
mental metaphysical structure of what is. For Sider, that structure includes only
“physics, logic, and set theory” (2011, 292). For Husserl, in turn, metaphysical
structure includes only monads and their various levels of constitutive accomplish-
ment. Further consideration of this dispute between the two positions would show
that the arguments they employ to arrive at the metaphysically “fundamental” are
themselves mirror images of one another – that is, we find ourselves facing an antin-
omy in which we have nothing to go on but pure argumentation, the conclusions of
which cancel each other out. The lesson I suggest we draw from this is not exactly
the one that Lászlό Tengelyi proposes – namely, that we have to do here with an
agon between two fundamental worldviews, transcendentalism and naturalism
(Tengelyi, 2014, 411–433) – but it is close: transcendental phenomenology is and
ought to be metaphysically neutral; it should leave worldview proposals to the sci-
entists and theologians.

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 Part II
External Horizons: Embodiment
and Identity
Phenomenology at the Intersection
of Gender and Race

Céline Leboeuf

Research on the experience of gendered embodiment, on the one hand, and racial-
ized embodiment, on the other hand, has emerged as an important tradition in phe-
nomenology thanks to the works of Simone de Beauvoir in The Second Sex (1949)
and Frantz Fanon in Black Skin, White Masks (1952) respectively. Beauvoir’s work
has been prolonged by pioneering feminist phenomenologists, such as Iris Marion
Young and Sandra Bartky, who have investigated both the cultural significance of
female bodily functions and the alienating effects of feminine standards of beauty
for women. And those inspired by Fanon—for example, George Yancy and Alia
Al-Saji—have homed in on the experiences of persons of color confronted by the
white gaze or entering white spaces. While each of these lineages has contributed to
expanding the discipline of phenomenology, specific descriptions of the bodily
experiences of women of color have received comparatively little attention in this
field. This chapter aims to fill this gap by exploring the bodily experiences of women
of color, thereby making a case for expanding phenomenological work at the inter-
section of gender and race.
I discuss three phenomena that speak to the need for intersectional phenomenol-
ogies: body image, the gaze, and embodied resistance. These topics have received
considerable attention in critical phenomenological works, either from feminist or
critical race perspectives. Yet, treatments of these topics have not considered par-
ticularities about the experiences of many women of color. First, feminist studies of
body image have probed the allure of thinness and the imperative to one’s control
one’s hunger that are characteristic of eating disorders and diet culture, more gener-
ally. This focus, however, is not necessarily relevant to all women. As I will show,
they do not speak to the experiences of many African American women. Second,
both discussions of the male gaze and the racializing gaze have identified its alienat-
ing and objectifying character; furthermore, the literature in the philosophy of race

C. Leboeuf (*)
Florida International University, Miami, FL, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 197

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_10
198 C. Leboeuf

focuses on the typically hateful character of the racializing gaze. Yet fewer analyses
have considered how women of color are confronted by this gaze. I argue that in
certain instances—most notably, with male partners in the context of interracial
heterosexual relationships—they are objectified in a way that exoticizes and overly
sexualizes them. Third, I explore how embodied forms of resistance to oppression
may take shape for women of different races. Before broaching these phenomena,
though, I would like to clarify the notion of “critical phenomenology,” within which
I place feminist phenomenology and phenomenological work on racialized experi-
ence. In addition, I will define the term “intersectionality.”
In her article “Critical Phenomenology,” Lisa Guenther offers an account of criti-
cal phenomenology worth pausing over. This account contrasts classical phenome-
nology and critical phenomenology. Classical phenomenology articulates how
experience is structured to reveal that one is not a “bare cogito,” but rather “a vector
or arrow that gestures beyond itself in everything it thinks and does” (2020, 11).
Guenther faults classical phenomenology with being “insufficiently critical” by
“failing to give an equally rigorous account of how contingent historical and social
structures also shape our experience” (12). More specifically, “structures like patri-
archy, white supremacy, and heteronormativity” are “not things to be seen but rather
ways of seeing, and even ways of making the world that go unnoticed without a
sustained practice of critical reflection” (12). The task of the critical phenomenolo-
gists is to take into consideration “the contingent social structures that normalize
and naturalize power relations” (12). Not only that, but the critical phenomenologist
partakes in the effort to understand how the world may be restructured so that “new
and liberatory possibilities for meaningful experience and existence” may come
into being (15). Thus, critical phenomenology attends not only to the features of
social life that shape lived experience, but also to the ways in which such experience
may be shaped for the better. In light of these considerations, I take feminist phe-
nomenology to be that branch of phenomenology that has historically focused on
the experiences of women, and phenomenologies of racialized experience as those
that have discussed how racialization constitutes lived experience. This chapter
brings these branches of critical phenomenology together and develops a critical
and intersectional phenomenological project.
I now turn to the notion of “intersectionality.” Intersectionality has become a
dominant paradigm in analyzing oppression. This paradigm gained traction in the
1990s, thanks to the work of Kimberlé Crenshaw, who defined the term in her legal
scholarship. In her path breaking article “Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality,
Identity Politics, and Violence against Women of Color,” Crenshaw sought to
explore “how the experiences of women of color are frequently the product of inter-
secting patterns of racism and sexism” (1991, 1243). More generally, we may define
intersectionality as the project of understanding how social categories, such as race,
class, gender, sexual orientation, and dis/ability, intersect to shape individual expe-
rience, and of illuminating how overlapping forms of oppression create particular
forms of discrimination and disadvantage. As intersectional feminist projects have
demonstrated, accounts of the oppression of men of color and those of white women
gloss over the specificities of the oppression of women of color, or fail to recognize
Phenomenology at the Intersection of Gender and Race 199

their oppression entirely. Consider the following examples. To begin, not only black
boys, but also black girls, typically face harsher school discipline than their white
peers, but black girls tend to be overlooked in conversations about racial stereotypes
and the school-to-prison pipeline (Hill, 2018). In addition, the fact that transgender
women of color face disproportionate anti-transgender violence is a topic that
deserves investigation.1 Yet the dearth of scholarship on this topic speaks to a failure
to address violence against women intersectionally.2 An intersectional phenomenol-
ogy of gendered and racialized embodiment would further the mission of intersec-
tional feminism by showcasing the experiences of women of color.

1 An Intersectional Phenomenology of Body Image

This section deals with body image in women of color, specifically African American
women, with the aim of uncovering aspects of their experiences that are neglected
in feminist phenomenologies. I will draw on the work of Tamara Beauboeuf-­
Lafontant, a social scientist who has dedicated much of her career to elucidating the
gendered and racialized identities of black women. To preview, Beauboeuf-­
Lafontant’s work shows that the image of black women as strong and able to bear
the “weight of the world” on their shoulders, may motivate overeating as a coping
mechanism, and cause these women to be overweight or obese. Furthermore,
because of preferences within black communities, the association between feminin-
ity and slenderness is not as tight as it is for white persons. But to better illustrate
this contrast, I will first survey feminist research on body image.
Since The Second Sex, feminist phenomenologists have underscored the fact that
women face social pressure to adopt an extreme focus on their physical appearance.
Contrary to some psychoanalysts of her time, Beauvoir asserts that cultural influ-
ences—namely, the objectification that women encounter in the eyes of others—
lead them to objectify themselves: “It has sometimes been asserted that narcissism
is the fundamental attitude of all women…. What is true is that circumstances invite
woman more than man to turn toward self and dedicate her love to herself” (2011,
667). To support her claim, she summarizes earlier findings from The Second Sex
concerning girls’ upbringing: “If she can put herself forward in her own desires, it
is because since childhood she has seen herself as an object. Her education has
encouraged her to alienate herself wholly in her body, puberty having revealed this

1
 According to the Human Rights Campaign, transgender women of color account for four out of
five of all anti-transgender homicides: https://assets2.hrc.org/files/assets/resources/2018AntiTrans
ViolenceReportSHORTENED.pdf?_ga=2.244363980.891827719.1586698524-1315631137.
1586698524
2
 While it is difficult to fully gauge the extent to which the experiences of transgender women of
color have been researched, it is worth flagging that there are few Google Scholar results for “vio-
lence against transgender women of color” and no papers listed on the online philosophical article
platform PhilPapers that discuss this issue.
200 C. Leboeuf

body as passive and desirable” (2011, 667–668). Simply put, Beauvoir believes that
feminine narcissism is a socially contingent trait of women’s psychology.
The theme of feminine narcissism has been taken up by later feminists, most
notably, Sandra Bartky, whose main contributions were published in the 1980s and
1990s. In her classic essay “Narcissism, Femininity and Alienation,” first published
in 1982, Bartky explains that women face what she calls “repressive narcissism.”
This expression refers to the compulsion to subject oneself to punitive standards of
physical appearance. Speaking of the network of corporations that sell fashion and
beauty products or services, Bartky declares:
The fashion-beauty complex produces in woman an estrangement from her bodily being.
On the one hand, I am it and am scarcely allowed to be anything else; on the other hand, I
must exist perpetually at a distance from my physical self, fixed at this distance in a perma-
nent posture of disapproval. (1982, 135).

Through the influence of these corporations, women learn to strive to beauty stan-
dards that are all too often out of their reach: they must be or remain very thin, have
perfect nails and hair, shave or otherwise remove most body hair, and so on. Bartky
recognizes that there may be a place for narcissism in our lives, and that we should
not shun interest in physical appearance altogether. Thus, she concludes that a “non-­
repressive narcissism” would constitute a mode of resistance to oppressive
“beauty work.”
Beauvoir’s and Bartky’s phenomenological research on feminist narcissism has
been pursued by feminist philosophers, many of whom have studied one particu-
larly punitive standard of beauty: thinness. For instance, in Unbearable Weight
(1993), Susan Bordo analyzes women’s experiences with anorexia and diet culture.
She calls our attention to the need for control that motivates restrictive eating pat-
terns, and traces this need to anxieties about women’s role in society and “arche-
typal associations” between femininity and insatiable appetites.3 The repressive
character of norms of feminine thinness has continued to garner attention in femi-
nist philosophy, for example in works by Sheila Lintott (2003), Cressida Heyes
(2007), and in my own research on online platforms devoted to “thinspo, or “thin-
spirational” content (Leboeuf 2019a).4 To summarize, a significant portion of the
philosophical literature on feminine body image ties women’s experiences of their
bodies to the pressure of living up to standards of thinness. Yet the ideal of thinness

3
 Bordo attributes gender associations between women and anorexia to several factors: first, the
“fear and disdain for traditional female roles and social institutions”; second, “a deep fear of ‘the
Female,’ with all its more nightmarish and archetypal association of voracious hungers and sexual
insatiability” (1993, 155). For example, as an illustration of the first factor, she highlights some
anorexic adolescents’s disgust before the female body: they express disdain for “womanly” bodies
and some go so far as to avow the desire to remain children forever (Bordo, 1993, 155–156).
4
 In my “Anatomy of the Thigh Gap” (2019a), I argue that the fetishization of the thigh gap—that
is, the space that some women have between their upper thighs when they stand feet together—
originates in repressive narcissism, the pressure to be thin, as well as the visual culture that has
flourished on the Internet thanks to “thinspo” websites and social media platforms.
Phenomenology at the Intersection of Gender and Race 201

that has garnered so much scholarly attention is not as prevalent as discussions sug-
gest. With this in mind, I now consider Beauboeuf-Lafontant’s research.
In “Strong and Large Black Women? Exploring Relationships between Deviant
Womanhood and Weight” (2003), Beauboeuf-Lafontant demonstrates that African
American women are generally valued for their toughness and portrayed as indomi-
tably strong, and that this image translates into a body image that diverges from
thinness. Beauboeuf-Lafontant traces the ideal of the “strong Black woman” to the
“controlling image” of “Mammy” as an expression of black womanhood.5 In
her words:
Mammy was rewarded and elevated for being, simultaneously, a capable, domesticated
woman and a dutiful, grateful slave. Physically removed and distinguished by her size, skin
color, and age from the ides of true (white) womanhood, she embodied a deviance-a “dark
heaviness”… (112).

The “Mammy” image conveys the message that black womanhood is valued for its
nurturance and solidity, as opposed to its sexuality or frailty. Beauboeuf-Lafontant
goes on to note that this image of strength also transpires in accounts of Sojourner
Truth by nineteenth-century white feminists, who focused on her “almost Amazon
form, which stood nearly six feet high” (113). This way of valuing black woman,
Beauboeuf-Lafontant explains, comes to be translated in African American com-
munities into the ideal of the “strong Black woman,” who “singlehandedly raises
her children, works multiple jobs, and supports an extend family” (113). Commenting
on Nama-Ama Danquah’s autobiographical account of depression, Beauboeuf-­
Lafontant highlights how the ideal of strong black womanhood led whites and
blacks to denigrate Danquah’s avowal of depression. For instance, one white
acquaintance exclaimed, “It’s just that when black women start going on Prozac,
you know the whole world is falling apart,” while blacks accused her of being a
“race traitor” by seeking psychiatric counseling (115).
How does the ideal of the strong black woman translate in terms of body image?
Beauboeuf-Lafontant describes how “from a symbolic approach to the body and
weight, we may view some overweight and obese Black woman as literally carrying
the weight of the world on their bodies” (2003, 115). Based on her study body
image literature and a series of interviews conducted by Jacqueline Walcott-­
McQuigg et al. (1995), she draws attention to the prevalence of overeating as a cop-
ing mechanism for the demands placed on black women. Moreover, she comments
on the effects of overeating on their body image: given the image of the “strong
Black woman,” Black women do not face the same type of stigma that some white
women do for being overweight or obese (Beauboeuf-Lafontant, 2003, 115–118).
Beauboeuf-Lafontant concludes:

5
 The notion of a “controlling image” is one introduced by Patricia Hill Collins in Black Feminist
Thought (2000). Such an image resembles a stereotype to the extent that both controlling images
and stereotypes limit our perception of others, but whereas stereotypes are typically construed as
static images to be shed by racist or sexist or otherwise bigoted persons, controlling images are
“malleable, and the meanings that individuals make of them are under their control” (Collins,
2020, 79).
202 C. Leboeuf

Black women’s tendencies to mask their emotions, frustrations, angers, and fears, all in an
attempt to live up to the image of the strong Black woman, contribute to some of the weight
that individual Black women carry—through overeating, lack of regular exercise, or a gen-
eral sense that focusing on their own health needs is trivial or selfish. (119).

In short, because of the norm of “strong Black womanhood,” black women are
expected to take on burdens that lead to eating behaviors that may be detrimental to
their health, thus undermining the very strength for which they are valorized.
In light of Beauboeuf-Lafontant’s research on black women, I believe that body
image in women of color is a topic of phenomenological investigation that deserves
further scrutiny. Whereas phenomenological descriptions of body image in women
have historically stressed the conjunction of feminine narcissism and the valuation
of slenderness, a symbol in the West of (white) women’s need to control their lives,
Beauboeuf-Lafontant’s research emphasizes a different set of norms within African
American communities. Her work thus motivates the need for phenomenologies of
female body experience that take intersectionality into account.6

2 An Intersectional Phenomenology of the Gaze

I now turn to a second phenomenon that speaks to the need of intersectional phe-
nomenologies: the gaze. To set the stage, I address both how Beauvoir and her heirs
have described the male gaze, and how Fanon and his heirs have depicted the
white gaze.
In The Second Sex, especially in the chapters entitled “Childhood” and the “The
Girl,” Beauvoir describes how over the course of puberty, girls begin to garner the
attention of men and how the male gaze alienates them. The passage below describes
a girl’s reaction to a man’s commenting on her calves:
“At thirteen, I walked around bare legged, in a short dress,” another woman told me. “A
man, sniggering made a comment about my fat calves. The next day, my mother made me
wear stockings and lengthen my skirt, but I will never forget the shock I suddenly felt in
seeing myself seen.” The little girl feels that her body is escaping her, that it is no longer the
clear expression of her individuality; it becomes foreign to her; and at the same moment,
she is grasped by others as a thing: on the street, eyes follow her, her body is subject to
comments; she would like to become invisible; she is afraid of becoming flesh and afraid to
show her flesh. (Beauvoir, 2011, 321, emphasis in the original).

This passage offers us a glimpse into a girl’s experience of being objectified by the
male gaze during puberty. Notice how Beauvoir depicts the girl as losing a transpar-
ent relationship to her body and as experiencing her body as foreign. This bodily
alienation is an outcome of the experience of seeing yourself through the eyes of
another—more specifically, the eyes of a dominant other. She goes on to describe

6
 Incidentally, I should note the paucity of images of Black women within thinspo culture (Leboeuf
2019a, 4).
Phenomenology at the Intersection of Gender and Race 203

how this alienation interferes with girls’ ability to engage with others and their envi-
ronment: they are haunted by their appearance in the eyes of men.
The topic of the male gaze has continued to attract the interest of feminist phe-
nomenologists. Take the work of Iris Marion Young. In “Women Recovering Their
Clothes” (first published in 1988), Young discusses how the male gaze mediates
women’s relation to their clothes. While her article focuses on how women can
“recover their clothes”—that is, resist this mediation—it is useful to quote from her
description of the male gaze:
“See yourself in wool.” Yes, I would like that. I see myself in that wool, heavy, thick, warm,
swinging around my legs in rippling caresses. … But who’s this coming up behind me?
Bringing me down to his size? Don’t look back, I can’t look back, his gaze is unidirectional,
he sees me but I can’t see him. But no—I am seeing myself in wool seeing him see me. Is
it that I cannot see myself without seeing myself being seen? So I need him there to unite
me and my image of myself? Who does he think I am? So I am split. I see myself, and I see
myself being seen. (Young, 2005, 63).

Young’s phenomenology focuses on the “split” between a woman’s aesthetic appre-

ciation of her body clad in wool and that of an imagined male viewer. Her account
echoes Beauvoir’s: for both authors, women’s experience involves seeing oneself
seen through the eyes of another. What accounts for this split? At its origin, Young
and Beauvoir would argue, lies masculine privilege; men have the license to look at
women, and judge them as they please, whereas the reverse is not typically true.7
Even if a woman were to ask herself whether her women friends would like her
outfit, Beauvoir and Young would argue that the standards that she (and her friends)
ultimately submit to are men’s. It is worth noting that Young, like Beauvoir, believes
that internalizing the male gaze affects the ways in which girls and women experi-
ence their bodies; in fact, according to Young, it affects the very ways in which they
use their bodies. In an earlier essay “Throwing Like a Girl” (first published in 1980),
Young contends that feminine motility is “a transcendence that is at the same time
laden with immanence” (2005, 36). She employs this term to characterize the lack
of fluidity that feminine movement has; women move hesitantly, in a cramped man-
ner, as though their movements were constrained by an external force. Relatedly,
Young contends that feminine motility is marked by an inhibited intentionality,
which “simultaneously reaches toward a projected end with an ‘I can’ and with-
holds its full bodily commitment to that end in a self-imposed ‘I cannot’” (36).
Movements are performed, as though one were holding oneself back. Young
attributes the differences in feminine and masculine motility to women’s tendency
to view themselves through the eyes of others and objectify themselves: “The source

7
 While Beauvoir’s and Young’s analyses may still have some truth to them today, some phenom-
ena, such as the growth of body image issues and eating disorders in men, speak to the idea that
self-objectification may be increasingly prevalent for them, and that the stringent standards of
beauty to which women have been traditionally held to affect them as well. Although body image
and eating disorders have not been studied as fully in men as they have in women, recent research
highlights their incidence and causes. For example, Alleva et al. (2018) discusses the correlation
between body appreciation, a facet of body image, and the internalization of appearance ideals in
men, and finds that body appreciation is inversely correlated with comparisons to masculine norms.
204 C. Leboeuf

of this objectified bodily existence is in the attitude of others regarding her, but the
woman herself often actively takes up her body as a mere thing (44).
Research by feminist phenomenologists has continued to fill in the picture
described by Beauvoir and Young. I name a few contributions that tie directly into
Young’s or Beauvoir’s works. In Body Images, Gail Weiss (1999) adopts a critical
perspective on some aspects of Young’s descriptions of female embodiment, and
calls our attention to Young’s seeming privileging of transcendence in her discus-
sion of girls’ and women’s inhibited ways of navigating the world in her essay
“Throwing Like a Girl.” In “Simone de Beauvoir on the Allure of Self-­
Objectification,” Nancy Bauer (2015) delves into the temptation to “subvert the risk
posed by other people’s objectifying gazes by preemptively objectifying ourselves,”
studied by Beauvoir, and insists on its continued relevance, in particular to college-­
aged women. Building on the Beauvoirian idea that the body and bodily experience
are socially constituted, Luna Dolezal (2015) probes the shame that many of us, not
just women, feel when we see ourselves seen. In exploring the ways in which we
cope with shame, Dolezal focuses on the experiences of women who undertake
cosmetic surgery to lessen body shame. She does not question the motivation of
those who seek beauty-enhancing (and shame-ridding) surgeries, but criticizes the
rigidity of beauty standards that compel women to experience “limiting body
shame”—that is, shame so restricting that it “must be overcome for life to have the
possibility of dignity and fulfillment” (2015, xv).
Let us now switch gears and review the phenomenology of the racializing gaze
in the Fanonian lineage. In Black Skin, White Masks, Fanon draws attention to the
reifying character of the white gaze; in its face, the black man finds himself an
“object among other objects” (2008, 89). Not only is this gaze reifying, but it is
saturated with hatred; indeed, the chapter on the lived experience of blacks opens
with the striking line: “‘Dirty nigger!’ or simply ‘Look! A Negro!’” (89). Beyond
Fanon’s work, later phenomenologists have depicted the white gaze as essentializ-
ing and rigid. In “A Phenomenology of Hesitation: Interrupting Racializing Habits
of Seeing” (2014), Alia Al-Saji explains in the racializing gaze is one where “one
cannot but help” to feel or see the other otherwise. To quote from the work of George
Yancy, in his experience as a black man, “I feel that in their eyes I am this indistin-
guishable, amorphous, black seething mass, a token of danger, a threat, a rapist, a
criminal, a burden, a rapacious animal incapable of delayed gratification” (2008,
844). This sentence illustrates Al-Saji’s notion that the racializing gaze is blinkered
both at the level of the content it recognizes and at an affective level.
Women of color may have similar experiences in the face of the male gaze or the
white gaze as those just described above, but they may also encounter the male gaze
as objectifying in a distinctive manner. In what follows, I describe how women of
color are viewed by some men as special sexual objects in virtue of their race. My
claim is that beside being objectified sexually, women of color may be regarded by
men not of their own race as objects of curiosity. In order to support this claim, I
present research analyzing images of women of color in print media as well as first-­
personal accounts of sexual objectification by men of different races.
Phenomenology at the Intersection of Gender and Race 205

What do mainstream media images of women of color tell us about how we view
them? In “How Women of Color are Portrayed on the Cover of Magazines: A
Content Analysis on the Images of Black/African, Latina, Asian and Native
American (BALANA),” Connie Johnson identifies the following traits in magazine
cover images of women of color: “hypersexualization, objectification, likeness to
whiteness and intensified exoticism” (2015, 2). Commenting on their exoticization,
Johnson notes, “In visual imagery WOC tend to be portrayed in stereotypical garb,
accentuated phenotypic traits, stereotypical contextual cues, facial traits, body traits
or environmental related to racial categorization” (4). In her analysis of magazine
covers, she notes that hypersexualization was the most distinctive difference
between portrayals of white women and women of color (20).
If we examine first-personal accounts, we discover the traits of hypersexualiza-
tion and exoticization described by Johnson. First, in her poem “Truth Is…,”
Alessandria Rhines expresses her frustration with her fetishization as a black
woman, and denounces the treatment she and other black women receive from
white men:
Don’t pat my hair. Don’t touch my skin and call it chocolate or caramel or mocha or ‘body
bangin’ like butta’. .. I am not your experiment. Your diversity quota. Your cultural trophy..
.. Fetishes are for the fools who can’t tell the original from the copy. I am neither, for I am,
the truth. (quoted in Leboeuf, 2018, 165).

The notion of experimentation reveals a new facet of the male gaze that is not pres-
ent in Beauvoir’s description of the gaze. Rhines’ hair and body attract an unusual
attention on the part of her white partner. She is viewed and treated as an uncommon
sexual object; this testifies to her exoticization. Moreover, the words “bangin’ like
butta’” testify to her hypersexualization. Let’s turn now to a second case. In an inter-
view with Brittany Wong for HuffPost, an Asian American woman, Lillian, whose
name was not provided for privacy reasons, discusses the types of messages she
receives on dating apps in these terms: “No man has ever opened with how white
women are so ‘exotic’ or opened with an assumption about how white vaginas are
different from other vaginas…. None of these messages have the same intense pre-
occupation with race.”8 Lillian’s account, like Rhines’, speaks both to her exoticiza-
tion and her hypersexualization. To broach a third example: Luna Diaz, a Costa
Rican and Dominican woman, in an interview with Kelsey Castañon for Refinery
29, recounts: “I’ve had white folks sexualize my entire existence — asking me to
speak Spanish during sex or calling me ‘exotic.’”9 Her words could not evoke more
clearly the phenomenon I am addressing here.
I have said that women of color are simultaneously reduced to sexual objects and
objects of curiosity. At this juncture, I should clarify what I mean by being viewed
as an “object of curiosity.” In The Habits of Racism (2017), Helen Ngo contrasts
“domination staring,” which is prominent in Fanon’s descriptions, with a form of

8
 https://www.huffpost.com/entry/asian-fetish-dating-red-flags_n_5ce6ca27e4b05c15dea89437
9
 https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/2018/05/197463/latina-hispanic-stereotypes-culture-
fetishization
206 C. Leboeuf

looking called “baroque staring.” Baroque staring stems from curiosity. Ngo’s
account draws on the taxonomy of the gaze from Rosemarie Garland-Thomson’s
Staring: How We Look (2009). There Garland-Thomson explains that “[t]he urgent
question, ‘What is that?’ stirs baroque starers” (50). Indeed, as I argue elsewhere,
the racializing gaze can take the form of baroque staring in the face of those whom
we perceive to be racially “ambiguous” (Leboeuf, 2020). To return to Rhines’
words, what is distinctive of the male gaze in her experience is the fact she is cov-
eted as a “novelty.” This, in my mind, harkens to Ngo’s and Garland-Thomson’s
discussions of baroque staring. Likewise, Lillian, mentioned above, explicitly uses
the language of curiosity to depict her experience: “We are not here to satiate your
sexual curiosity.” She adds: “We are not passive objects. We have our own inner
lives… Asian Americans are filled with small idiosyncrasies, just like any other
human ― though we shouldn’t have to convince anyone of that.” In light of their
experiences, we might characterize the look in these instances as asking, “What is
that?” and then adding, “I want that!” The male gaze, ever possessive, finds a special
appeal in the “unusual” physical features of its conquest. In short, to account for this
exoticization and hypersexualization, I believe that it is worth introducing the idea
that women of color are viewed simultaneously as sexual objects and as objects of
curiosity.
All in all, while the gaze has received considerable attention in phenomenology,
the experiences of women of color in the face of racializing male gaze have not
received the detailed, in-depth phenomenological explorations that those of
“women” and men of color have garnered. Besides calling attention to this fact, I
would like to add that it would be worth exploring the bodily alienation that might
result from such a form of objectification. Does it differ in force or in quality from
the bodily alienation that stems from other types of sexual objectification?

3 An Intersectional Phenomenology of Embodied Resistance

to Oppression

In my sketch of the notion of critical phenomenology, I asserted that such phenom-

enologies describe how contingent social conditions have modulated and continue
to condition human experience; in addition, I claimed that they face forward and
look toward new possibilities for meaningful experience. This section envisages the
nature of resistance to oppression from an intersectional perspective. I zero in on the
possibility of embodying resistance to one’s oppression and examine how such
resistance for women takes different shapes depending on race. What do I mean by
“embodying resistance”? While resistance to oppression can take the shape of civil
protest, legal reform, changes in economic institutions, and so on, embodied resis-
tance differs from these in that the work of undoing oppressive social structures is
engaged in via “bodily strategies.” As Chris Bobel and Samantha Kwan convey in
their anthology Embodied Resistance: Challenging the Norms, Breaking the Rules
Phenomenology at the Intersection of Gender and Race 207

(2011), such strategies are diverse: they may include embracing counterculture aes-
thetic norms, such as not removing certain areas of body hair for Western women,
or engaging in deviant bodily practices, running the gamut from breastfeeding in
public to living as a dominatrix. As was the case in the first two sections, I begin
with the work of Beauvoir, but in this case, rather than following through her appro-
priations, I adopt a critical angle on her argument via the work of Shannon Sullivan.
Beauvoir largely focuses on the macro-level social changes that would be neces-
sary for women’s liberation—economic emancipation, sexual autonomy, access to
safe abortions, an eliminating sexual violence, and changing expectations concern-
ing housework and childcare, among others (Beauvoir, 2011, 721–742). Yet she also
alludes at several points in The Second Sex to athleticism as a form of individual
resistance to oppression. For instance, in her chapter on lesbians, she notes:
Many women athletes are homosexual; they do not perceive this body which is muscle,
movement, extension, and momentum as passive flesh; it does not magically beckon
caresses, it is a hold on the world, not a thing of the world. (2011, 423).

As I explain elsewhere, “Beauvoir’s language suggests that she equates athleticism

with the power to affirm oneself over one’s environment; rather than being an object,
the athletic body is a ‘hold on the world’” (Leboeuf, 2019b, 455). I contend that the
counterpoint to Beauvoir’s claim is that “to the extent that women are alienated
from their bodies and invest themselves in their bodies as objects, to that extent they
have a ‘lesser’ grasp of the world” (455). Women athletes offer a model for resisting
oppression because their activities express a subjective, or first-personal, relation-
ship to the body, in contradistinction to the self-objectifying attitude inculcated by
society.
Athleticism, to be sure, might be a vehicle for women to combat their oppres-
sion. Nevertheless, as Shannon Sullivan argues, this strategy may not be relevant to
all women—in particular, to black women. In “Race After Beauvoir,” she states that
“Beauvoir’s treatment of physical activism…privileges the experiences of white
middle-class females” (Sullivan, 2017, 455). She observes that black women are
already stereotyped as aggressive and physically strong.10 Discussing these stereo-
types in the context of the criminalization of black girls and women, Sullivan ques-
tions the usefulness of Beauvoir’s focus on physical activism:
The relevant question is not how to help black girls develop their physical aggressiveness,
even though possessing confidence in their bodily strength and actions is just as important
for them as it is for white girls. Rather it is how might black girls and women put their anger
and revolt in their muscles so that sexism, racism, and the increasing incarceration rats of
black females are countered? To be effective, Beauvoir’s notion of physical activism needs
to be (re)developed intersectionally so that it addresses the lives of black girls and women.
(2017, 456)

In short, athleticism does not hold the same liberatory significance for black girls
and women at present than it may have for white girls and women. Undoing

10
 This analysis ties into my earlier description of the controlling image of the “strong, black woman.”
208 C. Leboeuf

oppression for black women would, thus, have to lie in creating a space for black
girls and women to embody physical confidence without facing censure or overt
punishment.
While I do not have a full-fledged account of how to create such a space, I will
conclude by sketching some avenues for it. Let me preface, though, that this is not
supposed to be a general account of embodied resistance for all women of color.
Just as the avenues of embodied resistance may differ between white and black
women, so too differences within the lived experience of women of color will struc-
ture the forms embodied resistance may take. I wish to pursue Sullivan’s line of
criticism and imagine what embodied resistance might look like for black girls and
women insofar as they are already viewed as dominant and aggressive. To do so, I
will dive into some “tools” that Sonia Renée Taylor envisages in her work on
reclaiming one’s body in the face of oppression.

In The Body Is Not an Apology (2018), Taylor takes aim at the shame we experience
when our bodies do not live up to normative images. For her, “living in a female
body, a Black body, an aging body, a fat body, and a body with mental illness is to
awaken daily to a planet that expects a certain set of apologies to already live on our
tongues” (11). By this, Taylor means that those whose bodies do not conform are
expected to make excuses for their failure to live up to bodily standards, whether in
the form of overt verbal apologies or habits, such as not taking up physical space,
which speak to their marginalized status. Taylor advocates developing a “radical
self-love” in the face of this form of oppression, and she offers several tools for
cultivating this self-love, two of which are worth mentioning here. To begin, she
believes that being in movement is an important part of a flourishing relationship to
one’s body. But unlike Beauvoir, she discusses alternatives to athleticism, such as
dance. For instance, she relates her positive experiences trying “West African
dance…a dance for women overcoming adversity” (108). Another part of this tool-
kit is community, which Beauvoir does not mention in her account of athleticism.
Taylor writes, “radical self-love is not a solo journey” (112). Communities offer
spaces for oppressed persons to be vulnerable and recognize the commonalities in
experience, and this, according to Taylor, lays the ground for resilience in the face
of oppression (112–113). Her observations recall the accounts of embodied resis-
tance collected by Bobel and Kwan: groups, either informal (for example, friends)
or formal (e.g., official organizations serving different marginalized populations),
play a central role in supporting efforts to combat constraining norms. The avenues
toward an embodied self-love that Taylor describes may afford the means for black
girls and women to reclaim their bodies and to develop the bodily confidence prized
by Beauvoir. Nevertheless, there are limits to this picture: if black girls and women
are to fully flourish as embodied beings, society as a whole will have to address
controlling images of them, as well as abolish the forms of oppression that they face.
My aim in this paper has been to motivate the need for phenomenologies that
deal intersectionally with gender and race. I have drawn our attention to three phe-
nomena that call for intersectional analyses: body image, the gaze, and embodied
resistance. I began with the observation that one of the limits of classical
Phenomenology at the Intersection of Gender and Race 209

phenomenology was its failure to consider how contingent social and historical
structures condition lived experience. What my paper reveals are some of the limits
of prominent feminist phenomenology and critical phenomenologies of race. In
Visible Identities: Race, Gender, and the Self (2006), Linda Martín Alcoff describes
our situated identities as embodied “horizons” through which we interpret the
world. The identities of the feminist phenomenologists and phenomenologists of
race whose works have risen to prominence may explain the relative paucity of
intersectional accounts of gendered and racialized embodiment. But if we take
intersectionality seriously, as we should, then we may expand the horizons of phe-
nomenological research.

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The Phenomenology of Zozobra: Mexican
and Latinx Philosophers on (Not) Being
at Home in the World

Francisco Gallegos

This chapter traces a line of thought that runs from the work of Mexican phenome-
nologists in the 1940s and 1950s to the work of contemporary Latinx phenomenolo-
gists in the US. The central topic is the phenomenon of zozobra, an anxious condition
characterized by the inability to be at home in the world. According to the philoso-
phers discussed in this chapter, zozobra has marked the Mexican and Latinx experi-
ence. This assessment raises a number of questions: Is zozobra a manifestation of
internal tensions inherent to Mexican and Latinx multicultural identity, or do its
origins lie elsewhere? What are the effects of zozobra on Mexican and Latinx com-
munities, and what can and should be done to address it?
One possible approach to the topic of zozobra would focus on the psychology of
identity. In the tradition of Latin American philosophy, it is sometimes said that
because Latin America was born in the Conquest and colonization of the people
indigenous to the western hemisphere, Latin Americans are prone to suffer from
conflicting attachments to their indigenous and European roots.1 These conflicting
attachments are said to be embodied in the principal ethno-racial identity within

1
 For example, in her overview of the Latin American philosophical tradition, Ofelia Schutte (1987,
27) says: “Despite almost five hundred years of assimilation into Western European tradition,
many Latin Americans still feel the conflict provoked by the conquistadores’ subjugation and
extermination of millions of Indians who dwelt in the region. The Indians have come to symbolize
the ancient, exploited, maternal heritage of the Americans, in contradistinction to the technologi-
cally advanced, civilized, foreign conqueror. How to resolve this tension in an unalienated and
authentic manner is one of the challenges of Latin American philosophy today.” In this vein,
Octavio Paz (1985 [1950], 26–27) offers a psychological account of the zozobra in Mexico along
these lines: “The Mexican does not want to be either an Indian or a Spaniard. Nor does he want to
be descended from them. He denies them. And he does not affirm himself as a mixture, but rather
as an abstraction: he is a man. He becomes the son of Nothingness… That is why the feeling of
orphanhood is the constant background of our political endeavors and our personal conflicts.”

F. Gallegos (*)
Wake Forest University, Winston-Salem, NC, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 211

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_11
212 F. Gallegos

Latin America—viz., mestizo, a term that means “mixed race” and usually refers to
a person of indigenous and Spanish descent.2 Mestizos may feel themselves to be
too “white” to be indigenous, and too “brown” to be European. As a result, they may
feel themselves to be excluded by, and/or distance themselves from, those with a
less complicated relationship to their indigenous or European identity. Thus,
between the inner conflict generated from opposing affinities with indigenous and
European cultures, and the poignant sense of not belonging to either of those com-
munities, mestizaje or “mixedness” can be fraught with psychological dissonances
that undermine one’s sense of being at home in the world.
Nothing in what follows explicitly rejects this analysis. However, the thinkers
discussed in this chapter seek to illuminate some of the deeper dynamics that may
be underlying and even driving such contestations of identity. Thus, in place of a
psychological account of zozobra, this chapter examines the phenomenology of
zozobra, focused on how basic structures of sense-making are affected when one is
unable to be at home in the world. From a phenomenological perspective, zozobra
arises not from one’s thoughts and feelings about any given situation but, rather,
from breakdowns in the “horizons of understanding” that make it possible to
encounter well-defined situations in the first place. And when we examine these
breakdowns of world from the perspective of critical phenomenology, we become
attentive to the mutually reinforcing relationship between zozobra and the oppres-
sive social structures affecting Mexican and Latinx communities, guided by the
hope that a phenomenological understanding of zozobra might shed new light on
ways for these communities to resist and overcome this oppression.3
Section One begins with a discussion of what it means to be at home in a world,
drawing on the seminal account of “world” in Heidegger’s Being and Time. Next,
Section Two examines the work of the Mexican phenomenologist, Jorge Portilla
(1918–1963), who considers some questions that are urgently relevant to Portilla’s
own circumstances: How should we understand the breakdown of a world? And
what happens to a society’s capacities for sense-making when its members find
themselves in a world that has become inhospitable? Portilla holds that zozobra
arises from the disintegration of a community’s normative framework, which gives
rise to the fragmentation of the various “subworlds” in a society and produces a
number of personal and social pathologies.
Sections Three and Four examine an alternative approach to zozobra proposed
first by the Mexican phenomenologist Emilio Uranga (1921–1988) and later echoed

2
 As Sánchez (2015, 67) puts it: “With the first mestizo comes the first internal duality, the first
tension, and the first conflict of identity.”
3
 Critical phenomenology, as Lisa Guenther (2020, 12) describes it, combines classical phenome-
nological analyses of experience offered by figures such as Edmund Husserl and Martin Heidegger
with an “equally rigorous account of how contingent historical and social structures also shape our
experience.” For critical phenomenologists, “structures like patriarchy, white supremacy, and het-
eronormativity” are “not things to be seen but rather ways of seeing, and even ways of making the
world that go unnoticed without a sustained practice of critical reflection” (12). Moreover, critical
phenomenologists strive to understand how the world may be restructured so that “new and libera-
tory possibilities for meaningful experience and existence may come into being” (15).
The Phenomenology of Zozobra: Mexican and Latinx Philosophers on (Not) Being… 213

and developed by the Latina philosopher Gloria Anzaldúa (1942–2004). Both

Uranga and Anzaldúa argue that while zozobra may become more apparent when
communities are subjected to social and political subordination, ultimately zozobra
is an essential aspect of the human condition. As such, they argue that zozobra
should be embraced and even cultivated as a source of authenticity and political
empowerment. Indeed, both thinkers call for the construction of a new overarching
normative framework that can unify their communities’ horizons of understanding
under the banner of “nepantla” or in-betweenness, thus conceiving of hybridity
itself as the organizing principle of a new form of identity that can escape colonial
paradigms of identity and agency. Section Five examines an alternative approach to
these issues in the work of the contemporary Latina phenomenologist, Mariana
Ortega. Instead of calling for a new and unifying normative framework, Ortega sees
liberatory potential in what she calls “hometactics,” the “micropractices” that enable
marginalized individuals to move between subworlds in a less disorienting and
destabilizing way.
Surprisingly, it is rare for Mexican and Latinx philosophers to be considered
together as participants in a shared discourse, as this chapter aims to do. Scholarship
on the intersections between these philosophical traditions has centered almost
exclusively on the work of Anzaldúa (Pitts, 2014, Stehn & Alessandri, 2020,
Alessandri & Stehn, 2020) but has not highlighted the relationship between her
work and that of Uranga or other Mexican (or Latin American) phenomenologists.4
This chapter thus aims to provide new insight into the common concerns motivating
prominent phenomenologists in each tradition and to illuminate the intimate inter-
play of the perspectives they offer. The dialectic I trace in this chapter can contrib-
ute  to important discussions within what is sometimes called “critical
phenomenology” on the ways that oppression influences, and is influenced by, our
sense-making practices. The various positions staked out by Portilla, Uranga,
Anzaldúa, and Ortega, represent  three distinct directions that these discussions
might be taken. As we will see, Portilla is in some ways a social conservative who
believes that our ability to pursue meaningful lives depends on the existence of
stable and widely shared social norms. Uranga and Anzaldúa are visionaries who
call for the radical reconstitution of identity on the basis of our shared homeless-
ness. Ortega is a pragmatist who celebrates the small victories that allow marginal-
ized groups to survive and adapt in worlds that are hostile to their existence. Future
discussions of the phenomenology of home would do well to learn from all these
perspectives, and to recognize that home is several things simultaneously: an essen-
tial foundation for human existence, an illusory ideal whose pursuit leads us to
exclude vulnerable others and vulnerable parts of ourselves, and a site for the
negotiation of the circumstances in which one finds oneself, in the tragic and beauti-
ful hope of creating a life to call one’s own.

4
 For a phenomenology of the Latinx experience informed by Mexican phenomenology, see
Sánchez (2015, ch. 5). For a discussion of the relationship between the Latinx feminisms of
Anzaldúa and Ortega and feminist work in Latin America more generally, see Rivera-Berruz (2020).
214 F. Gallegos

1 Heidegger on Being-in-the-World

It will be helpful to begin this examination of zozobra with a brief and partial review
of Heidegger’s seminal discussion of “being-in-the-world” in Being and Time. In
this text, Heidegger famously argues that for Dasein (the kind of entity that human
beings are), all our sense-making activity takes place within—i.e., is made possible
by, presupposes, refers to, and is inextricable from—a richly meaningful “world.”
Heidegger describes a world, in this sense, as a “referential totality” (1927 [1962],
105). Just as the meaning of a word necessarily refers to the meaning of other words,
so that no particular arrangement of symbols or phonemes is meaningful in isola-
tion, Heidegger argues that the meaning of each thing we experience depends on its
relationship to the wider meaningful context in which it is embedded. For example,
the significance of a nail in a carpenter’s workshop cannot be understood in isola-
tion from its relationship to hammers, wood, construction projects, the skills and
traditions of carpentry, customers, the human need for shelter and furniture, and so
on. In this way, the nail implicitly “refers to” the hammer and, ultimately, to the
world of the carpenter as a whole. According to Heidegger, then, all meaning is
holistic and embedded in a world: “a horizon of understanding, a space of possibili-
ties, on the background of which we understand” ourselves and everything we are
or could be involved with (Blattner, 2006, 63).
If a world is a “space of possibilities,” it is important to clarify that the kind of
“possibility” at issue here is roughly equivalent to what William James called a “live
option.”5 A live option is an action or attitude that is not merely physically or theo-
retically possible, but one that makes sense for a person to perform or adopt, based
on the way that their identity and concerns align with the significance of the action
or attitude in question. For example, if you are deeply devoted to the craft of carpen-
try and able to make a good living from it, you would not agree to significantly
lower the quality of your work simply for additional profit. While doing so may be
physically or theoretically possible, it will not show up to you as a live option,
because the action would violate the commitments that are central to your self-­
understanding and so make no sense for you to perform. As James (1979 [1896],
199) puts it, “the notion makes no electric connection with your nature—it refuses
to scintillate with any credibility at all.” By the same token, an action that would
otherwise “scintillate” in this way, but which has become physically impossible,
will no longer be a live option. With this in mind, we can think of a world—for
example, the world of carpentry, or the world of a small farming village in nine-
teenth century Germany—in terms of a network of live options, a setting for mean-
ingful possibilities to unfold, defined both by a normative framework within which
certain actions and attitudes are understood to be credible and important, and a
corresponding practical infrastructure that enables people to pursue and maintain
those actions and attitudes.

5
 A reference that is more proximal to Heidegger would be Husserl’s notion of “motivated” possi-
bilities. For discussion, read Walsh (2013).
The Phenomenology of Zozobra: Mexican and Latinx Philosophers on (Not) Being… 215

From Heidegger’s perspective, we know and inhabit worlds primarily through

our practical familiarity and committed participation in them, rather than through
intellectual or cognitive reasoning. The notion of being at home in a world, in the
sense that is relevant here, derives its meaning from the ordinary experience of hav-
ing a home, a particular built environment that provides shelter and serves as the
setting for one’s domestic life. “Home” is thus conceived here as a place of inti-
macy, a place where one is comfortable performing mundane and routine activities
of personal hygiene and other “backstage” (Goffman, 1978) operations that are usu-
ally concealed from public scrutiny. Home is also intimate in the sense that it is a
primary place to pursue certain projects that are deeply important to our identities,
such as those related to family and the activities one chooses when not at work.6
With this in mind, we can say that “being at home in a world” combines two ele-
ments: (a) familiarity, a relatively well-developed practical know-how for maneu-
vering in a given space of possibilities, attuning oneself to what matters in various
situations, and discerning the relevant saliences and affordances in order to pursue
what counts as a live option in that space, and (b) identification, an implicit endorse-
ment of or harmonization with that world, especially with regard to the way that
world makes it possible for one to pursue the projects that are central to one’s self-­
understanding. Both familiarity and identification are a matter of degree, and as
such, one can be more or less at home in a world. Moreover, these notions refer to
conditions that are an ambiguous mix of “objective” and “subjective” states, insofar
as being familiar can be distinguished from feeling familiar, and the fact that one’s
identity is inextricable from a given world does not necessarily imply that one expe-
riences a felt sense of “mineness” in relation to it.
Heidegger did not explain as clearly as we might have wished whether he
believed there is just one world that we all share, or, if there are multiple worlds,
how they are distinguished from and related to one another. Heidegger’s interpret-
ers, however, often describe worlds as nested and interwoven domains of human
life, in the sense that the world of a carpenter’s apprentice would be contained
within the world of carpentry, which in turn might be partially overlap with other
“subworlds” within the wider world of nineteenth century Germany.7 Although
there may not be any bright lines demarcating the upper or lower limits of this nest-
ing pattern or the boundaries between worlds, the very notion of “a world” calls to
mind the image of a sphere and seems to imply a domain that is relatively bounded,
internally coherent, and stable. At any rate, Being and Time certainly seems to

6
 For critical analysis of the notion of home in the context of oppression and resistance, see Lugones
(2003, ch. 9), and hooks (1990, ch. 5), both important sources for Ortega’s analysis of home dis-
cussed below, as well as Gallegos de Castillo (2016).
7
 For example, Mark Wrathall describes a world as “a particular style of organizing our activities
and relations with the things and people around us…. Whole books are devoted to helping us get a
feel for foreign worlds—The World of the Reformation or The World of Texas Politics, or The
World of the Maya or The World of the Suicide Bomber. Despite the fact that the very same physi-
cal and chemical laws apply to both Texas politicians and suicide bombers, there is a very real
sense in which they inhabit different worlds” (2005, 20).
216 F. Gallegos

assume that worlds have these qualities, insofar as the text does not raise questions
about how worlds may become destabilized or disintegrated. Indeed, Heidegger’s
central concern in this text is not the possibility that worlds might break down but,
to the contrary, the question of how individuals might resist the intense pressure to
conform to social norms and achieve personal authenticity—a concern that would
seem to gain its urgency in a context in which the worlds in question are especially
secure and tightly connected. However, as we will see, when Mexican phenomenol-
ogists consider these issues from the vantage point of Mexico City in the 1940s and
1950s, different concerns come to the fore.

2 Jorge Portilla on the Disintegration of Community

Portilla’s phenomenology of “world” is marked by his view that mid-century

Mexico was in the process of disintegrating. In the decades following the tumultu-
ous revolution of 1910, Mexico had engaged in an intense nation-building effort,
seeking to construct a unified national identity that could bind together the various
social groups in the nation; however, by mid-century this project was severely
strained, and the promise of a national rebirth had faded.8 There was a widespread
sense, discussed incessantly among Mexico’s intellectuals, that everyday life in
Mexico had become deeply permeated by “zozobra,” a Spanish term often trans-
lated as “distress” or “anxiety,” and which connotes instability, ungroundedness,
and the wobbling that precedes the capsizing of a ship. But while some prominent
Mexican intellectuals such as Samuel Ramos (1972 [1934]) and Octavio Paz (1985
[1950]) offered psychological accounts of zozobra, focused on an examination of
“the Mexican mind,” Portilla and his fellow phenomenologists rejected these psy-
chological interpretations as degrading and misguided, and in their place, they
offered phenomenological accounts of zozobra, focused on an examination of what
happens when worlds come apart.
In his 1949 essay, “Community, Greatness, and Misery in Mexican Life,” Portilla
offers a phenomenological account of zozobra that begins by affirming Heidegger’s
description of a world as a “horizon of understanding” in which all meaning is
embedded. Portilla emphasizes the role of other people in one’s community in con-
stituting this horizon. “Our action,” Portilla (2017 [1949], 187) says,
is not carried out in the middle of the desert, but in community. We cannot project any
action whatsoever without counting on others…. Our action is inconceivable to ourselves if
a somewhat precise halo is not attached to it, one of approval or reproach, of incentive or of
obstacle, whose source is the community, those “others.”

8
 See Santos Ruiz (2015) for a critical discussion of the relationship between Mexican phenome-
nology and Mexico’s nation-building project. For the history of Mexico during this period, see
López (2010).
The Phenomenology of Zozobra: Mexican and Latinx Philosophers on (Not) Being… 217

When things are going well, we often take this interpretive horizon for granted, only
noticing its importance when things go wrong. When we travel to a foreign country,
for example, we may discover that the normative frameworks and practical infra-
structures we encounter there are quite different from those we are accustomed to,
so that we find it difficult to properly make a joke, give a compliment, demonstrate
practical competence, and do things that express our character. Such experiences
illustrate that “horizons [of understanding] have critical importance for human
action. One of their primary functions is that of serving as walls against which
bounce the echoes that carry the meaning of our actions”—a fact that becomes pain-
fully obvious to us when the “echo” that bounces back “makes it evident that our
[action] did not have the exact meaning that we were giving to it” (184).
Portilla notes that at any given moment, we may simultaneously occupy many
nested and interwoven worlds and subworlds. As he puts it,
we always live in a multiplicity of communal horizons that mix and weave with each other
and that remain always potential or actual, depending on whether our action reveals or
conceals them. We live always simultaneously immersed in a national community that can
take various forms, from the political to the aesthetic: in a professional community; in a
guild; in a class; in a family…. (183–84)

As this passage suggests, Portilla is especially interested in the ways that nations
can constitute a world. Indeed, throughout Portilla’s work, we find a consistent
argument for a view that we might call “phenomenological nationalism,” the view
that individuals’ sense-making capacities are mediated and structured by their
belonging to a nation.9 Portilla emphasizes, however, that all nations do not influ-
ence individuals’ sense-making activity in the same way. One important way that
nations differ, in his view, is the extent to which subworlds (such as those related to
family or profession) are “integrated” within a larger horizon of understanding that
binds together the national society as a whole. Portilla thus imagines a spectrum
between a “sub-integrated” nation and a “super-integrated” nation. He suggests that
Germany, for example, may be an instance of a “super-integrated” nation, in which
the various social roles a person may occupy—worker, father, music-lover, and so
on—all fit together in a tight, cohesive package, so that all of a person’s activities
work together to express the national way of life (187–88).
In a super-integrated nation, Portilla argues, individuals gain what we can call
agential freedom, the freedom to take meaningful action. High levels of integration
in the horizons of understanding enable individuals to anticipate the meaning of
their action, and so they can simply set their minds to acting as they are willing and
able to act. Portilla says that in such a nation, the “atmosphere seems to be a space

9
 For discussion of Portilla’s phenomenological nationalism, see Sánchez & Gallegos (2020, Ch.
2.) Phenomenological nationalism—the view that our sense-making activity is shaped at a deep,
existential level by our nationality— does not involve the use of phenomenology for nationalistic
purposes, and so it should be sharply distinguished from political nationalism. Indeed, Portilla
abhorred political nationalism and consistently argued (e.g., in his examination of Mexico, the
United States, and Germany) that the influence of nationality on people’s sense-making capacities
was detrimental to their flourishing as sense-makers.
218 F. Gallegos

of incredibly open opportunities for individual action, something like a paradise for
the industrious man”—adding, on a more ominous note, “a paradise that frequently
transforms itself into the dominion of the predator” (189). By the same token, how-
ever, individuals in a super-integrated nation suffer from a lack of what we might
call normative freedom, the freedom to alter the normative framework that helps to
establish the meaning of their actions. Individuals in super-integrated nations may
violate social norms, of course, but this is not equivalent to inhabiting a world in
which the normative framework is more inchoate and open to innovation. In this
vein, Portilla quotes Karl Vossler, a German academic who, after visiting South
America, wrote: “Central Europeans of today, who are at the point of smothering
our healthy members with a system of well-intentioned bandages and of making
ourselves immobile by force of organization, can take example in the free spirit of
independence of the Latin American” (quoted in Portilla, 2017 [1949], 189).
Nevertheless, too much normative freedom is no freedom at all. According to
Portilla, Mexico is a “sub-integrated” society, located on the far opposite end of the
spectrum of worldly integration. In Mexico, he says, “everything happens as if these
structures of transcendence that we have named horizons of community suf-
fered…from a lack or in-articulation” (189). Although Mexicans are not “smoth-
ered” by rigid social norms, Portilla says that the horizons of understanding in
Mexico are so unclear, incoherent, and unstable that the basic conditions for the
possibility of meaningful action are undermined, together with the possibility of
agential freedom. For this reason, Portilla describes the state of sub-integration as
“a species of social malnutrition that forms a thin yet suffocating spiritual atmo-
sphere for whomever must form their personality within it” (131).
According to Portilla, then, zozobra arises when the discontinuities and disso-
nances between the subworlds one inhabits become so pervasive and persistent that
it becomes largely impossible to enjoy the experience of familiarity and identifica-
tion with the kind of situations one encounters on a daily basis. Imagine, for exam-
ple, that actions which are highly valued in your family life are repudiated in your
professional world, and vice versa, or that you would like to be an idealistic patriot
but find that the practical infrastructure for serving your nation is undeveloped or
operates in a dysfunctional manner, while the infrastructure for participating in cor-
ruption is well-developed and operates efficiently. As Manuel Vargas (2020, 2) notes,
A precise characterization of these misalignments can be elusive. In relatively mild cases,
the misalignment is localized to features of a job, or a group, or some particular practice.
More encompassing cases of misalignment leave one feeling more radically at unease with
wider or more comprehensive swaths of one’s milieu. In these more extreme instances, we
might characterize the situation as producing a sense that one is ‘ungrounded’, perhaps
normatively unmoored, in that it is unclear how one is to proceed, what the significance of
one’s choices will be…

In the absence of a larger, shared world that can hold together the subworlds we
inhabit, a person will find themselves constantly toggling between normative frames
and unable to proceed wholeheartedly on the paths available to them. This is the
condition of zozobra.
The Phenomenology of Zozobra: Mexican and Latinx Philosophers on (Not) Being… 219

Some common psychological effects of zozobra, according to Portilla, include

self-doubt and quietism, cynicism, nostalgia, and apocalyptic thinking. These
effects that become distinctive social pathologies in sub-integrated nations. The pri-
mary and most direct effect of zozobra is quietism, a hesitation to take action of any
sort. As Portilla puts it:
In effect, if the community’s reception or response in regard to our action cannot be deter-
mined with a certain amount of clarity, it is likely that we will indefinitely postpone the
demanded action until the horizon clears up and, if this does not happen, we will carry it out
only when the circumstances themselves turn it into a demand that cannot be postponed,
and then it will probably carry within itself the mark of improvisation. Nothing slows down
the impetus toward action more than uncertainty in regard to the manner in which the work
to be done will be received. (187)

Together with this sort of quietism comes a tendency toward cynicism that is also
characteristic of zozobra.
Thus, in a disarticulated community such as ours, the man of action, and even the intellec-
tual, will find himself affected by a certain cynicism which is nothing more than a defensive
maneuver or a movement of self-affirmation, which can be described with the analogy of
whistling or humming in the dark so as to forget one’s fears….

It is clear that a failed, unnatural, or badly interpreted action will turn us into introverts,
melancholic and hopeless. Action becomes imaginary: everyday conversation in Mexico is
filled with stories about men who attempted a noble act, who tried to realize a useful or
noble endeavor, an act that was ultimately crushed by the harshness of the external world,
or invalidated by collaborators who were inept or of bad faith. (188)

Portilla thus sees the tendency toward introversion, sentimentality, and nostalgia—a
desire to escape into fantasy or into memories of a bygone era when life made
sense—as an expression of the cynicism that grows from zozobra (188).
Finally, Portilla argues that zozobra often gives rise to an apocalyptic imagina-
tion and a profound sense of the fragility and contingency of life. He compares what
it is like to live without a clear and stable communal horizon of understanding to the
situation of an “explorer or sailor working with a malfunctioning compass. Her
horizon, in this case a geographical horizon, has become confusing and more than
likely threatening” (184). In a similar way, he says, a person navigating everyday
life in a disintegrated society will experience themselves as vulnerable in a deep and
primordial way.
The individual, prevented from securely founding his being on the web of human relations,
finds himself painfully exposed to the cosmic vastness. We live always simultaneously
entrenched in a human world and in a natural world, and if the human world denies us its
accommodations to any extent, the natural world emerges with a force equal to the level of
insecurity that textures our human connections. (189)

In other words, our sense of security is largely a function of our sense of commu-

nity, and so a fragmentation of a widely shared horizon of understanding will leave
us feeling incapable of coping with the disasters that seem to be impending at
every turn.
220 F. Gallegos

Widespread corruption is both a sign of zozobra as well as a practice that exac-

erbates it, according to Portilla. Because the nation does not function effectively as
a horizon of intelligibility that shapes individuals’ sense-making practices, actions
that would involve sacrificing one’s self-interest for the sake of the national com-
munity simply do not show up as making sense to people in a compelling way. As
Portilla puts it,
the functionary does not act as a representative of that communal transcendence that we call
the State, but rather as a representative of his own personal interests. Here we have a failure
of that sentiment of solidarity that should have integrated this functionary to the total person
of the State… . His community-State horizon disappears and the only thing that remains is
the sufficient means for his particular relations to easily turn into personal relationships in
which only personal interests are at play. (185)

In this way, Portilla insists that corruption—“that specter that carries with it all the
fault of our national misfortunes”—is not merely an issue of “individual morality”
but, rather, “an alteration or weakness of the moral foundation which is the com-
munity” (185).
Thus, Portilla views zozobra as something that arises when a nation disinte-
grates, and when this occurs, zozobra gives rise to profound personal distress and
social dysfunction. Let us turn now to Portilla’s philosophical collaborator, Emilio
Uranga, who challenges this view by arguing that zozobra reflects the human condi-
tion and so is unavoidable, and that, in fact, communities that have been oppressed
can and should embrace zozobra as a vehicle for their existential and political
empowerment.

3 Emilio Uranga on Authenticity and Colonial Ideology

In his 1952 text, Analysis of Mexican Being, Uranga argues that the zozobra that
marks Mexican life has been inflamed by the social and political subordination of
Mexico and Mexicans by European powers. This socio-political dynamic has
robbed Mexico of material resources for constructing the practical infrastructure
that could support a more integrated horizon of understanding, while simultane-
ously imposing a normative framework that prevents many Mexicans from being at
home in their world. In the normative framework that enjoys global hegemony, the
European is centered and seen as necessary, admirable, and fully human, while the
Mexican is marginalized and seen as expendable, deficient, and less than fully human.
The European does not ask himself the question regarding his own being because he imme-
diately identifies the human and the European. He does not justify himself before humanity
because, for him, his own being is the measure of the human. We, on the other hand, have
to justify ourselves. It is a historical fact that endures, one registered on the historical
record, that humanity has been denied to us, being men has been denied to us; but it is from
this original situation that we must elevate our thinking. (Uranga, 2021 [1952], 138)

Thus, according to Uranga, in the background of Mexican life there is a persistent,

felt need to justify one’s very existence in the face of dehumanizing subordination.
The Phenomenology of Zozobra: Mexican and Latinx Philosophers on (Not) Being… 221

When a group of people is treated with contempt by those who are in positions
of social and cultural dominance in this way, Uranga says, there arises an unsettling
doubling of perspective. Members of marginalized and subjugated social groups
must constantly monitor themselves through the internalized perspective of those
with privilege and power and so do not have the luxury to simply be, but instead find
themselves always questioning the meaning of how they are being.10 This “oscilla-
tion” between normative frameworks is characteristic of zozobra.
Zozobra refers to a mode of being that incessantly oscillates between two possibilities,
between two affects, without knowing on which one of those to depend on, which justifies
it, indiscriminately dismissing one extreme in favor of the other. In this to-and-fro the soul
suffers, it feels torn and wounded. The pain of zozobra is not obviously identifiable with
fear or anxiety, it takes from both in an emotionally ambiguous manner. (180)

To illustrate his analysis, Uranga compares Mexico to Spain, saying that among the
Spanish there is little evidence of the normative uncertainty or zozobra that charac-
terizes the Mexican way of being.
Amongst themselves, Spaniards shout and speak loudly, the interjections and insults fly
without injury; however, amongst us, we [Mexicans] know ourselves as overly “frag-
mented” and avoid the least provocation, even the most gentle and inoffensive ones, and we
avoid also the raising of our voice or the harsh word. A nature which is substantial also
manifests itself in the predictable, clear, and somewhat mechanical way with which the
Spanish takes a position before certain limit situations of human life: love, death, kinship,
friendship. In all of these situations the Spaniard reacts in an always expected way (he
knows what to count on), while the Mexican always hesitates and has to extract the appro-
priate attitude out of his zozobra. The Mexican does not know how to explain his conduct
and feelings, he does not objectify himself, but rather lives in indeterminateness and vague-
ness, and is often depressed. On the other hand, the Spaniard brutally objectifies himself,
calls bread “bread,” wine “wine”; he grabs hold of himself with certainty and confidence,
while we unravel amongst our indeterminations. (157–58)

According to Uranga, then, the Spanish way of being is characterized by an absence

of zozobra, enjoying instead a sense of stability, familiarity, and identification with
regard to the normative order of everyday life, and this gives the Spanish confidence
and a capacity for self-assertion that are comparatively absent in Mexico.
However, rather than searching for some way to escape the insecurity of zozobra,
Uranga argues that zozobra should be proudly accepted as the price that must be
paid for being authentic and in touch with most vital aspects of the human condi-
tion. Uranga draws a distinction between two possible ways of being, which he calls
“substantiality” and “accidentality.” This distinction is loosely derived from
Aristotle’s well-known distinction between substances and accidents, according to
which an accident is an attribute that may belong to a substance, but which does not
affect the substance’s essence. For example, a dog is a substance, while the color of
its fur is an accident—whether the fur is white or black is irrelevant to its being a
dog. Using this Aristotelian distinction as a rough analogy, Uranga uses the terms

 It would be fruitful to compare Uranga’s analysis here to DuBois’ (1897) discussion of “double
10

consciousness,” as well to related ideas in Fanon (1967/1952), Alcoff (1999), and others.
222 F. Gallegos

“substantiality” and “accidentality” to describe two basic ways that a person might
experience the things they encounter. While substantiality would be characterized
by “plenitude or fullness of being, an entity without fissures or edges” (104), Uranga
says that the accidental form of experience
finds itself…at a distance, alienated, detached…fragile and fractured…both in being and
not in being. There lies its essential vulnerability or affectivity, the ‘encountering
itself’…but, at the same time, the not knowing what to depend on, the not adhering in a
definite sense, hesitation, or zozobra. (118–19)

With this distinction in place, Uranga then argues that, at bottom, all human beings
are accidental, and that substantiality is ultimately impossible for creatures like us.
Drawing on Heidegger’s Being and Time, Uranga argues that human beings are
essentially self-questioning and self-defining entities, and therefore the meaning of
our existence will always be uncertain and open to doubt (152ff). Unlike a rock,
which is defined by objective properties, or a table, which is defined by its assigned
functions, as a human being I am defined by my self-understanding, which is always
subject to suspensions and revisions. From Heidegger’s and Uranga’s perspective,
there is no “true self” inside of us to provide certainty about who and how I should
be. Instead, as Heidegger puts it in a passage quoted by Uranga, “I decide for my
existence through a radical possibility that is my proper constitution.”11 For this
reason, the being of human beings is essentially uncanny, incomplete, uncertain,
and vulnerable to the experience of zozobra (Withy, 2015).
For this reason, Uranga holds that the accidentality that defines the Mexican way
of being is more “authentic” than the Spanish way of being.
If the human being is constitutionally accidental, then it becomes understandable why the
Mexican has to be described as authentically human, given that he exists in immediate
proximity to the accident. This is another way to say that the Mexican is authentic because
life is lived as originarily ontological, or in proximity to his own being. (109)

Authenticity, in this sense, is a quasi-ethical ideal of human flourishing, one that

involves humbly and honestly facing up to one’s self-questioning and self-defining
nature, and then taking responsibility for creating one’s own life in the face of the
fragility and uncertainty of the meaning of our existence. “Inauthenticity,” in con-
trast, “would be to flee the condition of accidentality and to substantialize oneself”
(105). The Spanish are inauthentic in this sense, from Uranga’s perspective, because
they take for granted the meaning of the things around them and of their own lives,
as though such things were immutable facts, thus denying their responsibility for
participating in the creation of those meanings. Although accidentality is an “origi-
nary” human condition, nevertheless, “what passes itself off as human being in gen-
eral, namely, generalized European humanity, does not appear to us to define itself
as accidental, but precisely as arrogant substantiality” (107). Thus, given the nature
of human beings, to take one’s normative order as stable and certain, as Uranga says
is characteristic of the European outlook, or to remain immersed in one’s projects
without disorienting periods of self-alienation, can only be a result of bad faith,

11
 Heidegger (1929 [1995], 43), cited in Uranga (2021 [1952], 153).
The Phenomenology of Zozobra: Mexican and Latinx Philosophers on (Not) Being… 223

self-deception, and a refusal to acknowledge or admit to what is, in fact, a universal

human vulnerability—a dishonest state that will ultimately require both inward and
outward violence to maintain.
Uranga thus calls upon Mexicans to “accidentalize” themselves—that is, to
relate to their accidentality not merely as a “given,” but instead to take it up as “a
project to be realized,” and even to affirm to themselves, “it must be realized” (105).
To make his case for the intentional pursuit of accidentality, Uranga brings together
a socio-political critique of coloniality, on the one hand, with an existentialist view
of the human condition, on the other, as we see in the following passage:
America, Hegel said, is an accident of Europe. This proposition must be taken literally. To
be accidental should not involve, for us, an inferior value before the substantiality of
Europe, but it should highlight precisely the notion that that which is authentic or genuinely
human is nothing consistent and persistent, but something fragile and fractured. This onto-
logical condition is more originary, more primitive than that of man as substantial, which
represents a derivative state, one that at bottom represents a deviation from the demands
posited by the human condition at its very core. (155)

Uranga thus suggests that substantiality is a distinctively European value. In

European philosophy, he argues, there has been a tendency to assume that what
gives value and dignity to humankind, what makes us most human, is some quality
that we possess, such as rationality, autonomy, identity, will, agency, a strong com-
mitment to well-defined values and projects, etc.—while opposite qualities such as
fragility, lack, uncertainty, and incoherence are denigrated and disdained.12 But this
set of values reflects the “arrogant” perspective of those who enjoy social and politi-
cal dominance, whose privilege protects them from many of the circumstances that
provoke a sense of self-alienation, fragility, lack, uncertainty, and incoherence for
those who are marginalized, while at the same time facilitating the imposition of the
strong over the weak and the callous disregard of those in need.
In this way, Uranga challenges the assumption that confidence and self-assertion
is always better than uncertainty, hesitation, and gentleness, suggesting instead that
the exclusive valorization of substantiality is a manifestation of an oppressive colo-
niality and colonial ideology. If this is correct, then by intentionally cultivating the
accidentality and zozobra that has been imposed on them, Mexicans can undermine
this colonial ideology and transform their accidentality into something that supports
rather than undermines their flourishing. This strategy is similar to the way some
oppressed groups have appropriated slurs used to denigrate them, in the hope of
finding a kind of invulnerability in the act of taking on for themselves that which
others sought to impose (Brontsema, 2004, Herbert, 2015). But in the case of appro-
priating zozobra, what is appropriated is the very form of consciousness that arises

12
 Discussing this point, Vargas (2020, 15–16) says, “Philosophers have tended to valorize cross-
situationally stable, normatively unified agents, and the Kantian and Aristotelian traditions have
tended to defend this sort of view in different ways.” Vargas cites Korsgaard as an example of a
philosopher explicitly arguing for this view. For this reason, when Uranga argues that accidentality
“constitutes the being of all human beings,” he views this as a philosophical position that has the
potential “to overturn the teachings of the Western tradition” (Uranga, 2021 [1952], 111).
224 F. Gallegos

when one is subordinated—and this would be the ultimate invulnerability. Uranga

thus calls for a generational movement that embraces and celebrates zozobra in
order to undermine the normative hegemony of those who pretend to embody
substantiality.
Noting that the notion of accidentality is drawn from European philosophy,
Uranga suggests that the generational movement to celebrate zozobra might instead
organize itself under the heading of “nepantla,” a term taken from Nahuatl, the lan-
guage of indigenous communities in southern Mexico and Central America.
We pointed out that the mode of being of the Mexican is oscillatory and pendular, moving
from one extreme to the other, making simultaneous two instances while never sacrificing
one for the sake of the other. The Mexican character does not install itself over—for lack of
a better term—two agencies, but between them. The Nahuatl term “nepantla” captures this
phenomenon perfectly; it means “in between,” in the middle, in the center. We thus have
before us, in all its purity, the central category of our ontology, autochthonous, one that does
not borrow from the Western tradition, satisfying our desire to be originalists. The content
within which our being oscillates is, suddenly, indifferent with regard to its matter; there is,
for its part, nothing that would invalidate the form that binds it together. (166–67)

By elevating nepantla as the organizing principle of a new communal identity,

Uranga hopes to undermine the colonial logic of identity, in which identity is inex-
tricable from exclusion and the imposition of an artificial coherence. “The people of
nepantla” would include everyone who can find no stable home in the world and
who do not fit neatly into the identity categories offered by the dominant normative
framework. Ultimately, this would include everyone, since all human beings have
only a tenuous hold on their identity and place in the world—a vision of humanity
in which the paradigm is not the European, but the Mexican.
As we turn now to discussions of zozobra in contemporary Latinx philosophy,
we find a striking degree of continuity in the line of thought initiated by Portilla and
Uranga.

4 Anzaldúa on the New Mestiza

The phenomenon of zozobra is a central concern of contemporary Latinx philoso-

phy, even if the term “zozobra” is rarely used when discussing it. As many Latinx
philosophers have pointed out, while Latin American identity is complex, Latinx
identity is often even more so, insofar as Latinx identity is a mixture of mixtures,
bringing together what is often already a mestizo identity of Latin America with one
or more of the various, complex, and conflicted identities found in the US. For this
reason, in addition to navigating the inter- and intra-personal tensions associated
with being both “too white” and “too brown” for inclusion in indigenous or Anglo-­
European communities, many Latinx individuals must also navigate the tensions
associated with being “too Latin American” to feel fully at home in US culture, and
“too American” to feel fully at home in the Latin American culture of their heritage.
“Ni de aquí ni de allá,” from neither here nor there: this common refrain among the
The Phenomenology of Zozobra: Mexican and Latinx Philosophers on (Not) Being… 225

children of Latin American immigrants to the US expresses a sentiment that can

persist within Latinx communities for generations.
One specific way this pattern can play out is a felt need to be or act “whiter” in
professional spaces, or even to enact a more general self-distancing from one’s lati-
nidad or “Latinness” to maintain or improve one’s social status. Discussing this
topic, Maria Lugones (1987) describes the disorienting experience of suddenly los-
ing access to certain of her character traits and capacities that she deeply cherished,
such as her “playfulness” and sense of humor, whenever she entered professional
spaces in the US.  This dynamic can give rise to “impostor syndrome,” in which
Latinx individuals doubt their talents and accomplishments and experience a persis-
tent anxiety about being exposed as a fraud—a condition that Carlos Sánchez (2011)
describes as “post-immigrant fear,” in which the descendants of non-white immi-
grants remain vigilant of the threat of being asked to show one’s “papers” (i.e.,
demonstrate one’s credentials or proof of belonging) on pain of being “deported”
from certain social spaces. As Jennifer Morton (2019) points out in her discussion
of the “costs of upward mobility,” such fears often reflect the reality of a society in
which many Latinx communities are oppressed, and  so those  Latinx individuals
who gain wealth or education risk becoming increasingly isolated from their friends
and families.
One of the most well-known discussions of Latinx zozobra is found in the work
of Gloria Anzaldúa, who writes eloquently about her own experience of not fitting
into simple identity categories.
Being a mestiza queer person, una de las otras is having and living in a lot of worlds, some
of which overlap…. Moving at the blink of an eye, from one space, one world, to another,
each world with its own peculiar and distinct inhabitants, not comfortable in any one of
them, none of them “home,” yet none of them “not home” either. (Anzaldúa, 2009, 141)

Despite the challenges associated with this zozobra, Anzaldúa offers a perspective
that is strikingly similar to Uranga’s, calling on us to embrace zozobra as a source
of personal and collective liberation. Like Uranga, Anzaldúa begins by arguing that
fragmentation is the human condition, insofar as all people experience some amount
of the self-splitting that is so pronounced in the Latinx experience.
We all have many different selves or subpersonalities, little “I’s”: This self may be very
good at running the house, taking care of the writing as a business, making a living from the
writing, and figuring out expenses. This other self is very emotional and this other self is the
public figure who goes out, does speeches and teaches. Whatever subpersonalities you have
(and some are antagonistic to others)—they all make up el árbol, which is the total self.
(Anzaldúa, 2000, 242)

Anzaldúa thus holds that the multiplicity of the self is not inherently problematic or
something to be avoided or corrected; to the contrary, it is full of creative potential.
Indeed, Anzaldúa argues that the dysfunctions associated with multiplicity are in
fact caused by the imposition of hegemonic normative frameworks that demand
people to be coherent, orderly, and stable—demands that may now be beginning to
be subjected to skeptical critique.
226 F. Gallegos

Now people are integrating that desire not to compartmentalize into their lives, into every-
day activities. But compartmentalization has been a way of life for so long—to be different
people and even aware of it: life forcing us to be one person at the job, another at school,
and yet another with our lesbian friends—that it feels really ambiguous to bring all those
other identities with you and to activate them all. (141)

Again echoing Uranga, Anzaldúa calls for Latinx individuals to refuse to check
parts of themselves at the office or classroom door, and to insist that the world begin
to accommodate their complexity. She thus envisions a movement of people who
embrace a new conception of mestizaje that is not tied to any ethnic or racial origins
but only to mixture and hybridity itself.
The new mestiza copes by developing a tolerance for contradictions, a tolerance for ambi-
guity. She learns to be an Indian in Mexican culture, to be Mexican from an Anglo point of
view. She learns to juggle cultures. She has a plural personality, she operates in a pluralistic
mode—nothing is thrust out, the good the bad and the ugly, nothing rejected, nothing aban-
doned. Not only does she sustain contradictions, she turns the ambivalence into something
else. (Anzaldúa, 1987, 79)

Thus, calling for us to take up the mantle of “nepantleras” (i.e., or people who take
up nepantla as a project to be realized), Anzaldúa aims to construct an alternative
normative framework that can bring a unified meaning to the fragmentation experi-
enced by the Latinx community, without reproducing the violence inherent to colo-
nial conceptions of identity.
However, it is not clear whether an identity that is so inclusive can function as an
identity category at all, not to mention provide the kind of normative framework that
would enable a community to avoid the negative effects of disintegration described
by Portilla and others. With this in mind, let us now conclude our examination of
zozobra with a less ambitious but perhaps more practical approach to coping with
zozobra.

5 Ortega on Hometactics

In her 2016 text, In-Between: Feminist Phenomenology, Multiplicity, and the Self,
Mariana  Ortega offers a treatment of zozobra that is framed as a response to
Anzaldúa’s description of the multiplicity of the self. Ortega begins by arguing that
multiplicity and the zozobra that accompanies it are both a matter of degree, and
that while “all selves may experience not being-at-ease occasionally,” some indi-
viduals “experience it continuously” (Ortega, 2016, 60). In particular, Ortega says,
the condition of multiplicity becomes intensified and more burdensome for those
who are members of oppressed and marginalized social groups.
While the account of multiplicitous selfhood offered here is to be understood as a general
account of self—that is, all of us are multiplicitous selves—…[for] those multiplicitous
selves whose experience is marked by oppression and marginalization due to their social
identities…multiplicity is sharper, sometimes piercing, thus leading to a sense of alienation
and Unheimlichkeit, or uncanniness, that makes their lives more vulnerable to injustice. (51)
The Phenomenology of Zozobra: Mexican and Latinx Philosophers on (Not) Being… 227

Oppression intensifies and exacerbates zozobra, in Ortega’s view, because (1) mem-
bers of oppressed social groups are frequently forced to enter into subworlds domi-
nated by privileged social groups, for work, education, and other social and practical
goods, and (2) members of oppressed social groups tend to experience a strong
sense of unfamiliarity when they are in subworlds dominated by privileged social
groups. Presumably, members of privileged social groups would also tend to experi-
ence a strong sense of unfamiliarity if and when they visit subworlds dominated by
oppressed social groups, or any social groups to which they do not belong. However,
those who are privileged often enjoy the ability to remain inside relatively segre-
gated social bubbles and so can work, study, and take care of other concerns without
having to venture out of familiar social spaces.
In this way, members of oppressed social groups tend to be the ones who must
bear the cost of the disunity and fragmentation of a society’s subworlds.
Since there is overlapping between worlds, some of these worlds will share norms, mean-
ings, and points of view, while in other cases there will be minimal overlapping. Power
relations at work in these various worlds are established differently and construct the mul-
tiplicitous self in various ways… there will be cases in which there will be incommensura-
bility, and some elements will be lost in cross-cultural communication…. Complete
translation is not possible, and the multiplicitous self-will in some sense always be an out-
sider. (67)

On this basis, Ortega criticizes Heidegger’s assumption that the domain of “every-
dayness” is a domain in which we feel at home and can rely on unselfconscious,
skillful coping. For many Latinas, Ortega argues, the demands of daily life take
them into social spaces in which they feel forced to suppress or abandon practical
identities and ways of being that are central to their own self-understanding. “The
selves described by Latina feminists continually experience not being-at-ease or
tears in the fabric of everyday experience while performing practices that for the
dominant group are, for the most part, nonreflective, customary, and readily avail-
able” (61–62).
According to Ortega’s analysis, then, the worst effects of zozobra arise when
members of oppressed social groups are alienated from subworlds that they must
frequently inhabit but are dominated by privileged social groups. It follows from
this analysis that one way to cope with the worst effects of zozobra would be to
diminish this alienation and strengthen the sense of familiarity and identification
with the relevant subworlds. This task might be accomplished through assimilation,
adopting the practical identities, attitudes, and ways of being of the dominant group.
However, moving in the direction of assimilation often gives rise to “sense of confu-
sion, ambiguity, or even contradiction” (81) about one’s own personality and values.
In this way, a Latina is more likely to find herself experiencing an “existential crisis
based on the anxiety that arises when she faces extremely difficult choices given her
multiple personalities” (54). The painful intensity of this zozobra itself constitutes a
significant harm, and it also makes a person more vulnerable to various kinds of
oppression by weakening their ability and willingness to resist injustice.
With this in mind, Ortega commends the use of what she calls “hometactics” as
an alternative to assimilation. Hometactics are practices that support a person’s
228 F. Gallegos

“sense of familiarity, ease, or…belonging in a space or location, even though the

space is a new or foreign one” (205). Examples of hometactics include “painting the
walls of your apartment with bright colors, such as the ones that remind you of a
childhood home or your country origin” and “making and sharing foods you used to
eat in your past by improvising with ingredients that are available” (206). Another
example of hometactics is “rethinking, refeeling the meaning of family by develop-
ing new relationships with a neighbor, getting so close that he becomes family, too”;
“finding ways of relating to members of other groups with whom one was not asso-
ciated before”; or “switching languages in different contexts or integrating words
from familiar languages to feel more at ease” (207). Each of these practices func-
tions to increase the amount of “overlap” between subworlds in which one enjoys
familiarity and identification and subworlds that are less unfamiliar and alienating,
thus making it easier to move between these subworlds without becoming disori-
ented or estranged from important dimensions oneself.
Hometactics are typically improvised, small in scale, and temporary. As such, it
is unclear the extent to which they will help to alleviate the zozobra experienced by
the oppressed or constitute a serious challenge to the oppressive social structures
themselves. Indeed, as Ortega admits:
[There are important] questions as to the extent to which such hometactics might be found
to be too opportunistic within dominant schemas, might be representative of not just mak-
ing do but of “selling out,” might be too passive, might be too complicit in dominant
schemes, or might or might not preclude the possibility of more sustained political projects
need to be examined. (206)

However, by way of conclusion, let us note that there is no deep incompatibility

between the approaches to zozobra commended by Ortega, Anzaldúa, and Uranga.
One could employ hometactics to “alleviate the stress, pain and anxiety that arises
from a life of in-betweenness” (207) while at the same time pursuing “grander and
more sustained political projects” (206), including the construction of a new para-
digm of identity under the banner of nepantla. After all, hometactics do not aim to
eradicate zozobra entirely by instituting a stable normative regime to one’s liking,
but only to alleviate the most painful aspects of zozobra, which may then give one
more access to the creative and liberatory potential that is inherent to liminality.
I hope to have shown that the topic of zozobra is a point of shared concern that
connects the traditions of Mexican and Latinx phenomenology and, what is more,
that the voices and perspectives we find within these traditions can be helpfully
understood as participating in a shared dialectic. This dialectic offers a phenomeno-
logical approach to understanding some of the tensions that mark Latin American
and Latinx identity, which have typically approach by scholars from a psychologi-
cal point of view. As we have seen, the approach taken by Mexican and Latinx
phenomenologists does not focus merely on the thoughts and feelings of the indi-
viduals who are questioning, asserting, or reinventing their identities but rather,
examines the ways that the experience of identity is already shaped by conditions of
possibility that are external to the individual. These conditions of the possibility of
identity include the horizons of understanding that constitute the world within
The Phenomenology of Zozobra: Mexican and Latinx Philosophers on (Not) Being… 229

which individuals and groups construct and contest particular identities, or—when
those horizons disintegrate—constitute a setting within which individuals will
struggle to form any stable or coherent identity at all. In turn, this line of thought
illuminates several perennial issues in the domain of classic phenomenology, such
as the nature of worlds and what it means to be at home in the world, by examining
these notions in light of distinctive sorts of breakdowns that occur in the Mexican
and Latinx context.

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Merleau-Ponty and Standpoint Theory

Rebecca Harrison

1 The Problem(s) with Standpoint Theory

Feminist standpoint theory is a variety of feminist epistemology that has been active
since the 1980s. Its two central tenets are (1) that knowledge is necessarily situated
within a socio-political context, and (2) that certain socio-political positions or
standpoints are epistemically privileged when it comes to “reveal[ing] the truth of
social reality” (Hekman, 1997, 349).1 Over the course of its history, standpoint the-
ory has encountered a number of problems which have revealed stark divisions
among its supporters over certain fundamental philosophical commitments (e.g., a
commitment to realism about empirical claims). In this chapter, I sketch out a phe-
nomenological account of perception that can begin to address some of these prob-
lems, drawn largely from Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s Phenomenology of Perception.
There are two major issues that I believe a Merleau-Pontyan view of perception
can help alleviate. One is that there has never been a thorough articulation of a the-
ory of perception underlying standpoint theory’s central claims. This is surprising,
since arguments in favor of standpoint theory often emphasize that occupying a
certain standpoint enables one to see the world differently. Arguably the most influ-
ential early articulation of standpoint theory, Nancy Hartsock’s, 1983 book Money,
Sex, and Power: Toward a Feminist Historical Materialism describes a standpoint
as follows: “the concept of a standpoint rests on the fact that there are some perspec-
tives on society from which, however well intentioned one may be, the real relations

1
 See also Crasnow, 2008, Sec. 3. Notably, Crasnow (2013) later introduces a third feature she
refers to as “the achievement thesis,” but that discussion is beyond the scope of this chapter.

R. Harrison (*)
Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, NY, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 231

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_12
232 R. Harrison

of humans with each other and with the natural world are not visible” (Hartsock,
1983). Later theorists take up this language of visibility in explaining what is meant
by “standpoint”—Lorraine Code, for instance, writes that from different stand-
points “the world looks quite different from the way it might look ‘from nowhere’”
(Code, 1996, 196).
The strong implication throughout the early literature in which a “standpoint” is
defined is that epistemic standpoints have perceptual underpinnings; it is taken to be
intuitive that people occupying different social positions will literally see the world
differently, and that these perceptual differences are meant to help explain how dif-
ferent epistemic standpoints could arise. And yet, feminist standpoint theorists
never discuss the underlying theory of perception in any detail. This chapter aims to
provide some suggestions (or at least some helpful nudging) towards what such a
theory might look like.
The other problem that a Merleau-Pontyan account of perspectival perception
may be able to address is the complex tension between standpoint theory’s two
central theses2: on the one hand, knowledge is always and necessarily socio-­
politically situated, and on the other, certain ways of being thusly situated can be
better or worse when it comes to understanding the reality of certain social phenom-
ena. The problem is that knowledge being necessarily situated seems to make it
difficult to account for one single reality or world about which some particular
group could be epistemically privileged (and then, of course, there are problems
with defining such groups in the first place).3 In particular, if we affirm that there is
not one single standpoint that one monolithic group known as “women” occupy (as
numerous theorists compellingly argued in the 80 s and 90 s),4 it becomes especially
difficult to see how it wouldn’t be the case that (as Alison Wylie puts it) “standpoints
fragment into myriad individual perspectives,” and standpoint theory reduces to a
sort of empty relativism (Wylie, 2004, 341).
Thus, there is some confusion about how it could be possible for different stand-
points to have different but nonetheless real experiences of some singular external
reality in the first place, let alone how there could be some mechanism by which
certain standpoints are privileged. Susan Hekman calls this issue the “central prob-
lem” for feminist standpoint theory: “given multiple standpoints… how can we talk
about ‘better accounts of the world,’ ‘less false stories’? And, indeed, how can we
talk about accounts of the world at all if the multiplicity of standpoints is, quite liter-
ally, endless?” (Hekman, 1997, 358).
As Miranda Fricker points out, there seems to be a “need for an epistemology
which gives a strong role to socio-political values,” but which nonetheless maintains

2
 This problem is most famously articulated by Susan Hekman, in her critical essay “Truth and
Method: Feminist Standpoint Theory Revisited” (1997).
3
 Hekman points out that “Originally, feminist standpoint theorists claimed that the standpoint of
women offers a privileged vantage point for knowledge. But if the differences among women are
taken seriously and we accept the conclusion that women occupy many different standpoints and
thus inhabit many different realities, this thesis must be reexamined” (Hekman, 1997, 349).
4
 See e.g. Hooks, 1984, Grillo, 1995 for compelling critiques of this sort of essentialist view.
Merleau-Ponty and Standpoint Theory 233

a realist stance about beliefs drawn from experience (Fricker, 1994, 95). I’m not
going to defend this point about realism at length in this chapter, but I am generally
in agreement with Fricker that feminist epistemology needs a realist account of
empirical belief. At the very least, the ability to make meaningful political claims in
general would seem to depend upon one’s ability to make “empirical claims about
real states of affairs in the world.” Fricker further notes that “the backbone of [femi-
nist politics] is a set of beliefs about real states of affairs and, in particular, real
experiences had by women” (Fricker, 1994, 99).
I believe the second problem (the tension between standpoint theory’s two cen-
tral theses) is at least partially derivative of the first (the lack of an adequate account
of the perceptual basis for standpoint epistemology). The recognition of “myriad
individual perspectives” need not lead to the aforementioned fragmentation, if we
can square the recognition of such perspectives with a realism about perceptual
experience. Such a view would have to explain how distinct, sometimes even appar-
ently conflicting, perspectives might nonetheless be reconciled as revealing genuine
aspects of a single real world to which they all belong. Merleau-Ponty can help us
begin to resolve these issues. He does so by providing an account of perspectival
perception that includes a multiplicity of different perceptual standpoints (all of
which nonetheless put us in touch with a single external world), and explains how it
could be that some standpoints are better than others when it comes to accessing
certain features of this world.

2 Merleau-Pontyan Horizons

Most discussions of perspectival perception assume that perspective is primarily a

matter of spatial orientation. Even when discussing the difference between distance
conceived of as a standardized spatial measurement (e.g. 200 ft.) and distance con-
ceived of in a more practical sense, as is typical of a Merleau-Pontyan phenomeno-
logical account (e.g. the need to walk towards something in order to see it better),5
the presumption is that a “point of view” is characterized by spatial orientation.
Ultimately I will argue that this view of perspectival perception should include not
only spatial orientation but also one’s historical, cultural, political, and personal
situation—but it is useful to first understand Merleau-Ponty’s account of the spatial
aspect of perspectival perception in order to fully grasp the significance of his view
of perspective more generally.
In the Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, Hume points out that there
seems to be a difference between what we see from our particular perspective and
what the objects of our perception are supposed to be in themselves: he claims that
“the table, which we see, seems to diminish, as we remove farther from it” (Hume,
2007, XII.1). This phenomenon is called “perspectival variation,” and Hume—like

 See e.g. Kelly, 2005, 34.

5
234 R. Harrison

many other philosophers after him—takes this observation to be sufficient to prove

that we do not perceive the object itself, since the object itself does not change in
size. Merleau-Ponty, by contrast, takes perspectival variation to be a feature of what
it is to perceive objects themselves, rather than a sign that we are somehow cut off
from those objects by the limitations of our particular point of view. For Merleau-­
Ponty, perception itself is characterized by the dynamicism of perspectival varia-
tion, and tied to “the object itself” as that of which every perspectival moment is a
particular expression.
The kind of perspectival dynamicism that characterizes perception for Merleau-­
Ponty is not unusual or unfamiliar: we walk around things or turn things over in our
hands all the time, which involves a continuous series of perspectival variations. “To
the extent that I move around the cube,” Merleau-Ponty writes, “I see the front face,
which was a square, lose its shape and then disappear, while the other sides appear
and each in turn become square” (Merleau-Ponty, 2012, 210). Merleau-Ponty is
insistent that we should not understand this process as a set of discrete instances, or
some determinate number of perspectives which we “add together” in our minds in
order to understand the object: “I do not have one perspectival view, then another,
along with a link established by the understanding: rather, each perspective passes
into the other” (Merleau-Ponty, 2012, 344). There is a continual development of our
familiarity with the object through our ongoing exploration, as we turn it over in our
hands or walk around it, or otherwise engage with it further. Indeed, it is this con-
tinual development through our bodily engagement with the world that character-
izes perception in general for Merleau-Ponty, and “each appearance of the thing that
falls before our perception is still nothing but an invitation to perceive more”
(Merleau-Ponty, 2012, 242).
According to Merleau-Ponty, each perspectival moment “passes into” the others
in the sense that each perspective is already present (more or less indeterminately)
in the horizonal structure of all the others. Of course, the concept of the “horizon”
is central to the phenomenological tradition, and there are sometimes subtle but
substantive differences in how different phenomenologists treat it. In the
Phenomenology of Perception, the “horizons” of an object refer to the hidden or
implicit aspects of the object that nonetheless play a positive role in one’s experi-
ence of the object. For a relatively simple example: when I look at a coffee cup, I do
not experience the cup as only having the sides that are immediately visible to
me—I experience the cup as having sides that are not currently turned towards me,
sides that I would see if I turned the cup around, or if I were sitting on the other side
of the table. The “horizonal structure” of the object includes not only the side I am
facing, but also its other sides, and all the other possible ways of viewing or interact-
ing with the object.
When we engage with an object in perception, we have a grasp on its horizonal
structure from a particular point of view: certain aspects of the object are presented
fairly determinately, in the foreground, while other aspects of it remain or are
pushed into the background, indeterminate but nonetheless present in our percep-
tual experience. For Merleau-Ponty, these indeterminate features are present in our
experience of the object, not something we infer, project, or otherwise intellectually
Merleau-Ponty and Standpoint Theory 235

constitute on the basis of what’s in the foreground, so to speak.6 And when Merleau-­
Ponty says that we pass into one perspective from another, the idea is that we are
engaged in a continued exploration of the object, of the same horizonal structure,
but with a new part of it in focus, and the prior perspective pushed into the
background.
The best way to describe this process is not as a sort of summation of an increas-
ing quantity of perspectives, from which we construct a model or representation of
the object in our minds. For Merleau-Ponty, it is an ongoing process of exploration
and familiarization with the object itself that takes place over time. Every perspec-
tival moment of the object is a direct engagement with the horizonal structure of the
object and thus an engagement with the object itself, and the object is present in
every perspective on it, more or less indeterminately. The perspectival structure of
perception renders perception always to some degree indeterminate, but it is also
what makes perception possible in the first place. Perspective, for Merleau-Ponty, is
the means by which things “unveil” or “show themselves” to us in perception
(Merleau-Ponty, 2012, 70).
This is an important feature of Merleau-Ponty’s view that distinguishes it from
Husserl’s earlier discussion of the concept of the “horizon” in perception. For
Merleau-Ponty, the sides of the object that are not immediately presented in my
visual field are nonetheless actually already present in my experience, however
indeterminately, not as expectations or projections I have formed about the object
but as part of the “positive ambiguity” or indeterminacy7 that is built into perceptual
experience itself.8 Thus, Merleau-Ponty adopts a sort of direct perspectival realism:
each perspectival view may present us with a different aspect of the world, or
arrangement of its horizonal structure, but what we see is the world itself through
our particular perspective.9
Given that each perspective includes a more-or-less indeterminate presentation
of the object, one might wonder whether some perspectives might be more determi-
nate than others, or whether the object “reveals” or “unveils” itself more to certain
perspectives. Intuitively, the answer would seem to be yes: seeing someone from
10 feet away is better than seeing them from 100 feet away. You can see more detail,
recognize them (or not) more easily, even see what kind of mood they might be in
or what their attitude or behavior towards you is much more easily at 10 feet than at

6
 For further discussion on this point, see Kelly, 2005, 79. Here I am following Kelly’s interpreta-
tion of Merleau-Ponty’s account of horizons and spatial perspective in the Phenomenology of
Perception, which I am generally in agreement with.
7
 Merleau-Ponty insists very early on in the Phenomenology of Perception that “there is an indeter-
minate vision, a vision of something or other, and, if taken to the extreme, that which is behind my
back is not without visual presence… We must recognize the indeterminate as a positive phenom-
enon” (Merleau-Ponty, 2012, 6–7).
8
 See Kelly, 2005, 79–81 for further elaboration of this point.
9
 Reading Merleau-Ponty as a “realist” is not an uncontroversial position, and I have made more
detailed arguments in favor of it elsewhere. What I have in mind is similar to the “unproblematic
realism” that both Charles Taylor and Hubert Dreyfus attribute to Merleau-Ponty, and to Heidegger
as well.
236 R. Harrison

100. In this sense, distance (or spatial orientation more generally) is not just a
descriptive but also a normative feature of perceptual experience.10
For Merleau-Ponty, an object’s horizonal structure is normatively ordered: to be
familiar with the object is to know which perspectives to privilege under which
circumstances, and to feel a certain tension drawing you to take up those particular
perspectives. If you are standing too far away from a sign to read it, you feel com-
pelled to move closer (and may even do so without thinking about it); your distance
from the sign is not just a descriptive but also a normative feature of perceptual
experience. The normative character of an object’s horizonal structure determines
which of the possible perspectival orientations towards the object I should take up,
and I feel that “should” as a tension, insofar as my current position deviates from the
norm. It is important to emphasize that this tension is felt, and does not consist of a
“judgment” but rather the sensing of a certain call to action: according to Merleau-­
Ponty, what I perceive when I perceive the distance to an object, e.g., is a need to
move closer or farther away in order to see the object better. Merleau-Ponty
(2012) writes:
For each object as for each picture in an art gallery, there is an optimum distance from
which it requires to be seen, a direction viewed from which it vouchsafes most of itself: at
a shorter or greater distance we have merely a perception blurred through excess or defi-
ciency. We therefore tend towards the maximum visibility, and seek a better focus as with a
microscope. (315–316)

This tendency towards “maximum visibility” applies beyond relative distance, and
beyond visibility too. There are some obvious examples related to sound, for
instance: imagine repositioning yourself relative to a speaker system to optimize
your listening experience, or the frustrating experience of having the worst seat in a
symphony hall.
Each perspectival moment is “ambiguous,” in the sense that it involves both
the explicit perspectival view of the moment, but it also presents, implicitly and
with varying degrees of indeterminacy, all the other perspectival variations on the
object. Even the “maximum visibility” state remains ambiguous, because it is
impossible to have every aspect of or every perspective on the object in view
determinately all at once. This is why, if we want to familiarize ourselves with a
building, e.g., we do not simply stand in one “optimal” position before it satisfied
(or, for that matter, simply ask to see the blueprints); we walk around it, we
explore inside it, and to really “know” the building, perhaps we live in it for a
while. We do this because we understand that a single perspective is not the only

10
 It is worth noting that this normativity arises as a result of the way in which the structure of the
object itself interacts with our own structure, that is, the actual physical structure of our living bod-
ies. The object draws us to interact with it in a way that allows it to reveal itself the most to us,
given our particular manner of embodiment in the world (which includes things like our size,
physical capabilities, perceptual apparatus, etc). The normative character of an object’s horizonal
structure is a feature that belongs to the object, but (like the object’s other features!) it is revealed
through our particular embodied interactions with it.
Merleau-Ponty and Standpoint Theory 237

informative or legitimate one to have, and is insufficient for really familiarizing

ourselves with something.
These further perspectives do not merely “add up to” the complete object: they
give us a better intuitive sense of which perspectives to privilege as the normative
ones in any variety of circumstances, and of the internal horizonal structure of the
object on the whole. Paris, for Merleau-Ponty, is not simply a “thousand-sided
object,” and that’s not just because it has indefinably more than one thousand sides
(Merleau-Ponty, 2012, 293). To become familiar with Paris, or to become familiar
with any object, involves getting to know it, to know your way around it, to recog-
nize its own style, what it demands of you, and in a sense, its own point of view, and
thus to understand how it fits into the world that is home to this object and all others,
and to you yourself as well (Merleau-Ponty, 2012, 71).

3 Socially-Situated Perspective

Importantly, perspective is not just a matter of spatiality for Merleau-Ponty. He

describes the relationship between the world and the experiencing subject as an
“intentional arc,” writing that “perceptual life… is underpinned by an ‘intentional
arc’ that projects around us our past, our future, our human milieu, our physical situ-
ation, our ideological situation, and our moral situation, or rather, that ensures that
we are situated within all of these relationships” (Merleau-Ponty, 2012, 137). Our
perceptual experience has meaning for us because of the way our particular position
in historical time, or within a culture or a political body, or even within our own
personal history, reveals certain aspects of the world to us. This is not because we
do some kind of post-hoc interpretation of our experience in light of all of these
things; rather, we engage with the world in perception through “our human milieu.”
One example that makes this fairly obvious is language perception. There is a
profound difference between hearing a language that you know, that has meaning
for you, and non-linguistic sounds. Wittgenstein makes a similar point when talking
about the visual difference between written language you understand and mere
marks on the page—or even written language that is familiar to you but which is
printed as a mirror-image of itself (Wittgenstein, 2001, 169). If perception were
only a matter of spatial features, there should be no difference—a sound is a sound
and a mark is a mark. In order for us to explain how we perceive the world the way
we do qua language, whether written or spoken, we have to include culture and
personal history in the story.
There are plenty of other examples where certain things have different meanings
to different people depending on their particular social, historical, political, or per-
sonal circumstances. For Merleau-Ponty, even on the most basic level, perception is
not a matter of bare sensory features—we perceive things in terms of how they
solicit our behavior (e.g. chairs are for sitting, coffee mugs are for drinking).
Komarine Romdenh-Romluc puts the point this way: “One’s surrounding environ-
ment is immediately presented in perception as ‘requiring’ or ‘suggesting’ a certain
238 R. Harrison

sort of behavior such that the perceiver is not confronted with things that have
merely objective qualities such as size, shape, etc., but with entities that are edible,
throwable, kickable, and so on” (Romdenh-Romluc, 2007, 45). All of this, of course,
depends on our own personal histories and skills, as well as our cultural and histori-
cal situation—and, given certain differences between our respective situations,
something that appears e.g. “edible” to me may not for you.
As was mentioned earlier, Merleau-Ponty makes it clear at numerous points in
the Phenomenology of Perception that the objects themselves consist of, and are
present in, every possible perspective one could have on them. But this point takes
on a new significance when we consider that this infinitude of perspectives, all of
which present a real aspect of the object, are not only spatial but also socio-­historical
in nature. For Merleau-Ponty, the account of perspective should also apply to this
richer notion, beyond the merely spatial. Thus, I want to make the following four
claims, which apply what we have already said about spatial perspective to socio-­
historical perspective as well:
1. Just as our perspective is always limited spatially—there is always more to see
just around the bend—so too is it limited in this socio-historical sense. In short,
there are always more ways for something to have significance for someone than
I will ever know. As with spatial perspective, this sense of something’s signifi-
cance extending beyond my own immediate experience of it (having “unseen
sides,” as it were) nonetheless plays an important role in my experience, and
lends it a sense of reality or of belonging to an external world that will always
outstrip my individual grasp.
2. Just as the object itself is really present to us (however indeterminately) through
our particular spatial perspective, so too is it really present to us (however inde-
terminately) through our particular socio-historical perspective, as we engage
with the aspects of the world that that particular socio-historical perspective
reveals.
3. Just as an object’s horizonal structure has a normative element spatially speaking
(seeing someone from 10 feet away is better than trying to see them from 100),
similarly there are socio-historical perspectives that are better than others for
perceiving certain aspects of the world. Language is an obvious example: some-
one fluent with a certain language will be much more adept at perceiving facts
like “what is written on this sign” in the relevant language than someone
who is not.
4. Therefore, there are ways the world really is that I perhaps do not have the best
view on, or that I may never actually see, because of my particular socio-­
historical perspective (but that someone else might!)
For a more complex example, I imagine the Parthenon does not look the same to me
as it did to an Ancient Greek, and this is not only because of age and decay. It may
be awe inspiring to both of us, but in very different ways, and the cultural meaning
it has for each of us is different. The complex role the Parthenon played in the lives
of contemporaneous Greeks would have been much more obvious to the Ancient
Greek than to me: the religious significance of its status as a temple to Athena, for
Merleau-Ponty and Standpoint Theory 239

example, would have been much more concrete for someone living within that cul-
ture at the time. For me, that aspect of the Parthenon’s significance certainly remains
and influences my experience of it thousands of years later, but with a certain mys-
teriousness and distance from its original practical use. In that sense, the Ancient
Greek’s perspective is better for understanding the original religious significance of
the Parthenon (which is surely a real, historical fact about it). Similarly, both I and
the Ancient Greek would certainly have a sense of the Parthenon representing a
triumph of Greek architecture. But the nature of that triumph would have a much
more current and perhaps political significance (and perhaps elicit feelings of patri-
otic pride) for the contemporaneous Greek. My own experience is distanced from
those features of the Parthenon, but includes a sense of its sheer awesomeness as a
human construction that was first built thousands of years ago, and its status as a
symbol of Western civilization in general.
Since I am not and could never be an Ancient Greek person, I cannot have the
same perceptual experience as they did, and their perspective is thus much better at
revealing the Parthenon in its original significance to the Ancient Greeks than mine
is. But both my experience and that of the Ancient Greek are part of the horizonal
structure of the Parthenon. When I experience the Parthenon, the experiences of the
Ancient Greeks are present, however vaguely, on the periphery of my experience:
the sense of the Parthenon as having deep religious and political significance to
contemporaneous Greeks (the actual experience of which I nonetheless do not have
immediate access to myself) is part of what lends it a certain mysteriousness and
profundity to my own experience of it. The experiences of the Ancient Greeks are
some of the “implicit” or “hidden” aspects of the Parthenon, and this is part of what
gives my experience its meaning. According to Merleau-Ponty, I am “always sur-
rounded by indeterminate horizons that contain other points of view” (Merleau-­
Ponty, 2012, 141), and those other points of view—however indeterminate to
me—contribute to the rich socio-cultural significance embedded in my own percep-
tual experience.11
Indeed, Merleau-Ponty thinks that history as an academic discipline or field of
inquiry would be impossible if there were not “overlap” between my experience and
the experience of Ancient Greeks, even given the many intervening years of remove
between our lived perspectives. Merleau-Ponty (2012) writes:
“[Historical knowledge of the past] would be impossible if I did not have—through the
intermediary of my society, my cultural world, and their horizons—at least a virtual com-
munication with [past civilizations], if the place of the Athenian Republic or of the Roman
Empire was not somewhere marked on the borders of my own history, if they were not
established there like some particular individuals to meet, indeterminate though preexist-
ing, and if I did not find the fundamental structures of history within my own life. The social
world is already there when we come to know it or when we judge it.” (379)

The “indeterminate though preexisting” connections we have to people in different

socio-historical positions (which includes not only past civilizations, but also

 Sartre makes a not-entirely-dissimilar point in Being and Nothingness when he claims that we
11

are always “situated in a human space” when we perceive (Sartre, 1956, 372).
240 R. Harrison

current cultures that are not our own) is what makes our attempts to understand “the
world of the Ancient Greeks” possible, and its present-yet-indeterminate character
is perhaps what makes that attempt at understanding such a provocative project that
spawns entire subdisciplines of academic study (not to mention the humorous trope
in fiction and other media of historical figures time-traveling to the present and
being appalled at how much we’ve gotten wrong).
Merleau-Ponty writes that “we have learned in individual perception not to con-
ceive of our perspectival views as independent of each other; we know that they slip
into each other and are gathered together in the thing. Similarly, we must learn to
find the communication of consciousnesses in a single world” (Merleau-Ponty,
2012, 369). In a somewhat literal sense we can never actually possess each other’s
experiences directly: each person’s individual perspective is unique, and the way the
world reveals itself to you will be different from how it reveals itself to me, even if
our particular personal histories are very much alike. Merleau-Ponty sometimes
refers to this as a sort of “necessary solipsism,” but the fact that our unique indi-
vidual perspectives present us with a world that outstrips our individual grasp, and
that (more or less indeterminately) includes the perspectives of others, presents “the
absurdity of a solipsism-shared-by-many, and such is the situation that must be
understood” (Merleau-Ponty, 2012, 376).
Despite our “enclosed” individual perspectives, other people’s perspectives—per-
haps drastically different from my own—are present to me, more or less indetermi-
nately, as “other sides” of the stuff of my own experience. Like the other sides of the
coffee cup, other people’s perspectives are part of the horizonal structure of an object
or phenomenon and lend a certain depth and significance to my own experience. Put
another way, my own perspectival experience implies others.12 This is part of what it
is to engage with real (non-imaginary, non-hallucinatory) objects in perception: those
objects are intersubjectively available, and we experience them as such. We live in the
same world as the things we perceive, and in the same world as each other—your
experiences and my experiences are of the same world, and we meet up with it and
with each other through and in virtue of our particular perspectives.

4 Consequences for Standpoint Theory

We can thus begin to get a sense of how a Merleau-Pontyan account of perception

might help ground the standpoint epistemological picture. Earlier in this chapter, we
laid out the task in the form of two main questions to be answered:

12
 Merleau-Ponty writes that “Every other person exists for me as an irrecusable style or milieu of
coexistence” (Merleau-Ponty, 2012, 382). Merleau-Ponty also somewhat humorously remarks that
“solipsism could only be rigorously true of someone who succeeded in tacitly observing his exis-
tence without being anything and without doing anything, which is surely impossible, since to
exist is to be in the world. In his reflective retreat, the philosopher cannot avoid dragging others
with him” (Merleau-Ponty, 2012, 378).
Merleau-Ponty and Standpoint Theory 241

1. How is it possible for different perspectives (which ground different standpoints)

to have different but nonetheless real experiences of a single external reality?
2. How is it possible that some perspectives can be better than others when it comes
to certain social phenomena?
On a Merleau-Pontyan view, we can reconcile the recognition of “myriad individual
perspectives” with a realism about the experience that those perspectives provide.
For Merleau-Ponty, it is not a problem if each perspective is incomplete, partial, or
even apparently conflicting with other perspectives: this is what we would expect of
our socio-politically informed perspectival access to the world. Because our access
is always “limited” by our particular perspective, our point of view might look much
different from someone else’s, but it is also the means by which we access the same
world as everybody else—and the wide variety of others’ perspectives is the means
by which our experience of the world takes on the sort of significance that it does.
Merleau-Ponty writes that “we are, for each other, collaborators in perfect reciproc-
ity: our perspectives slip into each other, we coexist through a single world”
(Merleau-Ponty, 2012, 370). In other words, the proliferation of standpoints need
not lead us into an unacceptably relativistic framework, as long as we are able to
conceive of each of these standpoints as giving whoever occupies it access to some
particular aspect of or a unique access point into a singular, real, shared world.
That unique access point will be characterized in terms of the subject’s socio-­
political situation, among other factors, and standpoints will have a normative struc-
ture. This can help make sense of standpoint epistemology’s claim that people with
a particular socio-political position may have privileged access to “social truth,” or
at least some part of it. Point (4) above—the idea that there are ways the world
really is that I may not have the best view on due to my particular situation—leads
directly into Hartsock’s claim that there are some perspectives from which certain
social phenomena are just not visible: perhaps one person’s particular perspective
allows something to show up for them in a way it just doesn’t for someone else. In
the same way that a certain spatial orientation can be better or worse for perceiving
an object, certain socio-political situations are better or worse for perceiving social
phenomena.13
For Merleau-Ponty, perspectives can be epistemologically privileged insofar as
they are grounded on a perspective that provides the subject with a better grip on the
phenomenon in question. In the same way that it is easier to read a sign from closer
up, it is sometimes easier to “read” a social situation from a socio-political position
that puts one “closer” to the phenomenon. Being treated as a woman, e.g., might
make it easier to recognize certain gendered phenomena in the world, or how

13
 This view of perceptual experience also dovetails very nicely with an epistemic approach
Lorraine Code calls “Normative Realism” in her recent book Epistemic Responsibility. In particu-
lar, Code’s view emphasizes the possibility of dramatically different but similarly accurate socially
situated, perspectival “takes” on a situation, while maintaining that such “takes” can be better or
worse “both morally and epistemically” insofar as they are more or less accurate, and appropriately
responsive, to the object or situation in question (Code, 2020, 139–141).
242 R. Harrison

pervasive certain gendered problems are.14 The Ancient Greek is in a better position
to grasp and understand the original religious and political significance of the
Parthenon, due to the immediate relevance of that fact to their own everyday life—
similarly, people who are generally treated as “women” are likely to be in a better
position to grasp and understand sexist or gendered phenomena in the world, insofar
as it presents itself as immediately relevant to them in their everyday lives in a way
that it does not for people who are not typically read as “women.”15
Some immediate examples that come to mind are the pervasiveness of public
harassment and catcalling, and the effect that those phenomena have on one’s per-
ception and movement through public spaces. The actual perceptual experience of
walking alone at night through public areas (an empty parking lot, say) has a much
different character for those subject to sexist harassment or even violence than it
does for those who are not.16 Other possible examples include more subtle effects of
sexist societal norms, such as the expectation that women handle domestic chores.
Several recent surveys, combined with time-use studies, show that men in hetero-
sexual domestic relationships often incorrectly believe that they are shouldering an
equal portion of the domestic labor, whereas their partners have a somewhat more
accurate grip on the continuing reality of the unequal distribution of domestic labor
(even when both partners work full time).17 It is hard to explain this disparity in their
respective beliefs without recognizing that people in a certain socio-political posi-
tion (i.e. women partners of heterosexual men) can see the situation somewhat bet-
ter from where they are standing, so to speak.
Merleau-Ponty’s view also has the strong advantage of responding to concerns
about the “difference problem.” Much of the discussion of this problem involves the
apparent assumption of early standpoint theories that “woman” is a social identity
category that consists of one monolithic standpoint, which ignores the experiences
of women who do not fit the dominant view of what a “woman” is (typically white,
heterosexual, cisgender, of a certain class, cultural, and geographical background

14
 Note also that this claim does not assume that just occupying a certain socio-political position
(e.g. “woman”) is enough to make one an “expert perceiver” of the relevant phenomena; it might
be the case, as several feminist standpoint theorists have pointed out, that some kind of increased
political awareness is also an important factor.
15
 Notably, this does not require that there actually be some monolithic category of “women” who
all occupy exactly the same standpoint in every respect; rather, every relevant individual’s perspec-
tive and socio-political position can be different, and yet all of these different positions will include
the particular way(s) in which they are treated as “women” by society at large.
16
 Arguably this effect can be understood as an instance of what Iris Marion Young calls “inhibited
intentionality,” in which our capacity for bodily engagement with the world is complicated or
frustrated by a simultaneous sense of hesitancy or restriction in the face of potential harm. In this
way, “[women’s] bodies project an aim to be enacted but at the same time stiffen against the per-
formance of the task” (Young, 2005, 34–38). On a Merleau-Pontyan view, that would make for a
much different experience of the parking lot — and that experience itself is a fairly common social
phenomenon that women are likely to have privileged perceptual access to.
17
 See Yavorsky et  al., 2015, Miller, 2015, Schaeffer, 2019, Barroso, 2021, and others. See also
Miller, 2020 regarding the unequal distribution of home educational responsibilities during the
recent COVID-19 pandemic.
Merleau-Ponty and Standpoint Theory 243

and so on). On Merleau-Ponty’s view, the claim that all women would share a single
monolithic standpoint is obviously false: a huge variety of factors integrate to form
each individual’s unique way of meeting up with the world through their particular
perspective. Nonetheless, there will be some interests and concerns more likely to
be held by people who read as “women,”18 largely due to their actual lived experi-
ences of being treated as women by the rest of the world. Thus, “woman” need not
name a single monolithic identity or standpoint in order to still refer to a relevant set
of common gendered experiences that condition the individual perspectives of peo-
ple who are treated as “women.”
Merleau-Ponty’s view can do this while also maintaining that there are aspects of
the world that are revealed to one standpoint better than another, and that those
aspects of the world are real. For Merleau-Ponty, there is no tension between the
claim that subjects engage with the world via their unique standpoints or perspec-
tives and the claim that there really is a shared reality with which we are all directly
engaged (and about which one can have a better or worse account), because it is
those unique standpoints that put us in touch with real states of affairs in the world.
In this way, a Merleau-Pontyan perspectival realism can give us a picture of what
the perceptual underpinnings of standpoint theory might look like—and why it
might be not only an ethical but also an epistemic imperative that we support mem-
bers of marginalized groups in their efforts to have their voices heard.

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 Part III
External Horizons: The Arts
Are Artists Phenomenologists?
Perspectives from Edith
Landmann-­Kalischer and Maurice
Merleau-Ponty

Samantha Matherne

1 Introduction

Phenomenologists often appeal to artists as allies, as engaged in the pheno­

menological effort to return to the ‘things themselves’, albeit in their own way. This
is perhaps nowhere more prominent than in the phenomenology of Maurice
Merleau-­Ponty (1908–1961), in which he presents artists, like Cézanne, Proust, and
Balzac, as engaged in the same phenomenological project that he is. Merleau-Ponty,
indeed, emphasizes this point in the Preface to the Phenomenology of
Perception (1945):
Phenomenology is as painstaking as the works of Balzac, Proust, Valéry, or Cézanne  –
through the same kind of attention and wonder, the same demand for awareness, the same
will to grasp the sense of the world or of history in its nascent state (PhP lxxxv).

In light of remarks like this, one may begin to wonder: are artists phenomenologists?1
While Merleau-Ponty’s approach might seem to point toward an affirmative
answer, if we look to an earlier figure in the phenomenological tradition, Edith
Landmann-Kalischer (1877–1951), we find reason to answer in the negative.2
In her article, “On Artistic Truth” [“Über künstlerische Wahrheit”] (1906),

1
 As I understand this question, it is not a question of whether artists conceive of themselves as
phenomenologists; surely some do, but most do not. Rather the question I am interested in is
whether, from the outside, we can describe what artists do as a kind of phenomenology.
2
 Translations of Landmann-Kalischer are my own. Daniel Dahlstrom (as translator) and I (as edi­
tor) are preparing a translation of CV, OAT, and PV for publication in the Oxford New Histories of
Philosophy series (Eds. Christia Mercer and Melvin Rogers).

S. Matherne (*)
Harvard University, Cambridge, MA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 247

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_13
248 S. Matherne

Landmann-­Kalischer draws a sharp contrast between what artists do and what phe­
nomenologists do.3 According to Landmann-Kalischer, whereas phenomenologists
‘translate’ our lived experience into ‘concepts’, artists find ways to make our lived
experience sensibly present (OAT 495–6). In so doing, she claims that the artist
accomplishes something unique:
Just as we would never see our own face [Antlitz] were it not for a mirror, so too we would
never see our inner life opposite [gegenüber] us were it not for the mirror of art. Only art
exhibits [dar…stellt] it to us. Only through art can we cognize it (OAT 463, emph. added).

No matter how careful the translations of the phenomenologist are it would seem
they cannot make us see our lived experience in the way that artists can. From
Landmann-Kalischer’s perspective, then, it would appear that artists are not
phenomenologists.
Though the views of other phenomenologists no doubt bear on the question of
whether artists are phenomenologists, in this paper I shall pursue the dialectic
between the negative answer modeled by Landmann-Kalischer and the affirmative
answer modeled by Merleau-Ponty. I do so, in part, in keeping with the aims of this
volume: although Landmann-Kalischer’s phenomenology has been neglected, she
is one of the ‘horizons of phenomenology’, which merits our attention moving for­
ward. Moreover, she and Merleau-Ponty are among the most aesthetically sensitive
phenomenologists, who devote a considerable body of work to issues in
aesthetics.4
Finally, as I argue below, the comparison between the two reveals choice points
where phenomenologists might converge and diverge in how they think about the
relationship between artists and phenomenologists. Both Landmann-Kalischer and
Merleau-Ponty maintain that artists and phenomenologists share the same subject-­
matter, viz., lived experience. However, they come apart with respect to their con­
ceptions of what phenomenologists are supposed to do. Landmann-Kalischer
endorses a more scientific account of phenomenology, according to which a phe­
nomenologist is a kind of psychologist who aims to analyze, classify, and determine
the laws that govern  lived experience. By contrast, Merleau-Ponty treats the
phenomenologist as someone who is supposed to present lived experience in a way
that evokes that experience in us. Given that presenting and evoking lived experi­
ence is precisely what he takes an artist to do, we find Merleau-Ponty embracing a
more aesthetic conception of phenomenology, according to which there is not just

3
 As I make clear below, Landmann-Kalischer refers to phenomenologists as ‘psychologists’;
hence, the contrast she explicitly draws in OAT is between artists and ‘psychologists’ (see 495–7).
4
 Landmann-Kalischer’s first pieces are dedicated to aesthetics (Analysis of Aesthetic Contemplation
[Analysis of ästhetischen Contemplation], “On the Cognitive Value of Aesthetic Judgments,” and
“On Artistic Truth”), as is her posthumously published work, The Doctrine of the Beautiful (1952).
In addition to aesthetic themes running throughout the Phenomenology and The  Visible and
the  Invisible, Merleau-Ponty takes up aesthetic issues in the essays, “Cézanne’s Doubt,”
“Metaphysics and the Novel,” “The Film and the New Psychology,” “Indirect Language and Voices
of Silence,” and “Eye and Mind” (see Merleau-Ponty (1993)).
Are Artists Phenomenologists? Perspectives from Edith Landmann-Kalischer… 249

something of the phenomenologist in the artist, but something of the artist in the
phenomenologist.
In the end, I will not defend one position over the other; rather, my aim is to show
that in order to answer the question whether artists are phenomenologists, we must
also answer the question, how should phenomenologists be?5 I proceed as follows.
I begin in Sect. 2 with a discussion of Landmann-Kalischer’s analysis of the differ­
ence between phenomenologists and artists in “On Artistic Truth”. In Sect. 3 I turn
to Merleau-Ponty’s account of the continuity between artists and phenomenologists
as he articulates it in the Phenomenology and his 1948 essays in Sense and Non-­
Sense, “Cézanne’s Doubt,” “Metaphysics and the Novel,” and “The Film and the
New Psychology.” I conclude in Sect. 4 by pointing out that although Landmann-­
Kalischer and Merleau-Ponty agree that artists and phenomenologists share subject-­
matter, their answers to the question whether artists are phenomenologists come
apart on account of a fundamental disagreement about how phenomenologists
should be.

2 Landmann-Kalischer: Artists are Not Phenomenologists

In order to explore Landmann-Kalischer’s negative answer to the question whether

artists are phenomenologists, I begin with a discussion of her approach to phenom­
enology, before turning to her account of artists. And because her work is still rela­
tively unfamiliar, I will spend more time situating her account of phenomenology
and art than I will when I turn to Merleau-Ponty.

2.1 Landmann-Kalischer’s Phenomenology

Landmann-Kalischer began developing her philosophy in the early days of the phe­
nomenological  movement, prior to the ascendency of Edmund Husserl and his
school. She published her doctoral thesis, Analysis of Aesthetic Contemplation
[Analysis of ästhetischen Contemplation] in 1902, just on the heels of Husserl’s
Logical Investigations (1900–01). And her next major pieces, “On the Cognitive
Value of Aesthetic Judgments” [“Über den Erkenntniswert ästhetischer Urteile”]
and “On Artistic Truth,” appeared in 1905 and 1906, respectively, a year before
Husserl’s lectures on the “Idea of Phenomenology.” Though she engages with
Husserl, e.g., in “Philosophy of Values” [“Philosophie der Werte”] (1910) and The
Transcendence of Cognizing [Die Transcendenz des Erkennens] (1923),6 her

5
 I am indebted to Becca Rothfeld for helping me formulate and think through this question.
6
 She briefly engages with Husserl’s distinction between ‘ideal’ and ‘real’ sciences in the
Investigations in PV: 74–6, but his views in the Investigations and Ideas serve as a major foil for
her in The Transcendence of Cognizing.
250 S. Matherne

conception of phenomenology is not framed by Husserl’s formulation of it. Instead,

her conception of phenomenology emerges in the period in which ‘phenomenology’
has not yet stabilized as the primary label for this movement, and terms like ‘psy­
chology’ and ‘descriptive psychology’ are more common. Indeed, in her early writ­
ings, we find few references to ‘phenomenology’ by name, and many references to
‘psychology’ and ‘descriptive psychology’.7
One helpful way of situating Landmann-Kalischer is  alongside  the disparate
group of thinkers who take their cue from Franz Brentano, including Alexius
Meinong,8 Carl Stumpf, Christian von Ehrenfels, Anton Marty, and Kasimir
Twardowski.9 In spite of their many differences, what Landmann-Kalischer shares
with these thinkers is a basic Brentanian conception of the subject-matter and
method of phenomenology.10
As Brentano’s description of phenomenology as the “science of mental phenom­
ena” suggests, the Brentanians align the subject-matter of phenomenology with
‘mental phenomena’ (Psychology from an Empirical Standpoint 19). However,
since, per Brentano, mental phenomena are defined in terms of ‘intentionality’, i.e.,
directedness towards objects, phenomenology requires the investigation of both the
subjective and objective sides of mental phenomena. So understood, the Brentanians
do not think of the subject-matter of phenomenology in purely subjective terms;
they take it to be a complex of the subjective- and objective- sides of mental
phenomena.
In keeping with this conception of the subject-matter of phenomenology,
Landmann-Kalischer claims that the ‘task’ of phenomenology is to “to uncover
psychic reality” and “subjective phenomena” (OAT 495).11 That is to say,

7
 See, e.g., PV 63, where she describes a “purely phenomenological treatment” as a “science of
thinking and acting.”
8
 Landmann-Kalischer and Meinong had an extended correspondence and he credits her with influ­
encing his theory of value. For example, in “On Emotional Presentation” [“Über emotionale
Präsentation”] (1917), he says, “I myself owe to the essay “Über den Erkenntniswert ästhetischer
Urteile,” despite initial fundamental reservations, substantial stimulations for the conceptions
which are now, in the present writing, developed in some more detail” (pp. 415–416, quotation in
Reicher-Marek (2017): 82)). See also his claim in “For Psychology and against Psychologism in
General Value Theory” [“Für die Psychologie und gegen den Psychologismus in der allgemeinen
Werttheorie” (1912), where he asserts, “Landmann-Kalischer’s remarks on the ‘cognitional value’
of the feeling, which appear to me today, contrary to my first impression, as far as their main idea
is concerned, to be the most important thing that has been put forward so far for the justification of
the position which is to be sketched here” (p. 278, translation in Reicher-Marek (2017): 82)).
9
 Rollinger (1999) refers to this group as ‘Brentanists’ and (2008) as ‘Austrian phenomenology’,
and Ferran (2014) calls it the ‘Brentanoschule’. For a discussion of the relationship between
Landmann-Kalischer’s value theory and that of Brentano and Meinong, see Ferran (2014). For a
discussion of the relationship between her aesthetic theory and that of Brentano, Meinong, and von
Ehrenfels, see Reicher (2016), Reicher-Marek (2017).
10
 This is not to say that they all identify as phenomenologists; rather I am using ‘phenomenology’
here to refer to Brentano’s conception of philosophy.
11
 In this passage, she refers to this as the task of psychology, but here she has in mind the task of
descriptive psychology, which is tantamount to the task of phenomenology (as I discuss shortly).
Are Artists Phenomenologists? Perspectives from Edith Landmann-Kalischer… 251

phenomenology investigates the domain of consciousness and the various types of

mental phenomena in it, including perception, memory, feelings, judgments, voli­
tions, etc. However, Landmann-Kalischer insists that ‘uncovering’ psychic reality is
not just a matter of attending to the subjective-side of lived experience; it requires
attending to its objective-side as well:
in every lived experience we distinguish a subjective and an objective side. Sensing, repre­
senting, feeling, willing are a psychic, subjective lived experience; the sensed, represented,
felt, and willed are objective…. Act and content [Akt und Inhalt] can be distinguished in
every psychic lived experience (PV 35).12

She investigates the relationship between the subjective- and objective- sides of
lived experience at length in the Transcendence of Cognizing, where she describes
this relationship both in her preferred terms of ‘transcendence’, but also in Brentano’s
terms of ‘intentionality’ (8). In a Brentanian spirit, Landmann-Kalischer thus con­
ceives of the subject-matter of phenomenology as the complex of the subjective-
and objective-sides of lived experience, and the relation of transcendence or
intentionality between the two.
Meanwhile, regarding method, the Brentanians follows Brentano in conceiving
of phenomenology as a science of mental phenomena. More specifically, they regard
phenomenology as a kind of natural science, which studies mental phenomena
‘from an empirical standpoint’. For this reason, they endorse Brentano’s claim that,
“the true method of philosophy is none other than that of natural science” (Über die
Zukunft 137, my transl.).
More specifically, Brentano and his followers align phenomenology with
‘descriptive psychology’ (Psychology from an Empirical Standpoint 29, fn1).
Unlike ‘genetic’ psychology, which aims at giving a causal explanation of mental
phenomena, ‘descriptive’ psychology aims at describing phenomena as they are
given in ‘lived experience’ [Erlebnis] (Descirptive Psychology 31). With this
description, the phenomenologist aims to notice, analyze, and classify these phe­
nomena, and to determine the general laws that govern them (see Descriptive
Psychology 31–32).
However, for some Brentanians, descriptive psychology is best suited to clarify
the subjective-side of lived experience, and, as such, it needs to be supplemented by
an investigation of the objective-side of lived experience. Twardowski’s account of
the content-object [Inhalt-Gegenstand] distinction and Meinong’s ‘object theory’
[Gegenstandstheorie] are attempts in this vein.13
Landmann-Kalischer’s approach to the phenomenological method follows along
these lines. In general, she eschews any metaphysical program, in favor of an

12
 “Empfiden, Vorstellen, Fühlen, Wollen ist ein psychisches, subjectives Erlebnis, das Empfundene,
Vorgestellte, Gefühlte, Gewollte ist ein Objektives…. Akt und Inhalt läßt sich… an jedem psy-
chischen Erlebnis unterscheiden.”
13
 See Twardowski’s On the Content and Object of Presentations (1894/1977) and Meinong’s “On
Objects of Higher Order and Their Relationship to Internal Perception” (1899/1978) and “The
Theory of Objects” (1904/1960).
252 S. Matherne

empirically-­based method, modeled on natural science.14 And in order to investigate

the subjective-side of lived experience, she deploys descriptive psychology.15 As she
presents it, descriptive psychology takes as its starting point the ‘facts’ pertaining to
lived experience, and aims to ‘describe’ this “factual state of things [tatsächlichen
Stand der Dinge]” (PV 32, 68–9; CV 304).16 And by means of this description the
phenomenologist “analyzes the complexes of consciousness, classifies their ele­
ments, and establishes the lawful relations between them” (OAT 495). For example,
if we were to pursue descriptive psychology with respect to aesthetic experience, we
would begin with a lived experience of a particular work of art. We would then
“describe and analyze” that lived experience in order to uncover what is ‘typical’ of
aesthetic phenomena, e.g., having a feeling of pleasure and making an aesthetic
judgment about the beauty of a work of art (CV 285).
However, according to Landmann-Kalischer, in order to do justice to the subject-­
matter of phenomenology, we need to also investigate the objects that we relate to
through mental phenomena. For this reason, she claims that in addition to descriptive
psychology, we need “objective sciences” that investigate the relevant phenomena,
e.g., we need a science of the true for logical phenomena, a science of the good for
ethical phenomena, and a science of the beautiful for aesthetic phenomena (PV 62–3).
This said, she nevertheless claims that descriptive psychology is a ‘presupposition’ of
these “objective sciences” (PV 62–3). That is to say, these objective sciences are to
take as their starting point our lived experience of the true, the good, and the beautiful,
and their task is to elucidate the objects and law-governed relations among those
objects that those mental phenomena relate to. For her part, Landmann-Kalischer
develops a kind of realist account of the true, the good, and the beautiful, according
to which they are neither reducible to something wholly subjective, nor are they
something wholly independent of human beings. Instead, she argues that the true, the
good, and the beautiful are analogous to secondary qualities, like colors: they are
parts of the world that are nevertheless essentially related to subjects.17

14
 Her criticism of idealist metaphysics is a running theme in PV (see, e.g., 58–9) and in the
Transcendence of Cognizing, where she criticizes Husserl specifically.
15
 For a sense of Landmann-Kalischer’s account of different mental phenomena, see Part 3 of “On
Artistic Truth” (463–94), where  she discusses various types of mental phenomena that most
directly relate to art, including sense impressions, gestalts, perceptions (Section 1), representations
of memory (Section 2), representations of fantasy (Section 3), representations of the probable and
necessary, and complex representations (Section  4), and feelings (Section 5). In Part II of
“Philosophy of Values” (34–52) she develops a ‘psychology of the emotional sphere [emotionalen
Sphären]’, in which she distinguishes between ‘pure feelings’ [Gefühle] and ‘affects’ [Affekten]
(Section 2). And in “On the Cognitive Value” she develops an account of the aesthetic judgments
and judgments of the senses, i.e., judgments about sensory qualities.
16
 She is, however, critical of Brentano’s reliance on ‘inner perception’ (see PV 72–73). She objects
that inner perception can only make us aware of a narrow set of mental phenomena, that outer
perception can be as certain as inner perception, and that when Brentano relies on inner perception
as evidence of the correctness of judgment, his view is circular because he treats correctness of
judgment as the criterion of evidence.
17
 She develops the secondary quality analogy with respect to the beautiful in CV (for discussion
see Reicher (2016), Reicher-Marek (2017), Matherne (2020)). She then expands this to an account
of the good and the true in PV (see Part 2, Section III.2 and 3) (for discussion see Ferran (2014)),
and this culminates in her defense of realism against idealism in Transcendence of Cognizing.
Are Artists Phenomenologists? Perspectives from Edith Landmann-Kalischer… 253

In step with Brentanian phenomenology, Landmann-Kalischer thus understands

the subject-matter of phenomenology in terms of the complex of the subjective- and
objective- sides of mental phenomena. And she construes the phenomenological
method along scientific lines, as something that is best executed via a pairing of
descriptive psychology, which studies the subjective-side, and objective sciences,
which study the objective-side.

2.2 Landmann-Kalischer on the Asymmetry Between Artists

and Phenomenologists

With this picture of Landmann-Kalischer’s phenomenology in place, I can now turn

to why she answers the question of whether artists are phenomenologists in the
negative. To this end, I begin with a few brief remarks about her overarching cogni­
tivist account of art, before addressing why she regards what the artist does as dif­
ferent from what the phenomenologist does.
In “On Artistic Truth,” Landmann-Kalischer defends a cognitive analysis of the
relationship between art and truth, according to which art conveys truth and we gain
knowledge by engaging with art. More specifically, as I mentioned in the introduc­
tion, Landmann-Kalischer argues that art conveys a distinctive kind of truth, viz.,
truth that pertains to ‘psychic reality’ or ‘subjective phenomena’. To this end, she
claims that, “Art does not give us objective reality [Wirklichkeit], instead it is the
mirror and exhibition [Darstellung] of the psychic world” (OAT 463). So under­
stood, art’s primary task is to exhibit to us subjective phenomena, like our lived
experience of sense impressions, perceptions, memories, fantasies, feelings, etc.
That said, Landmann-Kalischer notes that art can sometimes give us something
from objective reality, but this is contingent:
Artistic truth… can in certain circumstances also be something objective; it can reach the
being of objects [Wesens des Gegenstandes], it can uncover [entdecken] a hitherto unknown
side of it. For aesthetics, however, this is only a contingent coincidence…. [T]he coinci­
dence of artistic and objective truth is only an isolated case, and this is not enough to deter­
mine the concept of it (OAT 476–7).

What is essential to art, according to Landmann-Kalischer, is that it mirrors or

exhibits subjective phenomena.
Landmann-Kalischer moreover maintains that the truth of art hinges on its ability
to correctly exhibit this psychic reality: “Art… is true to the extent that it is a faithful
exhibition [getreue Darstellung] of the psychic world” (OAT 463). To this end, she
claims that the truth of art, like all truth, requires ‘agreement’ [Übereinstimmung]
(OAT 459). But in the case of art, the agreement is between the work of art and
psychic reality. More precisely, she claims that the agreement is between the ‘con­
tent’ [Inhalt] of the work of art, “what it says, narrates [erzählt], shows [zeigt], or
254 S. Matherne

expresses [ausdrückt],” and subjective phenomena (OAT 459). For example, con­
sider the following passage from Maggie Nelson’s Bluets (2009):
Suppose I were to begin by saying that I had fallen in love with a color. Suppose I were to
speak this as though it were a confession; suppose I shredded my napkin as we spoke. It
began slowly. An appreciation, affinity. Then, one day, it became more serious (§1).

From Landmann-Kalischer’s perspective, the truth of this passage turns on the

agreement between what it says about the lived experience of blue and that lived
experience. And because Nelson’s words are faithful to this lived experience, Bluets
expresses a truth about that lived experience, and this is why we can gain knowledge
through it.
It is in this cognitivist framework that Landmann-Kalischer situates her account
of artists. She conceives of an artist as someone who conveys truths about psychic
reality through an artistic medium. However, given that the truths the artist conveys
are ones that pertain to psychic reality, we might wonder: why shouldn’t we think of
the artist as engaged in the same project as the phenomenologist?
According to Landmann-Kalischer, it is, indeed, the case that the artist and phe­
nomenologist are concerned with the same subject matter, viz., psychic reality and
subjective phenomena. And this is why they both take as their point of departure our
lived experience. However, Landmann-Kalischer argues that artists and phenome­
nologists nevertheless diverge with respect to the methods they deploy.
In phenomenology, Landmann-Kalischer claims that the method of descriptive
psychology involves ‘translation’:
As with every science, psychology translates something intuitively given… into concepts.
It analyzes the complexes of consciousness, classifies their elements, and establishes the
lawful relations between them (OAT 495).

By translating an intuitively given experience into concepts, Landmann-Kalischer

claims that we ‘elevate’ that experience into something more generic, which can be
analyzed, classified, and lawfully determined (OAT 496). For example, if a phe­
nomenologist were to investigate their lived experience of the beauty of the opening
lines of Bluets, they might notice that it is, first of all, an aesthetic type of experi­
ence. They might then analyze the aesthetic experience into its ‘elements’, e.g., an
aesthetic feeling and an aesthetic judgment18; classify it as an experience of the
beautiful in contrast to that of the sublime; and attempt to identify certain lawful
relations that govern this experience, e.g., lawful relations that obtain between the
elements internal to the experience (e.g., between representations and feelings of
pleasure) or between certain stimuli and the experience.19

18
 See, e.g., Analyse der ästhetischen Contemplation and CV for Landmann-Kalischer’s analysis of
the elements of aesthetic experience.
19
 Landmann-Kalischer takes these lawful relations between objects and aesthetic experiences to be
what psychological aesthetics ultimately reaches for, but she notes that it has not yet developed to
this stage (see CV 296, 321; PV 80–1).
Are Artists Phenomenologists? Perspectives from Edith Landmann-Kalischer… 255

By means of this method, Landmann-Kalischer claims that the phenomenologist

seeks to ascertain general truths that pertain to different classes of mental phenom­
ena and the lawful relations that govern them. These truths are, in turn, the sort that
systematically cohere in an ‘interconnected’ way in a scientific body of knowledge
about mental phenomena (OAT 497). And it is this sort of science, with its system­
atically connected truths, that the phenomenologist hopes to establish.
The method Landmann-Kalischer attributes to the artist is distinct in kind.
Instead of translating what we are intuitively given into concepts, she claims that the
artist endeavors to remain on the intuitive plane:
Art makes what is given to inner perception accessible to another organ…, it makes percep­
tible to the eye and the ear what was only present to ‘inner sense’…. [I]t makes the content
of an abstract representation sensibly present, it gives feelings an audible or colorful
gestalt…. Art creates agreement by creating a counter-image [Gegenbild] of the psychically
given that leaves it as it is (OAT 496).

Here, Landmann-Kalischer argues that the artist proceeds by way of creating a

‘counter-image’ of our lived experience, which leaves that experience ‘as it is’. That
is to say, the artist endeavors to create something that sensibly exhibits our lived
experience in a way that remains faithful to that lived experience. Consider, for
example, Fahrelnissa Zeid’s painting Resolved Problems (1948). From Landmann-­
Kalischer’s point of view, we can regard this painting as Zeid’s attempt to create a
‘counter-image’ of the lived experience of flying in a plane, an experience in which,
“The world is upside down. A whole city could be held in your hand: the world seen
from above” (Fahrelnissa Zeid 17).20 This said, while the language of ‘counter-­
images’ might seem to suggest something accessible to the outer senses, Landmann-­
Kalischer conceives of ‘counter-images’ in capacious enough terms to be able to
include literary works of art as well. For example, we can treat the following phrase
in The Last Samurai (2000) as Helen DeWitt’s ‘counter-image’ for a lived experi­
ence of revelation: “after 30 h or so enlightenment came not in an hour of gold but
an hour of lead” (20). So regardless of whether the artist uses colors, sounds, and
textures, or words, concepts, and metaphors, on Landmann-Kalischer’s view, their
works of art will count as ‘counter-images’ as long as they mirror lived experience
to us, in a way that makes it present to us.
Insofar as artists aim at producing ‘counter-images’ that mirror lived experience
in a faithful way, Landmann-Kalischer claims that their method is geared not
towards generic, systematically connected truths, but toward “individual truths” that
pertain to specific lived experiences (OAT 497). As I noted earlier, on her view,
artistic truth involves agreement between a work of art and a specific kind of lived
experience. And, for Landmann-Kalischer, the truths the artist is after are the truths
that reflect specific lived experiences, e.g., a falling in love with blue, a seeing the
world upside down from a plane, or a  leaden enlightenment. In this regard,

20
 In this context, Zeid says, “I did not ‘intend’ to become an abstract painter; I was a person work­
ing very conventionally with forms and values. But flying by plane transformed me” (Fahrelnissa
Zeid 17).
256 S. Matherne

Landmann-Kalischer claims that a work of art is supposed to serve like “a press for
fruit”: through it, the artist ‘compresses’ and ‘crystallizes’ the ‘individuality’ of a
lived experience (OAT 502–3). The artist thus uses their method in order to create a
particular work of art, that agrees with a lived experience, in all its specificity, and
conveys an individual truth about it.
It is in this spirit that Landmann-Kalischer asserts that, “The claim that art dis­
closes its own truth [eine eigene Wahrheit] contains another claim, that only through
art can this truth be mediated” (OAT 502). What she means is that art is uniquely
positioned to present individual truths to us because its method turns on creating
counter-images that mirror specific lived experiences. And it is for this reason that
she claims, as we saw at the outset, that,
Just as we would never see our own face [Antlitz] were it not for a mirror, so too we would
never see our inner life opposite [gegenüber] us were it not for the mirror of art. Only art
exhibits [dar…stellt] it to us. Only through art can we cognize it (OAT 463, emph. added).

The artist enables us to ‘see’ our lived experience because she ‘mirrors’ that experi­
ence for us, in a way that exhibits it and makes it present.
So, why does Landmann-Kalischer deny that artists are phenomenologists?
Although they both take lived experience as their starting point and ultimately want
to disclose some kind of truth about mental phenomena, they use different methods
to this end. In keeping with Brentano, Landmann-Kalischer conceives of the phe­
nomenologist as someone who is engaged in a scientific endeavor in which they use
description to translate lived experience into something more general, which can be
analyzed, classified, and lawfully-determined. And through this process the phe­
nomenologist seeks to develop a scientific body of knowledge, a set of intercon­
nected truths about mental phenomena. By contrast, the artist endeavors to remain
with our lived experience and create a ‘counter-image’ for a specific lived experi­
ence, which sensibly presents that lived experience to us, as in a mirror. And through
these efforts, the artist seeks to create a particular work of art that brings to light an
individual truth about a specific lived experience. So even though the artist and
phenomenologist are interested in the same subject-matter, Landmann-Kalischer
thinks that their methods commit them to fundamentally different projects.

3 Merleau-Ponty: Artists are Phenomenologists

As we now shift away from Landmann-Kalischer toward Merleau-Ponty, we not

only shift toward an affirmative answer to the question of whether artists are phe­
nomenologists, but also to a much later period in phenomenology. Merleau-Ponty is
writing well after both Husserl and Heidegger’s seminal works in phenomenology,
publishing the Phenomenology of Perception in 1945. As should be expected, his
underlying conception of phenomenology departs in significant ways from
Landmann-Kalischer’s. After looking at his approach to phenomenology, I then take
up his phenomenological characterization of artists and, by implication, his aes­
thetic characterization of phenomenologists.
Are Artists Phenomenologists? Perspectives from Edith Landmann-Kalischer… 257

3.1 Merleau-Ponty’s Phenomenology

Merleau-Ponty presents his phenomenology as an effort to blend together commit­

ments from both Husserl and Heidegger. Indeed, he opens the Preface  of the
Phenomenology of Perception with the question, “What is phenomenology,” and he
offers a unified answer, which builds on an account of the subject-matter and method
of phenomenology that, he contends, is in the spirit of both Husserl and Heidegger.
Regarding the subject-matter of phenomenology, Merleau-Ponty claims that,
“The task of radical reflection… consists paradoxically in recovering the unreflec­
tive experience of the world” (PhP 251). The ‘unreflective experience’ that he has in
mind is, what Husserl calls, our ‘still-mute’ experience of the world (PhP lxxix).
That is to say, as a phenomenologist Merleau-Ponty is interested in the lived experi­
ence of the world that we have not yet formulated to ourselves reflectively in
thought. As he makes this point in “Metaphysics and the Novel” essay,
a phenomenological or existential philosophy assigns itself the task, not of explaining the
world or of recovering its “conditions of possibility,” but rather of formulating an experi­
ence of the world, a contact with the world which precedes all thought about the world
(MN 27–8).

As the reference to ‘existential’ philosophy makes clear here, Merleau-Ponty identi­

fies the still-mute experience of the world with the sort of experience that Heidegger
seeks to elucidate in his ‘existential analytic’ in Being and Time  (1927), i.e., the
unreflective experience each of us has of being thrown into the world (PhP lviiii).
Merleau-Ponty, in turn, frames the method the phenomenologist uses to investi­
gate this subject-matter in terms of ‘phenomenological description’ and the ‘phe­
nomenological reduction’. According to Merleau-Ponty, the phenomenologist
endeavors not to “explain or analyze” lived experience in causal terms, but to
‘describe’ it (PhP lxxi). And with this description, Merleau-Ponty claims that the
phenomenologist must not “substitute a reconstruction” for experience, but “adhere
to” it (PhP lxxiii).
However, unlike the Brentanian gloss of phenomenological description that
Landmann-Kalischer endorses, Merleau-Ponty situates his account of description
within the context of Husserl’s phenomenological reduction.21 Merleau-Ponty artic­
ulates the phenomenological reduction as follows:
Because we are through and through related to the world, the only way for us to catch sight
of ourselves is by suspending this movement… or again, to put it out of play…. This is…
because… the presuppositions of everything thought… are “taken for granted” and they
pass by unnoticed, and because we must abstain from them for a moment in order to awaken
them and to make them appear…. Reflection does not withdraw from the world…; rather,
it steps back in order to see transcendence spring forth and it loosens the intentional threads
that connects us to the world in order to make them appear (PhP lxxvii).

 I return below to the topic of how Landmann-Kalischer’s conception of phenomenological

21

description differs from Merleau-Ponty’s.

258 S. Matherne

I want to highlight two functions that Merleau-Ponty attributes to the phenomeno­

logical reduction in this passage. The first is what I shall call the ‘arresting function’
of the reduction. Ordinarily, our lived experience is caught up with the world: how
we experience something is bound up with what we are experiencing. In order to
disentangle that lived experience from everything it is caught up in, Merleau-Ponty
claims that we need the reduction to ‘arrest’ that experience. Through the reduction,
the ‘intentional threads’ that connect our experience to the world are ‘loosened’ and
this allows us to seize upon our experience.
The second function is what I shall call the ‘appearing function’. According to
Merleau-Ponty, in addition to arresting our lived experience, the reduction is sup­
posed to make that experience show up to us. As he puts it later in the Preface,
The relation to the world, such as it tirelessly announces itself within us, is not something
that analysis might clarify: philosophy can simply place it before our eyes and invite us to
take notice (PhP lxxxii, my emph.).

Indeed, Merleau-Ponty claims that the reason we use description is in order to place
lived experience before our eyes:
Phenomenological or existential philosophy is largely an expression of surprise at this
inherence of the self in the world and in others, a description of this paradox and perme­
ation, and attempt to make us see the bond between subject and world, between subject and
others, rather than to explain it as the classical philosophies did (FN 58).

On Merleau-Ponty’s view, then, phenomenological description and reduction are

means through which we ‘arrest’ our lived experience and ‘make it appear’, in a
way that remains ‘faithful’ to that experience (PhP lxxx, 60).

3.2 Merleau-Ponty on the Symmetry Between Artists

and Phenomenologists

If we now look at Merleau-Ponty’s characterization of what artists do, we find him

articulating their efforts in the same terms he uses for the phenomenologist. To this
end, he treats our ‘still-mute’ experience of the world as the subject-matter of art,
and he claims that the artist endeavors to arrest that lived experience and make it
appear. This is evident both in Merleau-Ponty’s general descriptions of art and in his
discussion of specific artistic media.
Beginning with his general claims about art, in “Cézanne’s Doubt” he asserts,
The artist is the one who arrests the spectacle in which most men take part without really
seeing it and who makes it visible to the most “human” among them (CD 18).

For Merleau-Ponty, the ‘spectacle’ that we take part in without noticing is our unre­
flective lived experience. And here, he attributes the arresting and appearing func­
tions to the work of the artist, claiming that through art, the artist seizes upon that
lived experience and makes it ‘visible’ for us.
Are Artists Phenomenologists? Perspectives from Edith Landmann-Kalischer… 259

Meanwhile, in his analysis of artists working in different media, Merleau-Ponty

emphasizes the ways in which these artists arrest and make appear different aspects
of our lived experience. For example, in his discussion of novels, he claims,
The work of a great novelist always rests on two or three philosophical ideas…. [F]or
Proust, the way the past is involved in the present and the presence of times gone by. The
function of the novelist is not to state these ideas thematically but to make them exist for us
in the way that things exist. Stendhal’s role is not to hold forth on subjectivity; it is enough
that he make it present (MN 26).

Here, Merleau-Ponty indicates that Proust arrests and makes appear our experience
of the idea of the past, whereas Stendahl does this for our idea of subjectivity.
Meanwhile, about film, Merleau-Ponty asserts,
This is why the movies can be so gripping in their presentation of man: they do not give us
his thoughts, as novels have done for so long, but his conduct or behavior. They directly
present to us that special way of being in the world, of dealing with things and other people,
which we can see in the sign language of gesture and gaze and which clearly defines each
person we know…. For the movies… dizziness, pleasure, grief, love, and hate are ways of
behaving (FNP 58).

In this passage, Merleau-Ponty emphasizes the way in which directors can arrest
and make appear our ‘conduct or behavior’. Consider, for example, the scene in If
Beale Street Could Talk in which Tish and Fonny first see their loft together. From
Merleau-Ponty’s point of view, although in the novel (1974), James Baldwin is able
to give us an idea of their excitement and love in this moment, in the film (2018)
Barry Jenkins is able to show this to us in their behavior, e.g., in Fonny’s dynamic
movements and gestures as he envisions the space and in Tish’s luminous stillness
as she comes to share this vision.
Finally, with regard to painting, Merleau-Ponty maintains,
The painter recaptures and converts into visible objects what would, without him, remain
walled up in the separate life of each consciousness: the vibration of appearances which is
the cradle of things. Only one emotion is possible for this painter – the feeling of strange­
ness – and only one lyricism—that of the continual rebirth of existence (CD 17–8).

Here, Merleau-Ponty emphasizes the way in which painters are able to arrest and
make appear our perceptual encounters with the world. In a painting like Cézanne’s
Apples (1878–9), Merleau-Ponty claims that Cézanne is able to “remain faithful to
the phenomena… of perspective,” because he captures the way in which,
perspectival distortions… contribute, as they do in natural vision, to the impression of an
emerging order, of an object in the act of appearing, organizing itself before our eyes
(CD 14-15).

Given this understanding of what artists do, it should not be surprising that Merleau-­
Ponty aligns artists with phenomenologists in the passage we considered in the
introduction:
Phenomenology is as painstaking as the works of Balzac, Proust, Valéry, or Cézanne  –
through the same kind of attention and wonder, the same demand for awareness, the same
will to grasp the sense of the world or of history in its nascent state (PhP lxxxv).
260 S. Matherne

Developing this thought at more length in his analysis of the relationship between
literature and philosophy, Merleau-Ponty says (here I fill out a quote cited above),
Everything changes when a phenomenologists or existential philosophy assigns itself the
task, not of explaining the world or of recovering its “conditions of possibility,” but rather
of formulating an experience of the world, a contact with the world which precedes all
thought about the world…. From now on the tasks of literature and philosophy can no
longer be separated (MN 27–8).

In this passage, Merleau-Ponty claims that once we appreciate that phenomenology

endeavors to “giv[e] voice to the experience of the world,” then we should recognize
that this effort is of a piece with the novelist. However, as we have seen, this is not
a point he confines to the relationship between phenomenologists and novelists, but
one he extends to phenomenologists and artists, more generally.
So far, I have concentrated on the ways in which artists are engaged in the same
effort to arrest and make our lived experience appear that phenomenologists engage
in; but what about description on Merleau-Ponty’s view? Is there reason to think
that artists deploy something like phenomenological description? In light of
Landmann-­Kalischer’s treatment of description, we might think that the answer is
no: whereas the descriptions of the phenomenologist translate lived experience into
generic terms, the artist’s modes of expression leave that experience ‘as it is’.
However, if we take a closer look at Merleau-Ponty’s treatment of description, we
find him characterizing it, and employing it, in a fashion that is more akin to
Landmann-­Kalischer’s artist than her phenomenologist.
As we saw above, Merleau-Ponty insists that through description we are sup­
posed to ‘adhere’ to our experience in a way that remains ‘faithful’ to it. However,
more than this, Merleau-Ponty treats description as something that is supposed to
evoke lived experience in us. As we saw him make this point in his characterization
of the reduction, phenomenological description is supposed to ‘awaken’ in us what
we take for granted (PhP lxxvii, see also lxxii, 34, 213). Making this point about the
phenomenological description of perception, he claims,
The fundamental philosophical act would thus be to return to the lived world…; it would be
to awaken perception and to thwart the ruse by which perception allowed itself to be forgot­
ten (PhP 57).

For Merleau-Ponty, then, the phenomenologist is supposed to ‘awaken’ or evoke in

us the lived experiences described.
True to this conception of description, in the Phenomenology we find Merleau-­
Ponty offering his own descriptions in an evocative style. Consider, for example, his
description of being aware of the spatiality of one’s body:
If I stand in front of my desk and lean on it with both hands, only my hands are accentuated
and my whole body trails behind them like a comet’s tail. I am not unaware of the location
of my shoulders or my waist; rather, this awareness is enveloped in my awareness of my
hands and my entire stance is read, so to speak, in how my hands lean upon the desk
(PhP 102).

In his description of this lived experience, Merleau-Ponty uses images and meta­
phors that make this experience vivid for us. Indeed, much like DeWitt’s description
Are Artists Phenomenologists? Perspectives from Edith Landmann-Kalischer… 261

of enlightenment that comes in the hour of lead, Merleau-Ponty’s description is

meant to elicit a response from us, a response in which the experience resonates.
And this is by no means an isolated moment in the Phenomenology; throughout the
text we find Merleau-Ponty using description to evoke and awaken experiences in
us. For example, describing grief, he says,
When I am overcome with grief and wholly absorbed in my sorrow, my gaze already wan­
ders out before me, it quietly takes interest in some bright object, it resumes its autonomous
existence (PhP 86).

Or about illusory love, he writes,

in false or illusory love I am willingly united with the loved person; she really was, for a
time, the mediator of my relations with the world. When I said: “I love her,” I was not
“interpreting”; and my life really was engaged in a form that, like a melody, demanded a
certain continuation (PhP 397).

In these, and other passages like them, Merleau-Ponty uses description to evoke
lived experiences in us.
What these considerations about Merleau-Ponty’s evocative conception of
description reveals is that he not only recognizes a phenomenological strand in what
artists do, but also an aesthetic strand in what phenomenologists do. Like the artist,
the phenomenologist pursues the reduction and utilizes description in the effort to
make lived experience palpable to us. For Merleau-Ponty, then, the affirmative
claim that artists are phenomenologists is bound up with an aesthetic conception of
phenomenology, as an endeavor to express, exhibit, and evoke our still-mute
experience.

4 Conclusion

Over the course of this paper, I have laid our two answers to the question, whether
artists are phenomenologists: a negative answer modeled on Landmann-Kalischer’s
views and a positive answer modeled on Merleau-Ponty’s. In spite of their disagree­
ment, one thing that they both agree on is that phenomenologists and artists share a
subject-matter: they are both interested in elucidating our lived experience. However,
the reason that they ultimately diverge is on account of different conceptions of how
a phenomenologist should be. For Landmann-Kalischer, phenomenologists should
be engaged in a kind of scientific endeavor, in which they use description to trans­
late lived experience into something more general, which we can analyze, classify,
and lawfully determine. By contrast, Merleau-Ponty thinks that a phenomenologist
should be engaged in an effort to arrest our lived experience and to make that experi­
ence appear to us. And though he thinks we use description to this end, instead of
translation, he conceives of description as something that involves a kind of evoca­
tion, a presentation of lived experience that awakens it in us. Given Landmann-­
Kalischer’s more scientific and Merleau-Ponty’s more aesthetic conception of how
a phenomenologist should be, we can see why Landmann-Kalischer regards the
262 S. Matherne

artist’s attempts to mirror our lived experience as an endeavor that is distinct from
phenomenology – and why this mirroring is precisely the sort that Merleau-Ponty
strives for. In the end, in lieu of an answer to the question whether artists are phe­
nomenologists, with this dialectic I hope to have brought out the need to also attend
to the question of how a phenomenologist should be.22

References

Abbreviations of Merleau-Ponty’s Works

PhP Phenomenology of Perception. Transl. D. Landes. London: Routledge, 2012.
CD “Cézanne’s Doubt.” In Sense and Non-Sense. Transl. H. Dreyfus and P.A. Dreyfus. Evanston:
Northwestern University Press, 1964.
MN “Metaphysics and the Novel.” In Sense and Non-Sense. Transl. H. Dreyfus and P.A. Dreyfus.
Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1964.
FN “The Film and the New Psychology.” In Sense and Non-Sense. Transl. H.  Dreyfus and
P.A. Dreyfus. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1964.

Abbreviations of Landmann-Kalischer’s Works

CV “On the Cognitive Value of Aesthetic Judgments: A Comparison Between Sense and Value
Judgments,” translated from “Über den Erkenntniswert ästhetischer Urteile: Ein Vergleich
zwischen Sinnes- und Werturteilen." Archiv für die Gesamte Psychologie, 1905, 263–328.
OAT “On Artistic Truth,” translated from “Über künstlerische Wahrheit.” In Max Dessoir (Ed.),
Zeitschrifft für Ästhetik und Allgemeine Kunstwissenschaft. Stuttgart: Enke, 1906, 457–505.
PV “Philosophy of Values,” translated from “Philosophie der Werte.” Archiv für die gesamte
Psychologie 18, 1910, 1–93.

Other Works
Baldwin, J. (1974). If Beale Street could talk. Dial Press.
Brentano, F. (1968). In O. Kraus (Ed.), Über die Zukunft der Philosophie. Meiner.
Brentano, F. (1995). Descriptive psychology (B. Müller, Transl.). Routledge
Brentano, F. (2015). Psychology from an empirical standpoint. (A.C. Rancurello, D.B. Terrell, and
L. McAlister, Transl.). Routledge.
DeWitt, H. (2000). The last samurai. New Directions.
Ferran, Í. V. (2014). "Tatsache, Wert und menschliche Sensibilität: Die Brentanoschule und die
Gestaltpsychologie." In M. Wehrle & M. Ubiali (Eds.), Feeling and value, willing and action.
Springer, 141-162.
Greenberg, K. (Ed.). (2017). Fahrelnissa Zeid. Tate Publishing.
Kalischer, E. (1902). Analyse der ästhetischen Contemplation (Malerei und Plastik). Barth.
Landmann, E. (1923). Die Transcendenz des Erkennens. Bondi.

22
 I would like to thank Benjamin Crowe, Daniel Dahlstrom, Caitlin Dolan, Jonathan Gingerich,
Kristin Gjesdal, Joseph Kasman-Tod, Patrick Londen,  Takaaki Matsui, Dermot Moran, Vicente
Muñoz-Reja, Alva Noë, Ben Roth, Becca Rothfeld, Dave Suarez, and audiences at the 2018
Horizons of Phenomenology Conference and the 2019 Boston Area Phenomenology Circle for
feedback on this paper and the ideas in it.
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Landmann, E. (1952). Die Lehre vom Schönen. Amandus.

Matherne, S. (2020). "Edith Landmann-Kalischer on aesthetic demarcation and normativ­
ity." British Journal of Aesthetics, 60(3), 315–334. https://doi.org/10.1093/aesthj/ayaa007
Meinong, A. (1960). "The theory of objects." In R.  M. Chisholm (Ed.).  Realism and the back-
ground of phenomenology (I.  Levi, D.  B. Terrell, and R.  Chisholm, Transl.)  (pp. 76–117).
Free Press.
Meinong, A. (1978). “On objects of higher order and their relationship to internal perception.” In
Meinong 1968–78, Vol. II (S. Kalsi, Transl.) (pp. 377–480). Ueber Annahmen.
Nelson, M. (2009). Bluets. Wave Publishing.
Reicher, M. (2016). "Ästhetische Werte als dispositionale Eigenschaften: 1905–2014." In
Geschichte – Gesellschaft – Geltung. XXIII. Deutscher Kongress fur Philosophie, 961–974.
Reicher-Marek, M. (2017). “Dispositionalist accounts of aesthetic properties in Austro-German
aesthetics.” Paradigmi. Rivista di critica filosofica, 3, 71–86.
Rollinger, R. (1999). Husserl’s position in the school of Brentano. Springer.
Rollinger, R. (2008). Austrian phenomenology: Brentano, Husserl, Meinong, and others on mind
and object. Ontos Verlag.
Twardowski, K. (1977). On the content and object of presentations (R. Grossmann, M. Nijhoff,
Transl.).

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included in the chapter’s Creative Commons license and your intended use is not permitted by
statutory regulation or exceeds the permitted use, you will need to obtain permission directly from
the copyright holder.
The Reading Process: An Intertextual
Approach

Manuel M. Martín-Rodríguez

1 Reader Response Theories: From Ingarden to Iser

In the long history of interconnectedness between philosophy and literature, the

twentieth century was marked, to a large extent, by significant developments in the
exploration of ties between phenomenology and theories of reader response and
reception. In addition, novel philosophical ideas about time, subjectivity, and con-
sciousness influenced many early- and mid-twentieth century authors, whose inno-
vative and experimental works posed newfangled challenges to readers.
Understanding and enjoyment of the experimental texts they produced hinged upon
a series of cognitive processes that were considerably more complex than what the
nineteenth century literary works used to require.
Directly or indirectly, Husserl’s thoughts on the structures of consciousness
found an enthusiastic literary corollary in the development of the interior mono-
logue and of similar techniques during the heyday of modernism, with authors such
as James Joyce, Virginia Woolf, and William Faulkner (among many others) focus-
ing their work on depicting not reality itself (the lofty but dated goal of nineteenth-­
century realism) but, rather, how their characters perceived it in complex subjective
mental processes that modernist narratives struggled to reproduce in detail.
Upon encountering for the first time the opening lines of Faulkner’s The Sound
and the Fury, for example, readers are confronted with the evocation of a scene that
is not descriptive in the traditional sense (that is, rendered understandable to them
by a narrator that processes and delivers phenomenological information) but

My title is intended as a critical hommage to Wolfgang Iser’s 1972 seminal essay “The Reading
Process: A Phenomenological Approach.”

M. M. Martín-Rodríguez (*)
UC Merced, Merced, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 265

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_14
266 M. M. Martín-Rodríguez

experiential: what the reader encounters are the seemingly unmediated thoughts of
a character who is not introduced by name or in any other manner but who shares
his perception of things as they appear to him:
Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting. They were
coming toward where the flag was and I went along the fence. Luster was hunting in the
grass by the flower tree. They took the flag out, and they were hitting. Then they put the flag
back and they went to the table, and he hit and the other hit. (Faulkner, 2016, 3)

What in this scene is self-apparent to the speaking character remains (at least in
part) a mystery to the reader. What flag? Who are those people? What are they hit-
ting? We have little trouble imagining a flower tree that may or may not be exactly
like the one the character sees near Luster, but we just cannot come up that easily
with a proper ideation of the flag. What type of flag? What purpose does it serve? In
this famous opening, readers are forced to see the landscape through Benjy’s
impaired mind, and it is only much later in the novel that they realize that Luster and
Benjy are outside a golf course that was built on land that used to belong to Benjy’s
formerly wealthy family.
As narrative developments like this became dominant in both prose and poetry,
literary critics and scholars found in hermeneutics and phenomenology some useful
vocabulary and theoretical approaches to begin conceptualizing the role of a reader
who now was confronted with higher degrees of indeterminacy than ever, even if
their analyses extended further back into much earlier periods in the history of lit-
erature, acknowledging the role of gaps and incomplete information in works from
previous centuries, such as Laurence Sterne’s Tristram Shandy, a rather experimen-
tal novel in that regard.
Influenced by Husserl’s ideas on intentionality, Roman Ingarden was among the
first to bolster the role of the reader in the literary process, suggesting that works of
literature should be treated as intentional objects, that is, as entities that resulted
from the articulation of a reader’s intentionality working on the schematic codifica-
tion of an author’s previous intentionality (Ingarden, 1973, 14). As such an intersub-
jective object, the text could no longer be controlled by the mind of the author who
produced it, but the reader would not be at liberty to realize its words in complete
independence either, since the reader’s experience of the text would be governed by
the linguistic materiality of the text.1
Central to Ingarden’s understanding of the intersubjective nature of the literary
text was the concept of places of indeterminacy, i.e., unrealized aspects of the text
that the reader would “fill” by concretizations arising from the reader’s previous
experiences (whether in literature or in life). In principle, for example, a reader
familiarized with the world of golf would be in a better position to imagine what the
flag and the hitting are (in Faulkner’s quote above) than that of someone unfamiliar
with the sport. By the same token, imagination of the undefined flower tree in that
same quote would depend on what types of blooming trees are part of a reader’s

 Due to space constraints, I cannot do justice to this and other complex arguments below. For a
1

more detailed analysis of Ingarden’s intersubjective object, see Çelik (2016, 43ff).
The Reading Process: An Intertextual Approach 267

experience, painting a different actual image of the plant in each reader’s mind. This
form of ideation is one of the key elements of the act of reading, eloquently sum-
marized by Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges in an anecdote told by Alberto
Manguel, who used to read to Borges when the latter was already blind:
Stopping me after a line he found side-splitting in Stevenson’s New Arabian Nights
(“dressed and painted to represent a person connected with the Press in reduced
circumstances”—“How can someone be dressed like that, eh? What do you think Stevenson
had in mind? Being impossibly precise? Eh?”), he [Borges] proceeded to analyse the stylis-
tic device that, while appearing to be exact, forces the reader to make up a personal defini-
tion. (Manguel, 1996, 17)

Hans-Georg Gadamer’s hermeneutics focused, precisely, on the problems that result

from such a manner of evoking phenomena through language, in particular consid-
ering that language is a means for intersubjective communication, what he terms
I-lessness, or the fact that “[t]o speak means to speak to someone” (Gadamer, 1976,
65, original emphasis). From Aristotle to St. Augustine, and on to Gadamer’s days
and to our own present, the function that writing plays so “that we might be able to
converse also with the absent” (Augustine, 1948, 846) enables the possibility to
inquire how that conversation is even possible, as Borges’s question to Manguel
also wondered. The hermeneutic activity of the reader, according to Gadamer, nego-
tiates the process of connecting the alien or unknown with the familiar, the latter
serving as necessary support to understand the former (Gadamer, 1976, 15). The
ensuing task of filling places of indeterminacy and making personal definitions in
the literary communication between subjects hinges upon the reader’s ability to ide-
ate phenomena that the reader (in this sense as blind as Borges) cannot possibly see
directly but only through the textual conversation with the absent author.
Building somewhat on Husserl, but much more on Gadamer and Ingarden,
Wolfgang Iser’s attempts to understand and analyze the act of reading resulted in
one of the most influential theories of reader response and sense building to date. To
develop his own interpretative model, Iser inevitably had to challenge some of the
tenets of his predecessors. His critique of Ingarden, for example, revolved in part
about questions that are central to a reader’s ability to construct meaning out of a
text. According to Iser, Ingarden’s dissatisfaction with contemporary texts was
based on what the latter perceived to be deliberate or programmatic incomprehensi-
bilities (which the Faulkner example above may illustrate), since Ingarden was still
operating under the assumption that texts should be understood to have a normative
or preferred concretization that aligned the reader’s interpretation with the author’s
intentions,2 something the more experimental texts of the twentieth century appar-
ently refused to do. Iser, on the other hand, advocated for the possibility that “a
work may be concretized in different, equally valid, ways” (1987, 178), thereby
approaching “difficult” texts not so much as potential communicative failures but as

2
 In this regard, Iser quotes a self-acknowledged banal example offered by Ingarden to explain why,
if no other options are offered to the reader, the reader should understand that a character described
as very old should be imagined as having gray hair (Iser, 1987, 176).
268 M. M. Martín-Rodríguez

works that intentionally opened up the range of potential interpretations.3 As he

would later clarify in his study of negativity in Samuel Beckett’s prose, “negativity
can be regarded here as a structure of bringing forth—at least potentially—infinite
possibilities” (Iser, 1993, 141).
In consequence, Iser’s model highly bolstered the role of the reader beyond what
Ingarden and even Gadamer had proposed (though not to the extreme positions
advocated by other theorists like Stanley Fish),4 and it saw the act of reading as that
which creates meaning when readers interact with texts, not with authors. In order
to study that interaction, Iser proposed several important concepts, on which I will
also rely for part of my argumentation, including those of the strategies and the
repertoire. According to Iser, strategies “organize both the material of the text and
the conditions under which that material is to be communicated” (1987, 86). In that
sense, the strategies offer readers the possibility of formulating whatever arrange-
ments of the text materials they consider effective or viable, rather than presenting
them with an already fixed structure. Faulkner’s example above may, once again, be
of use to clarify this concept, and it should be apparent that the disjointed, dis-­
organized structure of his text not only serves to codify his writing in a certain man-
ner, but also to lay out a basis for communicating with readers, one in which the
reader must be willing to interact with a polyphony of un/identified voices, a disor-
derly sense of time, repetitions of topoi from multiple points of view and, in sum, a
seemingly chaotic narrative that requires constant syntheses and self-correction in
the minds of the readers. This is the type of communicative situation that, while
somewhat alienating Ingarden, attracted Iser for its potential for addressing the pro-
cess of reading as a sense-building operation. Because reading is sequential (in both
time and space), and because the text can never be apprehended at one time, “[t]he
‘object’ of the text can only be imagined by way of different consecutive phases of
reading” (Iser, 1987, 109), which means that the relation between reader and text
cannot be that of an observer in front of an object. Rather, Iser claims, “instead of a
subject-object relationship, there is a moving viewpoint that travels along inside that
which has to be apprehended,” a defining quality that he considers unique to litera-
ture (1987, 109, original emphasis). It is the process of reading which constitutes
the literary object, then, and no existence of that object prior to the act of reading
can be acknowledged.
The repertoire, in turn, “consists of all the familiar territory within the text. This
may be in the form of references to earlier works, or to social and historical norms,
or to the whole culture from which the text has emerged” (Iser, 1987, 69); but Iser
emphasizes that familiarity cannot be reduced to identity or reproduction of that
which the reader already knows. On the contrary, he argues, what makes the familiar
territory interesting to readers is not the fact that it is known to them already, but
rather that it leads in an unaccustomed direction by virtue of its appearing

3
 For an early summary of Iser’s critique of Ingarden’s intentionality theories, see Brinker (1980).
4
 For Fish, interpretive strategies are not put at the service of making sense of the text; rather, “they
give texts their shape, making them rather than, as is usually assumed, arising from them”
(1980, 13).
The Reading Process: An Intertextual Approach 269

reformulated in an unfamiliar context (1987, 70), which enables readers “to see
what they cannot normally see in the ordinary process of day-to-day living”
(1987, 74).
To further explain these and other elements of the act of reading, Iser also relied
on an additional pair of key concepts, those of blanks, which I will address immedi-
ately below, and negations, to which I will return after a brief consideration of the
literary repertoire. As Iser explained these two terms,
Blanks and negations both control the process of communication in their own different
ways: the blanks leave open the connections between perspectives in the text, and so spur
the reader into coordinating these perspectives—in other words they induce the reader to
perform basic operations within the text. The various types of negation invoke familiar or
determinate elements only to cancel them out. What is canceled, however, remains in view,
and this brings about modifications in the reader’s attitude toward what is familiar or deter-
minate—in other words, he is guided to adopt a position in relation to the text.” (1987, 169,
original emphases)

The blank as a concept sounds so similar to Ingarden’s places of indeterminacy that

Iser was forced to explain the difference by stressing that blanks operate by foster-
ing not completion but combination of elements to address indeterminacies in the
text, an essential aspect to explain why readers understand texts differently instead
of arriving to the same conclusions as all other readers. According to Iser, a reader
does not negotiate blanks by simply supplying missing information but by concret-
izing connections that the blank disrupted. In doing so, the reader creates an idio-
syncratic synthesis of textual materials that reflects her or his own reading at that
particular reading instance, which may be different from syntheses made by other
readers (or by the same reader at different times in her/his life). Such divergences in
interpretation (from reader to reader, and from reading to reading) explain why the
blank is not an informational gap that can be filled with missing data, but a rela-
tional imbalance that requires the reader’s sense-making intervention.

2 Negotiating Literary References

For my purposes in this chapter, the most important aspect of Iser’s model concerns
his understanding of the literary repertoire, that is, the un/familiar presence of previ-
ous literary works or genres in the text being read, but I will approach its study by
connecting the repertoire to both blanks and negations. For Iser, the literary reper-
toire plays a double function during the act of reading: “it reshapes familiar sche-
mata to form a background for the process of communication, and it provides a
general framework within which the message or meaning of the text can be orga-
nized” (1987, 81). If we think of a well-known literary text like Miguel de
Cervantes’s Don Quixote, it should be easy to see the ways in which that double
function works. In the first sense, readers should have relatively little trouble to see
behind Cervantes’s novel other literary schemata that had been popularized before
1605, including—of course—the chivalric romances that Don Quixote loves to read
270 M. M. Martín-Rodríguez

and that the novel is said to parody, but also the conventions of road-oriented narra-
tives, as in the so-called picaresque novel. In Cervantes’s reshaping of the norms of
the novels of adventure, in turn, readers of Don Quixote encounter a springboard for
organizing their own sense-making activities, which are then free to pursue rather
divergent and even unexpected courses. Considering the notion of the quest, for
example, a reader may wonder why would Don Quixote want to become a knight
errant at that particular juncture in time instead of enlisting to participate in the still
active exploration and colonization of the Americas; through that and/or similar
speculations some readers may raise mental questions about social and political
norms that other readers might not entertain.
The effectiveness of Iser’s method, as far as the literary repertoire is concerned,
seems to hinge on the reader’s preexisting familiarity with those earlier literary
conventions and presences that the text invokes and rephrases. When that is the case,
I find his model rather useful and convincing. It is obvious, however, that different
readers bring to the act of reading diverse sets of cultural capital and social back-
grounds, which means that while some of them would have no trouble finding in
Don Quixote the rephrased schemata of the chivalric romances, others will be
unlikely to do so. This raises an intriguing set of research questions, some of which
I intend to explore in the rest of this chapter. In particular, I want to reflect on the
issue of how to negotiate explicit intertextual references, meaning those moments in
which a literary text mentions or references in unambiguous terms another. What
happens when the reader is not familiar with the referenced text? How does a reader
deal with different forms of citation or allusion? When does it become necessary for
readers to familiarize themselves (as much as they can) with the mentioned text, and
when and how do they decide to ignore a particular reference and simply continue
with the text they are reading?
At the bottom of these questions lies precisely the Iserian notion by which texts
can be described as reformulations of an already formulated reality, in which what-
ever blanks a reader encounters may be negotiated through the kind of ideation that
would permit readers to navigate unfamiliar territory in the text by appealing to
what they already know, the basics of Gadamerian hermeneutics, as well. When we
read a description of a city or a landscape that is unfamiliar to us, we can still make
inferences from the words in the description to construct a mental image of the
place, as in the case of Faulkner’s blooming tree cited above. As Charles A. Hill
further suggests, discussing visual images, “[e]ven if the viewer has never seen a
real, unmediated cow, the viewer understands that such creatures exist, and that they
have particular traits and associations that the creator of the image would like to
bring to the forefront of the viewer’s consciousness” (2003, 129). If we could trans-
pose those images from the visual to the written arts, Merleau-Ponty’s views on the
visible/invisible in painting might be of help to further explore what Iser terms
reformulation.5 Written words, in that sense, would serve as the visible that makes

5
 According to Merleau-Ponty, painting “gives visible existence to what profane vision believes to
be invisible” (1964, 166).
The Reading Process: An Intertextual Approach 271

present the invisible, even if they do so as arbitrary, non-representational signs. In

such an absence of visual images, a reader who encounters an unknown linguistic
term (“chabudai,” for example) could look it up in a dictionary or, if s/he so choses,
s/he could skip that operation and simply form a mental image of that object using
contextual clues that may suggest the idea of a short-legged table, then supplement-
ing the image—as needed—with his/her own knowledge of different types of furni-
ture. The blank, in that case, is negotiated not only by making the unintelligible
understandable but also by coordinating perspectives within the text (pondering
why is a somewhat uncommon word like chabudai used or what does that usage say
about characters, narrators, setting, and the like). Beth Hernandez-Jason’s contribu-
tion to With a Book in Their Hands: Chicano/a Readers and Readerships Across the
Centuries offers a good, empirical example of this type of reader activity. Revisiting
and rereading as a 26  year old the Nancy Drew books that she loved as a child,
Hernandez-Jason explains the re-reading process:
As I continue to read, I am surprised by the vocabulary words—“unscrupulous,” “exoner-
ate,” “insoluble,” “titian.” I do not even know what “titian blond” means, and I surely did
not know then. However, if in other books her hair was described as strawberry blonde, I
must have simply guessed what “titian” meant at the time. (2014, 90)

Though Iser would have expected a reference to the famous Venetian School painter
to be easily understood by an ideal reader, the particular real reader I am citing,
unfamiliar with Titian’s iconic palette, negotiated the blank in the text through infer-
ence and contextual clues.
But, what happens when the reader encounters a reference in the text not to “real-
ity” but to another text? In the studies of narratology and intertextuality the citing
text is known as the hypertext and the cited text is called the hypotext, following
Gérard Genette’s influential nomenclature (1982, 11–12). Iser almost takes it for
granted that the readers of a hypertext would be familiar with the cited hypotext(s),
and that they would use that familiarity to make sense of the citation, but—as men-
tioned—such an understanding of the communicatory structure of the literary text
requires a number of assumptions about cultural capital that disregard patterns of
access (or lack thereof) to education, exposure in certain regions and cultures to
certain texts and not to others, and the like, which seriously compromise an actual
(versus an ideal) reader’s ability to negotiate intertextuality. Even the most well-­
read individual is bound to find references to unknown hypotexts that would have to
be either negotiated or dismissed as the reader advances through the hypertext.
Paraphrasing Iser, who claimed that the text is “a formulation of an already for-
mulated reality” (1987, x), one could argue that the main challenge in making sense
of intertextual references or citations is that the reader needs to deal not with textual
passages that refer to an already formulated reality but to an already formulated
formulation of reality, one that challenges the reader in ways that the text s/he is
reading cannot always satisfy through contextual clues. Two examples from Jean-­
Jacques Rousseau’s Confessions may serve to illustrate (and differentiate) some of
the challenges involved in making sense of intertextuality. In the first and easier to
handle of the two, Rousseau reflects on problems he had experienced in the past
272 M. M. Martín-Rodríguez

with the printing and the reception of his books (especially with the banning of
some of them), just as a wealthy patron has proposed to take charge of a new publi-
cation of his, which Rousseau fears will be banned as well:
Elle trouva le moyen de faire entrer dans ses vues M. de Malesherbes, qui m’écrivit à ce
sujet une longue lettre toute de sa main, pour me prouver que la Profession de foi du vicaire
savoyard était précisément une pièce faite pour avoir partout l’approbation du genre
humain, et celle de la cour dans la circonstance. Je fus surpris de voir ce magistrat, toujours
si craintif, devenir si coulant dans cette affaire. (1824, 420)6

Rousseau’s Émile (the hypotext in this example) was banned in Paris and Geneva
because of its section entitled “Savoyard’s Vicar’s Profession of Faith.” A reader not
familiar with that circumstance can easily look it up online nowadays, or in a refer-
ence book, and make some sense of that particular intertextual citation, since what
is needed to negotiate this intertextual blank is mostly factual information, and not
a deeper knowledge of the contents of the “Profession” itself (even though such a
knowledge would doubtless result in a more meaningful reading experience). The
reader may not know yet the entire relevance of the citation, but upon learning of the
Paris/Geneva ban most readers would probably feel that they have enough informa-
tion to go on reading the Confessions, even if they had never read the “Profession”
themselves.
Unlike the previous example, which we could categorize as a case of referential
citation, the following one (which we might call phenomenological citation) will
prove to be somewhat more challenging for the purposes of sense-making:
Je trouvai dans son souris je ne sais quoi de sardonique, qui changea totalement sa physi-
onomie à mes yeux, et qui m’est souvent revenu depuis lors dans la mémoire. Je ne peux
pas mieux comparer ce souris qu’à celui de Panurge achetant les moutons de Dindenault.
(Rousseau, 1824, 372)7

The mention, in this case, is not of another text qua text, but of a particular trait in a
particular character’s countenance in a hypotext. This type of intertextual linkage
does not remit the reader to a previous authority invoked as such; rather, it forces the
reader to come up with an ideation of a previous ideation of an unseen phenomenon.
Why would Panurge smile as he was purchasing those sheep? Once again, a reader
not familiar with Panurge or Dindenault could look them up online or in a print
reference book. Such a search is likely to furnish an explanation that more or less
properly describes Panurge’s purchase of Dindenault’s sheep in François Rabelais’s
Fourth Book of Pantagruel. But how does one form an image of the sardonic smile

6
 “She managed to bring M. de Malesherbes into her view, who wrote me a long letter on the sub-
ject in his own hand, proving the ‘Savoyard’s Vicar’s Profession of Faith’ was just the piece to
receive the universal approbation of mankind, and of the court, too, under the circumstances. I was
surprised to see this magistrate, usually so timorous, become so free and easy in this matter”
(Rousseau, 1856, 281).
7
 “There was an indescribable sardonic smile on his countenance, while saying this that, to my eye
quite altered his physiognomy, and which has often occurred to my mind since. I can compare it to
nothing but the expression on Panurge’s countenance while buying the sheep of Dindenaut” (1856,
249–250, original punctuation and spelling).
The Reading Process: An Intertextual Approach 273

that Rousseau is trying to depict by resorting to his ideation of Panurge’s smile as

found by him in the Rabelaisian text? This is not an image of the more or less
generic or abstract cow described by Hill (above) but almost its opposite, a descrip-
tion so precise that it can only leave the reader as confounded as Borges was by
Stevenson’s New Arabian Nights. Moreover, since not all readers would negotiate
the blanks in the story of Panurge’s purchase in the same manner, the reader of the
Confessions cannot help but be at Rousseau’s sense-making and ideation mercy if s/
he is not familiar with Rabelais’s text. In the quote above, the reader encounters not
the Confessions’s formulation of an already formulated reality but the Confessions’s
formulation of the Fourth Book of Pantagruel’s formulation of an already formu-
lated reality.
To further complicate matters, for these type of “phenomenological” citations,
looking up information on the hypotext would be of limited utility for a different
reason: since any description of the hypotext would be conditioned by the particular
understanding of that book by the person who wrote the description, such informa-
tion may not be applicable at all to the conditions under which a different reader is
encountering the intertextual reference. For instance, the Wikipedia entrance on
“Panurge” explains the episode of the purchase of the sheep (and even quotes part
of the text from Rabelais) but it includes no mention whatsoever of Panurge smiling,
sardonically or in any other manner, which would not help the reader of my Rousseau
example.
In fact, if we were to look up the original episode in Rabelais’s text we might be
surprised to find out that there is no mention in it of Panurge smiling. The episode
of Dindenault’s sheep begins in chapter VI of the Fourth Book of Pantagruel, con-
tinues in chapter VII, as the merchant tries to drive a hard bargain by praising his
sheep without restraint, and it ends in chapter VIII when, after paying a good sum
of money for a ram, Panurge throws it overboard the vessel that carries all of them,
which results in all of the other sheep following the ram off the ship onto their
deaths, with the last one of them carrying into the water Dindenault himself, who
was frantically trying to hold on to it, in order to save his last living animal. The
closest Rabelais gets to suggesting the possibility of a smile in Panurge’s face is at
the very end of chapter VIII, with a reference in Latin to the concept of retribution:
“Mihi vindictam & caetera. Matiere de breuiaire” (Rabelais, 1552, 18), an abbrevi-
ated biblical citation from Romans 12:19 (loosely translated as “vengeance is mine,
I will repay,” followed in Rabelais’s text by the narratorial note that identifies the
quote as extracted from a breviary). That is close to suggesting a (potential) smile,
but not close enough. Except for the unlikely possibility that Rousseau might have
read an edition of Pantagruel with an alternative text from the original, we cannot
help but conclude that Panurge’s smile is the result of Rousseau’s (not Rabelais’s)
ideation.
What we do find in Rabelais’s passage is the invocation of earlier hypotexts that
further complicate and challenge our sense-making operations, i.e. the same descrip-
tive approach and strategy later employed by Rousseau. Beyond the biblical quote
just referenced, in describing the drowning of Dindenault, Rabelais’s narrator
explains: “Le mouton feut si puissant qu’il emporta en mer avecques soy le
274 M. M. Martín-Rodríguez

marchant, & feut noyé, en pareille forme que les moutons de Polyphemus le borgne
cyclope emporterent hors la caverne Vlyxes & ses compaygnons” (1552, 18),8 a
more or less evident allusion to Homer’s Odyssey. The narrator also explains why
the sheep would follow one another blindly by citing yet another hypotext, Aristotle’s
History of Animals: “Aussi le dict Aristotles lib. 9 de histo: animal. estre le plus sot
& inepte animant du mõde” (1552, 18).9 In this, like Rousseau, Rabelais gives us
clear examples of a referential citation (Aristotle) and of the more complex, phe-
nomenological citation (Homer). Though pursuing these other intertextual links
would make me stray too far from the argumentation I am constructing, it should
suffice to say that Rabelais’s reader would be equally at a loss if s/he is not familiar
with Homer’s Odyssey, especially since Rabelais’s quote is also potentially mislead-
ing: while clinging to the sheep results in the death of Dindenault in Pantagruel, the
same strategy permits Ulysses and his companions to save their lives in the Odyssey,
so that a formal similarity (“en pareille forme que les moutons de Polyphemus”) in
fact reveals a substantially dissimilar content.
Complex as the second example from Rousseau may seem, intertextual gaps can
be much more complicated and difficult to navigate for readers, as I will illustrate
with an instance of what I will call aesthetic citation, for reasons that will be appar-
ent at the end of this chapter when I discuss the invocation of intertexts as aesthetic
objects. The quoted passage in this case, below, is from José Antonio Villarreal’s
Pocho. Published in 1959, Pocho was one of the first contemporary Mexican
American novels, and it centers on the life of young Richard Rubio and his family.
In the novel, Richard is born in the Santa Clara, California, area to illiterate, immi-
grant Mexican parents, but he soon develops a love for reading that permeates
Villarreal’s novel, while peppering it with references to all kinds of hypotexts. The
one that will be of interest here is found in the final part of the novel. As Richard’s
family begins to fall apart due to the pressures of negotiating traditional Mexican
cultural expectations in the context of daily life in the United States, Richard makes
an almost desperate attempt to bring them back together by reading out loud to
them, something he seems to have done in previous occasions as well. Though
somewhat long, the passage is worth quoting in its entirety, because of the details
that it gives readers about norms that are being challenged, transformed, or negated
(in the sense of Iser’s negation):
That night, for the first time in months, they had dinner together in the old way. After dinner,
his father sat on the rocker in the living room, listening to the Mexican station from Piedras
Negras on short wave. When the kitchen was picked up, the girls sat around restlessly in the
living room, and Richard knew they wanted to listen to something else, so he said to his
father, ‘Let us go into the kitchen. I have a new novel in the Spanish I will read to you.’

8
 “The Ram was so strong that he carried the Dealer into the Sea with him, so that he was drowned,
in the same manner as the Sheep of Polyphemus, the one-eyed Cyclops, carried Ulysses and his
Companions out of the Cave” (Rabelais, 1893, 65).
9
 “Moreover, Aristotle says lib. ix, de histor, anim. that it is the most foolish and silly Animal in the
World” (Rabelais, 1893, 65).
The Reading Process: An Intertextual Approach 275

In the kitchen, around the table, his mother also sat down, and said, ‘It is a long time,
little son, that you do not read to us.’
How blind she must be, he thought. Aloud he said, ‘It is called “Crime and Punishment,”
and it is about the Rusos in another time.’ He read rapidly and they listened attentively,
interrupting him only now and then with a surprised ‘Oh!’ or ‘That is so true!’ After two
hours, he could not read fast enough for himself, and he wished that he could read all night
to them, because it was a certainty that he would not get another opportunity to read to them
like this. They would never get to know the book, and he knew they were to miss something
great. He knew also that they would never be this close together again. (Villarreal, 1959, 187)

As I have explored elsewhere (Martín-Rodríguez, 2003, 51–52), this scene illus-

trates the change of paradigm from a collective, traditional oral culture to the more
individual-oriented world of print and reading. Traditional orality was invoked at
the beginning of the novel—when Richard was exposed as a young child to camp-
fire singing and storytelling—and it is present in the quoted scene only through the
modified version that Walter J. Ong called “secondary orality.”10 In the case of many
Mexican American and immigrant families (like Richard’s), that change of para-
digm also entailed the shift from a world in which the elderly would teach values
and beliefs to the younger to one in which the latter frequently became cultural
brokers for the former. In that context, the episode just quoted presents not only a
fascinating example of a form of alternative literacy (i.e. the process by which for-
mally illiterate individuals may acquire literary cultural capital) but it also implies
that the traditional norms of Mexican patriarchy represented by Juan Rubio
(Richard’s father) are negated, and that an uncertain new set of values opens up for
the Rubio family as they see themselves, their culture and their experiences reflected
or, better perhaps, refracted in those of Crime and Punishment’s characters and
society.
The intertextual reference to Crime and Punishment, however, creates an addi-
tional level of complication for the reader of Pocho: while in the fictional world of
the novel the Rubio family gets to enjoy Dostoyevsky’s masterpiece first hand
through Richard’s reading, Villarreal’s readers do not. His reference to the Russian
nineteenth-century classic is even more ambiguous and reticent than Rousseau’s
allusion to Rabelais, since Villarreal does not mention which passages from
Dostoyevsky the family found so true. Instead of references to the contents of the
hypotext, all that we find in Pocho is an account of the act of reading itself. Even the
reader who is already familiar with Dostoyevsky’s novel would be at a loss to figure
out what in that hypotext might be motivating Richard’s family to exclaim “That is
so true!” or simply “Oh!”
In consequence, for the reader of Pocho forming an image of the family scene
quoted above should pose only minor problems, if any, but negotiating the Russian
hypotext remains an extraordinary challenge. At best, the reader familiar with Crime
and Punishment must be contented with inferring from that knowledge what might

 Ong proposed this term to differentiate the technological oral/aural (television, film, the radio
10

and other similar media) from the traditional oral culture which entails a set of norms and values,
as well as an agonistic participative atmosphere that secondary orality no longer possesses (108).
276 M. M. Martín-Rodríguez

be applicable to the Rubio family’s sense-making operations about the life of certain
Russians “in another time,” all the while knowing that whatever hypotheses s/he
formulates in that regard would be impossible to verify beyond doubt, and that they
may be completely different from alternative hypotheses formulated by other
readers.
In the case of readers not familiar with Crime and Punishment, ancillary sources
are unlikely to be of much assistance either. If they were to look up Crime and
Punishment in Wikipedia, to name a commonly used reference source, they would
find out that it gives a (somewhat loaded) summary of the plot of the novel, empha-
sizing its protagonist’s mental anguish and moral dilemmas. The Wikipedia entry
also discusses the plot, characters, structure, symbolism, themes, and reception of
Crime and Punishment, but how can that help the unfamiliar reader negotiate the
intertextual blank in Pocho? The temptation to leave it unaddressed would be even
greater than in any of my other examples, since the difficulties involved in making
sense of the intertext may suggest it to be an impossible task.

3 Toward an Intertextually-Based Account

of Reader Experience

Making sense of this type of hypotext, then, may require both a modification of
Iser’s understanding of sense-making and situation-building in reading, and a differ-
ent approach to the conceptualization of reading itself, one that thinks of it as an
intertextually- rather than just a textually-based endeavor, to which I will return at
the end of this chapter. For Iser, who analyzes reading at an abstract level,11 concepts
like that of the implied reader, the ideal reader, or the superreader, among others he
discusses (1987, 27–34), make it possible to postulate a theoretical more or less
perfect match between the text and the reader as far as the repertoire is concerned.
The implied reader, which he defines as a textual presence that “embodies all those
predispositions for a literary work to exercise its effect” (1987, 34) would thus be
able to easily make sense of any and all intertextual references present. But, as the
examples above should have demonstrated (especially in the case of Rousseau’s
allusions to the work of Rabelais), we do not read as abstract readers, but as situated,
concrete readers with personal, social, and cultural baggage that differentiates us
from other real readers. That is why Rousseau, in trying to describe the sardonic
smile of someone in his own world ended up imagining a similar one in one of
Rabelais’s characters; Rousseau’s consciousness imposed on the Rabelaisian

11
 Iser explained why he chose a theoretical approach in these terms: “I have tried to establish my
idealized model of text-processing along phenomenological lines. I have done so mainly for two
reasons: (I) a phenomenological description allows us to focus on processes of constitution that
occur not only in reading but also in our basic relations to the world in general; and (2) an idealized
model that allows description of constitutive processes bears within itself a hermeneutic implica-
tion” (1993, 49).
The Reading Process: An Intertextual Approach 277

hypotext a non-existent element that other readers of Pantagruel could never see,
because it is not in the text but is, rather, the result of an actual reader’s ideation.
Because of these limitations of the implied reader as a concept, Iser’s reliance on
a purely theoretical model was challenged by other scholars more inclined toward
empirical research, such as Norman N. Holland, for whom “one can only arrive at a
theory of response by induction from actual responses” (in Iser, 1993, 43).12 I con-
cur with Holland’s views on the limited applicability of the Iserian model to the
study of actual acts of reading, and thus in my own scholarship on reading and
intertextuality, I have switched from the more theoretical study of reading that I
offered in Life in Search of Readers (2003), to a multi-branched, empirical study of
readers.13 Empirical research in this area works from the ground up, replacing
deduction with induction in order to see how actual readers make sense of actual
texts, rather than predicting or assuming what they do with a priori hypotheses.
From that perspective, the final part of this chapter will concentrate on how some
real-life readers have negotiated the intertextual relationship between Pocho and
Crime and Punishment, as an example of strategies for working around intertextual
blanks and for making sense of unknown texts.
My data and anecdotal evidence is taken from three cohorts of students in my
upper-division seminar “Reading (from) the Margin,” which I have taught at the
University of California, Merced on only three occasions: in 2012, in 2016, and in
2018. The course requires an amount of reading significantly higher than other
upper-division courses in my department, which results in somewhat lower enroll-
ments; this, in turn, facilitates discussion and observation of students’ progress in
making sense of readings. Though some students in some of these three cohorts
were familiar with some of the other texts in the syllabus, none of the forty-four
individuals who have taken the class thus far had ever read Pocho or Crime and
Punishment beforehand, which proved to be essential for observing reactions as
they read them for the first time.
For many of my students, Pocho (the first book they had to read for the class) was
a particularly interesting novel, since the plot takes place in geographical areas not
far from Merced, California. Moreover, many of the students in the three cohorts
under discussion were of Mexican or Latino descent, as is a large percentage of the
overall undergraduate student body of the school (55.5% as of this writing).14
Therefore, negotiating cultural values and situations lived by Villarreal’s characters
was, for the most part, easy for them, since they could rely on personal experiences
(in many cases) and/or on textual and contextual clues that made the text quite read-
able. Perhaps the most difficult textual element to deal with for these three cohorts
of readers was the somewhat distorted syntax that Villarreal uses on occasion, writ-
ing in English but maintaining Spanish-language syntactical patterns, a technique

12
 Chapter 3 of Iser (1993) consists of a written interview in which Iser answered questions from
three leading response and reception scholars, including Holland.
13
 For more information on that empirical study, see Martín-Rodríguez (2015).
14
 “Fast Facts 2019–2020” (2020).
278 M. M. Martín-Rodríguez

that Ernest Hemingway had popularized before Villarreal but that was unfamiliar to
my students.
By the time we arrived to the episode of Richard reading out loud to his family,15
class discussions had been fruitful in relating previous textual passages to social
norms pertaining to gender and sexual violence. Though the novel is set in a period
roughly ranging from the 1920s to the 1940s, students were reading it from a
twenty-first century context, which allowed for a smooth ideation of incidents that
are only alluded to in the novel, as in the case of João Pete’s Manoel’s alleged sexual
transgressions. From that same sociohistorical vantage point, students (mostly
female in all three sections) were quick to recognize and discuss the portrayal of
women in Pocho as overtly traditional and even stereotypical, which resulted in
some animated debates on gender and culture, with key concepts like machismo and
marianismo taking center stage at those times.16 Beyond gender, aspects of the
migrant/diasporic experience, social class, folklore, literacy, and discrimination,
among others, were discussed and analyzed. Some students also mentioned identi-
fying with Richard because they, too, were passionate book lovers on their way to
becoming college graduates and bettering their station in life, in several cases as
members of partially illiterate families. From a reception-studies perspective, it
soon became obvious that my students’ reactions to Villarreal’s text were both con-
ditioned by and representative of their particular “horizon of expectations” (Jauss,
1982, 184–185), in which Pocho answered questions that it had not had to answer
for earlier generations of readers.
In all of our class discussions, my students demonstrated a keen ability to negoti-
ate thematic blanks and sociocultural negations, but they seemed befuddled when I
asked them to try to make sense of the Dostoyevsky hypotext. This assignment
might have been more confusing to them, at least at first, because I had not required
that they think about other hypotexts encountered earlier in Pocho (e.g. Don Quixote,
Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones, or Voltaire’s Candide, among others). As I later
explained to my students (when we got to discuss and analyze all intertexts) those
previous hypotexts were easier to negotiate, being closer to the referential type
exemplified by the first quote from Rousseau, above;17 but Crime and Punishment
promised to be not only more difficult to handle but also a much more significant
intertext for our understanding of the novel, while still refusing to hint to us exactly
why or how.

15
 For the sake of a clearer exposition, I will be subsuming all three classes into one, since there
were no major significant peculiarities in how each of those cohorts (or individuals within them)
made sense of that intertext.
16
 Marianismo refers to particular expectations defining womanhood and femininity in Latin/o cul-
tures, including self-sacrifice toward children and family. For more on machismo and marianismo,
see Sanabria (2016, 152ff).
17
 The following quote from Pocho should substantiate that statement: “With determination, he fol-
lowed Tom Jones and Dr. Pangloss through their various complicated adventures” (Villarreal,
1959, 103).
The Reading Process: An Intertextual Approach 279

The first problem stemmed from the fact that, in this case, my students’ herme-
neutical skills were unable to find something familiar with which to connect
Villarreal’s enigmatic reference. When further pressed, the more daring students
hypothesized that the linkage between both books might be related to violence (a
concept explicit in Crime and Punishment’s title and a common occurrence in
Pocho), war (the plot in Pocho is framed by the Mexican Revolution, at its begin-
ning, and World War II, at its ending, and they figured that a similar war or pre-war
context could be conducive to violence and murder in the Russian novel as well), or
to suffering or similar emotions they could see the Rubio family sympathizing with
across time and distance. Family itself was another potential link they explored,
especially because in the reading guides with questions that I sent to students before
each class I had asked them to think about changes in family life/structure as the
novel (Pocho) progresses. In all instances, therefore, these real readers attempted to
negotiate the intertextual blank as if it were a thematic one.
Building on that set of skills and on that accumulated body of hypotheses, when
we started reading Crime and Punishment (immediately after finishing Pocho) I told
my students to keep thinking about the Rubio family as they read about Raskolnikov
(Crime and Punishment’s protagonist) and his world, to see if particular passages in
Crime and Punishment would appear to be the ones that triggered reactions from the
Rubio family, or at least to see what similarities they could find between both novels
and/or both worlds.
Since these were the first two interconnected books that we read for class, stu-
dents struggled much more than they did with other book pairings later in the
semester, since by then they had developed stronger comparative abilities. As a
consequence, in this case, I was forced to be much more active in identifying most
of the potential connections myself and in lecturing on them. Though present space
and topic would not permit me to give too many details in that regard,18 I can
advance that once I explained the historical context for Crime and Punishment,
including the recent abolition of serfdom (thanks to the Emancipation Reform of
1861) and the ensuing migratory movements from the countryside to the cities, for
example, students quickly began to see both novels in a different light. Something
similar occurred when I shared with them a table comparing Richard and Raskolnikov
by using nine different parameters. While both characters remained distinct and
disconnected in their minds, they had no trouble seeing the deeper structures that
made them (and, as a result, their relationship with their families) very similar.
Students were also fascinated by the fact that many intellectual discussions
within Crime and Punishment revolved around the so-called “Woman Question,”
then a major element of social anxiety in Russia. Since we had discussed gender
extensively in our consideration of Pocho, this generated much interest in trying to
figure out how different members of the Rubio household might have reacted to

 I intend to give a fuller account of these practices and experiences on a forthcoming monograph
18

on the intertextual history of Chicano literature.

280 M. M. Martín-Rodríguez

learning about this fact as well, should some of those passages had been the seg-
ments of the novel read out loud by Richard.
But, perhaps, the most eye-opening finding in their reading of Crime and
Punishment was realizing that Dostoyevsky’s novel was also full of intertextual
references to earlier hypotexts. This was eye-opening not in the sense that they had
failed to notice before that literary texts contain many such references but, rather,
because this was the first time they encountered hypotextual references after being
asked to reflect on their significance. Though most students kept on reading Crime
and Punishment when they found those other citations (largely due to the intensive
reading aspect of the class), many acknowledged that they felt uneasy about doing
so, and others mentioned that they could not help but look up the references to get a
better sense of why those hypotexts might had been invoked.
What my students seemed to have learned about the role of intertextual blanks
was that (unlike other types of blanks) they could not be dealt with by resorting to
contextual clues, personal experience of the world and of other books, or even nar-
ratorial guidance. What they also learned from the class design and methodology
was the fact that intertextuality produces a most radical breakdown of linearity, in
the sense that any hypotextual reference inevitably takes the reader outside of the
hypertext, while at the same time the hypertext demands that the reader continues
reading through. Such a clash of centrifugal and centripetal forces will prove essen-
tial for my closing remarks on intertextually-based reading, because if Iser is right
and consistency building is a central aspect of the reader’s ability to process a text
by providing “good continuation” between textual segments (1993, 53), then it
should be apparent that intertextual references pose a potentially major challenge to
such a “continuation,” especially those references of the types I have called phe-
nomenological and aesthetic citations.
While in a different reading context most (if not all) of my students would have
probably disregarded the reference to Crime and Punishment in Pocho, or they
would have limited themselves to searching for some second-hand information
about it, the fact that they were required to read Dostoyevsky’s novel for class meant
that they were able to see that, unlike what happens in the examples of Faulkner’s
flag and blooming tree, the strategies needed to make sense of an intertextual blank
did not involve an ideation of worldly objects from the verbal signs that represented
them in the text, but rather the much more complex task of perceiving (to paraphrase
Dufrenne) the work as a whole as an aesthetic object in all of its sensuous aspects
(Dufrenne, 1973, lii).
With some lecturing and guidance, they were able to understand as well the rhe-
torical power of Villarreal’s strategy of not quoting or citing specific passages from
Crime and Punishment. In doing so, Pocho succeeds in transcending a simple mat-
ter of highlighting thematic, social, and other external-world connections with its
Russian hypotext. In their stead, what Pocho celebrates is the act of reading itself,
the actual delight felt by its characters in constituting the aesthetic object that for
them becomes Crime and Punishment. This particular hypotextual citation, there-
fore, is of the most open kind, one that invites readers to read (or re-read) the hypo-
text, and not so much to recall their prior knowledge of it. Even if a reader is already
The Reading Process: An Intertextual Approach 281

familiar with Dostoyevsky’s novel, finding it so ambiguously referenced by

Villarreal’s characters forces her/him to think not so much about her/his previous
knowledge of Crime and Punishment but about what Crime and Punishment means
when it is read by people such as the Rubios.
This brings us back to the question of what an intertextually-based rather than a
textually-based analysis of reading might offer. In essence, it entails moving away
not only from Ingarden’s author-reader intersubjective communication model but
also, to a certain extent, from Iser’s phenomenological one, which focuses on the
interactions between text and reader while privileging the sense of closure resulting
from considering the book being read as a self-contained unity. If, as Kristeva sug-
gested, “the notion of intertextuality replaces the notion of intersubjectivity” (1980,
66), for the very same reasons it must also challenge the possibility of making sense
of any one text in itself.
Breaking away from notions of closure, then, an intertextually-based model of
reading offers centrifugal opportunities not unlike the lines of flight and the rhi-
zome, as conceptualized by Deleuze and Guattari.19 Rather than seeing the act of
reading as the process by which a reader makes sense of one book, all the while
assuming that the reader will have prior knowledge of all that is needed in order to
do so, this alternative model conceives the book being read as a knot in a web of
potentially infinite connections from which readers depart to explore (parts of) the
rest of that web, potentially returning at some juncture in time to the original point
of entrance to find its meaning altered because of their accumulated knowledge of
the other knots on the web, and because the reader will have developed in the pro-
cess an understanding of the connections between books as essential to their ever-­
changing meaning.20
At a time when (at least younger) readers have become increasingly familiar with
the practice of clicking on and following hyperlinks on the world wide web, jump-
ing from webpage to webpage rather than reading them sequentially from top to
bottom, I argue that embracing a comparable model for reading literary works
would offer readers a more organic understanding of the history of literature than
the one currently available to them from educational and other cultural institutions.
The formation of readers in K-12-College (and their equivalent stages in other coun-
tries) focuses on teaching them about their national letters, first and foremost, and
about the chronological succession of literary movements within countries or at an
international scale. Most academic courses are still centered on specific time peri-
ods (or literary movements) and/or on geographical areas, with some others adopt-
ing thematic approaches that do little to challenge the underlying ethnocentric
model. A consequence of these practices is that students end up being exposed to
arbitrary groupings of texts (because they were all written during the Renaissance,
for example, or because they were all published in the United States) that fail to

19
 On the possibility of a rhyzomatic history of Chicano literature, see Martín-Rodríguez (2003).
20
 Though presented here as an alternative model of reading, it is important to make clear that the
theory behind this model (studies on intertextuality) has a long history of its own, going all the way
back to Kristeva (1980) and Barthes (1973).
282 M. M. Martín-Rodríguez

explain why and how actual books connect to other books through lines of affinity
and affiliation, instead of through the preordained chronological and national lines
of filiation.
Intertextually-based reading, of the kind we practiced in my class and I mini-
mally hinted at here, brings the study of linkages between books to the forefront by
embracing the world wide web hyperlink model. I contend that this type of reading
is much more effective than traditional practices when it comes to consistency-­
building, sense-making, and even in dealing with issues of “continuity.” While
intertextual reading could never erase the blanks and negations involved in the mul-
tiplicity of intertextual references from book to book, at least it enables and empow-
ers readers to perceive actual linkages between texts and to understand them as
springboards for building additional cultural reading capital. In the process, this
practice becomes effective in blurring the differences between the center (the canon)
and the literary margins, which was also a main goal in my course.
As George P. Landow has aptly suggested, discussing web hypertexts:
Hypertext linking situates the present text at the center of the textual universe, thus creating
a new kind of hierarchy, in which the power of the center dominates that of the infinite
periphery. But because in hypertext that center is always a transient, decenterable virtual
center—one created, in other words, only by one’s act of reading that particular text—it
never tyrannizes other aspects of the network in the way a printed text does. (2006, 120)

Notwithstanding Landow’s reservations on printed texts, I argue that when literary

texts are conceived as part of a web of citations (rather than as self-contained, com-
plete objects), a similar debunking of hierarchies can be achieved. The title of my
class, “Reading (from) the Margin” points in that direction by privileging non-­
canonical texts (we begin the class by reading Pocho) and by exploring how those
marginal texts actually “read” other texts, thereby allowing their readers to make
sense of other books, including those in the canon. In fact, students in my class
acted throughout the semester more like the so-called wreaders of the world wide
web (Landow, 2006, 20), jumping from text to text, than like Iser’s implied reader.
By placing marginal texts as temporary centers in the textual universe of our class,
we were able to debunk preexisting hierarchies while acquiring a much-needed
sense of how those pecking orders are constructed. Finally, we found that the most
significant element of continuity in the history of literature is born out of the discon-
tinuity generated when texts forego their self-contained worlds to open up to other
preexisting literary universes. In that sense, the act of reading a book must always
entail the act of reading its intertexts.

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International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits use, sharing,
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Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in a credit line to the material. If material is not
included in the chapter’s Creative Commons license and your intended use is not permitted by
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the copyright holder.
Phenomenology and Architecture:
Examining Embodied Experience
and Graphic Representations of the Built
Environment

Jennifer A. E. Shields

…the task of architecture extends beyond its material, functional, and measurable proper-
ties – and even beyond aesthetics – into the mental and existential sphere of life. (Juhani
Pallasmaa, Architect, 2015)

We can describe a work of architecture by its objective characteristics – descriptors

that are independent of an occupant or viewer. These characteristics include loca-
tion, physical context, style, age, dimensions, proportions, and materiality. An
objective description is quickly exhausted as dependent qualities come into view.
These include the function or use, and the meaning or symbolism found in the
design. These dependent qualities are notable not only because of their subjectivity
but because of their variability. Meaning or symbolism intended by the architect at
the time of a building’s construction may be lost or transformed over time.
Architecture may take on new meaning to future occupants. The Pantheon in Rome
was valued as a temple to the Roman gods by the ancient Romans, as a Christian
church by medieval Romans, and as a mausoleum beginning in the Renaissance.
Architects and engineers today admire it as an early concrete structure, which
remains the largest unreinforced concrete dome in the world (Fig. 1).
The independent and dependent characteristics of a work of architecture indicate
the distinction between the objective world and the world as an individual being
experiences and understands it. Edmund Husserl described these two worlds in
Thing and Space: Lectures of 1907. Here he says that there is a spatial and temporal
world around us, but that we are the “centers of reference” for this world. “The
environing objects [Objekten], with their properties, changes, and relations, are
what they are for themselves, but they have a position relative to us, initially a
spatio-­temporal position and then also a ‘spiritual’ [= cultural] one” (cited in
Woodruff Smith, 2013, 219). Similarly, Maurice Merleau-Ponty describes this dual-
ity in his course notes from the Collège de France in the 1950s, building on biologist

J. A. E. Shields (*)
California Polytechnic State University, San Luis Obispo, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 285

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_15
286 J. A. E. Shields

Fig. 1  Pantheon elevation, plan, and cross-section drawings, 1885, Meyers Konversationslexikon,
Vierte Auflage, author unknown. (Public domain)

Jacob von Uexküll’s 1930s concept of the Umwelt. “The Umwelt marks the differ-
ence between the world such as it exists in itself, and the world of a living being. It
is an intermediary reality between the world as it exists for an absolute observer and
a purely subjective domain” (Merleau-Ponty & Séglard, 2003, 167).
The intersection between the objective and subjective defined here becomes even
more dynamic with the inclusion of graphic representations. Graphic representa-
tions of the built environment include drawings, renderings, and photographs,
among other media. Architects sometimes use graphic representation and image
interchangeably, but we understand that there are different meanings and connota-
tions by discipline. French philosopher Gaston Bachelard describes multiple mean-
ings of the term image: “…the word image, in the works of psychologists, is
surrounded with confusion: we see images, we reproduce images, we retain images
in our memory” (Bachelard et al., 1994, xxxiv). These internal and external images
are part of a feedback loop between our perceptions and representations. As author
Italo Calvino declared in 1985, well before the ubiquity of social media, “We live in
an unending rainfall of images” (Calvino, 1988, 57). Our exposure to external
images has increased exponentially. This rainfall of images includes many represen-
tations of the built environment. Some are published by design professionals, but
the vast majority of images are produced and proliferated through Instagram and
other social media platforms. Our experience of the world is mediated through the
framed, cropped, and filtered photos we see on a daily basis. These images act as a
mediator between the individual and the built environment, further shaping
our Umwelt.
Von Uexküll uses the metaphor of intersecting soap bubbles to visualize the rela-
tionship between each organism’s Umwelt. He describes a meadow in order to
understand the myriad worlds of humans and animals.
…we must first blow, in fancy, a soap bubble around each creature to represent its own
world, filled with the perceptions which it alone knows. When we ourselves then step into
one of these bubbles, the familiar meadow is transformed. Many of its colorful features
disappear, others no longer belong together but appear in new relationships. A new world
comes into being. Through the bubble we see the world of the burrowing worm, of the but-
terfly, or of the field mouse; the world as it appears to the animals themselves, not as it
appears to us. This we may call the phenomenal world or the self-world of the animal…We
thus unlock the gates that lead to other realms, for all that a subject perceives becomes his
perceptual world and all that he does, his effector world. Perceptual and effector worlds
together form a closed unit, the Umwelt. (Von Uexküll, 1992, 319–320)
Phenomenology and Architecture: Examining Embodied Experience and Graphic… 287

For humans, the delimitation of our phenomenal world based on perceptual and
effector tools is not a complete description – images are a filter between the indi-
vidual and the world, altering both what we perceive and what we do. As architects,
we create images for different purposes and audiences, including envisioning how
people might experience and use a space. We produce drawings to work out a
design, but also to convince clients and future users of the viability of our proposal.
As authors not just of the architecture but also of some of its representations, it is
critical to understand the implications in representing architecture in different
graphic modes. René Magritte called attention to the subjectivity of graphic repre-
sentations in 1948 in his painting entitled The Treachery of Images. The painting
shows a pipe, beneath which it says “Ceci n’est pas une pipe” (“This is not a pipe”).
With this graphic and text, Magritte is pointing out that what he painted is not an
actual pipe, but only his interpretation or representation of a pipe. All modes of
graphic representation in architecture are abstractions of physical space and form,
and so they are subject to interpretation.
This chapter will draw on theories and studies from a range of disciplines to
describe the relationship between architecture and embodied experience, and how
graphic representations mediate our experience of the built environment. Part 1 will
discuss characteristics of our embodied experience and graphic representations of
the built environment, while Part 2 will present processes of visual perception and
how our visual perception of both the built environment and its representations have
been empirically studied (Fig. 2).

1 Part 1

1.1 The Built Environment: Embodied Experience

and Graphic Representation

Our environment, be it built or natural, offers more stimuli than we can process or
even perceive. Our selective attention to the vast array of stimuli defines our Umwelt.
Our individual experience of the built environment is bound by our effector capaci-
ties and our perceptual capacities, to use von Uexküll’s subsets of the Umwelt. What
we do is shaped by affordances, and what we perceive is shaped by multi-sensory
perception and memory. Part 1 will break down these capacities as well as the roles
and modes of graphic representation.

1.2 Affordances

Affordance theory, developed by psychologist James J. Gibson, describes the rela-

tionship between the world and the occupant in a similar way to von Uexküll’s effec-
tor world of the Umwelt. Gibson says: “The affordances of the environment are what
288 J. A. E. Shields

AUTHOR
Walter Freeman
Semir Zeki
Francisco Varela
Marshall McLuhan
Aude Oliva
Itti and Koch
Lloyd Kaufman
Gould and Peeples
Guy Buswell
DISCIPLINE TOPIC
Barbara Tversky
Neuroscientist Hannah Faye Chua
J. J. Gibson
Computer Scientist physiological response Alfred Yarbus
M.H. Segall
Rudolf Arnheim
Psychologist Martin Heidegger
phenomenology / philosophy Maurice Merleau-Ponty
Jean Baudrillard
Philosopher Walter Benjamin
Gaston Bachelard
Erwin Straus
spatial representation Edmund Husserl
Architect Richard Wollheim
Hasegawa and Collins
Lien Dupont
Steven Holl
Juhani Pallasmaa
Harry Francis Mallgrave
Alberto Perez-Gomez
Sonit Bafna
Ralf Weber
Michael Benedikt
Gyorgy Kepes
Guy Debord
Bruno Zevi

Fig. 2  Interdisciplinary research diagram. (By author)

it offers the animal, what it provides or furnishes, either for good or ill. The verb to
afford is found in the dictionary, the noun affordance is not. I have made it up” (1979,
127). From this definition, we see that while the built environment has objective
characteristics, the perception and use of it changes depending on our age, culture,
abilities, and needs. The affordances that we identify in our environment extend in
part from what is sometimes called our “sixth sense” – proprioception. Proprioception
is the term for our understanding of our body in space. “Proprioception, or kinesthe-
sia, is the sense that lets us perceive the location, movement, and action of parts of
the body…It combines with other senses to locate external objects relative to the
body…” (Taylor, 2009, 1143). Our ability to judge the position of our body in space
can only develop through practice – we have to move in the world and interact with
it for our bodies to understand and make sense of it. This is also true for our bodies
and tools for movement, such as bicycles, skateboards, and wheelchairs. In 1911,
neurologists Henry Head and Gordon Morgan Holmes developed the concept of the
body schema, which is related to proprioception. Body schema refers to: “the body’s
relations to immediately surrounding space. The body schema includes the brain and
sensory processes that register the posture of one’s body in space. The body schema
is plastic, amenable to constant revision, extends beyond the envelope of the skin,
and has important implications for tool use” (Robinson, 2015, 138). The body
schema incorporates effector tools, like bicycles and wheelchairs, which become
extensions of our bodies. Due to the variety of ways we can interact with the built
environment, at different speeds, with different footprints, the designer has to antici-
pate many types of possible actions in the designed space.
Phenomenology and Architecture: Examining Embodied Experience and Graphic… 289

Our own understanding of our body in space and how it relates to the built envi-
ronment is shaped by proprioception, but also by cultural norms and expectations.
For example, a chair affords sitting for an adult, while it affords climbing, standing,
and jumping for a child. These expectations include how we engage with the physi-
cal structures of the built environment, as well as how we interact with each other in
these spaces. Proxemics, a concept developed by anthropologist Edward Hall in the
1960s, describes the study of the spatial separation between people, depending on
the type of interaction. “If the spatial experience is different by virtue of different
patterning of the senses and selective attention and inattention to specific aspects of
the environment, it would follow what crowds one people does not necessarily
crowd another” (Hall et al., 1968, 84). The comfort level for various types of inter-
actions varies culturally, and can also be transformed by external forces such as the
coronavirus and expectations of social distancing, which impact the distance at
which we feel comfortable standing from one another. Our effector world – what we
do – is impacted by the affordances we perceive.

1.3 Multi-sensory Perception

Bridging affordances and multi-sensory perception  – the effector and perceptual

worlds  – is philosopher Walter Benjamin’s theory (first published in 1935) of a
twofold appropriation of architecture. Benjamin (1968) states,
Architecture has always represented the prototype of a work of art the reception of which is
consummated by a collectivity in a state of distraction… Buildings are appropriated in a
twofold manner: by use and by perception – or rather, by touch and sight. Such appropria-
tion cannot be understood in terms of the attentive concentration of a tourist before a
famous building. On the tactile side there is no counterpart to contemplation on the optical
side. Tactile appropriation is accomplished not so much by attention as by habit. As regards
architecture, habit determines to a large extent even optical reception. The latter, too, occurs
much less through rapt attention than by noticing the object in incidental fashion. This
mode of appropriation, developed with reference to architecture, in certain circumstances
acquires canonical value. For the tasks which face the human apparatus of perception at the
turning points of history cannot be solved by optical means, that is, by contemplation,
alone. They are mastered gradually by habit, under the guidance of tactile appropriation.
(339–340)

As an occupant of a work of architecture, particularly a building we inhabit regu-

larly, our perception of it is dominated by our use of and interaction with the space.
The tactile sense supersedes the visual. The overwhelming amount of sensory data
in our environment – new or familiar – means that we must pay attention to some
things while ignoring others, known as selective attention. Novel stimuli attract our
attention. Thus a familiar place causes habituation, the diminishing of a physiologi-
cal response due to repeated stimuli. Through this process, we no longer ‘see’ the
building: we instead develop a muscle memory for our physical interactions with it.
Juhani Pallasmaa, a Finnish architect who advocates for multi-sensory experi-
ence in architectural design, published a seminal book on the topic in 1996 called
290 J. A. E. Shields

The Eyes of the Skin: Architecture and the Senses. In it, he says: “Every touching
experience of architecture is multi-sensory; qualities of space, matter and scale are
measured equally by the eye, ear, nose, skin, tongue, skeleton and muscle.
Architecture strengthens the existential experience, one’s sense of being in the
world…” (Pallasmaa, 2012, 45). Pallasmaa proposes that the sense of alienation and
isolation often felt in contemporary architecture and urban spaces is a result of a
lack of engagement of the senses. The dominance of the visual (driven in part by our
image-saturated society) positions us as observers rather than participants in the
world. Pallasmaa holds as exemplary the work of Swiss architect Peter Zumthor,
who approaches his designs through a phenomenological lens. Zumthor describes
the importance of material selection and detailing to provide a multi-sensory experi-
ence. “The sense that I try to instill into materials is beyond all rules of composition,
and their tangibility, smell, and acoustic qualities are merely elements of the lan-
guage that we are obliged to use. Sense emerges when I succeed in bringing out the
specific meanings of certain materials in my buildings, meanings that can only be
perceived in just this way in this one building” (Zumthor, 2010, 10). In Zumthor’s
thermal baths in Vals, Switzerland, the dim lighting in the interior augments other
sensory experiences, including the thermal and tactile qualities of the water and
stone, and the subtle light and shadow migrating through the space (Fig. 3).

Fig. 3  Peter Zumthor,

Therme Vals, Switzerland,
1996. (Watercolor of the
floral bath by Thomas di
Santo, 2004)
Phenomenology and Architecture: Examining Embodied Experience and Graphic… 291

1.4 Memory

Sensory perception cannot be separated from memory. In the Merriam-Webster dic-

tionary, perception is defined as: “physical sensation interpreted in the light of expe-
rience” (2011). The intertwining of direct perceptual experience with memory is
highlighted in Zumthor’s written and built work. While Zumthor values the direct
sensory impact of architecture, he also describes the importance of memory on his
design process. In his reflections, he recalls specific childhood sensory experiences,
like the feel of a smooth metal door handle. He states: “Memories like these contain
the deepest architectural experience that I know. They are the reservoirs of the archi-
tectural atmospheres and images that I explore in my work as an architect” (Zumthor,
2010, 8). Zumthor’s work, while inspired by his personal experiences and memories
of architecture, is intended to provide space for the occupant’s own memories to
surface. While Zumthor describes architecture as potentially offering space for
reflection and reminiscence, Bachelard describes the inverse in his treatise on archi-
tecture and phenomenology, The Poetics of Space. Architecture can provoke the rec-
ollection of memories, but architectural space can also help us to form new memories.
He says: “Memories are motionless, and the more securely they are fixed in space,
the sounder they are” (Bachelard et al., 1994, 9). There is a long history of tying
memory to place, going back to the memory palace (method of loci) of the Greeks
and Romans. This mnemonic device works by first visualizing a familiar place (your
home, for example), and then picturing the items or topics you want to remember in
a series of rooms. The great orator Cicero used this technique to memorize speeches.
While individual memories color our personal perceptions of architectural space,
collective memory also plays a role. In Victor Hugo’s novel The Hunchback of Notre-
Dame, first published in 1831, he presents the idea of architecture as a repository for a
society’s collective memory. “In fact, from the origin of things up to the fifteenth cen-
tury of the Christian era inclusive [when the printing press was invented], architecture
was the great book of mankind, the principal expression of man at his different stages
of development, whether as strength or as intelligence” (Hugo et al., 1999, 193). Hugo
describes the invention of the printing press as a turning point in history, transforming
the way cultures record and transmit their knowledge and values. Before this point,
“…the human race never had an important thought which it did not write down in
stone” (Hugo et al., 1999, 199). As described in the introduction to this chapter, how-
ever, the meaning communicated by a work of architecture can change over time. The
transformation of meaning over time applies to both the work of architecture itself, as
well as its images. Bachelard describes the overlay of individual and collective mem-
ory in our understanding of images. “Great images have both a history and a prehistory;
they are always a blend of memory and legend, with the result that we never experience
an image directly. Indeed, every great image has an unfathomable oneiric depth to
which the personal past adds special color” (Bachelard et al., 1994, 33). Architectural
images include mental images produced through an embodied experience of a place or
in reading written imagery, as well as external images including drawings, renderings,
and photographs (which can then produce mental images). In the next section, these
external images – graphic representations – are described.
292 J. A. E. Shields

1.5 Graphic Representation

Our individual embodied experience of the built environment is shaped by affor-

dances, multi-sensory perceptions, and memory, as described in the previous sec-
tions. These describe a direct relationship between our bodies and the environment.
External architectural images that we come into contact with create an additional
mediation between ourselves and our world, interceding and transforming
our Umwelt.
Architects utilize a variety of modes of graphic representation in their design
process and to communicate their ideas to clients and future occupants. (Architects
also use three-dimensional representations like physical models, but this chapter
focuses on two-dimensional representations of three-dimensional space, as those
are the most ubiquitous and far reaching.) Additionally, print and social media
deliver numerous images of the built environment by authors ranging from develop-
ers to real estate agents to vacationers. These authors have differing agendas, and
thus produce media with differing messages. Calvino’s statement that “We live in an
unending rainfall of images” continues: “The most powerful media transform the
world into images and multiply it by means of the phantasmagoric play of mirrors.
These are images stripped of the inner inevitability that ought to mark every image
as form and as meaning, as a claim on the attention and as a source of possible
meanings” (Calvino, 1988, 57). Our oblique perception of these images, generally
not given our focused attention or thoughtful evaluation, impacts our experiences
and expectations of the built environment nonetheless. Our perceptual and effector
capacities as they affect our experience of the embodied environment were described
in the previous sections; here we will consider how we experience two-dimensional
images. The very act of flattening three-dimensional space into a two-dimensional
image requires abstraction and interpretation by the author, thus opening it up to
multiple interpretations. There are two broad conceptions of architectural images
that must be unpacked: the twofold perception of images as described by Richard
Wollheim, and the “provocative” versus “instructional” drawing as defined by
Sonit Bafna.
We all understand architectural drawings as referential, representing something
besides themselves – architectural space and form. Philosopher Richard Wollheim
describes the perception of drawings as twofold (1973). We see the drawing as an
object, but also as a representation of something else. Wollheim describes the view-
er’s interaction with an image as “seeing-in,” which involves an awareness of the
marks on the surface, the drawing as an object, and an awareness of some absent
object – the item depicted.
Wollheim’s observations speak to drawings in general, but there are many types
of drawings within the practice of architecture. Architectural theorist Sonit Bafna
talks about two types of drawings. The “drawing-as-provocation” is imaginative, a
tool to explore possible forms and spaces. The “drawing-as-instruction” is nota-
tional, serving to communicate how a building is to be constructed (2008). The
imaginative drawing might lead to the notational drawing, and then the actual
Phenomenology and Architecture: Examining Embodied Experience and Graphic… 293

Fig. 4  Central 27 rendering, elevation, and photograph  – the rendering on the left shows the
stucco façade as having panels of different color shades – a result of the rendering software. The
client liked this look, unintended by the architect, and so we produced a ‘color-by-number’ eleva-
tion drawing for the contractor to create this effect in the finished building. (Images by author)

building. Or we might stop with the imaginative drawing, either because a project
isn’t built, or because the image was intended for a rhetorical purpose. In practice,
architectural drawings fall on a spectrum with Bafna’s two types of drawings exist-
ing as the poles. Architects often develop their designs as follows: imaginative
sketches > hard-lined drawings > renderings > notational (construction) drawings
in order to produce a building.1
The imaginative drawing might seek to illustrate an anticipated atmosphere or
experience. It is intended to explore one or more of the following: form, space,
materiality, scale, light, and use, among other characteristics. The imaginative draw-
ing can serve the client and intended users, but it is also a design tool for the archi-
tect. In contrast, a notational drawing is intended for a different audience. A
notational drawing tends towards geometrical rather than experiential accuracy, pro-
viding instructions for building using discipline-specific conventions. Contractors
rely on detailed, dimensioned, and annotated drawings to assemble the materials
and systems called for in an architectural design. These drawings are most com-
monly orthographic views (plan, section, elevation), which are two-dimensional
abstractions for the purpose of measuring and describing spatial and material rela-
tionships and methods of construction, rather than to evoke a space experientially.
Because we do not perceive the world in orthographic, these drawings tend to
require training for literacy in comprehension. Although these drawings are not pro-
duced to evoke the atmosphere or experience anticipated in a work of architecture,
they are necessary to construct the building that will ultimately provide an embod-
ied experience (Fig. 4).

1
 A sketch refers to a quick free-hand drawing. A hard-lined drawing refers to a measured, geo-
metrically accurate drawing produced using a pencil and ruler or a computer-aided drafting pro-
gram. A rendering is a computer-generated or hand-drawn perspectival view of a building or space
that is intended to show what a space will look like, including light and shadow, materials, and an
understanding of human scale.
294 J. A. E. Shields

Now that we’ve looked at how the built environment is experienced and graphi-
cally represented, Part 2 will look more specifically at our visual perception of the
world and its images, as empirically studied.

2 Part 2

2.1 Visual Perception of the Built Environment

The difference between the world as experienced in the flesh and the world as expe-
rienced through images describes a variation on Merleau-Ponty’s definition of
Umwelt. Each situation balances objective data with subjective understanding. Part
2 of this chapter will address the visual perception of the built environment and its
representations in two-dimensional images. While the engagement of other senses
contributes to our perception of the built environment, images lie in the realm of the
visual, and so visual perception provides an appropriate mode of comparison. Part
2 will cover the basics of visual perception of three-dimensional space, the visual
perception of two-dimensional representations of space, eye-tracking as a tool for
quantitatively measuring our visual perception, and empirical studies investigating
these topics, including the author’s own studies.
In the study of visual perception, it is understood that “Both the physical world
and the perceptual world have structure” and can be defined geometrically
(Hershenson, 1999, 2). While the physical world can be described by Euclidean
geometry (Hershenson, 1999), the geometry of the perceptual world, which is
viewer-dependent, changes based on the location and orientation of the viewer. In
the perceptual world, object attributes such as size, shape, movement, direction, and
position vary (Hershenson, 1999). The world we inhabit is three-dimensional – yet
visual information about our world is interpreted by the brain through two-­
dimensional images, projected onto our retinas. The single image resulting from
synthesizing two different monocular images is called binocular fusion. The dispar-
ity between the two retinal images is what gives us cues about depth perception, or
three-dimensional relationships between things. Thus objects that are closer appear
larger, while objects in the distance appear smaller (Fig. 5).
With more stimuli in the environment than we are capable of processing, our
perceptual system relies on two levels of processing to acquire the information we
need. “Top-down and bottom-up processing refers to the integration of information
from one’s own cognitive system (top-down) and from the world (bottom-up) to
facilitate perception” (Carlson, 2010, 1011). Top-down processing relies on our
prior knowledge and expectations, influencing our perception. Perceiving the envi-
ronment with a specific task in mind is an example of this. Bottom-up processing
refers to information we receive from direct sensory input. Aude Oliva, a professor
at MIT, bridges human perception/cognition, computer vision, and cognitive neuro-
science in her studies of visual perception. Her research investigates the processes
Phenomenology and Architecture: Examining Embodied Experience and Graphic… 295

Fig. 5  diagram of visual perception by Joseph Chitty, in A practical treatise on medical jurispru-
dence, 1834. (Public domain)

by which we view a scene or place. In a first glance at a scene, “the visual system
forms a spatial representation of the outside world that is rich enough to grasp the
meaning of the scene, recognizing a few objects and other salient information in the
image, to facilitate object detection and the deployment of attention” (Oliva, 2005,
251). She calls this the gist of a scene. Additionally, she describes the role of mem-
ory in this assessment:
“…people rely on their previous experience and knowledge of the world to rapidly process
the vast amount of detail in a real world scene. One’s current view of a scene is automati-
cally incorporated into a “scene schema,” which includes stored memories of similar places
which have been viewed in the past, as well as expectations about what is likely to be seen
next. Although we aren’t aware of it, viewing a scene is an active process, in which images
are combined with memory and experience to create an internal reconstruction of the visual
world.” (Oliva, 2010, 1113)

In every perceptual experience, both levels of processing are at work. Top-down

processing can be tied to von Uexküll’s effector world, while bottom-up processing
relates to the perceptual world. We employ top-down processing to a greater extent
when we are in a familiar place, and we rely more on bottom-up processing when
we are in an unfamiliar setting.

2.2 Visual Perception of 3D Space in 2D Representations

Top-down and bottom-up processing are also deployed as we look at two-­

dimensional representations of three-dimensional space. While architects and
designers have graphic conventions for representation that are intended to commu-
nicate with others in related fields (like orthographic drawings, as mentioned ear-
lier), we commonly use perspectival drawings and renderings to communicate with
clients, future users, and the general public. Perspectival drawings are intended to
approximate how a three-dimensional space would be visually perceived by the
human eye – the perceptual world as opposed to the physical world as defined by
Hershenson. These drawings place the viewer into the imagined space. Rudolf
Arnheim, in his book Art and Visual Perception: A Psychology of the Creative Eye,
296 J. A. E. Shields

describes how we understand depth in a two-dimensional image. Perspective repre-

sentation acknowledges a viewer: the distortion of the built environment occurs
because there is a viewer and direction of view. “This explicit acknowledgment of
the viewer is at the same time a violent imposition upon the world represented in the
picture. The perspective distortions are not caused by forces inherent in the repre-
sented world itself. They are the visual expression of the fact that this world is being
sighted” (Arnheim, 1956, 294). Here, the measurable geometry of the world is
transformed, in order to approximate a visual experience.
He goes on to say: “Although the rules of central perspective produce pictures
that closely resemble the mechanical projections yielded by the lenses of eyes and
cameras, there are significant differences. Even in this more realistic mode of spatial
representation, the rule prevails that no feature of the visual image will be deformed
unless the task of representing depth requires it” (Arnheim, 1956, 285–286). We
look for geometric simplicity to reconcile two- and three-dimensions. Arnheim
defines the law of simplicity as our perceptual desire to find the simplest structure.
In the diagram below, we could see the left figure as an irregular quadrilateral shape,
but it makes more sense (it is formally simpler) as a square in perspective (Arnheim,
1956) (Fig. 6).
The interpretation of a two-dimensional line drawing intended to represent a
view of three-dimensional space adheres to Arnheim’s principles. However, many
designers use renderings – perspectival drawings with light and shadow, color, and
materiality – to more closely approximate an embodied experience. Little research
has been done on our visual perception of architectural space in renderings.
Renderings offer less room for interpretation and imagination by the viewer than
perspectival line drawings because more attributes have been assigned within the
rendered image. Yet even in seemingly realistic renderings, the correlation between
the perception of the attributes of the rendering and the attributes of the built work
is unknown.
Although we recognize drawings and renderings as an artist’s or architect’s
depiction of space, with photography, there tends to be an assumption that it is an

Fig. 6  Interpretation of a form in two and three dimensions, based on Arnheim’s law of simplicity.
(Diagram by author)
Phenomenology and Architecture: Examining Embodied Experience and Graphic… 297

unbiased presentation of the space. Yet understanding the content and spatial impli-
cations of a photograph is a learned ability, and the photograph is, like a drawing, an
abstraction of the architectural space. Studies comparing different cultures have
found no difference in perceptual organization; however, these studies have shown
that photographs are interpreted differently by different cultural groups (Weber,
1995). For example, African aborigines – who had never seen a photograph before –
could not recognize anything in photographs they were shown, which depicted
spaces familiar to them. Two-dimensional representations of three-dimensional
space require interpretation which “relies on acquired visual conventions that may
be as arbitrary as linguistic conventions” (Weber, 1995, 62). Photographs are
authored and abstracted depictions of architectural space in the same manner as
drawings. The photographer chooses the lens (which may or may not be similar to
the lens of the human eye, and so may show more or less of the space), the direction
of view, and what to include in or exclude from the frame. In some visual perception
studies, a photograph serves as a stand-in for the real space, but the bias of the pho-
tograph is acknowledged. In order to better understand our visual perception of
two-dimensional images, researchers often measure visual activity using eye track-
ing devices.

2.3 Visual Attention and Eye Tracking in Art and Architecture

Eye tracking is a valuable tool to quantitatively and spatially document a person’s

visual experience. Eye tracking data includes fixations and saccades, based on
movement of the fovea, the area of the retina where eyesight is sharpest. The fovea
represents less than 2 degrees of the visual field, so the eye must move, or foveate,
in order to take in detailed information (for example, in complex areas of the visual
field). When the eye stops to take in information, this is called a fixation. The rapid
movement of the eye from one fixation to another is called a saccade. During sac-
cades, the eye is effectively blind: visual information obtained by the eye occurs
during fixations, thus making fixations the most valuable data collected through eye
tracking (Holmqvist et al., 2015).
As early as the 1930s, psychologists were interested in how the eye moves and
fixates when focused on a work of art, both with and without a given task. Guy
Buswell, a psychologist who invented the first non-intrusive eye tracker, found that
the eyes do not follow edges, but tend to scan and focus on central concave areas
(1935). More recent studies confirm that fixations are likely to occur in concave and
enclosed areas of a figure, rather than in what is perceived as negative space (Weber
et al., 2002). Alfred Yarbus, another pioneer in eye tracking research, found that eye
movements vary when looking at an image depending on the task the observer was
asked to complete (1973). His most famous study asked participants to look at a
painting called The Unexpected Visitor seven times, first without a prompt and then
six more times based on prompts. Questions included details of the painting like
remembering the position of people and objects in the room, as well as narrative
298 J. A. E. Shields

questions like estimating how long the visitor had been away from the family. The
selective attention process caused participants to attend to certain aspects of the
image while ignoring others. When asked to remember the position of people and
objects in the room, participants viewed more of the painting with less attention to
any one element, while when they were asked to estimate how long the visitor had
been away from the family, participants predominantly looked at the faces of the
people. Elina Pihko’s 2011 eye tracking study compared how laypeople and experts
look at paintings, determining that in a perspectival painting, the laypeople tend to
fixate on the center of the space while the experts view more of the painting. These
studies demonstrate the impact of top-down processing on the visual perception
of images.
While the visual perception of artworks has been investigated, there has been
little study on the role of eye movement in the perception of three-dimensional
architectural space. One of the few studies on this topic was conducted by Weber
et al. (2002) in which they collected eye tracking data as participants were asked to
look at either scaled three-dimensional models or photographs of models of archi-
tectural spaces. The research focused on comparing different arrangements of
objects within a space. The results of this study show that without a given task
(dominated by bottom-up processing), the eye is drawn to visual centers and distinct
objects rather than tracing contours. “Elements indicating spatial depth, such as
vistas, receive special attention… [and] vertically and horizontally oriented objects
are explored less than obliquely oriented shapes” (Weber et  al., 2002, 57). This
confirms the ‘law of simplicity’ proposed by Arnheim (1977), as we need time to
process the meaning of angled lines in an image – do they indicate an irregular two-­
dimensional object, or a perspectival three-dimensional object? The results also
confirm Buswell’s conclusion that fixations are likely to occur in concave and
enclosed areas of a figure, rather than in what is perceived as negative space (Weber
et al., 2002). The study found that fixations did not vary significantly when viewing
the three-dimensional model compared with a photograph of the model, with the
exception of the foreground, which attracted greater attention in the physical model.
This study shows that, when looking at representations of three-dimensional space,
we attend to the features of the image that convey depth rather than to features of the
image, like contours, that convey the two-dimensional composition of the image.
As mentioned earlier, the built environment provides substantially more sensory
stimuli than we can attend to. In primates, visual information is carried along the
optic nerve at a rate of approximately 108 bits per second. This, however, is too
much for the brain to process into consciousness, so it has adapted by selecting
certain parts of the image to process preferentially. This allows the brain to register
different areas of interest in a serial manner and shift from one to another depending
on the importance that the brain allots. Saliency mapping is a technique first con-
ceived by neuroscientists Laurent Itti, Christof Koch, and Ernst Niebur at the
California Institute of Technology in 1998. It is a method of computationally ana-
lyzing unique features in any given photograph and processing them to highlight the
anticipated foci of attention. This visual attention system was created to simulate
“the neuronal architecture of the early primate visual system” (Itti et  al., 1998).
Phenomenology and Architecture: Examining Embodied Experience and Graphic… 299

Saliency maps are created through learning algorithms that consider color, intensity
and orientation. These saliency maps were originally created from a bottom-up per-
spective, and were subsequently modified by Torralba to take into account top-down
processing (Torralba, 2005). A study by Torralba et al. (2006) considered the role of
a given task in viewing an image. This study proposed visual attentional guidance
through an experimental search task. Results of their study suggest that context
plays an important role in object detection and observation. For example, if you are
asked to look for a person in a scene of a busy urban street, you will likely look at
street level, assuming a person would be there and not floating in mid-air. “…the
scene priors constitute an effective shortcut for object detection as it provides priors
for the object’s presence/absence before scanning the image” (Torralba, 2005, 591).
When studying visual perception, bottom-up and top-down processing cannot be
easily isolated.
Lien Dupont et  al. (2016) studied saliency maps in the context of landscape
architecture. Landscape architects often conduct a visual impact assessment when
proposing changes to a landscape. For example, this is required to minimize visual
impact for changes along Route 1 on California’s coast. With accurate computer-­
generated saliency mapping, landscape architects could determine whether their
proposed design would significantly impact the visual perception and attention to a
given landscape. In this study, computer-generated saliency maps were compared to
human focus maps – obtained by collecting eye tracking data as participants viewed
images – to test the accuracy of predicting the human viewing pattern. Seventy-four
landscape photographs were shown, ranging from rural to urban scenes, for 10 s
each. An eye tracking device recorded the results in the form of a focus map, which
was then compared to the saliency map for each photograph. A relatively high cor-
relation was found, demonstrating that saliency maps can be a reliable prediction of
human’s observation patterns. However, the correlation between the saliency map
and focus map was found to be greater in rural landscapes, showing that human
viewing behavior can be more easily predicted in these settings, as opposed to urban
landscapes.

2.4 Eye Tracking to Compare Modes

of Architectural Representation

The range of physiological responses evoked by both embodied experiences and the
perception of architectural images demands a deeper investigation into their asso-
ciations. Architects design with various modes of representation, and others outside
the design professions represent the built environment through drawings and pho-
tography. As the audience varies, so does the way we represent things. What can the
perception of images of architecture and cities tell us about the actual experience –
or potential experience – of the places depicted? The long-term goal of the author’s
own empirical research attempts to relate physiological responses – like what we
300 J. A. E. Shields

focus on and what emotions we experience  – in real spaces with the responses
evoked when looking at architectural representations. The significance of this is that
if architects can anticipate how people will experience a space based on how they
respond to images of it, we could design better schools, hospitals, etc. (There will
never be a perfect correlation, of course.) The following studies sit at the intersec-
tion of Architecture, Cognitive Science, and Phenomenology, where:
“Phenomenology can also enrich our understanding of empirical results by embed-
ding them in a coherent theoretical framework…In this mode, the phenomenologist
is a kind of higher-level meta-theorist, drawing both on phenomenological and non-­
phenomenological sources in putting together an account of some kind of experien-
tial process or pattern” (Yoshimi, 2016, 297).
In a pair of pilot studies conducted with architecture students in North Carolina,
China, and California, we collected eye tracking data to test our preliminary hypoth-
esis: that visual attention varies with representational mode (Shields et al., 2016).
We compared eye tracking data for two different modes of representation – a per-
spectival line drawing and a matching photograph of the same space. We chose a
space that did not have an obvious function associated with it and that had some
spatial complexity. In order to analyze the eye tracking data, we identified seven
Areas of Interest (AOIs) in the visual scene. Both studies found differences in how
participants viewed the drawing compared with the photo. We interpreted the differ-
ence in visual attention as a distinction between spatial complexity and graphic
complexity: our attention is drawn to more graphically complex areas (more lines)
in a drawing but more spatially complex areas in a photo. This prompts the question:
do we also look for spatial complexity in an embodied experience?
In a larger-scale study of the visual perception of architectural spaces, we were
interested in both the mode of representation (comparing drawing to photograph)
and the audience (comparing architecture student to preschool student). Through
the collection of eye tracking data, our aim was to test our preliminary hypotheses:
that salient features differ by representation mode, and by participant group. We
used two different modes of representation, like the previous studies – a perspectival
line drawing and a matching photograph of the Salk Institute in La Jolla, CA, by the
architect Louis Kahn. In order to compare salient features, we set up Areas of
Interest (AOIs), and collected eye movement data for each AOI. The participants
were not given any instructions other than to look at the image, in order to privilege
bottom-up processing (Fig. 7).
The results showed that architecture students’ visual attention differed between
the drawing and the photograph, while the attention of the preschool students did
not. The results suggest that the trained eye (that of the architecture student) will
focus on the architecture in an image, but to a greater degree in a drawing.
Additionally, the eye movements of the architecture students support the architect’s
intent for the Salk Institute – that the architecture frame the sky and horizon, draw-
ing the eye towards the ocean beyond. This is an interesting result given that the
participants were not there in person but were looking at a photograph, in which the
ocean is barely visible.
Phenomenology and Architecture: Examining Embodied Experience and Graphic… 301

Fig. 7  Salk Institute drawing (L) and photo (R) with AOIs. (Images by author)

We also wanted to investigate whether a computer-generated saliency map could

predict the areas of a photograph where most attention would be drawn. At first
glance we could see that the saliency map predicts the ground as attracting attention,
while the focus map from the participants shows the horizon and sky to be of greater
interest. We would anticipate that a quantitative comparison would show the saliency
map to differ from the focus map. Using Dupont el al.’s (2016) method for compar-
ing a saliency map to a focus map, we arrived at a correlation coefficient of 0.3564,
which indicates that while the two maps are somewhat similar, there is nonetheless
a weak positive correlation between the two. From this, we can gather that the
saliency map is only mildly reliable at predicting areas of interest, and cannot
replace a focus map. This confirms Dupont et al.’s conclusion that the saliency map
was more accurate for predicting attention in a rural landscape than an urban one.2
The results suggest that the visuospatial literacy of the participant – the ability for
the participant to perceive three-dimensional space in a two-dimensional image,
rather than only two-dimensional characteristics – plays a role in what aspects of the
photo are attended to. It could be possible for Artificial Intelligence to more closely
approximate a human viewing pattern, with enough human eye tracking data to sup-
port machine learning (Fig. 8).

3 Conclusion

Through these experiments, we’ve found that both the mode of representation and
the audience affect how architectural spaces are visually perceived, even without a
task. There are additional types of physiological data we could collect – heart rate,

2
 The larger research project of which this study is a part is a cross-disciplinary investigation
involving researchers in computer science, cognitive science, and architecture. This particular
study was completed in consultation with Dr. Jeffrey Sklar, Statistics, and Dr. Laura Cacciamani,
Psychology, with Research Assistants Wood Cheng, Gabriella Ojalvo, Melina van Oers.
302 J. A. E. Shields

Fig. 8  Salk Institute focus map (L) and saliency map (R). (Images by author)

galvanic skin response, EEG  – and many modes of representation to investigate,

like renderings and virtual reality. Additionally, we could collect phenomenological
data from the participants, asking them what they notice in an image. According to
Francisco J. Varela in “Neurophenomenology: A Methodological Remedy for the
Hard Problem,” “One of the originalities of the phenomenological attitude is that it
does not seek to oppose the subjective to the objective, but to move beyond the split
into their fundamental correlation” (1996, 339). Varela’s statement suggests that the
subjective and objective can be correlated. Varela’s conclusions in this essay have
been criticized by Tim Bayne, but Bayne does propose that participant responses
can “guide the analysis” of the quantitative data (2004).
An additional challenge is the measurement of physiological responses in an
embodied experience. Photography, perhaps, more closely approximates the real
space, but eliminates peripheral visual data and other sensory information and does
not address the role of time in our experience of architecture. Since a static photo-
graph is not a sufficient analog for the embodied experience, it would be valuable to
collect physiological data from participants as they inhabit a work of architecture.
The empirical studies described here reinforce von Uexküll’s claim (and the
claims of Husserl, Merleau-Ponty, J.J. Gibson, and others) that we experience the
world through the lenses of what we are able to perceive and what we are able to do
in that world. In visual perception alone, our Umwelt is crafted by bottom-up (exter-
nal stimuli) and top-down (internally motivated) processes, allowing us to ‘see’
some aspects of the world and be blind to others. Additionally, graphic representa-
tions of the world shape what we do and do not notice.
Calvino asks, “Will the power of evoking images of things that are not there
continue to develop in a human race increasingly inundated by a flood of prefabri-
cated images?” (1988, 91). While architects may not be able to stem the flood of
images of the built environment proliferating across social media, we do have
authorship over the drawings, renderings, and photographs we produce and share.
The ostensible authority we have as designers of the built environment gives us a
responsibility to critically consider our modes of representation and our audiences,
and how one impacts the other. Perhaps Bachelard’s suggestion can guide us. “Only
Phenomenology and Architecture: Examining Embodied Experience and Graphic… 303

phenomenology – that is to say, consideration of the onset of the image in an indi-

vidual consciousness – can help us to restore the subjectivity of image and to mea-
sure their fullness, their strength and their transsubjectivity” (Bachelard et  al.,
1994, xix).
While these philosophers note the individual and idiosyncratic nature of percep-
tion, the empirical research does bear out commonalities amongst test subjects. A
valuable next step would be to expand both the objective measurement of physio-
logical responses and the collection of phenomenological responses to embodied
experience and graphic representations. Further research can employ both objective
and subjective data in seeking to anticipate how people will respond to works of
architecture. If we could anticipate how spaces will affect the occupant’s phenom-
enological experience by how they respond to images of it, we could design a better
built environment.

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 Part IV
External Horizons: Archaeology
and Anthropology
The Life and Afterlife of Phenomenology
in Archaeological Theory and Practice

Holley Moyes

From the onset, phenomenological perspectives in archaeological interpretation

have been fraught with controversy. Early reactions to a phenomenological approach
did a great deal to thwart these studies and to discourage archaeologists from
embracing phenomenology in both method and theory. Has the phenomenological
critique been wholly warranted and is there a place for a phenomenological approach
in archaeology? My goal in this paper is to create a space for phenomenology that
functions as a guide for archaeological inquiry and accounts for shared human expe-
rience that transcends time and space without compromising the importance of con-
textual analyses.
This chapter begins with a review of how explicitly phenomenological as well as
sensorial approaches have been employed in archaeological interpretations and how
they have been received by the archaeological community. This is followed by a
discussion of assumptions that underpin the adoption or rejection of phenomeno-
logical methods. Here I problematize the distinction between past and present, the
historical and the evolutionary, arguing that the past does in fact reside in the pres-
ent. I also argue that from an evolutionary perspective, as modern humans we share
a cognitive architecture that interacts with the physical world that can provide a
basis or structure of phenomenological experience. Bearing this in mind, two ways
forward are suggested for bolstering phenomenology in archaeological practice.
First, following Julian Thomas (2012), I argue that phenomenology can be treated
as an analogy that may function as a line of evidence to help establish explanations,
understandings, and meanings in archaeological interpretations, as elaborated by
Alison Wylie in her “cables and tacking” metaphor (1989a), according to which
scientific theories are slowly strengthened by many lines of evidence over time, with
phenomenology as one among several sources of evidence. Second, phenomeno-
logical studies in archaeology can be extended by taking a “naturalized” approach

H. Moyes (*)
UC Merced, Merced, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 307

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_16
308 H. Moyes

in which these studies may be used to develop testable hypotheses to be investigated

methodologically using quantitative instrumentation. This is illustrated in a case
study about the experience of darkness in caves derived from patterns in the archae-
ological record, indicating that dark zones of caves were primarily used as sacred or
special places, not for habitation. A laboratory experiment is presented which dem-
onstrates that darkness may affect not only the choice of dark caves as ritual venues,
but human cognition itself, therefore extending phenomenological archaeology to
other fields and using it to answer broader questions.

1 A Phenomenology of Landscape

The adoption of a phenomenological approach in archaeological interpretations was

initially reserved for studies of place or landscapes. The concept of landscape has a
long history in Europe dating from at least the seventeenth century in studies of
natural features and human modifications to the land (Thomas, 2012, 167). In its
inception, landscape archaeology was conceived as an objective enterprise.
Archaeologists studied landscape features and investigated chronological develop-
ments, processes, and modifications, often producing descriptive works. However,
in the 1990s the focus of landscape studies shifted to a “post-processual landscape
archaeology” (Fleming, 2006, 208) that engaged “perspectives on human nature,
perception, experience, and meaning” (Thomas, 2012, 168). One of the first offer-
ings to fully address this was Christopher Tilley’s (1994) book-length treatise, A
Phenomenology of Landscape: Places, Paths and Monuments, a study of archaeo-
logical monuments in landscape settings, which drew on phenomenology as a
means for interpretation of the archaeological record. Taking a post-processualist
(humanist) approach in which he rejected explanations using scientific and quantita-
tive methods such as maps, categorization, statistics, and computer modelling on
the grounds that they were dehumanizing, Tilley adopted new methods geared
toward understanding the relationships between people and meaningful places.
Invoking Heidegger, Tilley argued that his own bodily experience provided a “privi-
leged vantage point” for apprehending the world (13) and drawing on Merleau-­
Ponty, he contended that the body constituted “a way of relating to, perceiving and
understanding the world” (14). Tilley reminds us that “the human body itself pro-
vides the starting point for knowledge of the world, and all human modern beings
(Homo sapiens sapiens) have the same kinds of bodies and perceive the experience
of the world in similar human ways at a basic biological level” (Tilley, 2005a, 202)
thereby serving to link the past to the present. Throughout his career, Tilley has
maintained that it is through the mediation with the body that archaeologists per-
ceive the world so that they may their rest archaeological interpretations on their
own perceptions. His field methods included walking the landscape, observing
views, making detailed notes, taking photographs and videos, filling out forms,
using checklists, and producing narratives of his own experiences as means to
understanding the landscape from a human (subjective) perspective rather than
The Life and Afterlife of Phenomenology in Archaeological Theory and Practice 309

taking a scientific (objective) stance. For Tilley, it was through the researcher’s own
subjective experience that a traditional objectification of the landscape in archaeo-
logical practice could be mitigated.
Tilley’s methods met with harsh criticism among many scholars within the
archaeological community (e.g., Barrett & Ko, 2009; Brück, 2005; Edmonds, 2006;
Fleming, 2005, 2006; Hamilakis, 2014; Johnson, 2012; Thomas, 1993). By employ-
ing his own experience, Tilley’s method was considered to be excessively subjec-
tive, favoring a solitary individual, in this case one with male Western sensibilities,
considered to be Colonialist and gender-centric. Julian Thomas (1993, 22–23) criti-
cized Tilley for other reasons, arguing that visual modes of perception have been
overemphasized in landscape studies attributing the primacy of vision to a mode of
appropriation in the modern Western world (also see Goodwin & Lecari, chapter
“Reconstructing Past Phenomenology Using Virtual Reality”, this volume). It was
also noted that phenomenological interpretations suffered from equifinality. As
Brück (2005, 51) pointed out, “it is often impossible for the reader to judge whether
the relationships identified by the archaeologist in the present were indeed consid-
ered significant in the past,” suggesting that multiple interpretations should be eval-
uated, and that phenomenological studies such as Tilley’s simply present assertions
about experiences without bolstering evidence. Additionally, by describing the past
in terms of his present embodied encounter of the landscape, he was “essentializ-
ing” the experience of people in the past and obliterating potential differences
between modern and past subjects.
Barret and Ko (2009, 280) discussed Tilley’s use and understanding of the roots
of phenomenology in philosophy and offered the following synopsis based on his
underlying assumptions:
1. The archaeological record cannot be understood without a human presence.
Meaning arises in a human engagement with material conditions
2. The body is the medium through which this engagement occurs.
3. By using his or her own body as the medium of engagement, the archaeologist
can encounter a past Being-in-the-world, and, in doing so, grasp the meaning of
the archaeological record.
They argued that assumptions 1 and 2 are consistent with the phenomenology of
Heidegger and Merleau-Ponty, which they find plausible, but find statement 3 to be
problematic. The argument is that, via the first person encounter we produce a
meaning, but it is a contemporary meaning, not the thoughts of a past person. This
is consistent with Heidegger’s ideas about the historical situatedness of perception.
Tim Ingold (2005) is particularly critical of Tilley’s (2004) work. Here he points
out an example of what he refers to as “hyper-interpretation”:
When not expounding on the actuality of the world, Tilley is eagerly speculating on what
people might have believed it all meant! To take just one example, the solution basins cre-
ated by erosion on a standing-stone ‘were perhaps regarded as carvings created by the
ancestors’ (2004, 51). Perhaps they were; perhaps they were not. Tilley has a penchant for
wheeling in the ancestors, whenever needed, to lend an air of ethnographic authenticity to
310 H. Moyes

his conjectures. But if his concern is really with experience, why do these conjectures deal
so exclusively with what people might have believed? (2005, 123).

To others, Tilley’s hyper-interpretive methods lacked rigor and had the problem of
imposing one’s own feelings and observations onto the people of the past without
considering the cultural contexts and symbolic meanings imbued in past percep-
tions of landscapes.
However, though fellow archaeologist Julian Thomas agrees that modern archae-
ologists cannot really know the experience of ancient people, he sees value in using
the phenomenological approach. According to Thomas, “I can only encounter the
world through the body of a male, twenty-first-century academic, and I cannot
occupy anyone else’s body. This need not render the project of an experiential
archaeology invalid” (Thomas, 2004, 32). For Thomas, objects or artifacts such as
monuments must be not only historically and culturally situated but contextualized
within the landscape itself. Because they had meaning for past people, they repre-
sent more than an extinct social pattern; therefore, phenomenology becomes a
means by which to establish a more holistic understanding of the past serving “as an
analogy for past worlds” (2012, 182). In this sense he and critic Matthew Johnson
(2012) concur that phenomenology cannot be used a stand-alone approach (as pro-
posed by Tilley), but is informative when coupled with other methodological
approaches to produce more complex and nuanced interpretations of the archaeo-
logical record.

2 The Sensorial Turn

Despite heavy criticism, Tilley’s work prompted numerous revisions of his ideas
and generated more nuanced approaches to phenomenological archaeology, which
were later employed in the “archaeology of the senses,” an approach that rests heav-
ily on idealist constructions and the role of memory in sensorial experience. Many
archaeologists have embraced “the sensory turn” (Skeates & Day, 2020, 1), although
the investigator’s own embodied experience paired with an element of self-­
reflexivity remains the most important methodological tool for interpretation
(Brück, 2005, 50).
In Archaeology of the Senses, Yannis Hamilakis (2013) criticizes Tilley for his
emphasis on visual fields at the expense of other sensory modalities, and for the
subjectivity of his approach arguing that his analyses are “ahistorical, universalist
and homogenising” (100). As a remedy to this critique, sensory studies emphasize
investigations of the multisensorial experience avoiding the traditional primacy of
ocularity, including not only the five senses of western thought, but others as well
such as “sense of place” (168–170). Hamilakis supports the use of visualization
techniques and virtual reality but reminds us that these techniques are primarily
based on visual experience, and envisions a future in which virtual reenactments
will be immersive to include other senses such as sound, smell, touch, etc. But, in
The Life and Afterlife of Phenomenology in Archaeological Theory and Practice 311

his own case studies, Hamilakis, makes use of traditional 2-dimensional maps and
black and white photographs. He relies heavily on description and use of his own
imagination in recreating the sensory experiences of what people “would” have
seen and heard (187). In this sense, the work lacks rigor in much the same way as
Tilley’s highly criticized subjective observations of landscapes and unreconstructed
archaeological sites.
A critique of the archaeology of the senses is that it is just doing phenomenology
under a different name, and so many of its critiques of phenomenology could
equally be applied to sensorial studies. Though it is rarely made explicit in these
studies, out of necessity phenomenological assumptions are employed in all senso-
rial investigations. Because phenomenology works at the level of the individual and
is experiential in its very nature, no matter how many biases or assumptions we
acknowledge, we cannot infer humanistic understandings without using a highly
subjective method. Sensorial archaeologists argue that reflexivity helps to mitigate
this subjective approach, yet there is no accepted methodology for producing self-­
reflexive observations and these typically aim at acknowledging biases, though we
know that these are often unconscious and therefore difficult to access. Husserl’s
bracketing would be instructive, but it is never invoked. Sensorial archaeology also
invites us to engage with the experience of people that interact with their environ-
ments in special ways such as hunters, farmers, craftsmen, etc., which is reminis-
cent of Collingwood’s epistemology for establishing historical knowledge in which
the researcher uses knowledge of the historical context in the modern imagination
to attain a better understanding the thought and meaning underlying human action
in historical texts in what he terms “re-enactment” (1946, 282–302).
Re-enactments or reconstructions in virtual reality offer a promising approach to
sensorial archaeology and phenomenology. Developing and refining virtual reality
(as well as archaeological models of past environments and cultures, may go a long
way in better approximating our understandings of past people) (See Goodwin &
Lercari, chapter “Reconstructing Past Phenomenology Using Virtual Reality”, this
volume), but the problem of “subjectivity epistemology” (Barrett & Ko, 2009)
remains though it is based on virtual realities. It will continue to do so unless we
develop new avenues for understanding human feeling, thought, and meaning.
Tilley (2005a, b, 203) himself reminds us that “…as human beings, we can only
study things as we experience them. All such studies are necessarily limited and
therefore can be criticised.” Is this true or has the use of subjective experience been
prematurely dismissed due to lack of clear methodologies? It may be that it is sim-
ply undertheorized.
Arguably all archaeologists are phenomenologists at some level. As  Mathhew
Johnson points out:
It is also certainly the case that behind the often rather dry and impersonal top-down maps
and plans produced by traditional landscape archaeology there lies a practice of field craft
that is engaged, empathetic, emotive, and based on lively dissent and discussion (a tradition
in which the author of this article was raised in the 1980s). However, it is equally true that
prior to the reflections on field practice of the last decade or so, this lively practice rarely
emerged onto the printed page. (2012, 278–279).
312 H. Moyes

In other words, field archaeologists are immersed in the landscape, we experience

the environment, we imagine what it would be like to live in a pithouse in the desert
or on top of a pyramid in the jungle. We touch and handle the objects made by
people of the past and imagine owning them and discerning their use in our phe-
nomenological theorizing (Tilley, 2019). These imaginings are what generate many
of our ideas, models, and hypotheses. But, the question remains, what is the role of
phenomenology in archaeological practice and can it be considered a viable stand-­
alone interpretive method?

3 Underlying Tenets of Phenomenological Approaches

The extent to which archaeologists accept or reject phenomenological approaches

rests primarily on their stance on the question as to whether we can replicate the
experiences of others. I will argue three points (1) that the proposition is based on
basic belief systems or assumptions held by the archaeologist concerning their per-
spective on the existence and viability of the psychic unity of mankind (Johnson,
2012, 277), (2) how much influence the “real world” (environment or material
world) exerts on human perception and conceptualizations, and (3) whether they
envision the latter as an all or nothing position or a matter of degree. If one assumes
a unity of thought coupled with similar external realities such as environment, it is
then theoretically possible to transcend time and space to infer human experience.
On the external reality side of the equation, the more stable or unchanging the envi-
ronment or the better the reconstruction, the higher probability of correlating past
and present experiences (this is the basic premise of virtual or physical reconstruc-
tions, experimental archaeology, and other analogical arguments). No archaeologist
argues that their subjective personal experience exactly replicates the experience of
a person from the past, but that it approximates or has commonalities that are a mat-
ter of degree or probability.
Psychic unity is a concept that originated in Greek philosophy and was intro-
duced into the anthropological literature by Adolf Bastion (1881), then taken up by
Frans Boas (1911/1938) to combat biological racism inherent in Classical
Evolutionist theories. Psychic unity contends that all humans have the same mental
capacities that are universally shared and grounded in their common biology (Shore,
2000; Facoetti & Gontier, 2020). There is a “unity” between all humans beings, past
and present, insofar as they share a common set of cognitive structures. This sets the
stage for the phenomenologists’ argument that the human body itself (Tilley, 1994;
Thomas, 2002) provides “a starting point for knowledge of the world, and all mod-
ern human beings (Homo sapiens sapiens) have the same kinds of bodies and per-
ceive and experience the world in similar human ways at a basic biological level”
(in Tilley, 2005a). Phenomenologists in archaeology likely refer to the embodiment
of thought and its relationship to the environment, but psychic unity is thereby
inferred because their argument collapses without it. Some anthropologists (See
e.g., Shore, 1996) contend that culture structures and organizes thought to the
The Life and Afterlife of Phenomenology in Archaeological Theory and Practice 313

degree that psychic unity is no longer a viable, yet this remains to be seen and none
has successfully refuted the basic premise.
Postprocessualists that adopt Franz Boas’ historical particularism, a theory
which contends that everything from culture to human experience is historically
contingent, adhere to a Heideggerian phenomenology that is consistent with an
emphasis on history as a primary constituent of phenomenological experience. This
has led critics to dismiss phenomenological approaches on the grounds that we can-
not understand the experiences of past people because they are too different from
our own. Phenomenologists mitigate this by introducing self-reflexivity into their
observations and by considering the cultural context of past people in an effort to
render a more viable and less subjective interpretation. Other researchers that adhere
to evolutionary and cognitive approaches envision a synergy and co-evolution
between the brain/body, culture, and the material world that does not privilege one
over the other and recognizes biological constraints and endowments on which cul-
tural practices are constructed, which recursively contribute to shaping human cog-
nitive capacity over long periods of time (Cosmides et al., 1992; Hutchins, 2008;
Renfrew et al., 2008).
From an historic perspective, if we are indeed “thrown” into the world and its
historic contexts in the Heideggerian sense, we are influenced by not only the pres-
ent but taken to a logical extreme, the sum total of human history that is carried into
the present from the distant past. Is not deep history in some sense embedded within
our psyches and cultures and does this not provide yet another link to our past that
is rendered in our world view, practices, and phenomenological experience? While
we may be historically situated in the present, does that not entail that we are also
historically situated in the deep past? This perspective argues for connections
between modern people and their ancestral roots, building yet another bridge from
the present to the past.
Evolutionary psychology as well as neuroscience would support such a premise.
Not only is recent historical content part of our makeup, but long-term historic
knowledge,  as well as cultural and biological adaptations play a role. The brain
itself is a product of neurological adaptations shaped by a long evolutionary history.
In this sense, we may think of history as working on multiple scales- the immediate
and the recent variations and the long-term and evolutionary- shaping both cultural
content and biological processes. So, we may recognize short-term cultural varia-
tions as resting on deep histories and adaptations brought forth by a nexus of the
brain/body, culture, and the material world. In a phenomenological approach, that
considers the complexity of experience, a space opens for the contemplation of
experiences that are remnants of ancient practices, beliefs, or evolutionary pro-
cesses. This is not to suggest that there are social memories, but rather deep accepted
knowledge and embodied responses, many of which are taken for granted as the
way things are or may operate at a subconscious level. To recognize our relationship
to our past dissolves the gap between the past and present in that the past literally
still exists in the present in the body and within culture writ large.
In philosophical circles, the role of the physical world in perception is highly
debated. This is an old issue that dichotomizes realism vs. idealism. For instance,
314 H. Moyes

realism posits that the real world is external to us and the things in it exist indepen-
dently of ourselves and our sensibilities, whereas Kant’s transcendental idealism
argues that seemingly external objects come into being as representations. Kant
argues that our cognitive apprehension of reality is not so much mirroring a pre-­
existing world as a construction from our cognitive capacities. Should archaeolo-
gists take a radical idealist stance and deny the existence of a “real” external world,
arguing that reality consists exclusively of minds and their ideas with a lack of real-
ist grounding, it becomes more challenging to understand not only people of the
past but people of the present.
One must ask, are we in fact so different from one another and do we live in such
radically different mental worlds that there can be no real understandings between
us? Can we not have an empathetic understanding of each other, modern people
from other cultures, or people of the past? We intuitively know that this is not true.
In order to appreciate the use of phenomenology in inferences about past people, we
need to accept the importance of the physical world external to ourselves as an
important element influencing perceptions and concepts, even if one does not fully
accept a “pure” perception, that is, one without theoretical constructions. As Yoshimi
(2015, 300) notes, “the idea that all being is a correlate of consciousness is unsup-
ported.” This is also addressed by Smith (1995) in his discussion regarding Husserl’s
epoché. He argues that according to Husserl, regarding a physical thing there can be
an infinite variety of appearances “of all men,” that suggests that everyone’s reality
will differ. He goes on to note that the world outside of ourselves not only has physi-
cality, but agreed upon social components. An example of this would be descrip-
tions of colors. Physical light waves within a spectrum produce different wavelengths
that manifest as colors. What we call these affects (the phenomenon) are agreed
upon social norms such as “red.” According to Smith:
…the problem with all transcendental idealist views is of course the problem with intersub-
jectivity—of accounting for the existence of harmony among the different worlds which
arise when “world” is relativized to your and my subjective appearances and of accounting
for the possibility of a single universal science which would govern the modes and manners
of such appearing (429).

From this standpoint, the physical world has the potential to provide a basis for the
common or “psychically unified” structure of phenomenological experience, that
transcends time and space in instances where physical things remain relatively con-
sistent or recognizable in both the past and present. This is a basic underlying
assumption that Tilley makes in his phenomenological arguments that overlay the
past and present, essentially compressing time.
So where does this leave phenomenology in archaeological practice? Clearly
there are debates regarding the underlying assumptions about how perception works
and how modern human experience may be used as a tool to better understand the
past. Unfortunately, this is the only tool we have available. All we have are the sub-
jective experiences of modern people (archaeologists or otherwise) to use as data in
phenomenologically-based inferences, be they sensorial experiences or those that
attempt to establish meaning. Unless archaeologists abandon the pursuit of
The Life and Afterlife of Phenomenology in Archaeological Theory and Practice 315

understanding past experience, we must work with the only tools we have, ourselves
and other humans. I envision two paths forward. The first is to strengthen and
develop current methodologies. The second is to adopt a “naturalized” phenomenol-
ogy in which phenomena provide data to be explained using scientific approaches.

4 Ways Forward: Phenomenology as Analogy

Following Julian Thomas, phenomenology may be thought of as a special kind of

analogy. This suggests a way of strengthening phenomenological arguments. The
use of analogy was much debated and discussed in archaeological circles in the
1960s–1980s, particularly in New World archaeology where there has been a great
deal of cultural continuity. In archaeological interpretation, analogy has been vari-
ously defined, but its broadest definition is probably that of Ascher (1961, 317), who
states “In its most general sense interpreting by analogy is assaying any belief about
non-observed behavior by referral to observed behavior which is thought to be rel-
evant.” It is one of archaeology’s most widely used tools, traditionally employed to
link ethnographic, experimental, or other known data to the archaeological record
and may be utilized in model building. However, within the discipline there is a
fundamental epistemological debate  concerning the use of analogy as a form of
evidence (Binford, 1967, 1968; Gould & Watson, 1982; Wylie, 1989a, b).
The question is whether it is possible for archaeologists to understand the past
solely from analogic reasoning or whether analogs should function only as testable
hypotheses. Archaeology is always concerned with the unknown (and to some the
unknowable), and therefore has an affinity with predictive methods. Studies of
human behavior require special methodologies and statistical inferences, but studies
of past human behavior are even more demanding. How does one deal with phe-
nomena that produce patterns, especially those that are never completely identical
except to varying degrees? Due to the lack of uniformitarian principles or laws that
are the foundation of the natural sciences, many archaeologists use pattern recogni-
tion and analogs to interpret data. But the variability in human behavior renders
ethnographic analogy (and pattern recognition) both attractive and risky. On one
hand, archaeologists are reliant on analogy to provide models of human behavior.
Grahame Clark (1951, 50) observes that all sciences that deal with the remote past
must “…interpret evidence about the past to some degree in terms of what may be
observed in the present.” On the other hand, archaeologists know that even in simi-
lar or identical circumstances high behavioral variability exists preventing the
archaeologist from putting total faith in analogs (See Watson, 1979, 1980; Watson
et al., 1984, 259–269). The strength of the analogy will also depend heavily upon
the question(s) asked and the type of inference sought.
Archaeologists recognize two types of analogies, formal and relational. Formal
analogies refer to similarities in form or “formal” attributes between archaeological
and ethnographic objects or features. Similar forms may be separated in time and
may come from different cultures. For example, we recognize ancient projectile
316 H. Moyes

points or pottery vessels because people still use those objects today and they have
similar characteristics. A cup fits easily in the and has a large enough rim diameter
so that one may put it to the lips and easily drink from it and may be recognized for
its form that follows its function.
In order to reduce uncertainty, formal analogies can be strengthened on the eth-
nographic (modern) side (Ascher, 1961, 322), such as when there are many ethno-
graphic cases. For instance, take the example of the cup. Cups are used today and
have been used historically in a large number of cultures throughout the world. By
providing multiple instances, archaeologists can build up strong inductively rea-
soned cases. The modern analog is so statistically common that we would expect it
in the archaeological record thereby reducing uncertainty. When we consider phe-
nomenological experiential observations, the more people that have similar experi-
ences, the stronger the argument for the plausibility of the phenomenological
analogy. Additionally, experimental archaeology provides a vehicle for exploring
human experience in circumstances (or form) that simulate the past. Experimental
archaeology creates controllable imitative experiments to replicate past phenomena
that may be used to test hypotheses or strengthen analogs (Mathieu, 2002, 1). An
elaborate case of an experimental project is Lejre, a reconstructed Iron Age village
in Denmark (Rasmussen & Gronnow, 1999). Here, archaeologists as well as the
general public can experience living in a reconstructed Iron Age house and conduct
domestic routines that might be expected of an Iron Age person. In this way the
experiment attempts to recreate the past so that a modern person could have simu-
lated a past experience. While it is beyond the project goals to know exactly how
past people established meaning in their social relationships, in the Lejre experi-
ment they may physically embody the Iron Age experience comparing that experi-
ence to their own, which may lead to additional insights or help bolster analogical
arguments about past people. Recreating past environments is what drives virtual
reality, 3D modeling, GIS and other computer simulations. Currently, simulations
typically lack the total immersive sensorial experience that can be achieved in a full-­
blown reconstruction, but may still produce useful analogical information that could
be crowd sourced, possibly statistically strengthening the sensorial analogy on the
ethnographic or modern side.
In relational analogies there is close cultural continuity between the archaeologi-
cal and ethnographic records or a similar adaptation-function. In other words, the
best analogies are from closely “related” groups. Some groups are related by their
adaptations. For instance, there are particular adaptations that people living in very
cold environments might share such as dressing in furs. Desert-dwelling societies
are best used as analogs for prehistoric communities that lived similar environ-
ments. The use of pit-houses that retain heat are a common desert technology
throughout the world for staying warn in an environment that is very hot during the
day and very cold at night. Around the equator people grow food in jungle environ-
ments using a technique called “slash and burn” farming. This same technique is
used widely today and was employed by the ancient Maya thousands of years ago.
If it can be demonstrated that a group has continuously occupied the same geo-
graphical area for many years strong analogical arguments can be drawn between
The Life and Afterlife of Phenomenology in Archaeological Theory and Practice 317

modern people and archaeological cultures. Relational analogies are exemplified by

the Direct Historic Approach (or Folk-Culture approach in Europe) (Wedel, 1938).
Inferences are produced by working back in time from the ethnographically known
to the archaeologically unknown using ethnographic, historical and archaeological
data. While the approach is not directly applicable for use in phenomenology, con-
sidering the experiences of descendent communities makes for stronger experiential
analogies, particularly if there are demonstrated continuities in ideologies and world
views (ontologies). Working with native interlocuters regarding landscapes of the
American southwest, Fowles (2010) noted that it would be impossible to infer
meanings in the archaeological record without the benefit of modern people’s spe-
cial knowledge.
In order to understand phenomenological meanings of analogs would require a
much more complex process that would necessarily involve contextualizing subjec-
tive or intersubjective experiences (Thomas, 1996, 2012). Philosopher of archaeol-
ogy Alison Wylie (1989a) suggested a methodological approach to analogs using a
“cables and tacking” model of archaeological inquiry. This concept is derived from
Gadamer’s hermeneutic circle and Peirce’s argument that scientific theories are
more like cables than chains. Rather than a linear chain of single studies that can
produce broken links, in the cable metaphor, no one scientific study is sufficient for
the development of knowledge, but multiple studies over time are necessary for
establishing a knowledge base. Truth is not absolute but is a never-ending social
inquiry based on a multitude of arguments (Preucel & Hodder, 1996, 250–254;
Gamble, 2015, 113–115). It is by way of Richard Bernstien’s (1983) arguments that
mitigate scientific objectivism and relativity that Wylie envisions a grounding for
archaeological knowledge. She argues that in the archaeological record there is an
underlying “determining structure” that is causal, functional, structural, and
intentional.
In the cables and tacking model, not only does the archaeological record itself,
but multiple independent studies, often cross-disciplinary, serve to constrain and
enrichen archaeological interpretations so that accepted knowledge is the result of
their convergence. Archaeologists “tack” between experience-near and experience-­
distant concepts in a type of dialog that evolves over time and with the addition of
new data leading to new concepts, models, and archaeological reconstructions.
Wylie argues that this method of knowledge-building also helps to avoid biases
because it is unlikely that all strands of evidence would incorporate the same pre-­
understandings and/or bias. The cables and tacking model would be useful in phe-
nomenological studies that hope to uncover underlying meanings in the natural or
built environments by including multiple forms of data that help to contextualize the
human experience. In this model, analogies may be strengthened on both the mod-
ern and archaeological sides, opening a space to include not only phenomenological
experience, but also archaeological contexts, epigraphy, iconography, ethnohistoric
or historic data, scientific studies, experimentation, and cross-cultural comparisons
to create complex and nuanced arguments.
318 H. Moyes

5 Another Way Forward—A Naturalized Phenomenology

New Archaeology advocated for a scientific approach to archaeological epistemol-

ogy. Lewis Binford, its most vocal proponent, argued for the incorporation of anal-
ogy as a method for the creation of testable hypotheses. This was illustrated in
Binford’s classic article, “Smudge Pits and Hide Smoking: The Use of Analogy in
Archaeological Reasoning” (1967), a case study used to demonstrate Binford’s pro-
posed use of analogy. At the core of Binford’s Middle Range Theory is the replace-
ment of uniformitarian laws with low-level theories by conducting studies that link
the archaeological record with the ethnographic present by means of experimental
or ethnoarchaeological studies. Therefore, the use of experiential data fits well with
Binford’s program. One might envision using either subjective or intersubjective
observations in directing archaeological research and providing hypothetical data to
be explained. As an example, in conducting studies involving sound or light in the
archaeological record, modern observations would be pertinent to the development
of hypotheses that could be tested using methods of quantitative instrumentation.
This is complimentary to a “naturalized” phenomenology, which comes out of
the Husserlian rejection of naturalism (the philosophical belief that everything
arises from natural properties and causes), in other words, an orientation towards
natural science (Varela, 1996; Gallagher, 2010; Yoshimi, 2015; Zahavi, 2010).
Husserl envisioned phenomenology as having methodological priority over other
sciences, yet in a naturalized phenomenology, it becomes an equal partner with the
empirical sciences such as cognitive science or neuroscience. As Yoshimi (2015, 9)
argues phenomenology can influence other sciences by providing data to be
explained. Gallagher (2010, 27) refers to this as “front loading phenomenology,”
where phenomenological insights may be used to inform the design of experiments.
In other words, empirical studies can test and verify phenomenological descriptions
and can extend its application (32). In the following, I offer a case study in which
the archaeological record demonstrates an intersubjective human experience that is
then studied empirically, thereby extending both archaeology and phenomenology.

6 An Archaeological Case Study Employing

a Naturalized Phenomenology

In the world of landscape and sensorial experiences, caves occupy a distinctive

place due to the special properties of their morphology. To begin, what exactly is a
cave? Caves are somewhat difficult to define scientifically because what constitutes
a cave depends on the perspective of human investigators. In the Encyclopedia of
Caves, Third Edition, they are defined as “openings in the Earth, large enough for
human exploration” (White et al., 2019, 255). As a non-specific term “cave” has
come to mean any cavity in the earth. Rockshelters are a subset of caves, but for
archaeologists it is important to distinguish the two because they have very differ-
ent affordances due to the sense of enclosure and the quality of light available.
The Life and Afterlife of Phenomenology in Archaeological Theory and Practice 319

­ he  quality of light may be divided into three zones: light, twilight, and dark
T
(Faulkner, 1988). Superficial hollows such as open rockshelters include light and
twilight zones but not dark zones. Although rockshelters have often been used for
habitation, these same sites may also contain ritual deposits. Caves with proper dark
zones may contain a rockshelter at the entrance that may have been used as domes-
tic habitational space, but the use of cave dark zones as living space is extremely
rare and usually only occurs when people are under threat (Moyes, 2012, 5–7).
Along with my colleague environmental psychologist Dan Montello, I have argued
elsewhere that cave dark zones do not offer high-quality affordance for habitation
but do offer high-quality affordance for hiding and secrecy (Montello & Moyes,
2012). Due to sensory deprivation brought on by darkness and silence, dark zones
of caves can help to produce meditative states or stimulate otherworldly experi-
ences; a type of affordance is not discussed by Gibson in his visual theory (Gibson,
1979). Therefore, we suggested the term “transcendental affordance” in keeping
with Gibsonian ideas that affordances straddle the material world and the world of
the mind, arguing that the human/cave interaction works reciprocally to facilitate
and encourage symbolic or ritual behaviors. Interestingly, what we find archaeo-
logically is that cave dark zones are used almost solely as ritual or special function
places (such as venues for producing images) from as early in human development
as the Middle Paleolithic period (Hoffman et al., 2018). This argument is bolstered
by the many instances exhibited by cave dark zone ritual traditions that have tempo-
ral depth across regions in both the Old and New Worlds (See for examples Moyes,
2012; Büster et al., 2019; Machause-Lopez et al., 2022).
Archaeological research on ancient cave sites brings into focus implicit and
explicit uses of phenomenology in interpreting the archaeological record perhaps
more than any other subfield of archaeology because of properties within the cave
environment that cannot be overlooked. Caves are dark, enclosed, often dank, stun-
ningly quiet or full of reverberation. Bats often inhabit caves and the smell of guano
is pungent and unmistakable. Speleothem formations decorate many caves parti-
tioning space. Caves may be labyrinthic and notoriously difficult to navigate because
in shadowy darkness the environment appears undifferentiated and landmarks are
difficult to recognize.
Despite their various morphologies and special characteristics, the one property
that perhaps most impacts human experience and behavior in caves is darkness.
Caves are some of the darkest natural places on earth and only in the depths of the
ocean can we find such total lack of light. The question becomes, can darkness
influence human thought and sensibilities? Several lines of research suggest that it
can. Seasonal affective disorders (SAD) are a well-studied form of depression
caused by the lack of natural daylight during autumn or winter months suggesting
that the quality of light can disrupt circadian rhythms and that this likely has genetic
components (See for reviews Lam & Levitan, 2000; Magnusson & Boivin, 2003;
Targum & Rosenthal, 2008). Additionally, a recent study has suggested that lighting
conditions affect a number of different emotional and perceptual experiences (Xu
et al., 2014). Cognitive changes were also observed in studies of sensory deprivation
from the mid-twentieth century (See for e.g. Schultz, 1965, 169–194; Suefeld,
1969; Zuckerman, 1969). Researchers noted that sight deprivation effected the
320 H. Moyes

visual cortex producing hallucinations or visual imagery. Also reported were “defi-
ciencies in visual-motor coordination, changes in size and shape constancies, color
perception, apparent movement, loss of accuracy in tactual, spatial, and time orien-
tation and a variety of other changes” (Kubzansky & Leiderman, 1965, 228–229).
While it is possible to experience total darkness in caves, archaeological evi-
dence demonstrates that prehistoric people using dark caves had various types of
lighting technologies such as tiny oil lamps and wood torches. These sources all
produced dim flickering light highlighting the shadowy environment (Pettitt et al.,
2017). Could short-term low light conditions produce cognitive effects? Partnering
with cognitive scientists Michael Spivey and Teenie Matlock, Daniel Montello, and
students Lilly Rigoli and Stephanie Huette, a study run at the University of
California, Merced suggests that a darkened environment does produce cognitive
change (Moyes et al., 2017). In the study there were two conditions, a light room
and a dark room. Participants were asked to fill out a questionnaire on magical or
supernatural thinking while sitting in one room or the other. Both rooms were small
1.2 m × 1.8 m laboratory spaces. In the light condition, the room had a large picture
window that let in a great deal of natural light during the day when we collected
data. The dark condition was presented in a windowless room dimly illuminated
only by a reading light attached to the questionnaire clipboard. The dark room was
otherwise identical to the light room. The reading light provided just enough light
to read the questionnaire. The 104 participants were evenly divided and randomly
assigned one of the conditions. The questionnaire consisted of two parts. The first
included fifteen questions asking to what degree participants believe (on a 0–10
scale) in a wide variety of types of supernatural thinking, including extrasensory
perception, ghosts, reincarnation, a deity that listens to one’s prayers, etc. The sec-
ond part included 10 short vignettes describing anomalous events in everyday situ-
ations, offering multiple-choice responses for how the participant might interpret
and explain the event. Two of the alternative responses involved supernatural expla-
nations, while the other two offered common scientific explanations.
The results were suggestive. The participants in the dark room condition rated
their beliefs in supernatural thinking on the first part of the questionnaire as two-­
thirds of a point higher on average than those in the light room. Although this effect
is subtle, it is sufficiently reliable across participants that the difference is statisti-
cally significant (p < .05). In a two-sample t-test, the effect of lighting condition
obtained a t value of 4.74, with degrees of freedom of 102, and a p value of 0.032
(which indicates the probability that the difference in these conditions resulted from
pure chance). This difference was replicated on the second part of the questionnaire.
Compared to participants in the light room, those in the dark room were 11% more
likely to select a multiple-choice response that was associated with supernatural
thinking. This difference was also statistically significant in a two-sample t-test,
where the effect of lighting condition obtained a t value of 4.57, with degrees of
freedom of 102, and a p value of 0.035. Our data suggest that environments can in
fact effect thought processes and encourage “magical thinking.”
While these data are preliminary, this is an example of how phenomenology can
be extended to address both archaeological questions and questions about the
The Life and Afterlife of Phenomenology in Archaeological Theory and Practice 321

relationship between the environment and human thought. If we are correct, the
implications for not only archaeological interpretation but for environmental stud-
ies, architectural design and urban planning are myriad and clearly demonstrate the
considerable influence of environment on the human psyche at a group level, which
is compatible with archaeological findings. These data also legitimize the use of
phenomenology in archaeology supporting the value of virtual or physical recon-
structions to aid in bridging the years between past peoples and ourselves.
Developing rigorous scientific methods to evaluate shared human experience, also
aids in addressing criticisms of ahistorical, homogenizing, and Western modernist
universalist interpretations of the archaeological record, and provides a way for-
ward in creating grounded intersubjective phenomenological approaches.

7 Conclusion

This paper has examined the use of phenomenology in archaeology and its critique.
Although it has come under heavy criticism primarily because of its subjective
methodology, there are ways to mitigate this and create a phenomenology that is
strengthened by turning to practices used in bolstering analogies between the ethno-
graphic present and the archaeological past. It is unlikely that a stand-alone phe-
nomenological approach will ever enable archaeologists to infer meaning in the
archaeological record, but by taking a contextual approach using multiple data
streams, some inferences can be brought forward using Wylie’s “cables and tack-
ing” approach. The ethnographic side of analogies may be bolstered by experimen-
tation, reported common experiences, and crowd sourcing, as well as relational
analogies from modern cultures.
Where phenomenology can have a major impact on other fields is in suggesting
hypotheses to be tested based on patterns explored in the archaeological record.
This naturalized approach mitigates the issue of subjectivity on both the ethno-
graphic and archaeological sides of the analogy. One could also employ such an
approach using multiple participants in archaeological experimentations and in
reactions to simulations. Caves are prime subjects for such exploration because they
are such exotic environments and produce such profound phenomenological experi-
ences based on their morphological characteristics. In this sense, cave studies are
viable candidates as “proofs of concept” for demonstrating these ideas.

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Reconstructing Past Experience Using
Virtual Reality

Graham Goodwin and Nicola Lercari

1 Introduction

In this paper we review digital technologies that can be used to study what the expe-
riences of past peoples might have been. We focus on the use of immersive virtual
reality (VR) systems to frame hypotheses about the visual and auditory experiences
of past individuals, based on available archeological evidence. These reconstruc-
tions of past places and landscapes are often focused on visual data. We argue that
we should move beyond this ocularcentric focus by integrating sound and other
modalities into VR. However, even those that emphasize sound in archaeology—as
in archaeoacoustics (Scarre & Lawson, 2006; Diaz-Andreu & Mattioli, 2015;
Suárez et al., 2016)—often retain a unimodal emphasis that limits how much we can
understand of past peoples’ sensory experience. We argue that it is important to
emphasize the importance of seeing and hearing at the same time (i.e. multi-modal
sensory integration) in phenomenological archaeology. This is possible using
immersive virtual reality systems that can engage users with both sight and sound
simultaneously.
Phenomenological approaches to archaeology originate as critical engagements
with archaeology and its objectivist, positivist assumptions (Brück, 2005).
Objectivism and positivism are manifested in a range of empirical methods that
archaeologists rely on in order to conduct their research. These range widely from
field excavations and surveys of sites, to absolute dating of artifacts, to computa-
tional reconstructions using GIS. However, we see no reason to reject these methods
on phenomenological grounds (cf. Moyes, Chapter “The Life and Afterlife of

G. Goodwin (*)
Interdisciplinary Humanities Program, University of California, Merced, Merced, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]
N. Lercari
Department of Anthropology and Heritage Studies, University of California, Merced,
Merced, CA, USA

© The Author(s) 2023 325

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_17
326 G. Goodwin and N. Lercari

Phenomenology in Archaeological Theory and Practice”, this volume). Empirical

methods and objective data are necessary for archaeological research to be con-
ducted because the interpretations archaeologists make about the past are in many
ways based on what is observable. Empirical methods and objective data enable
present and future archaeologists to make what they excavate, survey, and observe
in the field presentable to others in support of their interpretations about the past.
Due to the often destructive nature of excavations, surveys, and other methods,
empirical methods and objective approaches ensure that later researchers can con-
tinue to study a site or feature that has already been excavated or surveyed.
These objective methods for reconstructing the past are usefully supplemented
by phenomenological and embodied descriptions of sites, landscapes, and artifacts.
These range from identifying visibility between places and spaces on the landscape
(Gillings, 2012) as well as what could be seen, heard (Primeau & Witt, 2018),
touched (MacGregor, 1999) or otherwise engaged with through the senses. It may
also assist in understanding the meaning of use of an artifact or landscape from the
perspective of a particular studied culture, such as how people responded to them
emotionally (Houston et al., 2006). The classic examples come from British pre-­
history and are exemplified by Christopher Tilley’s solitary strolls through the land-
scape (Tilley, 1994). Subsequent work was in some ways critical of Tilley but added
many more dimensions of phenomenological description (Thomas, 2001). However,
subjective experience for its part is subject to distortion, storytelling, and biases.
Thus, following (Moyes, Chapter “The Life and Afterlife of Phenomenology in
Archaeological Theory and Practice”, this volume) and others, we believe that a
combination of approaches is the best way to reconstruct past experience.
In this paper we specifically focus on possibilities of phenomenological recon-
struction afforded by emerging technologies that allow a present day subject to
experience a scientifically reconstructed multi-modal experience of what life might
have been like at a past site. We focus on three technologies: GIS, 3d Mapping, and
VR/AR. Within the last category, of VR/AR, we focus on four examples that dem-
onstrate how these technologies can advance an understanding of experience in the
past through VR and AR. (1) Lercari and Busacca use VR to produce immersive
visualizations of the archaeological site known Catalhöyuk in order to interpret and
better understand the complex spatial relationships among its structures (N. Lercari
& Busacca, 2020). (2) Graham et al. show how AR can enhance the in-situ experi-
ence of archaeological landscapes through the introduction of sound, which may
offer a more immersive experience when integrated with vision (Graham et  al.,
2019) (3) The Mayacitybuilder project illustrates how sound in combination with
vision can enhance VR and move us closer towards a more synesthetic experience
of the past (Goodwin & Richards-Rissetto, 2020). (4) Barreau et al. show how the
simulation of an eighteenth century merchant ship is significantly more immersive
when visual elements are enhanced by the introduction of sonic elements and a
soundscape (Barreau et al., 2015).
The next generation of immersive VR/AR is evident in the powerful WAVE
which has the potential to integrate sight and sound in an affective and—experience
(Lercari et  al., 2016). Digital representation methods offer a path forward for
Reconstructing Past Experience Using Virtual Reality 327

enhancing experiences of artifacts and landscapes by allowing for rich and immer-
sive engagement with objects (Di Franco et al., 2015). Though it is important to
recognize that they have a lack of authenticity as they impose their creators particu-
lar interpretation of the world (Gillings, 2005). For instance, by expanding our
body’s sensorial capabilities, digital reconstructions can still produce sensorial
experiences and act as an extension of our bodies, allowing for a better understand-
ing of the sensory experience of past people (Hamilakis, 2014). We argue that
archaeological visualizations are important, but we need to move beyond the ocu-
larcentrism typical of digital reconstructions through the addition of sound and by
consideration of hearing. However, rather than create a dichotomy between hearing
and seeing, we need to emphasize the importance of seeing and hearing at the same
time. The emphasis on one sensory modality at the expense of others is not an effec-
tive means to conduct research. Many archaeological reconstructions of past places
and landscapes are silent, and there is room to improve upon on this absence through
immersive virtual reality systems that can engage users with both sight and sound.
We also contend that the introduction of virtual reality into archaeological phenom-
enology has the potential to counter criticism of ocularcentrism by incorporation of
multiple sensory modalities within reconstructions beyond just the visual.

2 Survey of Methods Used to Reconstruct Past Experiences

Three methodologies currently use digital technology to reconstruct past sensory

experiences: (1) Geographic Information Systems (GIS); (2) 3D mapping technol-
ogy, (3) Virtual and Augmented Reality (VR and AR). After a brief review of each
technology, we consider how these methods have been critiqued on phenomeno-
logical grounds, then describe how phenomenological descriptions can actually
supplement work in these areas, rather than undermining or replacing traditional
methodologies. We especially emphasize the potential of VR and AR as methods
which facilitate multi-sensory integration in reconstructed past experience.
GIS is the use of integrated computer systems to analyze landscapes and other
artifacts to create a comprehensive picture of an environment. It can be used to ana-
lyze spatial patterns of movement, visibility, and even sound propagation; it can also
be used to analyze environmental factors such as vegetation (Kosiba & Bauer, 2013;
Gillings, 2012; Primeau & Witt, 2018; Landau, 2015). Patterns identified with a GIS
can be then be compared between sites in order to find regularities in sensory effects
within sites (Brück, 2005). For example, viewsheds can analyze what can or cannot
be seen between two fixed points on the landscape (Howey & Brouwer, 2017).
Another example is least cost path (LCP) modeling, which determines the optimal
path between two points on the landscape through an understanding of topography
and features that potentially impede movement.
A phenomenological critique of GIS is that it assumes an objectivist, Cartesian
model of space. Additionally, a peoples’ experience of landscape is not solely deter-
mined by material culture. Also, GIS struggles to deal with imprecision and
328 G. Goodwin and N. Lercari

uncertainty, it is perhaps better suited to physical measurements rather than the

intangible social world (Bodenhamer et al., 2010).
While we agree that GIS has these features, it would be hard for archaeologists
to replace well-established GIS-based spatial methodologies, which can integrate,
analyze, and visualize vast amounts of data from differing formats. In archaeology,
the ability to integrate and analyze data is fundamental for the discovery of spatial
patterns hidden within the landscape. For this reason, Brück (2005) thinks GIS and
3D mapping cannot be dismissed because of their value in identifying symbolic pat-
terns on the landscape. GIS can be viewed as a supplement to rather than a replace-
ment for phenomenology. Geospatial techniques can be used to assist
phenomenological approaches that emphasize the creation of space through naviga-
tion. Therefore phenomenological approaches are grounded in observation and
description of the archaeologist’s experiences of places, as experience is facilitated
by our universal physiology enabling a better understanding of past peoples experi-
ence (Primeau & Witt, 2018).
A second digital technology used to reconstruct past experience is 3D mapping
technology. Typically a visualization of 3D models on a bidimensional screen, 3D
mapping technologies can supplement the abstract perspective of 2D maps, allow-
ing researchers to understand movement, visibility and acoustics within an environ-
ment, but with the advantage of a three-dimensional framework, which better
resembles the physical characteristics of a real environment. 3D mapping methods
like structure-from-motion digital photogrammetry and laser scanning are effective
for replicating the visual elements of an object such as size and shape (Eve, 2018).
Digital methodologies for the creation of 3D models not only enable new means of
interpreting artifacts but also enable the study of artifacts and things as multidimen-
sional rather than mere images (Papadopoulos et al., 2019). Conventional represen-
tations obfuscate the three-dimensional qualities of artifacts that enable embodied,
multisensorial experience of those artifacts. Digital methods can foreground three-­
dimensional properties of artifacts as well as evoke embodied, multisensorial affec-
tive experience.
Here critics have charged that the emphasis of 3d mapping is ocularcentric. A 3D
model in a bidimensional screen continue to focus strictly on the visual. There is a
propensity to focus on what things looked like, rather than how they were used and
experienced. Similarly, 3D printed material fails to replicate the actual texture,
color, and weight of the original. The smells, sounds, and feel of an object are lost
in these 3D reconstructions.Stuart Eve (2018) argues that 2D and 3D representa-
tions leave out vast amounts of multi-sensory information about objects.
However, as with GIS, 3D mapping retains its importance as a means of provid-
ing objective data that can be used to supplement and constrain phenomenological
descriptions. 3D mapping produces objective representations that can then be sub-
jectively observed and experienced. They can be enriched by phenomenological
descriptions, and phenomenological descriptions can be strengthened by interaction
with a 3d map. Neither approach fully captures the richness of artifacts, sites, and
landscapes but instead they supplement one another in a mutually constitutive man-
ner. Objective 3D maps would be sterile and lifeless without the supplementation of
Reconstructing Past Experience Using Virtual Reality 329

phenomenological approaches, and phenomenological approaches would be merely

subjective reports without the support of objective data such as 3D mapping.
A final pair of technologies that can be used to reconstruct past experiences are
Virtual Reality (VR) and Augmented Reality (AR). Virtual reality produces an
immersive experience using virtual objects inside a virtual environment (such as
video games), while augmented reality produces virtual objects inside a physical
environment (like Snapchat lenses). Both make use of virtual objects, but aug-
mented reality adds overlays these virtual objects on a real physical environment.
Virtual environments and objects can be engaged with through web browser plugins
such as Cortona3D, game engines like Unity3D, or even viewed in stereo 3D in a
CAVE (Sanders, 2014). Cave Automated Virtual Environments (CAVE) are immer-
sive VR systems that utilize a number of screens to produce a stereo images (Knabb
et al., 2014). Polarized glasses worn by the user produce a 3D stereoscopic perspec-
tive that mimics how people see in 3D in the real world. A CAVE system can display
a number of different data types ranging from laser scanned models to LiDAR
point clouds.
Augmented Reality enhances a real world environment through the addition of
computer generated sensory input like sound and visuals (Di Franco et al., 2015). It
is enhancing one’s perspective of reality with specific virtual items rather than
attempting to reproduce a completely virtual reality. Augment Reality offers new
means of visualization, data analysis, and human engagement with material objects.
It offers a new means of interaction and engagement that help in creating rich and
immersive experiences. As a means of presenting the past it improves the sensorial
experience people have with the past. These are also known as mixed-reality, which
exist in a continuum from reality itself to AR to VR or it can bea hybrid combination
of virtual reality (virtual objects in a virtual world) and augmented reality (virtual
objects in a physical world), where users can physically interact with virtual objects.
A critique of mixed reality systems is that they produce experiences that fail to
correspond to any existing reality, e.g. “a landscape that has never actually existed
(Cummings, 2010)”. They often represent a person’s subjective mental interpreta-
tion of place or object rather than an objective recreation. In addition it is not yet
possible to produce representations or reconstructions that offer people the same
sensory experience as the real thing (Galeazzi, 2018). However VR and AR provide
essential value (Gillings, 2005). We should accept their creative aspects but find
ways to integrate them into phenomenology and other established methods of
archaeology. Integration of VR and AR will require critical examination of where
they fit or do not fit into already established methods and theory. This may require
revamping of existing methods and theory to better accommodate new and emerg-
ing technology like VR and AR.  Like the introduction of photography which
required modifications in methods and theory to and the development of new knowl-
edge accommodate its use, VR creates a particular way of seeing upon the viewer
that requires culturally specific knowledge to understand. It is important to consider
nontraditional ways of landscape representation that offer new approaches to expe-
riencing and dwelling in landscapes (Cummings, 2010).
330 G. Goodwin and N. Lercari

VR, AR, as well as GIS and 3D mapping can provide immersive engagement
with the past through reconstructions that engage multiple senses rather than just
one. Sight and sound are important to perception (Díaz-Andreu et al., 2017), and we
cannot consider the senses as separate from each other. In order to understand the
experiences of people in the past, digital technology can be used to integrate mul-
tiple senses together into a more immersive experience that will help in understand-
ing how people in the past engaged with the world through their senses. A framework
of multi-sensorial experience expands the world of material things and can better
connect things to experience (Hamilakis, 2014). Even digital reconstructions can
expand as well as extend our bodies sensorial capabilities to better understand sen-
sory experiences of past people. New technologies are one such approach as they
offer an alternative to traditional text-based narratives. The more experiences one
enables through representations, the more possibility of alternative interpretations
emerges.

3 Examples of Virtual and Augmented Reality Research

in Archaeology

In this section we describe a number of examples that show how VR and AR sys-
tems can be used to produced rich simulations that can facilitate phenomenological
reconstruction. VR and AR can produce immersive simulations because they can
integrate multiple sensory modalities into a singular virtual environment. VR and
AR systems also integrate multiple datasets, finds and artifacts for reconstructions
that account for change over time in a site. Lercari and Busacca (2020) show how
VR and AR can be utilized to provide reliable reconstructions of archaeological
sites that are grounded in datasets produced with scientific rigor. This means that
VR and AR can be used to understand the experiences of past people within a space,
because the reconstructions are based on accurate archaeological data rather than
conjecture or guesswork. These reconstructions reflect what past people in those
spaces experienced, and how that experience changed over time. Graham et  al.
(2019) illustrate how AR can utilize sound and the auditory perceptions of those
sounds as a means of producing an more immersive experience of archaeological
sites, and landscapes that go beyond unimodal reconstructions based solely on
visual information. Goodwin and Richards-Rissetto (2020) demonstrate how VR
and other digital approaches can enhance our understanding of sight and sound in
the past through novel approaches to data analysis, integration, visualization, and
interaction. Virtual environments act as a catalyst for interpretation of past peoples’
experience, and interactive 3D visualizations embedded with sounds of the past
allow for multi-sensory representation. Shemek et al. (2018) show how immersive
VR technology enables meaningful embodied engagment with virtual reconstruc-
tions of cultural heritage that has been altered over time. They show how a multi-­
sensory interactive envinorment can integrate multiple multimodal data sources
Reconstructing Past Experience Using Virtual Reality 331

within a single virtaul envinorment for an immersive and affective experience of a

past place, in this case the Reinassance era studiolo (study) of Isabella d’Este’s.
Barreau et al. (2015) brings together historical documents, and archaeological knol-
wedge to produce a scale 3D model of an eighteenth century ship. Not only does
this 3D models offer an immersive visual experience, but the authors integrate a
soundscape into the reconstruction that help in understanding what life was like
onboard the ship when it actually sailed the ocean.
Lercari and Busacca (2020) utilize immersive VR to create archaeological visu-
alizations, that assist in interpretation of behavior and a better understanding of site
chronology. The 3D reconstructions they produced of the Neolithic site of
Çatalhöyük offer a multi-temporal look at the sequence of construction over time.
These reconstructions provide visual representations of a complex archaeological
record and enable a better understanding of the history of buildings at Çatalhöyük.
Lercari and Busacca produce archaeological visualizations that successfully recon-
struct multiple phases of construction at the site in order to better understand the
links between the different areas of the site. Their interactive virtual reconstructions
visualize patterns of continuity and change evident in the archaeological features
excavated at the site. This fits into the cyber-archaeology paradigm proposed by
Forte (2016) by utilizing archaeological visualizations to help contextualize subtle
spatial continuity and history making at Çatalhöyük. These visualizations assist in
stimulating both discussion and interpretation by enabling the visualization of mul-
tiple strata, finds, and datasets. Connections that were not identifiable in a standard
2D plan or photograph are now made visible in 3D reconstructions utilizing the
game engine Unity 3D or through interpretative infographics. Visualizations assist
in the rendering and reconstruction of past places. They provide a clear representa-
tion of a complex construction sequence at Çatalhöyük by showing how building
practices are replicated or modified across the entirety of the site’s stratigraphy.
Immersive virtual reality can also incorporate hearing whenever possible using
sonifications and auralizations. The benefits of incorporating other sensory modali-
ties is also evident in Augmented Reality, according to Graham et al. (2019).
Graham et al. (2019) explore how seeing the past goes beyond just the sense of
sight (Graham et al., 2019). They consider how AR can help bring the past to life
through interaction with the present. However, they call attention to a key issue with
many current AR approaches that are ocularcentric and exclude or underutilize
sound. Graham et al. (2019) argue that the existing visual focused AR approaches
create a break in presence that cancels out an immersion AR offers. Therefore, in
order to prevent a break in immersion, focusing on hearing the past is more effective
and affective for immersion than a singular focus on sight. Their work illustrates
how past worlds can often be better heard than seen, but unfortunately sound and
hearing are underexplored in comparison to sight and seeing. While the introduction
of past sounds into the present produces an anachronistic space that could poten-
tially disrupt an immersive experience, at the same time the use of these sounds in
AR prompts more in-depth cognitive examination by the person experiencing
the sounds.
332 G. Goodwin and N. Lercari

Historical sounds evoke emotional response in people that alter their understand-
ing and memory of past events. Sound plays a major role in how memories are
recollected and how they can potentially be altered through new experiences.
Graham et al. (2019) demonstrate the importance of paying attention to sound in the
present as much as the past. In order to truly understand the experience of sound in
the past, we have to consider how people in the present experience those same
sounds. This will require additional research that challenges vision as the primary
sense in our research and reconstructions of the past. The three projects listed below
demonstrate the importance of going beyond vision as our primary sense in recon-
structions using immersive virtual reality.
The MayaCityBuilder project uses an immersive VR headset to incorporate
vision with sound to facilitate an embodied experience in order to examine potential
locations of ritual performance, and determine the placement of participants in these
events (Goodwin & Richards-Rissetto, 2020). GIS and 3D technology were utilized
to measure sound propagation and reverberation the urban core of ancient Copán as
a case study with the goal of creating a synesthetic experience in ancient Maya cit-
ies. The Ancient Maya culture and architecture provide an excellent opportunity to
investigate the potential of GIS and VR modeling to better understand of the built
environment in producing multi-sensory experiences (Houston et al., 2006).
This case study from Copan illustrates the powerful role digital technologies can
play in understanding Classic Maya views of the body, sensations, and experiences.
While the exact experiences of the ancient Maya are impossible to replicate, we can
investigate the variables that affected their sensory experience to begin to move
forward in our phenomenological understanding of the past. These variables are
evident in places, architecture, and material culture of the ancient Maya that archae-
ologists’ study. By understanding these variables the reconstructions archaeologists
produce can be made even more affective and immersive.
One of the projects that is part of IDEA (Isabella d’Este Archive) is called the
Virtual Studiolo (Shemek et  al., 2018). This project produced an immersive VR
reconstruction of the many rooms that make up the Italian Reissuance- era Palazzo
Ducale of Mantua, which housed Isabella d’Este’s courtly collection of instruments,
antiquities, and artwork. Extensive cultural heritage is made accessible in an immer-
sive experience through museum or CAVE spaces Photogrammetry, 3D technology,
and digital animation are used to create an immersive VR experience by reuniting a
collection of artifacts that are dispersed across museums. The creators allowed users
to interact with the Virtual Studiolo in both analytical and creative ways by calling
attention to scholarly understanding of the studiolo, yet also allowing for interac-
tion, experimentation and other forms of engagement to create a meaningful learn-
ing experience that is a mix of research and game.
In addition to visual elements, acoustic elements were recreated according to the
historical record. Though they recognize their project is a hypothetical and engag-
ing remix, it alters and deviates from the original but in a way that promotes new
ways of understanding d’Este and the broader Renaissance culture she was a part of.
A 3D virtual reconstruction can be connected to datasets of documents and vice
versa. While it is not an exact reconstruction of the original, the immersive
Reconstructing Past Experience Using Virtual Reality 333

experience it offers enables one to test a variety of hypothesis’s about display and
curation during the Renaissance.
Another project demonstrates how researchers produced an immersive VR
reconstruction of Le Boullogne an eighteenth century French merchant ship (Barreau
et  al., 2015). In order to understand daily life and experience aboard the vessel,
Barreau et al. utilized historical documents, naval architecture plans, and archaeo-
logical data to produce a 1:1 scale 3D model of the ship. This model was then
employed within a VR simulation of a ship sailing on the ocean. Beyond the ani-
mated buoyancy of waves, there was also an emphasis on reconstructing a sonic
environment that mixed spatial audio such as birds flying by with a global sound-
scape of ocean and wind noises. Through this immersive visualization life on board
the vessel can be better understood by historians.
Static and strictly visual VR reconstructions should no longer be the end point
for archaeologists. Mixed reality allows reconstructions that can visualize the past
in a manner that is both immersive and interactive creating new experiences that
offer new ways to interpret and analyze data. Barreau et al. (2015) argue that immer-
sion within a 1:1 scale interactive environment enables better evaluation of the role
of material culture in past societies. They have produced a model and simulation
that enables the use of historical sources in a virtual reality environment. The archi-
tecture of the ship, and the spaces within it can be assessed by researchers own
movement and perception, therefore creating a more immersive expensive overall.

4 Future Directions

A full multi-sensory archaeological record is impossible. We are coming closer to

that ideal than ever before, but there is still a great deal more to be done. Researchers
need to acquire further knowledge of tools and technologies, sensory capture tech-
niques, and ways of providing necessary computing infrastructure to store and share
sensory digital objects (Eve, 2018). Standards and policies need to be developed for
sharing and production of multi-sensory information. Virtual Reality has the poten-
tial to produce powerful visualizations but in order to reconstruct past phenomenol-
ogy this method must go beyond visual experience. The examples in this paper have
demonstrated that immersive VR works most effectively when it integrates multiple
lines of sensory data that are not strictly visual. Immersive VR will be more engag-
ing and affective when it is a multi-modal experience rather than an experience of
just one sensory modality. It enables a means of engagement that manifests the
complexity, multidimensionality, and multi-sensorial nature of the material world.
The past is not meant to be merely seen or heard, but rather seen and heard (and felt,
etc.). An appropriate balance and integration between the various senses should be
the goal of future reconstructions.
One area where the potential of VR is especially evident is in the UC Merced
WAVE (Wide Area Visualization Environment) system, an immersive VR setup that
can be used to integrate available information from a variety of sources to produce
334 G. Goodwin and N. Lercari

new knowledge about cultural heritage and past phenomenology. The WAVE is
made up of 20 55″ OLED TVs forming a halfpipe (Nicola Lercari et  al., 2016),
which allows for immersive virtual simulations of “the 3D, topology, volume, tex-
ture, materials, and context of a monument or heritage site” which “fosters collab-
orative analysis and interpretation when used in a virtual reality platform” (Lercari
et al. p. 4). These powerful visualizations and virtual reality devices can be inte-
grated with analytical tools for spatial analysis. Future work will focus on integrat-
ing sound with immersive VR. The WAVE will be able integrate multiple datasets
into a singular immersive environment that is an ideal system for demonstration. 3D
imagery can be viewed without distortion from any point in the room (Knabb
et al., 2014).
Augmented reality systems enable a richer combination of real world and digital
elements than VR alone does. Virtual models can be merged together into create an
integrated experience that brings users away from the computer and almost directly
into the field. This means that a computational approach can be combined with a
phenomenological one of embodied experience in the field (Eve, 2012).
To conclude, an embodied reconstruction of past experience can be more than
just a visual or even an audio-visual experience. It can include multiple sensory
modalities that are more reflective of how people past and present engage with the
world around them. People do not experience the world solely through sight or hear-
ing, but rather through a multi-modal integration of all the senses. More of these
sensory modalities need to be considered and integrated when creating AR experi-
ences. Archaeologists must do more than just describe what they study, they must
also represent it. Yet these representations are primarily visual and/or verbal. In
order to enhance peoples’ understanding and engagement with the past, digital tools
and methods such as VR or AR are needed in order to represent it in a manner that
engages multiple senses. Using digital tools and methods we can extend our own
sensory capabilities, and develop an ability to understand the past through multi-­
modal and affective engagement with it.

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Anthropological Phenomenology
and the Eventive Ground

Christopher Stephan and C. Jason Throop

1 Introduction

This chapter theorizes the phenomenological potential of anthropology through an

examination of what we will call the “eventive ground” of ethnographic knowledge.
Though anthropologists and phenomenologists have reacted to one another’s work,
including the now famous early correspondence between Husserl and Levy Bruhl
(see Sato, 2014; Throop, 2018), it has only been over the past few decades that some
anthropologists began to distinguish a genre of a distinctively ‘phenomenological
anthropology’1 (Desjarlais & Throop, 2011; Katz & Csordas, 2003; Ram & Houston,
2015). Anthropologists have applied and extended phenomenological theory in sev-
eral respects. By attending to the cultural and social contexts—the conditions of
possibility—within which phenomena variously disclose themselves, anthropolo-
gists have significantly contributed to research in intersubjectivity and genetic phe-
nomenology. Likewise, anthropologists have frequently drawn from and contributed
to the phenomenology of perception, the senses, self-experience, embodiment,
emotion, affect, mood, politics, and ethics.
Yet beyond a mere extension or application of philosophical phenomenology,
anthropological phenomenology offers a reconfiguration. As an empirical field,
anthropological analyses are grounded by the particulars of singular events. Whether
drawn from naturalistic observation, interviews, or direct participation, the

1
 We use the terms “phenomenological anthropology” and “anthropological phenomenology”
interchangeably.

C. Stephan
Center for Subjectivity Research, University of Copenhagen, Copenhagen, Denmark
C. J. Throop (*)
Department of Anthropology, UCLA, Los Angeles, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2023 337

J. Yoshimi et al. (eds.), Horizons of Phenomenology, Contributions
to Phenomenology 122, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-26074-2_18
338 C. Stephan and C. J. Throop

phenomena anthropologists encounter and seek to understand are necessarily dis-

tinct not only to the moment of their unfolding, but also in the unique way each
event draws together and makes discernible its socio-historical context. In the
event—a touch, a turn in conversation, recapitulations of ritual, a silence—some-
thing flairs up, and a world (as well as a style of being in it) begins to become dis-
cernible (cf. Meacham, 2013; Romano, 2009). Something excessive is also disclosed
in such moments, however. Holding both together—variously shared conditions of
possibility and that which exceeds and potentially transforms such conditions—is a
call that the very best of phenomenological anthropological interventions heed.
Understanding a conditioned world of potentiality and possibility means proceed-
ing from the event and directing our thinking through it (see Mattingly, 2019; Zigon,
2018). If even in a moment of phenomenological reduction, as Husserl (2002)
argued, we never take leave of the phenomenal ground, it is important to consider
the contributions of the eventive ground to what anthropological phenomenology is
enabled to become.
In this paper, we take up the following questions: What is distinctive about the
event as grounds for anthropological understanding and phenomenological reflec-
tion? How do the socio-cultural particulars of ethnographic engagements positively
contribute to phenomenology? And what might philosophical phenomenologists
draw from the anthropological approach to phenomenological research?
In singling out the eventive-ness of anthropological phenomenology we are que-
rying a condition of possibility. Even as an event is disruptive in its excessiveness,
it is nonetheless always possible to abstract away from the event or laminate it with
concerns that have their origins elsewhere. We are thus self-consciously taking up
an aspirational stance. Anthropology is at its best, we maintain, when it holds close
to the event in the context of its efforts at description, analysis, and theorization. Our
objective is not to argue for what anthropological efforts at phenomenology always
accomplish. Rather, by reflecting on the relationship to events that phenomenologi-
cal anthropology must always entail, we aim to invoke what makes the anthropo-
logical approach to phenomenology distinctive as well as how it can be better at
being what it aspires to be.

2 Ethnographic Encounters

In “Being There”, the opening essay to his book examining representational tactics
in anthropological writing, Clifford Geertz (1988) introduces  as his motivating
problematic the uniqueness of the events which give rise to any fieldworker’s obser-
vations. He writes,
The highly situated nature of ethnographic description—this ethnographer, in this time, in
this place, with these informants, these commitments, and these experiences, a representa-
tive of a particular culture, a member of a certain class—gives to the bulk of what is said a
rather take-it-or-leave-it quality. [5]
Anthropological Phenomenology and the Eventive Ground 339

Geertz is directing the reader’s attention to the problem of ethnographic authority.

Why do we believe some anthropologists more than others? All things being equal,
Geertz suggests, the difference comes down to rhetoric:
The ability of anthropologists to get us to take what they say seriously has less to do with
either a factual look or an air of conceptual elegance than it has with their capacity to con-
vince us that what they say is a result of their having actually penetrated (or, if you prefer,
been penetrated by) another form of life, of having, one way or another, truly ‘been
there.’ [4–5]

“And that,” he concludes, “persuading us that this offstage miracle has occurred, is
where the writing comes in.” His objective with this ceteris paribus supposition is
to motivate a serious inquiry into authorial voice in ethnographic writing. To be
sure, representations of “the field,” particularly through what Max Gluckman (1961)
termed “apt illustrations”, have important rhetorical functions. The most invariable
of these is, in fact, an implicit claim to authority through having experienced the
events firsthand (see Clifford, 1983).
But it might be worth reevaluating the arc of Geertz’ argument, because as cer-
tainly as it makes something visible from 30,000 feet up, it also never alights on the
ground of “being there” itself. In problematizing the work of representing ethno-
graphic findings, Geertz exposes, while passing over, a more fundamental tenet: that
ethnographic understanding is grounded in and saturated by events.
Anthropologists often use “apt illustrations” to initiate crucial shifts in perspec-
tive. Consider the phenomenological anthropologist Thomas Csordas’ description
of a moment of insight whilst studying chanting in traditional Navajo healing prac-
tices. Csordas (2008: 117) reports that when he learned from his Navajo research
participants that tape recording was an unacceptable substitute for in-person appren-
ticeship, his initial interpretation was, “in terms of the textuality of the songs and
their appropriate treatment. It was a violent taking out of context, an arrachement,
both tearing the song out of its setting within a moment of performance and wrest-
ing it away from its legitimate owner.” “Then”, he says,
the chanter told me something that changed my understanding of his objection. He said that
the way it used to be, and the way it should be, was for the person learning the songs to be
sitting close enough to the chanter to see his lips move as he sang. With the invocation of
moving lips, the song emanating from the bodily portal, power passing by force of breath
through the gap of the lips, the apprentice focusing on the action required to bring the chant
into intersubjective being, my understanding shifted ground from textuality to embodiment.
It careened from context and technological medium to lived spatiality and physical
proximity.

In Csordas’ narrative, we are given a transformative event: a moment of dialogue

between anthropologist and chanter potentiates a shift in thinking which carries on
in the production of an ethnographic account. Our concern with the role of events as
such in making possible and directing anthropological phenomenology requires that
we ask what has happened here.
Looking beyond the matter of representational choices, we want to bring atten-
tion to this role of events as a ground for phenomenological reflection. Preceding
and undergirding their theorizing and writing, anthropologists are first and foremost
340 C. Stephan and C. J. Throop

exposed to events and challenged to think with them (Jackson, 1995). If anthropol-
ogy is capable of making a distinctive contribution to phenomenology, it is only by
way of this proneness to events. It is thus, in other words, our attuned responsive-
ness to worldly happenings that potentiate possibilities for thinking that can be said
to define one of the major contributions of phenomenological anthropological
research. Drawing from the insights of David Bidney (1973), we can view such
efforts as part and parcel of a distinctively ethnographically grounded enactment of
the epoché; what one of us has termed in previous writings, “the ethnographic
epoché” (see Throop, 2010, 2012, 2018; see below). The ethnographic epoché dif-
fers from Husserl’s phenomenological rendering of the epoché—even in terms of its
later historically oriented articulations—precisely because of its participatory, situ-
ational, intersubjective, intercorporeal, and worldly underpinnings. Where the phe-
nomenological epoché is an active and willed achievement, the ethnographic epoché
is a passive and responsive one—one that arises from, and makes discernible, some
of our most deeply sedimented and taken-for-granted assumptions, orientations,
habits, and dispositions (Throop, 2018: 205).

3 Event as Ground

To begin, we need to distinguish our sense of an event from a mere empirical hap-
pening. Not to do so would, on the one hand, risk reversion to the mundane observa-
tion that the documentary function of cultural anthropology must always take
precedence over the interpretive enterprise. On the other, the reduction of events to
their empirical aspects risks depicting the anthropologist as a sovereign subject who
impassively surveys and compares data extracted from empirical happenings. What
such a view occludes is what makes an anthropologist capable of seeing something
as something (even of seeing something as data): her involvement in an event.2 To
counter this misleading sense of the event as something reducible to the empirical
givens, we introduce a reconceptualization of events that is developed in the phe-
nomenologist Claude Romano’s Event and World (2009 [1998]).
A central contribution of Event and World is an ontological and existential cri-
tique through which Romano asserts both the irreducibility of events to beings and
the primacy of events over structures of meaning. Romano distinguishes between
events understood as “innerworldly facts” and events understood in their proper,
“evential” sense. Innerworldly facts are events comprehended only in the sense of
empirical happenings. There is, necessarily, a subject to whom these events

2
 Throop (2018) offers the example of the anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowski’s (1935) realiza-
tion of the essential role of language in carrying out collective action when once, in the Trobriand
Islands, he witnessed his party’s canoes navigate a narrow passage in the darkness relying on
instructions shouted from the shore. This experience prompted for Malinowski a theorization of
speech as social action that predates and prefigures theories of force in philosophy and
linguistics.
Anthropological Phenomenology and the Eventive Ground 341

manifest, but this subject is essentially substitutable. With respect purely to the
empirical givens, it makes no difference from the standpoint of the innerworldly fact
who undergoes and who witnesses. When it comes to explicating events as facts
there is also a temporal orientation which comes into play. Understanding events
only as innerwordly facts means, for Romano (§4–6, passim), taking a backward
glance that attempts to demonstrate their causal determination from antecedent con-
ditions (cf. Schutz, 1967).
In contrast, for Romano, events in the proper “evential” sense are always revealed
as addressed. In their “evential” sense, events must be understood as instigations
which are “unsubstitutably” personal, opening horizons of possibility which it is up
to me to “appropriate.” The ur-event is our birth—an immemorial origin of our pos-
sibilities. As with our births, all events affect us prior to any personalness, assigna-
tion of meaning, or projection of possibility. As with innerworldly facts, there
is—with events in their proper “evential” sense—a temporal dimension.
Corresponding to the event’s anteceding all possibility and personalness there is, in
Romano’s terms, a “structural delay” in all understanding: we live from events,
responding to and formulating our projects and ourselves from them.3 Positioning
all experience as an undergoing of that which is always already underway, Romano
thus belongs to a lineage of phenomenologists (e.g. Levinas and Waldenfehls)
whose theoretical edifices place an ontological and epistemic priority on passivity
and responsiveness.4
The selfsame happening can be understood as an “innerworldly fact” and as an
“event” in the proper sense. (The example of a birth makes this evident.) Yet it is
only with respect to the addressed quality of events and a subject’s subsequent
transformation of possibilities (including altered understandings) that, for Romano,
the true phenomenality of events is manifested. The priority of events, and thus a
full appreciation of our relations to them go missing in the explanatory reduction of
events to object-like “innerworldly facts.” Romano’s distinction is articulated along
with a critique of the social sciences. Anthropology is his prime example. He illus-
trates his critique by way of a description of the interpersonal encounter. Interpreted
from an evential phenomenology, each of us has a singular history and,

3
 There are clear implications here for what temporal perspective could give us access to the subject
as undergoing and appropriating possibilities from events (in Romano’s terms, as “advenant” -- the
one who becomes herself by “advening” to what happens to her). While setting its own distinctive
course, Romano’s parsing bears a family resemblance to phenomenological critiques of a social
scientists’ liability to mischaracterize the meaning-structures operative in lived experience. Alfred
Schutz (1967), for instance, famously argued that the temporal vantage of the social scientist
observer tended to produce a mischaracterization goal-oriented action as an effect of prior causes
(so-called “because motives”) rather than an ever-adjusting directedness to end-states envisaged in
the future perfect (“in-order-to motives”).
4
 By “responsiveness” we have in mind an approach to phenomenology that runs through Husserl
(passive synthesis) to Merleau-Ponty (2012) to Levinas (1969) to Waldenfehls (2011) to Wentzer
(2014). Responsive phenomenology has also recently gained traction within phenomenological
anthropology in the work of Leistle (2016), Grøne (Grøne & Mattingly, 2018), and Mattingly
et al. (2018).
342 C. Stephan and C. J. Throop

correspondingly, a singular range of possibilities. The encounter with another opens

us to the world in light of the other’s singularizing way of meeting with and realiz-
ing her possibilities (ibid Sec. 17[b]). This does not mean that we grasp the other
fully. Rather, as Romano himself observes, it is only on the condition that another
radically exceeds me and my understanding that I can have the experience of com-
ing to know her better. This project is, in principle, infinite. To know her (however
well, however long) has altered my course in the world. It is precisely this sort of
dynamic which Romano cautions cannot be captured from the standpoint of inner-
worldy facts: “For a genuine encounter can never be reduced to its actualization as
a fact; it always happens in the secret and suspense of its latency such that we are
never contemporary with it and never realize it until later, ‘too late’ [...] when the
event of an encounter has already happened, has already reconfigured our possibili-
ties and the world” (123). In kind, the phenomenality of the event of an interper-
sonal encounter can never be grasped as the intersection of customary modes of
interaction, the participant’s social roles, personal biographies and motives, recol-
lected first impressions, et cetera.
We draw on Romano’s work not because we think it offers a definitive division
of phenomenological labor between anthropologists and philosophers, but because
it highlights a particular reading of anthropology—one sometimes espoused by
anthropologists themselves—that we believe papers over the generative role of the
event in anthropological thinking.
A simplified account of anthropological insight, for instance, might suggest that
events (extraordinary and mundane, alike) give way to anthropological understand-
ing only once subjected to rigorous methods which precede and configure them;
observable gristful happenings are put through the methodological mill, becoming
data which have natural patterns the anthropologist may interpret by applications
and innovations of theory (e.g. so-called “grounded theory”). To give another take,
one might argue that the ethnographer’s own subjectivity (including personal and
professional motives) intersects with the lives of others at variable angles of deter-
mination: any knowledge which results is the product of each actor’s positionality
and the entanglement of foregoing frames of reference.
Neither view can offer any meaningful place to events in Romano’s sense. To
different extents, both of the perspectives just depicted (in admittedly simplified
form) suggest a mute genericism to events. Yet, we also think it is important to point
out that neither view could characterize the phenomenality and compulsion adum-
brated by Geertz’ suggestion that “being there” involves a “offstage miracle” or
Csordas’ account of a sudden shift in perspective. Rather, events, both authors
imply, transform us.
It seems to us that anthropology is not as limited to “innerworldly facts” as
Romano’s characterization suggests. Consider, for instance, the resonance between
Romano’s description of the event of an interpersonal encounter and phenomeno-
logical anthropologist Michael Jackson’s description of the intersubjective condi-
tions of possibility for ethnography. As Jackson (2009) reminds us, this is quite
distinct from a mere abstract comparative view of facts and philosophies from
across the world. Rather, Jackson (2009: 241) writes,
Anthropological Phenomenology and the Eventive Ground 343

As an ethnographer, I question this view on the grounds that this distant ‘axis of world his-
tory’ gives us only worldviews to engage with, not lifeworlds in which to sojourn. If one is
to actually put oneself in the position of others it is never enough simply to think one’s
thoughts by way of theirs; one must, at all costs, access and experience directly the lives that
others live in their own place.

Anthropology’s proneness to events is first and foremost a matter of taking up an

intersubjective ground. This intersubjectivity/intercorporeality entails a kind of dis-
location of interest which is central to ethnography. Particularly in the context of
phenomenological anthropology, the objective is not first and foremost to query the
event’s meaning for ourselves, or to putatively distill the facts of culture and place,
still less to abstract to generalities which conceivably transcend the event. Rather,
the objective for a distinctively anthropological phenomenology, at least, when we
hold the event close in the way that we should, is to draw each of these threads in a
movement toward what’s happening within the world that a singular event initiates
and makes evident. The eventive ground of anthropology—those singular happen-
ings into which the ethnographer is incorporated and from and through which they
are opened to the possibility of new thinking—is thus generative of an ability to
think anew in the context of a dynamic and ever changing in-between.
It is precisely in this intersubjective and worldly in-between that what one of us
(Throop, 2012, 2018) has termed the “ethnographic epoché” can arise. Unlike
Husserl’s method of bracketing, the ethnographic epoché is unwilled; it is not a
project of the anthropologist. Rather, the modification that arises and the new hori-
zon of understanding which flairs up along with it is a product of an intersubjective
encounter in which one’s own mode of existence is at its limit and out of place. At
the pith, the ethnographic epoché occurs when we are “compelled by another to
interrupt our tendency to assimilate experience to the self-sameness of our being,
we thus become opened to possibilities for seeing other ways of being that are not,
and yet may never be, our own” (Throop, 2012: 282). This ethnographic epoché
(whether or not it is undergone with a phenomenological attitude) is an essential
moment in experiences of ethnographic insight that so often anchor our descriptions
of “being there.”
We caution against thinking of the ethnographic epoché as a moment of sudden
and total comprehension, however. With regard to “totality,” what opens in such
moments is instead a glimmer of potentiality that discloses an excessive otherwise
that is non-totalizable and indeterminate. In other words, we can always see another
aspect or side to what has happened. With regard to the experience of “suddenness,”
while such moments may seemingly disclose insight all at once, it is often the case
that there has been a gradual gathering attunement to constitutive conditions within
which events unfold. Yet, further, in many cases we anthropologists feel ourselves
persistently drawn toward something or struggling to understand something through
an event. Accordingly, we often return again and again to rethink events and to
reconsider what they have disclosed. In such instances, we are saturated by a sense
of temporality, of how long it takes to understand and how necessarily incomplete
and incremental such forms of understanding are. The temporality opened up by
events is a key dimension of the ethnographic epoché, and the variable durée of
344 C. Stephan and C. J. Throop

coming to see otherwise points up yet another reason why we should be careful not
to enframe events within the limits of our explanations of what happened.
Accordingly, even the most epiphanic moments are products of an ongoing passive
affection (Husserl, 2001) that is responsive to unfolding events that always in part
exceed our efforts to grasp them.
From the start, affection is integral to events becoming a part of the ethnographic
record; writing a field note, taking a photograph, or deploying any other method-
ological tool depends on a salience which is often inexplicable in the moment.
Indeed, the passivity through which the ethnographic ground operates is probably
most visible not in those moments where everything clicks, but through events that
exhibit a lasting pull on our attention (see Throop & Duranti, 2015) despite our
failure to form a satisfying or lasting grip on their meaning. It has a pull because it
is still open. This event that strikes us can become the ground of our thinking
because of the horizon of possibility it makes visible in its excess. As the anthro-
pologist Cheryl Mattingly (2019) has recently argued, ethnographic experiences
retain “perplexing particulars.” Mattingly goes on to show that while the function of
social theoretical concepts is to present a constant, the act of exemplifying those
concepts through phenomenological description reveals destabilizing particulars.
In time, the struggle to think with an event which has strongly affected us may
itself give rise to a search for an altered frame of reference. The anthropologist Paul
Stoller’s (2013) essay “Religion and the Truth of Being” highlights the place of
more opaque events in instigating thinking—even without resolution. Stoller
recounts how, years into his apprenticeship in Songhay sorcery, he hubristically
undertook a ritual suited only to a much more advanced practicant. Shortly after
bungling the entailed sacrifice, Stoller experienced a rapid succession of misfor-
tunes, culminating in intensive illness. In the wake of these calamities, a mentor in
sorcery convinced Stoller that the anthropologist must have been ensorcelled by an
enemy—an attack made possible by Stoller’s amateur attempt at the sacrificial rite.
Unable to explain nor dismiss his bodily ailments, the event outstripped Stoller’s
own socialized capacities to produce any answer; it could be only the response of
another, his mentor, that sufficed to lend sense to the event. Reflecting on the signifi-
cance of having his own capacity to provide answers exhausted, Stoller (2013:164)
offers that,
It is important to describe ritual practices and beliefs and compare and contrast them to [...]
refine our comprehension of the human condition. Anthropologies of religion, however, can
also document practices and events that challenge our fundamental being in the world,
practices and events that, despite our best efforts, cannot be reduced to a set of logically
coherent propositions that explain the here and now. Knowledge of these events can expand
our imaginative capacity and enable us to refine our thinking about and representation of
social worlds.

These extraordinary events reveal an inherent limitation in undertaking an account

of the human by backtracking from events to their putatively determinate structures.
Stoller’s suggestion that there is another mode in which anthropology may operate
is linked to the eventive nature of anthropological understanding. Happenings that
defy rational explanation open us to the possibility that we might “push ourselves
Anthropological Phenomenology and the Eventive Ground 345

beyond the analytical world… and move into the narrative worlds in which we can
explore the sinuous paths of experience that take us toward a truth of being” (166).
Here we feel Stoller is nudging us a step closer toward the productivity of that expo-
sure and the inherent excess that events present. Perhaps it’s the extraordinariness of
this experience that has moved Stoller to advocate for a more open, experiential
focus—but as phenomenology carefully maintains, all experience has this kind of
excessive dimensionality. As Jackson (2009: 236) observes,
To fully recognize the eventfulness of being is to discover that what emerges in the course
of any human interaction overflows, confounds and goes beyond the forms that initially
frame the interaction as well as the reflections and rationalizations that follow from it.

The indeterminacy of events means that, in thinking with them, we are often con-
fronted with the limitations of our conceptual grasp. Potentiating all ethnographic
accounts, singularizing their details, and extending beyond all methodological and
epistemological stances and debates, are the events of fieldwork themselves. Once
it is made a part of an anthropological account, what counts as a part of an event
certainly entails a constitutive recognition of some determinative difference (bound-
ary) between what was part of the event and what was not. But this delimitation is
subsequent to (and dependent upon) the sense of some coherence indissoluble from
the event itself—what it was that people were ‘wrapped up in’. It is thus fundamen-
tal to the ethnographic way into phenomenology that we work from within those
contours of involvement.

4 A Handshake (or Staying with Events)

In the sections above we emphasized the way ethnographic events function as a

ground in their eventing as otherwise than the anthropologist’s own way of being.
From the start, anthropologists are involved in the opening of a world by and with
others. Yet, in practice, the ethnographic “all at once” is never all and always. Events
are inexhaustible, pulling out attention again and again to consider and reconsider
what it is they have to tell us. To appreciate anthropology’s potential as a phenom-
enology, consideration must extend to the manner in which anthropological think-
ing doubles back on the contours of that involvement in order to explicate the
socio-cultural context the event draws into relation: proceeding to think events
from events.
By way of proceeding, we would like to introduce an ethnographic example that
will give readers a relatively backstage glimpse. There is not a terminal conclusion
to make about the ethnographic context from which we draw this example; we don’t
intend to systematically examine a particular aspect of culture, for instance. Instead,
as an illustration of the eventive condition of possibility for our thinking, we want
to demonstrate how events, even ones which retain a salient opacity, still form the
horizon of our inquiry—drawing the anthropologist’s phenomenological investiga-
tion beyond the questions she brings to the research.
346 C. Stephan and C. J. Throop

Several years ago, one of us (Christopher) conducted an ethnographic study of

converts to the “charismatic Christian” movement (see Stephan, 2017). A product of
the Pentecostal movement that emerged at the turn of the twentieth century, charis-
matic Christianity is named for the charisms (loosely, “spiritual gifts”) that form a
distinctive rhizome of theologies and bodily practices running throughout otherwise
discrete Christian denominations. The titular spiritual gifts include, among a vari-
able range of practices, forms of prophecy, faith healing, and speaking in tongues.
It was during this research that Debra was interviewed. Debra had joined a charis-
matic church about four years prior to the interview discussed here. Willing to share
what had initially drawn her to the congregation, she also reflected on how her
experience of the sacred had changed in the process of joining the group.
Throughout their interview, Debra spoke slowly and deliberately, choosing her
words with care to ensure that they captured as best as possible what she took to be
the essence of her practice, her experience, and her faith. What she spoke of was of
great importance to her and she seemed concerned throughout to ensure that she
was making herself properly understood. And yet, she had, it seemed, reason to
think that her experiences would not be readily grasped by others. Indeed, she made
it clear that her former self would not have been able to relate to what she was cur-
rently recounting. Several times during the early parts of the interview, Debra sug-
gests that despite her Christian upbringing, she had never experienced God so
“completely” before joining the charismatic movement. When she was asked what
had changed, Debra offered an account of the events leading up to her first charis-
matic experience. At times, as she narratively probed the contours of these signifi-
cant life events and searched for the right words, it appeared that the meanings of
Debra’s experiences were still unfolding. In the years since the interview, particular
moments where the indeterminacy of the encounter have stood out and continued to
raise questions and inspire repeated examination. So much so, that an account of
what exactly transpired in the unfolding interaction seemed difficult to pin down. It
is upon one of these segments, an 11-min stretch of the interview, that we focus our
attention below.
Four or five years before she joined her current church Debra had been in and out
of psychiatric hospitals for issues related to drug use. Following these episodes, she
moved in with her parents to convalesce. Throughout that time, she had recurring
nightmares and panic attacks. She recalls being awakened every night by the vis-
ceral feeling of being choked. Though she elides any specific details about the
“really dark stuff” appearing in her dreams, let alone to the waking horrors to which
they may have corresponded, she offered a detailed account of her solace. Waking
every night in terror she would retreat to her parents’ bedroom. To comfort her,
Debra’s father would eventually walk her back to her own room, sit at the side of her
bed, pray with her, and ask her to confess and to accept God’s forgiveness for any-
thing she was feeling guilt about. He would then tell her the story of Jesus until, at
last, she fell asleep. Sometimes they would have to do this multiple times a night.
This routine carried on for a year.
As Debra tells it, she started a new chapter in her life only with an extraordinary
event. Her brother had been drawn to charismatic Christian spirituality and traveled
to attend a number of special events at different churches. One weekend, when
Anthropological Phenomenology and the Eventive Ground 347

Debra was staying with him, he told her he wanted to share a video recording of one
of these special services. The video was playing a pastor’s prayer when Debra
recalls that she “suddenly” began feeling… Her words trail off. Laughing with her
face in her hands, she asks “How do you explain? How do you explain experiences?
That’s what you’re asking me to do!”
When she resumes her story, Debra reports having felt waves of something she
settles on describing as “heat” coming out of the TV and “filling up the room.” She
laughs again trying to recap the scene that unfolded: her brother, laying his hand on
her in prayer; the pastor in the television continuing her prayer as “stuff” radiated
out from the screen; her own reaction: praising God like she never had before. As
she felt these waves wash over her, a mental picture, a montage of episodes from her
life, like so many jumbled puzzle pieces, merged to form a clear gestalt-like image.
She felt in that moment such heights of happiness as she witnessed an emerging
coherence, depicting a subtle but pervasive sequence of divine interventions, gradu-
ally revealing a purpose behind her suffering. She says she began yelling, laughing
and crying all at once, repeatedly calling out “God, you are faithful!”
Since that time, she has repeatedly had experiences where God’s guiding hand
and His character were revealed in the patterns of her life. While it seemed like she
was just about to continue elaborating this point, she stopped her story suddenly to
ask, “Are you interested?” The question comes as a surprise to Christopher, who
assures her of his genuine curiosity. Following these assurances, however, Debra
doesn’t continue on this topic. Instead, there’s a brief silence.
Given that this was an event she was holding out as a turning point, it felt appro-
priate to ask whether she “felt like she understood what was happening at the time.”
Debra was rightfully concerned about her experiences being misconstrued, brushed
aside, or explained away. So, when asked about whether she “understood” what was
happening at the time, Debra went to remarkable lengths to be precise in her
response about the sense in which an experience such as hers could be understood.
We offer a transcription of the next few minutes of conversation that followed upon
Debra’s reflective pause.5

Shaking Hands (Transcription)

Chris: Did you? Did you feel like you understood what was happening at the
time? Or were you a little bit like, not sure what it is but I’m going to go
with it?
Debra: Yeah there’s an understanding that I have. But it’s an internal, like,
experiential understanding? Like. Hhh ((sigh)). Like? (9 sec)
Ok. (2.5 sec)

5
 Loosely following common transcription conventions, we punctuate based on the delivery of
utterances rather than grammatical rules. Italics mark emphatic intonation. Double parentheses
mark notes on significant extra-linguistic communication. Time in single parentheses denotes sig-
nificant pauses in speech. If you are unfamiliar with transcripts, try getting a feel for the dialogue
by reading a passage out loud, using the punctuation and pauses as a guide to pacing.
348 C. Stephan and C. J. Throop

When you read a book? Or you um. (1 sec)

How do I do this? Ok. (3.5 sec)
What kind of an understanding is it? (11 sec)
Ok. (6.5 sec)
Like. (2.5 sec)
Let’s say, ok. Let’s shake hands.
Chris: Ok.
((Shaking hands briefly))
Debra: We have an understanding. We shook hands. You understand the way
I understand. It’s an experiential understanding because it’s an action?
Chris: Right.
Debra: You know. But there’s a different kind of understanding that I think
that you’re asking me. Is like, a knowledge understanding. A book under-
standing. That’s a different type of, like, understanding ((gestures and tone
mark out word)).
Chris: hmm
Debra: You don’t always understand your experiences. And being able to
explain them. In words that. And that’s why this is hard. Is because I’m
trying to explain to you so that people can understand. But if you haven’t
experienced it you don’t know what that’s like. But once you’ve experi-
enced it, like the shaking of hands
Chris: mhmm
Debra: you have an understanding of it and you know what that’s like. You
have an understanding of that. Umm. You may not know what that’s going
to mean for you? What that’s going to look like? How that’s going to open
up. How it’s gonna change your life. You don’t know that. You don’t know
what it’s going to be like. Um. You don’t always know those kinds of
things. Like, wow. How is this experience? You know that it has changed
your life. You know that you’ve experienced something that you can never.
You’re never gonna forget that.
Chris: mhmm
Debra: But you don’t know how it’s gonna change the rest of your life. You
don’t have an understanding of that probably.
Chris: hmmm

Debra’s interview, especially the portions recounted here, stood out amongst the
stories and observations gathered over the course of the ethnographic project.
Emerging from the interview, Debra’s juxtaposition of “experiential” and “book”
knowledge was notable. Certainly one way to proceed in analyzing what happened
would be to examine this distinction as an idiom of charismatic experience. One
might, for instance, think of these categories as corresponding to cultural sensibili-
ties loosely parallel to the distinction between “knowing how” and “knowing that”
Anthropological Phenomenology and the Eventive Ground 349

(Ryle, 1945) or related psychological distinctions (various iterations of which can

be traced back at least as far as the Arisototalian dichotomy of techne and episteme).
Articulated as much through the haptics and hexis of the handshake as through her
words, Debra seemed to offer an idiom through which to exhibit the prioritization
of cultural modalities of embodiment over theological categories evidenced through-
out much of charismatic Christian practice (see Csordas, 1994). Such a project,
demonstrating how epistemic styles complement cultural ontologies, would con-
tribute to a long-running current in anthropology (e.g. Csordas, 1994, 2002; Goulet,
1998; Luhrmann, 2012).
Even in this first impression, we can see a pattern of the anthropologist’s affec-
tion by events: the emergence of a theme for thinking that at once challenges the
ethnographer’s assumptions—on display, for instance, in what retroactively appears
as an equivocal question—and draws around itself a host of prior experiences which
the ethnographer may now see in a different light. Nevertheless, despite exemplify-
ing several of the most distinguishing traits of charismatic Christian ecstasy, the
encounter has yet to yield a straightforward explanation. That is, this ethnographic
scene has always appeared as much more, even perplexingly more, than an apt illus-
tration of a cultural phenomenon. Debra tells her story as a response to a question
about what instigated a shift in the style of her religious experience—she cannot
speak to the transformation without recounting the event, even though it is difficult
to do so. Rather than merely seeking to abstract from and elaborate the culturally
generalizable significance of her distinction, we might also ask how the salient par-
ticulars of an ethnographically motivated encounter with Debra impacted her dis-
tinction between “book” and “experiential” knowledge to clarify what is going on
when she deploys this dichotomy in the course of narrating a transformational pro-
cess in her life. How does this show forth in the event of the unfolding ethnographic
scene, such that the distinction could subsequently appear as a vital theme for fur-
ther thought? To answer this question, we must return our attention to the eventive
ground of the interview.
Even before Christopher’s question concerning what she understood at the time
of her supernatural encounter, Debra wrestles with the ineffability of her experi-
ence. All through the narrative she hesitates in a search for words. When she settles
on one, she sometimes marks it with a questioning intonation. (It’s not exactly
“heat” that comes out of the television in waves but “heat?”) Her laughter, too,
draws attention to the exasperation she feels at subjecting this lived experience to
language. “How do you explain experiences?” she asks as she laughs, “That’s what
you’re asking me to do!” When she is asked to qualify her understanding of the
event at the time of its occurrence, her caesura lengthen dramatically—as long as 9
and 11 s (for those not accustomed to working with interview data we recommend
setting a timer for 11 s to experience firsthand how long such a pause can be, espe-
cially in the midst of an unfolding turn of talk).
Debra’s long silences make this inchoateness intersubjectively felt. Linked
together by false starts and moments where she openly expresses her struggle even
to begin to describe her “understanding,” the pauses generate suspense. By conver-
sational standards, these lapses are incredibly long. There is nothing to do but await
350 C. Stephan and C. J. Throop

her words. The search for words speaks to Debra’s own grappling with excess and
is thus disclosive of the real-time unfolding of her struggle to think through and
articulate her experience. The lived duration of such pauses also reveals something
of what the anthropologist must undergo with her. The pauses turn listening into
waiting—drawing out the tempo of their interactions long enough for the anthro-
pologist to consciously speculate (sometimes multiple times) as to what she might
be trying to express. Each utterance, when it arrives, comes as an explicit reminder
that such speculative flights are inadequate to the task of understanding her. Every
such pause eludes a clear determination and thus calls for a return to focus again
upon the excessiveness of another’s experience. Returning to the video recording to
transcribe and analyze the conversation, we again watch and feel her struggling to
put words to her experience. As Debra gropes for language, we witness the incho-
ateness she finally finds a means (partly non-verbal) to express.
The intercorporeality of the handshake, each reaching out for and taking hold of
the other’s hand in a reciprocal gesture, instigates a shift from explanation to dem-
onstration, from a telling to a showing. Acting together seeks to anchor a mutuality
of experience. “We have an understanding. We shook hands. You understand the
way I understand,” she says. The necessity of analogizing from bodily experience,
however, also underscores the ineffability of Debra’s supernatural encounter. The
reversion to touch thus works contrapuntally: reinforcing the mutuality of the inter-
locutors’ bodily rootedness in the world while underscoring the distance between
Debra’s experience and the two interlocutors’ rudimentary common ground. The
anthropologist would have to start from the primal certainty of the body (such as it
is) just like she had. The handshake also entails a palpable alterity, evoking at once
the intimacy and otherness of Debra’s experience. To stake their mutual understand-
ing on the intercorporeality of touch is, in this sense, to reject equating her experi-
ence to whatever might already be familiar.
For Debra, then, the revelatory event she manages to describe so vividly is rid-
dled with opacities. And yet it is she who directs her story through this event, though
she struggles to formulate a satisfying description even before she is asked to qual-
ify her understanding. She cannot ignore this event. The silences, exasperation, and
handshake each punctuate and make palpable the hold of her spiritual experience,
even as they are themselves manifested in a new encounter with the anthropologist.
It was from these extraordinary manifestations that the event of the interview kept
Christopher’s encounter with Debra from ever becoming a simple example, a token
of a type of charismatic experience. Her caesura, the handshake, and the notion of
“experiential understanding” that emerge from it, are not simply the extension of an
idiom that draws attention to an aspect of charismatic embodiment. They are part
and parcel of a transformational process; a process that also reveals something of
her distinctive way of being in, and responding to, the world.
As we follow Debra’s distinctions we should consider that the ultimate signifi-
cance of the event may be uncovered not through an appeal to explanatory factors
or categories of experience but through the new configuration of world and possibil-
ity brought into being by her ecstatic experience. Debra doesn’t offer a final conclu-
sion. She insists on the evolving meaning of her experiences and her faith. The
Anthropological Phenomenology and the Eventive Ground 351

distinctions she draws (e.g. between book understanding and experiential under-
standing) are aimed toward this end—not resisting a determinative understanding so
much, perhaps, as trying to evoke the feeling of having undergone an event (or
series of events) which has instigated a shift and still exhibits a bearing on her life.
The kind of understanding she has isn’t like a definition or citable fact; it doesn’t
exhibit the closure of book knowledge. Instead, she emphasizes these events as an
origin. The ritual of the handshake evokes a beginning as much as it demonstrates
the bodily conditions of possibility for understanding. “Since that time,” she
remarks, “God has continued to reveal himself to me in lots of ways.” Again, stress-
ing the transformative dimension, she muses that, “You may not know what that’s
going to mean for you? What that’s going to look like? How that’s going to open up.
How it’s gonna change your life.” Debra’s “experiential understanding” is, in this
sense, also an adventure.
Debra’s long stretches of silence, false starts, expressions of exasperation, and,
finally, inspiration when she seizes upon a modality of experience through which to
express the ineffable are all relived in a transposed modality each time the anthro-
pologist returns to transcribe and analyze the interview. Returning from this ethno-
graphic encounter to it (now in the form of videographic images and sounds) the
interaction anchors the horizon from within which we as anthropologists must
think. It is inevitable, then, that we are re-immersed in the daunting density of sen-
sations, acts, images, and people Debra’s story holds in relation. In that respect,
Debra’s own terms render dissonant any effort to encapsulate her epiphany as a
mere exemplar or product of beliefs, practices, and psychological processes at play
in charismatic communities. When a new aspect of the unfolding scene catches our
eye we are again confronted with the richness of the original encounter and chal-
lenged to think again. These alternating ways of thinking from the encounter may
unfold along uneven timelines, some meanings appearing suddenly and others dis-
closed slowly over numerous returns to the video inscribed and now transcribed
scene. As these moments sediment, an expanding sense of the eventive ground can
simultaneously disclose social conditions or cultural subjectivities, and singulariz-
ing biographies, while evincing excesses which elude our present meaning. In
Debra’s case, we can learn something about what mystical experience entails from
a charismatic Christian standpoint and something of her unique style of being a
charismatic Christian in light of her history and self-experience, all without ever
exhausting the event. This is not simply an argument for anthropologists, at least
insofar as they aim to make phenomenological analyses, to consequently aim for
multivocality. A surfeit of themes and details are not the event as such. Instead, what
we hope to show in this analysis are the ways to stretch to imagine how anthropo-
logical phenomenology can conduct its thinking and writing in ways that invoke
their eventive grounds. We’re bound to—caught up in and directed toward—specific
events and the horizons those events make visible. The eventive ground of anthro-
pology thus functions in a way that is quite distinct from (while maintaining a fam-
ily resemblance to) the phenomenological methods at the disposal of our
philosophical counterparts.
352 C. Stephan and C. J. Throop

5 Writing from and Towards the Event

The eventiveness of phenomenological anthropology gives us a different perspec-

tive from which to think about the relationship between the anthropological and
philosophical traditions. Classical phenomenology was notoriously skeptical of
anthropology as a regional science. Partly, this skepticism stemmed from Husserl’s
rejection of empiricism. Husserl himself seems to have softened his view toward
anthropology late in his career—coming to believe that facts about another way of
being could help enrich phenomenological probes into issues of generativity and the
lifeworld (see Throop, 2018). Merleau-Ponty’s relationship with Claude Levi-­
Strauss’s thinking is the most notable of all such exceptions—suggesting, even, a
new model (e.g. Merleau-Ponty’s concept of the “Lateral Universal”) (see Sato,
2014). Nevertheless, some skepticism seems to remain.6 The most topical example
is Claude Romano’s claims in Event and World that anthropology misses the event
as such, and merely probes for explanatory mechanisms that treat the event as if an
object, reducible to the empirical givens. Our modest rebuttal has been that the way
phenomenologically-inclined anthropologists regard events as a ground for thinking
suggests a different, more “evential” sensibility. In concluding, we offer brief
remarks on the promise of anthropological philosophy.
We have described a perspective from which to rethink the importance of “being
there” in ethnographic research. Even outside phenomenological applications,
anthropology is generated through events. It is a lived experience of singularizing
events that grounds their meaning even when the eventness of their showing is
absent from description. What these instances show is that anthropology—includ-
ing phenomenological anthropology—does not always succeed in holding those
events close. Even these lapses can be useful, but they don’t make the most of or
hold truest to the events that make them possible. The events in which ethnogra-
phers are enfolded will always give more than we can speak to. This excess is clearly
evident even from the snippet of ethnographic description and transcript we have
shared. It is worth noting that this exposure to excess is always operative in the
genre of ethnographic writing: we expose, to some extent, the event that we’re treat-
ing as our “data.” Readers always get something we didn’t intend to foreground or
had even seen within the data presented. It is entailed in this glimpse of excess, it
seems, that everyone has their take. Sometimes these are useful. Sometimes they
involve a lot of fantasy. Either way, we are exposed through others’ own responses
to the eventive horizons of what we have treated as data. We are confronted with the
excess. The events that we’re mostly likely to write about are those that exhibit and
“pull” on our attention. We continue to live from these events, and to think in return

6
 For their own part, anthropologists have often expressed skepticism about the universalizability
of philosophy—a reception that stems, in part, from anthropology’s natal criticism of armchair
theory. In the context of a volume devoted to the place of philosophical theory in anthropology, we
have articulated our own rebuttal to reactionary rejections of philosophy and our own way of
approaching a partnership (Throop & Stephan, 2023).
Anthropological Phenomenology and the Eventive Ground 353

to them. Inevitably only a fragment of this eventive ground can find its way into our
writing.
In this respect, philosophical phenomenology, historically, has gotten anthropol-
ogy wrong—at least, it has often been wrong about anthropology’s possibilities
(and, in so doing, overlooked its eventive conditions of possibility). The best anthro-
pology holds the event close in its analysis—even while it cannot gather the event
up in any totalizing way. The worst makes believe that what has been gathered is
captured without remainder. Our point is not just to claim that anthropology is
inherently concerned with making events manifest in their eventness, but to inquire
into why it is able to do so. It’s not because of anthropological methods and theo-
ries; it’s not inherent to anthropology that events show through: it is instead because
the events themselves make anthropology possible. As we have articulated else-
where (Throop and Stephan, 2023): philosophy can help return us to the open hori-
zon of the event.7 In doing so, phenomenology can also help anthropology to break
out from its recurring impulse to present a totalizing account of events. At the same
time, what anthropological method inevitably does is expose phenomenological
methods and concepts to the eventive ground of ethnography. And it is owing to this
ever-present eventive ground of potentiality that we submit that anthropology’s rela-
tionship to phenomenological philosophy should neither simply be that of offering
up potentially mind-expanding curiosities about the world outside of Western aca-
demia, nor that we should be aiming to replicate the project of phenomenological
philosophy (of which Romano’s critique is a part). Rather, anthropology’s genuine
responsivity to singular events is one of an in-between-ness, made possible in the
first instance by the intersubjective space opened by the events of fieldwork, and
further realized by the anthropological phenomenologist’s return and fidelity to the
event in analysis and writing: It unfolded at this time, this place, with these fellow
beings; here, now, and together we are singularly and asymmetrically situated—and
it will never be in the same way again.
The position we stake out here is an admittedly aspirational one. Yet it seeks to
show what a phenomenological anthropology is capable of being, based on the
eventness that makes it possible in the first place. Anthropology, so long as it holds
the event close, cannot just be an accumulation of comparative information about
lives elsewhere. It has to tap into something different—a unique ground from which
to think. We would have nothing to say (that philosophers could not say and say
better) if it were not for this relationship to the events of fieldwork. By the same
token, phenomenology could not reach us and inspire if we were not already attuned
to events. Phenomenological anthropology offers an in-between which aims to
think phenomenologically from an eventive ground that always exceeds and trans-
forms the grasp of the familiar.

7
 There’s a natural partnership here, in our minds: the singular ethnographic event has an open
horizon, but so does the phenomenological method.
354 C. Stephan and C. J. Throop

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