Imagining: A Phenomenological Study / Edition 2

by Edward S. Casey

Overview

Imagining
A Phenomenological Study
Second Edition
Edward S. Casey

A classic firsthand account of the lived character of imaginative experience.

"This scrupulous, lucid study is destined to become a touchstone for all future writings on imagination." —Library Journal

"Casey's work is doubly valuable—for its major substantive contribution to our understanding of a significant mental activity, as well as for its exemplary presentation of the method of phenomenological analysis." —Contemporary Psychology

". . . an important addition to phenomenological philosophy and to the humanities generally." —Choice

". . . deliberately and consistently phenomenological, oriented throughout to the basically intentional character of experience and disciplined by the requirement of proceeding by way of concrete description. . . . [Imagining] is an exceptionally well-written work." —International Philosophical Quarterly

Drawing on his own experiences of imagining, Edward S. Casey describes the essential forms that imagination assumes in everyday life. In a detailed analysis of the fundamental features of all imaginative experience, Casey shows imagining to be eidetically distinct from perceiving and defines it as a radically autonomous act, involving a characteristic freedom of mind. A new preface places Imagining within the context of current issues in philosophy and psychology.

[use one Casey bio for both Imagining and Remembering]
Edward S. Casey is Professor of Philosophy at the State University of New York at Stony Brook. He is author of Getting Back into Place: Toward a Renewed Understanding of the Place-World (Indiana University Press) and The Fate of Place: A Philosophical History.

Studies in Continental Thought—John Sallis, general editor

Contents
Preface to the Second Edition
Introduction The Problematic Place of Imagination
Part One: Preliminary Portrait
Examples and First Approximations
Imagining as Intentional
Part Two Detailed Descriptions
Spontaneity and Controlledness
Self-Containedness and Self-Evidence
Indeterminacy and Pure Possibility
Part Three: Phenomenological Comparisons
Imagining and Perceiving: Continuities
Imagining and Perceiving: Discontinuities
Part Four: The Autonomy of Imagining
The Nature of Imaginative Autonomy
The Significance of Imaginative Autonomy

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780253214157
Publisher:	Indiana University Press
Publication date:	10/22/2000
Series:	Studies in Continental Thought
Edition description:	Second Edition
Pages:	272
Product dimensions:	6.12(w) x 9.25(h) x (d)
Lexile:	1370L (what's this?)
Age Range:	18 Years

Read an Excerpt

Imagining

A Phenomenological Study

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By Edward S. Casey

Indiana University Press

Copyright © 2000 Indiana University Press
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-253-21415-7

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CHAPTER 1

Examples and First Approximations

I

Phenomenological method as conceived by Husserl takes its beginning not from uninterpreted givens but from carefully selected examples. Phenomenologists might well agree with Wittgenstein's comment that "we now demonstrate a method, by examples." These examples do not have to stem from an exhaustive survey; there is no need to analyze every example that occurs or might occur within a given domain of experience. Typically, only the most promising are seized upon — those that exhibit an essence or essential structure with a maximum of evidential lucidity. For this reason considerable care must be taken in the preliminary choice of examples, since it is by their examination that we are to achieve eidetic insight. Just such an examination is the primary task of this chapter; but before undertaking this task let us consider further the nature and place of examples in the phenomenological enterprise.

Since eidetic insight is strictly nonempirical in character, phenomenologists treat examples neither as brute facts nor as factual illustrations of conceptual truths. Even if I decide to begin with an example drawn from the realm of fact, it is not initially chosen or subsequently scrutinized because or insofar as it is factual. Rather, by exercising the phenomenological reduction, I suspend its very factuality. In this way it ceases to be an independent phenomenon and becomes a phenomenon-for-me: i.e., an appearance whose actuality is held in abeyance and whose essential structure is revealed only in and to my conscious apprehension of it. As an integral part of a phenomenological inquiry, an example thus possesses an indeterminate status; it is neither sheer fact nor pure essence, but something distinct from and located between these two polar terms. Insofar as it is stressed that the example is concretely given in actual experience, it falls closer to the pole of factuality. Insofar as it is taken as an example of an essential structure, it draws nearer to the opposite pole of essence.

Given this view of examples, Husserl insists that it is a matter of indifference whether a given example stems from personal experience or is purely fictitious in origin. The latter possibility needs to be underlined; "fiction" in the broad sense of any nonreal product of imagination is a perfectly legitimate source of examples:

The eidos or pure essence can be exhibited by examples ... borrowed from the givens of experience, i.e., from perception, memory, etc., but also from the mere products of imagination. This is why, in order to grasp an essence in a definitive way, we may begin with appropriate empirical intuitions, but also with intuitions having no relation to [sensory] experience: non-positing intuitions which are 'merely imagined'.

Thus the phenomenologist is at liberty to draw examples either from actual experience or from the active use of imagination. But it should be noted that fictitious examples enjoy a certain advantage over those drawn from fact, for they do not have to undergo a preliminary reduction of factuality. Hence Husserl claims that "free imaginings possess a privileged position with regard to perceptions" and even that "fiction constitutes the vital element of phenomenology as of all eidetic sciences."

Phenomenological method takes objects, events, or acts — whether real or imagined — as exemplifying an essence or essential structure. In this way their basic constitution is made perspicuous, and examples become the specific vehicles or privileged media of eidetic insight. This insight does not derive from an act of pure intuition comparable to Platonic noesis, in which the mind is in immediate contact with the highest objects of reason. Insight into essences is a mediated affair. But it is not mediated by either of two traditionally conceived varieties of mediation: perception or symbolic forms. On the one hand, perceptual content as such does not form part of eidetic insight; if it enters at all, it enters as already reduced and thus in a neutralized form that is ontically equivalent to imagined content. On the other hand, symbolic forms (whether mythical, artistic, linguistic, etc.) provide only an indirect or "signitive" embodiment of essential insight. In the practice of phenomenology, it is the example itself that is the basic mediating factor; and an example per se is neither perceptual nor symbolic, but paradigmatic in character. As truly exemplary, it serves as an indispensable via media between the initial decision to search for the essence of a given phenomenon and the final attainment of insight into this essence. In Husserl's formula it is "on the basis" (auf Grund) of examples, and of examples alone, that the phenomenologist is able to attain eidetic insight.

Such preliminary considerations point to the need for initiating a phenomenology of imagination with the presentation and analysis of several examples of the act itself. These examples will be taken from my own experiences of imagining, and this will be done despite the merit of Husserl's admonitory remark:

Much can be drawn from examples furnished by history and, even more, by art and especially literature. Undoubtedly these [latter sources of examples] are fictitious; but the originality in the invention of forms, the richness of detail, the continuous development of motif raise them high above the creations of our own imaginations.

It may be admitted that examples taken from history and literature possess a complexity and subtlety often lacking in everyday, garden-variety acts of imagining. But, by the same token, it would be naive to regard such examples as unadulterated reports of their authors' imaginative experiences, for they have almost invariably undergone significant modification (e.g., for the sake of unity of plot or theme). What is needed in a scrupulous descriptive account of imagination is the reporting of examples in an unmodified form and precisely as they present themselves to the imaginer. The examples to be given below meet this demand insofar as they represent direct descriptions of several imaginative experiences — descriptions which were written down immediately after the experiences took place.

The fact that the following examples are drawn from firsthand experiences of imagining is thus both desirable and legitimate: desirable insofar as a more comprehensive description can be given of such experiences than of others' imaginative experiences; legitimate insofar as actual episodes of imagining are always first-person in character (there is no such thing as co-imagining in any strict sense). What Freud said in defending the analysis of his own dreams in The Interpretation of Dreams holds true in the present instance as well:

No doubt I shall be met by doubts of the trustworthiness of 'self-analyses' of this kind; and I shall be told that they leave the door open to arbitrary conclusions. In my judgment the situation is in fact more favorable in the case of self-observation than in that of [observing] other people.

II

The following three reports have been kept in the present tense in order to convey as fully as possible the vividness of the original experiences.

EXAMPLE #1

I am seated at a long library table. I close my eyes. Immediately a school of white — very white — dolphins appears. There are perhaps between five and ten of them, though they cannot be enumerated with precision. At first the dolphins just gambol in the water, shooting out of it in a playful fashion. I am mainly aware of the movements of their bodies, and only very indistinctly of their faces. Suddenly, in a second scene, which is neither strictly continuous nor yet discontinuous with the first, the dolphins approach a simple wooden boat, which is seen from above. This boat instantaneously and inexplicably changes into a larger vessel, perhaps a trawler; and then, just as unexpectedly, the larger craft is transformed into an enormous metal freighter. (All of this continues to be viewed from the same somewhat elevated point.) The dolphins then swim around and under the freighter's hull, and the scene is set for a third episode, in which the dolphins approach a desert island. They swim right up to its beach until they are practically out of the water. They disport themselves for some time near the beach, and then seem to head back out to sea. A final scene ensues, somewhat disconnected from the foregoing ones: the dolphins are playing among themselves. I can see them now in much greater detail than before; I notice their quizzical-clowning faces, their mocking smiles, their violent movements as they leap out of the water and into each others path. (Only in this last episode do I feel I am fairly close to the scene of action. This proximity contrasts with the relative remoteness of previous scenes, in which I was above and, as it seemed, to the "left" of the action.) The sequence then comes to an end; I have the distinct feeling that I could continue it if I wished, but that it has now run its course.

Remarks

(1) The whole sequence was soundless, even though normally there would have been sounds in the real-life equivalent of such a situation (e.g., dolphins' cries, their splashings in the water, etc.). The term "soundless" does not refer to strict silence but to an amorphous auditory state in which no specific sounds were distinguishable.

(2) I am surprised that I had such a definite sense of position and perspective in relation to the events witnessed. My vantage point seemed to remain the same throughout — high up and looking down — with the exception of the last scene. I was aware of myself as witnessing the unfolding drama from a particular vantage point. Yet I was not expressly conscious of myself as an external observer. Rather, I felt myself to be viewing a scene of which my very remoteness of position was an integral part.

(3) I am also surprised to find how detailed a description I am able to give of this fleeting sequence. As it was originally experienced, it seemed quite compressed and inconsequential — as if its description might merit no more than a couple of sentences.

(4) Also striking was the way in which the sequence divided itself spontaneously into four episodes or scenes; these scenes formed themselves into loosely knit units, and yet in each case as if around an invisible nucleus. An intrinsic but unknown ordering principle seemed to be at work throughout.

EXAMPLE #2

Still at the library table, I begin again with my eyes closed, but instead of letting a scene unfold of its own accord, I am conscious this time of a desire to imagine something auditory and not visual alone. I find myself trying to imagine what the cry of a flamingo might sound like (a cry with which I am not familiar). In the beginning I am able to summon up only a visual image of the bird; and indeed, throughout, I have difficulty dissociating the sight of the bird from the sound it makes. But very soon I am wholly absorbed in "hearing" — or, as we shall call it, "audializing" — an animal cry; it begins on a high shrill note and descends to a low warbling. Almost immediately this movement of sound takes on a rhythmic cadence, a sort of regular swooping downward followed by a quick return to a high note. The sound itself has a fairly definite sense of locus — emanating either from the visualized bird or (when I manage to audialize without visualizing) from a quite indeterminate region of audialized space ("sound-space," as we might call it). Yet, strangely enough, there is at the same time a quasi-visual sense of the sound's shape, a kind of linear arabesque that is traced out as the sound runs its characteristic course. I now find that I can easily repeat the sound and its characteristic movement on the basis of its strongly rhythmical character.

But this repetition does not continue for long, and I discover myself wanting to imagine a different sound, one more familiar. Immediately the roar of a walrus obtrudes itself, appearing without any special effort on my part. In this case I find I can imagine the sound without being at the same time tempted to entertain a visual image of a walrus. Also, I can add the walrus roar to the already imagined flamingo cry, producing a duet of sounds that are almost, but not completely, simultaneous. I note that the walrus sound is comparatively simple compared to the flamingo sound; it is a loud, single-toned, vibratory bass note. It does not assume the undulating rhythmic pattern of the flamingo cry, but seems to sustain itself without taking on any such pattern.

As an extension of the attempt to imagine the flamingo and walrus sounds together, I try next to imagine a chorus of diverse animal sounds that are heard all at once. This is difficult to do, and I find myself halting and being easily distracted from the task. The best I can achieve is a vague cacophony in which I feel myself to be invaded by numerous and contrasting animal cries. This cacophony continues so long as I do not try to focus too definitely on any single sound or group of sounds. But the animal chorus is hard to sustain, and I notice that there is no rhythm or basic repetition of sounds which would facilitate its continuation.

Finally, I try to imagine melodies from musical compositions, and this occurs in two phases, (a) I evoke a melody with which I am fairly familiar — a main theme from Stravinsky's Petrouchka, the ballet I have witnessed during the past week. This theme springs crisply to mind without any difficulty, and I repeat it to myself several times without there being any significant change in its form, (b) I try to imagine a theme from a symphony written by an entirely fictitious composer. Thus it is a question of a genuinely imaginary symphony. Audializing a theme from this fictive symphony is not easy at first. I pause and find myself again distracted by surrounding sounds in the reading room where I am seated. But suddenly a rather thin and insubstantial group of notes occurs. These notes do not seem to have any definite form or movement — not even a definite rhythm. They lead to nothing else, but seem simply to be suspended in audialized space. They fade away rapidly, although I find that they can be called back into mind with sufficient mental effort. Here the experience ends.

Remarks

(1) I find it difficult to audialize in any sustained fashion. In order to do so I seem to have to rely on one of two procedures: either introducing a rhythmic, repetitious element (as in the case of the flamingo cry) or borrowing from memory, which facilitates the continuing appearance of the audialized object or event (e.g., the Petrouchka theme). If neither of these procedures is available, as in the fictive symphony, it becomes difficult to maintain an imagined sound in mind for more than a brief moment; it is also more difficult to summon it back into existence. Therefore, rhythm, repetition, and memory aid not only in the first appearance of imagined sounds but also in their reappearance.

(2) The sequence as a whole differed in two ways from that given in the first example. First, instead of appearing in an unsolicited fashion, the imagined sounds were for the most part objects of volition. I no longer took a passive stance in which an imagined object or scene presented itself; instead, I set out expressly to imagine sounds of various sorts. In this example, therefore, we observe a number of instances of conscious self-inducement, in striking contrast with the nearly complete spontaneity of the previous example. Second, what was thus consciously induced was correspondingly poorer in content. Although there were several "parts" within the whole experience, they were not felt as intrinsically interesting episodes or scenes; rather, I had the sense of witnessing an unadorned and uninvolving presentation of isolated, nonsequential sounds or groups of sounds. There was no sense of active alliance between these focal objects of awareness and other items or aspects of the experience. The overall impression was one of emptiness and sterility — as contrasted with the dynamic, colorful dolphin scenes. But it should be pointed out that I, like many others, visualize much more readily than I audialize; my visual imagination is considerably more developed than my auditory imagination. Since this development is dependent, in part at least, upon contingent cultural factors, one cannot attribute all the differences between the two examples to inherent differences between visualizing and audializing powers. The inherent differences themselves appear to arise from different ways of presenting imagined objects — either by stressing space and the spatial setting or by emphasizing time and temporal modalities.

(Continues...)

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Table of Contents

Preface to the Second Edition

Introduction The Problematic Place of Imagination
Part One Preliminary Portrait
1. Examples and First Approximations
2. Imagining as Intentional
Part Two Detailed Descriptions
3. Spontaneity and Controlledness
4. Self-Containedness and Self Evidence
5. Indeterminacy and Pure Possibility
Part Three Phenomenological Comparisons
6. Imagining and Perceiving: Continuities
7. Imagining and Perceiving: Discontinuities
Part Four The Autonomy of Imagining
8. The Nature of Imaginative Autonomy
9. The Significance of Imaginative Autonomy

Editorial Reviews

. . . deliberately and consistently phenomenological, oriented throughout to the basically intentional character of experience and disciplines by the requirement of proceeding by way of concrate description. . . . an exceptionally well-written work.

International Philosophical Quarterly