Abstract
The everyday experience of someone, or something, getting in one’s face reveals a depth that is the difference between a world that is intrusive and a world that is respectful. This depth, I argue, should be conceived, not in feet and inches, but in terms of violation and honor. I explore three factors that contribute to this depth’s emergence. First, I examine our body’s capacity, at the level of sense experience, for giving the world a figure/ground structure; this structure insures that most of the world we are in constant contact with, nonetheless, keeps its distance as background. I demonstrate the importance of this figure/ground structure to the depth of our world by considering the experience of people with autism; for those with autism, this structure seems to be, if not entirely missing, at least substantially less robust than our own. Next, I examine our body’s ability, at the level of more personal experience, to handle the world; our handling of the world, which rests on the acquisition of specific skills, transforms things that could easily assault us into the usually motionless objects we tend to take for granted. I demonstrate the importance of these skills to the depth of our world by considering the experience of Gregg Mozgalla; until recently, Mozgalla, who has cerebral palsy, could only “lurch,” rather than walk, through the world. Finally, I draw on the work of the artist Mierle Ukeles to examine the maintenance work that other people, at a broader social level, perform; other’s maintenance work keeps in good condition a world that, by falling into bad condition, could easily intrude on us.
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Notes
Though we usually use this expression in reference to people, it also seems appropriate to use it in reference to objects; particularly in the case of objects, however, it might very well be other parts of our body besides our faces that the world “gets in”.
I will discuss this depth primarily as a spatial phenomenon; yet it also has, I would argue, a temporal dimension. A meeting with an unhappy colleague a few days from now may feel so close as to be stifling while getting lunch with my friend in an hour may barely weigh on me. For a discussion of Merleau-Ponty's own conception of the relation between time and depth, see Mazis (2010).
For a discussion of Merleau-Ponty's own analyses of depth, both in the Phenomenology of Perception and in his later writings, see Steinbock (1987).
Insights like this one form the basis for Gestalt psychology. See, for example, Köhler (1940).
For further discussion of the implications of the figure/ground structure for our understanding of perception, see Bredlau (2007).
See for example, Merleau-Ponty (1967: 254): "My personal existence must be the resumption of a prepersonal tradition".
People who, having been deaf, receive cochlear ear implants, report similar experiences. After some time, though, their aural experience often comes to have a quite normal figure/ground structure. See Weisberg (2002).
Donna Williams (1993), who is also autistic, describes touch in the following way: "There was something overwhelming about giving into physical touch. It was the threat of losing all sense of separateness between myself and the other person. Like being eaten up, or drowned by a tidal wave, fear of touch was the same as fear of death" (130).
Others, Grandin writes, "…have problems with visual tuneouts and whiteouts, where vision completely shuts down" (1995: 73).
Grandin compares autistic people with prey species, like cattle, who are constantly on the watch for predators; see Grandin (1995: 142–150).
See also Grandin (1995: 88–89 and 92–95).
The difficulty that many of those with autism have in engaging in even simple activities shows, I would argue, how important the capacity for giving the world a figure/ground structure is for moving beyond sense experience, where our contact with the world is largely initiated by the world, to more personal experiences, where our contact with the world is largely initiated by us. Someone who is assaulted by the touch of her own clothing will likely find it difficult to read a book, cook a meal, or even take a walk. It is only because we can command the world's respect at the level of sense experience that we are able to a progress to a level at which contact with the world takes place more on our own terms.
For a more thorough discussion of how the development of new ways of moving inaugurates new relations with the world, see Morris (2004) on the infant learning to walk.
Though I have focused on our handling of objects, our bodies also possess many skills for handling other people. These interpersonal skills are bodily, yet they handle the world through language or gestures rather than through physical contact. Being able to speak the language of the people around us, for example, is extremely important to our experience of a respectful world. Nonetheless, not all of the skills we develop may contribute to our handling of the world; indeed, some skills may actually impede our handling of the world. See for example, Russon (2003) on how the skills we develop as children, for example, for earning the respect of our family members may be quite unsuccessful at garnering the respect of the new people we encounter as adults.
In Section 16 of Being and Time, for example, Heidegger contrasts the conspicuousness, obtrusiveness, and obstinacy of what is present-at-hand with the inconspicuousness, unobtrusiveness and non-obstinacy of what is ready-at-hand.
As Ukeles acknowledges, "The exquisite articulation and refinement of expression in these works [works like Pollock's] are among the greatest accomplishments that have ever happened in the world. But there can also be an evil side to that model of freedom" (Finkelpearl 2000: 304).
I would like to thank an anonymous reviewer from Human Studies for suggesting these examples.
Guy Deutscher (2009) provides an example of how a person's culture, through its language, can affect her experience of space. A person whose culture uses egocentric coordinates, like ‘right’ and ‘left’, to give directions develops a sense of orientation that is easily disrupted in situations where she can no longer see recognizable landmarks. A person whose culture uses geographic coordinates, like ‘north’ and ‘south’ to give directions, however, develops a sense of orientation that remains intact even when she is, for example, blindfolded or in the dark.
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Bredlau, S.M. A Respectful World: Merleau-Ponty and the Experience of Depth. Hum Stud 33, 411–423 (2010). https://doi.org/10.1007/s10746-011-9173-1
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DOI: https://doi.org/10.1007/s10746-011-9173-1