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Contents

Preface vii

Acknowledgements viii

Notes on the Contributors ix

Abbreviations xii

Introduction: Sartre on the Body 1Katherine J. Morris

Part I Context and Clarification

1 The Body and the Book: Reading Being and Nothingness 25Joseph S. Catalano

2 Husserl, Sartre and Merleau-Ponty on Embodiment, Touch andthe ‘Double Sensation’ 41Dermot Moran

3 Sartre and the Lived Body: Negation, Non-PositionalSelf-Awareness and Hodological Space 67Adrian Mirvish

4 Sartre and Marcel on Embodiment: Re-evaluating Traditionaland Gynocentric Feminisms 84Constance L. Mui

Part II Critical Engagement

5 Representing Bodies 103Quassim Cassam

6 Resisting Sartrean Pain: Henry, Sartre and Biranism 120Michael Gillan Peckitt

7 Sartre and Death: Forgetting the Mortal Body in Being andNothingness 130Christina Howells

8 Sexual Paradigms 139Robert C. Solomon

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9 Some Patterns of Identification and Otherness 148Phyllis Sutton Morris

Part III Continuing the Conversation

10 The Phenomenology of Clumsiness 161Katherine J. Morris

11 Sartre and Fanon on Embodied Bad Faith 183Lewis R. Gordon

12 Sartre in the Company of Merleau-Ponty, Foucault and Duden 200Monika Langer

13 Body, Technique and Reflexivity: Sartre in SociologicalPerspective 215Nick Crossley

14 The Socially Shaped Body and the Critique of CorporealExperience 231Elizabeth A. Behnke

Index of Names 256

PROOF

1The Body and the Book: ReadingBeing and NothingnessJoseph S. Catalano

In Phenomenology of Perception, Merleau-Ponty reminds us of the words ofEdmund Husserl’s assistant, Eugen Fink, that phenomenology is wonder inthe face of the world and a corresponding return to things (PP xiii). Still,Husserl, Sartre and Merleau-Ponty wrote about phenomenology, and cer-tainly we come across their thoughts only in books. On one level I do notwant to make very much of this; that is, I do not claim that the philosophi-cal enterprise can be reduced to the act of writing. There is no need for me totake such a heavy burden upon myself since my point is a simple hermeneu-tical one, namely, that certain books have a unity that is more than the sumof their chapters.

If this observation is not obvious, it is because the purpose of writing phi-losophy, like the purpose of writing history, is usually to impart informationthat leads to a certain insight about reality, and, in this respect, the goalof the writing is clarity of expression. Writing with verve and color mayincrease our enjoyment, but the written word suited to philosophy seems tobe the simple expository one of the type that we find exemplified in goodencyclopedia articles.

Nevertheless, as Merleau-Ponty would say, neither reality nor history fallinto neat divisions. There is more than one corpus of philosophical writingsthat fit into neither a literary nor a usual expository genre. The Platonic dia-logues, the majority of the works of Nietzsche and of Kierkegaard, as wellas the dialectic in all its forms – each have a non-expository aspect to theirwritten form. To be more precise, as I am using the term ‘expository’, itsmain characteristic is that the author writes not only as an expert in a fieldbut from the perspective of an expert. He or she informs us rather than leadsus to see the matter for ourselves. This is not quite right either because ingood expository writing arguments and examples are given, and, from thatperspective, the writer does help us to grasp the point being discussed. Per-haps, it is best to formulate the difference between the usual philosophicalexpository writing as initiated by Aristotle and the kind that we get in thePlatonic dialogues negatively. There is a sense in which Plato keeps us in the

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dark about his own conclusions in a way that Aristotle does not. Further,this difference is not merely one of a writing technique; it is an aspect of thephilosophies themselves.

Still, one might object that a phenomenological procedure attempts todescribe phenomena without the constraints of a priori criteria, and tothis extent, it would seem appropriate that the act of writing not be itselfburdened with a particular methodology. On the other hand, one canlegitimately question whether this is possible; even the attitude that phe-nomenology should be written in a series of loosely connected descriptivetracts is itself a constraint on the act of writing, a constraint that, if fol-lowed through, would lead to the analytical requirement that philosophicalreflection never be on the whole of reality. Indeed, this restraint wouldrule out Merleau-Ponty’s Phenomenology of Perception, which has its owndistinctive unity.

Whether these introductory remarks are helpful or not, my point isthat Merleau-Ponty presents his thought in Phenomenology of Perceptiondifferently than does Sartre in Being and Nothingness. Compared to Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenological study, Sartre’s work keeps us in the dark aboutwhat is happening in the book until we reach the pivotal chapter on thebody. More importantly, in both cases the writing techniques are relatedto the philosophies being expounded. This difference in the ways thewriting is wedded to the philosophy explains to some extent why Merleau-Ponty’s work is generally not misread in the way that is true of Sartre’sbook. Indeed, any comparison between Sartre and Merleau-Ponty encoun-ters the embarrassment of the dual Sartrean canons, a fact that does notexist with Merleau-Ponty’s work. The situation is further confusing becausesome Sartreans tend to concede Being and Nothingness to Merleau-Ponty’scriticisms of it. I will attempt to show that this is a mistake, that it missesthe crucial role of the body in Sartre’s philosophy, and, consequently, thedialogue between the two thinkers is never placed on the proper level.

Specifically, there are two fundamentally diverse readings of Sartre’s majortext on ontology, one that reads it as espousing a quasi-Cartesianism thatis precariously close to what Merleau-Ponty in Phenomenology of Percep-tion identifies as the intellectualist view of the self and the world, andthe other which views Being and Nothingness basically as a dialogue withHeidegger’s Being and Time, a dialogue in which Sartre accepts the funda-mental Heideggerian critique of panoramic consciousness and all traditionaldualisms. I accept this second reading. It was my first reading of the text,and, as Merleau-Ponty says, we perhaps never get beyond our first reading.More importantly, even after twenty-five years of reflection, I think that it isthe right reading. Also, it gives us a richer Sartre and makes the subsequentworks themselves more interesting.1

In this expository essay, I want to first compare the way the writing inboth books reflects the philosophies expressed in them. Secondly, I will then

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proceed to a fuller discussion of the unique way the body functions both asa chapter in Sartre’s Being and Nothingness and in the philosophy expressedin this book.

Reading Phenomenology of Perception

Phenomenology of Perception is reader-friendly. It is almost impossible to mis-read the work. This does not mean that the work is easy or that it cannot beinterpreted differently. Rather, the discourse is direct in the sense that, as agood teacher, Merleau-Ponty lets us know immediately where he stands, andhe continues to inform us about the overall perspective on his philosophy.True, one must become acquainted with the way Merleau-Ponty continu-ally frames his own thoughts between positions that he considers extremes,without explicitly warning us in advance that the early views merely intro-duce his own thought. But one soon becomes accustomed to this casualdialectic, and, regardless of questions we might have about Merleau-Ponty’sthought, the work as a whole is so well written that it is almost impossibleto misread.

What prevents a major misunderstanding is the way each chapter is thewhole of the book, from one particular perspective. The book is fairly large,and if you do not finish the work, you will, of course, have an incompleteunderstanding of the book and of Merleau-Ponty’s thought, but not a grossmisinterpretation. This written methodology fits Merleau-Ponty’s philoso-phy, a philosophy which invites us to witness our connections within theworld and among other people, not as disinterested observers but as comingfrom a network of interrelations and reciprocities. In one sense it does notmatter where you begin the book, you will be brought back to the whole.

Of course, this is an oversimplification. The chapters of Merleau-Ponty’sphenomenology do unfold with an inner logic. For example, like Sartre,Merleau-Ponty explains why he introduces the formal discussion of the bodywith ‘psychological considerations’ (PP 63). Then, too, it seems to me thatthere is a gradual building to the last two chapters of part 2, ‘The Thingand the Natural World’ and ‘Other People and the Human World’. Also, bysaving the discussions of the cogito, temporality and freedom for the lastsection, Merleau-Ponty is not only reversing what he sees to be the Heideg-gerian and Sartrean orders of being and discussion, but he is indirectly tellingus what he thinks of the cogito, temporality and freedom, namely, that theyhave already been considered as aspects of the web of relations that is ourinvolvement in the world and among others.

Phenomenology of Perception is partly an attempt to answer Being and Noth-ingness, just as Sartre’s own work seems to be a reply to Heidegger’s Being andTime. That is, the encounter is not merely of a philosophy with a philosophybut with a book to a book. My reservation about the success of Merleau-Ponty’s work has nothing to do with my opinion about his philosophy.

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I will come to that. Rather, I am concerned with the inner dialogue withSartre. Whether Merleau-Ponty has misread Sartre is, on one level, irrele-vant for his own project. There is a sense in which every philosopher sinceAristotle simplifies his or her predecessors in order to make a point. To thedegree that the simplification gets to the heart of the earlier thought, we canhave no quarrel with the thinker. But Merleau-Ponty’s reading of Sartre is ofa different order.

One of the problems is that, except for the last chapter on freedom,Merleau-Ponty seldom mentions Being and Nothingness. His objectionsagainst the intellectualist position in which the perceptions of the worldbecome states of consciousness, as well as those against the scientific con-ception of the body as an object among other objects, and his argumentsopposed to an absolute consciousness that constitutes the world, do notexplicitly mention Sartre until we get to the last chapter, ‘Freedom’. Still,the earlier discussions must, indirectly at least, be against Sartre, or the lastchapter would have no roots. But this is the problem. Merleau-Ponty hasmade his case against Sartre before he formally discusses him, and by thetime we get to the last chapter on freedom ‘the chips are down’.

The relation between the two books is complex, and I am not preparedto deal with all the aspects. Nevertheless, it is clear that there is a funda-mental disagreement between the two thinkers, and at times Merleau-Pontytouches on this difference. The main difference between their philosophiesdoes indeed concern our constituting of the world, and, in a more generalway, it concerns the prime phenomenological issue of the advent of thehuman reality within being. But, since Merleau-Ponty insists on viewing theconstituting consciousness as some intellectual force, he misses Sartre’s basicpoint about the body’s constituting of the world. For example, to anticipatemy discussion, it is clear that Sartre holds to neither an intellectualist nor anempiricist view of sensation. Sensation is, for Sartre, primarily a mode of thebody’s being-in-the world, a mode that opens these doors into reality ratherthan others, for example, the door into color. By reducing this selectivity toan intellectualist position, Merleau-Ponty is able to dismiss it with the neatobjection that all constituting makes the object constituted lucid, and thusall depth, surdness and mystery of the world is removed. But if the relationof consciousness to the world is that of matter to matter, that is, the matterof an active and organic consciousness delineating its world, then Merleau-Ponty’s objections are not to the point, or, at least, they are not to the pointin the way he is making them.

Reading Being and Nothingness

Being and Nothingness is not reader-friendly. Sartre does not wish to misleadus, but he does require that we read the book as a whole, and that we fol-low his attempt to disclose how we pass through our body in our engaged

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activities. In this sense, the chapters cannot be separated from the whole.What distracts from the book’s overall rigorous unity is the mixture of stylis-tically striking language and abundant use of commonplace examples thatare relatively easy to read with a rigorous phenomenological procedure. Forexample, one could fill a dozen anthologies with articles dealing with theexamples of the waiter and flirt in the chapter on bad faith and on thenotion of bad faith itself, and I suspect that the majority would have lit-tle to do with the main thrust of Sartre’s argument, which is to show thatthe negation which distinguishes one thing from another arises from thelack of identity of the self with its selfhood as this is evident in our bad faithattitudes toward ourselves. That is, the chapter ‘Bad Faith’ is not a tract onbad faith as such, but a progression in a reflection that is, for the most part,of one piece.

The distinctive unity of Being and Nothingness, a unity that reveals theunique role of the body in Sartre’s book and in his thought, comes aboutboth through his use of language and the organization of his chapters. I willfirst briefly consider his use of language and then proceed to the organizationof the chapters. To repeat, in both instances, I am concerned not merelywith the structure of Sartre’s book but with the philosophy expressed in thesentences and chapters.

Unlike his monographs, his essays and his interviews, Sartre’s major philo-sophical writings, Being and Nothingness, Critique of Dialectical Reason and TheFamily Idiot, each distinctly unite writing with the philosophy expressed.Sartre’s language begins as a contextualism in Being and Nothingness, and itemerges as an explicit but very distinct nominalism in Critique of Dialecti-cal Reason that is more fully developed in The Family Idiot. I have discussedaspects of Sartre’s unique nominalism elsewhere, and here I will limit myselfto the contextualism of Being and Nothingness.2

Sartre’s contextualism arises from two methodological procedures. First,Sartre’s arguments and examples are directed only to the issue at hand. Anauthor will frequently adopt this procedure ad hoc. For example, a writermay say that a stronger proposition might be true, but, for the present pur-poses, the weaker one will make the point. Sartre’s argumentation, however,consistently and ruthlessly aims at establishing only the minimum that isneeded to make the particular point at hand. This method is in direct oppo-sition to Merleau-Ponty’s own writing and amounts to more than the claimthat one cannot write about everything at once.

Sartre’s writing in Being and Nothingness implies the gamble that the readerwill be extremely attentive to the issue being discussed and ‘bracket’ anyother issues until the proper place for its discussion. The result is that thechapters of Being and Nothingness do not function as the chapters of Phe-nomenology of Perception. For example, the description of questioning theworld, as given in the first chapter of the book, ‘On the Origin of Nega-tion’, seems not to arise from a body. If you do not finish the book, if you do

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not get to the chapter on the body, you can be misled, although, if you readcarefully, Sartre’s numerous examples would remind you that he is implicitlydiscussing the body.

Part of the result of using words in such a way that the main discussion islimited only to the issue at hand is that terms such as ‘for-itself’, ‘in-itself’,‘consciousness’, ‘objectivity’ and ‘alienation’ become contextual. None ofthese terms have a univocal meaning, although they do have contextualsimilarity. For example, there is no in-itself in the sense that we ever comeacross a pure in-itself that is not already modified by the for-itself. The in-itself is neither the Parmenidian One nor the Kantian thing-in-itself. Rather,in each instance, the in-itself points to the contribution of being to thing-hood and the for-itself to the contribution of the conscious organic body.But this formulation, as Sartre himself warns us, can be misleading. The for-itself does not contribute anything to thinghood; it merely delineates andhighlights this rather than that.

The world is human. We can see the very particular position of conscious-ness: being is everywhere, opposite me, around me; it weighs down onme, it besieges me, and I am perpetually referred from being to being;that table which is there is being and nothing more; that rock, that tree,that landscape – being and nothing else. I want to grasp this being and Ino longer find anything but myself.

(BN 218)

Thus, on the primary ontological level, the in-itself is the fact that the beingof phenomena is not reducible to the whatness of phenomena; for example,the being of yellow is not the whatness of yellow. Because of this, yellow willalways have a depth and a mystery that is not reducible to our perceptionof it. Still, the world would not be differentiated into colored things with-out sight. When Merleau-Ponty claims that he has escaped the dilemma ofthe for-itself and in-itself, the dilemma is largely invented, although in theconcluding remarks I will consider their divergent views on passivity.3

I interpret the anthropocentrism of Being and Nothingness to be the claimthat we have the world that we have because we have the body that we have.A star is a very human thing and consciousness is a very material thing.In Being and Nothingness, however, Sartre does not aim at preaching theseanthropocentric conclusions to us; his purpose is to lead us to recognizethe interdependence between consciousness and the world. This interdepen-dence reveals that the world exists independently of our concepts about it,but not independently of the advent of human consciousness within matter.This interdependence between bodily consciousness and the world is real,although it is not a reciprocal relation. Here we touch upon a real differencebetween the thought of Sartre and Merleau-Ponty, but I want to temporarilypostpone this discussion until the conclusion.

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The organization of the chapters also reflects the way Sartre’s book uniteswriting with phenomenological reflection. As a book, Being and Nothingnessmoves from the abstract to the concrete whole in such a way that the wholeis always present, even if it is not being examined. This methodology and useof written language keeps the background as it were bracketed until the gen-eral nature of the question and the questioner have been examined in theintroductory chapters. Thus in chapter 1 of part 1, ‘The Problem of Noth-ingness’, Sartre’s major point is to begin the destruction of a philosophy ofpresence by showing that the possibility of questioning things can arise onlyby an entity that is itself not a thing. To the extent that I ask, ‘Is it raining?’I pass through the very body that makes this question possible, and I amconscious only of the question and the possibility of its answer. The worldand the background of interpersonal relations exist, but the immediacy ofthe experience is just that of the concrete question and the possibility of ananswer.

Being and Nothingness is an attempt to rework the phenomenologicalmethod so that the act of writing becomes formally identified with the kindof reflection that reveals what is most basic to being and also what is firstknown. Sartre reverses the usual Aristotelian expository mode that leads us tounderstand the most basic issues from what is more easily understood. Sartrethus weds the philosophical method to the act of writing in such a way thatthe reader is led to make the philosophical ‘reduction’ and ‘destruction’ in apersonal way. In order not to interfere with the reflection itself, the reader isnot informed about what is happening until that place where methodologyand content naturally meet, that is, two-thirds into Being and Nothingness,where Sartre finally moves the human body out of the background and intothetic awareness, and we are asked to become explicitly conscious of the bod-ily nature of all knowledge and all consciousness. Sartre writes: ‘But what isimportant above all else, in ontology as elsewhere, is to observe strict orderin discussion’ (BN 218). And ‘it is most important to choose the order of ourbits of knowledge’ (BN 303). Finally, ‘If we wish to reflect on the nature ofthe body, it is necessary to establish an order of reflection which conformsto the order of being’ (BN 305).

This ordering of bits of knowledge is the written attempt to establish anorder of reflection that corresponds to the order of being; that is, it is a newuse of the phenomenological method that attempts to reveal the humanbody not as an object among other objects, but as the condition for know-ing natural kinds. The condition itself remains in the background; that is,although a question and stance about the world arise from our body, they donot arise from our body as known. In our engaged activities, we pass throughour bodies, and thus neither the body nor sensation appears until the worlditself is shown to be human and until we realize that all our questions aboutbeing are human ones.

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The body and the book

The general task of the language of Being and Nothingness is to gradu-ally reintroduce the lived horizon into thetic consciousness in such a waythat natural kinds and interpersonal relations emerge not as fixed by somepanoramic consciousness, but as related to the fact that reality is impreg-nated by organic consciousness. Since my purpose is both to examine theway the chapter on the body fits within Being and Nothingness as a wholeand to show how the arrangement of chapters reflects Sartre’s philosophy, itwill be useful to have the book’s general outline before us:

Introduction: The Pursuit of BeingPart One: The Problem of Nothingness

Chapter One: The Origin of NegationChapter Two: Bad Faith

Part Two: Being-for-ItselfChapter One: Immediate Structures of the For-ItselfChapter Two: TemporalityChapter Three: Transcendence

Part Three: Being-for-OthersChapter One: The Existence of OthersChapter Two: The BodyChapter Three: Concrete Relations with Others

Part Four: Having, Doing, BeingChapter One: Being and Doing: FreedomChapter Two: Doing and Having

Conclusion

If we look at this outline as giving a list of parts and chapters that could beread more or less independently and that are united by the loose structurethat is found in the expository writing which is evident in Merleau-Ponty’sown works, then it does seem that Sartre has little regard for the humanbody. But if we keep in mind Sartre’s overall methodology, which is to revealthe degree to which the world is human because of the advent of bod-ily consciousness within matter, it becomes clear why and how the bookpivots about the chapter on the body in part 3. In Sartre’s methodology,a direct, expository approach to the body would effectively mean that weexamine our body as an object. It would not help to claim, ‘Look, I want toconsider the lived body.’ If these are the first words that the phenomenolo-gist utters about the human body, then, for Sartre, he or she unknowinglyenters within the conceptual and linguistic framework that already acceptsthe body as an object.

Our body is first out in the world; it is in things having color, sound,textures, and as being here rather than there. Because of the depth of the

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body, things have depth. It is the body that establishes the condition for thepossibility of perception, and it is the body that gives depth to the horizon ofperception. Phenomenologically, we move from the body as it differentiatesmatter into a world to other people as bodies that in turn reveal our body tous as the lived center of relations. No doubt this is more anthropocentrismthan Merleau-Ponty would allow, for he would immediately remind us thatthe other is already in the world, and thus the center of relations is never anindividual. But the level of discussion is not the same. Merleau-Ponty’s basicconcerns are not those of Sartre, or at least the primacy of the concerns arenot the same.

Sartre’s ontology is primarily concerned with the way a world comes tobe through the human body, and the way each body is in its own way asolution to the problem of being. One human body, or as Sartre claims inThe Family Idiot, one organism, is enough to give us a world. True, a lonehuman organism would not give us the world as we know it conceptually.On this conceptual level we are indebted to others; for we know the worldand ourselves only by first interiorizing the way others see the world and us.Sartre does not deny this; nevertheless, in the early chapters he is concernedwith the basic differentiation of matter into things, and, on this level, evenone organic existence would organize a world about it, and it would do sowithout being aware of itself as a body, even though that is exactly what itis. That this is Sartre’s view is evident if we return to two of the previousquotations and fill in some of the earlier sentences:

Perhaps some may be surprised that we have treated the problem of know-ing without raising the question of the body and the senses or even oncereferring to it. It is not my purpose to misunderstand or to ignore therole of the body. But what is important above all else, in ontology as else-where, is to observe strict order in discussion. Now the body, whatevermay be its function, appears first as the known.

(BN 218; my italics)

And again:

The problem of the body and its relations with consciousness is oftenobscured by the fact that while the body is from the start posited as acertain thing having its own laws and capable of being defined from out-side, consciousness is then reached by the type of inner intuition whichis peculiar to it. . . . But these difficulties all stem from the fact that I try tounite my consciousness not with my body but with the body of others. . . . itis important to choose the order of our bits of knowledge.

(BN 303)

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From a phenomenological perspective, the human body as such is a lateappearance, and this claim is true even of the lived body. To repeat again,in our engaged activities we pass through our bodies. By using what hecalls ‘pure reflection’, the phenomenological task is to move the lived bodyout of the background into our philosophic awareness.4 Thus, once thebody has been separated from the world, the phenomenological task is todescribe how we proceed from a lived awareness of the body to a conceptualunderstanding of it.

We are thus led to see that the notion of body is not univocal; that isto say, there is no general notion of body that includes rocks and humanbodies. Nevertheless, only matter exists, for nothingness is not a being, butthe distinctive matter of the human body. The nothingness of the first partof Being and Nothingness is, in the second part, shown to be the self’s lack ofidentity with its selfhood. In the third and fourth parts, this lack of identityof the self with its selfhood is shown to fracture matter into a world, notby making the world out of some primordial goo, but by showing how thequalities of the world are just the ones they are because of matter’s relationto the body. Again, Sartre writes:

Far from the relation of the body to objects being a problem, we neverapprehend the body outside this relation. . . . A body is a body as this massof flesh which it is is defined by the table which the body looks at, thechair in which it sits, the pavement on which it walks, etc. . . . The body isthe totality of meaningful relations to the world.

(BN 344)

Merleau-Ponty would want these remarks to have been made earlier, and hewould no doubt wish to qualify them in two ways. First, he would insistthat the relation between the body and the world is more or less reciprocal,or at least more ambiguous, and he would also note that we cannot limitourselves to one body.5 ‘Thus, to sum up, the ambiguity of being in the worldis translated by that of the body, and this is understood through time.’ Forme the notion of ambiguity is empty unless it signifies that being somehowreaches to us without our questioning it. Unfortunately, Merleau-Ponty doesnot press the issue of ambiguity and that of our bond with being. ‘Thus werefute both intellectualism and empiricism by simply saying that the worldhas meaning’ (PP 177).6 The Sartrean question is: Does it have this meaning ofitself, and if so how did it acquire it? Can we have Aristotle’s nature withoutthe separated substances? Or are we to hold to a quasi-Hegelian union ofmind and matter?

Fundamentally, I think that Merleau-Ponty and Sartre are concerned intheir two early works with different problems, although at times their con-cerns do indeed meet.7 On his own level, Merleau-Ponty is almost withoutpeer. ‘The gesture does not make me think of anger, it is anger itself’ (PP 184).

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In general, however, unlike Merleau-Ponty and more like Heidegger, Sartreis primarily concerned with the ontological bond of the human consciousbody with the world. I understand Sartre to be holding to a kind of ‘world-making’ in which each existence is an existential ‘solution’ to the problemof being; for example, the choice of an active or passive response to theworld. ‘My ultimate and initial project – for these are but one – is, as weshall see, always the outline of a solution of the problem of being’ (BN 463).From the perspective of world-making Sartre can be understood to be ontol-ogizing Nelson Goodman’s and Hilary Putnam’s later claims about how ourlanguage makes our world.

World-making does put Sartre in opposition to Merleau-Ponty, but not inthe way Merleau-Ponty conceives it. Both the world-making and the differ-ence in Merleau-Ponty’s conception of it emerge if we turn to Sartre’s viewof sensation and to what he terms the various levels on which the bodycan exist.

Sartre claims that the usual approach to sensation and perception reversesthe proper ontological order. Sensation and perception are not first ways ofgetting to know about the world or the existence of others; rather, they arethat through which we are a being-in-the-world. The realization that ourconsciousness is in the form of a body with senses is simultaneously theawareness that our world and our presence in it are situational. For, while itis contingent that we be here rather than there, it is not contingent that wemust be either here or there. Reciprocally, while there is no necessity thatthis tree be approached from here rather than from there, it is necessary thatit be visible or touchable only from here or there.

On the other hand, the remarkable thing about our awareness of thingsis that we are not explicitly aware of our perception as arising from a per-spective. We are aware of the sunset, of looking out a window, of readingor running, and only upon reflection are we aware that we do all of thesethings from this angle or perspective rather than some other.

Therefore my body is a conscious structure of my consciousness. But pre-cisely because the body is the point of view on which there cannot bea point of view, there is on the level of the unreflective consciousnessno consciousness of the body . . . In short, consciousness (of) the body islateral and retrospective; the body is the neglected, the ‘passed by in silence.’And yet the body is what this consciousness is; it is not even anythingexcept body. The rest is nothingness and silence.

(BN 330)

This is the crucial point. For Sartre, we cannot phenomenologically start withsensation, for the senses are not merely a knowing of things but a revealingand discriminating of matter into things. In this primary bond of the bodyto the world, we pass through the body and discover it in the world. Initially,

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this phenomenological process gives the impression that the world is con-stituted by some mind. But, consciousness is the body, and nothingnessis, in the concrete the flesh of the body. At least I recommend this read-ing of Sartre’s ‘nothingness’, and it initiates, I think, an interesting dialoguebetween the two thinkers.8

Sartre’s phenomenological reflection, a reflection that is also a ‘destruc-tion’, is revealed in the way Being and Nothingness pivots about the chapteron the body. The book and the reflection are of one piece. When we haveretraced the body in the world to the body as the source of the continu-ity of things over time, we then become aware of what Sartre calls the threedimensions of the body. Once properly placed, these are fairly readable, withone caveat. Whereas Merleau-Ponty situates his own view amidst relativelybrief descriptions of positions that he regards as errors, Sartre’s minor dialec-tic is more extensive. First, Sartre continues at great length in these alternateviews, and second, he does not, for the most part, consider them so muchas errors as misconceived stages in the understanding of the body. Thus, thebody and the senses are indeed objects, but their objectivity follows fromtheir primary lived condition. This gives Sartre the so-called ‘dimensions’ ofthe body.

I do not think that this is the place to repeat a commentary on the dimen-sions of the body. It may be useful to once again repeat that on the firstontological level we have no notion of sensation, nor does sensation makeany sense on this level. True, we are intentionally thrown out toward theworld by our senses; but this primary intentional awareness is not sensation.We touch, we read, we write, we hear and we taste; but in all these instanceswe are first and foremost aware of the melon we are touching, the text weare reading, the letter we are writing, the person we are listening to and thewine we are tasting. We are our hands, eyes, ears or mouth. This does notmean that the rest of our body disappears or that the world or others are notimportant. Rather, when I am pre-reflectively engrossed in an activity, myconsciousness is one with that activity; the totality of my body, the worldand others are the ground on which and from which I act. Of course, it istrue that I am reading using my eyes, sitting in this chair, from which thelight comes from this direction, and that the entire ensemble including thebook have been made by others. But when I am engrossed in a perceptionor an activity, I pass through all of this, and I have no point of view on myown bodily perceptions or actions.

When, however, I see someone reading a book or looking at a friend, I thenbecome aware that these activities are done through the eyes, and I attributeto the other an activity that philosophers call ‘sensation’. I now return andinterpret the use of my senses as ‘sensations’. I begin to have a conceptualawareness of my body precisely as it is a knowing organism within the worldin the midst of others. On this conceptual level, it is indeed proper to speakof sensations.

PROOFThe Body and the Book 37

This approach, when and if it is understood, which is seldom, may stillleave a Heideggerian unhappy. What about the Mitsein? Should not ourrelation to the other be on the first ontological level? I have already men-tioned that the primary issue for Sartre is one of world-making. Apart fromthis, however, the issue of our union with others also concerns the degreeto which we give full weight to the contingency of human existence, notattempting to hide the ontic beneath the ontological. We cannot avoid thepartly confusing and embarrassing aspects of conflict described in chapter 3of part 3, ‘Concrete Relations with Others’. I think that it is best to acceptthese as quasi-historical a priori, even though it took Sartre some time torealize this. In either case, conflict can be overcome, and it emphasizes thefact that reciprocity is constituted. My friend Peter confronts me as an irre-ducible contingent fact; he is this corporeal, fleshy consciousness. ‘What forthe Other is his taste of himself becomes for me the Other’s flesh. The fleshis the pure contingency of presence’ (BN 343). Further, every individual islike Peter: each person is a unique and contingent happening, and the bondbetween people is positive only to the degree that we have made it to be so.

We thus constitute ourselves and our natures, and the growth in Sartre’sthought consists in a greater understanding of the social dimensions of thisconstitution. The movement from Being and Nothingness to Saint Genet, andthen to Critique of Dialectical Reason, and finally to The Family Idiot is a pro-gression in awareness of the social and historical realms of this constituting.For example, it is Flaubert’s mother who is responsible for moulding his bodyso that he could not get beyond activity, although what Flaubert did withthat limitation is another question.

Conclusion

Being and Nothingness unfolds a phenomenological reflection that reveals thedegree to which the world is human. Sartre is not involved in the type ofconstitution that Husserl refers to in Cartesian Meditations. It is not the mindbut the fact that consciousness appears through organs that differentiatesthe world into things. This revealing that is a distinguishing of things doesnot imply, as Merleau-Ponty would have us believe, that being must therebybe lucidly known with no depth. The fact that we make a hat does not meanthat we know all about the materials used. Of course, Sartre is not referringto a neo-Aristotelian matter–form relation. The senses are more like doorsthat we open on reality, revealing it to have color, sound, textures, and soon. What we find when the door is open is another matter.

True, Sartre frequently refers to lucidity, but again the term is contextual.Primarily, terms such as lucidity and translucency imply that we are imme-diately bonded to being and not merely to its ‘whatness’. These terms donot at all imply conceptual clarity either about reality, ourselves or others.Indeed, this is explicitly denied by Sartre both in the way the entire book

PROOF38 Joseph S. Catalano

unfolds, placing misunderstandings, for example, about sensation, in theirproper phenomenological place, and showing, particularly in the chapter‘Existential Psychoanalysis’, how we misconceive our ego.

I understand the key difference between Sartre’s philosophy, on the onehand, and Heidegger and Merleau-Ponty’s thought, on the other hand, toconsist in Sartre’s anthropocentric stance, and this stance is again evidentin Sartre’s use of language. If human consciousness, human freedom andhuman understanding are all that there is, then these qualities can justi-fiably be described as absolute. Limitations in consciousness, freedom orunderstanding are simply more accurate ways of describing these qualities,and they remain absolute. The only way we could refer to the qualities offreedom, consciousness and understanding as not absolute is if we secretlybelieved that there might be another source limiting them. And, I think that,unlike Sartre, Merleau-Ponty (and Heidegger) desires such a source, even ifhe does not explicitly mention it in Phenomenology of Perception.

That Sartre’s anthropocentric stance is what separates the two thinkers isagain evident in Merleau-Ponty’s objection to Sartre’s notion of freedom inthe last chapter. Merleau-Ponty attempts to show that a rock is difficult toclimb not merely because of a human project, but because the relation ofthe mountain to what human legs can ordinarily perform: ‘Whether or notI have decided to climb them, these mountains appear high to me, becausethey exceed the body’s power to take them in stride’ (PP 440). One does nothave to imaginatively place the body on Sirius to realize that the real issueis why anyone should be concerned with climbing mountains at all. I amperfectly happy taking all mountains in stride with my eyes.

Merleau-Ponty’s objection is more focused when he considers why theclimber yields to his fatigue: ‘But here once more we must recognize a sortof sedimentation of our life: an attitude towards the world, when it hasreceived frequent confirmation, acquires a favored status for us’ (PP 441).Granting that Sartre minimized the degree to which others, particularly ourparents, can constitute our passivity, we are still left with an important ques-tion about the climber who gives into his fatigue (see BN 453–6). The pointis that he could have gone on until he collapsed.

On the other hand, we see here the difference in perspectives. For Sartre,ontology does not examine the genesis of a project. Sartre becomes con-cerned with these questions in his philosophical biographies, such as onGenet and particularly Flaubert. But always the point will be that passivityis constituted, if not by our project, then by others. And, more importantly,we never know that predispositions are primary, and, in the final analysis,our freedom is what we do with what has been given to us.

Still, there is an important point here, and it concerns the status of pas-sivity and receptivity. Let us assume that one person has a predisposition,arising from whatever causes, to be passive. The Sartrean point is that passiv-ity can never be neutral; it always encounters us as meaningful, for example,

PROOFThe Body and the Book 39

as something to fight against or as something to yield to. The general anthro-pocentric issue is whether Being, precisely as it is receptive, reaches out to us.For Sartre, this reaching out could only come from a specific direction, and,as such, the invitation could only come from another mind, transcendentto the world.

I think that Merleau-Ponty wants more than his objections to Sartre indi-cate. The so-called turn from Being and Time to Time and Being, and themovement from the Phenomenology of Perception to The Visible and the Invis-ible, go in opposite directions to Sartre’s growth from Being and Nothingnessto The Family Idiot. For Sartre, the doors to reality open only from our end.Our bonds to nature and to others are not reciprocal in the sense thatreciprocity is taken to be an a priori positive, nurturing bond. Precisely asthey are meaningful structures, passivity and reciprocity are always consti-tuted, if not by the individual, then by the family and the social structure.Heidegger, Marcel, Jaspers, Buber and, I think, also Merleau-Ponty desire tojustify a poetic, passive openness to reality. Some slight breeze blows opena door within being, and some spirit beckons. For Sartre, our bodies openall the doors within being, and, in the social order, we create the doors tobe opened. Hope for a better humanity indeed exists, but only insofar as wecreate the conditions for the possibility of this hope.

Notes

1. I am not alone in reading Being and Nothingness in relation to Heidegger’s Being andTime. See, for example, Fell 1979. I do not agree with a good deal of what Fell hasto say, but, for the most part, he places the discussion on the proper level, and hedoes not have most of the problems with Being and Nothingness that many Sartreanshave. Also, I have discussed the Sartrean canon in Catalano 1996: 6–9.

2. See Catalano 1986: 14–17, 90–1, 136–7, and passim.3. PP 215. Actually, there is little of consequence in this entire chapter that is in

opposition to Sartre.4. I have discussed pure reflection elsewhere, although not in comparison with

Merleau-Ponty’s objections. See Catalano 1974: 126–31; also Catalano 1986: 42–5,194–5.

5. Long before Donald Davidson proposed anomalous monism as a solution to theapparent dualism of mind and matter, Sartre had given us a non-reductive materi-alism, that is, a monism of matter in which the human organism is not reduced tothe thinghood of other material kinds. Indeed, human organic unity is the sourceof the unity of all other natural kinds, and, from this perspective, Sartre indeedgives a unique role to the human body.

6. I think that this expression does reflect Merleau-Ponty’s thought, and yet I amaware that to some extent I have taken it out of context. The discussion has to dowith communication and the nature of the sign, and not with what I call world-making. On the level that Merleau-Ponty is considering signs, the world is indeedmeaningful; the point is this level assumes the initial advent of human existencewithin matter. In general, this is another aspect of the divergent emphasis of thetwo philosophies.

PROOF40 Joseph S. Catalano

7. For example, ‘To be a body, is to be tied to a certain world, as we have seen; ourbody is not primarily in space; it is of it’ (PP 148). But this is not true world-making,and further the entire progression of the chapters on the body shows that Merleau-Ponty is not really interested in the question of the body’s constitution of theworld.

8. See Merleau-Ponty 1968. In his introductory remarks to this (liv), the translatorLingis notes the importance of flesh in Phenomenology of Perception and, as he says,‘The Flesh . . . is not just a new term for what the Phenomenology of Perception (butalready Sartre’s Being and Nothingness) brought to light.’ He then continues to notethe development of the notion. In my view of Being and Nothingness, flesh is theinvisible through which the world is made visible. I do not think this is Merleau-Ponty’s view, although, at present, I am not clear about this aspect of his thought.Also, in pushing Merleau-Ponty even slightly in the direction of the later Heideg-ger, I may be doing him an injustice. I am simply trying to make sense of hisgeneral view of interconnections that seem to arise from the body and yet are notto be limited to it.

References

Catalano, J. S. (1974). Commentary on Jean-Paul Sartre’s Being and Nothingness. NewYork: Harper & Row (with new preface, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980).

Catalano, J. S. (1986). Commentary on Jean-Paul Sartre’s Critique of Dialectical Reason,Vol. I: Theory of Practical Ensembles. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Catalano, J. S. (1996). Good Faith and Other Essays. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.Fell, J. P. (1979). Heidegger and Sartre: An Essay on Being and Place. New York: Columbia

University Press.Merleau-Ponty, M. (1968). The Visible and the Invisible. Tr. Alphonso Lingis. Evanston,

IL: Northwestern University Press. (Original French publication: Le Visible etl’invisible, texte établi par Claude Lefort. Paris: Gallimard, 1964.)

PROOF

Index of Names

This index excludes Sartre, J. P., for obvious reasons. Adjectival formations (for exam-ple, ‘Aristotelian’) are included under the relevant name (for example, ‘Aristotle’).Where references are to multi-authored works, they are alphabetized under the firstauthor.

Alain, E. C., 77, 81 n.28Alcoff, L. M., 252 n.56Alexander, F. M., 252 n.59Allen, E., 198 n.22Aristotle, 25–6, 28, 34, 37, 53, 81 n.28,

90, 143, 149, 221, 222Arnheim, R., 63 n.46Aron, R., 42Ash, M. G., 19 n.18Austin, J. L., 142Ayer, A. J., 150, 158 n.3Ayers, M. R., 110–11

Bachelard, G., 42, 61 n.14Barnes, H., 137 n.2, 138 n.4, 205Bartky, S. L., 2, 17, 212 n.48, 241, 242–3,

244, 251 nn.46, 47, 252 nn.56, 57Beauvoir, S. de, 11–12, 17, 19 n.20,

84, 85–6, 89–91, 92–5, 97 nn.4, 5,98 nn.16, 17, 18, 23, 148, 150, 151,152, 156, 157, 158 n.4, 161, 172, 183,197 n.1, 215, 229, 241

Becker, E., 92, 98 n.25Behnke, E. A., author, ch. 14, 10, 15, 17,

18, 18 n.8, 177 n.2, 248 nn.4–7, 249nn.9, 11, 13–17, 250 nn.25, 33, 36,251 nn.40, 52, 252 n.55

Behnke, J., 251 n.41Bell, L. A., 17Bennett, J., 118 n.13Bergson, H., 19 n.17, 42, 61 nn.11, 12,

163, 167, 168, 171, 171–2, 179 n.23,180 n.32

Berkeley, G., 107, 109Bermúdez, J. L., 118 nn.10, 11Bermúdez, J. L., Marcel, A. and

Eilan, N., 2Biemel, W., 241, 251 nn.49, 50

Biggs, V., 164, 165, 166–7, 169, 170, 171,172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 178 nn.7, 9,179 nn.17, 19, 20, 180 nn.24, 25, 26,28, 181 n.40

Bigwood, C., 248 n.2Biran, see Maine de BiranBlacking, J., 18 n.3Blackwood, R. T., 158 n.1Blijlevens, H., 165, 166, 167, 178 n.7,

179 n.20, 180 n.31, 181n.37Bloch, M., 252 n.59Bordo, S., 2Bourdieu, P., 12–13, 18 n.2, 166, 215,

221, 222–3, 224, 225, 227Bourgeois, P., 97 n.3Bruckner, A., 236, 250 n.34Brunschwicg, L., 61 n.15, 77Buber, M., 39, 97Butler, J., 2

Campbell, J., 2Canguilhem, G., 19 n.21, 181n.38Carman, T., 62 n.39Cassam, Q., author, ch. 5, 14, 18 n.10,

117 n.5, 118 n.17Cassirer, E., 187, 197 n.7Castillo, S., 252 n.61Catalano, J. S., author, ch. 1, 4, 9,

12, 19 n.16, 39 nn.1, 2, 4, 60 n.2,62 n.36

Cavendish, R., 197 n.9Caws, P., 198 n.42Cayley, D., 213 n.60Cherki, A., 197 n.1Chrétien, J.-L., 41Ciccariello-Maher, G., 212 n.50Clark, A., 2Classen, C., 63 n.45

256

PROOFIndex of Names 257

Cole, J., 118 n.12Cole, J. and Paillard, J., 19 n.12Colley, M., 164, 165, 166, 167, 169, 170,

176, 178 n.7, 179 nn.12, 13, 14, 19,180 n.25, 181 n.39

Comte, A., 42, 61 n.10Condillac, É. B. de, 42, 60 n.8, 61 n.9Cook, J. M., 251 n.47Cornell, D., 198 n.39Couailhac, M., 61 n.9Craib, I., 215Crossley, N., author, ch. 13, 13, 17, 18,

18 n.2, 19 n.17, 212 n.50, 218Csordas, T., 18 n.3

Daigle, C. and Golomb, J., 12Damasio, A., 2Dante Alighieri, 198 n.20Davidson, D., 39 n.5Davis, K., 181 n.42Day, D., 139Derrida, J., 124, 137 n.3, 217Descartes, R., 10, 19 n.16, 26, 42, 47, 48,

61 n.9, 86, 97, 98 n.7, 116, 121, 149,157, 184, 250 n.22

Dewey, J., 252 n.59Diderot, D., 3Dillon, M. C., 14, 44, 61 n.21, 250 n.28,

251 n.39Dostoievsky, F., 134Douglas, M., 18 n.3Dresslar, F. B., 63 n.43Drew, S., 166, 167, 169, 170, 172, 173,

176, 178 nn.7, 8, 179 nn.20, 21, 180nn.25, 26, 181 n.40

Du Bois, W. E. B., 191, 198 n.22Duden, B., 17, 200, 201, 202, 204, 206,

207–10, 210 n.9, 212 nn.52–5, 213nn.56–60

Durkheim, É. 221

Eckersley, J., 164, 165, 167, 168, 169,170, 172, 173, 178 n.7, 179 n.14,180 n.24

Eilan, N., McCarthy, R., and Brewer, B., 2El-Bizri, N., 252 n.68Elizabeth, Princess, of Bohemia,

60 n.7Evans, G., 2, 18 n.10, 118 nn.8, 9, 10

Fanon, F., 18, 19 n.19, 183, 184,187–97, 197 nn.2, 13, 198 nn.16–19,21, 26–9, 31–3, 35, 39, 40,252 n.56

Fechner, G. T., 63 n.41Feldman, A., 207Fell, J. P., 39 n.1, 80 n.17Fichte, J. G., 128Fink, E., 25Firestone, S., 84, 85, 94, 97 n.6Flaubert, G., 37, 38, 198 n.15Flynn, T. R., 67, 79 n.2Fox, N. F., 13Foucault, M., 3, 12, 13, 18 n.2, 180 n.35,

197, 198 n.41, 200, 201, 202, 204,206–7, 208, 210 nn.4–8, 212nn.40–50, 215, 241, 248 n.2

Freud, S., 123, 140, 141–2, 144Fullbrook, E. and K., 12

Gallagher, S., 2, 64 n.51, 250 n.31Gallagher, S. and Cole, J, 19 n.12Gelb, A. and Goldstein, K., 3,

19 n.13Genet, J., 38Gibson, J. J., 2, 11, 18 n.9, 63 n.46Giddens, A., 3, 17, 219Gide, A., 134Goffman, E. 226Goodman, N., 35Gordon, J. A., 198 n.22Gordon, L. R., author, ch. 11, 13,

17, 18, 19 nn.15 and 19, 161, 180n.33, 197 nn.5, 10, 250 n.27,251 nn.44, 45

Grandin, T., 171Grant, D., 173, 178 n.7, 179 n.12Grappe, J. , 61 n.12Grimshaw, J., 223Guendouz, C. , 61 n.12Gutting, G., 61 n.15, 212 n.37

Hanna, T., 250 n.36, 252 n.58Hartmann, K., 80 n.17Hartsock, N., 92Hayim, G., 215Hayman, R., 197 n.1Hegel, G. W. F., 34, 52, 68, 78, 79, 132,

143, 184

PROOF258 Index of Names

Heidegger, M., 2, 4, 5, 19 n.24, 26, 27,35, 37, 38, 39 n.1, 40 n.8, 42, 44, 46,48, 49, 52, 60 n.5, 62 n.34, 97, 124,127, 132, 135, 136, 137 n.3, 178 n.7,252 n.63

Henry, M., 19 n.21, 120, 124–9Henry, P., 191, 198 nn.23, 24Heraclitus, 157Hessell, S. C., 165, 167, 173, 175,

178 n.7, 179 n.18, 180 n.24Hill, J., 174–5, 176Hippolyte, J., 79Hoffmann, P., 60 n.7Horder, T. J., 177 n.2Howells, C., author, ch. 7, 13, 15, 16, 17Hughes, C. E., 173Hume, D., 10, 110, 123, 149Husserl, E., 3, 4, 10, 11, 25, 37, 41, 42,

45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 52, 53–6, 57, 58,59, 60 nn.3, 6, 61 n.18, 62 nn.24, 39,63 nn. 42, 44, 46, 47, 123, 124, 126,127, 151, 184, 197 n.3, 227, 231–3,233–5, 237, 241–2, 244, 246, 248nn.1, 3–7, 249 nn.16, 18, 19, 22, 250nn.25, 26, 251 n.39, 252 n.69

Ihde, D., 2Inahara, M., 175, 177n.2Irigaray, L., 175

James, W., 63 n.43Jaspers, K., 2, 39, 187Johnson, C., 252 n.56Johnson, D. H., 245, 249 nn. 9, 10, 13,

251 n.38, 252 nn.59, 60Jones, F. P., 252 n.58Joske, W., 112

Kant, I., 18 n.10, 30, 104–5, 106, 114,117 nn. 1, 3, 118 nn. 14, 15, 16, 141,147 n.2

Katz, D., 55, 56–7, 63 nn.46, 47, 51,80 n.9

Kierkegaard, S., 25Kirby, A., 167Kissinger, H., 143Koffka, K., 11, 80 n.13Köhler, W., 11, 68–70, 80 nn.8, 10,

12, 13Krueger, L., 63 n.46

Kruks, S., 215, 226Kuosa, K. I., 209–10

Lacan, J., 187, 190Laing, R. D., 73, 80 n.16, 204, 211 nn.30,

31, 32La Mettrie, J. O. de, 3Landgrebe, L., 249 n.21Langer, M. M., author, ch. 12, 12, 13,

16, 17, 18, 210 n.2Leder, D., 1, 2, 121, 163, 174, 217,

250 n.35Le Doeuff, M., 97 n.2Le Roy, G., 61 n.8Lévi-Strauss, C., 19 n.15, 187, 188,

197 nn.8, 11, 14Levin, D. M., 60 n.5Levinas, E., 44, 61 nn.12, 18, 124,

252 n.68Lévy, B.-H., 68, 78, 79 n.3, 80 n.5Levy, N., 212 n.50Lewin, K., 11, 73–4, 80 nn.6, 18, 20, 22,

246–7, 252 nn.63, 67Lhermitte, J., 63 n.51, 192Lingis, A., 40 n.8Littlewood, R. and Lipsedge, M., 172,

173Lock, M., and Farquhar, J., 1Locke, J., 60 n.8, 103, 104–5, 106, 107,

117 n.2, 149Lopez, N., 91

Maine de Biran, F.-P., 19 n.17, 42, 61nn.9, 15, 120, 123, 124, 128, 129,129 n.1

Maisel, E., 252 n.59Malacrida, C., and Low, J, 1Maldonado-Torres, N., 191, 198 n.25Malraux, A., 135Manser, A., 79 n.1Marcel, G., 12, 39, 42, 61 n.13, 84,

86–8, 89, 90, 97, 98 nn. 8, 9, 10, 11,129 n.1, 157

Matthews, E., 2Mauss, M., 18 n.2, 19 n.17, 216–17,

221–2, 224, 225, 227, 236, 251 n.37Mazis, G. A., 252 n.53McBride, W. L., 198 n.38Mead, G.H., 218

PROOFIndex of Names 259

Merleau-Ponty, M., 2, 3, 4, 10, 11, 12,17, 18 n.2, 19 nn.13 and 20, 25–7,27–8, 30, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37–9, 39nn.4, 6, 40 nn. 7, 8, 41, 42, 46, 47,49–50, 50–1, 52, 53, 55, 56–7, 58–9,60 n.3, 61 nn.12, 17, 18, 20, 62 nn.24,26, 35, 39, 63 nn.45, 51, 86, 103, 111,116–17, 123, 124, 161, 162, 163–6,171, 174, 175, 177, 177n.5, 178 nn.7,10, 183, 197 n.2, 200, 201–2, 203–4,205, 207, 208, 210 nn.2, 10, 11, 12,211 nn.22–8, 212 n.44, 215, 217,223, 225, 227, 228, 229, 230 n.2,252 n.63

Mirvish, A., author, ch. 3, 11, 80 nn.6,7, 15, 18, 21, 22, 23, 81 nn.25, 29,246, 252 nn.63–6

Mohanty, J. N., 248 n.7, 251 n.51Mol, A., 181n.38Monasterio, X., 14, 15, 60 n.2, 249 n.16,

250 n.24Moore, F. C. T., 61 n.9Moore, G. E., 150Moran, D., author, ch. 2, 10, 12, 14, 15,

19 n.17, 61 n.22, 62 n.34Morris, K. J., author, Introduction and

ch. 10, 14, 17, 18 n.5, 19 nn. 17, 22,60 n.2, 162, 210 n.18

Morris, P. S., author, ch. 9, 13, 15, 16,17, 60 n.2, 252 n.53

Moulton, J., 147 n.1Mui, C. L., author, ch. 4, 12, 17,

19 n.24, 60 n.2, 61 n.13, 129 n.1,177n.5

Mullarkey, J., 126Müller, G. E., 63 n.46Murphy, A., 63 n.49Murphy, J. S., 11–12, 97 n.3

Nagel, T., 139–41, 142–3, 144, 145, 146,197 n.2

Nietzsche, F., 3, 25, 215Nirenberg, D., 197 n.12Niro, Robert de, 19 n.12Nye, A., 97 n.2

O’Brien, M., 92–7, 97 n.2,98 nn.26–31

Oksala, J., 212 n.50

Olsen, A., with McHose, C., 245,252 n.61

O’Neal, J. C., 61 n.8O’Neill, J., 61 n.8, 252 n.62Orbach, S., 3, 171

Paci, E., 233, 249 nn.17, 19,250 nn.23, 24

Parmenides, 30Parshley, H. M., 177n.4Paterson, M., 63 n.45Peacocke, C., 105, 108, 114, 117 nn.4, 6,

7, 118 n.10Peckitt, M. G., author, ch. 6, 15, 17,

19 nn. 17, 21, 177n.2Pedersen, J. C., 97 n.3Phillips, K. A., 62 n.28Philpott, M. J., 162, 179 n.15Pieterse, J. N., 198 n.30Place, U. T., 158 n.3Plato, 25–6, 130, 149, 154Portwood, M., 165, 166, 167, 168,

177 n.1, 178 n.7Pradines, M., 42, 61 n.12Price, H. H., 110Prinz, J., 62 n.38Proudfoot, M., 2, 3Putnam, H., 35

Quinton, A., 149, 158 n.2

Ratcliffe, M. J., 63 n.45Reich, W., 141Rich, A., 92Rilke, R. M., 135Ryle, G., 47, 217

Sacks, O., 3, 19 nn.12 and 13, 166, 171,178 n.6, 180 n.29

Scheler, M., 42, 45, 60 nn.3, 4, 63 n.47,80 nn. 6, 22, 158 n.6

Schilder, P., 19 n.13Schwarzer, A., 97 n.4Shilling, C., 3, 18 n.2Shusterman, R., 1, 2, 4, 18 n.1, 19 n.22,

174, 177n.2, 178 n.10Slaughter, T., 252 n.56Smeets, M. A. M. and Kosslyn, S. M.,

62 n.27Snowdon, P., 18 n.6

PROOF260 Index of Names

Sobchack, V., 252 nn.56, 68Socrates, 149, 155Solomon, R. C., author, ch. 8, 16Spicker, S., 2Spiegelberg, H., 63 n.47Spinoza, B., 146Stanghellini, G., 2Stein, E., 47, 57, 62 n.28,Stewart, J., 12Storch, J, 207–8, 212 nn.53, 55, 213 n.56Strawson, P.F., 2, 110, 158 n.3

Tiryakian, E., 215Titchener, E. B., 62 n.40Trumbo, D., 155Turner, B. S., 18 n.2, 19 n.12

Vallega-Neu, D. , 60 n.4van Breda, H. L., 60 n.6van den Berg, J. H., 250 n.27, 251 nn.42,

43, 252 n.54Varela, F. J., Thompson, E., and

Roach, E., 2

Vessey, D., 63 n.50von Uexküll, J., 252 n.63

Waits, T., 123Warren, D., 105, 117 n.3Weber, E. H., 53, 56, 62 n.40, 63 nn.41,

43, 48Welton, D., 2, 63 nn.44, 49Wertheimer, M., 11Whitford, M., 12Widdershoven, G. A. M., 178 n.6Wider, K. V., 15, 60 n.2, 81 n.28Williams, B. A. O., 158 n.3Wittgenstein, L, 18 n.1, 81 n.28, 176Wundt, W., 62 n.40, 63 nn.43, 46

Young, I. M., 2, 20 n.25, 97 n.1, 123,223–4

Zahavi, D., 124, 125Zaner, R. M., 2, 158 n.5, 250 nn.28, 33,

251 n.39