Phenomenology

MARCEL’S PHENOMENOLOGICAL METHOD
by Manuel B. Dy Jr.

Traditionally, a formal study of philosophy begins with logic (the study of correct thinking), then goes through metaphysics (the study of being), followed by cosmology (the study of the nature of the universe) and ends up with philosophical psychology or the philosophy of man. The philosophical study of man comes last in the curriculum. Moreover, man is defined by traditional scholastic philosophy as a rational animal, or as a composite of body and soul. Under the aspect of body, he is like any other animal, a substance, mortal, subject to limitations of time and space. Under the aspect of soul, he is gifted with the power of reason, free and immortal. From the behavior of man to think and decide, it is concluded that he must be gifted with a human soul.

The method we are going to use in our reflection on man will attempt to do something different from the traditional approach. Instead of going first into logic (after all, reality is not always logical), we shall begin with man himself in his totality. Isn’t it that our understanding of the world, and even God, is somehow based on what we understand of ourselves? We shall not start too with definitions of man, definitions that may cut man into parts. Instead, let us describe man from his within, from what is properly human, not from a point of view that is external. Our method is phenomenological.

The existentialist philosopher Gabriel Marcel uses a phenomenological method less technical than Husserl’s. According to Marcel, reflection which is rooted in experience, is of two levels:

Primary Reflection. Primary reflection breaks the unity of experience. It looks at the world or any object as a problem, detached from the self, and fragmented. Primary reflection is the foundation of scientific knowledge, for science assumes a stand where the world is apart from the subject. The subject does not enter into the object investigated.

Secondary Reflection. Secondary Reflection, on the other hand, recaptures the unity of original experience. It does not go against the data of primary reflection but goes beyond it by refusing top accept the data of primary reflection as final. The unity of experience is grasped by placing back the object to the self. For Marcel, the level of the secondary reflection is the area of the mysterious because here we enter into the realm of the personal. What is needed in secondary reflection is an ingathering, a recollection, a pulling together of the scattered fragments of our experience.

The secondary reflection is strictly speaking, the phenomenological method of Marcel, whereas the primary reflection would seem to correspond to the natural attitude of Husserl.

Some examples:

Who am I? From primary reflection, I can answer the question by mentioning my name, date of birth, place of birth, height, weight – the items I would normally fill out in a registration card. But all these are contingent, relative to the inner self that I am. In secondary reflection, I would have to penetrate into the inner core of my person.

My body. Primary reflection would look a t my body as a body like other bodies, detached from the self that would make it unique. My body would be the body examined by a physician, or perhaps the body that I sell in prostitution house. But is this my sole experience of my body? Secondary reflection tells me that my body is mine. The way I carry my body is unique. The dentist cannot experience the pain I feel when he pulls my tooth because my tooth is mine. And if I am a prostitute and still have conscience, I experience (when I sell my body) a terrible feeling that I am selling myself.

Here is a true-to-fact example of primary and secondary reflection from a student:

Once, during the early years of my adolescence, I have a pet canary. I kept him in a small cage which I placed on the porch table. I never forgot to feed him regularly, a task which I never entrusted to anybody else.

I remember the time when I used to sit there on the porch, just listening to his beautiful singing. Whenever my friends called on me, I very often showed them my prized canary with pride. I had taught him to sing whenever I whistle a tune that was similar to his song.

Then one day, a terrible thing happened. After I had fed him I did not notice that I had left the cage door open. In a matter of minutes he was gone. My favorite pet had flown away, leaving behind him the empty cage, which I have thought was so beautiful and was not a mere reminder of the happy days when I used to hear him sing.

My first reaction was to try to get him back, no matter what it cost. I saw him perched on the fence, his wings not used to flying over long distances. I immediately rushed into the house and got my air rifle. I was desperate, and the only thought that was in my mind was to capture the creature even if it meant that I had to kill him. Fortunately, I was too late, when I returned, he was gone.

I was angry at everything. I kept on telling myself that it was unjust, after all the trouble I went through taking care of the bird. I could not bear it if I was to see him in the possession of another person. Maybe, that was the reason why I wanted to kill him rather than let him fly away.

Several days passed. One afternoon, just as the sun was about to set, I was sitting out on the porch. Suddenly, I heard him singing. I was surprised to hear it because canary birds are seldom seen here, and when you hear one singing, you cannot just mistake it for some other bird’s son. And my canary’s singing. I cannot mistake for some other canary’s.

I looked up and saw him, perched on one of the limbs of a tree. That time I felt a longing inside me, a longing to have him back. He was so close, yet it was almost impossible to catch him. But the feeling quickly passed, because I realized that the song I was hearing was just the same as, if not more beautiful than, the song that I heard from the cage. The song was still mine, mine to hear, mine to enjoy for a moment.

As I looked at that yellow bird up on the branches of the tree, it seemed as if he was happier then, because he was free. He was still my bird, yet he was free. That was the time I began to realize that every bird can, and does, sing a truly beautiful song. Unlike before when I only know how to listen to the song of a bird in a cage, now I have learned to listen how to listen to every bird I hear. As long as I could hear them, they were mine.

From that day on, I never saw my canary again. However, I was glad that he was able to escape from his prison, because, through that, I was able to see the real value of possession. My property does not end at the place where the fence surrounding my house stands. A creature, as long as it gives me pleasure whenever I see or hear it, belongs to me.

My neighbor’s pet dog is rightfully mine if he wags his tail in joy when he sees me coming. Real possession can be mine to a greater degree than the master’s if the bond of friendship between that dog and me is greater.

Beauty can also be the object of possession. When I see a flower blooming, though it does not grow in my garden, I own it. Before, I would be tempted to pick that flower and bring it home with me. But now I realize that it is better to let it alone to bloom for me, rather than have it within my reach only to see it wilt in my hand. Since I put value in it, it is, in a sense, my own.

Even a spider’s web is a thing of beauty. Very often, I would watch spiders spinning their webs. I would be tempted to destroy the web. I think that it is in man’s nature to have sadistic tendencies. However, I would hold back my hand for I know that the fulfillment of my savage tendency is nothing compared to the pleasure of appreciating the beauty of nature. Only then I say that I am the richest man on earth.