Tag: schlutz

  • Imagination’s Drift from Phantasia to Transcendental Tension

    In Mind’s World, Alexander Schlutz demonstrates how imagination evolves from a vague mediator in ancient thinking to a doubtful but necessary function in modern knowledge to a space of metaphysical opening and political risk. Imagination can be viewed as a threshold between sense and thought, spontaneity and receptivity, law and freedom. As such, it poses a threat to the order of systems, the authority of reason, and the coherency of the subject.

    From the ancient idea of phantasia to Kant’s schematism and the transcendental subject, imagination never really fits into the categories reason ascribes to it. It is first deemed an activity between sense and thought, later becoming limited with the rise of modern subjectivity, and reappearing as a foundational and destabilizing force in metaphysics. Rather than being a passive mirror, it appears as a battleground where the definitions and demarcations of subject, reason, and freedom are at stake.

    In ancient Greece, “phantasia” was not the same as the modern idea of imagination. Instead of being a creative force, it served as a bridge between sensation and thought. Plato viewed phantasia with suspicion; it belonged to the world of shadows and illusion and needed rational control for the subject to reach true knowledge. On the other hand, for Aristotle, phantasia was an important activity; it was neither purely sensory nor rational. It helped create the internal images (phantasmata) necessary for thought, yet it remained subordinate to reason.

    It is in rhetorical traditions and later Stoic thought that phantasia starts to look more like the current understanding of imagination. Orators used it to create vivid images in their audience’s minds. Artists like Phidias were thought to access divine forms through phantasia, but this was still rooted in a Platonic hierarchy where philosophy ruled and imagination was its subordinate.

    Descartes’ philosophy, representing the rise of the modern subject, largely depends on repressing imagination. He viewed imagination, linked to the senses, with doubt; as a realm of illusion, not knowledge. For Descartes, the thinking self must separate from everything imagined in order to find certainty. Yet, this separation isn’t straightforward. Descartes’ early writings and dream narratives show his deep interest in inspiration, intuition, and imaginative vision. He introduces his scientific methods through a “fable”, and his radical doubt relies on imagination’s ability to create and pretend. Thus, while the cogito excludes imagination, it also depends on it. This contradiction creates a space, a “return of the repressed”, where imagination haunts the very certainty it is supposed to challenge.

    Kant attempts to resolve this tension by placing imagination within a transcendental framework. Imagination becomes the faculty that connects intuitions from the senses and concepts from understanding. Without it, cognition cannot happen. Thus, it is essential, but also risky. Kant raises and lowers imagination. In his Critique of Pure Reason, imagination is central to cognition, yet it must be controlled by reason and understanding. In his Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View, the dangers of imagination become much clearer: it is connected to fantasy, madness, and political chaos. The “Phantast” is not just a madman; he poses a threat to rational discourse and social order. Kant recoils from not just insanity but revolution and unchecked desire.

    However, for all his efforts to constrain imagination, Kant’s system depends on it. His version of the cogito hinges on the synthetic powers of imagination, even if it fails to acknowledge them completely. For Kant, freedom exists because of the gap that imagination creates: the subject must choose to follow the moral law without certainty.

    Heidegger sees this gap and does not shy away. In Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics, he argues that Kant nearly recognized imagination’s foundational role but held back. For Heidegger, imagination is more than a thinking tool; it is the essence of being, where human finitude meets the question of Being. He redefines Kant’s transcendental faculties as part of the structure of being: imagination unites sensibility and understanding, opening up the horizon of Being. For Heidegger, imagination is no longer dangerous because it might be chaotic. It poses a risk because it reveals the truth of human existence. However, Schlutz warns that Heidegger may fall into the same trap he critiques Kant for: not fully addressing the radical potential of imagination.

    Slavoj Žižek takes up that radical potential. He rejects both Kant’s repression and Heidegger’s metaphysical revival. For Žižek, imagination is not mainly a unifying force; it ruptures the status quo. It enables us to break reality apart and challenge the continuity of the symbolic order, allowing us to consider the impossible. This dives into the heart of subjectivity as radical and sometimes violent freedom. Žižek’s critique shows how both Kant and Heidegger tried to tame imagination either through moral law or metaphysical support. But for Žižek, imagination exposes the split within the subject and its inherent conflict. This isn’t a flaw in philosophy; it rather defines freedom itself.

    Engaging with imagination is not about escaping philosophy. Instead, it reveals its limits and possibilities, and leads us to envision radical alternatives.

    Alexander Schlutz, Mind’s World: Imagination and Subjectivity from Descartes to Romanticism (University of Washington Press, 2009)

“In me everything is already flowing, and you flow along too if you only stop minding such unaccustomed motion, and its song. Learn to swim, as once you danced on dry land, for the thaw is much nearer at hand than you think. And what ice could resist your sun? And, before it disappears, perhaps chance will have the ice enflame you, dissolving your hardness, melting your gold.

So remember the liquid ground. And taste the saliva in your mouth also—notice her familiar presence during your silence, how she is forgotten when you speak. Or again: how you stop speaking when you drink. And how necessary all of that is for you! These fluids softly mark the time. And there is no need to knock, just listen to hear the music. With very small ears.”

Luce Irigaray, Marine Lover of Friedrich Nietzsche