Key Arguments

• He defines his access to time through a broadened 'field of presence' that includes 'this current moment that I spend working, along with the horizon of the day that has already gone by behind it and the horizon of the evening and the night out in front of it,' locating temporal flow in a lived situation with horizons.
• He notes that even the distant past has a temporal position only 'insofar as it itself has been present, insofar as it was “in its time” traversed by my life, and insofar as it has been carried forward until now', so all temporal positions derive from their having once been present within a field of presence.
• Recollection of a distant past 'reopen[s] time' by placing himself back at a moment when that past 'still included an horizon of the future that is today closed off and an horizon of a recent past that is today a distant past,' showing that remembering reactivates original horizons rather than adding a label to a fixed date.
• He claims 'Everything sends me back to the field of presence, as if to the originary experience where time and its dimensions appear in person without any intervening distance and with an ultimate evidentness. This is where we see a future slipping into the present and into the past.'
• The three dimensions of time are not given as discrete representations: 'I do not represent to myself my day, rather, my day weighs upon me with all of its weight, it is still there; I do not recall any particular detail, but I have the imminent power of doing so, I have it “still in hand.”'
• Future events are given as quasi‑present horizons: 'I do not think about the evening that is about to arrive, nor of what it will entail, and yet it “is there,” just like the back of the house whose front I am looking at, or like the background beneath the figure.'
• He insists that 'Our future is not built exclusively of conjectures and fantasies,' because 'Prior to what I see and what I perceive, there is certainly nothing visible any longer, but my world is carried along by intentional lines that trace out in advance at least the style of what is about to arrive,' so the future is implicitly sketched in the present’s 'style' even while remaining open.
• The present in the strict sense 'is not itself posited': immersed in his task, 'rather than perceiving objects, I reckon with what is around me, I depend upon my tools, and I am caught up in my task rather than standing before it,' indicating that the lived present is a practical engagement, not an object before a spectator.
• He adopts Husserl’s terms 'protentions' and 'retentions' for the intentionalities that 'anchor me to my surroundings,' but specifies that 'These do not emanate from a central I, but somehow from my perceptual field itself, which drags along behind itself its horizon of retentions and eats into the future through its protentions.'

Source Quotes

The problem now is to make explicit this time in the state of its being nascent and in its appearing, which is always implied by the notion of time, and which is not an object of our knowledge, but rather a dimension of our being. [d. The “field of presence,” the horizons of past and future.] I make contact with time and learn to recognize its flow in my “field of presence,” taken broadly to include this current moment that I spend working, along with the horizon of the day that has already gone by behind it and the horizon of the evening and the night out in front of it. The distant past, of course, also has its temporal order and a temporal position in relation to my present, but only insofar as it itself has been present, insofar as it was “in its time” traversed by my life, and insofar as it has been carried forward until now.

The distant past, of course, also has its temporal order and a temporal position in relation to my present, but only insofar as it itself has been present, insofar as it was “in its time” traversed by my life, and insofar as it has been carried forward until now. When I recall a distant past, I reopen time, I place myself back at a moment when it still included an horizon of the future that is today closed off and an horizon of a recent past that is today a distant past. Everything sends me back to the field of presence, as if to the originary experience where time and its dimensions appear in person without any intervening distance and with an ultimate evidentness.

When I recall a distant past, I reopen time, I place myself back at a moment when it still included an horizon of the future that is today closed off and an horizon of a recent past that is today a distant past. Everything sends me back to the field of presence, as if to the originary experience where time and its dimensions appear in person without any intervening distance and with an ultimate evidentness. This is where we see a future slipping into the present and into the past.

This is where we see a future slipping into the present and into the past. These three dimensions are not given to us through discrete acts: I do not represent to myself my day, rather, my day weighs upon me with all of its weight, it is still there; I do not recall any particular detail, but I have the imminent power of doing so, I have it “still in hand.”11 Similarly, I do not think about the evening that is about to arrive, nor of what it will entail, and yet it “is there,” just like the back of the house whose front I am looking at, or like the background beneath the figure. Our future is not built exclusively of conjectures and fantasies.

Our future is not built exclusively of conjectures and fantasies. Prior to what I see and what I perceive, there is certainly nothing visible any longer, but my world is carried along by intentional lines that trace out in advance at least the style of what is about to arrive (even though we will forever expect, probably until death, to see something else appear). The present (in the strict sense of the term) is not itself posited.

The present (in the strict sense of the term) is not itself posited. The paper and my pen are there for me, but I do not perceive them explicitly; rather than perceiving objects, I reckon with what is around me, I depend upon my tools, and I am caught up in my task rather than standing before it. Husserl calls the intentionalities that anchor me to my surroundings “protentions” and “retentions.”

The paper and my pen are there for me, but I do not perceive them explicitly; rather than perceiving objects, I reckon with what is around me, I depend upon my tools, and I am caught up in my task rather than standing before it. Husserl calls the intentionalities that anchor me to my surroundings “protentions” and “retentions.” These do not emanate from a central I, but somehow from my perceptual field itself, which drags along behind itself its horizon of retentions and eats into the future through its protentions. I do not pass through a series of nows whose images I would preserve and that, placed end to end, would form a line.

Key Concepts

• I make contact with time and learn to recognize its flow in my “field of presence,” taken broadly to include this current moment that I spend working, along with the horizon of the day that has already gone by behind it and the horizon of the evening and the night out in front of it.
• When I recall a distant past, I reopen time, I place myself back at a moment when it still included an horizon of the future that is today closed off and an horizon of a recent past that is today a distant past.
• Everything sends me back to the field of presence, as if to the originary experience where time and its dimensions appear in person without any intervening distance and with an ultimate evidentness.
• I do not represent to myself my day, rather, my day weighs upon me with all of its weight, it is still there; I do not recall any particular detail, but I have the imminent power of doing so, I have it “still in hand.”11
• I do not think about the evening that is about to arrive, nor of what it will entail, and yet it “is there,” just like the back of the house whose front I am looking at, or like the background beneath the figure.
• my world is carried along by intentional lines that trace out in advance at least the style of what is about to arrive (even though we will forever expect, probably until death, to see something else appear).
• The paper and my pen are there for me, but I do not perceive them explicitly; rather than perceiving objects, I reckon with what is around me, I depend upon my tools, and I am caught up in my task rather than standing before it.
• Husserl calls the intentionalities that anchor me to my surroundings “protentions” and “retentions.” These do not emanate from a central I, but somehow from my perceptual field itself, which drags along behind itself its horizon of retentions and eats into the future through its protentions.

Context

Subsection [d. The “field of presence,” the horizons of past and future.] in II - TEMPORALITY, where Merleau-Ponty shifts from criticizing objective and immanent conceptions of time to a positive phenomenological account of lived time as a field of presence structured by horizons and by Husserlian retentions/protentions.