Still from Gesaffelstein’s video clip for their song “Hard Dreams.” Dir. J. Hemingway/Division, J. de Chateleux, 2024
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1. Introduction
3. Reflection and its Limits: A Historical Sketch
4. The Refractive Element
5. Conclusion: Refraction and Thinking as a Field of Action
The essay below will be published in four installments; this, the third, contains section 4.
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4. The Refractive Element
Adopting analogical language is necessary to rethink reflection. The underlying movement of physical reflection requires a doubling, a mirroring of content appearing within a surface. The light reflected from a mirror results in a framed mirror image—in all visual and spatial aspects similar, yet appearing mirrored. It creates a distance, allowing for viewing it as a totality that is inaccessible to the natural gaze. Looking at the mirror, one can, for instance, see one’s face in its entirety. The reflected image appears in opposition to the viewing subject, allowing for a viewpoint that natural vision cannot attain. Note that this image conforms easily to the idea of the ontological ladder: the thought is that once we climb one rung up, we acquire an overview that from within the “natural state” is not attainable. Naturally, this thought introduces the notion of distancing.
Philosophical reflection implies a similar distancing. Through reflection, a given idea or notion is deliberately positioned at a distance, thereby simultaneously situating, decontextualizing, and circumscribing it as an object-for-reflection. It appears as a unity, a relatively well-demarcated entity among other items in the real world. When we reflect on an artwork, an upcoming meeting, or a difficult decision, we frame the object or event as an individualized entity so that it becomes the object of sustained attention. We might, for instance, reflect on the meanings of an artwork; on how a complex discussion might unfold; or we might weigh the pros and cons of opposite courses of action. In these three examples, to reflect means to single out a portion of reality, to set it apart from the natural vision, in the hope of escaping its confines.
As I’ve discussed above, the idea of natural vision overlooks the hidden potential of thought-shaping. We might take ourselves to be critically reflecting on an everyday situation, only to find that we fall victim to deeply ingrained, therefore almost invisible, biases and thought-shaping prejudices. Philosophical reflection frames objects and events, positioning them in ways that appear as distanced and amenable to critical—and, by assumption, objective—scrutiny. Yet, the way in which we position objects or events already betrays thought-shaped habits and deeply ingrained mental patterns. In a deeply Hegelian fashion, the way of posing a question is integral to its solution.
Bergson obliquely dealt with this topic in his 1910 book Time and Free Will, in the context of discussing the nature of perception. According to Bergson, perception has a dual-aspect nature:
[O]ur perceptions, sensations, emotions and ideas occur under two aspects: the one clear and precise, but impersonal; the other confused, ever changing, and inexpressible, because language cannot get hold of it without arresting its mobility or fit it into its common-place forms without making it into public property.(Bergson, 1950: p. 129)
This distinction functions as the core of Bergson’s argument for two types of duration. But it does significantly more work than that: already, we see that reflection taken as impersonal viewpoint is utterly reductionist. It imposes a static, impersonal, yet clear and precise order on the dynamic richness of experience. This thought bears striking parallels to contemporary physicalist reductionism and classical positivism alike. The underlying project is to derive a neutral description of the world, unencumbered by the whimsical nature of the senses.
Language, according to Bergson, immobilizes the dynamic and probing nature of thinking. It stops it, turning its contents into objects, circumscribing them and cataloguing them. It is not difficult to observe the parallels with Kant’s distinction between determining judgments and reflecting judgments here. Whereas the former subsumes particulars under universals, the latter uses the particular to define new universals. The determining judgment stops the movement of thinking in favor of categorization. Hegel realized that thinking is inherently processual and introduced the notion of dialectical process. In this process, however, concepts (and therefore, also language) play the role of cognitive probes to grasp reality, or at least to explore it. The way in which we categorize or describe objects is of fundamental importance:
[I]f to-day’s impression were absolutely identical with that of yesterday, what difference would there be between perceiving and recognizing, between learning and remembering? Yet this difference escapes the attention of most of us; we shall hardly perceive it, unless we are warned of it and then carefully look into ourselves. The reason is that our outer and, so to speak, social life is more practically important to us than our inner and individual existence. (Bergson, 1950: p. 130)
We do not have the same experience over and over; we have similar, not identical experiences. Yet, our brain groups them, subsuming them under objects, or ordering them in categories to facilitate cognitive processing. Thought-shaping exacerbates this process sometimes in a negative sense: someone who sees a Gypsy woman and immediately thinks: “outsider, unreliable, dangerous,” which applies a simplistic stereotypical structure, engendered by prior images, treating persons, events or objects as representative of those biases. Yet, we are bedevilled by our innate tendency to impose a static order on reality by means of language:
We instinctively tend to solidify our impressions in order to express them in language. Hence we confuse the feeling itself, which is in a perpetual state of becoming, with its permanent external object, and especially with the word which expresses this object. (Bergson, 1950: p. 130)
Bergson expresses once more what Hegel worked out in the context of his logic: there exists a gap between the concept (or language) and reality. Once we use identical words and labels to categorize similar experiences, we assume that percepts a1, a2, a3 all belong to series ax. We flatten them out to fit into a discursive structure, thereby underestimating or denying the fluid and expansive nature of experience itself. The differential ontologies of poststructuralism recognized this feature of cognition and emphasized alterity and differentiation. For Gilles Deleuze, difference was primary over identity; for Jacques Derrida, différance opened up texts to multiple meanings. As discussed previously, this approach led to an uncontrolled proliferation of meanings, veering even into universal relativism.
Bergson provides an alternative approach based on refraction, avoiding relativism altogether. Refraction as a natural phenomenon occurs when light waves travel through a medium of a different density, changing the direction in which they move. Due to differences in wavelength, it can be used to split white light into the rainbow spectrum of colors. As such, refraction itself represents a double feature: it appears as an illusion, but it is objectively true. The oar that appears bent while sticking in the water is physically straight as an object, yet perceptually bent. Refraction creates a rupture within the perceptual field, destabilizing its usual structure. The Dutch term for refraction—breking—captures it nicely: reality itself “breaks” or “ruptures,” providing an unavoidable perceptual reality overlaid on physical reality that differs from it. Yet, refraction as a phenomenon is thoroughly natural. Thought itself is refractive in the sense that it is endlessly differentiating out of sense impressions. It overlays perceptual structures on reality which are real, yet not identical to the reality over which they operate.
The refractive element does not ascend the ontological ladder but instead restructures the field of cognition so that a Gestalt-shift occurs: its contents appear as stable, but nevertheless open up. The differentiating characteristic of the refractive element was correctly observed by poststructuralism, but its potential was massively overextended, leading to the hasty conclusion of relativism. As a feature of refractive thinking, the refractive element itself (one could even frame it as the Hegelian “moment of novelty” in a dialectical process) is the mode of thought that breaks through cemented courses of thinking and understanding. While it may appear as a moment of non-rationality or unfamiliarity, it is often retrospectively thoroughly explicable. In the field of design thinking, this feature has been described as the “expected unexpected” (Nelson and Stoltermann, 2014: pp. 41–42). That is, the creative mindset, which is trained to explore possibilities, is on the lookout for opportunities that shift and transform prior frames of reasoning. Instead of viewing the unexpected as the refutation of a prior conviction or expectation, it regards it as an opportunity to revise fundamental aspects of its reasoning against a new background. What is more, a trained designer has a “knack” or skill to recognize such clues and features, whether in an idea, drawing or sketch. Their mind is as it were poised to apprehend possibilities that invert or refract the entire frame of reference. What appears as a “eureka moment” is often not a singular instance, but a thoroughly explicable “epistemic break” that overcomes prior conceptions, but which is embedded in a larger process of thinking. While such moments are not reducible to the field of thinking from which they emerge, they still form a part of it. Just like thought-shapers cannot be dislodged from the context in which they operate, so too is the refractive element part of the context it transforms.
In his fine study on craftsmanship, Richard Sennett argues in detail that when working with a material or within the rules of a certain craft (say, furniture making, bricklaying, or architectural design) the practitioner’s mind inhabits a prehensive mode, dimly but continuously anticipating possibilities that are not conceptualized as “clear and distinct” (Sennett, 2018). They appear as hunches or “firm intuitions.” But effective practitioners know how to recognize the clues their materials provide. The refractive element in their thinking allows them to perceive possibilities that from within a fixed frame of reference appear as unnecessary or unfeasible. Yet, refractive thinking already recognizes that the boundaries of its own thought are flexible, and so does not continuously appeal to their supposed rationality or unchangeable fixity. It regards the field of thinking as much a product of its own activity as its “playing field.” This is indeed a–sometimes infuriating–feature of creative thinkers: they are adept at keeping options open as long as possible, keeping the entire field of thinking in a state of charged generativity. To understand that the field of thinking is shaped by thought-shapers and refractive thinking while it shapes them in turn, is to grasp the essence of refraction. In architectural design, this feature is on full display: new solutions continuously shape the boundaries of the design problem itself. This feature led sociologist Donald Schon to remark that designers speak about “the design problem” alongside speaking about “designing as such”: the conversation takes place on two levels simultaneously, refracting the frames of reference (Schon, 1987, 1992) Designing a solution involves not only accepting the playing field in which the problem is situated, but shaping its outlines in such a way that a new range of solutions becomes possible—or even visible for the first time. The entire field of thinking is subject to transformation as much as the problems that arise within it.
To appreciate the generative nature of the refractive element, we must turn to both Bergson and Gadamer who—not unlike Hegel’s conception of the dialectic—unpacks two different aspects of refraction.
First, for Gadamer, the essence of hermeneutic understanding lies in the structure of the question (Gadamer 2013: 370–376). As the Socratic dialogues show, an innocuous question can destabilize an entire edifice of thought. Prompted about definitions, Socrates’s interlocutors are forced to concede that the foundation they use for reasoning is not infallible. The traumatic moment occurs when the question is posed. Its presence probes and pushes, and not unlike the tension in Hegel’s dialectical understanding, makes the gap between concept and reality manifest. In German, to pose a question is die Frage stellen. Yet, the verb stellen can also mean “to situate”, “to position” or “to put” something firmly in place. The question appears as an obstacle, an insurmountable barrier that forces the movement of thinking to open, to differentiate out in new directions. Through refraction, that which is assumed as common knowledge or sensus communis is pried open and analyzed again. Not coincidentally, we witness in the Socratic dialogues how distinctions become finer and finer, until eventually their sense is almost lost. Each refracted definition leads into new avenues of thought. Simultaneously, it restructures the entire field of investigation around new pathways. Refraction animates the environment in which thinking operates. Like a magnet among iron filings, the object of attention refracts the field of inquiry around it. Whether it appears as an obstacle, enigma or new insight, the thinking that surrounds it is transformed.
In the example of the bent oar, we witness a transformative gap emerging: the oar is physically straight, but perceptually bent. The physical oar has certain properties that one might be familiar with. Yet, its impossible, bent variation exists perceptually, although not physically. Refraction’s efficacy in transforming perception gives rise to a tension between what is perceived (a bent object) and what is present (a straight object). In a reflexive loop that is not closable, the perception is also present, albeit as a function of how the laws of physics function. Like the Hegelian gap between concept and reality, refraction renders visible an interpretive gap, without cancelling either of the two overlapping realities out. Their simultaneity means that they in turn refract each other, establishing a new set of perceptible relations between them.
Literally, breking introduces a break in the relations between perception and physical reality. What ensues, however, is not a mere illusion or optical trick without value. One could approach refraction as mere trickery or forgery, but that would do no justice to its generative potential. Refraction also causes the dissolution of white light into its rainbow spectrum of constituent colors. Through differentiation, it renders an inherent order tangible. That is, by its very presence, we witness something that is not grasped by natural vision. White light must, as it were, be forced open in order to show its true colors. Likewise, the oar must be dipped into the water in order to show some properties of the medium in which it moves.
As artists and designers have long recognized, the difference between perceptual presence and physical reality is of immense value. To sketch, for example, is to overlay and superimpose drawings in such a way that multiple possible realities are visually present. Drawing exploits simultaneity, resulting in a veritable panopticon of possibilities. The sketch is diaphanous—in overlapping layers, various aspects make themselves perceptible (Paans, 2024). Or put differently: the ensuing gap creates the conditions for perceiving differently. Likewise, the poem is a structure of words that exploits the openness and suggestiveness of language. Despite being precise, conceptual understanding and reflection cannot grasp the meaning of the poem. It freely utilizes symbols, suggestion, complexes of meaning and transmitted associations. But what emerges out of such artistic activities is not falseness. Rather, it is an image of what could be—a layer of reality that opens itself up to us. Gadamer has drawn attention to this peculiar characteristic of the illusion in his detailed analysis of Hegel’s “inverted world” (verkehrte Welt) (Gadamer, 1976: pp. 35–53). In Hegel’s dialectic, the world appears as the play of opposites, a sense of productive contradiction shimmering through. But, just like satire is a mirror image of the world, there is more at stake than just doubling. The satire inverts the world, but by that very act, it makes the inherent tensions and possibilities of the real world manifest. To take the classical plot trope of the beggar becoming the king literally misses the point: the message is that such a reversal is impossible, underlining the inequalities of manifest reality. But it takes a distortion of sorts, a refraction of the real world imposed on it from the outside to make it tangible. Like the sketch and the poem show, refraction opens up the present.
Put in poststructuralist language: it differentiates reality itself into multiple overlapping and even conflicting notions. Socratic questioning solicits a similar effect: through it, we witness a satire of sorts, with Socrates in the role of an impossibly curious character and his interlocutor as the hapless victim of his analysis. In many cases, Socrates refracts what is said, showing its ambiguities and possibilities. While this process yields no answers (many dialogues remain undecided), it sets off a movement of thinking and recasting reality.
The second point is worked out by Bergson. For him, refraction itself is structured like a fourfold typology, as it is inherently transformative (Mullarkey, 2004: p. 483). Starting from a natural refraction, it proceeds to a differential stage, followed by an integrative phase, only to arrive at a reconfigured natural state again (Mullarkey, 2004: p. 485). In the context of Bergson’s metaphysics, this thought process is continuous, because reality is a heterogeneous continuum that’s forever moving, like a river. We can literally never have the same experience twice.
An example of the refractive process can be found in various conceptions of religion: we may start with an animistic conception of the world, in which people regard themselves as part of a living nature consisting of forces and phenomena, conceptualized by the thought that the world is imbued with spirits. Once more, this conception is refracted into polytheism and monotheism. In the concluding stage, theism is refracted as deism and ultimately as pantheism—a conception that shares many structural similarities with the original animistic conception of nature, yet developed through successive stages, and as such made richer by assimilating core ideas of previous stages. Like the Hegelian phenomenology of successive stages of Spirit or self-understanding, Bergsonian refraction allows for the emergence of new and more complex conceptions of an idea. Unlike the classical reading of Hegelian dialectics, however, this process is not teleological or goal-oriented. Instead, refraction is characterized by open-endedness, branching out in multiple directions from a conception that is deemed unacceptable. In the case of religion, the monotheistic conception, might for instance, respond effectively to perceived shortcomings of polytheism. Through its effectiveness, it presents itself as a feasible alternative. All this does not imply that there is all of a sudden a fixed definition of monotheism. Through a refractive process, the notion of monotheism itself differentiates as various conceptions compete for acceptance. We also see here how refraction avoids relativism: the new conceptions are always read against a certain conceptual background: the new monotheism is interpreted against the background of polytheism and its purported shortcomings; but likewise, certain new versions of monotheism might be read against the background of earlier versions, rendering a fruitful comparison possible.
Similarly, we see this generative feature in theories that took differential ontology in an alternative direction. For instance, Hans-Jörg Rheinberger’s philosophy of science hinges entirely on the notion of differential repetition (Rheinberger, 2005). As in Bergson, running the same scientific experiment twice is not repeating an identical set of experiences. In the act of repetition lies a difference that opens up the field of inquiry again. Put in terms of refraction: experience is refractive as it overlays disjunctive perceptions on a repeated physical reality, doubling not its contents, but highlighting points of difference. As in Hegel, the gap between concept and perception proves to be productive: it allows for questioning long-held and thought-shaped assumptions. In Rheinberger’s philosophy, this feature underlies discovery as such: the small differences between experimental findings, or the ensuing refractions push thinking in new directions, showing the cracks in our understanding. By repeating experiments, one creates a temporary frame of references (or even a cloud of references) against which new or remarkable results are interpreted. In such contexts, there are few undisputed “gold standards.” Instead, what appears as the standard for reasoning co-evolves with new discoveries and emerging differences. The fact that experiences are similar but not identical can in this case be usefully applied to scientific discovery, introducing an element of refraction without ending up in unconstrained relativism.
As Mullarkey notes, the Bergsonian typology of refraction appears quite like Hegel’s dialectical process (Mullarkey, 2004: p. 485). Here, I disagree with Mullarkey’s claim that Hegelian dialectic is merely teleological, dissociative, and negative. Like Bergson’s refraction, dialectical thought is as much genealogical, refractive, associative and differential—that is, it can lay claim to genuine creativity. And through this capacity it can confront the pitfalls of reflection. Kant already realized that reflection surveys the genealogy of a concept. In Hegel, we witness how this developmental process becomes the driver of dialectical thought and ultimately reflexive self-understanding. The negative plays an enormous role here, but the associative and the differential as well. Without the refractive element of the new, dialectical thinking cannot proceed.
Importantly, the refractive element cuts right across cemented habits of thought and the constrictive effect of thought-shapers. Through refractive thought, the embodied mind is forced to revisit and confront its limits of thinking. I’ll discuss some consequences of refractive thought in the next and final section.
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