Sunday Mammalfest, Episode 3

Typically when one thinks of Cthulhu, or some other mysterious horror beyond human understanding, one has images of octopuses, fish, eels and snakes – various cold-blood creatures. But mammals can be creepy as hell too. So this week’s mammalfest is an exhibition of those mammals which may be in league with the elder gods in their plan to bring pre-human madness and devastation to the world.

Star-nosed mole, Condylura cristata

Star-nosed mole, Condylura cristata

Our first example is the star-nosed mole, the fastest eater in the world. By using the incredibly sensitive tentacles on its snout, it can decide by touch whether or not to eat something in a mere 8 miliseconds, and then bringing that object into the mouth to swallow in only 120 miliseconds. Be glad that object is not you or those you love.

A similar adaptation is found in the fringe-lipped bat, which uses its complex array of bumps and protrusions to identify from a frog’s skin whether it will be poisonous. Against this menace from beyond sanity, not even turning into a frog will save you.

Fringe-lipped bat, Trachops cirrhosus

Fringe-lipped bat, Trachops cirrhosus

Completing the mind-melting trinity is the naked mole rat, a mouse with the soul of an ant. They live underground in their vast colonies, all unswervingly loyal to their mighty queen. What are they doing down there? What are they planning? Why do they look like penises with legs? We know only three things: they feed their young on feces, they cannot feel pain in their skin, and when they emerge from their underground fortresses in the deserts of Somalia, humanity will be in mortal danger.

Naked mole rat, Heterocephalus glaber

Naked mole rat, Heterocephalus glaber

Solipsism and Capitalism, Part 2 of 2

In yesterday’s post I argued that some philosophers misinterpret perception as being a two-term, self-object experience, while I feel it is better captured by a three-term, self-object-world relationship, and that moreover it is this basic mistake which creates what I called the feeling of ‘claustrophobia’ that sometimes appears in epistemology and the philosophy of perception.

Now I want to consider why that mistake got made, and why it was shared among a variety of prominent, and often sharply disagreeing, early modern philosophers. I want to suggest that it reflects the sort of society they were trying to come to terms with.

I’ve remarked in the past on the ‘fit’ between the mentality appropriate to science (rational, reductive, totalising) and the mentality appropriate to market-based profit-maximising (rational, reductive, totalising). I’ve suggested that this results in an ideological bias in capitalist societies towards a dogmatic over-emphasis of science.

I would suggest here that there is also a certain ‘fit’ between the way that the social world appears to the capitalist mindset, and the way the world of thought appears to the sort of almost-solipsistic mindset I have criticised, that is liable to make such an approach, though mistaken, attractive to philosophers working in a capitalist milieu.

The primary point of resemblance is this: if one neglects the fact that all specific objects are always perceived (and thought of) against the background of the world, i.e. in necessary connection with the world, one gives to them a sense of independence from each other. When one then says that there is in fact a world (as there obviously is), that world will seem like the mere adding-together of a great number of discrete things, an aggregate, a heap.

Similarly, in a capitalist economic system, each actor operates independently, with their own goals, seeing no inherent connection or bond between themselves and others. Society as a whole then appears as simply a random collection of self-seeking individuals, a heap, an aggregate with no unity or meaningful connection.

Indeed, one arrives at Thatcher’s famous quote: there is no such thing as society. There are only individuals (and families, in the quote, but since house-bound home-makers are similarly invisible in capitalist ‘civil society’ and in most philosophy, we can ignore that). And the mistaken starting-point in philosophy that I discussed is the metaphysical equivalent: there is no such thing as reality, there are only individual objects.

A consequence of this is solitude. Capitalism as a market economy is the reign of ‘private’ interests and ‘private individuals’. If there is no such thing as society, then there is no meaningful subject of concern, pride, hope, or love beyond oneself and one’s handful of ‘private’ friends. Contrasted with, say, the confidently ‘public’ life of a citizen in democratic Athens, or the loyal member of a grand dynasty, a guild, a secret society, etc, the bourgeois operates within the narrow confines on their own soul.

It isn’t hard to see how this parallels the fear of solipsism in philosophy, the worry that just as the absence of a community beyond self interest prevents us from emotionally ‘getting outside our own heads’, so the absence of a world beyond discrete objects prevents us from cognitively ‘getting outside our own heads’.

In both cases, we could express this in a contradiction: socially, capitalism promotes a sort of self-interest that undermines the foundations for social cohesion – and yet social cohesion remains necessary, because without legitimacy and state force, property rights cease to be respected and the market vanishes. Philosophically, the very processes of thought and reason which are supposed to let us know the truth about reality threaten to abolish our knowledge of it.

I should stress, the aim of this parallel-drawing is not to substitute political critique for philosophical critique – it is merely to pick off where philosophical critique leaves off, to fill in the ‘logical gaps’ that philosophical crtique uncovers. By looking outside of philosophy itself, we see how these systematic errors reflect the systematic traits of society, and how the contradictions of capitalism infect even speculative philosophy.