Saturday, December 31, 2011

A Gem of a Book 2

A Gem of a Book 2

I have already alluded to the similarities of view between The Philosopher and the Wolf and Straw Dogs. It comes as little wonder that John Gray should endorse the first of these books once on the cover and once on the flyleaf. He lauds this book as a work of depth that calls on us to re-evaluate our view of “the human animal.” This last phrase is central to Gray’s understanding of humankind by situating us firmly in the animal kingdom. It is also a timely and subversive work – and indeed we need subversion as well as scepticism these days when capitalism has been let wreak untold damage on the fabric of the world’s economy through naked greed – which makes us question our unquestioned suppositions and presuppositions not alone of humans in general but of philosophers and scientists in particular.

Our Peculiar Stories

I use the adjective ‘peculiar’ in the sense of ‘particular to’ in the above subheading. Rowlands argues that we humans have a simian or ape-like soul. He continues thus:
I am going to try and show you that, for the most part, each one of us has the soul of an ape. I’m not investing too much in the word ‘soul.’ By ‘soul’ I don’t necessarily mean some immortal or incorruptible part of us that survives the death of our body. The soul may be like this, but I doubt it. Or it may be that the soul is simply the mind, and the mind is simply the brain. But again, I doubt it. As I am using the word, the soul of human beings is revealed in the stories they tell about themselves: stories about why they are unique; stories we humans can actually get ourselves to believe, in spite of all the evidence against them. These, I am going to argue, are stories told by apes: they have a structure, theme and content that is (sic) recognizably simian. (The Philosopher and the Ape, p. 5)

Animal Metaphors

A Young Mark Rowlands with his pet Wolf Brenin
Because language fails us miserably in its literal designations we have long been forced to forge metaphors to carry the weight of meaning we wish our words to carry. More often than not they are strong enough to carry this weight. Professor Rowlands uses the metaphor “ape,” and indeed, the corresponding adjective “simian” to refer to our tendency to understand the world in “instrumental terms.” For us humans the value of everything is judged by what it can do for us, that is, we are creatures prone to “instrumental reasoning” as the Canadian philosopher, Charles Taylor so neatly puts it. We see the world, quite literally as a collection of resources to be exploited for our own benefit, and more often than not for our own selfish purposes and aggrandisement. Once again, instrument reasoning can be summed up nicely in Oscar Wilde’s witty dictum that its possessors “know the price of everything and the value of nothing.” According to Rowlands, the ape has the tendency to think that everything can be summed up, including the most important things in life, by a cost-benefit analysis.
However, over against the metaphor of the ape in us, Rowlands suggests rather obviously the metaphor of the wolf to balance things out for us. In every story told by the ape, our professor argues, we shall find a subplot or sub-story told by the wolf – that is, if we train ourselves to look carefully enough for this story. The wolf is howling away, if I may sustain the metaphor in a rather crass fashion, to remind us that the values if the ape are rather “worthless.” (ibid., p7) Our author argues that it is at our peril that we allow the wolf to die in us. Or to put it in more poetic terms as Professor Rowlands is wont to do:
But the most important you is not the one who schemes: it is the one who remains when the scheming fails. The most important you is not the one who delights in your cunning; it’s what’s left behind when the cunning leaves you for dead. The most important you is the one who rides your luck; it is the you who remains when the luck has run out. In the end the ape will always fail you. The most important question you can ask yourself is: when this happens, who will be left behind?” (Ibid., p. 8)

The lessons that Mark Rowlands learned over his eleven years spent with his pet wolf were visceral or gut-level ones, lessons which were essentially non-cognitive, lessons one might say of the heart, or even beneath the heart (my metaphor here). Indeed, in general, while I may have some reservations here and there which what our author contends, I am in broad agreement with him. I agree readily that life is indeed far “too slippery” for “premises and conclusions.” These are singularly Newmanian terms, though I’m sure our author does not realise this. As I have quoted many times before in these pages John Henry Cardinal Newman never tired of reminding us that the “whole man moves; paper logic is but a record of it.”

If you would like to hear Mark Rowlands discussing this book with a fellow professor at Miami University see WolfPhil

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