As the years pass and my disappointment matures like a fine wine (spoiler alert: itās vinegar), Iām reminded of the average intelligence quotient floating about in the wild. A few years back, I stumbled upon The Half-Life of Knowledge. Cute title, but itās more optimistic than it should be. Why assume knowledge even has a shelf life? Itās one thing for once-useful information to spoil thanks to āprogress,ā but what about the things that were never true to begin with? Ah, yes, the fabrications, the lies weāre spoon-fed under the guise of education.
Iām well-versed in the lies they peddle in the United States, but Iād bet good money (not that I have any) that every nationās curriculum comes with its own patriotic propaganda. What am I on about, you ask? Letās just say Iāve been reading How the World Made the West by Josephine Quinn, and itās got me thinking. You see, Iāve also been simmering on an anti-democracy book for the better part of five years, and itās starting to boil over.
Here in the good ol’ US of A, they like to wax lyrical about how Athens was the birthplace of democracy. Sure, Athens had its democratic dabblings. But letās not get it twistedāif you really look at it, Athens was more akin to the Taliban than to any modern Western state. Shocked? Donāt be. For starters, only property-owning men could vote, and womenābrace yourselvesāwere “forced” to wear veils. Sounds familiar? āItās a start,ā you say. True, American women couldnāt vote until 1920, so letās all pat ourselves on the back for thatāProgressā¢ļø.
But no, hold your applause. First off, letās remember that Athens and Sparta were city-states, not some cohesive entity called āGreeceā as we so lovingly imagine. Just a bunch of Greek-speaking neighbours constantly squabbling like reality TV contestants. Meanwhile, over in Persiaāyes, the supposed enemy of all things free and democraticāthey had participative democracy, too. And guess what? Women in Persia could vote, own property, and serve as soldiers or military officers. So much for the idea that Athens was the singular beacon of democratic virtue.
More than this, Persian democracy was instituted by lottery, so many more people participated in the process by serving one-year terms. At the end of their term, they were audited to check for corruption. Now, you can see why we adopted the so-called Greek version. These blokes don’t welcome any oversight of scrutiny.
As a postmodern subjectivist, I tend to side-eye any grand narrative, and the history of Western civilisation is just one long parade of questionable claims and hidden agendas. Every time I think Iāve seen the last of the historical jump scares, another one comes lurking around the corner. Boo!
People often ask why I churn out so many polemic, contrarian articles. The answer? Itās simply how I think. My brain naturally questions everything, not out of a desire to be difficult, but because thatās just my worldview. Iām not inventing challenges for the sake of argumentāthe challenges are already there, embedded in the world as I see it.
Another reason is solidarity. I write in hopes that others, whose thoughts run along similar lines, might stumble across my material and feel less alone. Thereās something deeply reassuring in discovering that someone else has been on the same mental journeyāthat feeling of “Ah, Iām not alone in this.” Many times, Iāve had ideas only to find that philosophers, thinkers, or whoever have already penned volumes on the subject. And honestly? That grounds me. Even better if theyāve gone further, articulated it more eloquently, or ventured into new depths. Itās all useful. Plus, their critics then become my critics, and I get to sharpen my thoughts in responseāor at least build my own defences.
And finally, I write for the potential spark. Maybe someone out there reads a piece of mine and feels inspired to take it further, push an idea beyond what I could imagine. After all, entire Nobel Prize-winning theories have started as someone else’s footnotes. Thereās nothing wrong with being someoneās footnote.
So, now you know.
NB: I’ll be in surgery when this posts, so I’ve scheduled this in advance so as not to have a gap…that may occur anyway.
Language is a fickle thing. Spoken words are fleeting vibrations in the air, while the written word stands still, preserved for all eternityāor at least until someone spills a cup of tea on it. But as it turns out, the way we write things down is just as much a human invention as the words themselves. And perhaps nothing exemplifies this better than the simple, unassuming space.
INPRINCIPIOERATVERBUMETVERBUMERATAPUDEUM
You see, in the early days, spaces between words didnāt exist at all. Latin texts were written in something called scriptura continua, which, if youāre imagining an interminable block of unbroken letters, is exactly what it was. There were no spaces, no commas, and certainly no handy full stops to tell you when youād reached the end of a thought. If youāre feeling brave, try reading a page of dense prose without any breaks, and youāll see just how taxing it must have been. Not for the faint-hearted, especially if your reading material consisted of ancient Roman tax codes or Cicero’s less thrilling speeches.
Originally, Romans tried to manage the chaos with something called the interpunctāa little dot, mid-height, between words. Cute, right? But these mid-dots werenāt as convenient as youād think. They eventually fell out of fashion, leaving words to once again pile up against each other like an anxious crowd waiting for a delayed train. It wasn’t until some resourceful monks in the seventh century thought, “This is ridiculous, letās make reading less like mental acrobatics,” that the concept of word spacing, as we know it, truly took off. Hats off to those monks, honestlyāturning scriptura continua into something you could read without a magnifying glass and a headache.
And then, along came punctuation. Oh, punctuation! The glorious marks that tell us when to pause, when to stop, and when to yell in sheer disbeliefālike the question mark (?!), when you discover early Latin, had none of these. The dots got demoted, moved down to the bottom of the line, and eventually became full stops. Punctuation began as a tool for reading aloudāa sort of musical notation for the voiceābut evolved into something to guide the eye, allowing the inner voice to navigate text without getting lost.
The spaces and dots may seem like minor players, but they were transformative. They laid the foundation for silent reading, which revolutionised the entire act of reading itself. No longer were texts simply prompts for orators to recite; they became private journeys into the mind. By the time the printing press rolled around, spaces and punctuation were firmly in place, making it possible for literacy to spread and for people to sit in quiet corners, reading for pleasure. Who would have thought that the humble spaceāthe “nothing” between wordsāwould become a hero of the human intellect?
For a deeper dive into this rather niche but wildly fascinating history, check out Rob Words’ video on the subject here: Where Does Punctuation Come From?!. Itās well worth your timeāa rollicking journey through the peculiarities of written language, spaces, and all the delightful stops along the way.
And remember, next time you type a message, mind the gap. Itās doing a lot more work than you think.
Capitalism, often celebrated for its ability to generate wealth and innovation, also brings with it a darker legacy: the untold millions of lives prematurely lost due to its systemic failures. Capitalism can be attributed to more than 10 million excess deaths per year, and these numbers will continue to increase. These deaths are not simply unfortunate byproducts but are structurally baked into the system itself. Whether through poverty, healthcare inequality, environmental destruction, or war, capitalismās logic of profit maximisation places human life at the mercy of market forces, with devastating consequences.
Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.
Friedrich Engels famously referred to these preventable deaths as social murder, a term that highlights how capitalism creates conditions in which certain populations are systematically neglected, deprived, and ultimately destroyed. Today, Engelsā critique is more relevant than ever as we examine the staggering human toll that capitalism has left in its wake, often invisible in the glow of GDP figures and economic growth.
Poverty and Hunger: The Silent Killers
One of the most pervasive ways capitalism generates excess deaths is through poverty and hunger. Despite the extraordinary wealth produced by capitalist economies, millions still die from hunger-related causes every year. According to the World Health Organization (WHO), around 9 million people die annually from hunger and malnutrition, mostly in regions where capitalist-driven global inequality has made basic necessities unaffordable or inaccessible.[1]
Capitalismās defenders often point to rising standards of living as evidence of the systemās success, but this narrative suffers from survivorship bias. The success stories of those who have benefited from capitalist growth obscure the countless lives that have been lost to the systemās structural inequalities. As Engels noted, these deaths are not natural or inevitableāthey are preventable. They occur because the capitalist system concentrates wealth in the hands of a few while leaving vast populations to suffer without access to food, healthcare, or basic resources.
“For the dead, there is no measure of progress or rising standards; they are simply erased from the narrative.”
This disparity in wealth and access to resources creates a global system of social murder, where the deaths of the poor are written off as collateral damage in the pursuit of profit. These deaths are not merely unfortunate consequences; they are inherent to the capitalist systemās prioritisation of wealth accumulation over human life.
Healthcare Inequality and Preventable Deaths
The lack of access to adequate healthcare is another major driver of deaths attributable to capitalism. In the United States, the richest nation in the world, an estimated 500,000 deaths between 1990 and 2010 were linked to healthcare inequality, according to a Lancet study.[2] Globally, millions die each year from preventable causesāsuch as pneumonia, diarrhoea, and malariaābecause market-driven healthcare systems fail to provide for those without the means to pay.
In a for-profit healthcare system, those without money are often denied life-saving treatment. Healthcare becomes a commodity, rather than a human right. This commodification of care creates deadly disparities, where a wealthy few receive world-class medical attention while millions die from treatable conditions. Engelsā notion of social murder is evident here as well: the system does not kill through direct violence but by neglecting the vulnerable.
“Capitalismās market-driven healthcare system perpetuates a structural violence where the poor die from treatable conditions simply because they cannot pay.”
This situation is exacerbated by the ongoing commodification of healthcare through privatisation and austerity measures, which strip public systems of resources and force them to operate on capitalist principles. The result is a world where profit motives dictate who lives and who dies.
Environmental Destruction and Climate Change: Capitalismās Long-Term Death Toll
Capitalismās unrelenting focus on short-term profit also drives environmental destruction, contributing to a growing death toll linked to climate change. The WHO estimates that by 2030, climate change will cause approximately 250,000 additional deaths each year, driven by heat stress, malnutrition, and the spread of diseases like malaria and diarrhoea.[3] These figures are conservative, as the cascading effects of climate-induced migration and conflict are difficult to quantify.
David Harveyās concept of accumulation by dispossession is central to understanding how capitalism contributes to environmental devastation. Capitalist economies extract and commodify natural resources, often at the expense of local populations who bear the brunt of environmental degradation. Deforestation, mining, and fossil fuel extraction displace communities and destroy ecosystems, creating conditions that lead to death, displacement, and disease.
“The victims of capitalismās environmental destruction are not accidental casualties; they are the inevitable outcomes of a system that prioritises short-term profit over long-term sustainability.”
This environmental violence is compounded by disaster capitalism, a term coined by Naomi Klein to describe how capitalist interests exploit crises like natural disasters or financial collapses for profit.[4] The destruction of vulnerable communities by climate change is not simply a tragedyāit is a consequence of capitalist expansion into every corner of the planet, sacrificing human and ecological health for economic gain.
War and Imperialism: Capitalismās Violent Expansion
The human toll of capitalism extends beyond poverty and environmental degradation to include the millions of lives lost to wars driven by capitalist interests. The illegal invasion of Iraq in 2003, for example, led to hundreds of thousands of deaths, many of which were tied to the geopolitical aims of securing control over oil reserves. Wars like Iraq are not isolated failures of policy but integral to the functioning of a global capitalist system that seeks to dominate resources and expand markets through military force.
David Harveyās theory of new imperialism explains how capitalist economies rely on the expansion of markets and the extraction of resources from other nations, often through military means.[5] The military-industrial complex, as described by President Dwight D. Eisenhower, thrives under capitalism, profiting from perpetual war and the destruction of human life.
“Wars driven by capitalist interests are not just geopolitical strategies; they are extensions of capitalismās relentless drive to dominate resources and secure markets.”
The death toll of wars driven by capitalist expansion is staggering. From the millions killed in conflicts over resources to the long-term destabilisation of regions like the Middle East, these deaths are directly tied to capitalismās global ambitions. The victims of these warsālike those who suffer from poverty and environmental destructionāare casualties of a system that prioritises wealth and power over human life.
Conclusion: Reckoning with Capitalismās Death Toll
The deaths attributable to capitalism are not abstract or incidental; they are the direct consequences of a system that places profit above all else. From hunger and poverty to healthcare inequality, environmental destruction, and war, the capitalist system has claimed millions of livesālives that could have been saved under a more just and equitable economic model.
“Capitalismās greatest violence is not its wars, but its everyday acts of neglect, where millions die not from bombs but from lack of food, water, and care.”
The true success of capitalism, then, is not in its ability to generate wealth for the few, but in its capacity to obscure the structural violence that sustains it. By framing poverty, healthcare inequality, and environmental destruction as unfortunate consequences of “market forces,” capitalism avoids accountability for the millions it leaves behind.
It is time to reckon with this hidden death toll. Only by facing the human cost of capitalism can we begin to imagine a future where economic systems prioritise human life over profit. The victims of capitalism are not just numbersāthey are the casualties of a system that, as Engels pointed out, murders through neglect, exploitation, and greed.
Endnotes:
[1]: World Health Organization, “Hunger and Malnutrition: Key Facts,” 2022. [2]: “The Lancet Public Health,” Study on healthcare inequality in the U.S., 2010. [3]: World Health Organization, “Climate Change and Health,” 2022. [4]: Naomi Klein, The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism (Picador, 2007), pp. 9-10. [5]: David Harvey, The New Imperialism (Oxford University Press, 2005), pp. 145-147.
Philosophical paradoxes have long captured our imagination, from Zeno’s paradoxes about movement to the Liar Paradox that tangles truth and falsehood into an endless loop. Often, these puzzles are treated as fundamental mysteries of the universeāwindows into the limits of human understanding or insight into the hidden structure of reality. But what if, rather than reflecting deep truths about existence, many of these paradoxes are artefacts of language itselfāsymptoms of our conceptual tools struggling to adequately map a complex terrain? Perhaps, more often than not, the perplexities we face are the result of an inadequate mappingāa linguistic or cognitive misfireārather than true paradoxes of the underlying terrain of reality.
This notionāthat many paradoxes arise from the limitations of language and cognitionāfinds resonance in the work of philosophers like Ludwig Wittgenstein. Wittgenstein argued that many philosophical problems arise because we misuse language, taking words beyond their natural context, confusing what our words describe with the objects or concepts themselves. In this sense, our maps (the linguistic and logical structures we use) often lead us astray when navigating the conceptual terrains of ethics, metaphysics, or the nature of truth.
This idea can be articulated under what we might call the Language Insufficiency Hypothesis: the view that the limitations of language itself are at the root of many philosophical paradoxes. According to this hypothesis, the apparent contradictions or puzzles that emerge in philosophical discourse often reveal more about the shortcomings of our representational tools than about any deep metaphysical truths. The Language Insufficiency Hypothesis suggests that our conceptual maps are inadequate for fully capturing the richness of the terrains we attempt to describe, and that this inadequacy leads us to mistake linguistic confusion for genuine philosophical mystery.
The Inherent Limitations of Linguistic Communication
Language, often hailed as humanityās greatest achievement, may paradoxically be one of our most significant limitations. The Language Insufficiency Hypothesis posits that language is inherently inadequate for communicating abstract concepts, a notion that challenges our fundamental understanding of human communication and cognition. This perspective traces the evolution of language from its primitive origins to its current complexity, revealing the philosophical and practical implications of linguistic inadequacy.
The Accidental Evolution of Language
Language, like many aspects of human biology and cognition, emerged not through intentional design but as an evolutionary accident. Initially serving as an internal cognitive functionāa means of organising oneās own thoughtsālanguage gradually evolved into a tool for external communication. This transition likely began with simple vocalisations, perhaps rooted in rhythmic expressions akin to music and dance, before developing into more structured speech.
Early linguistic communication likely centred on concrete objects and immediate experiences, with words serving as direct signifiers for observable phenomena. However, as human cognition grew more sophisticated, so too did our linguistic capabilities, expanding to include verbs, modifiers, and eventually, abstract nouns.
The Emergence of Abstraction and Its Challenges
The development of abstract nouns marked a significant leap in human cognition and communication. Concepts such as ātruthā, ājusticeā, and āfreedomā allowed for more complex and nuanced discourse. However, this advancement came at a cost: these abstract concepts, lacking direct physical referents, introduced unprecedented ambiguity and potential for misunderstanding.
The Language Insufficiency Hypothesis suggests that this ambiguity is not merely a byproduct of abstraction, but a fundamental limitation of language itself. While two individuals might easily agree on the ātreenessā of a physical tree, concepts like āfairnessā or āreasonā are inherently unresolvable through linguistic means alone. This insufficiency becomes increasingly apparent as we move further from concrete, observable phenomena into the realm of abstract thought.
Wittgenstein and the Limits of Language
Ludwig Wittgensteinās later work provides crucial insights into the Language Insufficiency Hypothesis. Wittgenstein posited that words ultimately only map to other words, never truly making contact with the objective world. This perspective suggests that language operates within a closed system of human understanding, constructing our perception of reality rather than directly representing it.
if words only refer to other words, how can we ever be certain that weāre communicating abstract concepts accurately?
This Wittgensteinian dilemma underscores the core of the Language Insufficiency Hypothesis: if words only refer to other words, how can we ever be certain that weāre communicating abstract concepts accurately? The very tool we use to discuss and understand abstraction may be fundamentally incapable of capturing its essence.
Cultural and Disciplinary Variations
The inadequacy of language in conveying abstract concepts becomes even more apparent when we consider cultural and disciplinary variations in communication. Different cultures and academic disciplines develop their own specialised vocabularies and ālanguage gamesā, as Wittgenstein termed them. While these specialised languages may facilitate communication within specific contexts, they often create barriers to understanding for outsiders.
This phenomenon highlights another aspect of linguistic insufficiency: the context-dependent nature of meaning. Abstract concepts may be understood differently across cultures or disciplines, further complicating attempts at clear communication.
Neurolinguistic Perspectives
Recent advances in neurolinguistics have provided new insights into the brain structures involved in language processing. While these studies have enhanced our understanding of how the brain handles language, they have also revealed the complexity and variability of linguistic processing across individuals. This neurological diversity further supports the Language Insufficiency Hypothesis, suggesting that even at a biological level, there may be inherent limitations to how accurately we can communicate abstract concepts.
Implications and Counter-Arguments
The Language Insufficiency Hypothesis has profound implications for fields ranging from philosophy and psychology to law and international relations. If language is indeed inadequate for communicating abstract concepts, how can we ensure mutual understanding in complex negotiations or philosophical debates?
However, itās important to note that not all scholars accept the strong version of this hypothesis. Some argue that while language may have limitations, it remains our most sophisticated tool for sharing abstract ideas. They suggest that through careful definition, contextualisation, and the use of metaphor and analogy, we can overcome many of the inherent limitations of linguistic communication.
Navigating the Limits of Language
The Language Insufficiency Hypothesis presents a challenging perspective on human communication. It suggests that our primary tool for sharing abstract thoughts may be fundamentally flawed, incapable of fully capturing the complexity of our inner cognitive experiences.
recognising these limitations [of language] need not lead to communicative nihilism
Yet, recognising these limitations need not lead to communicative nihilism. Instead, it can foster a more nuanced approach to language use, encouraging us to be more precise in our definitions, more aware of potential misunderstandings, and more open to alternative forms of expression.
As we continue to grapple with abstract concepts and strive for clearer communication, we must remain cognizant of these linguistic limitations. Understanding the origins and nature of languageāand its inherent insufficienciesācan help us navigate its complexities, fostering more effective and empathetic communication across diverse fields of human endeavour.
The FregeāGeach Problem as an Illustration of Linguistic Limitations
One pertinent example of this idea is the FregeāGeach problem, a challenge often faced by expressivist theories of ethics. Expressivists maintain that moral statements do not describe facts but rather express attitudes or emotionsāa statement like “lying is wrong” is an expression of disapproval rather than a factual assertion. The FregeāGeach problem arises when such moral statements are embedded in logical constructions like conditionals or arguments: “If lying is wrong, then getting your little brother to lie is wrong.” In this context, expressivists face a challenge in explaining how the meaning of “lying is wrong” remains coherent across different uses, without reducing moral expressions to descriptive claims.
The FregeāGeach problem thus illustrates a fundamental limitation: attempting to apply truth-conditional logic, designed for descriptive language, to moral discourse, which serves a different function altogether. In trying to map evaluative terraināwhich involves emotions, commitments, and subjective attitudesāusing the same structures meant for factual landscapes, we encounter conceptual misalignments. This problemāa confusion of the terrain for the mapāis not necessarily a genuine paradox about moral truths but rather a reflection of the inadequacy of our current linguistic tools. Just as a physical map may fail to capture the emotional experience of a journey, so too do our linguistic and logical maps fail to adequately capture the moral landscape.
Wittgensteinās later work is helpful in framing this issue. He emphasised the importance of recognising different language-games: the rules and purposes that guide different forms of discourse. Moral language is not like scientific language; it follows different rules and aims to express and influence attitudes rather than establish empirically verifiable facts. The FregeāGeach problem emerges precisely because we attempt to impose a single logical structure onto forms of language that serve different purposes, confusing the distinct games we are playing. This attempt to force moral language into a framework designed for empirical propositions produces an apparent paradox, where the real issue lies in our misuse of the conceptual map.
Many philosophical paradoxesāfrom problems of identity and personal continuity to issues of free will and determinismāarise when we try to map different terrains with the same linguistic structures
This pattern of misinterpretation is not unique to moral discourse. Many philosophical paradoxesāfrom problems of identity and personal continuity to issues of free will and determinismāarise when we try to map different terrains with the same linguistic structures, or when we push our conceptual tools beyond their natural limits. Cognitive limitations also play a role; our tendency to think in binary oppositions, our reliance on categories, and our need for consistent narratives often lead to oversimplifications of complex realities. These cognitive toolsāessential for everyday functioningācan prove inadequate for capturing the nuance of the philosophical landscapes we attempt to navigate.
The map-terrain challenge is thus at the core of why philosophical paradoxes can seem so intractable. Our mapsāthe languages and logical frameworks that structure our thinkingāare, by their nature, simplifications of a world that is far more nuanced than we can readily articulate. When the terrain is moral, aesthetic, or otherwise not reducible to simple truths or falsehoods, the inadequacies of our maps become evident. We are left facing paradoxes that may, in truth, be nothing more than indicators that our representational systems need refinement or expansion.
Rather than treating these paradoxes as unresolvable, we might benefit from seeing them as invitations to reconsider our linguistic and cognitive frameworks. In recognising that the FregeāGeach problem, for instance, may reflect an ill-suited mapping of moral discourse rather than a genuine mystery about moral reality, we open the door to a pluralistic approach: different terrains require different maps. Perhaps, in some cases, the best solution is not to attempt to solve the paradox in traditional terms but to change the way we map the terrain altogetherāto allow for multiple, context-sensitive tools that respect the particularity of each domain of discourse.
Ultimately, this perspective suggests a more flexible and cautious approach to philosophical inquiryāone that acknowledges the limits of our conceptual tools and remains open to the possibility that the terrain is far richer and more varied than our maps can currently capture.
In the world of consciousness studies, few topics spark as much heated debate as the possibility of philosophical zombiesāhypothetical beings that behave exactly like humans but lack subjective experience, or qualia. On the surface, zombies seem like an interesting thought experiment, but they quickly turn into a battleground for deeper issues about the nature of consciousness itself.
This post explores two key perspectives in this debate: Daniel Dennettās functionalist critique of zombies and a recent scientific paper that argues zombies are biologically impossible. While both reject the possibility of zombies, they do so for different reasons, and the discussion leaves room for future possibilities that could disrupt the current consensus.
Dennettās Zombies and Zimboes: Consciousness as Function
Daniel Dennett, one of the most influential philosophers of mind, is known for his no-nonsense rejection of philosophical zombies. Dennett argues that if something behaves exactly like a conscious being, it is conscious. For him, there is no hidden metaphysical propertyāsuch as subjective experienceāthat separates a “zombie” from a conscious human. Consciousness, in his view, is entirely explainable by physical processes and functional behaviour.
Dennett extends his argument with the concept of zimboes, satirical creatures that not only act like conscious beings but can even reflect on their states, claiming to be conscious, despite supposedly lacking any inner experience. For Dennett, if a being can behave as though it has introspective awareness and engage in the full spectrum of human behaviour, thereās no meaningful distinction between that being and a conscious person.
In short, Dennett collapses the distinction between zombies and conscious beings. If something passes all the behavioural and functional tests of consciousness, it might as well be conscious. Zombies, as typically conceived, are simply an illusionāa misunderstanding of what consciousness is.
A Biological Rejection: Zombies Are Impossible
On the other hand, a more recent paper offers a different, biologically grounded argument against zombies. The authors propose that consciousness is the result of self-organising systems. In this view, biological organisms maintain their survival through adaptive behaviours constrained by policiesārules that govern how they react to environmental stimuli. These policies require a first-order self: a basic form of consciousness that allows an organism to navigate and interpret its environment.
The authors argue that without this first-order self, an organism would not be able to exhibit the fitness-driven behaviours needed for survival. Therefore, zombiesābeings that behave like humans without consciousnessāare biologically impossible. For these researchers, consciousness is not just a side effect of complex behaviour; itās a necessary condition for such behaviour. Their framework dissolves the so-called “hard problem” of consciousness, asserting that subjective experience, or qualia, arises directly from the qualitative nature of self-organising systems.
In their view, zombies cannot exist because behaviour as complex as that of conscious beings requires consciousness.
The Open Question: What About Future Technology?
However, there is a tension between these two perspectives, particularly when we consider future possibilities in technology and artificial intelligence. Both Dennett and the authors of the biological paper argue that zombiesāwhether defined as Dennett’s “behaviourally indistinguishable” beings or the biologically impossible entities proposed by the paperāare not real. But could this change?
What if advanced AI or synthetic biological systems could simulate human behaviour so perfectly that they effectively become zombiesāperforming all the actions and behaviours we associate with consciousness, but lacking any subjective experience? Dennett might still argue that these systems are conscious, as long as they behave as though they are. But the biological view complicates this, since it ties consciousness directly to the survival and adaptive behaviours of self-organising systems.
Could a highly advanced AI system bypass the need for subjective experience while still exhibiting complex, adaptive behaviour? If so, it would challenge the current consensus and potentially create a new class of entitiesāartificial zombiesāthat neither behave nor function like traditional conscious beings but still perform human-like actions.
I Wonder What’s Next?
This philosophical conflict leaves us with an intriguing, open-ended question: are zombies truly impossible, or are they merely improbable given our current understanding of biology and consciousness? Dennettās view seems to collapse the distinction between behaviour and consciousness, while the biological argument insists that the two are inseparable. But both positions could be challenged by future technologies that mimic human consciousness without having it.
Could we one day create a true zombieāa being that acts like us, thinks like us, but is as empty inside as a rock? The debate remains open, and as our understanding of consciousness and artificial intelligence deepens, so too will our exploration of the zombie question.
For now, the answer to whether zombies can exist seems to depend on what you believe consciousness really is.
In the contemporary world of deepening inequality and environmental degradation, capitalism continues to hold a powerful ideological grip on much of the global population. Yet the irony is that many of its staunchest defenders are not the elites or the true beneficiaries of the system, but the very workers and middle-class individuals whose lives it exploits and controls. These defenders are not capitalists themselves; they are, in fact, cogs in the machinery of a system they imagine will eventually reward their loyalty. This illusion is strikingly captured in a quote often misattributed to John Steinbeck: “Socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires.”[1]
This phenomenon, which we might call the temporarily embarrassed millionaire syndrome, reflects not only a profound misunderstanding of capitalism but also the effectiveness of the system in controlling its participants through hope and aspiration. Capitalism promises upward mobility, convincing even those at the bottom of the economic ladder that their current misfortunes are temporary. But as Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels observed, this is a system of exploitation that not only alienates workers but effectively destroys them.
Survivorship Bias and the Myth of the “Rising Tide”
Capitalismās defenders frequently invoke the idea that “a rising tide lifts all boats.” The metaphor suggests that when capitalism prospers, everyone benefits. However, this vision of progress masks the reality of capitalismās winners and losers. As economist David Harvey has pointed out, capitalism is not a neutral system of wealth creationāit is a system of accumulation by dispossession, constantly expropriating wealth from others, often through privatisation and the commodification of public goods.[2] The rising tide does lift some boats, but it simultaneously leaves others stranded, or worse, sinking.
Survivorship bias is essential to understanding how capitalism maintains its legitimacy. The success storiesāthe wealthy entrepreneurs, the individuals who “made it”āare lauded as proof that the system works. But the vast numbers of people left behind, those who toil in exploitative conditions or who die from poverty and neglect, are erased from the narrative. In Engels’ terms, these are victims of social murderāindividuals who die prematurely not by direct violence, but through the structural forces of deprivation imposed by capitalism.[3] Their deaths are rendered invisible, falling out of the metrics of rising living standards and growth.
“The systemās victims are not accidental casualties but inevitable outcomes of capitalismās relentless focus on profit over life.”
Friedrich Engels,Ā The Condition of the Working Class in England
Engels’ critique of industrial capitalism is as relevant today as it was in the 19th century. The modern mechanisms of exploitation may be more complex, but they are no less deadly. In a late capitalist world, the poor and marginalised are still being “murdered” through the structural violence of inadequate healthcare, poor working conditions, and environmental degradation. The millions left out of the capitalist success story are not anomalies but integral to the systemās operation.
Alienation and the Tragedy of Defending the System
Marx’s theory of alienation provides another crucial lens through which to understand why capitalismās defenders often remain blind to their own exploitation. Under capitalism, workers are alienated from the products of their labour, the process of production, their own humanity, and from each other.[4] The worker becomes a cog in a machine, detached from the value they create, and unable to control their working life. Yet, even in this state of alienation, many still defend the system, believing that their hard work will eventually lead them to wealth and freedom.
This defence of capitalism, often articulated by those whose lives it degrades, reflects Antonio Gramsciās concept of cultural hegemony. Gramsci argued that the ruling class maintains power not just through economic domination, but by shaping the cultural and ideological landscape.[5] Capitalismās defenders are, in part, products of this hegemony, believing in the very valuesāindividualism, competition, the āAmerican Dreamāāthat bind them to a system of exploitation.
“The most effective form of domination is one that is not felt as domination, but rather as a form of freedom.”
Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks
This illusion of freedom under capitalism is deepened by what Herbert Marcuse calls repressive desublimation. Capitalism offers false freedoms in the form of consumer choice and superficial pleasures, giving individuals the illusion that they are exercising autonomy, even as the system remains unchallenged.[6] Workers may identify themselves in their commoditiesāluxury goods, tech gadgets, carsābut these objects only serve to reinforce their alienation and dependence on the capitalist system. The temporarily embarrassed millionaire clings to the dream of eventual success, all the while contributing to a system that offers only superficial rewards in return.
Social Murder and the Structural Violence of Late Capitalism
The notion of social murder offers a stark framework for understanding capitalismās indirect, yet pervasive, violence. As Engels explained, this form of violence is not inflicted through overt means, but through the systematic neglect of basic human needs. Whether itās the millions who die due to lack of access to healthcare or the global poor displaced by climate-induced disasters, capitalism perpetuates a form of structural violence that is invisible to those who benefit from the systemās success.[7]
The American political theorist Naomi Klein extends this analysis through her concept of disaster capitalism, where crises are exploited for profit. Whether it’s natural disasters or financial crises, capitalism uses these events as opportunities to privatise public resources, dismantle social safety nets, and deepen inequality.[8] The victims of these disastersāoften the poor and vulnerableāare, in Engelsā terms, socially murdered by a system that thrives on their dispossession.
“Extreme violence has a way of preventing us from seeing the interests it serves.”
Naomi Klein, Shock Doctrine
The Temporarily Embarrassed Millionaire as a Tool of Control
The illusion that oneās current position is only temporaryāthat any individual can rise to capitalist wealth if they work hard enoughāis central to maintaining the capitalist system. This aspiration prevents individuals from seeing their exploitation for what it is. They do not identify as part of an exploited class but instead believe they are merely waiting for their turn at wealth. Zygmunt Baumanās concept of liquid modernityāthe perpetual state of instability and insecurity produced by late capitalismāhelps explain this phenomenon.[9] Individuals are constantly told that their position is fluid, changeable, and that their big break is just around the corner.
But for most, this “big break” never comes. The dream of becoming a millionaire is a powerful form of social control, one that keeps individuals invested in a system that benefits only a small fraction of its participants. As Marx reminds us, “the worker becomes all the poorer the more wealth he produces, the more his production increases in power and range.”[10] Capitalism does not reward the many; it exploits the many for the benefit of the few.
Conclusion: Facing the Irony and Imagining a Post-Capitalist Future
The greatest irony of capitalism is that those who defend it most fervently are often those who will never realise its promises. These are not the capitalists of the system, but its workers, its underclass, and its exploited. They see themselves not as oppressed, but as temporarily embarrassed millionairesāan illusion that keeps them bound to a system that offers them no real future.
In this light, the true success of capitalism is not in its creation of wealth, but in its ability to mask the conditions of exploitation, alienation, and social murder that underpin it. The path forward requires a dismantling of these illusions and a recognition that the systemās failures are not accidental but integral to its design.
“Capitalismās greatest trick is convincing the exploited that their suffering is temporary, that their turn at wealth is inevitable.”
Naomi Klein, The Shock Doctrine
Only by facing these uncomfortable truths can we begin to imagine a future beyond the constraints of capitalist ideology, a world where human flourishing is no longer measured by wealth accumulation but by the collective well-being of all.
Endnotes:
[1]: Misattributed to John Steinbeck, this quote encapsulates a critical observation about American capitalismās appeal to aspiration rather than solidarity. [2]: David Harvey, The New Imperialism (Oxford University Press, 2005), pp. 145-147. [3]: Friedrich Engels, The Condition of the Working Class in England (Oxford University Press, 1845), p. 112. [4]: Karl Marx, Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 (Progress Publishers, 1959). [5]: Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks (International Publishers, 1971), p. 12. [6]: Herbert Marcuse, One-Dimensional Man (Beacon Press, 1964), p. 10. [7]: Friedrich Engels, The Condition of the Working Class in England, p. 114. [8]: Naomi Klein, The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism (Picador, 2007), pp. 9-10. [9]: Zygmunt Bauman, Liquid Modernity (Polity, 2000), p. 14. [10]: Karl Marx, Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, p. 68.
A rabbi was asked by one of his students āWhy did God create atheists?ā After a long pause, the rabbi finally responded with a soft but sincere voice. āGod created atheistsā he said, āto teach us the most important lesson of them all ā the lesson of true compassion. You see, when an atheist performs an act of charity, visits someone who is sick, helps someone in need, and cares for the world, he is not doing so because of some religious teaching. He does not believe that God commanded him to perform this act. In fact, he does not believe in God at all, so his actions are based on his sense of morality. Look at the kindness he bestows on others simply because he feels it to be right. When someone reaches out to you for help. You should never say āIāll pray that God will help you.ā Instead, for that moment, you should become an atheist ā imagine there is no God who could help, and say āI will help youā.ā
ā Martin Buber, āTales of the Hasidimā
This has come across my Facebook feed several times. It resonates with me, so I’m sharing it. I don’t need to add commentary because it speaks volumes for itself. It’s amazing when people actually understand the assignment.
Welcome to part 7, the last of a week-long series on the evolution and limits of language! This article is part of a seven-day exploration into the fascinating and often flawed history of languageāfrom its primitive roots to its tangled web of abstraction, miscommunication, and modern chaos. Each day, we uncover new layers of how language shapes (and fails to shape) our understanding of the world.
If you havenāt yet, be sure to check out the other posts in this series for a full deep dive into why words are both our greatest tool and our biggest obstacle. Follow the journey from ‘flamey thing hot’ to the whirlwind of social media and beyond!
The Present Day: Social Media and Memes ā The Final Nail in the Coffin?
Just when you thought things couldnāt get any more chaotic, enter the 21st century, where language has been boiled down to 280 characters, emojis, and viral memes. If you think trying to pin down the meaning of “freedom” was hard before, try doing it in a tweetāor worse, a string of emojis. In the age of social media, language has reached new heights of ambiguity, with people using bite-sized bits of text and images to convey entire thoughts, arguments, and philosophies. And you thought interpreting Derrida was difficult.
Social media has turned language into an evolving, shape-shifting entity. Words take on new meanings overnight, hashtags rise and fall, and memes become the shorthand for complex cultural commentary. In some ways, itās brilliantāwhat better way to capture the madness of modern life than with an image of a confused cat or a poorly drawn cartoon character? But in other ways, itās the final nail in the coffin for clear communication. Weāve gone from painstakingly crafted texts, like Lutherās 95 Theses, to memes that rely entirely on shared cultural context to make sense.
The irony is that weāve managed to make language both more accessible and more incomprehensible at the same time. Sure, anyone can fire off a tweet or share a meme, but unless youāre plugged into the same cultural references, youāre probably going to miss half the meaning. Itās like Wittgensteinās language games on steroidsāeveryoneās playing, but the rules change by the second, and good luck keeping up.
And then thereās the problem of tone. Remember those philosophical debates where words were slippery? Well, now weāre trying to have those debates in text messages and social media posts, where tone and nuance are often impossible to convey. Sarcasm? Forget about it. Context? Maybe in a follow-up tweet, if youāre lucky. Weāre using the most limited forms of communication to talk about the most complex ideas, and itās no surprise that misunderstandings are at an all-time high.
And yet, here we are, in the midst of the digital age, still using the same broken toolālanguageāto try and make sense of the world. Weāve come a long way from “flamey thing hot,” but the basic problem remains: words are slippery, meanings shift, and no matter how advanced our technology gets, weāre still stuck in the same old game of trying to get our point across without being completely misunderstood.
Conclusion: Language ā Beautiful, Broken, and All Weāve Got
And hereās where the irony kicks in. Weāve spent this entire time critiquing languageāpointing out its flaws, its limitations, its inability to truly capture abstract ideas. And how have we done that? By using language. Itās like complaining about how unreliable your GPS is while using it to get to your destination. Sure, itās brokenābut itās still the only tool we have.
In the end, language is both our greatest achievement and our biggest limitation. Itās allowed us to build civilisations, create art, write manifestos, and start revolutions. But itās also the source of endless miscommunication, philosophical debates that never get resolved, and social media wars over what a simple tweet really meant.
So yes, language is flawed. Itās messy, itās subjective, and it often fails us just when we need it most. But without it? Weād still be sitting around the fire, grunting at each other about the ‘toothey thing’ lurking in the shadows. For better or worse, language is the best tool weāve got for making sense of the world. Itās beautifully broken, but we wouldnāt have it any other way.
And with that, weāve used the very thing we’ve critiqued to make our point. The circle of irony is complete.
Welcome to Part 6 of a Week-Long Series on the Evolution and Limits of Language! This article is part of a seven-day exploration into the fascinating and often flawed history of languageāfrom its primitive roots to its tangled web of abstraction, miscommunication, and modern chaos. Each day, we uncover new layers of how language shapes (and fails to shape) our understanding of the world.
If you havenāt yet, be sure to check out the other posts in this series for a full deep dive into why words are both our greatest tool and our biggest obstacle. Follow the journey from ‘flamey thing hot’ to the whirlwind of social media and beyond!
If you thought normal language was confusing, letās take a moment to appreciate the true champions of linguistic obscurity: academics. Welcome to the world of specialised languages, where entire fields of study have developed their own language games that make even Wittgensteinās head spin.
Hereās how it works: Every disciplineāscience, law, philosophyācreates its own jargon to describe the world. At first, it seems helpful. Instead of using vague terms, you get precise definitions for complex ideas. But what started as a way to improve communication within a field quickly turned into a linguistic arms race, where the more obscure and convoluted your terms are, the smarter you sound. Youāre not just a lawyer anymoreāyouāre someone whoās ready to throw “res ipsa loquitur” into casual conversation to leave everyone else in the room wondering if theyāve missed a memo.
The problem? If youāre not part of the club, good luck understanding what anyone is talking about. Want to read a physics paper? Prepare to learn a whole new vocabulary. Need to get through a legal document? Youāll be knee-deep in Latin phrases before you even get to the point. And donāt even try to decipher a philosophical text unless youāre ready to battle abstract nouns that have been stretched and twisted beyond recognition.
Itās not just the words themselves that are the issueāitās the sheer density of them. Take “justice” for example. In philosophy, youāve got theories about distributive justice, retributive justice, restorative justice, and a hundred other variations, each with its own set of terms and conditions. And thatās before we even touch on how “justice” is defined in legal circles, where it becomes an even more tangled mess of case law and precedent. Every field is playing its own version of the “justice” game, with its own rules and definitions, and none of them are interested in comparing notes.
This is the academic world in a nutshell. Each discipline has built its own linguistic fortress, and unless youāve spent years studying, youāre not getting in. But hereās the kicker: even within these fields, people are often misunderstanding each other. Just because two scientists are using the same words doesnāt mean theyāre on the same page. Sometimes, itās more like a game of intellectual one-upmanshipāwho can define the most obscure term or twist a familiar word into something completely unrecognisable?
And letās not forget the philosophers. Theyāve turned linguistic acrobatics into an art form. Good luck reading Foucault or Derrida without a dictionary (or five) on hand. You might walk away thinking you understand their points, but do you really? Or have you just memorised the jargon without actually grasping the deeper meaning? Even scholars within these fields often argue over what was really meant by a certain textāBarthes, after all, famously declared the “death of the author,” so itās not like anyone really has the final say on meaning anyway.
So here we are, knee-deep in jargon, trying to communicate with people who, technically, speak the same language but are operating within entirely different rulesets. Every academic discipline has its own secret code, and if you donāt know it, youāre lost. Even when you do know the code, youāre still at risk of miscommunication, because the words that look familiar have been stretched and shaped to fit highly specific contexts. Itās like being fluent in one dialect of English and then suddenly being asked to write a thesis in legalese. Good luck.
In the end, academiaās specialised languages donāt just make things harderāthey actively create barriers. What started as a way to improve precision has turned into an obstacle course of incomprehensible terms, where the real challenge is just figuring out what anyoneās actually saying. And letās be honest, even if you do figure it out, thereās no guarantee itās going to mean the same thing next time you see it.
Neurolinguistics: Even Our Brains Canāt Agree
So far, weāve seen how language is a mess of miscommunication, cultural differences, and academic jargon. But surely, at least on a biological level, our brains are all on the same page, right? Well, not exactly. Welcome to the wonderful world of neurolinguistics, where it turns out that even the very organ responsible for language canāt get its act together.
Hereās the deal: Neurolinguistics is the study of how the brain processes language, and while itās fascinating, itās also a bit of a buzzkill for anyone hoping for consistency. See, your brain and my brain donāt process language in the same way. Sure, weāve got similar hardware, but the software is wildly unpredictable. There are individual differences, cultural influences, and developmental quirks that all affect how we understand and produce language. Whatās simple for one brain might be completely baffling to another.
Take, for example, something as basic as syntax. Chomsky might have told us we all have a universal grammar hard-wired into our brains, but neurolinguistics has shown that how we apply that grammar can vary significantly. Some people are wired to handle complex sentence structures with easeāthink of that friend who can follow 10 different clauses in a single breath. Others? Not so much. For them, even a moderately tricky sentence feels like mental gymnastics. The brain is constantly juggling words, meanings, and structures, and some brains are better at it than others.
But the real kicker is how differently we interpret words. Remember those abstract nouns weāve been wrestling with? Well, it turns out that your brain might be interpreting ‘freedom’ or ‘justice’ completely differently from mine ā not just because of culture or upbringing, but because our brains physically process those words in different ways. Neurolinguistic studies have shown that certain regions of the brain are activated differently depending on the individualās experience with language. In other words, your personal history with a concept can literally change how your brain lights up when you hear or say it.
And donāt even get me started on bilingual brains. If you speak more than one language, your brain is constantly toggling between two (or more) linguistic systems, which means itās running twice the risk of misinterpretation. What a word means in one language might trigger a completely different association in another, leaving bilingual speakers in a constant state of linguistic flux. Itās like trying to run two operating systems on the same computerāthings are bound to get glitchy.
But hereās the real kicker: Even within the same person, the brain canāt always process language the same way all the time. Stress, fatigue, emotional stateāall of these factors can influence how well we handle language on any given day. Ever tried to have a coherent conversation when youāre tired or angry? Good luck. Your brain isnāt interested in nuance or deep philosophical ideas when itās in survival mode. Itās just trying to get through the day without short-circuiting.
So, not only do we have to deal with the external chaos of language ā miscommunication, different contexts, shifting meanings ā but we also have to contend with the fact that our own brains are unreliable interpreters. You can use all the right words, follow all the right grammar rules, and still end up with a garbled mess of meaning because your brain decided to take a nap halfway through the sentence.
In the end, neurolinguistics reminds us that language isn’t just a social or cultural problem ā it’ā’s a biological one too. Our brains are doing their best to keep up, but theyāre far from perfect. The very organ that makes language possible is also responsible for making it infinitely more complicated than it needs to be. And if we canāt rely on our own brains to process language consistently, what hope do we have of ever understanding anyone else?
Philosophics 