ontology
Dear friends,
Barthes claimed the death of the author in 1967. This claim asked us to reject, or at least challenge, the practice of interpreting texts through the lens of “authorial intent” or biography. A repositioning of the human in a text. Critically, the theory posits that once a work is created, it exists independently of its creator’s intended meaning, background, or historical context. Instead, meaning emerges through the interaction between the text and each individual reader, who brings their own experiences and cultural context to the interpretation.
Theoretically, here, poststructuralism is coming to the fore. The poststructuralist critique of authorship, from Barthes to Foucault, fundamentally challenges traditional notions of creative authority and textual meaning. Rather than viewing authors as the source of definitive meaning, poststructuralism sees them as sites where language, culture, and various discourses intersect and play out. This perspective aligns with broader poststructuralist concerns about the instability of meaning and the rejection of fixed, universal truths. Poststructuralism is interesting to us because it deconstructs established hierarchies and questioning assumed relationships between language, meaning, and power. In the case of the author, poststructuralists might aim to destabilise the author’s authority, enabling new meaning to be made by the reader (agent). Within this tradition, grand narratives are also “over”, in a similar way.
The end of grand narratives, or metanarratives, is a defining feature of postmodernism, most notably from Lyotard in “The Postmodern Condition” (1979). These grand narratives are the overarching stories that cultures tell about themselves to legitimate knowledge, progress, and social practices – or, in Marxian terms, the hegemony perpetuates and legitimates through traditional intellectual structures to coerce the citizenry toward capitalist production. Grand narratives, in the “west” have included the Enlightenment’s faith in “rational progress”, Marxism’s vision of proletarian emancipation, or Christianity’s path to salvation. These historically, poststructuralists argue, previously served to provide unified meaning and direction to human history and knowledge. Their decline reflects a broader postmodern scepticism toward universal truths and totalising explanations of reality. Instead of these comprehensive frameworks, Lyotard suggests that knowledge and social bonds now operate through smaller, localized narratives that acknowledge their own contingency and limitations. This shift fundamentally challenges how we understand and legitimate knowledge, moving from universal claims to more contextual, plural, and contested forms of understanding that better reflect the complexity and diversity of human experience. But is this true? Because while we are continually atomised (particularly by neoliberal modes), the capitalist realist frame still drives us collectively (by consent or force, deployed at intersections) toward heat death. We just have individualised, non-communal, ways of explaining this.
We know story, and specifically narratives, compel human being. Story, in particular, offers a simultaneous movement from science into art, and when done ‘properly’ can both provide a framework and actual vision for a future – independently of the authors intention (or not, depending on your worldview). So, its worth taking a moment to consider the role of story in constructing our realities, even if we feel that there is structure or an ontic “other”. Story and storytelling in a decolonial frame present a complex counterpoint to Lyotard’s end of grand narratives. They function both as resistance to colonial metanarratives and as ways of preserving and transmitting alternative epistemologies. Storytelling traditions offer ways of knowing that exist outside of and often in opposition to “western” epistemological frameworks, while simultaneously providing their own coherent understanding of the world, history, and human relationships to land and community. Ogres have layers, Donkey.
These “stories” represent deeper and layered ways of working in relation, often weaving in relevant messaging for their audience, connection to both local and broader communal experience, and are done in relational ways which centre specific place and people. However, they also contain universal elements without claiming universal authority. Yarning with an Elder, for instance, might offer contextualised and timely information to a participant – and because this mode of story is deeply relational, participant becomes an important phrase. “Western” frames have also held these traditions, except that broader narratives have been replaced by capitalist realism, while story is relegated to childhood. This has infantilised the role of story, and by so doing, decayed the potential of shared story that creates change – instead, this role is left to the powerful, and the fundamentally human nature of story is warped and bifurcated for capitalists’ advancement. Big yikes.
In the global south, story is both particular and profound, carrying framework and creativity, heart and brain, analytical and emotive, challenging the binary between local knowledge and grand narrative that postmodernism tends to assume. Stories in decolonial contexts often serve multiple functions: they are repositories of practical knowledge, carriers of historical memory, tools for cultural survival, and frameworks for understanding relationships between humans and non-human worlds.
If we follow this to its conclusion, we could perhaps identify that the “end of grand narratives” is a “western” phenomenon. Quite literally a deliberate tool of ‘European crisis’ (of meaning) that doesn’t translate to other cultural contexts where different relationships to story, truth, and knowledge persist. Particularly when we acknowledge the fundamentally human nature of being “moved” by story. And, in particular, storywork. So let’s come closer to home, to family, and to contexts that I’ve been talking around through this piece so far –
Aboriginal storywork is a multi-layered “tool” – but it is much more than this. Practices such as Songlines, simultaneously operate as navigational tools, legal frameworks, historical records, and ways of understanding and interpreting Country. A single story can function as both practical knowledge (teaching where to find water or when certain plants will flower) and as a deeper epistemological framework for understanding relationships between people, Country, law, and Law. The Seven Sisters is a particularly prominent public story which appears across many mobs’ story. On one level, this story functions as astronomical knowledge, tracking the movement of the “Pleiades star cluster” and its relationship to seasonal changes. But concurrently, it carries Law about proper relationships, kinship responsibilities, and ethical behaviour. But we’re not done there, versions of the story also map important water sources and trading routes across vast distances, embedding practical knowledge within its narrative structure. To be slightly less obtuse, here’s the ultimate condensation of this story:
Seven sisters are being pursued across the land, sky, and underground by a male ancestral being (Wati Nyiru, Yurlu) who seeks to capture the eldest or youngest sister. As they flee across Countries, the sisters create landforms and sacred sites, with the story mapping vast distances across the continent. The pursuing ancestor is sometimes a clever man who can shape-shift into various forms like trees or animals to deceive the sisters. In some points across the story, one sister is nearly caught, becomes injured, or is temporarily captured, but the other sisters always help her escape. The sisters eventually ascend into the sky to become Kungkarangkalpa, while their pursuer becomes “Orion”, forever chasing them across the night sky. This story in varied telling and interpretation contains deep layers of cultural knowledge about Law, kinship rules, ethical behaviour, and relationships to Country, while also serving as an astronomical calendar marking seasonal changes and as a map of water sources and travel routes.
This type of storywork differs fundamentally from “western” narrative traditions in that it does not seek to separate practical knowledge from spiritual or social knowledge. Story is not infantilised. Rather the complex parts of knowing, being and doing are understood as naturally interconnected – as they are and should be in a “mentally healthy human”. Story itself becomes a form of praxis and a place where knowledge is always understood as relational. This also challenges “western” academic tendencies to separate different types of knowledge into discrete categories. In many knowledge systems, a story about Country is simultaneously ecological knowledge, moral teaching, historical record, and legal precedent. Categories that “western” knowledge has been warped to treat as separate domains. Stories, in their true form, function not just as carriers of information but as active frameworks for maintaining and transmitting complex, interconnected systems of knowledge across generations – and more recently serving as forms of resistance to colonial epistemologies by preserving alternative ways of knowing, being and becoming.
So, practice your layered and relational raconteuring – its fundamentally human to tell story, and to imbue it with feeling, thinking and planning. We need these stories, because we need something to change in the way we relate. Let’s go –
In a world where stories had been partitioned into neat boxes labelled fiction and fact, there lived a grey-haired wanderer who carried a crusty old book with empty pages. They had inherited it from their grandfather, who had received it from his grandmother, and so on stretching back through time immemorial. This book, despite its blank pages, was said to contain every story ever told – you just had to know how to read the spaces between its pages.
As the old wanderer travelled from the concrete canyons of cities to the red earth of distant lands, they encountered people who had forgotten how to read these spaces. In the cities, they met scholars who insisted that stories must be dissected, their meanings pinned down like butterflies in a display case. These scholars spoke of the death of authors and the end of grand narratives, yet could not explain why their hearts still quickened at the sound of a well-told tale. In the universities, they debated poststructuralism and the nature of truth, while in the streets, people hungrily consumed stories through screens, seeking connection in disconnected narratives.
But as the wanderer journeyed ever further, they met Elders who read the world differently. These knowledge keepers showed them how even a single story could be a map, a law book, a history, and a guide to the stars all at once. They taught the wanderer about the Seven Sisters, whose journey across the sky was also a map of water sources, a teaching of kinship, and a reminder of the seasons. The wanderer began to understand that what the city scholars called the “end of grand narratives” was perhaps just the beginning of remembering human ways of knowing.
The wanderer started recording these stories in a way that felt natural to them – art, words, tears, all blurred into their book, not words reading and writing the spaces between. They wrote, spoke, and shared how the Seven Sisters’ star maps and survival guides offered endless possibility, physical and moral navigation, and collective transformation. They yarned with friends and enemies about story that was simultaneously particular and universal, blurring relationships and connections through negotiated deep truth. As they wrote, wove, drew, and connected the blank pages began to fill with further invisible ink that could only be read by those who understood that stories were never meant to be contained in boxes.
Nearing the end of their journey, the wanderer realised that what they carried wasn’t a “book of stories” but rather a collection of experiences, shared stories, and connections that could never be tangibly captured – only learnt through relationship. In the “pages” lay a challenge to idea that knowledge could be captured and understood in segregated disciplines, that stories themselves were merely entertainment, and that truth must be either universal or particular. The book, now ready to be passed on, had taught them that wisdom could reside in the spaces between “choices”. They had learned again that story could guide you to water and teach you about the stars, could help you navigate both the physical world and the moral one, and could also develop in relation, offering joy and entertainment and practical “applications”. So the wanderer continued their journey, sharing these stories – not as physical relics, but as seeds of a future way of understanding.
With love,
Aidan
Dear friends,
Let’s come to terms with some terms. Sorry, I’m not trying to be cute (that’s just effortless). I think it’s important we, as I constantly raise, share a literacy for engagement with big ideas. Sadly, much of the time those big ideas are also terrible ideas — things that dominate our lives, change our ways of being, and interrupt what we might (at least individually) deem antithetical to our being. Ideas, however, are critical and require serious and robust examination as we continually sit in a world dominated by bad ones, and bad faith actors whose entire existence is designed to peddle those ideas. But we also need a binding approach, something that brings us together with hope and possibility – not just doom and gloom about the state of things (which is, admittedly, pretty shit). A few things have pushed this desire to write this morning, some good, some bad. Let’s jump into them.
I went for a walk with Harriet Taylor Mill this morning, and we saw several propagandist headlines “anti-semitism crisis in Australia will end in murder,” (Australian) [1] “anti-semites deny auschwitz” (NYT) and myriad others. Piper and I went to a cafe, as one does in bourgeois life, and naturally we see more of this propaganda, even propaganda about the paper itself: “Facts” they purport “are embodied in The Advertiser” and, immediately below, “News Corp” who assure us only they can bring you said facts. In a singular, individualist, solitary, only, ‘just one’ reality that mega corporations, like News Corp, we can be assured that their version of reality, their interpretation of truth, and their deliberate denial of empirical factual events – i.e., the genocide being conducted by Zionists, that their own personal canon of events (which serve their personal investments exclusively), is unquestionably “factual”. Only, we know it isn’t.
The postmodern/post-structural amongst us believe that we are “post fact”. Indeed, post “truth”. To an extent, without terms, we might even agree with this ipso facto. But, if we accept ipso facto post truth then what use are terms? What use is refuting misinformation, or being literate in, at the very least, the lingua franca of populist propaganda? There’s no truth so I can decide what I want to be true, and no one else may change my mind, for that is my truth. This verges dangerously close to identity politics. The kind of identity politics that results in people being “cancelled”, because if I reject “your truth” I am, by the very nature of my existence, threatening yours through words. To be clear, I’m not here to challenge your truth, but rather hold space for plural thought. But this is an important epistemic distinction and we need to spend the time to create shared language to understand it, and when we create shared language, we accept a truth. This is not “my truth” but suddenly our truth – yours and mine, together.
Humans are social animals, and we use communication strategies to mediate our worlds. It is important to note we are not the only species to do this, and communication takes myriad forms, verbal communication is one small facet of the way we interact both with each other, and the natural world. As yet, the natural world is not dominated utterly by neoliberalism, ergo we still need communication strategies. So, I’m going to hurry to the point for our shared vocabulary and stop beating around the bush. I am, today, arguing that we need to understand three key things:
- ☞ Epistemology
- ☞ Ontology
- ☞ Pluralism
We, contra my point, do not need to agree on definitions for each of these. But rather, we need to share some notion of relation to each. So, as best I can, let me share my view on these in a hopefully interpretable way. Beginning with epistemology, at its most basic, referring to how we know. Or, more aptly particularly in Indigenist circles, ‘ways of knowing’. Note there, even in our most essentialised form, we move from the dominant view: how we know; to the subversive way: ways of knowing. What’s the movement? Pluralism. This, right here, is why we do not need to fight. But rather create movements with ideas that hold diverse space, but reach shared ends. Okay, let’s keep moving, this is “the whirlwind tour” after all.
Next we have ontology, which is decidedly more complex, but it is about the nature of being. In academic terms, it is a branch of philosophy concerned with reality. We might ask, to grasp ontology’s scope, do physical things exist? Then, do concepts exist? If yes, are these categorically the same? What is the, and is there a, relationship between properties and the things that ‘have them’? We might say an orange is orange, but who decided that? And in a thought experiment where there were two separate planets, with two separate children born to each, would they both grow to explain oranges as orange? Beyond linguistics, these are questions of fundamental being. Things about the nature of reality. You’ve heard me talk about ‘capitalist ontology’: within capitalist realism [2], alternatives to capitalist social relations are treated as practically impossible or unreal. This creates an ontological boundary — certain possibilities are treated as being outside the realm of what can “really” exist.
And finally we have plurality. This one has been particularly affective in my life. Seeing people trapped in capitalist social relations, in particular, and showing divergence as a good, creative, productive, fun and silly thing, rather than “breaking the rules” (which, often, it does not). Pluralists, intersecting across the epistemology/ontology space, might advance that multiple forms of value exist. Rather than reducing all value to ‘market value’ or ‘economic metrics’, pluralists recognise diverse, incommensurable forms of value i.e., cultural, spiritual, ecological, relational, etc. These different value forms aren’t variations of economic value, but fundamentally different kinds of worth that can’t be reduced to a single metric. We also acknowledge coexisting realities. We see that different ways of being can coexist without needing to be unified into a single system, and that this plurality and divergence offers creativity and possibility at the boundaries. For instance, Indigenous ways of investigation and truth telling may coexist with western ‘scientific’ modes, each valid and in dialogue about phenomena we all share.
However, and I need to be very clear here, pluralism isn’t infinite tolerance or relativism. Let’s take an example, understanding that pluralism is fundamentally about enabling human flourishing and dignity in multiple forms, where, for instance, ideologies like nazism are explicitly aimed at destroying plurality and human dignity. This isn’t a contradiction in pluralistic thinking, but rather core to its coherence. Pluralism rejects totalising ideologies – nazism, neoliberalism, and capitalist realism because they seek to eliminate plurality itself. This makes them incompatible with a pluralistic framework not as a matter of opinion but as a matter of logical consistency. But pluralism is also not about co-opting. A pluralist stands firm in their understanding of onto-epistemic relations, seeking to advance human liberation as a collective form, understanding the intersectional violence that hegemonic systems have born. This means we hold ourselves fast — knowing who we are, and what we recognise, not going with the flow.
Pluralism offers powerful ways to break through the paralysis of capitalist realism and create genuine hope, primarily by highlighting actually existing alternatives that already function alongside capitalism [3]. These include Indigenous economic systems, successful cooperative enterprises, commons-based resource management, and mutual aid networks — demonstrating this isn’t utopian thinking but recognition of existing plurality often rendered invisible by capitalist realism’s narrative [4]. Pluralism accomplishes this through temporal complexity, recognising different temporalities can coexist and change doesn’t require totality or immediacy, necessarily. We might re-frame agency by showing people can begin creating and living alternatives in the present without waiting for system collapse or perfect consensus — and this doesn’t require bourgeois status, just attitudinal change. Through practical experimentation, pluralism encourages small-scale experiments in alternative ways of living, learning from different existing systems, and creating spaces where different values can guide action [5]. Perhaps most importantly, pluralism challenges the naturalisation of current systems by demonstrating that current arrangements are historically specific rather than natural laws, that different societies have solved problems in different ways, and that social systems are human creations that can be recreated. This makes change tangible and immediate rather than purely theoretical or impossibly distant.
It’s about optimism, yeah? But to get there we need to be clear on our terms, we need to be clear on ourselves, and we need to engage in reflection and transformative praxis. From a Marxist or even socialist perspective, ontology (the study of what exists and how things relate) and epistemology (how we know what we know) intersect critically with pluralism in understanding our current conditions (as products of history) and the myriad possibilities for change. Ontologically, our approach recognises that multiple forms of social and economic relations exist simultaneously, not just as historical stages as classical Marxism might suggest, but as concurrent realities. Some are better, some are worse, and some cannot be compared because context is everything. This means acknowledging that while capitalism is dominant, it is not and will never be total; other forms of relation and production persist and emerge even within capitalist frameworks (and even when they are squashed or subsumed, they exist, they existed, and they can return). Epistemologically, our perspective values multiple ways of knowing while maintaining critical analysis of power relations, understanding that knowledge is always situated within material conditions but isn’t reducible to them. Our pluralism, here, doesn’t mean “relativism” or uncritical acceptance of all positions, but rather recognition that transformation can emerge through multiple paths and forms.
This framework helps us understand that while capitalism shapes reality it never completely determines it. The task becomes recognition of and nurturing (existing) alternatives while developing new ones, understanding that resistance and creation of alternatives happens through multiple valid forms. From traditional Marxist class struggle to Indigenous resistance to cooperative economics to new forms of commons, new and better forms emerge constantly. But it is on us all to help these forms find their way to reality. Our approach maintains socialist critique of exploitation and domination while avoiding the pitfalls of economic reductionism or historical determinism (and certainly collapse of structure into agency, or agency into structure). Our approach offers that transformation may come, not through waiting for a single revolutionary moment, but through nurturing multiple forms of resistance and alternative ways of being, all while maintaining critical analysis of power relations and systemic constraints – and being angry when plurality is denied.
Understanding terms and being reflexive in transformative praxis connects deeply to how we understand and create change. When we grasp concepts like ontology, epistemology, and pluralism, we gain tools to recognise and resist how capitalist realism narrows our imagination and actions. Being reflexive helps us notice when we’re unconsciously reproducing capitalist frames like reducing everything to economic terms or seeing all solutions as individual rather than collective. Activist practice through a pluralist lens opens up multiple forms of resistance and creation, from teaching that opens possibilities rather than closing them [6], to creating spaces for collective care that resist market logic [7], to maintaining traditional practices that embody different relationships to land or community [8]. The power of this approach is that it doesn’t require everyone to engage in the same way or wait for total system change. Instead, it recognises that transformation happens through multiple, interconnected actions at different scales, where small changes in how we think and relate (or react) can create openings for larger systemic changes. This isn’t about individual lifestyle choices, though they most definitely help, but rather about creating and maintaining spaces where different values and relations can exist and grow. And stasis, conservatism, and aggression like other cancerous positions, are denied the light for growth in such a system because they are fundamentally antithetical to our humanist and ecologically engaged position (more on this soon).
That’s where my heads at today, anyhow. Have a cracker weekend friends,
Aidan.
seriously, don’t bother, I literally had to unblock a wide range of known adware and malware sites even to access their home page: https://www.theaustralian.com.au/nation/sir-frank-lowy-enough-is-enough-plea-to-politicians-to-speak-up-against-antisemitism/news-story/5e0caff33f6ecef80aa2189de2d70b0b ↩︎
c.f. Fisher’s Capitalist Realism ↩︎
https://www.dukeupress.edu/pluralism (ignore the eggs on the cover, weird choice, it’s not about eggs – in case you were confused like me) ↩︎
Wright’s Envisioning Real Utopias is a phenomenal piece on this, as are the edited collections of real exemplars of this work in praxis. ↩︎
On my reading list https://www.akpress.org/emergentstrategy.html ↩︎
Revolutionaries, feminists, and pluralists: https://www.dukeupress.edu/the-revolution-will-not-be-funded ↩︎
c.f. https://www.haymarketbooks.org/books/1664-we-do-this-til-we-free-us ↩︎