The Duck-Bunny and "Seeing As"

In Section 11 of part 2 of the Philosophical Investigations Wittgenstein begins a discussion of the different aspects one is able to notice in certain picture-objects. The phenomenon being explored here is the peculiar ability to see the very same illustration in multiple different ways. Indeed we are able to look at certain picture objects and see them “now as one thing, now as another.” (PI p165) In order to illustrate this point Wittgenstein uses a number of greatly varying examples. Perhaps the most prominent of these is the duck-rabbit, a drawing which can be seen both as the head of a duck facing to the left as well as a rabbit facing to the right.

An examination of this drawing presents us with a number of perplexing observations, part of the paradox of what Wittgenstein will call aspect-dawning. Let us imagine that one looks at the picture of the duck-rabbit, and at first only sees it as a drawing of a rabbit. It would be completely possible for me to look at the drawing hundreds of times without ever noticing any aspect of the drawing other than its representation of a rabbit. Wittgenstein would call this experience of the duck-rabbit ‘continuous seeing’ of the aspect of the rabbit in the drawing. But let us imagine that on the 201st time I took out the illustration of the duck-rabbit to examine it (perhaps while sitting on a bench in a park) a small duck approaches and crosses – from right to left – in front of my bench. After briefly looking up at the passing duck, I look back to the duck-rabbit illustration and notice something that I had never noticed before: I am able to see the illustration in a completely new way. Suddenly the illustration has changed, and I am able to see it as a duck – and not only can I see a duck where I once saw a rabbit, but I am also able to switch back and forth between seeing the two aspects of the drawing at will.

How are we supposed to explain this sudden change in a once familiar picture? To state one of the key questions Wittgenstein will examine in this section: “does it follow from this that I see something different in the two cases?” (PI 167) Certainly this is the expression that we might expect one to use in this situation – “I saw it quite differently!” With what accuracy can we say that the picture is now all together different? The object of our visual perception has remained exactly the same, yet in some way we feel compelled to say that our perception has changed. If someone asked us about the aspect-dawning we might describe our changing experience in much the same way we would if the object of visual perception (the drawing) had in fact moved about on the page to create a new impression. It would be understood to say “the object altered before my eyes.” (PI 167)

This way of putting it, it seems, however, is capable of leading us into dangerous territory. When we use the word “see” here the way it is usually used is likely to lead us to a distinctly un-Wittgensteinian picture of what occurred. Obviously the description mentioned above would not lead one to understand that the physical ink of the illustration altered somehow on the page, but rather to the understanding that what changed here was our “visual impression” of the drawing has changed. This implies that some sort of internal change took place – not in the drawing itself, but in the drawing perceived by our mind’s eye. Here we are already entangled in nonsense.

“And above all do not say ‘after all my visual impression isn’t the drawing; it is this – which I can’t shew to anyone.” – Of course it is not the drawing, but neither is it anything of the same category, which I carry within myself.” (PI 167) If we say that some thing has changed here we are necessarily saying it is some internal thing. This is bound to lead us to misunderstandings. The mind does not have eyes, and they are not looking at strange chimerical internally morphing objects. Visual perception is something done with our eyes not our brains. The idea of an internal picture is a bad analogy because it suggests that the eye (with which we see) operates in the same way as the mind (which is involved in seeing as). Let us examine several examples that suggest that this is not the case.

First, understanding the dawning of aspects as suggested above implies that there is some visually perceivable “organization,” which is on level with colors and shapes, that the mind is able to perceive in a different way in order to see the illustration as something else. (PI 167-68) This is problematic. Colors and shapes, the objects of visual perception, tend to be mutually exclusive. If a particular square is red then it is not green, and it is generally not possible to see a square sometimes as one color and sometimes another. Additionally, a square will not sometimes appear to be a triangle. The aspects of the duck-rabbit, on the other hand, are pluralistic. Our initial perplexity arose in the fact that sometimes the same picture appeared as a rabbit, other times a duck.

Secondly, the analogy with seeing an image and experiencing a aspect-dawning falls flat when we consider our ability to intentionally try to see either the duck or the rabbit. We can both attempt to see a picture as something else, as well as encourage others to do so, and often we will succeed. This does not make sense applied to purely visual perceptions. “Seeing an aspect and imagining are subject to the will. There is such an order as ‘Imagine this’, and also: ‘Now see the figure like this’; but not: ‘Now see this leaf green’.” (PI 182) These objections are not to say, of course, that seeing has nothing to do with seeing-as, however they are related in a different way than the internal picture conception would have us understand.
When suddenly, and all at once, the Duck appears from what had always looked to be a rabbit before, one is likely moved to exclaim “There it is! A Bunny!” This exclamation does not result, on the other hand, from seeing the aspect that had always appeared to one before. (The distinction is between continuous aspect seeing and aspect dawning.) These two ways of experiencing aspects are different in that one produces a report that is forced from us. Wittgenstein suggests that this exclamation is related to the experience as a cry is to pain. “If you are looking at the object, you need not think of it; but if you are having the visual experience expressed by the exclamation, you are also thinking of what you see … Hence the flashing of an aspect on us seems half visual experience, half thought.” (PI 168)

Let us briefly now turn to examine the relationship between visual experience and thought in Wittgenstein’s understanding. In this conception what has changed when the rabbit suddenly becomes a duck is not some internal object, but simply our interpretation of an image. “Interpretation” here refers to the thought-part of aspect seeing, and I will now attempt to contrast several examples that will help to determine how this word might best be understood here.

The concept is closely related to the idea of one’s representation of an aspect that one sees. How one is likely to represent any particular aspect-seeing is helpful in understanding the relationship between thought and seeing that we are interested in. Indeed seeing-as is sometimes more a process of thought and other times more a process of seeing. Examples will serve to clarify. Some instances of seeing aspects are largely optically based. A telling example here is that of the double cross. “You only ‘see the duck and Rabbit aspects’ if you are already conversant with the shapes of those two animals. There is no analogous condition for seeing the aspects [of the double cross]” (PI 177) In this case one might represent which aspect of the figure on which he was focusing simply by pointing to the white or black segments of the picture.

On the other hand, aspect-dawning in the case of the duck-rabbit, for instance, is rather concept (as opposed to visually) intensive in the sense that in order to convey the experience of seeing a duck instead of a bunny to another individual one must generally appeal to the shared concept of what ducks are, what they look like, and how they are often represented two dimensionally etc. Another concept intensive examples of seeing-as are the experience of shades of meaning on the drawing or painting of a face. (PI 169)

Yet another and perhaps more illustrative example regards the aspects of a basic triangle. Wittgenstein cleverly conceives of all sorts of ways we might look at a triangle: “as a triangular hole, as a solid, as a geometrical drawing; as standing on its base, as hanging from its apex; as a mountain, as a wedge, as an arrow or pointer, as an overturned object…” (PI 171)

This last example helps nicely to illustrate two points. First, that the only rules that determine how one might be able to interpret images into new aspects are those that are set by our language games. There is no set of general descriptions for any particular illustration. “Here we are in enormous danger of wanting to make fine distinctions. – It is the same when one tries to define the concept of a material object in terms of ‘what is really seen.’ – What we have rather to do is accept the everyday language-game, and to note false accounts of the matter as false.” (PI 171) This means that much like in Wittgenstein’s description of words and their meanings, the various aspects an image can be seen-as will be determined by its use. I cannot argue that one way of seeing a drawing of a triangle is a palm tree. This relationship simply does not exist in our society. On the other hand, the claim that the same triangle can be seen-as an arrow pointing slightly down and to the right is valid if it is conceivable that we might experience it that way in our society – this aspect of the image needs no further justification. (PI 176)

A second important point illustrated by the triangle example is that of the necessity of certain substratum concepts in order to be able to interpret a picture in different ways. “In the triangle I can see now this as apex, that as base – now this as apex, that as base. – Clearly the words “Now I am seeing this as the apex” cannot so far mean anything to a learner who has only just met the concepts of apex, base and so on.” (PI 178) It follows then that in order to have a particular experience one must sometimes have a mastery of some particular concept, which indeed seems odd, though is evidenced by the different experiences available to a pianist at the sounding of a minor chord (a structural familiarity as well as an emotional effect.)
We have made a case for the importance of thought (through the importance of concepts and interpretations) for aspect dawning. However, this is not to discount the importance of the physical capability of sight for seeing-as. We can imagine someone who is unable to see aspects the way people normally do, though they could receive the knowledge of what pictures are supposed to reflect. Wittgenstein dubs this condition aspect-blindness and compares it to color blindness. An aspect blind person, then, would be able to identify the picture of the duck-rabbit, and would know that the picture was capable of symbolizing both a duck and a rabbit, but he could not see them, or perhaps could only see one or the other. Additionally, he might see a representation of a 3 dimensional cube, and know it to be a diagram of such, but be unable to see the aspects of the image change. (PI 182)

Wittgenstein uses this idea to explore the connection between seeing aspects and “experiencing the meaning of a word.” (PI 182) In the same way that the aspect-blind person could know what he was supposed to do with the diagram of a cube, he would never experience the meaning of the diagram, or be able to interpret it in different ways (see it differently), but rather he would always see it two dimensionally, as conglomeration of hexagons. This would be similar to an individual who was trapped in only ever understanding the meaning of words as they exist in the Augustinian picture of language. Just as the aspect blind individual could only see the diagram of the cube as a dead sign representing its counterpart in reality, unable to see the rich texture of associations that make it possible for individuals to see different aspects, so too would the person stuck in the Augustinian picture of language be able to get a feel for the meaning of words, and the subtle webs of connections between them that make them that allow us to use them as we do. The life of an aspect blind person would be depressing indeed. Where a aspect sighted person could enjoy the multiplex of different uses human beings have for a painting, the aspect blind person would see only a blue print, or a diagram, and as Wittgenstein notes on page 175, though texts are sometimes hung on the walls with paintings, theorems of mechanics don’t supply the same allure.

Failure of Political Extremism in Interwar Britain

During the 1920s and early 1930s European governments were challenged by both enormous levels of unemployment and an international economic depression, which allowed opportunities for the rise of extremist groups on both the left and right. Russia was taken over by a communist uprising after 1917. In 1922 Italy became a fascist state and Germany came under Nazi rule in 1933. Poland, Spain, Portugal, Austria and Hungary among others saw governments moving away from democracy towards authoritarian regimes. Compared with the successes of extremism in the rest of Europe, Britain’s radical right and left were almost complete failures in the interwar period. This essay with examine the factors that had a hand in these failures. It will conclude that the relative mildness of the effects of the international depression experienced by Britain is probably the most useful factor in explaining the sharp contrast in political developments. It will also examine, however, important societal characteristics that created an especially difficult environment for extremism, tactical errors made by the communists and fascists that helped stymie their progress as well as effective steps taken by the existing moderate parties to quell extremist support.

Before a discussion of the failure of extremism it is important to clarify what is meant by “extremism” and what might be counted as the success of an extremist political party. Andrew Thorpe identifies three characteristics of an extremist doctrine. First, extremists reject parliamentary methods or use them only as a means in a broader struggle for power. Secondly, their aim is immediate radical change in political, economic and social structures. Finally, extremists are willing to use violence and unconstitutional methods to gain power, and to suppress opposition. (According to these criteria we can find excellent examples of extremism in the governments of Russia, Italy and Germany mentioned above.) Central then, to the idea of extremism is the opposition and overcoming of an existing parliamentary system by whatever means necessary. It follows that we might count the success of an extremist political party as amassing enough support necessary to pose a realistic and plausible threat of overcoming and seizing power from the existing political structure. Such an interpretation in a way delineates a political success from an ideological one. We could say that a communist political party was successful if it was able to organize the kind of mass working class support capable of threatening revolution. That a successful revolution never came about under these circumstances might be called a failure of Communism as an ideology. This essay will essay will understand the failure of extremism to be of the former, political variety, though it is clear that extremism in interwar Britain failed on both of these levels.
Now, before examining the social and political factors that lead to the specific failures of the both the communists and fascists in Britain, let us identify the important economic conditions that might have opened the door to extremist success, though, as I will argue were eventually key to its failure. Certainly during most of the interwar period Britain’s economic outlook was far from optimal. The stock market crash in the United States in 1929 had facilitated a global depression, the effects of which even relatively insulated Britain could not escape. One major manifestation of the depression, and probably the most important one politically, was unemployment. The country had been plagued by consistently high levels of unemployment and the problem was exasperated by the depression. The unemployed numbered over one million throughout the interwar period, comprising at least ten percent of the insured working population in the 1920s and over twenty percent in the early 1930s, and its solution fuelled the lion’s share of the important political debate.

Political debate revolved around three economic theories of how to remedy the situation, though it was usually dominated by the far left and centre. The traditional argument from the far left was that unequal wealth distribution and low wages cause the lower classes to lack purchasing power to create a demand sufficient to sustain industrial growth, producing periodic collapse and creating unemployment. The orthodox position (and the policy pursued during the period) was one of carefully encouraged deflation of incomes to bring the economy back down to the pre war gold standard, which would combat the problems caused by the disorganization of the international monetary system. Finally, the far right, most importantly that of Oswald Mosley, argued that deflation was harmful in that in reduced expectations of profit which decreased entrepreneurial activity, and that the health of the industrial sector should be paramount. Skidelsky argues that this economically driven political environment was deadlocked in the 1929 in a theoretical debate between the Labour party’s socialist position and the moderate and conservative adherence to laissez-faire capitalism, both of which were concerned more with intellectual consistency than solutions addressing immediate real world needs of the working class. “Hence the political situation was ‘frozen’ on the basis of mass unemployment.”

Obviously an environment of high unemployment produces certain opportunities for extremist groups, especially if the government is perceived to be failing to remedy the situation. Britain’s economic and political plight as Skidelsky portrays it certainly sheds some light on modest gains made by extremist groups. His analysis is most relevant to the creation by Mosley (an ex-Labour MP) of the British Union of Fascists in 1932 when employment was near its peak at 2.9 million. The BUF, by the very nature of offering a fascist solution, was able to capitalize on government inefficiencies. Additionally, it is undeniable that whatever success British communists enjoyed in the interwar period was hugely due to the economic factor of unemployment. This is evident in the character of its most successful venture, the National Unemployed Workers Movement (though whether this could be called an even modest success will be considered below).
However, closer analysis shows two characteristics of interwar Britain that suggest that even if the economy gave the extremist parties the opportunity to surface, it was also a main contribution to their eventual failure to gain the kind of mass support that they did elsewhere in Europe. First, the economic deterioration of Britain was simply less extreme than in other places in Europe, and thus the political results it gave rise to were less extreme. “Compared with most of continental Europe, Britain’s experience was undramatic.” While many Germans were trying to come to grips with the fact that wild inflation had wiped out their entire life savings Britain was actually experiencing deflation, which was government pursued and greatly less destabilizing. Even during what many called the “Hungry Thirties,” food shortages were never as severe as they were in some parts of Russia where “economic activity all but ceased and cannibalism had to be practised to support life.” Also, the shock of a depression was less harsh in Britain because it didn’t contrast sharply with an economic boom as it did in the United States and some parts of Europe, but signalled merely the increasing seriousness of an existing problem.

Secondly, the economic factors actively hurt political extremist parties in the mid 1930s when Britain experienced an economic growth rate of 4 percent and a plummeting unemployment rate starting in 1934. Economic recovery meant decreased support for both extremes. The number of unemployed fell by more than half, greatly diminishing any radical sentiment that might have been exploited in the populous. It also restored some faith in the National Government’s ability to improve economic conditions, undermining radical, especially fascist attempts, to portray revolution as the only way forward. This development seemed to prove most damning for the Fascists. Martin Walker argues that it “put the BUF into a decline from which it never really recovered,” and Pugh writes that “the underlying reason for the BUF’s decline almost certainly lay in the modest economic revival in 1934.”
But economic factors are, of course, not the complete story for the failure of interwar extremism. Let us now examine the communist and fascist parties each in isolation to determine the effects played by entrenched societal characteristics, tactical and strategic errors made by extremist political parties, and steps taken by the existing moderate parties to quell extremist support.

The failure of the British Communists most importantly represented by the NUWM had important roots in existing social structure of the British working class. Ross McKibbin convincingly observes four major social realities in Britain that prevented massive working class support for revolutionary communism. While McKibbin applies these arguments specifically to the aversion to the far left, many could be similarly applicable to the fascist right. First, no collective solidarity existed among the working class. He argues that this was the result of a number of factors, not the least of which was the small scale of industrial organization. The average factory in interwar Britain employed less than 30 workers. This meant that even workers among the same industry were largely isolated from one another, a problem exacerbated by the fact that unions never claimed more than half of the working class, and often much less than that. It additionally meant that workers were not as alienated from their employers as they would have been in the larger factories in other countries.
Secondly Britain was home to a rich working class associational culture. The working class were able to pursue interests outside of their work. Social identification could be found in sports, hobbies and religion. The working class enjoyed real wages that allowed them some real autonomy in the pursuit of various social activities. “The result was that any working class party had to compete with a working class culture which was stable and relatively sophisticated.”

Thirdly, British workers were relatively integrated into state institutions by means of an amorphous, inherited worldview. They were intricately tied to traditions like the Monarchy, which now provided a sort of emotionally pleasing and politically uncontentious link with the upper classes. The parliamentary structure, as well as the crown, held an “ideological hegemony which, if anything, increased throughout the century.”

Finally, the working class had rallied behind a group of leaders who were insufficiently radical to adopt revolutionary stance. By the 1920s Labour had established itself as the party of the working class, and was lead by a group known as the big five which included Ramsy MacDonald, Arthur Henderson, Phillip Snowdon, J.H. Thomas and J.R. Clynes. All five were prone to disagreements on a number of issues, but were all aligned on several basic points of consensus. “Nowhere was this more true than on the rejection of political extremism and unconstitutional action.”
In fact the rejection of extremism by the leaders of Labour led to outright political battle between the Labour party and the communists seeking to gain acceptance in its ranks. The activities of the Labour party to undermine communism in Britain can be counted among one of the chief reasons for communist failure to enlist massive working class support. In 1921 the NUWM was founded when British communists set out on a mission to mobilize the support of the unemployed. Two years later that organization attempted to align itself with the Trade Union Council, the country’s most powerful union organization and financial backer of the Labour party, but was rejected on the grounds of its extremism. After several other attempts to align itself with the more moderate left organizations in the 1920s (and after Labour began to fear being drawn in comparisons with Russian Bolsheviks) communists were banned from Labour’s ranks in 1924, and banned from TUC membership in 1928. They were perhaps most devastatingly rebuffed when in 1933 they called for a “united front” against fascism on the European continent. After several years of decrying Labour as fascists they then ask for their help to oppose the fascists, only to be denied, making them appear all at once incoherent, powerless and unimportant. The Secretary of the TUC at the time predicted that “one of the most amusing spectacles which contemporary history will reveal will be the frenzied attempts that are being made by the Communist movement to ingratiate itself with organized labour.”

Other important tactical errors were made on the part of the communist leadership as well that helped to doom it to the relatively meagre support it commanded throughout the period. One of the most devastating political missteps of the communist party was to make the recruitment of the unemployed the cornerstone of its revolutionary strategy. The NUWM hoped to organize the consistently high number of unemployed people into a force that could push for greater unemployment benefits, reasoning that this would have two effects. First they hoped it would decrease the lower classes willingness to work, weakening industry. They also thought it would ensure that workers were less afraid to mobilize against capital because they would not fear being fired. The organization did attract fairly large numbers of the unemployed: 50,000 members joined in 1926 and the depression began in 1929 the ranks swelled further. These members were not, however revolutionaries. They were simply unemployed men and woman happy to accept any benefits the NUWM could win for them. The organization was a temporary solution until its members could find work, and therefore while it is true that the communist-affiliated organization could claim to be increasing in size, there was little perceivable increase in its political influence or activity. In 1935 when the organization actually enjoyed a small victory in successfully rallying to have unemployment cuts restored the victory could hardly be counted as one of communist influence. Ultimately any “victories” of the NUWM were paradoxically damaging to the greater communist movement:

“Only the benefits system gave the NUWM a reason for existence in the eyes of its members; but the continuation of benefits prevented unemployment from becoming the destabilising factor the Communists sought … the political irony for the Communist party was the less it spoke of revolution the more sympathy it aroused.”

The Fascist movement (here mainly the BUF) faced a similar set of predicaments in interwar Britain. It was inherently at odds with several deeply entrenched social structures, lacked a strong internal organizational structure, was often politically inept, and faced opposition from existing political structure. I will now treat each of these factors in turn.

Perhaps the most important factor that led to the failure of fascism in Britain is the fact that many of its tenants were largely alien to the British Political culture. The BUF’s appeals to the population’s baser instincts of chauvinism and distrust of immigrants and minorities, as well as its heavy support in east London, a reputation for street corner politics, thuggery and corruption caused the party’s association for “low politics.” Whether or not these charges were accurate “public opinion viewed the BUF in an increasingly negative light in the 1930s, and came to blame the BUF for the major share in the public order problems which resulted from its activities.” As a result their political endeavours were taken by most in the public to be the radical and impracticable cries of those on the political fringe.

The BUF also suffered from association with German and Italian Fascisms, the excesses’ of which were becoming increasingly well known. The party’s propaganda claiming that its Black Shirt Uniforms (banned by the Public Order Act in 1936) were ancient British symbols was not widely accepted. As political violence grew abroad with the Night of the Long Knives in 1934 and Mussolini’s invasion of Abyssinia in 19
35 the fascists took more heat at home. This distrust was strengthened by the fact that Mosley, the party’s leader and driving force, failed to come out against the sinister behaviour of foreign fascists, and seemed almost to purposefully turn a blind eye to it, illustrated by the “Mind Britain’s Business’” campaign of 1935. The BUF was also associated (and rightly so) with the alien political tradition of anti-Semitism. Although this tactic was capable of gaining support where it had something of a history, in places like the East End of London, it was enormously counter productive across the far more proliferate moderate areas of the country.

The contentious political traditions subscribed to by the BUF can partly exp
lain its internal weakness and disorganization. For one, the party was highly fragmented, largely based in the East End of London and South East England, with only a few bastions of support in southern Wales and Scotland. Another more important source of disorganization was Oswald Mosley, the party’s enigmatic founder and leader. Mosley’s was a strong personality, and in his day an unrivalled public orator. While these characteristics were key to the successful recruitment of many of the party’s supporters, Mosley’s uncompromising nature was an important factor in the weakness of the party’s platform. Mosley “appeared unable to accept the criticism of his ideas and had to operate in an autocratic fashion … This lack of criticism led to an increasingly unrealistic fascist doctrine based on utopian assumptions.” As with the case of his massively unpopular economic plans for the Empire, he often ignored political realities.

Another of weakness of Mosley’s, and therefore of the party, was his delegation of organizational and administrative responsibility. The party’s activity and organization was reminiscent of Mosley’s focus on speaking over political manoeuvring. The party focused on assembling Black Shirts in uniform to march through London and incite passion, instead of building the party from the ground up with the dissemination of platforms, information and arguments. By 1936 J.F.C. Fuller would reorganize the movement “along military lines” to some sort of functioning political machine, the change came after the economic recovery of 1934 that dealt the party a blow from which it would not recover. The party was in decline and the reorganization came too late.

The opposition of the government in power was also an important factor in the BUF’s decline. First, Fascist parties tend to approach criticism of the sitting governments along nationalistic lines, and the British Fascists were no exception. However, there were several factors that made this difficult in the 1930s. First, it was hard to talk of a realistic “British decline” after the peace treaties after World War one had seen Britain come out as a stunning victor (unlike, for instance, Italy, who felt disenfranchised by the results). Secondly, as mentioned above, 1934 saw the beginning of economic recovery in Britain. Finally, the BUF claimed its goal to be the overthrow of sectarian loyalties, rooted in class, which would “give way to a rallying of ‘patriotic’ Britons behind a non-class, non-sectarian movement.” This call could not have come at a worse time for the BUF. The current government was a National Coalition, headed by the hugely popular Labour minister Ramsay MacDonald, largely composed of a group of moderate conservatives with the support of a good number of Liberal MPs and a handful of Labour candidates. Surely if the people wanted national unity they were better with the current government than with a fringe party with no firm base of support.

In conclusion, the comparative mildness of the effects of the international depression on inter-war Britain, coupled with modest economic recoveries of the mid 1930s probably played the most devastating role in the frustration of the British extremist political parties. It simply showed that there was no compelling reason to abandon the heavily entrenched parliamentary system, which the British were perhaps already less likely to cast off than a number of the nations that did fall to extremism in the 1920s and 30s. Reality, however, cannot be condensed to the absolute primacy of one factor over another. The truth, as always, lies in some combination of all of the factors, the absolute importance of which it may be impossible to say. We can say, however, that the social and political structures in place in the 1930s were of great importance to the way events developed.


Sorry, haven't entered the footnotes in from the original.