Robinson Crusoe in the Age of Cybernetics: Merleau-Ponty, Alan Watts, and von Foerster on the Boundaries of Self and System
"No man is an island," John Donne famously wrote. But Robinson Crusoe was. Or at least, that’s how the story begins—a man alone, shipwrecked, forced to rebuild civilization from scratch. But was he ever truly alone? Or was he already entangled in something larger, something cybernetic—where the boundary between self and environment dissolves, where man and machine merge into a continuous feedback loop?
Merleau-Ponty: The Body as the First Tool
Maurice Merleau-Ponty, the French phenomenologist, would argue that Crusoe’s island was not simply an external place—it was something Crusoe inhabited in a deeper, bodily way. To Merleau-Ponty, the body is not just a biological machine but a lived experience, an interface between self and world.
Crusoe doesn’t just use the island. He becomes part of it.
When he crafts a spear, it stops being a separate object; it becomes an extension of his body, a new way of interacting with the world. When he builds a shelter, he is not just constructing walls—he is reshaping his perception of safety and home. His hands, his tools, his environment—all become part of a single, unified system of survival.
And isn’t this what happens to all of us, every day?
When we use a smartphone, does it remain an external object? Or does it become an extension of our memory, our cognition, our social instincts? When we navigate with GPS, are we using a tool, or are we experiencing the world through it?
We, too, are modern-day Crusoes, stranded not on an island, but in a web of technology.
Alan Watts: Where Does the Body End?
Alan Watts would push this even further. He often asked: where does your body stop and the world begin? If you are standing on a rock, is the rock part of you? You cannot walk without it. Your nervous system adjusts to it. Your sense of balance, your movement—it all depends on where you stand.
Crusoe’s entire survival depends on understanding this interconnection. The island is not just a hostile force to be conquered—it is an active participant in his existence. He flows with it, shaping and being shaped by it.
And here is where Heinz von Foerster comes in.
Von Foerster: The Cybernetic Crusoe
Von Foerster, a pioneer of cybernetics, argued that all systems—whether biological, mechanical, or social—exist in continuous feedback loops. A thermostat does not just regulate temperature; it adjusts to and learns from the environment. A brain does not just think; it responds to sensory inputs, modifying itself constantly.
Crusoe, too, is a cybernetic system. He adapts, modifies, refines. He builds tools, tests their effectiveness, improves them. His survival is not linear—it is an iterative process, a constant learning loop. His failures (a raft that sinks, crops that fail) provide data for future actions.
Fast forward to today.
We live in a cybernetic world, whether we recognize it or not. Our digital devices track our habits, adjust our news feeds, suggest what we should buy, listen to, and believe. Our own nervous system has been outsourced to algorithms.
But there is one crucial difference between Crusoe and us: Crusoe controlled his feedback loops. We, increasingly, do not.
The Modern Crusoe: Master or Captive?
Crusoe’s survival was based on a delicate balance: he used tools, but he was not controlled by them. The raft, the spear, the calendar—each served him, each was part of his active intelligence.
The question we must ask ourselves: are we still in control of our tools, or have our tools taken control of us?
If Crusoe had an AI assistant that provided him with food suggestions, controlled his fire, measured his sleep, and filtered his reality, would he have thrived—or would he have lost the very struggle that defined his existence?
The shipwreck was not Crusoe’s tragedy—it was his awakening.
What would it take for us to realize the same?