Chapter 7
Truth, myth and world
After extensively elaborating on religious myths in Part I, we have now also addressed the idea of truth in some depth. Moreover, it has become clear that our conclusions regarding the nature of truth have significant implications as far as the nature of the world itself is concerned. In this chapter, we will delve further into this multifaceted relationship between truth, myth and world. We will do it one facet—one step—at a time and tie it all together at the end of the chapter. At that point, it should become clear to you how deeply intertwined these three ideas are.
The world as true myth
An inescapable implication of our conclusions so far is that the bulk of the world is a collection of narratives experienced in mind according to linguistic patterns. In other words, the world is made of myths, though not necessarily religious ones.
Indeed, as we’ve seen, the past is a story we tell ourselves in order to give context to present perceptions. Even the partial consensus that emerges in society about past events is a story, since it results from instances of linguistic communication such as history lessons at schools, newscasts, personal memories shared in conversations, etc. Moreover, the vivid recall of episodic memories doesn’t change the inherently mythical character of the past. After all, memory recall is experienced in the present. If you close your eyes right now and relive your first kiss, your experience will take place now, not in the past. That this present experience corresponds to something in the past is itself a story—a myth—we tell ourselves, whether true or false. It can’t be anything else. The same goes for historical artifacts in, for instance, museums: we perceive them in the present. That they come from the past is a story—an explanation—whether true or false. The past is always a myth.
Likewise, the future is a story we tell ourselves in order to give perspective to present actions. What else could it be? Even the partial consensus that emerges in society about future events is a story, since it results from shared models of reality communicated through language. In other words, we predict the same future only insofar as we tell each other the same myths about how the world works.
Only the present moment, which we share by directly co-perceiving images, can escape the mythical framework of language. However, as discussed earlier, the present is an elusive, intangible singularity. As such, the experiential bulk of human life is a collection of stories, myths. Whether we live in transcendence or existential despair is simply a matter of which type of myth—religious or deprived—predominantly composes our world. Whichever the case, we always live in a myth that can be neither confirmed nor disproven by reference to states of affairs outside mentation.
Clearly, then, dismissing myth is tantamount to dismissing life. The very essence of what it means to be a human being alive in the world is the linguistic hallucination that creates that world. There is valid information in the hallucination for the same reason that there is valid information in a nightly dream. Although the dream is entirely conjured up in mind, it does reveal—if interpreted properly—something true and significant about the dreamer: his or her drives, desires, fears, traumas, etc.122 It couldn’t be any different, since the dream is an expression of the dreamer. Analogously, lies—which are by definition untrue—betray something true about the aspirations and insecurities of the liar. For instance, a teenager who lies about his sexual exploits gives away not only his sexual insecurities, but also his inner need to be accepted by others. So the lie does ultimately reveal significant truth about the teenager, if only we know how to read it. Even an entirely fictional novel is bound to suggest something true about its author, since the novel is an expression of the author. So you see, that something is fictional, hallucinated, conjured up or ‘hoaxed’—to use Roger Ebert’s chosen word—does not mean that it can’t ultimately reveal important truth. The hoax is bound to betray the nature of the hoaxer, if only we inquire into it through the right angle.
Myth—and therefore life itself—is how the ‘hoaxer’ symbolically projects out its nature, so it can perceive these projections as seeming objects and thereby inquire into itself. Without the projections self-inquiry would be impossible, for the same reason that you can’t see your own eyes without a mirror. The hallucination we call the world—including its history—consists of symbols of the intangible nature of mind reflected on the mirror of human awareness. These symbolic reflections are the ‘correspondences’ between the natural and spiritual worlds insisted upon by Swedenborg.123 The projected symbols betray something about mind in the same way that a lie betrays something about the liar or that a dream betrays something about the dreamer.
Dismissing myth is tantamount to dismissing life, for the bulk of our world is made of myths, whether religious or deprived. The world consists of symbols of the nature of mind projected out and reflected on the mirror of human awareness, so to enable self-inquiry.
Consensus reality without external truth
We’ve concluded earlier that there is no standalone reality outside mind to ground the truth of any explanation, perception or prediction. But the absence of external truth does not change the fact that experience exists as such. Whether grounded on external truth or not, experience isn’t nothing. It occurs and is the only reality we can ever know for sure. For instance, when you fantasize about a new romantic partner, there clearly is an experiential reality to your fantasies, even though there is no external truth to them. You may even get aroused during your reveries. In this sense, the absence of external truth does not refute reality, insofar as experience is real as such.
But to leave it at this would equate the world we perceive through our five senses with quirky fantasies. We would be left with no basis to distinguish between a football match witnessed by thousands and a schizophrenic vision; after all, both are experiences. Do we live in a universe in which these things are equivalent? Of course not. There obviously is a difference between sense perception—the ‘consensus images and interactions’ I talked about in Part I—and fantasies. It’s just that the difference isn’t what our culture takes it to be: if you reflect upon it carefully, you will see that the only difference between sense perceptions and private reveries is the degree to which the experience is shared across individuals. Consensus images are largely shared across individuals, while your nightly dreams and daytime fantasies aren’t. Our culture takes this simple observation and extrapolates it to a gigantic and unjustified metaphysical abstraction: a whole universe independent of mind.
While rejecting a universe outside mind we do not need to reject the undeniable fact that certain experiences are shared while others aren’t. It is this fact that allows us to still differentiate consensus reality from fantasies without any need for external arbiters of truth.
Now, notice that only perceptions (present) seem to be intrinsically consensual, while explanations (past) and predictions (future) tend to vary from person to person. Most people can easily agree about what is in front of their eyes right now, but will tend to disagree about how or why it got there, or where it will go next. If several people stand before the great pyramid in Giza, they will likely all agree that there is a large stone building in front of them (perception), but will disagree about how, why, when, or by whom it was built (explanation). They will agree that the Egyptian desert feels hot and dry right now (perception), but are likely to disagree about how it will feel in ten thousand years (prediction). These disagreements arise from differences in each person’s intellectual model of reality and the memories—books previously read, prior visits to construction sites, etc.—that feed this model. Only raw perceptions seem to escape idiosyncratic intellectual modeling and remain conducive to consensus.
But if the only point of generalized agreement were perceptions, consensus reality would be elusive to the point of not being there. After all, the present is an intangible singularity. Since we all seem to share the same world, there has to be a broader cognitive space—beyond just perceptions�
�wherein consensus can arise naturally. And indeed there is.
Notice that the closer to perception an explanation—including memories—or prediction lies, the higher is its potential for consensus. For instance, if you and I watch an athlete slip and fall while running on a wet track, we will agree not only that there is an athlete lying on a wet track (perception), but also that water on the track caused the athlete to fall (explanation including the memory of the fall). The consensus between us will be due to the fact that the explanation lies very close, in the map of cognition, to the singularity of the present moment. Similarly, if you and I watch a waiter drop a glass of wine while approaching a table in a restaurant, we will agree not only that there is a waiter walking and a glass of wine in the air (perception), but also that a fraction of a second later the glass will hit the floor, break and spill the wine (prediction). The consensus between us will be due to the fact that the prediction lies very close to the singularity of the now. This way, consensus reality is a cognitive space not only comprising, but also surrounding, perception. It exists as a kind of glow around the center of the cognitive ‘big bang.’ See Figure 8.
The diffuse boundaries of consensus don’t extend much beyond the singularity. A week after the fact, I may feel sure that the athlete slipped because of a misstep and not even remember that the track was wet. And you may disagree with me about it. Similarly, I may anticipate in my imagination that the waiter will immediately clean up the mess after the glass breaks, while you may anticipate in your imagination that he will first go back to the bar and fetch another glass for his patron. The potential for an experience to be shared dissipates fast as it is projected further away from the center of the cognitive ‘big bang.’
Narrow and diffuse as the boundaries of consensus may be, they still play a crucial role: the experiences that fall within them gain the formidable weight of a collective reality. Consensus experiences live in a transpersonal cognitive space, instead of an individual mind. It is this collective momentum that motivates us to attribute more reality to shared experiences than to private reveries. And the closer to the center of the cognitive ‘big bang’ the experience lies, the higher is the momentum. The intangible singularity is the source of all shared experiences, the unifying nexus of our respective lives.
This way, the experiences we ordinarily look upon as real are simply the consensus images around the center of the cognitive ‘big bang.’ They are collective in nature and, as such, reflect the activity of a common, transpersonal root underlying all cognition. On the other hand, what we ordinarily look upon as confabulation are experiences we project onto the periphery of awareness in the form of explanations and predictions.
For not refuting experience, the absence of external truth does not refute reality. What we call consensus reality is a cognitive space of shared experiences surrounding present perceptions.
Figure 8. Consensus reality is a cognitive space surrounding present perceptions.
The mythical origin and fate of the world
As briefly discussed earlier, it is our delusional concepts of truth that lead us to mistakenly belittle religious myths: since the entities and events they portray cannot correspond to mind-independent facts, religious myths are considered untrue and thus irrelevant. But as we’ve seen, there are no such things as mind-independent facts to begin with. The basis we thought we had for differentiating religious myths from any other myth, including the best scientific theories, is just not there. All myths equally lack correspondence to facts outside consciousness.
One may still try to set religious myths apart from scientific myths by pointing out that, even in the absence of an objective world, we still have the momentum of shared, consensus perceptions as a criterion of differentiation. Myths that correspond to consensus perceptions—such as the immediate outcome of experiments—can be considered more valid than myths that don’t, this being where science has an overwhelming edge. Such is indeed a sound differentiation—and the only one that saves us from the chaos of relativism124—but its scope of applicability is more limited than most people realize. After all, the cognitive space of consensus is confined to the surroundings of the singularity we call the present moment.
Notice that most religious myths are, in fact, explanations and predictions. They try to make sense of life by couching present perceptions in a transcendent context. They try to give meaning to life by offering present actions a transcendent perspective. Because they deal with the primordial origin and the ultimate goal of existence, the events portrayed by religious myths are supposed to take place in an often-distant past or future, respectively. As such, in both cases the mythical events fall outside the boundaries of consensus.
The rise of Karora from the ground and the consequent formation of the Ilbalintja Soak are projected too far into the past for any consensus criterion to be applicable. The only thing that motivates us to deny their reality is our intellectual model of the workings of nature. It is this model that forces us to subjectively infer that Karora’s rise couldn’t have happened. But the inference isn’t consensual. Many Arandan surely don’t agree with it!
Similarly, the Christian myth of the Rapture predicts that, during the second coming of Christ, chosen human beings will be lifted into the air to meet Jesus. These events are projected too far into the future for any consensus criterion to be applicable. The only thing that motivates us to deny their reality is our intellectual model of how nature operates. But this model isn’t consensual. Many Christians surely don’t agree that the Rapture is impossible!
Remember: I’m not suggesting that even the best religious myths are objectively true. What I am saying is that it is nonsensical to attribute either objective truth or objective falsity to them. There are no external, mind-independent states of affairs to ground the attribution either way. Any judgment of the validity of religious myths is subjective. Moreover, they are projected too far outside any reasonable range of consensus for their validity to be grounded on joint perception by multiple observers. So any judgment of their validity is not only subjective, but also largely personal.
One cannot hope to overcome this inherent subjectivity by crafting ever more refined models of reality, any more than one can hope to fly by crawling in ever more refined ways. No matter how strong one’s conviction is in one’s model of reality, the model is still mental and non-consensual. One cannot pull oneself up by one’s bootstraps.
Even if you see and concur with what I am arguing here, chances are that your intellect will soon have the irresistible urge to dive right back into the culturally sanctioned ‘story.’ You will lose the thread of what I am saying and re-immerse yourself in your intellectual model of reality: ‘This cannot be so. Our scientific theories are validated against concrete data. We run experiments to check their validity. These experiments are repeated and confirmed across time and space. One cannot compare these models to empirically baseless religious myths. They are just not the same thing.’ It all sounds so persuasive, doesn’t it?
The thing to remember here is this: explanations and predictions are but reflections of the intangible singularity on the mirror of present awareness. There is nothing else they could be. And since the singularity is mind itself, explanations and predictions are symbols of the nature of mind. Some of these symbols—like the Big Bang of modern cosmology—are shaped to be consistent with our current, subjective models of reality. Others—like Brahman hatching from the cosmic egg—aren’t. But it is only their symbolic content that carries any significance, not their consistency with circular linguistic models. After all, there is no such a thing as the literal truth of any explanation or prediction, for the past and the future are just mental projections experienced in the present moment. ‘There never was a creation. Rather, there is a continuous creating going on,’125 remarked Campbell. Realize, thus, the futility of wrestling with the question of objective truth when it comes to any creation myth, scientific or otherwise. See that the only real value of any
explanation or prediction is symbolic and that the only meaningful way to interpret them is as icons of the now. ‘Creation myths … describe not the origin of our cosmos, but the origin of man’s conscious awareness of the world,’126 observed Marie-Louise von Franz. As a matter of fact, the symbolic similarity between the Big Bang of modern cosmology and Brahman’s hatching from the cosmic egg is striking. But unlike the implicit suggestion of Carl Sagan in the original Cosmos series,127 the Hindu myth isn’t merely some kind of lucky allegory for the Big Bang. These two myths aren’t pointing at each other but at a third and ineffable element: the structure of human cognition in the present moment. The significance of both myths lies solely in how they symbolically portray what is happening in your mind now; yes, right now. Anything else is just culturally sanctioned cognitive delusion.
If, after this reminder, you still find yourself immersed in the cultural ‘story,’ the alternative is to go back and try to find the thread of my argument again. Because of cultural conditioning, we are all subject to the enormous gravitational pull of this ‘story.’ You may follow my argument along each step of the way until a small, intruding thought suddenly pulls you right back to where you started. It’s like slipping and falling back to the bottom of the hole of cultural conditioning before you manage to climb out completely. But if I were to follow you down the hole and engage you there, on the terms, assumptions and internal logic of the cultural game, I wouldn’t be of any help to you. Any discussion at that level would just reinforce the ‘story,’ because it would be inherently circular like our ‘definitions’ of space and time, as well as the linguistic operation of the intellect. You must find the thread and pull yourself up again.
More Than Allegory Page 12
