Maps of Meaning: The Architecture of Belief | Pt. 1 - Vision & Value Systems
The Story of All Stories
What is that magical force that grabs hold of you at the climax of a musical crescendo— or that pull that brings you to tears as your favorite character confronts tragedy and loss? How is it that fiction, or even fantasy, can wield the power to tug at our heartstrings, inspire us, and add meaning to our lives?
Why would the premiere of a Star Wars film attract millions of people to wait in lines that wrap around the block of their local theaters if what they were paying to see play out on the screen isn’t, in some fundamental way, real?
Now I want you to imagine asking a friend, “what did you do this morning?” and they reply:
“Well, the first thing I did was open my eyes. Then I thought about going back to sleep but after about fourteen seconds I got up anyway. I put my feet on the ground, left foot first, then looked up and noticed a pile of dirty clothes. I stood up and walked about 3 steps to the dresser— oh, and I was blinking while doing all that and also breathing. Next, I…”
If you let them speak for that long, you’re a good friend. The whole time, though, you’re probably thinking, “I don’t want to hear about that. Get to the point! Tell me something interesting!”
Well… what is it that’s interesting? And why does this story fail to evoke that? What are you looking for?
Now imagine they tell you a different story— a real adventure where something unexpected happened. Maybe their tire flew off in traffic. They had to conjure up some new responses to confront the problem and bring forth an outcome. Now that’s a little more interesting, but why?
We’re built to seek out information about unexplored territory. Your friend had a close encounter with chaos— how could you turn down an opportunity for cheap wisdom? By listening to the story, you can learn something meaningful about how to deal with a problem without having to go through it yourself.
So now imagine that 100 people told you great stories like the last one. If you were to extract out the patterns of commonality among all characters dealing with each of their problems, you can start to conceptualize a solution of how to deal with the fundamental problem that there are problems.
This is what great authors do: they distill life into meaning. They separate the meat from the mundane.
In this series, I’m going to share with you how meaning is embedded in stories, beliefs, cultures, symbols, and potentially our lives if we can be intentional about it.
Maybe there’s a quality that all good stories share, a grounding in something more real than matter— a story about how all stories go. We’re gonna get real meta boys and girls, so buckle up— The Hero’s Journey is a bumpy road.
Maps of Meaning
Maps of Meaning: The Architecture of Belief is a book and psychology course taught by Dr. Jordan Peterson. As a clinical psychologist, he uses models of cognition to articulate a unique theory of narrative that describes the interdependent relationship between what we value, perceive, and consequentially how we act in the world. His view is greatly influenced by thinkers such as Dostoevsky, Nietzsche, Freud, Jung, and Piaget, to name a few. There is a lot to go through in getting to the core of this material and some of it may seem unrelated at first, but I hope you’ll quickly begin to see how it all ties together and find it as fascinating as I do.
Throughout this series, I will be presenting an argument that “what matters is more real than matter” through the lens of western culture and thinking. So far in EOTI, I’ve been writing mostly about eastern philosophies that break down our conceptual assumptions regarding conventions such as language and culture to reveal their ineffable foundation. In contrast, this series will focus on this level of convention, it’s utility, and explain the necessity of framing the world to some degree.
On the surface, these perspectives seem to oppose one another: the eastern view says, for example, that the present moment is whole and complete, but the western view I’ll be presenting says that the present moment is always incomplete, perhaps even unbearable, and must undergo perpetual rectification by changing into the future. At the core, however, they’re telling the same story at different layers of analysis:
Most notably, eastern philosophy tends to separate the duality of subject and object (consciousness and matter), attempting to go beyond the game— to see through the illusion of apparent matter. The western perspective I’ll discuss, however, maintains the relationship between the two. That is, we’re examining consciousness as it manifests within human beings, and in a practical sense, learn the best way to play the game.
The Complexity Problem
Let me start off by posing a simple, yet fascinating question to ponder: “How do you decide what to point your eyes at?”
Odds are, you probably spend more time looking at screens, paperwork, people, or maybe a bird that landed outside the window than you are some random particular blade of grass in your lawn. This seems obvious but the reason why is actually sort of complicated. Why wouldn’t you be staring at the carpet fibers or the design of the popcorn ceiling above you for hours on end? What makes any of those things different or less interesting than the glass rectangle in your pocket?
Unless the walls are melting, you aren’t going to be particularly interested in watching them. As long as your perception matches your expectations and things appear to be on track, why pay any mind to it? In a way, it’s relieving to tune things out. That’s why we feel more relaxed getting home at the end of the day, where we re-enter a familiar place that the brain recognizes and finds predictable and safe.
Despite the multi-layered complexity held within the seemingly mundane, we must distinguish what is and isn’t relevant or meaningful to our ongoing narrative. The mundane can be amazing and beautiful; that’s often what artists are trying to point our attention to, but we have to consider the fact that most of the world is made up of this highly complex mundanity— that there is always far too much going on for us to comprehend and the majority of it doesn’t actually make any difference in our lives.
On July 23, 2012, Dr. Peterson was working on his desktop computer when it shut off unexpectedly. When you initially confront the uncertainty of a problem, you find yourself metaphorically lost. You’re not sure what went wrong or where to even begin in fixing it.
Normally, the experience of interacting with a computer has nothing to do with most of what’s going on inside of the computer. You’re merely interacting with icons, text, graphics, and UI. But when something goes wrong, all of the things your mind deemed irrelevant, from the hardware of your computer to the infrastructure that gets electricity into your home suddenly pop into view. So he began mapping it out, deciding which layer of analysis is most relevant.
First, he tried restarting the computer— but to no avail. He checked the wires in the back, everything looked right. Next, he flipped on a nearby light switch, but the room remained dark.
Seemingly for no reason in particular, in the middle of the day with clear skies, the power had gone out. Clearly, the problem resided at a higher, more complex layer of analysis than if it were “whoops, the cat pulled the plug out.” Knowing he’s done all he could, he was able to orient himself in relation to the problem. He went on with his day and left it to higher powers.
It wasn’t until later, national news reported that Earth very narrowly missed a catastrophic solar flare, knocking out the electrical grid temporarily.
Although our entire electronics and communication systems depend on this perpetual stability of the sun, it isn’t something we tend to pay much attention to— we don’t look out the window before we fire up our computer and think “Oh good, the suns still there, I’m glad I can expect to get my work done today without interruption.” It goes to show how unbelievably complex things are; to the degree that it’d be counterproductive, or at the very least quite terrifying to keep everything happening in mind all of the time.
FYI earth gets hit with this kind of massive solar flare about once every 150 years. The last time it happened was in 1859, and if it happened today it would virtually knock humanity back to the stone ages. Sleep well! :)
Fundamentally, we have a complexity problem. We need a way to sort through all the perceivable information to figure out what’s actually worth paying attention to.
If everything is equally important or unimportant, it’s chaos— a lack of orientation. This chaos can be conceptualized in geographical terms as unexplored territory, the place where your perception and expectations fail to align. This realm makes up most of the world— that which lies beyond our understanding, full of danger and hope. It is the gold-hoarding dragon that the hero trains to slay.
What do you do when you’re lost? You establish orientation by identifying landmarks: objects of meaning that stick out and can help you get where you want to go.
How do you deal with infinite complexity? You establish a frame that determines what is and isn’t relevant to your goals so you can move toward them.
This is the essence of value systems; they structure our perceptions so we can make sense of chaos. Without them, there is no way of telling up or down, which way to go, what to point your eyes at, or find any reason for being. Values supply us with a means to map out the chaos and move through it.
It then follows that we are always acting in accordance with our values— both consciously and unconsciously. Behind every action is a reason grounded within some layer of your hierarchy of values, regardless of whether or not you’re aware of those values.
Let’s say you’re sitting at a university lecture. The question “What are you doing here?” has a number of valid responses at different layers: I am sitting. Why? I am here to listen to the lecture. Why? So I can be prepared for the exam. Why? So I can pass and get my degree. Why? So I can be a doctor. Why? So I can help people. Why? Because I value the well-being of others. Why? Because suffering is real, pain hurts, problems exist, and I want to solve problems. Why? Because the only way to overcome the source of problems is to become a hero. Why? …???
That’s a pretty specific example, but the fact that you are acting out your will holds true for any situation. At the foundation of every action, when traced back like so, exists an ultimate value that conducts every aspect of your life— an intention, so to speak, that precedes even the conscious thought to act.
Fundamentally, your action in the world is a direct expression of your beliefs. The best way to determine what someone believes is by observing how they act, as opposed to what they say they believe. To profess a belief, under this framework, is essentially meaningless. To believe is to embody.
Your action in the world reflects your aim, just as your eyes point toward that which holds what you’re ultimately searching for. Therefore, all that you see is what lies on the journey of that path.
Your perception is never complete, it is always framed.
The Invisible Gorilla
Here is a famous experiment that demonstrates something groundbreaking for psychologists. The video presents a simple challenge to the viewer that I’d recommend trying out for yourself. Afterwards, I’ll break down what it means:
Most people miss the gorilla upon the first time watching, but it depends whether or not they knew what to expect and how immersed they were in the task of counting passes. Chances are, however, even if you were able to count the passes AND spot the gorilla, you probably failed to notice the background changing color or the player leaving the set.
While all of this may seem obvious— that goals determine what we focus on, it seriously disrupts the prevailing psychological belief that we make a pretty complete model of the world in our minds and are therefore well-attuned for detecting anomalies. Under this assumption, however, there would be no way we’d miss something as anomalous as a gorilla walking through the center of the screen. But that’s exactly wrong— this experiment demonstrates that the value structures we inhabit determine not only just what you expect or want in the world, but also quite literally what you see.
Our perceptions are attuned with the domain of our goals. For example, our eyes pick up only a very specific slice of the electromagnetic spectrum— visible color which reflects off objects most relevant to our survival. We can easily spot the bright colors of ripe, low-hanging fruit as well as the subtle, slithering movements of lurking predators. If we could see radio, infrared, or gamma waves, there would be a lot of unnecessary distractions.
Scientists report something called “snake detection theory” which observes how animals that share environments with snakes more quickly evolve vision. It is the reason we are such visual creatures compared to most that rely more heavily on their sense of smell. In a literal sense, snakes gave us vision— we see to deal with the problems that obstruct our path.
Our limited perception is both useful and harmful; for the longest time, we had no idea that germs existed. Despite their relevance in health and medicine, germs are too small and exist outside the domain of our primary goals to directly perceive. However, if we were so conscious to detect all layers of reality simultaneously from the microscopic to the full electromagnetic spectrum, we would drown in information.
You can’t value everything because it’s infinitely complex. (This is a feature of schizophrenia— everything seems meaningful to an overwhelming degree. The feeling that absolutely nothing is coincidental or chaotic is nothing short of terrifying.)
You can’t value nothing without ceasing to act in the world and survive. (This is a feature of depression— nothing seems meaningful, everything is chaotic, and thus action in the world appears useless.)
Because our vision is so narrow, we must take serious consideration to what we value. For anything we focus on, we lose sight of most everything else. No matter what, sacrifices are made in framing the world. It’s much better if you take the opportunity to pick them.
Choose your aim wisely if you want the opportunity to see what you want in the world to happen.
To aim at nothing is the worst thing you can do. But if you wish, you can be sure to hit it every time.
Fun Fact:
The word sin originates as an archery term— it means “to miss the mark.”
So what is it that we should be aiming at? Well, that’s the question of the meaning of life.
You won’t find it in the pages— the point of a story is pointing.
