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Maps of Meaning: The Architecture of Belief

Book by Jordan B. Peterson · 37 quotes · Sapiens, Civilizacion, Socialismo

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Maps of Meaning: The Architecture of Belief Quotes

“The world can be validly construed as a forum for action, as well as a place of things. We describe the world as a place of things, using the formal methods of science. The techniques of narrative, however – myth, literature, and drama – portray the world as a forum for action. The two forms of representation have been unnecessarily set at odds, because we have not yet formed a clear picture of their respective domains. The domain of the former is the 'objective world' – what is, from the perspective of intersubjective perception. The domain of the latter is 'the world of value' – what is and what should be, from the perspective of emotion and action. The world as forum for action is 'composed,' essentially, of three constituent elements, which tend to manifest themselves in typical patterns of metaphoric representation. First is unexplored territory – the Great Mother, nature, creative and destructive, source and final resting place of all determinate things. Second is explored territory – the Great Father, culture, protective and tyrannical, cumulative ancestral wisdom. Third is the process that mediates between unexplored and explored territory – the Divine Son, the archetypal individual, creative exploratory 'Word' and vengeful adversary. We are adapted to this 'world of divine characters,' much as the 'objective world.' The fact of this adaptation implies that the environment is in 'reality' a forum for action, as well as a place of things. Unprotected exposure to unexplored territory produces fear. The individual is protected from such fear as a consequence of 'ritual imitation of the Great Father' – as a consequence of the adoption of group identity, which restricts the meaning of things, and confers predictability on social interactions. When identification with the group is made absolute, however – when everything has to be controlled, when the unknown is no longer allowed to exist – the creative exploratory process that updates the group can no longer manifest itself. This 'restriction of adaptive capacity' dramatically increases the probability of social aggression and chaos. Rejection of the unknown is tantamount to 'identification with the devil,' the mythological counterpart and eternal adversary of the world-creating exploratory hero. Such rejection and identification is a consequence of Luciferian pride, which states: all that I know is all that is necessary to know. This pride is totalitarian assumption of omniscience – is adoption of 'God’s place' by 'reason' – is something that inevitably generates a state of personal and social being indistinguishable from hell. This hell develops because creative exploration – impossible, without (humble) acknowledgment of the unknown – constitutes the process that constructs and maintains the protective adaptive structure that gives life much of its acceptable meaning. 'Identification with the devil' amplifies the dangers inherent in group identification, which tends of its own accord towards pathological stultification. Loyalty to personal interest – subjective meaning – can serve as an antidote to the overwhelming temptation constantly posed by the possibility of denying anomaly. Personal interest – subjective meaning – reveals itself at the juncture of explored and unexplored territory, and is indicative of participation in the process that ensures continued healthy individual and societal adaptation. Loyalty to personal interest is equivalent to identification with the archetypal hero – the 'savior' – who upholds his association with the creative 'Word' in the face of death, and in spite of group pressure to conform. Identification with the hero serves to decrease the unbearable motivational valence of the unknown; furthermore, provides the individual with a standpoint that simultaneously transcends and maintains the group.”

“...At the same time, something odd was happening to my ability to converse. I had always enjoyed engaging in arguments, regardless of topic. I regarded them as a sort of game (not that this is in any way unique). Suddenly, however, I couldn't talk—more accurately, I couldn't stand listening to myself talk . I started to hear a “voice” inside my head, commenting on my opinions. Every time I said something, it said something— something critical. The voice employed a standard refrain, delivered in a somewhat bored and matter-of-fact tone: You don't believe that. That isn't true. You don't believe that. That isn't true. The “voice” applied such comments to almost every phrase I spoke. I couldn't understand what to make of this. I knew the source of the commentary was part of me, but this knowledge only increased my confusion. Which part, precisely, was me— the talking part or the criticizing part ? If it was the talking part, then what was the criticizing part? If it was the criticizing part—well, then: how could virtually everything I said be untrue? In my ignorance and confusion, I decided to experiment. I tried only to say things that my internal reviewer would pass unchallenged. This meant that I really had to listen to what I was saying, that I spoke much less often, and that I would frequently stop, midway through a sentence, feel embarrassed, and reformulate my thoughts. I soon noticed that I felt much less agitated and more confident when I only said things that the “voice” did not object to. This came as a definite relief. My experiment had been a success; I was the criticizing part. Nonetheless, it took me a long time to reconcile myself to the idea that almost all my thoughts weren't real, weren't true—or, at least, weren't mine. All the things I “believed” were things I thought sounded good, admirable, respectable, courageous. They weren't my things, however—I had stolen them. Most of them I had taken from books. Having “understood” them, abstractly, I presumed I had a right to them—presumed that I could adopt them, as if they were mine: presumed that they were me . My head was stuffed full of the ideas of others; stuffed full of arguments I could not logically refute. I did not know then that an irrefutable argument is not necessarily true, nor that the right to identify with certain ideas had to be earned.”

“Escogemos un camino u otro en cada punto de decisión de nuestra vida, y acabamos siendo la suma total de nuestras decisiones. Al rechazar nuestros errores, ganamos una seguridad a corto plazo, pero renunciamos a nuestra identidad con el proceso que nos permite transcender nuestras debilidades y tolerar nuestras vidas dolorosas y limitadas.”

“En estado natural, por decirlo de algún modo, a los seres humanos no les gusta pensar como lógicos, ni siquiera como empiristas. Hace falta entrenamiento para pensar así. Pero aun en ausencia de ese entrenamiento, seguimos pensando, aunque lo hacemos de manera más subjetiva, como seres -poco razonables-, idiosincráticos, emocionales que habitan unos cuerpos de tamaño determinado, con unas propiedades particulares y constreñidas.”

“Por definición, nuestros patrones habituales de acción solo bastan para cosas y situaciones de determinada significación: solo sabemos como actuar en presencia de lo que nos es familiar. La aparición de lo inesperado nos saca de la complacencia inconsciente, axiomática, y nos obliga (dolorosamente) a pensar.”

“El orden -el territorio explorado- se construye a partir de caos y existe, simultáneamente, en oposición a ese caos (más exactamente al caos *nuevo*; a lo desconocido, ahora definido en oposición al territorio explorado). Todo lo que no es orden -es decir, no predecible, no usable- es, por defecto (por definición), caos. El extranjero, -cuyos comportamientos no pueden predecirse, que no es habitante del *cosmos*, cuya existencia y dominio no han sido sacralizados- es equivalente al caos (y no solo igual al casos metafóricamente).”

“El cambio que altera lo actualmente predecible y ordenado también implica potencial para avanzar hacia un futuro más prometedor. Lo inesperado es, en sí mismo, información, una información necesaria para la expansión constante de la competencia adaptativa. Esa información viene envuelta en peligro y promesa.”

“Así pues, la anomalía es -alimento- espiritual en el sentido más literal: lo desconocido es la materia prima a partir de la cual se fabrica la personalidad en el curso de la actividad exploratoria. El acto de rechazar la anomalía transforma la personalidad en algo hambriento, en algo senil y en algo cada vez más temeroso del cambio, pues cada fracaso a la hora de enfrentarse a la verdad erosiona la capacidad de enfrentarse a la verdad en el futuro.”

“Es la aprehensión clara del peligro mortal y la posibilidad infinita que acecha por todas partes la que ha potenciado la consciencia humana mucho más allá de su pariente más cercano, en un proceso que se ha prolongado durante eras. Somos capaces de ver lo desconocido en todo, como consecuencia de nuestros sistemas cognitivos elaborados: peor aún (mejor): somos capaces de ver el peligro mortal en todo lo desconocido. Ellos nos hace sin duda angustiados, pero también (si no salimos corriendo) despiertos.”

“La transformación de circunstancias -ambientales- como consecuencia de causas puramente naturales constituye la causa más inmediatamente evidente del deterioro de la estabilidad cultural. Una sequía prolongada, inundaciones, terremotos, plagas, -los sucesos más horribles y arbitrarios de la naturaleza- son capaces de convertir en impotentes, de un plumazo, a las sociedades mejor adaptadas.”