{"id":"5ed16d6e6cee070006a5a2d5","slug":"maps-of-meaning-en","title":"Maps of Meaning","audio_url":"https://hls.blinkist.io/bibs/5ed16d6e6cee070006a5a2d5/5ed16d996cee070006660bf5-T1590784178.m4a?Expires=1643036232&Signature=FhIEN41W~sJ6-roOJG~7-tFnAICSZH770LiKFomDwM~KPgGBKcxahk4XyrdLFnstpCAdkqkH~KCFH48dkqIuzJ2AoUYHjI6z870BpX8nEMBeVcgzalpIAaMXoNIGYX75PQPPXaAUKEkuaeMeuPEWl68CGLfgkbzCc~QGV5Ncu2VXVFCDoy23ObtYt3Dbps8tkuUc-PGvi94eNRDcFMuHsIzOErXT4UD8cC6ZvEaVaZh495u7zPn5rr7Hc1C1ElXPH-7y1dlRCWjJzJKhC5foezKoAgWUDVPjzTvAqtsUW5ZFnKTrUdxznvKTYtsjwSDVe7DLquXg9El-m95pCwvmHA__&Key-Pair-Id=APKAJXJM6BB7FFZXUB4A","chapters":[{"id":"5ed16d996cee070006660bf5","title":"Humans explore their environment out of a fear of the unknown.","text":"

If you place a rat in a new cage, its first reaction is to freeze. The rat is afraid – and understandably so. After all, grave danger could lurk in this new, unfamiliar territory. Only slowly, will the rat begin to explore its new surroundings – sniffing, licking, and scratching its way through the cage. The more it gets used to the new environment, the calmer it becomes.

Humans are much more complex animals than rats, but we navigate the world in a similar way.

The key message here is: Humans explore their environment out of a fear of the unknown.

For humans, just as for rats, the world is divided into two parts: the known and the unknown.

The known is the familiar cage. It comprises all things we can easily make sense of, either because we’ve encountered them before, or because we can access shared cultural knowledge about them. In this explored territory, we feel calm and safe.

The unknown, on the other hand, is everything we don’t understand yet: a novel situation, an unexplained phenomenon, an unexpected behavior – in short, an anomaly. Just as the new cage terrifies the rat, anomalies tend to stop us in our tracks.

Since we have no way of knowing what we’re dealing with when we encounter the unknown, anomalies evoke dual feelings in us. They’re both threatening and promising.

Imagine, for example, you received a letter with unknown contents in the mail, with the words Open at your own risk written on it. Is it blackmail? An unclaimed inheritance? Probably, you would feel both anxious and excited to open it.

Whether fear or curiosity dominates an encounter with the unknown depends on just how unexpected and unfamiliar the anomaly really is. If you knew the letter was sent by a friend, for example, you would probably be less nervous about opening it.

Either way, you would likely be bursting to see what’s inside. Just like rats, once we’ve overcome our initial fear, humans have a natural inclination to explore the unknown. In doing so, we hope to turn unfamiliar into familiar territory. This helps us reduce our emotional tension and regain our sense of safety.

Unlike rats though, we can explore the unknown not just through action, but also through thought. You would probably spend just as much time examining the letter as theorizing about who sent it and why.

Our thoughts and actions are the tools we have to turn the unknown into the known. With their power, we’re actively creating the world we know.

"},{"id":"5ed16daa6cee070006660bf6","title":"Stories help us navigate the world as a place of meaning.","text":"

In the West, we often pride ourselves on our scientific worldview. Modern science, we think, helps us see the world for what it really is: a place of facts, not feelings.

But as the previous blink illustrated, emotions play a critical part in our day-to-day understanding of the world. Our feelings help us determine whether a thing is good or bad for us, and therefore whether we should approach or avoid it – often without our conscious effort.

The key message here is: Stories help us navigate the world as a place of meaning.

Whether it’s the partner you love, the job you hate, or the chocolate you crave – the meaning you derive from these things stems from the emotions you have toward them. The emotional, or affective, meaning of a thing is dependent on your current goals and preferences, as well as your social and cultural context.

The affective meaning a piece of cheesecake has to you, for example, depends not only on whether you like cheesecake or not, but also on whether you’re on a diet, and whether that piece of cheesecake is offered to you by your grandma or by a stranger on the street.

From a scientific point of view, of course, the piece of cheesecake is always the same. But it’s the affective meaning that determines your thoughts and behaviors towards it. That’s why the pure rationalism of modern science isn’t very good at helping us navigate the real world, where facts and feelings frequently intermingle.

Luckily, humans have devised an ingenious cultural tool to read meaning into things: stories.

Shared stories about the sun and the stars, gods and kings, heroes and monsters, have been an essential part of human culture since the beginning of history. The great myths of human civilization are the oldest and most important of these stories. The cosmology of the ancient Egyptians, the tales of the Greek and Roman gods, and the passion of Christ, for example, belong to this category.

From our modern point of view, it’s easy to dismiss these ancient myths as superstitious fabulation. But they actually served a profound psychological purpose. By providing a narrative about the origin of the cosmos, the creation of man, and the forces of nature, these shared stories gave meaning to huge parts of human experience that would otherwise have been unexplainable.

In ancient Mesopotamia, for example, people believed that the great hero Marduk created the cosmos from the pieces of Tiamat, the dragon of chaos and mother of all life. Before Marduk slew Tiamat, she created eleven species of monsters to aid her in battle, among them vipers, lions, and storm demons. This creation myth helped Mesopotamians explain some of the more unpleasant facts of life, such as storms and snake bites.

In this way, myths turned the unknown into something a little more familiar, and a little less frightening.

"},{"id":"5ed16dbb6cee070006660bf7","title":"All myths follow the same basic structure.","text":"

Myths are not simply prescientific nonsense – they are valid and valuable tools for navigating the world.

Given our shared human nature, it’s perhaps no surprise that these tools have some universal characteristics. Whether the Mesopotamian creation myth, the story of the Egyptian gods Horus, Isis, and Osiris, or the passion of Christ – across cultures, myths describe the story of the Way: a brave hero’s journey into the unknown, and his triumphant return.

The key message here is: All myths follow the same basic structure.

In most myths, the unknown is the primal, all-encompassing force of nature from which all of life originates. This creative and destructive force is often represented as feminine. In the Mesopotamian creation myth, for example, the unknown is represented by the ferocious mother dragon Tiamat, whose pieces form the basis of the cosmos. In the creation myth of the Sumerians, it’s the sea goddess Nammu, who gives birth to the earth and the sky.

We can call this mythical archetype of the unknown the Great and Terrible Mother. The “great” and the “terrible” side of the Mother, representing the threatening and promising aspect of the unknown, are sometimes incorporated into different characters. The Terrible Mother, for example, often appears as a monster, a storm, or an evil stepmother. The Great Mother is often represented as a hidden treasure, a magical place, or a fairy godmother.

The Great and Terrible Mother is opposed by the Great and Terrible Father. He represents the explored territory of culture, and all the structures humans have erected to protect themselves from the unknown. In mythology, he’s often personified as an old king. Sometimes this king is wise, just, and protective. This is the “great” aspect of culture. But sometimes he’s stuck in his ways, tyrannical, and oppressive. This is the “terrible” aspect of culture.

Finally, there’s the hero of the story, caught between the forces of the unknown and the known, Mother and Father, nature and culture. The hero is the creative explorer who bravely ventures into the unknown, defeats the negative aspects of nature and culture, and unites the positive ones. Think of the Egyptian god Horus, who ventures into the underworld to rescue his father Osiris, so the two can reclaim the throne from his evil uncle Seth and restore order to Egypt.

As we’ll see in the next blink, the hero is a powerful role model for human behavior.

"},{"id":"5ed16dce6cee070006660bf8","title":"Myths provide a model for how societies should work and how individuals should behave.","text":"

It’s no coincidence that the characters in ancient myths are often kings, queens, and princes battling for the throne.

Many cultures used myths to justify the authoritarian power of their ruler. The Mesopotamian emperor, for instance, was thought to be an emissary of the mythical hero Marduk.

But myths didn’t simply legitimize power, they also provided templates for how that power should be used. Just as Marduk did when he constructed the cosmos from the pieces of Tiamat, the job of the Mesopotamian emperor was to create order from chaos.

Here’s the key message: Myths provide a model for how societies should work and how individuals should behave.

Many myths grapple with the dual aspect of the unknown – the creative versus the destructive power of the Great and Terrible Mother. But many also tell of a battle between the dual aspects of culture – the protective versus the tyrannical side of the Great and Terrible Father.

Often, these different aspects are represented by different generations of kings or gods. In Egyptian cosmology, for example, the divine king Osiris represents the overly traditionalist side of the Terrible Father. Osiris isn’t a tyrant, but he’s too stuck in his ways to recognize the evil in his brother Seth, who later kills him to claim the throne. The hero of the story is Osiris’s son Horus, an “updated” version of the old king. Horus ventures into the underworld to bring back his father. He finds him blind, and lends him one of his eyes so he can see again. Together, father and son emerge from the underworld to reclaim the throne.

The story of father and son is a great lesson on the fine balance between tradition and innovation a culture must strike to survive.

But myths didn’t just serve as models for society, they also provided guidelines for individual behavior. The hero’s courageous act of creative exploration sets an example for how to conquer the unknown: not by hiding or running away, but by facing the challenge.

Often, the hero is opposed by an evil counterpart who demonstrates how not to behave. Horus’s evil uncle Seth, for example, demonstrates a cowardly disrespect for the divine order by killing Osiris, a mistake for which he’s later punished.

By transmitting lessons on society and encouraging our individual identification with the hero, myths provided a moral compass long before behavioral rules were formalized by institutional religion or written in law.

"},{"id":"5ed16de06cee070006660bf9","title":"Growing up means learning how to identify with the group and the hero.","text":"

When we’re children, we’re protected from the unknown by our parents. We don’t need mythical heroes to model the right behavior for us, because our parents simply tell us how to behave. Of course, in doing so, they embody the values of the culture that surrounds them.

Part of growing up and emancipating ourselves from our parents is learning to replace their values and protection with the values and protection of culture.

The key message here is: Growing up means learning how to identify with the group and the hero.

In the first step of our emancipation, we learn to identify with our larger cultural group. Remember the rebellious phase you had as a teenager? For many teens, forcefully rejecting the authority of their parents to embrace the values of their friends is a natural part of the socialization process.

The paradox of growing up is that as soon as we gain the long-awaited autonomy from our parents, we surrender to the rules, norms, and values of the society around us. Most of these social rules are just as arbitrary as those our parents imposed on us as teenagers. In the West, for example, every adult is expected to learn a specialized profession such as lawyer or plumber.

There’s no reason why this needs to be the case: humans could easily survive without jobs. But these arbitrary social rules are what culture is all about. They provide a framework of meaning for us to operate in, help us divide the world into familiar pieces, and therefore keep the unknown at bay. The myths of a culture are an important device for encoding and sharing this framework of rules, norms, and values.

However, as adults, our identification with this cultural framework should never be total. Individuals who identify completely and uncritically with the rules of this culture are easily exploited by the “tyrannical” side of the Great Father – they enable authoritarianism and fascism.

This is where myths play another important role. They guard us against uncritical identification with our culture by encouraging individual identification with the hero. The hero always goes his own way, and is not afraid to subvert the power of the Great and Terrible Father if he has to. Nevertheless, the hero is loyal to his fellow humans, and his heroism serves the greater social good.

The second step of our emancipation must therefore be to become the hero of our own story.

"},{"id":"5ed16def6cee070006660bfa","title":"Anomalies threaten the stability of our psyche and society – and force us to adapt.","text":"

The existence of the unknown is a fact of life. As humans, we’re constantly surrounded by things we don’t understand, and never will.

Culture provides a measure of protection from the chaos of the unknown. Nonetheless, the chaos often finds us when we least expect it.

Here’s the key message: Anomalies threaten the stability of our psyche and society – and force us to adapt.

Unintentional encounters with the unknown can be pretty upsetting, for rats and humans alike. But when the unknown anomaly is too big to be integrated into our current view of the world, it can cause a downright crisis.

Such revolutionary anomalies can happen on a cultural level – in the form of a natural disaster, a foreign invasion, or a political crisis for example; or they can happen on an individual level – in the form of a family death, a career setback, or an uncomfortable realization.

Anomalies always force us to adapt. Minor anomalies require normal adaptation, which happens easily and almost automatically.

Imagine, for example, you’re leaving your office to go to a meeting, but find that the hallway elevator is broken. No problem! You’ll simply take the stairs on the other side of the floor. You’ve been wanting to get a little exercise, anyway.

Major anomalies, however, require revolutionary adaptation. These drastic encounters with the unknown force us to update how we think about ourselves and the world. We might even have to change our goals, values, and behaviors to accommodate them. This can produce a social crisis on the cultural, and severe psychological crisis on the individual level.

Imagine, for example, that after a successful business meeting, you get a call from your boss. She tells you she’s not happy with your overall performance. It seems you’ve completely misinterpreted the duties of your position. She fires you, and suggests you find a different career altogether.

This new information rocks your world. Up until a few minutes ago, you’d been imagining yourself as the future CEO of the company. You spend the next few weeks in a depressed daze. Then it dawns own you – you didn’t like that job anyway! Now that you think about it, you’ve always wanted to work with children.

Revolutionary adaptation means using anomalies to update our model of the world. If anomalies keep piling up, it’s an indication that our model of the world isn’t working for us.

"},{"id":"5ed16e026cee070006660bfb","title":"Our limitations are the precondition for a meaningful existence.","text":"

Have you ever come across the curious symbol of a serpent eating its own tail?

In many cultures, this self-consuming snake, the ouroboros, is used to represent the original state of the cosmos. It first appeared in ancient Babylon, and can be found in various cultures across Africa, India, and Mexico.

The ouroboros represents the primordial state of existence, or preexistence, where everything is in perfect harmony. The world as we know it has not yet come into being. In this primordial state, chaos and order are one and the same. The unknown and the known have not yet separated, because there is no one to know anything: humans do not exist yet.

Here’s the key message: Our limitations are the precondition for a meaningful existence.

In Christian mythology, the Garden of Eden represents this paradisal state of preexistence. The first humans in the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve, are not yet humans in the sense that we understand it today. They don’t know death, pain, and sorrow. They don’t know much of anything else either.

Only after they eat the forbidden fruit of the Tree of Knowledge do they develop the self-consciousness that distinguishes them from the other animals in paradise. They suddenly realize they’ve been naked the whole time, and scramble to cover themselves with fig leaves.

They pay a high price for their new heightened consciousness. For their transgression God expels them from paradise. This is the point in Christian mythology where the paradisal primordial state is broken. The world separates into life and death, order and chaos, good and evil. It’s also the point at which Adam and Eve become truly human. God grants them the divine right and responsibility to figure out how to navigate this new, polarized world.

The Christian creation myth shows that our human faults and limitations are the preconditions for our very existence. Think about it: if there was no evil in the world, how could we know what is good? If we could do no wrong, how could we commend ourselves for doing the right thing? And if we never had to die, what would life mean to us?

Life cannot exist without death, and good cannot exist without evil. And meaning cannot exist without the polarity between life and death, good and evil. The Christian creation myth teaches us that it’s our divine right and responsibility to chart our own, meaningful path in this polarized world.

"},{"id":"5ed16e126cee070006660bfc","title":"Evil means rejecting creative exploration, and we’re all capable of it.","text":"

One of the most puzzling features of human nature is our capacity for evil.

In today’s world, we tend to view evil as a product of a psychological defect, a bad upbringing, or other unjust social or economic conditions. But as German philosopher Hannah Arendt suggested when she contemplated the evil perpetrated during the Third Reich, the truly horrifying idea is that even ordinary people are capable of evil. She calls this “the banality of evil.”

The key message: Evil means rejecting creative exploration, and we’re all capable of it.

Many myths, and religious myths especially, struggle with the evil inside all of us. Often, they do so by personifying it, as the hero’s malevolent twin brother, for example, or the old king’s conniving advisor.

Perhaps the most impressive rendition of evil is found in Christian mythology, in the form of Satan. Satan is a fallen angel, banned from heaven for his delusions of grandeur. In mythical and lyrical depictions, he’s often associated with intellectual arrogance, ignorance, and deceit – including self-deceit. In Goethe’s play Faust, Satan characterizes himself as “the spirit who constantly denies.”

But what is it that Satan denies?

In his infinite arrogance and cowardice, the devil denies the very existence of the unknown. Even though it’s scary, the unknown itself isn’t evil. In fact, as myths teach us, exploring the unknown can bring great rewards, and is the source of our growth and knowledge. It’s denial of this possibility for growth and knowledge that is the true evil.

By rejecting the possibility for creative exploration, Satan represents the antihero. He embodies the human tendency to avoid, suppress, and deny anomaly, preventing successful adaptation, growth and knowledge.

He personifies our tendency to seek comfort in blind adherence to culture and tradition on the one hand, and to lose ourselves in self-adulation and indulgence, on the other. The first road leads to fascism – just consider how many Nazis explained the evil they committed by stating they were simply “following orders.” The second road leads to decadence, a condition in which we lazily deny any responsibility in the current state of the world.

Instead of seeking structural explanations for evil, myths help us grapple with the evil inside all of us – and show us what we can do to choose another path.

"},{"id":"5ed16e276cee070006660bfd","title":"In order to reach our full potential, we must chart our own path.","text":"

Facing the unknown is always uncomfortable – which is why humans have devised countless strategies to avoid it.

Losing ourselves to ideology is one such avoidance strategy. An ideology is a fixed story about how the world works, or how it should be. A national supremacist, for example, believes in the story that his country is better than all other countries. He will try to fit everything he encounters into this narrative – actively avoiding, denying, or suppressing any anomalies that might suggest a different truth.

The key message here is: In order to reach our full potential, we must chart our own path.

For ideologists, the total identification with a certain set of beliefs takes the place of the identification with the mythical hero. Instead of embarking on their own arduous journey of creative exploration, ideologists seek comfort in a ready-made picture of the world.

Some ideologies encourage the individual’s complete identification with their culture – their race or nationality, for example. People with such ideologies tend to blame all anomalies they encounter on people outside their culture – and mistake everything foreign for evil.

Other ideologies encourage a total rejection of culture. People who embrace such negative ideologies blame everything on the people around them, and deny any responsibility in their current state.

Because they are static pictures of the world, sticking to an ideology is a rejection of creative exploration. Instead of facing the unknown, the ideologist actively avoids, suppresses, or denies the discrepancies between their worldview and their experience. As Christian mythology suggests, this rejection of creative exploration is a form of evil. The many atrocities committed in the name of ideology – under fascism or communism, for example – speak to the truth of this idea.

Living a good and meaningful life therefore means rejecting the quick fix of ideology. It means identifying with the mythical hero, and embarking on our own journey of learning and growing. It means accepting that we don’t know everything yet, and facing the unknown willingly and purposefully.

As humans, it’s our awesome right and responsibility to create our own maps of meaning to guide our life. Culture provides the backdrop for this act of creative exploration, and myths provide a model for how to do so while staying true to our individuality.

"},{"id":"5ed16e3f6cee070006660bfe","title":"Final summary","text":"

The key message in these blinks:

Since the beginning of history, myths have helped humans navigate the world as a place of meaning. Many myths follow a similar structure, dramatizing the hero’s brave exploration of the unknown. In doing so, they provide a model for individual behavior and social order. By guarding against the evils of intellectual arrogance and ideological gullibility, they teach us how to chart a path to a meaningful life.

Actionable advice:

Hone your personal interests.

Your personal interests are a reflection of your natural curiosity for the unknown. Just like the mythical hero, you should follow the call of the unknown and delve into what interests you. This will help you develop your individuality.

Got feedback?

We’d love to hear what you think about our content! Just drop an email to remember@blinkist.com with Maps of Meaning as the subject line and share your thoughts!

What to read next: Stitches, by Anne Lamott

You've just learned about the awesome power of myths in helping humans determine and share meaning. But what could such a meaningful life look like in the modern day?

If you’re interested in a more hands-on take on the concept of meaning, and want to learn how to find a greater sense of meaning in life, head over to our blinks to Stitches, by Anne Lamott.

"}]}

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