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57 pages 1 hour read

Jordan B. Peterson

Maps of Meaning

Nonfiction | Book | Adult | Published in 1999

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Chapter 2Chapter Summaries & Analyses

Chapter 2: “Three Levels of Analysis”

Chapter 2, Part 1 Summary: “Normal and Revolutionary Life: Two Prosaic stories”

Humans and other animals typically react to the unknown first with fear, then with curiosity, and then with creative exploratory behavior. This pattern of reaction to the unknown is mostly involuntary or reflexive, as Russian scientists such as Pavlov and E.N. Sokolov established. Though the reflexes themselves may be involuntary, what humans and animals consider the unknown varies by their frame of reference and is therefore always subjective. Moreover, the unknown manifests itself in two forms: inconveniences and catastrophes. The catastrophic form often spurs meaningful adaptation or growth.

As an example, a man already late for a meeting in the next building experiences further delays when the elevator stops working and he must take the stairs, slow-moving pedestrians crowd the road, and in his hurry to get to the building he barely escapes being hit by a bus. Thus, he undergoes a whole slew of emotions by the time he finally gets to the meeting—but these are mere inconveniences, in which the unknown shows itself in predictable or familiar ways. Inconveniences don’t compel the man to reevaluate his life or change his vision of the future. Once the man returns from the meeting, however, he experiences more of a catastrophe. His boss wants to meet with him, and although he expects praise, he’s shocked to learn that she’s firing him. This experience marks the unknown taking the man completely by surprise. He returns home, shattered, and sinks into a depression. All his visions of a successful future disappear. However, he begins to pick himself up after a month or so and realizes that he never even liked his job, which is why he didn’t perform it well. He decides to work instead in a field of interest, not just for money but primarily for personal satisfaction. Thus, the unknown becomes the catalyst that spurs meaningful adaptation or growth—and compels the man to make a revolutionary change. This “revolutionary adaptation” model is well-documented in mythologies.

Chapter 2, Part 2 Summary: “Neuropsychological function: The Nature of the Mind”

To understand how the human brain responds to unknown stimulus, learning about how the brain’s functions—and what constitutes good and bad stimulus—is important. What constitutes good or bad for an individual at any point is highly subjective and depends on their circumstances, worldview, history, temperament, and many other things. For instance, psychologist and Holocaust survivor Viktor E. Frankl describes how a group of his co-travelers rejoiced when they landed at a concentration camp that had no electric crematorium, implying that their execution wouldn’t be immediate, even though the camp’s conditions were subhuman. Thus, given the context, the categories of pleasant and unpleasant change. Because the human mind faces so much diverse, contradictory, and subjective information—as well as the constant threat of the unknown—humans are “intrinsically prone to intrapsychic conflict and associated affective (emotional) dysregulation” (39).

At the base of the nervous system are the brain’s phylogenetically oldest parts, or parts that evolved first. These include the medulla (brainstem) and the amygdala (reptilian brain), which have subsystems hard-wired for many basic physiological functions. However, just because these sub-systems are hard-wired doesn’t mean that human behavior is determined. The sub-systems each have an ideal goal, which changes depending on individual context. Conflict often arises when fulfilment of one biological goal interferes with another. What if one is simultaneously hungry and cold? What if, to feed one’s hunger, one must steal food from someone weaker? The brain resolves these complex questions by engaging its higher, or phylogenetically newer, parts—such as the cerebral and frontal cortex, which govern judgment and executive decision-making. Thus, judgment and decision are essential functions of the human brain. For decision, the brain must attach value to stimuli and objects. However, the brain sometimes cannot easily gauge the value it should attach to stimuli. Often, the brain cannot outwit its biology or the individual’s belief systems. For instance, even though someone dealing with an eating disorder may rationally know food is good for them, their psychological condition prevents them from consuming food. Psychologist Richard Davidson theorizes that the human brain’s left and right hemispheres are designed to deal with stability and the unknown, respectively. The right hemisphere—which engages with uncertainty—is also associated with the limbic system, or the brain’s phylogenetically older systems.

Therefore, the human mind needs a stable framework of shared values to make judgments, as well as an adaptive individual mindset to deal with unexpected occurrences and changes. The capability to create novel behavior in response to unexpected changes is a primary hallmark of human consciousness. To coherently process the world’s known and unknown aspects, the brain creates stories, or “a map of meaning” (72). Often, these stories are based in memories. Neuroscience shows that the brain stores different information in different centers. For example, the cerebellum and prefrontal cortex store procedural memory (how to do things). Procedural memory is implicit, in that once individuals learn a skill, they don’t have to think about how to perform it. In contrast, declarative memory is explicit and subjective; it includes episodic memories (personal recollections) and semantic memories (long-term shared and general knowledge). The hippocampus and other areas, meanwhile, store semantic memories, which may include myth-fragments.

Humans use the elements of play and abstraction to make stories from these memory systems. Stories “nest” within each other in ways that depend on what’s important to an individual. Most of these stories are bound by the spatial-temporal (space and time) confines of human experience. However, some “higher-level” stories have a greater spatial and temporal (long-term) reach. Myths accommodate these stories.

Chapter 2, Part 3 Summary: “Mythological Representation: The Constituent Elements of Experience”

Since the times of Scottish anthropologist James George Frazier, author of the seminal myth-studies book The Golden Bough (1890), prominent thinkers have held that disseminated myths still share many common features. An analysis of world myths reveals that experience and action have three constituent elements and follow a fourth realm. Myths show that the precursory state is pre-cosmogonic chaos, out of which appear the Great Father (the realm of the known; culture and tradition), the Great Mother (the unknown; creative and destructive nature), and the Divine Son (the archetypal hero; the “word,” or the process of exploration). World myths show that the precursory chaos often takes the form of uroboros, or the Egyptian symbol of a serpent eating its tail. As Egyptian, Sumerian, and other world myths show, some seven archetypes across most mythologies symbolize these four realms. The first of these archetypes is uroboros, symbolically the source of all latent information, which parses into the domains of the known, the unknown, and the exploring and experiencing subject. The second and third archetypes are aspects the bivalent Great Mother, “the source of all new things, the benevolent bearer and lover of the hero; the destructive forces of the unknown, the source of fear itself, constantly conspiring to destroy life” (90). The fourth and fifth archetypes express the hero, the explorer, the knight, the messianic son of the divine mother, and his “sworn adversary, arrogant and deceitful” (80). The sixth and seventh archetypes are aspects of the Divine Father—king, tyrant, wise protector—as well as the cruel dictator, the Kronos-like creature who eats his own offspring.

These archetypes exist in the Mesopotamian creation myths of the Enuma Elish (the title of which derives from the myths’ opening words, which mean “when in the heights”). These myths feature four main sets of characters: Tiamat, the great dragon, symbolizing the Great Mother of archetype and conflating, as is often the case, with uroboros; Apsu, Tiamat’s consort; the children of Tiamat and Apsu; and Marduk, the sun god. The sexual or creative union of Tiamat and Apsu gives rise to the Mesopotamian “world of gods” (112). These “elder gods” are in effect equivalents of Roman and Greek gods such as Pan or Ares/Mars, “embodiments of the archaic transpersonal intrapsychic phenomena that give rise to human motivation” (112). They are that which precedes the birth of a heroic consciousness, as Marduk embodies, the descendant of Tiamat and Apsu. When the destructive, decadent actions of her children—the elder and secondary Gods, Marduk’s forebears—unsettle Tiamat, she decides to raze the known patriarchal order and rear an army of monsters. Marduk chooses to fight with Tiamat and destroys her, going on to build a new world order.

As myths from the world show, the Great Father symbolizes the old world, the known and safe zone, while the Great Mother is unknown, unexplored territory. Across cultures, the Great Mother exists in a hidden fashion, because the unknown is by nature hypothetical. When she manifests, she often takes the form of uroboros, or chaos. Though the Great Mother has a benevolent aspect, she becomes identified with the serpent of chaos, since the human mind cannot distinguish between creative and destructive chaos. Consequently, the Great Mother is often associated with darkness, “the chaos of the night, the insect, ophidian and reptilian worlds” (157). She was the skull-adorned Aztec Coatlicue and continues to inspire worship in Bali and India as Kali, the Hindu goddess of creative destruction, who pictures often show bare-chested and with a terrifying aspect.

The Great Father may initially keep one safe, but soon devolves into tyranny and control, driving the Great Mother to take matters into her own hands. However, because the Great Mother abhors structure and humans cannot live without structure, the Sun-God or the hero creates order from stability. The true order that the hero creates always leaves room for novel exploration.

Chapter 2 Analysis

At one level, Chapter 2 is a meditation on fear, that universal and primal human emotion. Peterson deploys his training as a psychologist as well as his research in mythology, history, and phenomenology to show how the human brain is hard-wired to react to anything unknown with fear—and to show how fear can be both benign and destructive. Fear, which humans often see as a negative emotion, is in fact an evolutionary advantage. The fear of burning keeps animals away from fire. To feel fear is to survive, Peterson suggests. Thus, fear symbolizes change that regenerates. In describing fear this way, Peterson draws on a rich tradition of Christian iconography which depicts Christ’s tussles with Satan as spiritual agony. Also striking are the contradictory and jarring terms that Peterson often uses in this context—terms such as “terrible mother” and “the little god of earth is also mortal worm” (104). The juxtaposition of such contradictory images within a phrase illustrates the contradictory nature of human existence, grappling forever with the problem of fear. However, any belief system that considers fear as all-bad or denies the existence of fear is fallacious; myths hold value precisely because they understand what neuroscience has shown in the modern world: that feeling fear is an inescapable part of human experience.

This section is particularly rich in symbols and archetypes, drawing heavily on Jungian notions such the “collective unconscious.” Peterson’s language and ideas may be considerably clearer in the context of Jung’s findings. Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung introduced the important and sometimes controversial theory of archetypes to psychoanalysis: He stated that all humans share an unconscious bank of archetypal themes and images that they play out unknowingly in their behavior. Myths are redolent with these images, and studying myths reveals much about the common human psyche. Jung especially prioritized the “mother archetype” because it is multi-layered, rich, and all-encompassing. Similarly, Peterson devotes the most space to the Great Mother archetype, describing it in lush, lyrical language. “She is horror, insofar as horror can be imagined, and is the ground of that horror, beyond” (161).

However, Peterson’s attempts to link the Great Mother archetype across cultures are only partly unsuccessful, especially in the context of Indic religions, where Mother Goddess worship is an active tradition. In Buddhist and especially in Hindu traditions, the mythology of the Mother Goddess is far more exhaustive than Peterson’s archetypes can accommodate, and the fearsome aspects inspire celebration and worship. Moreover, Peterson’s repeated conflation of femininity with danger, uncertainty, and the great serpent may reveal a subconscious bias against the female.

The idea of the “Divine Son,” or the sun-God, as hero is also not as universally applicable as Peterson positions it. Psychologist Paul Thagard argues that the idea of the divine son is not present in the myths of the Iroquois culture of North America or Taoist and other Chinese myth systems. However, although Peterson’s archetypes may not be as universal as he positions them, they are interesting to analyze as symbols of intrapsychic growth. In this context, the idea of the divine son as the engenderer of “logos,” or the word, is important because it can represent the spiritually and intellectually evolved human whose speech is so meaningful that it is transformative. The primacy of words is visible across several cultures. In the realm of neuropsychiatric development, language and speech are a highly evolved brain function.

Two notable features of the book, clear especially from Chapter 2 onward, are the circular and iterative narrative style and Peterson’s use of diagrams, schemata, and images to provide pictorial relief as well as elucidate esoteric concepts. The iterative use of terms and themes, such as the Great Father/Great Mother/Hero axis is deliberate, a device to establish recall in a narrative that uses scientific and technical terms from various disciplines. Additionally, the narrative’s pirouettes and circles mimic the incantatory storytelling conventions of myth and epic. The diagrams don’t merely illustrate the book’s concepts but help readers approach the concepts from a spatial point of view and create their own mind maps. For instance, Figure 16, Chapter 2 (89) presents a schematic diagram about how humans construct reality from nested stories—which, in turn, multiple memory systems inform. In the narrative, this line is informative enough but may not elicit immediate recall. However, as a schematic, it makes an impact at once, helping the reader visualize various aspects of memory as a ladder-like structure, which in turn helps create the encircled domain of the known present and the idealized future.

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