St Peter and St James with Dante and Beatrice - William Blake (1824-1827)
“If we can stay with the tension of opposites long enough—sustain it, be true to it—we can sometimes become vessels within which the divine opposites come together and give birth to a new reality.”
-Marie-Louise von Franz
“The purpose of philosophy is to rationalize mysticism: not by explaining it away, but by the introduction of novel verbal characterizations, rationally coordinated.”
-Alfred North Whitehead
Volume 1
Chapter 4: Unity in Duality
Paprika
Paprika embodies a wholly distinct identity compared to her “real” self, reflecting a duality that I also recognize within myself: the scientific, rational “normal” me versus the artistic, expressive “Paprika” side. At times, it feels as though these two aspects of me exist as separate personalities. This duality can be understood through the interplay of empiricism and rationalism—philosophical standpoints in epistemology where empiricism emphasizes knowledge derived from sensory experience, while rationalism prioritizes reason and innate knowledge. It also aligns with emotional versus logical reasoning and the Jungian archetypes of anima and animus. These archetypes represent the feminine and masculine unconscious aspects of the psyche, with the anima appearing in men and the animus in women, shaping inner expressions of the opposite gender.
The resolution of this duality is central to understanding the ending of Paprika. The chairman succumbs to his shadow, an unconscious aspect of the personality encompassing repressed desires and weaknesses. Overwhelmed by his obsessions and personal limitations, he becomes trapped in delusion. In contrast, Chiba and Paprika achieve integration, symbolizing the reconciliation of opposites within the self. Paprika’s movement toward Kosaku Tokita represents this integration. Chiba, who had suppressed her feelings for Tokita, confronts and embraces them. In doing so, she reconciles with Paprika, fusing her rational and emotional selves into a unified whole. This unified self is capable of overcoming illusion, here represented by the dream. By achieving this synthesis, Chiba and Paprika create a new being, one that can discern truth and thereby dispel delusion. This journey illustrates not only the challenges of internal conflict but also the profound transformation that arises from confronting and integrating these opposing aspects of the psyche.
The challenge lies in defining truth. At its simplest, truth may be seen as the absence of lies. By dispelling deception, one can reconcile the conflicting parts of their identity, allowing for a coherent self rather than leaving the ego trapped in conflict. In Chiba’s case, she stopped deceiving herself about her feelings for Tokita. This honesty allowed her to integrate her fragmented selves, forming a whole person who can confront and overcome delusion with truth. In essence, being truthful—especially with oneself—facilitates the integration of one’s personality. This integration gives rise to a unified self, capable of piercing through the illusions and deceptions that obscure reality. Thus, truth becomes the weapon that slays delusion.
The house I am in has some problems with humidity, due to living close to both the ocean and mountains. As I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I noticed dark spots formed by humidity. Initially, they were just stains, but soon I began experiencing some mild hallucinations. The spots seemed to move, transforming into what resembled an ant colony. Surprisingly, I wasn’t frightened or disgusted, as bug imagery often provokes; rather, I was utterly captivated. It was fascinating to realize that my brain was actively creating this reality. I genuinely saw those moving shapes, even though I was aware they weren’t real. Yet, in that moment, they felt as real as anything else in my experience. What struck me most was the realization that my brain was imposing order on chaos. Faced with an ambiguous, unfamiliar pattern, it utilized prior knowledge and expectations to fill in the gaps. The dark spots on the ceiling resembled the random motion of an ant colony, prompting my brain to perceive them as such. It wasn’t merely a random illusion; it was my mind’s method of interpreting the unknown.
The detail was incredible—I could see each tiny dot moving, exactly like observing an ant colony from above. However, the moment I focused on any individual dot, the magic dissolved. The movement stopped. The dot became static and ordinary, stripped of its illusory life. My concentrated attention brought clarity, leaving no room for the brain to construct a moving pattern. Yet, when I relaxed my gaze and allowed my vision to soften, the pattern re-emerged, indistinguishable from a swarm of ants. I remained in this state for what felt like an eternity, lost in pure amazement. It reminded me of a child peering into the intricate workings of a clock for the first time, entranced by its mechanism. But in this instance, I wasn’t just an observer; I was also the creator and the subject. I was the child, the parent, and the clock itself, marveling at the interplay between perception and reality.
One of the most intriguing aspects of psychedelics is their ability to create a sense of objectivity within the subjective. They allow you to step outside yourself and view your subjective experiences from a more detached, analytical perspective. It remains a subjective phenomenon—one that defies complete rationalization—but it feels distinctly more objective than ordinary perception. It brings to mind a line from Doctor Manhattan in Watchmen: ‘We’re all puppets. I’m just a puppet who can see the strings.’ That quote resonates deeply with my psychedelic experiences. Under the influence of psychedelics, I feel as though I can perceive the strings—the underlying mechanisms of consciousness and reality. This ignites an insatiable curiosity to uncover everything about them, especially as they relate to consciousness itself. Yet, there’s a paradox in this pursuit. Diving too deeply into the strings, analyzing every technical detail, you risk severing the very connection to consciousness that rendered them significant in the first place. The act of analysis can transform the string into something that no longer aligns with its original significance. One shifts from a first-person perspective to a third-person perspective.
This analysis is not without merit. Facts exist independently of consciousness, much like natural laws. Gaining a deeper understanding of these strings allows for technological mastery over nature, enabling us to manipulate and interact with the world in profound ways. Yet, the origins of these laws remain an enigma. While science continues to refine our theories and enhance our understanding of reality with ever-increasing complexity, it often falls short of addressing the fundamental question: how did these laws come to be? For many, existential uncertainty leads to religious explanations. Yet religion does not truly solve the problem; it merely obscures it. Even if we posit that God created everything, we are left with the question: who created God? Some argue that the nature of God defies creation or that concepts like time are irrelevant to such a being. However, these attributes are assigned without evidence, resulting in an infinite regress that offers no actual explanation: a sequence of reasoning that can never come to an end. Just a more abstract layer of the same mystery.
This conundrum reminds me of James Watson, co-discoverer of the DNA double-helix structure. Struck by the randomness of life’s origins, he proposed the seeding theory: that life might have arrived on Earth via an alien spacecraft. Although the origins of life are poorly understood, making the idea not entirely implausible, it encounters the same issue. If primordial life was planted here by aliens, how did their life begin? How did they evolve from inert matter? The explanation merely loops back on itself, shifting the mystery without resolving it. Until we uncover solid evidence, we must grapple with this uncertainty. Looking for speculative explanations to ease existential discomfort is, at best, an exercise in futility and, at worst, counterproductive.
It’s astonishingly easy to slip into delusion. To maintain an accurate—or at least reasonable—perspective, external stimuli are essential. Without them, it’s all too simple to construct a narrative that aligns with our desires or biases, while subconsciously filtering out anything that contradicts it. As this unchecked narrative takes hold, it becomes progressively stronger, diminishing the effectiveness of external stimuli in challenging it. The more entrenched the narrative becomes, the greater the evidence required to dismantle it. If it becomes deeply ingrained, no evidence, however compelling, will suffice. You’ll dismiss it as insufficient, rationalize why it’s irrelevant, or even reject the necessity of evidence altogether.
The challenge “external stimuli” is that it’s raw data, which inherently lacks meaning without interpretation. Patterns are the tools we use to impose order on this influx of stimuli from the “external world,” weaving it into the fabric of our subjective experience. Each thought can be likened to a string. When several strings intertwine, they form a minor idea. If enough strings accumulate, they create something dense and resilient, like a knot. This knot represents an ideology—a tightly woven construct of meaning born from our attempt to make sense of the world. However, not all knots are beneficial. Some are pathological—delusions that feel real but are merely patterns fabricated by the mind. If these delusions are weak, exposing them to external scrutiny can unravel them. Yet, if hidden—whether consciously or subconsciously—they grow stronger, eventually becoming resilient to reason. The only way to dismantle such knots is to bring them into the open, either by confronting them yourself or by exposing them to the perspectives of others. Given that our psyche is an intricate network of multiple personalities and subconscious processes, simply ceasing to repress an idea allows it to surface, where it can be rationally examined.
One significant benefit of psychedelics is their ability to return the mind to a more neutral, baseline state. They weaken entrenched biases, providing clarity to identify and challenge pathological patterns. It’s as if they deliver a dose of raw truth, forcing you to confront and potentially dissolve your delusions. The mental knots that were once unyielding become pliable, easier to unravel. Mental blocks that were once rigid become flexible and easier to resolve. However, psychedelics can also lead some to develop even grander delusions—beliefs in contacting other dimensions, alien entities, or God. This often stems from an inaccurate worldview to begin with. Without a solid foundation in history, psychology, science, philosophy, and religion, an individual’s understanding of reality is fragile, making them susceptible to external influences and ideologies. They become like a child, naive to the mechanisms of the world and easily swayed by suggestion. Another possibility is that such individuals do not place truth as their highest value. Instead, they may prioritize protecting a particular belief, identity, or narrative. Without a genuine desire to dismantle these pathological knots, psychedelics can act as amplifiers of delusion, reinforcing existing biases through a positive feedback loop. Positive feedback occurs when a small disturbance in a system amplifies itself, driving the system toward greater instability. For example, imagine a flat metal sheet balanced on a stick, with two equally sized spheres resting on either side. When balanced, the system is stable. However, a slight nudge causes one sphere to roll outward, tilting the sheet. The tilt accelerates the sphere’s movement, which, in turn, increases the tilt further. This cycle continues, amplifying the imbalance until the structure collapses. Similarly, in the psychological context, psychedelics can exacerbate distorted patterns of thought if truth-seeking is not prioritized, creating a self-reinforcing spiral of delusion.
When I spoke of knots earlier, I used them as an abstract metaphor that I now believe has a clear neurological parallel in the default mode network (DMN), a group of brain regions almost always active during waking consciousness. The DMN functions as a kind of auto-pilot, responsible for self-referential thinking and maintaining a baseline state of awareness. Its activity diminishes during goal-directed tasks requiring focused attention, which helps explain why ego-dissolution often occurs with psychedelics. Indeed, DMN activity is inversely correlated with task-oriented regions of the brain.
Consider the metaphor of hiking through uncharted terrain. The first trek requires effort to choose a route, but as others follow, a clear path emerges. Over time, this path becomes well-trodden, obvious, and easy to navigate. This process mirrors the formation of neural pathways. Children, with their open-mindedness and lower DMN activity, embody potential—every direction is viable because no paths are yet deeply carved. As we age, however, increased DMN activity solidifies these mental pathways. The more established the paths, the harder it becomes to forge new ones, contributing to the stereotype of older individuals being more set in their ways. To them, alternative paths appear chaotic or unnecessary, as the existing ones seem reliable and familiar.
This openness in children has a dual nature. While it fosters creativity and learning, it also leaves them vulnerable to manipulation. With fewer established paths, children can be easily guided—or misled—by external influences. Just as psychedelics can help “unlearn” maladaptive behaviors, this same openness can also be exploited, reinforcing harmful patterns instead of dismantling them. Societal norms and moral frameworks are often etched into us through this very process.
Psychedelics are remarkable for their ability to quiet the DMN, returning the mind to a baseline state of openness where new paths can be forged. This ties directly to neuroplasticity, the brain’s capacity to reorganize itself by forming new neural connections. Psychedelics seem to enhance this capability, which is why they hold such promise for therapeutic applications. The link between the DMN and mental health conditions like depression further underscores this potential. Depression is often characterized by excessive DMN activity, manifesting as rumination—a repetitive loop of negative thoughts that carve deeply ingrained, self-destructive pathways. By calming the DMN, psychedelics offer the opportunity to step off the well-worn path of rumination and begin forming healthier, more constructive patterns of thought. This resetting of mental pathways may explain the profound relief many people experience after psychedelic-assisted therapy. It’s not just about seeing new possibilities—it’s about being able to choose them.
Psychedelics have demonstrated remarkable potential in treating addiction, particularly with substances such as alcohol. Addiction, especially to drugs like cocaine, often roots itself in the dopamine reward system, creating a physiological dependency. While physical addiction can typically be addressed relatively quickly through detox and other interventions, the psychological and behavioral components of addiction are more enduring. Environmental and behavioral cues—such as contexts, routines, or even specific objects associated with the substance—can trigger powerful cravings and lead to relapse, thereby reigniting the cycle of addiction.
I saw this struggle firsthand with my father. He managed to quit smoking for a time but eventually relapsed. By then, the physiological nicotine dependency had largely subsided, but the real challenge came from the environmental and behavioral triggers that constantly “called” him back to smoking. These cues are deeply ingrained, making them difficult to resist. Many people judge addicts for lacking willpower, but this view is reductive. Willpower is not infinite, and resisting powerful, well-established triggers demands an extraordinary level of mental energy—far more than most people realize.
Addictive behaviors have a tangible, physical basis in the brain. As the saying goes, “everything psychological is simultaneously biological.” These behaviors are supported by entrenched neuronal pathways, and overcoming them requires rewiring the brain—a process made possible through neuroplasticity. Psychedelics appear to enhance this neuroplasticity, offering the potential to break these entrenched pathways and forge new, healthier patterns of behavior. This ability to “reset” the brain’s reward and habit systems may be a key reason why psychedelics are so effective in treating addiction.
My mother once gave me a painting that she brought back from Africa during her work. I have it in my room, hanging near my bed. It depicts a small traditional village by a river. As I gazed at one of the trees, I saw its branches begin to shrink infinitely, down to the thickness of a single line, only to expand back to their original size. The sight mesmerized me and prompted me to question: why does this happen? How is it possible for our minds to create such distortions? What mechanism grants us this ability? These questions led me to reflect on why I love psychology. It occupies a unique space between the boundary of the subjective and the objective. I’ve always felt torn between the two realms. I was too scientific for the humanities, yet not scientific enough to find fulfillment of science in the most typical and purest sense — in the study of matter. While I appreciated the rigor of science, disciplines like chemistry and physics often bored me when they were divorced from the context of consciousness. Conversely, the arts felt too chaotic and unstructured, lacking the grounding presence of evidence and reason.
I struggled to take the art world seriously without a framework to connect its creations to reality. Psychology bridges this divide perfectly. It seeks truth and explores reality as it relates to consciousness itself. It is firmly rooted in science, yet it is flexible and open enough to feel meaningful and deeply human. Psychology provides a structure for understanding the mind while allowing space for interpretation and reflection. For me, psychology represents the best of both worlds: it is scientific, yet liberal enough to remain endlessly fascinating and rich with significance.
As I took a break from writing, I found myself staring into my bathroom mirror. I couldn’t shake the absurdity of existence. Though I wasn’t experiencing any visual distortions, my reflection—a stark reminder of my own being—felt profoundly strange. The very fact of existing as a conscious entity is staggering, defying comprehension. Historically, religion sought to address this enigma by offering narratives that once sufficed to explain our existence. These stories provided meaning and structure, enabling humanity to grapple with the inexplicable. However, as our understanding of the material world expanded, the metaphysical claims underpinning religious beliefs were increasingly met with skepticism. Religion and materialism diverged so sharply that their coexistence became fraught with conflict. Yet dismantling religion does not resolve the existential puzzle. Instead, it thrusts us back into the chaos of the original problem: existence is too absurd to rationalize. Without the framework religion once provided, chaos and nihilism—the belief that life is devoid of objective meaning or moral truth—seem inevitable.
We cannot return to religious beliefs as they once were, as we now recognize their metaphysical foundations as unsupported. However, this realization does not render the structure of religion meaningless. To move forward, we must investigate the psychological functions religion fulfilled—how it provided meaning, order, and ethical guidance—and work to reconstruct these elements in ways that align with our scientific understanding of the world. This task is monumental. The common responses to this challenge—either attempting to vindicate religion’s metaphysical claims to preserve its structure or entirely demolishing it in the name of materialist truth—are both misguided. What we truly need is a reimagined framework, one that integrates the human need for meaning with a scientific worldview. This endeavor lies at the heart of philosophical disciplines like ethics, which interrogates the nature of moral values, and ontology, which examines the nature of being and reality. By synthesizing meaning with truth, we can confront the absurdity of existence without retreating into delusion or despair. Only through this integration can we hope to build a coherent framework for understanding our place in the universe.
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