Symbols and Sentience: The Human Tendency to Imbue Meaning
Understanding the Psychological Roots of Apophenia
The adage that a picture is worth a thousand words has never resonated more profoundly than it does today. Our capacity for symbolism and compulsion to imbue the meaningless with profound significance has ascended to new heights. We are now capable of attributing human emotions to these symbols—feelings of pride or offence—and engaging in fierce debates and even hatred over them. This phenomenon, although not novel, reveals much about our psyche. Symbols like the cross, the Star of David, the crescent, the wheel, the trident, and Egyptian hieroglyphs have traversed millennia, embodying our intrinsic need to assign meaning to the ostensibly meaningless. This practice, known as apophenia, underscores our need for comprehension, connection, and dominion in a world that often appears capricious and overwhelming.
Yuval Harari astutely encapsulated this by asserting that our modern world—replete with fast food, skyscrapers, and intercontinental travel—was forged from our collective belief in myths. These shared narratives enabled us to cooperate and transcend the limitations of the Dunbar number. Our proclivity to find meaning in the inanimate serves as a crucial bridge, facilitating collaboration beyond the confines of language. Consider the crucifix, a simple geometric form, yet imbued with 2000 years of history that has shaped Western civilisation. Its significance is universally recognised, transcending linguistic barriers. A native English speaker understands this, as well as a native Tamil or Portuguese speaker. No explanation is needed.
In a more sinister chapter of history, a mid-20th century German leader co-opted an Eastern symbol, slightly altered it, and used it to embody his nation's aspirations. His catastrophic defeat turned that symbol into an emblem of universal malevolence, eliciting strong negative reactions even today. Some nations have gone as far as criminalising its display. This transformation of a symbol of ambition into one of abhorrence illustrates how our perceptions of symbols are deeply tied to historical context and emotional resonance.
The evolutionary argument for apophenia suggests it was a survival trait, helping our ancestors identify predators and food. Our hunter-gatherer forebears survived and propagated their genes by discerning a misshapen paw print indicative of a lurking predator or broken branches as a sign of potential edible fruits. However, I contend that our propensity to assign meaning stems from fear. Humans instinctively fear the unknown. Seeing natural phenomena in action back then, or the flying spaghetti monster munching on a cheeseburger today, would be met with fear and confusion. By likening the unfamiliar to the familiar, we mitigate that fear. For instance, early humans might have perceived lightning as a spear thrown by a powerful being, transforming fear into awe. Take, for example, a caveman back then, seeing lightning cracking the sky. The way the lightning pierces the sky is reminiscent of him chucking his spear onto prey, and the close similarity between the lightning (something he doesn’t understand) and his spear makes him fear lightning a lot less and makes him feel like he understands lightning, by thinking of lightning as something a thing or a man greater than him throwing their spear at prey or in anger. Suddenly, it all makes sense, and instead of fearing lightning, they will stand in awe of its power and glory.
Another interesting observation that makes us believe this fear hypothesis is valid is death. The saying goes that we can’t escape two things in life: death and taxes. While the IRS makes every effort to make us understand the intricacies of the tax code, supplemented by legions of tax lawyers and accountants to complement their effort in ensuring we pay our due to the government, death is something else entirely. Despite our clinical understanding of death and its process and its implications, our instinct is to fear death. We fear it so greatly that we have a multitude of industries devoted to prolonging life, and some even claim to be able to cheat death altogether. Immortality is a staple of horror and sometimes science fiction.
When we survey the globe for cultural narratives on death, we encounter many traditions that assign profound significance to otherwise mundane objects and rituals. Every society has its pre-death ceremonies: a religious icon, whether crafted from humble wood or precious jewellery, is kept close by; bodies are positioned to face certain cardinal directions; the shroud or bed chosen for the deceased is meticulously selected; specific foods and drinks are allowed near the dying; and even the presence of particular individuals is carefully regulated. These practices, devoid of scientific validation, are deeply rooted in ancestral traditions and are upheld with fervent conviction. They reflect a near-universal belief that these rituals, laden with symbolic meaning, can somehow ease the transition of the dying into whatever lies beyond.
After death, rituals abound, each accompanied by an array of icons, symbols, foods, drinks, coffins, shrouds, and even vehicles, all imbued with meaning through narratives handed down through generations and woven into our cultural fabric. In the face of these rituals, the stark finality of death, though scientifically quantified, becomes almost trivial to those left behind. They believe that speaking to a tombstone is tantamount to conversing with the deceased's spirit. A framed photograph above the fireplace becomes a beacon of presence, suggesting the deceased is still watching over their loved ones. In this way, the finality and fear of death are mitigated. Through these rituals and the symbolic meaning assigned to objects, we create a semblance of understanding and control. This helps us conquer our fears, providing a modicum of comfort and enabling us, in time, to carry on with our lives.
While apophenia serves as a comforting balm for our existential dread, it falls woefully short when faced with those who do not share our meticulously crafted myths. Our symbols and their assigned meanings, rich with cultural and emotional significance, become meaningless—or worse, provocative—to outsiders. They see only the actions associated with these symbols, not the stories and sentiments behind them. History, as always, is replete with tragic examples of this misunderstanding leading to conflict, turmoil, and loss of life. Consider the Crusades: crusaders marched under the emblem of the cross, their banners adorned with wooden and metal representations of their faith. To them, these symbols encapsulated devotion, the sacrifice of Jesus, and the hope of European Christendom reclaiming the Holy Land. But to the Muslim inhabitants of those lands, the cross was a symbol of invasion, oppression, and slaughter. The Crusaders’ cherished emblem was perceived as the mark of foreign aggressors and bringers of death. Fast forward to the 20th century, and we see a similar dichotomy with the hammer and sickle of the Soviet Union. To the Soviets, it represented the triumph of the proletariat over bourgeois tyranny, a beacon of hope for the downtrodden. Yet, to NATO, this same symbol was a harbinger of the communist menace, an existential threat that had to be confronted and eradicated by any means necessary. The inevitable clash of symbols, each imbued with deep meaning by its adherents, underscores a fundamental truth: without shared myths, these symbols become points of contention rather than connection. The narratives we weave around our symbols give them power, but this power is lost—or transformed into something adversarial—when viewed through the lens of another culture’s understanding. This discord, born from our divergent interpretations of symbols, is a potent source of historical and contemporary conflict.
Thus, our need to find meaning in the meaningless is fundamentally a response to our fear of the unknown. Initially a survival mechanism, it has evolved into a sophisticated narrative tool that facilitates global cooperation and is deeply entwined with our emotional fabric. This enduring human trait underscores our quest for understanding and connection in an often incomprehensible world.
We are pattern seeking mammals and from a survivability perspective this allowed us to determine threats quickly. Xenophobia is a modern expression of the fear of those in the outgroup - so flags, signs and symbols are what people use to make sure they are not misidentified as outgroup. Interesting piece.