More Than Signs, More Than Superstitions

The signs and wonders you perceive through patterns and insights—are they faith or fantasy?

A language without letters (Source: LoCoS)

Signs & Symbols: Language of Superstition?

Since the beginning of civilization, humanity has been drawn towards patterns and symbols. Indeed, we have a natural tendency to look for similarities or connections between the things and events we observe—even where none actually exists.

This inclination to perceive meaningful connections between unrelated occurrences is so pervasive among our kind that we’ve coined a specific term for it: apophenia.

However, just as many are wary of apophenia. The psychiatrist who coined the phrase, Klaus Conrad, describes the phenomenon as a common symptom of schizophrenic delusions. These "unmotivated seeing of connections [accompanied by] a specific feeling of abnormal meaningfulness" have also been associated with superstition and conspiracy theories—where people fabricate “insights” from unrelated concepts that aren’t supported by evidence.

Still, our predilection to detect patterns from random noise are not confined to the realm of spirituality or conspiracies. Even scientists—often stereotyped as the epitome of logic and objectivity—frequently fall into a form of apophenia. We call this the Texas Sharpshooter Fallacy, in which researchers overemphasize similarities between datasets—while downplaying the discrepancies—leading to incorrect conclusions.

I believe our predisposition to seek meaningful connections in between objects, events, data, images, etc. is hardwired in our brains. To be able to understand reality through legible cause and effects makes our living feel more predictable, more secure—safer.

Symbols then condense these complex knowledge, ideas, and instructions to their most basic forms, allowing for easier memorization—and to communication to subsequent generations.

And, perhaps, some of us are more more prone to apophany because we want to make sense of life, not through direct observations of our surrounding environment—but by searching for hidden codes, blueprints, knowledge, instructions, guidance, or messages from a higher intelligence—be it the universe, angels, or even God Himself.

Words, Images, Rituals: A Map to Meaning

Not too long ago, I came across an article that discusses the importance of rituals, and how traditional celebrations uncover ancestral memories. “Ritual is a language older than written word,” the article said—a poignant observation, which I wholeheartedly agree with.

The article also brought to mind a different conversation I once had with a fellow student at a training school about the purpose of symbols and rituals, specifically in the context of studying the Old Testament of Scripture.

“What are all of these symbols/rituals for?” my friend had asked, “Why not just reveal the theology directly?”

We never finished that conversation, but I remember citing Calvin’s commentary on Genesis, in which he argues that God communicates to us “with the image of this world,” and that attempting to bypass nature in order to “directly contemplate His divine essence” inevitably results in “absurd figments.”¹

In other words, because we exist in a material world, God often reveals His otherwise invisible truths through visible symbols—just as a map uses image-based markers to represent real places and reveal directions.

Rituals in this context become the linguistics of divine condescension: the unseen Creator stooping Himself to inhabit symbolic vestures—in Creation, in Scripture, in Sacraments—so that we might perceive and find the pathway to Him.

Yet, this style of communication is also echoed in our day-to-day conversations with fellow human beings. Since we are incapable of transmitting our thoughts directly to other people’s minds, we express our intentions, and ideas through signs and symbols:

• In verbal communication, we assign meanings to phonetics, tone, and diction.

• In written communication, we assign meanings to symbols and/or images as alphabets or characters.

• In kinesics, we assign meanings to certain facial expressions, poise, movements, and gestures.

Language is built on deciphering symbolic patterns and rhythms, and understanding what these permutations mean. What might look or sound like gibberish for one person could be perfectly legible to those who understand it.

But language have rules—vocabulary, grammar, syntax, jargons, context, and nuance—that we need to foster with clarity and care if we intend to extend genuine connection and/or insight.

If we want to communicate with someone whose language is not native to our own, to disregard their dictionary and project our own definitions onto their lexicon is, at best, ignorance—at worst, downright insulting.

In this sense, apophany may be understood as something that occurs when people misunderstand, misinterpret, or overinterpret “signs”—drawing meanings from specific occurrences (i.e., “words”) that the “language” (i.e., natural laws in general) never intended to convey.

Too often, we assign fixed meanings into symbols and visual imageries that may not actually support that reading—a tendency I jest about in the following piece.

the poem

I scry through time with a crystal sphere
Asking of it my future, both far and near
Yet, the images I see were dismally unclear
(It should go without saying that I am not a seer)

I saw a black dog and it's rather cute
It doesn't bark though, perhaps it's mute?
Its silky coat shines like freshly ironed suit
Is it time to do the laundry? I do not compute

Then I saw an owl flying over my house
That's great! I hope it'd prey on the mouse
Who invaded my dresser and chewed on a blouse
The most expensive one too, that dreadful louse!

It then displayed my room, and zoomed in on my bed
Where someone had left on the pillow an old, felt hat
I tapped on the hard dome, starting to get mad
Couldn't it show me a sign that can be more easily read?

Finally, it shattered, the infernal ball
I've been scammed! It couldn’t see the future after all

Interpreting Signs: Faith vs. Fantasy

The above poem, written for the prompt “augury”, depicts a wannabe seer attempting to see their future through crystal ball. What follows is a series of visions that are commonly regarded as bad luck signs:

• a black dog

• an owl

• placing a hat on the bed

• breaking a mirror (or crystal ball, in this case)

However, instead of being unnerved by these omens, the not-seer misreads them as trivial concerns: mundane chores, the need for pest control, and a source of mild irritation.

The humor of the poem comes mismatch between the symbol and its interpretation. Naturally, this brings up the question: “who is right?”

• The traditions that view them as portents of misfortune?

• Or the not-seer who reads them in through a mundane lens?

They can’t both be true at the same time, and in the same relationship.

The poem itself leans towards the latter, suggesting that symbolism—even when borne of a real cultural expressions—can ring hollow if it lacks correspondence to grounded truth.

Like attempting to decipher a message written in a language we do not fully understand, like seeking directions from a map that whose markers don’t match the terrain², irresponsible interpretation of symbols don’t bring us closer to Reality—they’d lead us even more astray.

The Map and the Mirror

Now, I am not attempting to criticize or dismiss any particular brand of faith, philosophy, or worldview—nor to champion one above all the rest.

Rather, the point of this article is to examine the hermeneutics by which people arrive at their beliefs.

Because any system—whether sacred or secular, whether divinely revealed or humanly constructed—can be twisted and mangled by the people using it.

In his book, The Abolition of Man, C.S. Lewis notes that both “serious magical endeavour” and “serious scientific endeavour” are twins—each born of the same impulse to control reality.

The methods may differ, and the aesthetics diverge, but in most cases, the underlying motive for the endeavour is not the pursuit of truth—nor the cultivation of wisdom, discipline, or virtue—but the desire to bend reality until it reflects our preferences.

In such cases, people adopt the language and structure of a system—not to align themselves with reality, but to affirm themselves and dominate their environment.

“The universe responds to your thoughts, desires, and expectations,” the mystics might say, “If you want the universe to be magical, it will be—for you.”

Or: “Fortune favours the bold.”

Or, if they are more religiously-inclined: “God helps those who helps themselves.”

Science, for its part, may not use such slogans, but it often deliver a similar promise: that nature itself is a lever, and with enough knowledge and technology, we can pull that lever to produce our desired outcome.

The terminology shifts, but they all communicate the same message: we are the master of our own reality. And while their language often gestures toward submission to a higher order of power—truth, nature, the divine—at the end of the day, these things are merely tools to aid us towards self-fulfillment.

Literature often provides a window to ideas and worldviews we might never have otherwise considered or entertained, and “Venus in Furs” by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch provides an unusually sharp insight into this kind of mentality.

The book, which contributed to Sacher-Masoch’s name eventually being coined into the term masochism, tells the story of a man named Severin, who fantasizes being dominated by a strong-willed woman, and begs to be enslaved by the woman he loves.

But as their relationship unfolds, we see that Severin’s performance of submission is, in fact, a subtler form of control. He scripts the abuse, directs his lover’s actions, and demands to be conquered—but only within the confines of his fantasy. When the lover, Wanda, becomes more confident and starts to exert her own agency—taking the abuse beyond Severin’s script—he recoils.

And when Wanda eventually abandons him in disgust, Severin bitterly concludes, “That woman […] can only be [a man’s] slave, or his despot, never his companion.”

Thus, Severin’s story reflects how many people adopt a belief system that appropriate the language and aesthetics of faith (e.g. prayers, rituals, symbols)—while eschewing the covenant and traditions they are anchored in (i.e. community, commitment, discipline, accountability) in favour of personal re-interpretations.

We partake in an illusion of communion and communication with the powers-that-be, while secretly playing a game of manipulation and control.

Apophenia: A Shortcut to Insight

Symbols are maps to the unseen. But we make topographical maps based on what the terrain truly looks like—not based on where we want the land markers to be.

Rituals are a language of divinity. But to speak and interpret the messages, we have to learn the linguistic rules—and not assign meanings to the words based on what we want the message to say.

Interpreting Reality is a craft that requires care and discipline to master, but apophenia allows us to bypass that process and seemingly arrive at a monumental insight.

• In research, it’s easier to draw conclusions based on flawed methods and unsupported data—rather than redoing the experiments to verify the truth.

• In religion and mysticism, it’s easier to re-interpret the stories, symbols, rituals, and parables, with what we feel is true—instead of studying the historical and cultural context from which they arise to understand what the language actually speak.

I am not against self-discovery and sharing what we have found to advice others walking the same journey; but to present personal creeds as though it’s universal truth—while ignoring the paths of those who have walked before us—is dishonest.

Once again, this is not a matter of the specific belief system—it’s a matter of epistemology: how we try to attain knowledge.

Two people may appear to use a similar set of symbols, but their approach to those may be as different as night and day.

One uses the signs to investigate truth, the other uses them to declare wishful thinking. One interpret them as grammar—intelligible, orderly, and meaningful, if approach with humility and care. The other see them as a mirror—reflecting the fantasies of their idealized selves back at themselves.

1. John Calvin, “Commentary on Genesis - Volume 1” — Introduction:

As for those who proudly soar above the world to seek God in his unveiled essence, it is impossible but that at length they should entangle themselves in a multitude of absurd figments. For God — by other means invisible — (as we have already said) clothes himself, so to speak, with the image of the world in which he would present himself to our contemplation.

They who will not deign to behold him thus magnificently arrayed in the incomparable vesture of the heavens and the earth, afterwards suffer the just punishment of their proud contempt in their own ravings. Therefore, as soon as the name of God sounds in our ears, or the thought of him occurs to our minds, let us also clothe him with this most beautiful ornament; finally, let the world become our school if we desire rightly to know God.

2. An infamous example of this happens during the 1783 Treaty of Paris, where after the United States declared independence from the British, the two parties agreed to establish boundaries, using the Mitchell Map as a reference. However, the map was inaccurate—rivers were misplaced, coastlines were exaggerated, land mark shapes were wrong, etc. Decisions made using this flawed document led to numerous boundary disputes and other unpleasant consequences.