Escaping the hall of mirrors
The information age is unsatisfying. Here's where to find refuge.
I get this funny feeling sometimes.
It happens while working, running, scrolling, watching, eating. The feeling says: Everything is information. The information is infinite. And the information is the same.
Is there a way out? I didn’t think so, until I read this:
In the modern world we are getting trapped in what I call the hall of mirrors: the left hemisphere’s construction of reality, in which everything refers to something else within the hall of mirrors, but never breaks out to reality.
Life becomes more and more abstract and virtual: The values that would have led us out of this vision of the world, and are grounded in a view of the world as embodied, neither wholly material nor wholly spiritual, become neglected.1
That quote is from Dr. Iain McGilchrist, who researches hemispheric differences in the human brain. His key insight is that the left and right hemispheres don’t just do different things—they present two different ways of being in the world.
After reading McGilchrist’s book (The Master and His Emissary), I could finally put a name to my funny feeling: the hall of mirrors. And so began my quest to understand the hall of mirrors: how the left hemisphere created it, why it feels so unsatisfying, and whether there are escape routes.
I come bearing good news: The hall of mirrors does have escape routes!
Meeting the two modes
What makes the left/analytical and right/intuitive hemispheres different?2
The analytical mode is a master of deconstruction. It takes things apart, sees their parts, and puts them back together. It deals in abstractions—such as language and mathematics—but not in their meaning. It sees the world in terms of its utility. It prefers the familiar—what has been re-presented—over the new.
The intuitive mode is a master of synthesis. It sees things in their context, holistically. It’s deeply embodied, which grounds it in sensation. It thinks in metaphor. It’s receptive to nonverbal communication, such as music (including prosody—the musicality of speech) and body language. Its interconnectivity with the living world enables it to have empathy and theory of mind for others.
Let me be clear: both modes are essential for human functioning. A skilled doctor uses her analytical mode to diagnose my illness and her intuitive mode to empathetically communicate the prognosis to me. An expert pianist performs intuitively, but practices analytically. And so on.
My goal is not to silence either mode, but to bring both into a more perfect union.
The hall of mirrors
Here’s the problem: because the analytical mode prefers representations of what it already knows, it creates a feedback loop of self-reference: a hall of mirrors.
For example, when we engage in the gamification of communication via social media, we’ve entered the hall of mirrors. When we use exercise to “optimize” our body, we start to lose our bearings. And by the time we utilize spiritual practices for “performance enhancement,” we’ve become completely disoriented. The hall of mirrors has hidden its own escape routes.
Any path out of the hall of mirrors would therefore emphasize the intuitive mode. It would de-emphasize information processing, optimization, & abstraction; and emphasize embodiment, contextuality, & interconnectivity.
Thankfully, many such paths exist. The ones I like best, and which I will expand on below, are relationship, nature, art, and meditation.
The way(s) out
Relationship
All real living is meeting.
— Martin Buber, I and Thou
In the virtual hall of mirrors, relationship is a zero-sum game. My enemy’s success fills me with envy; his failure fills me with schadenfreude. On social media, we can score points by humiliating opponents. (Agreeing with them is, at best, embarrassing.) Is it any wonder we’ve become so disconnected?
Fortunately, the intuitive mode knows how to connect deeply—if only we can set our egos aside long enough to do so.
The next time you interact with someone face-to-face, pay attention not only to what they say but how they say it—the subtlety of their body language, the movements of their eyes and dilations of their eyelids, the rhythm and musicality of their voice.
I don’t just recommend this because it feels nice. I recommend it because the intuitive mode is enriched by these subtle nonverbal cues, which help strengthen empathy and theory of mind. This empathy further endears us to others, making them more likely to open up to us and causing a positive feedback loop of connection.
If there are no people around you right now, you can connect with an animal just as easily. If there are no animals around you, you can watch animal videos. (Some of the hall’s mirrors can be kind of nice.)
💎 To connect more deeply with others, you can take inspiration from the 36 Questions for Increasing Closeness.
Nature
Lose your mind and come to your senses.
— Fritz Perls
Even in nature, the analytical mode tries to grasp at it. It obsesses over the number of steps accumulated, or superimposes itself between the world and you by way of a camera.
To be in nature intuitively, come to your senses. Surrender to its grandeur, its spaciousness. Let thoughts become quiet and fill your awareness with the vast soundscape around you.
You can touch nature. Rub your hands on tree bark; dig your toes into the welcoming earth. Smell it. Rub your fingers against a rosemary leaf, take a deep inhale. To the extent it’s safe, you can even taste nature.
The intuition finds peace in nature. It grounds us in our bodies, fills us with awe and wonder. The thinking mind, so normally overwhelmed with information, can rest. The sense of separateness, so heavily reinforced in the hall of mirrors, disintegrates; we find ourselves interconnected with the world around us.
💎 You can use AllTrails to find trails near you.
Art
Enter any art museum in the country, and you’re likely to find two kinds of people. The first will be deep in contemplation, pondering each brushstroke and shade. The second will throw their hands up in frustration and declare “I don’t get it!”
I mean no disrespect to the second group—I’ve been that person countless times. I don’t get it is the slogan of the analytical mode. This mode has no interest in art, because art cannot be grasped. Art is not a tool to be used. Art is communication.
Recall that the intuitive mode—while incapable of verbal language—can communicate deeply through empathy, theory of mind, and metaphor. So, too, does art.
In art, we find the deepest parts of our being made manifest. Music short-circuits thinking and touches our heart directly. Filmgoing is a collective baptism in light and sound. In a single painting, I can see every side of myself set out in array.
Art helps us understand who we are, where we’ve come from, and where we are going. Don’t worry if you don’t get it. Just feel it.
💎 If you’d like suggestions, I adore these intuitive artists:
Filmmakers: Andrei Tarkovsky, Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Terrence Malick
Musicians: J.S. Bach, Philip Glass, Meredith Monk, Leonard Cohen, Paul Simon, Kate Bush, Sufjan Stevens
Poets: T.S. Eliot, Mary Oliver, Anne Carson, John Ashbery
Visual Artists: Hilma af Klint, Georgia O’Keeffe, William Blake, Pieter Bruegel the Elder
Meditation
Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.
— Bashō
I’ve already written at length about how to meditate. But why do I recommend meditation for awakening intuition?
You can find out for yourself. For the next ten seconds: sit quietly, doing nothing.
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Did your mind wander? Mine did.
In silence, there’s no new information for the analytical mode to process, so it starts to invent its own: the neverending stream of mental chatter we call rumination.
Letting go of rumination—the core component of meditation—is profoundly humbling. Why? Because I see my thoughts as mine. If I let go of them, what becomes of me?
I continue to exist. But I cease to believe everything I think. My internal hall of mirrors, usually clamoring with noise, becomes quieter, softer.
The world around me appears increasingly decentered. In silence, my intuitive mode makes contact with everything that is not me: the whoosh of cars below, the gentle breeze, the scent of pine. I’m not so separate from them. I never was.
Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.
Thank you for reading The Labyrinth. If this piece resonated with you, I’d be honored if you shared it, commented below, or subscribed.
I hope you find your own path out of the hall of mirrors, and into the great mystery.
Rey ☀️
Interview with Iain McGilchrist, The Morning News, published 2010.
Because this is not a piece about neuroscience, I will refer to the left hemisphere as the analytical mode and the right hemisphere as the intuitive mode going forward.
I love this! I am particularly compelled by the idea of approaching things like art and nature from a less analytical, more intuitive angle. Going to try to keep this in mind next time I listen to music or go for a nature walk