I’ve been reading Hans Vaihinger’s A Philosophy of As If: A System of the Theoretical, the Practical and Religious Fictions of Mankind. I came across this book through James Hillman‘s Healing Fiction, and it’s been illuminating his concept of “useful fictions.”
The Nature of Useful Fictions
Here’s the core idea: we see the world subjectively. We look at facts, but we create stories between those facts. When facts are absent, the mind fills in whatever it needs to make sense of things so we can get on with life. Hillman calls these “useful fictions.” They can be completely made up, but that doesn’t matter to the mind because the mind’s job is to help us live and get things done.
Vaihinger spends considerable time on this theory of “as if,” but what struck me most was his perspective on knowledge and thinking. He argues that knowledge and thinking exist to help life work, not to uncover some perfect objective truth.
Now, I’m someone who loves books. The idea of seeking knowledge for knowledge’s sake has always appealed to me. But Vaihinger says that’s not what the mind is for. It isn’t there to seek objective truth. Its job, as a tool, is to make life work for us.
The Purpose of Thinking
The mind helps humans (and animals) survive, plan, calculate outcomes, and deal with whatever situations arise. Because of this, we judge thinking practically. An idea is right if it works in practice.
The purpose of thought isn’t to mirror the world exactly as it is. It’s to help us predict what might happen and decide what to do next given our circumstances. Thinking keeps us ready to act.
Vaihinger goes further: even logic and abstract ideas ultimately come from bodily sensations, our nerve impulses. We turn sensations into concepts, concepts into plans, and plans back into actions that affect the world. That loop is the point of thinking.
The big takeaway: we don’t think in order to know the world perfectly. We think in order to act effectively within it.
Connecting to Narrative Alchemy
This connects powerfully to the narrative alchemy work I do around stories as code. If we can understand the story beneath the story, we can rewrite those scripts to be more effective.
Right now, as you’re listening to this, there are countless programs running in your unconscious mind, everything from helping you breathe and move to operating the scripts that determine how you show up in the world. Some of those scripts were useful when they were embedded. But many of them no longer serve their original purpose. In some cases, they’re actually hindering your potential, making you less effective than you could be.
When you become conscious of this, you can do something about it. Otherwise, we just go on like the walking dead, in a trance about 90% of the day, doing things without thinking, acting in habitual ways, thinking in habitual ways, perceiving and experiencing things from habitual perspectives.
This work is about challenging those scripts and rewriting the ones that need to be rewritten.
The Challenge of Rewriting Scripts
I’ll be honest, though. It’s not easy. I throw it out there like it’s simple: “Oh yeah, just rewrite the script.” But there are deep-rooted scripts embedded in us. It’s a genuine challenge.
Then I catch myself: why can’t it be easy? Maybe there’s a story I’m telling myself that it’s difficult to undo years of programming. The experience says it’s hard, but that’s just another script running.
There are different techniques: meditation, hypnosis, self-hypnosis. I’m a big fan of journaling and meta-journaling, getting the story out and tracing it back to its origin. I call it following the breadcrumbs. Where did this belief come from? Once you unpack that and understand the origin, you can ask: do I still want to think this way? Can I change the story?
But habits run deep. Think about your own for a moment. Which leg do you put into your trousers first? Which arm do you wear your watch on? Try switching it and notice how it feels.
We have these embedded patterns and we don’t question them much anymore. Some of them are complete fiction. But they’re useful fictions because that’s what the tool is made for. The brain is efficient at making connections and deriving meaning so you can act.
The Danger of Unquestioned Fictions
Here’s where it gets concerning. Spend three minutes on social media and you’ll see people making life and death decisions based on useful fictions they’ve never questioned. They see it as truth, as real, without stepping back to recognize it’s a version of real, not ultimate truth.
That’s my motivation for the narrative alchemy work. I’m not doing narrative therapy, that’s not my wheelhouse. But narrative coaching, working with the stories we have and using various techniques to rewrite the scripts and create useful ones that help us obtain what we actually want, that’s the work.
Working with Metaphors
I’ll continue to work my way through Philosophy of As If. And notice that phrase I just used: “work my way through.” Earlier I said “slog my way through.” Listen to that metaphor. When I say “slog,” what comes to mind is being in a swamp with a hundred pound ruck on my back and my M16 in hand, slogging through the muck. That’s hard work.
If I approach that book with “slog” as my mindset, it makes the book that much harder to get through. It will obviously be a slog.
We use these throwaway metaphors all the time. Pay attention to the metaphors you use and the ones others use around you.
Morning Pages and Image Work
This morning I did a hybrid practice. I started with morning pages as Julia Cameron outlines, just writing without thinking, stream of consciousness. Then I applied Hillman’s image work, going back through and unpacking the images that emerged.
Some interesting ones came up:
The worm turning – There’s a worm underground, coiled, waiting to reverse direction. Does that happen fast, quickly, dramatically? Or is it a slow, blind turning? That’s how I’m approaching a particular problem right now. I’m waiting for the worm to turn.
The wolf at the door – This one causes anxiety. Think about how that metaphor shapes my reaction and how I conduct myself.
The drain – Is something flowing away? Emptying out? Leaking? What can I learn if I get inside this image?
The landing – This implies something is in flight, not touching the ground. If it’s airborne, where is it going? What needs to happen for it to be grounded?
The flow – What was interesting here: two channels. One flowing freely, another currently blocked. Two rivers, one open, one dammed.
Seeing Through the Image
These images help me understand what programs are operating. What I appreciate about Hillman is his approach: don’t ask what the image is. See through the image. The idea isn’t to make meaning of the metaphor. It’s to see through the metaphor.
Work with the image itself to understand what you’re feeling, what the problem is, where the blockages might be. See through it rather than trying to turn it into something else or give it some kind of meaning.
I’ve got work to do with these metaphors. With the worm, for instance: when I imagine it turning, what does the movement look like? Is it violent? Is it gentle?
There’s a methodology called clean language that’s all about utilizing people’s metaphors rather than changing them or redirecting their thinking. Work with their metaphor and help them see through it.
The wolf is the wolf. Can I see it clearly? What color is its fur? What are its eyes doing? Are they looking at me or past me at something else? Hillman encourages you to really get into the image itself and work with it.
An Invitation
I’ll unpack more of this and share the experience with you. For now, I have the questions identified but haven’t played with the imagery yet.
If you do morning pages or journal regularly, try this: go back through your writing and pull out the metaphors. Identify the images inside your metaphors and passages, then work through them. Explore your thinking through those images and see what that does for you.
Fascinating stuff. Thank you for your time and attention on the Soul Cruiser audio blog. Time to get on with the rest of the day.
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