The Cave of Maya — or Matrix
On the real meaning of the allegory of the cave—and how to leave it
If you’re familiar with philosophy, you’re likely familiar with Plato’s allegory of the cave. It’s the story about people who, having lived their entire lives chained in a cave, perceive only the shadows cast on its wall by objects passing beyond a fire behind them; and take the world of the shadows to be all there is, the ultimate reality. In the story, it’s the philosopher who makes it out of the cave, and eagerly wants to lead the others to experiencing the actual, living reality which casts the shadows too—in vain, because they content themselves with observing, giving names to and telling stories about the shadows.
The allegory never stirred too much excitement in me, because I didn’t really get what it was about. This was until I learned about the ancient Indian concept of maya.
There are perhaps as many ways of interpreting this concept as there are times it’s expressed in different traditions and contexts, but its central nature is conveyed partly in its literal translation from Sanskrit: illusion; magic or deceit.
To expand on what maya is, let’s examine the word itself.
It comes from the Sanskrit verb root ma- (मा), which means to measure. Now, there are some very interesting connections with this root in the languages of the Western cultural tradition. Think about the words matter, matrix, meter, measure and mathematics. They all are derived from this root, and essentially all of them have to do with measuring—some with motherhood as well.
It’s hypothesized that this root (ma- or me-), shared by languages such as Sanskrit, Latin, ancient Greek and English comes from the reconstructed language of Proto-Indo-European, where it relates also either to mother or measure. An immensely interesting connection—although unrelated to the topic of this piece—with this root is that the mothers of both, Jesus Christ and Gautama Buddha, share this root in their names: the mother of Jesus was named Mary, and the mother of the Buddha was named Maya. Also, the Latin word matrix means a womb (more on this later on).
There’s another root in the Proto-Indo-European language that will help us understand the concept of maya, which is *men-; meaning mind or to think.
Let’s unravel our concepts a bit.
Mental Images — or Shadows
What is thinking?
Thinking is essentially the creating of abstract symbols in one’s mind to represent parts of reality, the practical purpose of which is to aid one’s survival—for example, thinking frees one from having to test the edibility of foods through eating them (by being able to pin down and convey forward the information of the potential toxicity of certain berries or mushrooms), thus risking being poisoned; effectively raising the probability of survival.
So, it seems that a central point of thinking is the conveying of information. This is also the purpose of language, and note that languages are all collections of abstract symbols—it could be said that expressed language is the solidified form of thinking. Or, rather, thinking is the coming up with information and language is expressing it to others in an effort of conveying ideas.
Let me give you another example.
When you look at a tree, you have in your mind a mental image that corresponds with the concept of a tree. This gives you the ability to call it a tree and to differentiate between different kinds of trees; oaks, pine trees, spruce trees and so on. So essentially, when you view a tree, you’re viewing it through the mental veil of conceptual thinking or language. The word tree doesn’t really have anything to do with trees—it’s not onomatopoetic (meaning the pronunciation doesn’t have anything to do with the sound created by that which the word refers to); we (in the English language) just merely collectively agree to assign to the word tree the mental image of the tall green things—which are, in reality, essentially condensed forms of energy vibrating in a certain harmonious frequency. The word tree itself is not a tree; it’s a symbol one can use to point to a part in the real world that is in the form of a tree.
When you’re looking at the picture of the forest above, you’re similarly in reality not looking at a forest but a bunch of pixels on the screen of the device you’re viewing this on, lit up in a certain order so that it creates a visual representation of a forest—which corresponds to the mental framework in your mind that contains prior experiences of seeing a similar environment in reality. Here again, the picture in this article is not a real forest but a representation of one—we could say that the image here is a physical manifestation of the abstract, conceptual image in one’s mind; and although it has a material form, it’s not a real forest.
Now, having expressed the practical utility of the mind, we can delve deeper into what maya is about.
The mind has a tendency to be easily preoccupied with itself. This preoccupation manifests itself as habitual thinking—in other words, constantly engaging oneself with mental stories about reality, particularly in a reactive manner. As I’ve explained, the mind makes symbols (abstract representations) of reality, and the act of thinking is a kind of going through these symbols and putting them together; crafting stories about them. You can examine this tendency by just sitting still and observing the train of your thought: it does not stop very easily, and you very quickly will find yourself reacting to the thoughts that arise. And as you keep observing this tendency in a nonjudgmental awareness, you begin to realize that all of that mental chatter is indeed a kind of a flowing storytelling.
To be deceived by the mind preoccupied with itself to think that its mental representations of reality are the same thing as the living reality; or in the words of Alan Watts, “to mistake the menu for the meal,” is to be under the illusion of maya.
Sounds familiar?
Remember how in the cave, the people spend their days by naming and telling each other stories about the shadows in the wall of the cave. They aren’t in direct contact with the living reality which is happening outside of the cave, only with its projections that resemble the forms of it but aren’t the reality itself.
The cave is maya.
Also, it can be noted here that Matrix (the movie where the guy, Neo, gets to choose whether he’ll eat the red pill or the blue pill; to break free from the artificial simulation and enter into the real world or remain in the world of illusions) is essentially the modern expression of the problems portrayed in Plato’s allegory—and curiously, its title shares the same ma- root as does maya (as was hinted at earlier). But it doesn’t give any kind of instruction to one who would happen to end up in such a situation in actual life—such an instance is just labeled psychosis or just madness in general if it were to happen to someone in the modern westernized world. The spiritual traditions originating from India, however, provide people with ways to ground themselves in the real world if they happen to see through the illusion of maya; or, escape the matrix. Interestingly, escaping the matrix means, word-for-word, leaving the womb—to enter into the real world.
The forms which you see in the world are the projected shadows of the concepts stuck in your mind’s eye—the light that’s casting them is the light of consciousness; or the fire behind the cave in the allegory. In the spiritual traditions originating from India such as Buddhism and Hinduism, it could be seen as the goal of their practices to pierce through this veil of abstraction disconnecting one from the actual living reality; to become disillusioned from maya. Nirvana, satori, moksha, samadhi or enlightenment (last mentioned is one of their translations) are all essentially names for this experience of total oneness with reality; of no longer contenting oneself with the cerebral and abstract shadows of it that are thoughts and concepts.
In essence, the practices (such as yoga, meditation and mantra) utilize different means that result in quieting the mind’s self-feeding chattering. In meditation, one’s attention is shifted from participating reactively in the chatter of the mind by, for example, focusing on one’s breath, one’s heartbeat or the unconscious counting of mala beads. In chanting mantras, one repeats certain words or syllables until there’s only the sound; leaving no room for any cerebral effort to interpret its meaning. You can do it with any word: if you repeat whatever word long enough, it loses its meaning and you only pay attention to the sound of it—better, you experience the sound instead of reasoning around it. Do it for long enough, and you’ll feel like you are the sound—the notion of “I” as a separate witness for the sound dissolves. That’s being in direct contact with reality!
Anything can be meditation as long as it’s done for the sake of itself, because any effort to get something (extra emphasis on the -thing) other out of the activity is to still be under the illusion of maya—to take abstract notions to be concretely real. In a sense, in true meditation, one is out of the mental cave and in direct contact with the living reality. It can be very counterproductive to even mention the concepts of nirvana or samadhi, since they, as expressed in language, too, are forced into ideas which tend to carry certain connotations; as though they were some lasting things to be obtained that will provide you with something else (particularly some spiritual reward that’ll help you one-up everyone around you)—and as if one had to work hard for them.
The Cost of Maya
Now, despite the enormous practical utility of the mind, when it’s overactive and constantly engaging in itself, it comes with the price of shutting oneself in the cave, away from the actual living reality; and the true cost of this is to never feel alive. Indeed: however useful and constructive thought can be, it is only a very thin veil on top of the felt reality—not by any means the core or the end-point of life. You cannot feel your thoughts. Thoughts can perhaps trigger some emotions such as self-feeding fear (also known as anxiety), but they are not directly alive like emotions are. Thoughts are to emotions what statues are to real humans, and to expect them to be alive is like expecting a statue to begin to move or radiate warmth.
The more disconnected we become from the felt reality, the more threatening and alien it appears to us. I believe this is a major reason for the pandemics of dissociation, depression and anxiety in the modern world—we simply do not live. We do our most to ensure our survival, but with the cost of vitality; we are out of contact with the living reality outside of the cave of our mental world—and the physico-digital manifestation of this mental world that is the internet and social media. We are immensely distanced from our emotions, and though great efforts are made in areas of psychology to reintroduce their vitality to us, I see there the potential for missing their mark by merely contenting to, again, naming, conceptualizing and talking about them — when the only thing emotions ask of us is to feel them. Naming them can be a subtle effort of bypassing them, and, in essence, naming a food does nothing to contribute to its reality as a source of nutrition or taste experience—the purpose of the food is to be eaten, not named or analyzed. Note again: just as you cannot eat the labels or menus depicting certain foods and have your hunger satisfied, you cannot feel your thoughts.
I’m pretty sure this is why humans are so prone to experimenting with changing their states of consciousness through different substances or behaviors. In the momentary changes in one’s heartbeat, nervous system and perception following the ingestion of a drug (be it alcohol, coffee, cigarettes, cannabis, sugar; you name it), or perhaps after exercise or an orgasm, one gets a sample taste of the nature of the felt reality. Perhaps addiction is born when one’s hunger for experiencing one’s emotions is greater than their ability to feel them, and one clings to any activity or substance that provides a momentary sensation resembling the emotion they long to feel—or that’s longing to be felt.
Leaving the Womb; Stepping Out of the Cave—Welcome To Reality
So. If you choose to step out of the cave, I’ll gift you with this brilliant Zen saying as something to go by, to prevent possible emotional overwhelm or further delusion:
“Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”
There’s nothing more marvelous and glorious, yet so down-to-earth than just chopping wood and carrying water—and don’t ask me to explain why. Just chop the wood and carry the water and you’ll know. Of course what I mean here is only to really do everything you do (be it washing the dishes, cleaning the toilet or anything at all), without thinking what’s in it for you, how it’s going to benefit you et cetera—that’s all just the shadow show going on. Reality is all these mundane-seeming tasks that normally reek of everything you dislike, but here’s the wonderful thing: The moment you stop predetermining how much you dislike them and wish them to be over—in other words, when you stop thinking reactively while doing your daily tasks—they begin to glow with a certain luminosity. It feels like the distinction between you as a doer and the task being executed melts away, and there’s just a unitive flow; a dance. The mysterious marvel of existence begins to unveil itself to you this very moment you quit seeking for it with your mind—in all the places you always overlooked it.
As you step out of the cave, you are free from the chains that used to bind you to it. But you’re still free to enjoy the show of the shadows on the wall with everyone else! Actually, stepping out of it once in a while is crucial for maintaining an appreciation for it. But one must also remain watchful of being deceived by maya outside of the cave as well: it’s easy to begin to think you’ve become too great or spiritually enlightened to enter back into it; that you’ve dropped your ego and everyone else is a dumb, bluepilled sheep still under its illusion for operating in the human world—failing to notice you’re very much under it right there too. Hence, just chop the wood and carry the water.
Also, since in reality, you’re fundamentally only experiencing fluxes in your own sensory perception and nervous system that translate into the synergistic, perceived reality that forms your life, there’s nothing you’ll experience that is not you. Life is essentially a spectrum of yourself. There’s nothing to fundamentally be afraid of in the real world.
Enjoy.