Haqeeqat Aur Fiction

What is reality? And what is fiction? Humanity has pondered these questions since the beginning of time. Some believe that reality is whatever can be perceived through the five senses. Others argue that the picture of reality presented by our senses is generally flawed or incomplete, and that ultimate reality lies beyond what is immediately apparent.

Regarding our flawed perception of apparent reality, Francis Crick makes a fascinating point in his recent book, The Astonishing Hypothesis. He writes that within our field of vision, there is an invisible area that he terms the blind spot. It is the tendency of the human brain to fill in this blind hole based on past experiences, ensuring that no unevenness or discontinuity appears in our visual field. However, the existence of this blind spot cannot be denied. To prove this, if you close one eye, hold your index finger vertically about a foot away from your nose, focus your gaze on your fingernail, and then slowly move your finger to one side while keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead, you will reach a point where your fingernail simply disappears. A few moments later, as you continue moving it, it will reappear. Crick named this specific area where the nail vanishes the blind spot, explaining that this is the very gap the human brain automatically fills in.

If this is true, then much of what we see is actually fabricated by the human brain itself. It is a characteristic of the human mind to piece together fragments to construct a whole. In other words, by filling in the gaps that occur in our field of vision, the brain creates a cohesive image or appearance. If we accept this premise, then this appearance is, in itself, a fiction—a blind hole that manifests within reality.

On the surface, this might seem rather strange, but human thought has been echoing this very idea since ancient times. Vedanta referred to visible reality as Maya, meaning it is an illusion or a fiction. The ultimate reality was Brahman, which was consequently infinite and eternal. Sufism described visible reality as a mirage, defining ultimate reality as an eternal, everlasting light that was simultaneously sight and insight. Greek philosophy deemed visible reality to be a mere shadow or reflection of ultimate reality, thus viewing its authenticity with suspicion. Immanuel Kant, however, introduced a concept of duality. He argued that both the visible reality and the thing-in-itself behind it are real. The distinction lies in the fact that while apparent reality can be known, the thing-in-itself remains beyond human comprehension. He termed this the noumenon—that which cannot be known. Yet, unlike the others, Kant did not dismiss appearance as Maya, a mirage, or a mere shadow.

Jean-Paul Sartre rejected Kant’s concept of the thing-in-itself, and consequently, he also denied the existence of any underlying essence behind what exists. Sartre’s position was that existence itself is the essence. However, there are obstacles to perceiving this existence. Fundamentally, Sartre drew a distinction between non-human existence and human existence. He termed non-human existence the in-itself and human existence the for-itself. He further argued that the latter emerged from within the former, meaning that a void—a sort of blind spot—was left behind in the exact place from which it originated. Sartre posited that the for-itself is, in its very nature, an empty space within the original existence.

Ordinarily, the for-itself remains unaware of its own being, bound by the routines of daily life. However, the moment it is struck by a crisis, it strips away the mask of its appearance and comes face-to-face with non-human existence, the in-itself. It is then that it perceives the rupture that was created when the for-itself originally emerged from within the in-itself. At this juncture, the for-itself feels compelled to fill the rupture within the in-itself, yet it knows that doing so requires descending into the void—an act of ultimate sacrifice. This is the terrifying threshold where humanity is confronted with dread, nausea, meaninglessness, and despair. Nevertheless, this is also akin to a spiritual experience; a Sufi, too, trembles when first tasting the nectar of divine gnosis. The difference between the two, however, is that when a Sufi confronts the in-itself, he enters a state of profound wonder, after which the doors of spiritual ecstasy and bliss are thrown open to him. In contrast, the existential philosopher, in this same state, sees himself being reduced to ashes.

What is noteworthy here is that Sartre completely inverted the ancient paradigm. According to ancient thought, the apparent is an illusion or a mirage, while ultimate reality lies hidden behind it. According to Sartre, the apparent is the ultimate reality. There is no eternal, everlasting truth concealed behind it. At the same time, however, he divided this apparent reality into two distinct parts. The first is that which is visible, yet is merely an empty space or human existence. The second is non-human existence, which remains invisible and only reveals itself during a state of crisis. In other words, rather than dismissing the apparent as an illusion and declaring the unseen as real, Sartre divided the apparent itself into the present and the unseen. The present is that which is non-existent or a fiction, while the unseen is that which truly exists or is reality.

Sartre’s for-itself represents absolute separation and negation. It is in a constant state of flux, perpetually reconstructing itself. Its nature is temporal (as though it is steeped in the workings of history), yet it remains intrinsically linked to the in-itself, for it was from the in-itself that it originally separated. The roaring of waves on the ocean's surface is contingent upon the very existence of the ocean. This roar is certainly a negation of, and a deviation from, the ocean's tranquil existence; it is the declaration of a new, distinct reality. Yet, its mother remains the ocean. The emergence of the for-itself from the womb of this ocean—the in-itself—is an apparent reality (an appearance). However, it also possesses a past, tracing back to when it first separated from the in-itself (much like Adam’s expulsion from Paradise), as well as a future. Ultimately, in this state of being, the for-itself and human consciousness perfectly align and become one.

If we consider the function of language, a very similar situation exists here. In this context too, parole (the performance of language through sentences) is born from within langue (the system of language). Langue is the tranquil form of language, fundamentally timeless, but the parole that emerges from it displays a landscape of fluctuating waves. It is a hungry desire, constantly engaged in the endless process of forming sentences from words. It resembles the external world—the Phenomenal World—which is entirely characterized by constant change and transformation.

Like the for-itself, parole is also a deficiency or Lack—a kind of absence compelled to confront the presence within it, namely langue. However, langue and parole are not two separate entities; they are two sides of the same coin. One side is a timeless system, while the other, bound by time, is entirely action or Performance. Parole constantly transforms itself by coming into contact with langue. Conversely, it is equally true that langue relies on parole to announce its own existence.

If we look at this from the perspective of time and space, the picture becomes even clearer. Time and space are interdependent. Until the rupture of Time appeared within Space, it was mere nothingness; however, by coming into existence, Time defined the boundaries of Space. On the other hand, the existence of Time itself (parole or Performance) was also contingent upon the being of Space. Time was the name of a state of constant change. It was a never-ending hunger (desire) that had taken the form of time (in Buddhism, this desire is considered hollow from within). It had a past, a present, and a future! It was only with the emergence of Time that the world of multiplicity came into being, a world where the complexities and entanglements of matter and life continued to multiply. The emergence of Time from within Space was fundamentally akin to the birth of the for-itself from the womb of the in-itself. Both were inextricably linked to one another.

The relationship that exists between space and time, and between langue and parole, is the exact same relationship found between myth and fiction. Myth is a declaration of a kind of steadfastness or Stability, whereas fiction represents constant change. The function of myth is to provide creative thought with a structure or Category, allowing fiction to remain continuously engaged in forging ever-new connections and relationships. Fiction is a hungry desire. It is an ever-changing landscape with endless depth. (In Derrida's words, it is a maze or Labyrinth that encompasses decentralization, difference, and deferral, presenting writing to us as an abyss.) Furthermore, its entire performance operates according to the structure provided by myth (a point Derrida denies). However, just as Clots sometimes form in the blood, obstructing its flow, clichés similarly emerge in fiction, leading it to commit the flaw of repetition. This marks the decline of fiction.

It is essential for fiction to remain perpetually fresh and to bring new realms into existence, but this is only possible if it maintains a creative relationship with the structure provided by myth. Fiction must constantly bring itself into existence anew; it must Recreate itself. Consequently, fiction sometimes halts its performance and begins to observe itself through a third eye. This affords it the opportunity to examine its own Fictionality. It observes the process of its own weaving and, in doing so, Deconstructs itself. This is akin to a person taking off their glasses and then deriving pleasure from looking at the glasses themselves. In the creative process, this is the juncture where the creator pauses, becomes acquainted with the Chaos within, and then, armed with its power, takes a creative leap.

Viewed from this perspective, the creator succeeds in giving form to the nameless and timeless in-itself within them. Regarding fiction, it can be said that when it demonstrates its creativity, it grants a new form to myth. That is to say, it takes creative leaps within myth, bringing new forms into existence.

If we stand at the vantage point of the non-human presence—the in-itself—the for-itself appears as a severed fragment that broke away from the body of the in-itself, a fragment it yearns to recover in order to become whole and seamless once again. (It is worth pondering whether, in this sense, the in-itself is not also just another name for desire.) On the other hand, if you look at it from the perspective of the for-itself, it does not appear as some lifeless fragment meant to be swallowed by the in-itself, because it possesses its own power and identity. When this desire-filled fragment moves toward the in-itself of its own accord, it ostensibly fills the void or rupture that was created within the in-itself by its own departure. However, in doing so, it also implants a seed within the in-itself—a seed that, after some time, breaks away from the in-itself and emerges just as the first for-itself did.

When the mystic fills this rupture, he absorbs his own existence into the in-itself and becomes the in-itself. When the existential philosopher steps forward to fill the rupture of the in-itself, he becomes terrified. Therefore, his advance halts at this agonizing realization, which is merely one stage in the creative process. The crucial element is the development of a perspective that can perceive the point of the for-itself within the in-itself, then witness the birth of the for-itself, then observe the return of the for-itself toward the in-itself, then see how the for-itself has absorbed itself into the in-itself to fill the rupture, and finally, behold the spectacle of yet another birth of the for-itself from within the in-itself. However, this is not a mechanical process, because each new for-itself is not a mere Replica of the previous one; rather, it has transformed into an entirely new existence.

Fiction and reality are not opposed to one another; rather, they are interdependent. Fiction is a form of escape from the structure, formlessness, and infinite timelessness of reality. This escape is akin to someone drawing a veil over their eyes so as not to see the other side. Viewed from this perspective, fiction itself is the Appearance that has veiled reality. The existential philosopher is acutely aware that the performance of the for-itself is an escape; therefore, he considers the agonizing experience of removing the veil of Appearance to confront the in-itself and gaze into its rupture or abyss as the authentic act. On the other hand, the mystic also tears away the veil—not to gaze into the rupture of the in-itself, but to merge entirely into reality. Both speak of the veil, yet both derive entirely different meanings from it.

To the mystic, the restless, ever-changing Appearance, subject to all three dimensions of time, is an optical illusion or a veil of Maya. If this veil is removed, it offers an opportunity to be absorbed into the ultimate reality. To the existential philosopher, removing this veil brings about the agonizing experience of standing at the edge of the abyss or rupture of the in-itself—an experience that is fundamentally a moment of freedom.

The Veil, Appearance, and Fiction are simply three different names for the same phenomenon. However, this phenomenon shares a positive relationship with reality. Reflecting upon this reveals that reality and fiction are inextricably linked. The fact of the matter is that within the fabric of Appearance lies a hidden thief, which remains invisible due to its vibrant colors, complex knots, and seamless continuity. The human brain is hardwired to notice clustered objects before scattered ones. For instance, if a field has trees scattered all over but a dense cluster of trees in one specific spot, the eye will naturally be drawn to that cluster first.

In other words, the brain is compelled to process Contiguity first. Similarly, if lines drawn from various directions on a piece of paper converge and stop near a single point, they create an illusion of continuity. This sense of continuity, which is essentially the perception of the flow of time, is entirely a construct of our own minds. By subjecting Appearance to contiguity and continuity, our brain has woven it into a veil. Our gaze becomes so fixated on the density and continuity of its threads that we completely fail to see the face hidden behind it. If the density of this veil were to be thinned out and the continuity of its threads broken, the face concealed within would become clearly visible.

In the realm of literature, if all attention is solely focused on Realism, the Detail becomes so dense that the inner realm remains entirely obscured. A distinct virtue of symbolism is that it reduces the density of Appearance (that is, the detail) so that the face hidden within its fabric can emerge. Detail inherently contains a Labyrinth, along with depth and contiguity, all of which blur one's vision. The burden of heavy emotions also acts as an obstacle to clear vision. When the details of Appearance are toned down and burdensome emotions are transformed into delicate sensibilities, the true image of reality begins to gleam from within the Appearance.

It is also possible to examine this from another angle. It is common knowledge that a motion picture is essentially a continuous sequence of individual images (or snapshots). These are, in effect, frozen moments locked within their respective frames. If these frames are projected at a rate of 24 frames per second, the screen will not display separate images; instead, it will project life in motion. Consider how two distinct elements have granted mobility to the frozen state of life: one is Contiguity, and the other is Speed. If the speed is reduced, the screen will begin to display a scene in Slow Motion.

Reduce the speed even further, and large gaps will begin to appear between the images. In other words, Ruptures will emerge, allowing one to peer into the background. When the speed drops significantly, each image will appear distinct, and the distances between them will widen. Ultimately, when speed is entirely eliminated, the image itself will become still and static (perhaps this is what we call death). Literature is created precisely when the speed of these images slows down to the point where the outline of the face hidden within the fabric of Appearance becomes visible. Otherwise, the writing will remain confined merely to the description of Appearance.

This by no means implies that Appearance should be dismissed as a mere obstacle, an optical illusion, or Maya. The truth is that Appearance is indispensable to the Unseen, just as the Unseen is essential to Appearance. If Appearance (parole, time, the for-itself) does not exist, perceiving the presence of the Unseen is impossible; conversely, if the Unseen is absent, the question of Appearance coming into existence does not even arise. There is but one eternal and everlasting reality, which reveals its being through its non-being. Mystics, existential philosophers, and deconstructionist thinkers have all attempted to comprehend reality in their own distinct ways.

Among them, the experiences of existential philosophers and deconstructionist thinkers share a commonality: both have witnessed the terrifying dimension of reality. The difference, however, is that existential thinkers have described this experience as a moment of freedom, viewing the rupture of the in-itself merely as a labyrinth, a whirlpool, or an abyss into which man endlessly falls without ever reaching a final limit. In contrast, mystics have characterized the experience of coming face-to-face with reality as Transcendental.

Mystics have dismissed the kaleidoscopic diversity, the constant flux, the ebb and flow, and the twists and turns of Appearance as a mere mirage, whereas existentialists have outright rejected timelessness and transcendence. On the other hand, the creative artist has intertwined the two. The creator does not reject Appearance; rather, by slowing down its speed and thereby creating a Rupture in its dense fabric, they achieve the experience of witnessing the hidden face. The creator knows that without Appearance, access to the Unseen is impossible. Viewed from this angle, the creative artist fundamentally metamorphoses Appearance (which functions as both parole and fiction).

Francis Crick has revealed that there is a specific region within the human brain where autonomy manifests itself—a place where a person suddenly draws conclusions and makes independent decisions. This process is governed by cause and effect, and therefore, does not take the form of strict Determinism. Is this not the very place where the creative leap emerges within a person? It appears that this is the exact locus in the human brain where one is suddenly introduced to a flash of profound cognition.

The human brain is a nexus of billions of highly complex, ever-changing, and crisscrossing neurons. It is undoubtedly a labyrinth, but not in the sense of Derrida’s Labyrinth; rather, it is a labyrinth that acquaints Chaos with Order. However, the manifestation of this Order is only possible when the speed of this neural labyrinth slows down. To achieve this specific task, the brain engages the imagination and creates fiction, which implies that the haze of imagination and fiction is essential for the creative leap. This is precisely why the brain is said to be in a state of Self-Deception. Sufis refer to this as trickery. Nevertheless, this process is an absolute prerequisite for the act of creation, because Order only becomes visible when the imagination draws a veil over the neurons, thereby dimming their dazzling intensity.

This is the very difference between intellect and love: intellect is a dazzling glare that seeks to unveil visible reality in order to understand its functioning, that is, its mechanism. Love, on the other hand, is a mist that spreads over apparent reality to reveal the features of that face which remained invisible in the blinding glare—just as stars vanish in the light of the sun. The human mind is simultaneously equipped with the tools of both intellect and love. Sometimes, it employs cause and effect and engages in contemplation to unveil reality, earning the title of rational and wise. At other times, it blurs the apparent reality to perceive the features of the face hidden within its fabric, and is called a lover or mystic. Occasionally, however, it also attempts to give form to this face of reality, and thus appears elevated to the status of a creator.

What is reality? And what is fiction? Humanity has pondered these questions since the beginning of time. Some believe that reality is whatever can be perceived through the five senses. Others argue that the picture of reality presented by our senses is generally flawed or incomplete, and that ultimate reality lies beyond what is immediately apparent.

Regarding our flawed perception of apparent reality, Francis Crick makes a fascinating point in his recent book, The Astonishing Hypothesis. He writes that within our field of vision, there is an invisible area that he terms the blind spot. It is the tendency of the human brain to fill in this blind hole based on past experiences, ensuring that no unevenness or discontinuity appears in our visual field. However, the existence of this blind spot cannot be denied. To prove this, if you close one eye, hold your index finger vertically about a foot away from your nose, focus your gaze on your fingernail, and then slowly move your finger to one side while keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead, you will reach a point where your fingernail simply disappears. A few moments later, as you continue moving it, it will reappear. Crick named this specific area where the nail vanishes the blind spot, explaining that this is the very gap the human brain automatically fills in.

If this is true, then much of what we see is actually fabricated by the human brain itself. It is a characteristic of the human mind to piece together fragments to construct a whole. In other words, by filling in the gaps that occur in our field of vision, the brain creates a cohesive image or appearance. If we accept this premise, then this appearance is, in itself, a fiction—a blind hole that manifests within reality.

On the surface, this might seem rather strange, but human thought has been echoing this very idea since ancient times. Vedanta referred to visible reality as Maya, meaning it is an illusion or a fiction. The ultimate reality was Brahman, which was consequently infinite and eternal. Sufism described visible reality as a mirage, defining ultimate reality as an eternal, everlasting light that was simultaneously sight and insight. Greek philosophy deemed visible reality to be a mere shadow or reflection of ultimate reality, thus viewing its authenticity with suspicion. Immanuel Kant, however, introduced a concept of duality. He argued that both the visible reality and the thing-in-itself behind it are real. The distinction lies in the fact that while apparent reality can be known, the thing-in-itself remains beyond human comprehension. He termed this the noumenon—that which cannot be known. Yet, unlike the others, Kant did not dismiss appearance as Maya, a mirage, or a mere shadow.

Jean-Paul Sartre rejected Kant’s concept of the thing-in-itself, and consequently, he also denied the existence of any underlying essence behind what exists. Sartre’s position was that existence itself is the essence. However, there are obstacles to perceiving this existence. Fundamentally, Sartre drew a distinction between non-human existence and human existence. He termed non-human existence the in-itself and human existence the for-itself. He further argued that the latter emerged from within the former, meaning that a void—a sort of blind spot—was left behind in the exact place from which it originated. Sartre posited that the for-itself is, in its very nature, an empty space within the original existence.

Ordinarily, the for-itself remains unaware of its own being, bound by the routines of daily life. However, the moment it is struck by a crisis, it strips away the mask of its appearance and comes face-to-face with non-human existence, the in-itself. It is then that it perceives the rupture that was created when the for-itself originally emerged from within the in-itself. At this juncture, the for-itself feels compelled to fill the rupture within the in-itself, yet it knows that doing so requires descending into the void—an act of ultimate sacrifice. This is the terrifying threshold where humanity is confronted with dread, nausea, meaninglessness, and despair. Nevertheless, this is also akin to a spiritual experience; a Sufi, too, trembles when first tasting the nectar of divine gnosis. The difference between the two, however, is that when a Sufi confronts the in-itself, he enters a state of profound wonder, after which the doors of spiritual ecstasy and bliss are thrown open to him. In contrast, the existential philosopher, in this same state, sees himself being reduced to ashes.

What is noteworthy here is that Sartre completely inverted the ancient paradigm. According to ancient thought, the apparent is an illusion or a mirage, while ultimate reality lies hidden behind it. According to Sartre, the apparent is the ultimate reality. There is no eternal, everlasting truth concealed behind it. At the same time, however, he divided this apparent reality into two distinct parts. The first is that which is visible, yet is merely an empty space or human existence. The second is non-human existence, which remains invisible and only reveals itself during a state of crisis. In other words, rather than dismissing the apparent as an illusion and declaring the unseen as real, Sartre divided the apparent itself into the present and the unseen. The present is that which is non-existent or a fiction, while the unseen is that which truly exists or is reality.

Sartre’s for-itself represents absolute separation and negation. It is in a constant state of flux, perpetually reconstructing itself. Its nature is temporal (as though it is steeped in the workings of history), yet it remains intrinsically linked to the in-itself, for it was from the in-itself that it originally separated. The roaring of waves on the ocean's surface is contingent upon the very existence of the ocean. This roar is certainly a negation of, and a deviation from, the ocean's tranquil existence; it is the declaration of a new, distinct reality. Yet, its mother remains the ocean. The emergence of the for-itself from the womb of this ocean—the in-itself—is an apparent reality (an appearance). However, it also possesses a past, tracing back to when it first separated from the in-itself (much like Adam’s expulsion from Paradise), as well as a future. Ultimately, in this state of being, the for-itself and human consciousness perfectly align and become one.

If we consider the function of language, a very similar situation exists here. In this context too, parole (the performance of language through sentences) is born from within langue (the system of language). Langue is the tranquil form of language, fundamentally timeless, but the parole that emerges from it displays a landscape of fluctuating waves. It is a hungry desire, constantly engaged in the endless process of forming sentences from words. It resembles the external world—the Phenomenal World—which is entirely characterized by constant change and transformation.

Like the for-itself, parole is also a deficiency or Lack—a kind of absence compelled to confront the presence within it, namely langue. However, langue and parole are not two separate entities; they are two sides of the same coin. One side is a timeless system, while the other, bound by time, is entirely action or Performance. Parole constantly transforms itself by coming into contact with langue. Conversely, it is equally true that langue relies on parole to announce its own existence.

If we look at this from the perspective of time and space, the picture becomes even clearer. Time and space are interdependent. Until the rupture of Time appeared within Space, it was mere nothingness; however, by coming into existence, Time defined the boundaries of Space. On the other hand, the existence of Time itself (parole or Performance) was also contingent upon the being of Space. Time was the name of a state of constant change. It was a never-ending hunger (desire) that had taken the form of time (in Buddhism, this desire is considered hollow from within). It had a past, a present, and a future! It was only with the emergence of Time that the world of multiplicity came into being, a world where the complexities and entanglements of matter and life continued to multiply. The emergence of Time from within Space was fundamentally akin to the birth of the for-itself from the womb of the in-itself. Both were inextricably linked to one another.

The relationship that exists between space and time, and between langue and parole, is the exact same relationship found between myth and fiction. Myth is a declaration of a kind of steadfastness or Stability, whereas fiction represents constant change. The function of myth is to provide creative thought with a structure or Category, allowing fiction to remain continuously engaged in forging ever-new connections and relationships. Fiction is a hungry desire. It is an ever-changing landscape with endless depth. (In Derrida's words, it is a maze or Labyrinth that encompasses decentralization, difference, and deferral, presenting writing to us as an abyss.) Furthermore, its entire performance operates according to the structure provided by myth (a point Derrida denies). However, just as Clots sometimes form in the blood, obstructing its flow, clichés similarly emerge in fiction, leading it to commit the flaw of repetition. This marks the decline of fiction.

It is essential for fiction to remain perpetually fresh and to bring new realms into existence, but this is only possible if it maintains a creative relationship with the structure provided by myth. Fiction must constantly bring itself into existence anew; it must Recreate itself. Consequently, fiction sometimes halts its performance and begins to observe itself through a third eye. This affords it the opportunity to examine its own Fictionality. It observes the process of its own weaving and, in doing so, Deconstructs itself. This is akin to a person taking off their glasses and then deriving pleasure from looking at the glasses themselves. In the creative process, this is the juncture where the creator pauses, becomes acquainted with the Chaos within, and then, armed with its power, takes a creative leap.

Viewed from this perspective, the creator succeeds in giving form to the nameless and timeless in-itself within them. Regarding fiction, it can be said that when it demonstrates its creativity, it grants a new form to myth. That is to say, it takes creative leaps within myth, bringing new forms into existence.

If we stand at the vantage point of the non-human presence—the in-itself—the for-itself appears as a severed fragment that broke away from the body of the in-itself, a fragment it yearns to recover in order to become whole and seamless once again. (It is worth pondering whether, in this sense, the in-itself is not also just another name for desire.) On the other hand, if you look at it from the perspective of the for-itself, it does not appear as some lifeless fragment meant to be swallowed by the in-itself, because it possesses its own power and identity. When this desire-filled fragment moves toward the in-itself of its own accord, it ostensibly fills the void or rupture that was created within the in-itself by its own departure. However, in doing so, it also implants a seed within the in-itself—a seed that, after some time, breaks away from the in-itself and emerges just as the first for-itself did.

When the mystic fills this rupture, he absorbs his own existence into the in-itself and becomes the in-itself. When the existential philosopher steps forward to fill the rupture of the in-itself, he becomes terrified. Therefore, his advance halts at this agonizing realization, which is merely one stage in the creative process. The crucial element is the development of a perspective that can perceive the point of the for-itself within the in-itself, then witness the birth of the for-itself, then observe the return of the for-itself toward the in-itself, then see how the for-itself has absorbed itself into the in-itself to fill the rupture, and finally, behold the spectacle of yet another birth of the for-itself from within the in-itself. However, this is not a mechanical process, because each new for-itself is not a mere Replica of the previous one; rather, it has transformed into an entirely new existence.

Fiction and reality are not opposed to one another; rather, they are interdependent. Fiction is a form of escape from the structure, formlessness, and infinite timelessness of reality. This escape is akin to someone drawing a veil over their eyes so as not to see the other side. Viewed from this perspective, fiction itself is the Appearance that has veiled reality. The existential philosopher is acutely aware that the performance of the for-itself is an escape; therefore, he considers the agonizing experience of removing the veil of Appearance to confront the in-itself and gaze into its rupture or abyss as the authentic act. On the other hand, the mystic also tears away the veil—not to gaze into the rupture of the in-itself, but to merge entirely into reality. Both speak of the veil, yet both derive entirely different meanings from it.

To the mystic, the restless, ever-changing Appearance, subject to all three dimensions of time, is an optical illusion or a veil of Maya. If this veil is removed, it offers an opportunity to be absorbed into the ultimate reality. To the existential philosopher, removing this veil brings about the agonizing experience of standing at the edge of the abyss or rupture of the in-itself—an experience that is fundamentally a moment of freedom.

The Veil, Appearance, and Fiction are simply three different names for the same phenomenon. However, this phenomenon shares a positive relationship with reality. Reflecting upon this reveals that reality and fiction are inextricably linked. The fact of the matter is that within the fabric of Appearance lies a hidden thief, which remains invisible due to its vibrant colors, complex knots, and seamless continuity. The human brain is hardwired to notice clustered objects before scattered ones. For instance, if a field has trees scattered all over but a dense cluster of trees in one specific spot, the eye will naturally be drawn to that cluster first.

In other words, the brain is compelled to process Contiguity first. Similarly, if lines drawn from various directions on a piece of paper converge and stop near a single point, they create an illusion of continuity. This sense of continuity, which is essentially the perception of the flow of time, is entirely a construct of our own minds. By subjecting Appearance to contiguity and continuity, our brain has woven it into a veil. Our gaze becomes so fixated on the density and continuity of its threads that we completely fail to see the face hidden behind it. If the density of this veil were to be thinned out and the continuity of its threads broken, the face concealed within would become clearly visible.

In the realm of literature, if all attention is solely focused on Realism, the Detail becomes so dense that the inner realm remains entirely obscured. A distinct virtue of symbolism is that it reduces the density of Appearance (that is, the detail) so that the face hidden within its fabric can emerge. Detail inherently contains a Labyrinth, along with depth and contiguity, all of which blur one's vision. The burden of heavy emotions also acts as an obstacle to clear vision. When the details of Appearance are toned down and burdensome emotions are transformed into delicate sensibilities, the true image of reality begins to gleam from within the Appearance.

It is also possible to examine this from another angle. It is common knowledge that a motion picture is essentially a continuous sequence of individual images (or snapshots). These are, in effect, frozen moments locked within their respective frames. If these frames are projected at a rate of 24 frames per second, the screen will not display separate images; instead, it will project life in motion. Consider how two distinct elements have granted mobility to the frozen state of life: one is Contiguity, and the other is Speed. If the speed is reduced, the screen will begin to display a scene in Slow Motion.

Reduce the speed even further, and large gaps will begin to appear between the images. In other words, Ruptures will emerge, allowing one to peer into the background. When the speed drops significantly, each image will appear distinct, and the distances between them will widen. Ultimately, when speed is entirely eliminated, the image itself will become still and static (perhaps this is what we call death). Literature is created precisely when the speed of these images slows down to the point where the outline of the face hidden within the fabric of Appearance becomes visible. Otherwise, the writing will remain confined merely to the description of Appearance.

This by no means implies that Appearance should be dismissed as a mere obstacle, an optical illusion, or Maya. The truth is that Appearance is indispensable to the Unseen, just as the Unseen is essential to Appearance. If Appearance (parole, time, the for-itself) does not exist, perceiving the presence of the Unseen is impossible; conversely, if the Unseen is absent, the question of Appearance coming into existence does not even arise. There is but one eternal and everlasting reality, which reveals its being through its non-being. Mystics, existential philosophers, and deconstructionist thinkers have all attempted to comprehend reality in their own distinct ways.

Among them, the experiences of existential philosophers and deconstructionist thinkers share a commonality: both have witnessed the terrifying dimension of reality. The difference, however, is that existential thinkers have described this experience as a moment of freedom, viewing the rupture of the in-itself merely as a labyrinth, a whirlpool, or an abyss into which man endlessly falls without ever reaching a final limit. In contrast, mystics have characterized the experience of coming face-to-face with reality as Transcendental.

Mystics have dismissed the kaleidoscopic diversity, the constant flux, the ebb and flow, and the twists and turns of Appearance as a mere mirage, whereas existentialists have outright rejected timelessness and transcendence. On the other hand, the creative artist has intertwined the two. The creator does not reject Appearance; rather, by slowing down its speed and thereby creating a Rupture in its dense fabric, they achieve the experience of witnessing the hidden face. The creator knows that without Appearance, access to the Unseen is impossible. Viewed from this angle, the creative artist fundamentally metamorphoses Appearance (which functions as both parole and fiction).

Francis Crick has revealed that there is a specific region within the human brain where autonomy manifests itself—a place where a person suddenly draws conclusions and makes independent decisions. This process is governed by cause and effect, and therefore, does not take the form of strict Determinism. Is this not the very place where the creative leap emerges within a person? It appears that this is the exact locus in the human brain where one is suddenly introduced to a flash of profound cognition.

The human brain is a nexus of billions of highly complex, ever-changing, and crisscrossing neurons. It is undoubtedly a labyrinth, but not in the sense of Derrida’s Labyrinth; rather, it is a labyrinth that acquaints Chaos with Order. However, the manifestation of this Order is only possible when the speed of this neural labyrinth slows down. To achieve this specific task, the brain engages the imagination and creates fiction, which implies that the haze of imagination and fiction is essential for the creative leap. This is precisely why the brain is said to be in a state of Self-Deception. Sufis refer to this as trickery. Nevertheless, this process is an absolute prerequisite for the act of creation, because Order only becomes visible when the imagination draws a veil over the neurons, thereby dimming their dazzling intensity.

This is the very difference between intellect and love: intellect is a dazzling glare that seeks to unveil visible reality in order to understand its functioning, that is, its mechanism. Love, on the other hand, is a mist that spreads over apparent reality to reveal the features of that face which remained invisible in the blinding glare—just as stars vanish in the light of the sun. The human mind is simultaneously equipped with the tools of both intellect and love. Sometimes, it employs cause and effect and engages in contemplation to unveil reality, earning the title of rational and wise. At other times, it blurs the apparent reality to perceive the features of the face hidden within its fabric, and is called a lover or mystic. Occasionally, however, it also attempts to give form to this face of reality, and thus appears elevated to the status of a creator.