Tove K tackles one of the most audacious theories in the history of psychology, challenging the very timeline of human self-awareness. The piece does not merely summarize Julian Jaynes' 1976 claim that consciousness was "invented" at the Bronze Age collapse; it dissects the theory's fatal flaws while salvaging its most provocative insight: that the way we listen to our own minds is a matter of cultural fashion, not just biological evolution. For a busy reader, this is a rare opportunity to reconsider the nature of "thinking" itself, moving beyond the binary of sanity and madness to understand how societies curate their inner lives.
The Problem with Universal Hallucination
The core of Tove K's critique targets the sheer scale of Jaynes' speculation. Jaynes posits that before 3,200 years ago, humans lacked an internal narrator, interpreting their inner voice as an external command from a god. Tove K finds this leap of logic untenable, particularly regarding the universality of the claim. "If people think that I make too many, too bold guesses when I write, I understand what they mean," Tove K writes, "Still, even an avid producer of guesses like me feels baffled by Julian Jaynes' level of guesswork." The author highlights a specific, glaring error in Jaynes' reasoning about the invention of names, noting that Jaynes suggests personal names only emerged in the Mesolithic era, around 10,000 B.C. to 8000 B.C. Tove K dismantles this by pointing out the lack of anthropological evidence: "Has Julian Jaynes ever heard of any groups of humans, in any place, in which people had no names?" This is a devastatingly simple question that the original theory fails to answer.
The commentary strengthens its case by bringing in concrete counter-evidence from the Yanomamö people, a group often cited in anthropological literature. Tove K describes a scenario where a headman named Rashawe weighs conflicting information about a potential ambush. The headman's internal monologue reveals a sophisticated "theory of mind"—the ability to understand that others have distinct beliefs and motives. "I believe it, very often that is what they do," Rashawe reasons, demonstrating an awareness of deception and strategy that Jaynes claims did not exist. "That is, Rashawe-the-headman was well aware that he was believing things and others had similar minds with other beliefs," Tove K observes. This evidence suggests that the capacity for complex, reflective thought is not a recent invention but a fundamental human trait that has always existed, even if it wasn't always the dominant cultural narrative.
Has Julian Jaynes ever heard of any groups of humans, in any place, in which people had no names? If no group of humans ever, anywhere, has been found to lack personal names, why should we then believe that a comparatively high degree of cultural complexity is needed for humans to give each other names?
Critics might argue that ancient texts like the Iliad genuinely lack references to subjective introspection, supporting Jaynes' view. However, Tove K counters this by suggesting that the absence of evidence in writing is not evidence of absence in the mind. The author argues that ancient writers were simply adhering to the "fashion" of their time, which dictated what was worthy of being recorded. "When I write a text, I proofread it and edit it carefully in order to make sure that only fashionable mental processes are visible through the text," Tove K notes, drawing a parallel between modern self-editing and ancient literary conventions. This reframing shifts the blame from human biology to cultural curation.
The Rider, The Elephant, and The Voice
Having dismantled the idea that consciousness was "invented," Tove K pivots to a more nuanced interpretation of why the theory feels so compelling. The author adopts Jonathan Haidt's metaphor of the "elephant and the rider," where the unconscious emotional self (the elephant) drives behavior, and the conscious mind (the rider) merely justifies those impulses. Tove K argues that the capacity for this "rider" to take control varies widely among individuals, creating a continuum rather than a historical binary. "Some people love to reflect over complex relationships between things to the extent that they use all their spare time for it," the author writes, contrasting them with those who are "largely unable to reflect, because their reflecting, subjective selves are crowded out by compelling voices." This distinction allows Tove K to reframe schizophrenia not as a vestige of a lost age, but as one extreme end of a spectrum that has always existed.
The piece suggests that what changed after the Bronze Age collapse was not the hardware of the human brain, but the software of cultural acceptance. In the past, those who heard voices might have been revered as prophets or high priests, whereas today they are often medicated and marginalized. Tove K illustrates this with the story of the Mexica (Aztecs), who migrated for two centuries based on the direct commands of their deity, Huitzilopochtli, received through dreams and trances. "Huitzilopochtli communicated directly with his high priests via dreams and profound trances," Tove K explains, noting that these "psychotic" experiences were the bedrock of their civilization's ideology. The author points out that when the Mexica settled in a spot they deemed the promised land, a rebellion occurred, and the deity's anger was manifested through brutal violence against the dissenters. This historical account serves as a powerful example of how a society can organize itself entirely around the voices of a few individuals, validating Jaynes' observation about the power of the "bicameral" mind without accepting his conclusion that everyone was bicameral.
Basically, we are all guided by unconscious emotional processes. But the conscious rider on top is an individual as much as the elephant they are riding: Some riders are much more vocal and meddlesome than others.
This section effectively bridges the gap between neuroscience and anthropology. By suggesting that "fashions have changed profoundly with regard to whom to listen to," Tove K offers a fresh lens on the history of ideas. The argument implies that the rise of individualism was not a sudden evolutionary jump but a gradual shift in social norms that began to favor the "rider" over the "voice." This is a compelling synthesis, though it risks oversimplifying the neurological realities of schizophrenia by equating it too closely with religious prophecy. The distinction between a pathological condition and a culturally sanctioned role is crucial, and while Tove K touches on it, the line could be drawn more sharply.
Bottom Line
Tove K delivers a masterful takedown of Julian Jaynes' most radical claims while preserving the theory's most fertile ground for exploration. The strongest part of the argument is the demonstration that reflective consciousness has always existed, evidenced by the complex reasoning of ancient and indigenous peoples, and that the "invention" of consciousness was actually a shift in cultural fashion. The piece's biggest vulnerability lies in its tendency to conflate the experience of hearing voices in schizophrenia with the prophetic experiences of ancient priests, potentially blurring the line between pathology and spiritual authority. Readers should watch for how this framework of "mental fashion" applies to modern society, where the pressure to constantly reflect and curate one's inner narrative may be creating new forms of psychological strain.