We are immersed in the worldview of scientific determinism like a chicken in deep pot of hot water.

Scientific determinism is the idea that the previous state of affairs has a causal effect on the present according to the laws of nature, i.e., those discovered by physicists, biologists, chemists, etc. So long as we know enough about something to account for anything, we can predict everything. This is why companies are obsessed with data – for its predictive capabilities about us.

This worldview is highly persuasive because of the incredible technology we enjoy from scientific insights. The fact that you are reading this is proof of the wonders of technology. Science, though always tentative and never conclusive, is reliable and reflective of reality. It is corporeal, tangible and real. Its insights has proven itself through technology time and time again, and the results are everywhere to see.

Since technology works, science is accurate. Since science is accurate, that must necessarily be the way to look at the world. To look at the world in any other way is absurd because it is inconsistent with science and, therefore, untrue. It is an easy step from there to conclude that myths and religion, where they conflict with science, are untrue. And these conflicts happen when those narratives appear to make factual assertions about whether something actually happened or not.

The fact that we acknowledge conflicts between the seeming factual assertions of mythical narratives and science (which include disciplines such as history, archaeology, geologists, and any discipline that claims a scientific approach), is proof of our immersion in scientific determinism. We evaluate everything from a perspective of whether it is objectively true, and therefore provable. If it cannot be proved, it doesn’t exist. It is fiction.

That scientific deterministic view has led us to misunderstand what these mythical narratives are and mean. It has blindsided us to the spiritual side of things and access to its worldview. It has overlayed its calculative mathematical mindset on how religion is practised. This can be seen with appropriately attired religious adherents who, like accountants, keep a score of the rewards they have earned to secure their entry to heaven instead of humbly and carefreely earning His mercy.

Mythical narratives are those contained in religion about certain events, places, and people, such as mythology (e.g., Greek, Hindu, Norse), folktales, legends, fables, and epic poetry. Within this scientific deterministic worldview, we are compelled to treat those as fictional stories. They do not accurately describe reality, do not conform to the laws of nature, and are, therefore, untrue. Read them by all means, but don’t take them seriously, or too seriously.

The problem with the scientific deterministic worldview is that it is dismissive of anything beyond the material or that meets the test of replicability, whilst forgetting its limited remit: only things provable. Just because it cannot be proved doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

This brings us to the metaphysical, beyond the ‘physical’, the material, and, certainly, the provable. It is a realm science does not enter. It cannot. And for this reason, mythical narratives (‘myths’) fill the space of the metaphysical. Or are meant to. The myths that survived our ancestors were the ones most deeply felt by them. They contained timeless lessons, noble values, and ways of life for us to emulate. In our reenactment of its stories and rituals, we maintain its continuity and keep open the path to individual flourishing, but also our survival as a species. The narratives that survive are the ones teach us how to be stay alive and feel alive.

Here are two examples: First, the Greek myth of Prometheus stealing fire from the gods doesn’t just explain how humans acquired fire. It conveys deeper metaphysical ideas about human ingenuity, divine boundaries, and the consequences of defying natural order. Second, the widespread mythical theme of the hero’s journey provides a metaphysical template for personal transformation and community service. More on that later. Cultures worldwide have found it valuable as a guide to individual development.

These myths may not reflect objective reality, but they are loaded with subjective eternal truths about us as a species. It is the one that tells us where the red flags in life are, what we can expect of others, how to deal with certain situations, the possible ways we behave, and so on. Myths often lack authors because they are not individual stories but communal ones. They are the ones told and retold and passed down until it comes to us in its final form printed in a book or pixels on the screen. These were the ones that were painstakingly preserved into physical form like wood, vellum, or stone. They were that important.

Myths nourish the metaphysical, that hidden dimension, the elusive and immaterial part of us—our spirituality. Their stories may be fictional or fantastic because they describe a human truth, not a reality. They describe an interior realm instead of an external one. The people, places, and incidents in these myths serve as spiritual succour, lessons, challenges, and archetypes.

Mount Olympus is the highest mountain in Greece, but it ranks somewhere between the 100th and 120th tallest mountain in Europe. That the gods are found not to live there does not diminish the truths derived from stories about them.

These myths necessarily draw their colour and characters from their place of origin but their stories would resonate. Joseph Campbell described universal story patterns that appear across different cultures as “monomyths”. When examining themes like floods, virgin births, and resurrections, Campbell proposed these weren’t mere coincidences but expressions of shared human psychological and spiritual experiences.

In his works like The Hero with a Thousand Faces and The Masks of God Campbell suggested these recurring mythological motifs represent archetypal patterns embedded in the human psyche. He believed myths from diverse cultures resonated with each other because they addressed universal human concerns about mortality, transformation, and our relationship with the cosmos.

In The Hero, the main character leaves the ordinary world faces trials, receives supernatural aid, experiences a decisive crisis or death-rebirth, and returns transformed as the hero with wisdom to benefit society. Examples include Odysseus (Greek), Gilgamesh (Mesopotamian), Buddha’s enlightenment journey, and even modern stories like Star Wars.

We have to go through that process to be of use to ourselves first and then to society. We cannot progress to wisdom if we avoid that crucial part of the process – facing that decisive crisis and it’s all down to us. There is no transformation without that pressure of indecision and the weight of high stakes.

Science does not teach us how to live. That is not its remit. It can only tell us the micro, not the macro. It can tell us what is good to eat, what not to eat, when to eat, what to eat it with and so on, but not which we enjoy. Science teaches us how to stay alive, but it holds no wisdom in how to feel alive.

Staying alive is survival. Science only makes us anxious that we are not doing enough. Feeling alive is the pleasure of existence. These myths contain a guide to reaching that feeling. It is not about what we put in our mouths but what we say with it. It is not about how many reps we should do but how we treat others. It is about empathy and understanding people and society than it is about knowledge of things.

The conflation happens when we fail to distinguish that myths use words that describe exterior events to describe an interior reality. When that distinction is made, it means science describes and is limited to the material and provable, whereas the spiritual relates to our interior landscape. They use the same terminology, but one is literal, whereas the other is symbolic in expression.

Reintegrating mythical narratives into our lives doesn’t require abandoning scientific thinking, but rather expanding our cognitive toolkit.

We cam start by approaching myths not as literal accounts to be believed or dismissed, but as deep reservoirs of wisdom to be explored. When faced with personal challenges—a career transition, relationship conflict, or existential doubt—consciously turn to mythical frameworks like the hero’s journey.

We can ask ourselves: Where am I in this cycle? Am I refusing the call to adventure? Am I in this deep now? This mythical lens reveals insights that scientific determinism, with its focus on external causality, cannot provide. The practice isn’t about finding “answers” in myths but about allowing their symbolic language to illuminate the interior landscape that science doesn’t map.

In our hyperconnected age, we need intentional practices to engage with myths effectively. Set aside time for what might be called mythical meditation —reading these narratives slowly and repeatedly, not for information but for transformation. Joseph Campbell suggested we find our bliss by identifying which myths resonate most deeply with us personally. This resonance isn’t random but signals where our individual development needs attention.

We can perhaps revisit the myth of Sisyphus when perseverance seems futile or recall Narcissus when we start looking at ourselves too often. There are apps that deliver daily mythological reflections that can bring their truths to our awareness. The goal is developing a dual perception—simultaneously seeing the scientific explanation of events and their mythic significance.

This balanced approach manifests most powerfully in how we narrate our own lives. Scientific determinism encourages us to view our histories as chains of cause and effect, often reducing our agency to neurochemistry and circumstance. Mythical thinking invites us to perceive our lives as meaningful journeys with purposes that transcend mere survival.

When recounting our life story, practice weaving together both perspectives: acknowledge the material factors that shaped us while recognizing the archetypal patterns your journey follows. This integration creates a richer self-understanding than either framework alone provides.

By consciously crafting our personal narrative this way, we model for others how these seemingly contradictory worldviews can coexist. The result isn’t a rejection of science’s invaluable insights, but their placement within a larger context that embraces both how we stay alive and how we feel alive—addressing the full spectrum of human experience that neither approach can capture alone.