Truth is the most dangerous fantasy our species ever invented
The quest for truth is a prelude to violence
For centuries, the Western intellectual tradition has pursued a single, seductive dream: that the truth is out there, waiting to be discovered. But what if this quest has led humanity into great danger? In this provocative essay, philosopher Manuel Delaflor challenges the Enlightenment ideal of objective truth, arguing that our models don’t represent reality but rather that they create it. The result is a radical rethinking of knowledge, meaning, and what it means to know anything at all.
Just a few days ago, a colleague cornered me after a talk on the plausibility of artificial consciousness. “But, surely,” she said, “we can at least agree on what we mean by reality?” Her earnestness was touching. It reminded me of my younger self, back when I believed that philosophy’s great project, “making sense of it all,” was not only possible but inevitable. We just needed the right facts, better arguments, clearer thinking, more rigorous definitions.
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The Enlightenment dream, inherited by generations, is that truth can be discovered, reality pinned down, knowledge attained like the summit of a metaphorical Everest and surveyed like a kingdom. It is a lovely dream. It is also the most dangerous fantasy our species has ever invented.
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How naive I was. How beautifully, tragically naive. All of this was before I began to understand that our very frameworks, the models and concepts we use to understand the world, can’t do what they are supposed to do. This insight would eventually become my way to fly past all doubts and certainties. Model Dependent Ontology says models don’t depict a world, they instantiate it. Change the model and you are, in every meaningful sense, in another universe.
Of course, it took me years to notice it. It was not just that these conversations failed to reach consensus—that would have been merely disappointing. No, it was something more unsettling. Historically unsettling. Through the ages, the harder we worked to establish common ground, the more the ground itself seemed to dissolve. Each new definition spawned more disagreements and more problems. It was as if the very act of trying to pin down meaning caused it to scatter like mercury under pressure. And I was wrestling between countless concepts from completely separate places, both in time and space (Taoism, Zen, Nagarjuna, Socrates, Nisargadatta, Deleuze, Bohr, Wittgenstein), when I realized we weren’t failing at philosophy. Philosophy was failing us. And that the tools we’d inherited, the whole magnificent enterprise of truth seeking itself, wasn’t broken. It was working exactly as designed. That is the horror of it.
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But what if every attempt to pin down “reality” or “truth” is not the path to sense, but the prelude to confusion, dogma, nonsense, and, ultimately, violence?
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You see, we are all born into a world full of promises, where many fantastical assumptions are simply taken as granted. Not because doing this is logically sound, but because such assumptions remain unseen, lying just below the threshold of our concepts. First, we assumed that religion would save us from wrong assumptions, then philosophy. Or if not philosophy of science, or at the very least some hybrid built of facts and the relentless sharpening of our ideas and concepts. The Enlightenment dream, inherited by generations, is that truth can be discovered, reality pinned down, knowledge attained like the summit of a metaphorical Everest and surveyed like a kingdom. It is a lovely dream. It is also the most dangerous fantasy our species has ever invented. How many kills have been done in the name of truth? I do not say this to shock, but because I see that even most of the best minds cannot let go of the hope. In seminar rooms and online discussion forums, from universities to scientific conferences, I have watched the old faiths stand impervious… reality, truth, knowledge, the real world, the way things really are. Listen long enough and every debate slides back to this: someone, somewhere, insists that, beneath the mess of words and perspectives and histories, there is a foundation… if only we could reach it.
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What each generation calls knowledge, the next calls dogma. What one group brands as reality, another regards as mythology.
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But what if every attempt to pin down “reality” or “truth” is not the path to sense, but the prelude to confusion, dogma, nonsense, and, ultimately, violence? If you look back at the history of ideas, you’ll notice a pattern: it is not a triumphal march toward consensus, but an endless churn of new terms, revised definitions, and shifting ontological allegiances. The “matter” of Aristotle is not the “matter” of Newton or Bohr. There is no stable meaning. There never was. What each generation calls knowledge, the next calls dogma. What one group brands as reality, another regards as mythology. This is not relativism; it is the record of the human tradition from Parmenides and Nagarjuna to Rorty, Quine, and Feyerabend. As Hilary Lawson brilliantly puts it, “closure is an activity, not a given.” Lawson uses “closure” in a very particular and elegant way, as the continuous human activity of carving boundaries and distinctions from what he calls an undifferentiated openness.
And yet, despite the obvious and persistent failures, the pressing, primitive urge persists. Our culture is addicted to the idea that to let go of the real is to invite chaos, nihilism, and collapse. You see this everywhere if you care to look. The cults of revelation that thrive on social media, each “truth” seen both as jealously guarded, and as persecuted, even deleted by shadowy powers. Conspiracies about ancient empires erased from memory. Discoveries of secret knowledge that “they” don’t want you to know.
This is not an aberration. It is the endpoint of a culture that believes, deep down, that reality is out there, hidden, waiting to be revealed if only the right words, the right authority breaks through. The result is a never-ending proliferation of competing claims, rival “realities,” each more feverish and exclusionary than the last. The faith in hidden truth is the engine of all dogma. As long as someone believes they have “the truth,” someone else must be silenced, converted, or killed.
But they are not discovering any “secrets”—they are just trying to make sense of possibilities and constraints within what they see, trapped in the labyrinth of their own concepts, unable to find the minotaur, and unwilling to admit that there is no monster. That maybe, just maybe, there are only mirrors. What began as the dream of certainty now threatens to become the nightmare of endless fracture.
What happens, though, when even the most careful attempt at definition fails? History answers with a cemetery of consensus. Every school, every movement, every scientific revolution is littered with the bones of definitions that could not hold. Kuhn’s “paradigm shifts” were not the exceptions, but the norm: the meanings of even the most basic terms, “space,” “force,” “gene,” “information,” “race,” “consciousness,” and any other you might care to name, continuously shift beneath our feet like tectonic plates.
Wittgenstein’s later work is often invoked as the proof that “meaning is use,” but the deeper lesson is that use itself is never settled. And no, before you assume it… I am not proposing that we shall all retreat to a relativist cynicism, where anything goes. That is the straw man built by those who cannot imagine another path. The nightmare of an endless hoping for a closure that never comes. We keep returning to the same shrines, seeking blessings, and finding only echoes. Perhaps the most tragic aspect of this predicament is the failure to see what is staring us in the face. All along, the assumption has been that definitions are maps, and that, somewhere out there, the territory awaits discovery.
And this is where things get interesting. Remember my colleague asking about reality? What if her question was already the problem? What if the very act of asking “what is reality?” creates the illusion that there’s something called “reality” in the first place? This is where a wild-eyed stranger in a philosophical alley grabs you by the shoulders and whispers: “What if what you call territory is just another part of the map?”
“Sacrilege!” You splutter. “A map without a terrain is madness!”
“Exactly,” the stranger grins, scribbling frantic notes on a napkin. “Now you’re getting it.”
Here’s what this lunatic sees that everyone else misses: Every philosophical position—materialism, idealism, dualism, even scepticism—starts by assuming there’s a clear relation between our models and an external thing they model, and so they all play the same rigged game: arguing about which map matches their assumed territory.
But this feral philosopher doesn’t join the tournament. He makes explicit that models endure or collapse by their usefulness, coherence, and their ability to organize new possibilities, not their assumed isomorphism with something else.
“Think about it!” the feral guy insists. “When the materialist pounds the table and says, ‘only matter is real,’ where is this truth claim happening? In the atoms? In the void? No! It’s happening in language, in concepts, in models. When the idealist retorts that ‘it is mind, not matter what is fundamental,’ where does this supposedly ultimate fact exist? Again, only within the sense-making concepts used to express the affirmation. In fact, when you experience anything—this wall, that thought, your mother’s face—where does that experience happen?”
You gesture vaguely at your head, almost timidly. “No!” He grabs your hand. “That’s your model of a head! Similar to the idealist model of a mind! The experience isn’t in your head—your head is in the experience. Everything you’ve ever known, ever felt, ever been—it all happens in the same place: the space of experience itself. And that space? It has no outside, and no inside.”
“But,” you stammer, “we all see the same things out there…”
“Do we?” The stranger’s grin widens. “When we avoid walking into what we call a ‘wall,’ and you claim that it corresponds to the objective thing—what if we’re just running compatible procedures that generate similar maps? Like two copies of a video game rendering the same level, but you are at your house and your friend is at another place. In this scenario, the wall ‘exists’ only in the sense of being rendered simultaneously, not as some ‘external thing’ that is being perceived. Do you understand this? Do you get that what we see is a map of possibilities, and not things?”
The wild-eyed stranger scribbles faster. Every ontological claim, every “this is how reality really is”—they’re all moves within the game, not observations from outside it. Utterances are instruments of expectation. They organise behaviour by forecasting consequences, not by pointing at things. Mapping, properly understood, is the craft of plotting potential, not depicting terrain. Take a GPS map: is it about reality? Or is it about how to get somewhere?
“But surely,” you protest, “we are mapping something real!” The stranger’s eyes light up. “Watch this.” He pulls out a phone, opens an LLM. “This chatbot connects to nothing outside itself, is not mapping anything outside itself. It’s not accessing Truth with a capital T. Yet, it writes meaningful texts by navigating through statistical regularities. No world required. The stranger leans closer, breath wild with revelation: “There isn’t a reference and referent. We built something that does what we’ve always done—generate meaning without external foundation, create sense without an external reference. Language isn’t describing a world that already exists—it’s the forge where worlds are being made!”
Here’s what nobody sees: every word you speak is an act of expectation, a bet on what happens next. When I say “chair,” I’m not pointing at an object—I’m forecasting that certain actions will become possible. Sitting. Standing. Moving. Language is always forward-looking, always inferring what comes next. Just like this LLM—it doesn’t “know” anything, it simply predicts patterns. That’s exactly what we do! Our utterances aren’t labels on things; they’re pragmatic tools for coordinating action, for making the future navigable. Every time we name a usable pattern, we don’t discover an object; we birth one! The word doesn’t point to the thing; the word creates its thingness. How? You may ask! Every sentence is anticipatory coding, and the very gesture of expressing it is inseparable from the “thingness” it instantiates. Before “chair,” there is anything but a chair—its “isness,” its ontology, is part of a model. A blunt by-product of modelling, not a revelation of the world’s authenticity. After we declared it by naming it, there’s something recognizable to sit on. A chair is the possible consequence of a prediction, which means that a different prediction or set of predictions would not end up with the same consequences. That is how a chair depends on us instead of a pre-determined “objective” feature that remains constant (as the material world for a realist). Meaning begins and ends within language.
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Models compete on consequences, not correspondence.
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And so, while everyone else is on the field arguing about who scored, Model Dependent Ontology is above, in a metaphorical helicopter, pointing out that the field, the rules, the score itself, are all products of the same reality-making game. You could say that MDO is wrestling with a mythical monster, thousands of years old, that has devastated humans by compelling them to think that they can get ontological certainties.
“You want to see the reality-making game in action? When you put on a virtual reality headset and enter a game world, you are not seeing it on a screen; you are immersing yourself in the game world. Take, for instance, Alyx, probably the most realistic VR game in existence. You will see objects all around… Objects all around, tangible—grab a cup, put a spoon inside it. Put these things in a box, close it, take it to another room, and when you open it, the objects remain there. Stepping into the action, your heart races when enemies attack. You are there.”
“But where is this ‘there’?” the stranger asks. “When you’re navigating that level, mapping out safe routes, tracking where enemies spawn— what is your map of? The terrain? But there is no external objective terrain in Alyx! Your map isn’t representing some external objects, not even space! It’s organizing possibilities, where you can move, what you can grab, how to survive, through a visual interface!” The stranger’s eyes go wild again. “Are the headcrabs ‘really there’ waiting to be accurately mapped? No! Your map is just about navigating possibilities, not headcrabs! The only difference between Alyx and this”—he waves at everything—”is that with Alyx, you remember putting on the headset.”
Suddenly, you finally see it: MDO is not “a new map,” but a new understanding of what mapping is about, revealing that the field, the rules, the score itself—they’re all products of the same reality-making game we can never stop playing. So Model Dependent Ontology is not another theory of the world. It is a framework that describes how all theories, scientific, philosophical, religious, ever become possible and meaningful.
The distinction is categorical, not incremental. If anyone confuses MDO with another worldview, they would be missing the fact that it is an analysis of how worldviews operate, not a worldview among them. And what is the consequence? For some, and this surprises me, it’s a form of despair, the despair of not being able to find certainties anymore, a solid ground, a foundation. But there would be none if they realised that the model that keeps you from jumping off buildings isn’t “true” because it corresponds to reality; it is, however, superior and hence preferable because it keeps you alive. Models compete on consequences, not correspondence, so they are never about a fixed given, but a contingent outcome of our purposes. That’s why astrology loses to astronomy every time you need to land a probe on Mars—not because one is “false” and the other “true,” but because one delivers the goods and the other doesn’t. Bad models crash planes, utility bites. That’s why Kepler dethroned Ptolemy: the latter’s epicycles stopped paying rent. When your model needs increasingly complex patches to match observations, when the machinery creaks under its own weight, it’s time for eviction.
What makes MDO different in the context of possible circularities is that “consequences” are not meant to be a newer ontology, a newer foundation. The crash is a consequence because we built the model to fly, not to fall. Models are exclusively judged within the web of aims, values, and practices of the communities that deploy them. Success is always success-for-a-purpose, not an absolute measure. Better consequences are measured against a particular set of goals instantiated within the model.
And so, I must insist, what I see here is not despair, but liberation. Once we see that we are not condemned to seek the One True Map, we are free to generate models as needed, and the horizon expands. We are not prisoners of our ontological claims. We are their cartographers. The prison dissolves, not because we have escaped into the “real,” but because we see that the walls were just our chalk marks on the floor. So where does this leave us? Not in nihilism, not in cynicism, certainly not relativism, but in an awareness that the mystery is not behind the words, but in their power to create. There is nothing outside the text, as Derrida said, but this is not a loss. It is liberation. No more must we beg for consensus or fear the collapse of the latest paradigm. No more do we serve the gods of “truth” and “reality.” Meaning is our creation. We invent, we model, we navigate. Those who long for absolutes will keep chasing their shadows; the rest of us, free from the tyranny of “reality,” can finally become the makers of worlds.
Author’s Journey with Ontology
Ever wondered how a seemingly random amalgamation of words and concepts suddenly ‘clicks’? What operates at the cognitive level enabling us to make sense out of the abstract? Is it pure intellectual process, a social endeavour, or something we’re taught? Or perhaps, it is a bodily instinct, a product of our cognition? These complex and fascinating queries have been my lifelong companions, fuelling my insatiable quest for answers. Through the evolution of my unique epistemic framework, “Model Dependent Ontology”, that is becoming a book, I aim to explore these intricate dynamics. MDO strives to serve as an epistemic framework for examining the structural relationships between varying beliefs, belief systems, and abstract concepts like “knowledge” and “truth”. In this digital realm, you’ll discover the latest progress on my book about MDO, as well as a diverse array of writings, interviews, and videos. You’ll also find insightful tools crafted specifically to guide your personal journey towards finding – or creating – your own sense of meaning. These resources are also designed to help you forge a deeper connection with yourself and the world around you. Welcome to my world – a sanctuary of curiosity and comprehension. I hope it enriches your quest.
About the Author
Manuel Delaflor
Epistemologist, Philosopher of Science
Manuel is, in essence, a critical thinker with deeply rooted interests in philosophy, science, language, and human nature. His relentless pursuit of understanding fuels his quest for insights that elevate both individual and collective well-being.
His intellectual journey began with six years of collaborative work with Jacobo Grinberg at the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM), where he was key to their most critical experiments, including the groundbreaking “Transferred Potential.” His engagement extended to the Philosophical Investigations Institute and the Cognitive Sciences Group within the same university, enhancing his understanding of innovative research methodologies and theoretical frameworks, and advancing his views about cognition and neuroscience.
The intellectual nature of the stock market then attracted Manuel’s mind, leading him to work for Liv Capital. He was hired for his innovative approach, working with highly advanced ideas such as inserting fractal patterns into financial algorithms. Manuel also explored the complex world of market sentiment, analyzing patterns through mechanical analysis of the emotional tone of investors and customers talking on social networks.
Manuel’s creative interests also found expression in the art scene, blending photography with digital techniques, and winning prestigious competitions in Mexico and the UK. In 2015, his work was named “the jewel of the crown” by the Mexican Ambassador in London, a highlight of a year-long celebration between Mexico and the UK. His art has been exhibited in Budapest, Paris, Strasbourg, London, Frankfurt, and Mexico City.
He is working in the exciting landscape of Artificial Intelligence with the Human-AI Empowerment Lab at Clemson University. Simultaneously, he leads the pioneering development of biofeedback and analysis for the Metacognition Institute, an Anglo-Mexican joint enterprise. Manuel is the director and lead researchers at the Institute.
Manuel’s experiences culminates in his current writing project, a book on “Model Dependent Ontology.” This epistemic framework summarizes his philosophical view and aims to sharpen our ability to comprehend the world and connect more intimately with the essence of existence.
While Manuel currently resides in England, his commitment and visionary pursuits transcend borders, as he continues to uphold his extensive work, research, and artistic contributions in Mexico and the USA.
Manuel Delaflor is the Director of the Metacognition Institute and author of the forthcoming book Model Dependent Ontology. He works on an eclectic collection of writings, interviews, videos and insightful tools designed to assist you in your personal journey to discover meaning and find connection. He can be reached at manuel@manueldelaflor.com
This article was previously published in the IAI TV on 21st July 2025.
