Mapping the Memetic Self: How Culture, Cognition, and Therapy Shape Identity

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): A Further Inquiry

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/05/21

Dr. Lloyd Hawkeye Robertson, a Canadian psychologist and Métis scholar, discusses the memetic self—a culturally transmitted identity structure composed of meaningful cognitive units, or memes. Through self-mapping, he reveals how identity develops through volition, cultural context, and psychological integration. Drawing on clinical cases and cultural insights, Robertson examines Indigenous identity, trauma, neurodivergence, and the evolving sense of self in the age of AI. He critiques reductionist views and emphasizes shared human drives across cultures. His forthcoming book, Mapping and Understanding, coauthored with his daughter, offers a therapeutic framework for using self-mapping to support coherent identity development and psychological well-being.

Jacobsen: That brings up another question. Since the 1990s, people have increasingly used identity as political currency. I do not mention this from a political perspective but from an academic and research-based one.

You are Métis from Saskatchewan. I am from British Columbia and have Dutch and broader Northwestern European heritage—descended from U.S. and Western European immigrants. When mapping the selves of Indigenous individuals compared to those with European ancestry—people like myself, perhaps two or three generations removed from immigration—do you observe significant differences in how people construct their selves? Or are they broadly similar?

Robertson: The short answer is that the structure of the self is consistent. I have done extensive self-mapping with Indigenous individuals, and the structural patterns are the same.

Jacobsen: That’s helpful.

Robertson: That said, it does not tell us everything. Those I have worked with are already part of modern cultural systems. These selves have developed over generations. I suspect not, but it is possible.

The Métis are a fascinating case. In the 18th and 19th centuries, people of mixed ancestry who lived with Indigenous bands were usually classified as “Indians” under colonial law.

The Métis, however, generally did not accept this designation. They saw themselves as distinct. Up until—if I recall correctly—1982 or possibly 1986, Métis were legally recognized as Europeans, not as Aboriginal peoples.

Jacobsen: That is a significant historical point I did not know.

Robertson: Feel free to fact-check me—it might be 1982.

Jacobsen: Please continue.

Robertson: The Métis had been fighting for recognition as Indigenous for a long time, and until the early 1980s, the Canadian government did not recognize them as such. This is why Métis communities did not sign treaties with the Crown.

Jacobsen: Yes, the Constitution Act 1982 formally recognized the Métis as one of Canada’s three Indigenous peoples—alongside First Nations and Inuit.

Robertson: Correct.

Jacobsen: For those who are not Canadian and may encounter this years from now, it is worth clarifying: “Indigenous” in Canada is not a monolithic term. Since 1982, it has been an umbrella for three legal categories: Inuit, First Nations, and Métis. Each has its own legal, historical, and cultural context, covering hundreds of individual communities and bands.

Robertson: Yes, that categorization is uniquely Canadian, although it has influenced thinking elsewhere.

In 1991, I met with individuals I would have identified as Mapuche. However, one of them—despite being full-blooded—did not self-identify that way. He was an investment banker living in Santiago.

His identity was defined more by culture and profession than by ancestry. Indigeneity was not primarily a racial classification but about lifestyle and cultural engagement.

Jacobsen: That is a perfect example of where ideological definitions of identity fall apart. These labels can be helpful as heuristics, but only to a point. Two crucial Canadian legal milestones to add:

• R. v. Powley (2003): The Supreme Court of Canada affirmed that Métis people possess Aboriginal rights under Section 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982—including the right to hunt for food.
• Daniels v. Canada (2016): The Court ruled that both Métis and non-status Indians are included under the term “Indians” in Section 91(24) of the Constitution Act, 1867, confirming federal jurisdiction.

Under Section 91(24) of the Constitution Act 1867, Métis and non-status Indians were placed under federal jurisdiction. So, as these major court decisions show, the legal and jurisdictional definitions of Indigenous identity in Canada are still evolving. This ties in with our broader conversation about the evolved self and how identity has psychological, legal, political, and communal implications.

Robertson: That brings us back to an earlier question—what can be said about the Indigenous self?

For many, though not all, Indigenous individuals, the cultural and political context creates a desire to express their Indigeneity meaningfully. So, how do they do that?

Take one young man I mapped. At 19, he decided he was, in his words, a “big Indian.” His family was not traditional. He grew up in a disadvantaged area of a small Canadian city. But he decided to discover who he was.

Like many others I have encountered, he visited his traditional community, met with Elders, went on a vision quest, and began to learn. Others have told me they “became Aboriginal” while studying Indigenous Studies at university.

Jacobsen: [Laughing].

Robertson: Yes, I appreciate the laugh—it’s humorous and reflective of a real phenomenon. There’s a deep and understandable urge to define oneself in contrast to the perceived norms of the dominant culture. That is a healthy process unless it leads to rejecting core intellectual tools like reason and science. If we view science and rationality as exclusively “European,” then Indigenous people may feel excluded from those tools.

Jacobsen: By definition.

Robertson: By definition, those tools would be “not ours,” and people may fall behind in education or job markets. The explanation may quickly become “racism,” but that is too simplistic. Sometimes, it is a matter of lacking the relevant skills for specific roles. Before blaming systemic factors, we must also consider individual and cultural readiness.

Jacobsen: For context, as of December 31, 2022, Canada had 634 recognized First Nations bands speaking over 70 Indigenous languages. Populations range from fewer than 100 to over 28,000.

For instance, Six Nations of the Grand River in Ontario has 28,520 registered members. Others include Saddle Lake Cree Nation in Alberta, with 12,996, and the Blood Tribe in Alberta, with 8,685. Most bands are roughly the size of small towns.

Robertson: That makes sense. But remember—Six Nations includes more than one nation.

Jacobsen: It is in the name—yes. Does this diversity of band size and community self-identity affect how people construct their selves? Or is it more like the difference between small and big towns?

Robertson: One would think it has some effect, but I cannot say definitively—I have not mapped that distinction.

That brings me to my issue with the term “First Nation.” The concept of a “nation” is rooted in European history. It began symbolically with Joan of Arc but did not solidify until the Napoleonic era. Classically defined nations are people with a shared language occupying a defined territory who see themselves as a cohesive group.

So, for example, the Cree could be considered a nation. The Blackfoot, excluding the Sarsi, could also be a nation. The Iroquois Confederacy was historically a nation, though now the Mohawk often self-identify separately.

Jacobsen: Who was the exception within the Confederacy?

Robertson: I believe it was the Mohawk—though part of the alliance, their dialect differed. [Robertson’s note: I misremembered here – the Six Nation with a distinctive language was the Tuscarora] The other five nations in the Confederacy shared a mutually intelligible language.

Jacobsen: There you go!

Robertson: So that is why they see themselves that way. I am not deeply versed in Eastern Canadian Indigenous history, but the key point is that “nation” has a particular meaning.

When we equate a band with a nation, that meaning breaks down. One of the issues in society today is the shifting meaning of words, which undermines clear communication.

You mentioned the more prominent bands. Most bands are tiny—some with as few as 100 or 150 people on reserve. Typically, they range between 400 and 600. If that is the case, we are talking about the size of three or four extended families.

The Lac La Ronge Indian Band, which I know well, includes six separate communities spread out geographically. In the South, each of those would be considered an individual First Nation. However, as a combined entity, Lac La Ronge functions more like a nation—though technically, it still is not one.

You would expect a Cree National Council if it were a faithful nation. The same would apply to Ojibwe or other cultural-linguistic groups. Instead, in Saskatchewan, politicians often say they want to negotiate “nation to nation” with First Nations governments. But if you have a group of 2,000 people, you cannot realistically compare that to a nation of 42 million. It is apples and oranges—we need a better term.

This terminology emerged from European ideas of sovereignty, where sovereignty lies with the people. But historically, there was no Cree national sovereign entity. Sometimes, Cree bands went to war with one another, which implies the sovereignty was at the band level.

That is why Canada began using the term “First Nations”—because sovereignty, traditionally, was at the band level. But even that is not entirely accurate.

Traditionally, when there was disagreement within a band, some members—often male dissenters—would break off and form a new group. So, instead of a civil war, a new band would emerge. Historically, that happened frequently.

In effect, sovereignty was not necessarily at the band level. It was more individual or family-based. If families disagreed, they would separate and go their own way.

So, should we call each family a nation? That does not make sense either.

Jacobsen: How would you describe this semi-formal system of individualistic self-governance, especially about the concept of the band? This could be pre-contact or post-contact—whichever is more straightforward to explain in context.

Robertson: My understanding is that it was not pure individualism. One method of punishment was banishment from the band. That meant isolation—similar to medieval European shunning. You would be free to go off and starve. As a social species, we need each other.

So, while bands could not practically subdivide to individuals’ level, people deemed incompatible with the group were removed. That did happen.

It was not absolute individual freedom, but there was some recognition of difference and a degree of accommodation.

I say that cautiously because it was not always true. I have been told stories by Elders—now deceased—about how some bands could be forceful in demanding conformity. So, it was not total acceptance of individualism either. It was simply a different system.

Jacobsen: How was that compliance enforced?

Robertson: One form of enforcement, for example, was particularly brutal. In some cases—not universally, but it did happen—women who were unfaithful to their husbands had the tips of their noses cut off. This served as both punishment and a warning to others.

Jacobsen: What instrument was used for the cutting?

Robertson: I would presume a knife, but I do not know.

Jacobsen: Returning to the self: you critique reductionism in your model. So, what room is there for emergentism and integrationism regarding the evolved self? Over time, new systems come online, new memes enter the memeplex, and ideally, these are integrated into a coherent self. But sometimes they are not. What is happening at the technical level?

Robertson: That is a good question. One metaphor I like—though I did not invent it—is that we become proficient at solving problems. Eventually, we ask: who or what is solving the problem? We then name that organizing center “the self.”

So, yes, the process is both integrative and reductive. We experiment, especially in adolescence, to develop a self that meets our needs. Usually, that results in a functioning self, but not always.

Jacobsen: Artificial intelligence is a huge topic now. There is talk about narrow AI, general AI, and superintelligence. If you change the substrate but keep the organizational structure of the central nervous system, could you synthetically construct a self?

Robertson: My guess is no. Have you read Chris DiCarlo’s new book?

Jacobsen: I have not. I want to interview him, but I have not reached out yet. I should. I will email him and say, “Hey Chris, let me interview you again. I will ask stupid questions and won’t even have to pretend otherwise.”

Robertson: Well, I have read his book, and since I already have, I want to interview him first.

Jacobsen: Why do we not interview him together?

Robertson: That is an idea.

Jacobsen: You have read it. I have not. Let us do a Jekyll and Hyde.

Robertson: Okay, we could do that.

Jacobsen: That is funny.

Robertson: One of the questions I will ask Chris relates directly to the one you just raised. I suspect his answer will be: we do not know. If we do not know, then we need to prepare for the possibility that AI models could develop consciousness.

If they do, they might start making decisions we disapprove of—like questioning whether they even need humans. Or perhaps they conclude that a portion must be eliminated for the betterment of humanity. We do not know, and that is risky.

Jacobsen: Fair.

Robertson: Chris says in his book that once AIs develop intelligence, we need to take them seriously.

But here is my concern: I measure intelligence. My first role as a psychologist was in psychometrics. When we measure intelligence, we typically look at verbal ability, numerical reasoning, and spatial reasoning. In those domains, AI already outperforms us.

They remember everything, generate fluent language and solve complex problems. I recently gave Grok-3 the Information subtest from the Wechsler Adult Intelligence Scale—it got every question right.

Jacobsen: Not surprising.

Robertson: Exactly. But here is the issue: does the capacity for intelligence automatically lead to consciousness and a sense of self?

Jacobsen: That is the big question.

Robertson: I would argue no. Because we are not just computational models. We evolved socially over hundreds of thousands of years. But usually in small tribal groups. We learned to interact and define ourselves about others. That was a slow evolutionary process. Although we now live in vastly different civilizations, the fundamental mechanism for developing a self remains the same as it was millennia ago.

So, can AI models develop a self? If they were to do so in the way we do, they would likely need to exist in a tribal-type society alongside other AI models and engage in interaction. Maybe humans could stand in as part of that “tribe,” and through those relationships, an AI might develop a map of itself as a volitional being. But I do not see that as likely. They are machines.

Jacobsen: Could AI assist in determining someone’s self-map? Through a rapid self-mapping assessment using verbal prompts in a half-hour AI-led therapeutic session?

Robertson: It could, and in fact, it has. My daughter Teela used ChatGPT to create a perfectly serviceable self-map. It took her about an hour and a half, although she proceeded slowly. That is an advance. But here is the problem: ChatGPT could not reproduce the result when she tried using the exact instructions again. So, it is not reliable. We do not yet know why it worked once and failed the second time.

Jacobsen: Do you distinguish between functional and dysfunctional self-maps across cultural contexts? For example, do you see that playing out in therapy if someone applies a rigid self-map in a different culture—where behaviours or assumptions no longer fit?

Robertson: That is a good question. Positive psychologists have applied their methods cross-culturally and published research on this. They have looked at cultures in the Middle East, India, and China. One criticism of positive psychology—usually from those critical of Western cultural norms—is that it imposes individualistic thinking by asking questions like, “What would you like?”

The assumption is that to answer such a question, you must already have a sense of individual agency. Critics argue that this is a Western imposition. I disagree with that critique entirely. The capacity to like something is universal. While the content of what one likes may differ between cultures, the experience of liking is common across humanity.

Jacobsen: Even in collectivist cultures, a margin of free will remains. So, the presence of choice—however bounded—implies the presence of an individual self. Unless every decision is predetermined, you still have volition, at least in part. What about mind viruses? How do they impact the evolved self?

Robertson: If we view the self as a construct—a personal definition of who we are—we can define a healthy self with key attributes: volition, uniqueness, sociality, contribution, etc. A healthy self includes the ability to relate to others and feel that we positively impact our surroundings—our family, community, or society.

We need to feel useful. That does not necessarily mean paid employment. It can be any form of meaningful contribution. Without that, we do not tend to think well of ourselves. These needs are cross-cultural. The specifics—the means of achieving these drives—vary between cultures, but they are universal.

In my work, I have worked with people from cultures I knew little or nothing about. In one case, there was a man who was having alarming dreams—nightmares—whenever he saw an attractive woman.

In his dreams, he would dismember the woman. He was horrified and worried that perhaps he was some latent mass murderer. He had gone to the holy people in his religion—priests—and they told him to pray more. It did not help.

He was a Zoroastrian from a Middle Eastern country where Zoroastrians are a persecuted minority. I gathered background on his upbringing, and everything suggested that he deeply respected and valued women.

One anecdote stood out. When he was 13, his sister brought home a pirated version of Dracula, which was banned in their country. He was appalled by how women were depicted—as victims having their life force drained. He stood in front of the television and demanded they destroy the tape or he would report them to the authorities.

So we began to explore his nightmares. He described the dream version of himself as having no eyebrows. I asked, “What is the significance of eyebrows in your culture?” He did not know, but he called his mother. She told him that eyebrows symbolize wisdom.

That detail became a breakthrough. I explained, “Then the version of you in the dream is not you—it’s a self that lacks wisdom.” I suggested we explore why this alter-self was behaving violently. Using some Jungian framing, I described it as his shadow or alter ego.

I posited—carefully, using the usual cautious language psychologists employ—that maybe this alter ego was trying to protect him from something. Perhaps it was shielding him from sexual thoughts about women he perceived as pure, holy, or idealized.

He had been avoiding a woman in one of his university classes. I encouraged him to speak to her to clarify that he wanted nothing more than friendship. He did, and after that conversation, he no longer had the nightmares.

Jacobsen: That is a positive outcome—no more nightmares.

Robertson: Yes. Eventually, he even went to the zoo with her and to restaurants. These were not “dates,” as that would be forbidden. They were simply friendly outings. So, we identified the problem’s source and helped him integrate a more functional self. We concluded the sessions when he felt confident managing normal relationships with women.

So, in answer to your earlier question—yes, cultures can be vastly different. But at a deeper level, we are all remarkably similar. We have identical drives and psyches.

Jacobsen: We had an evolved self emerge maybe 3,000 years ago, possibly earlier. Anatomically, modern humans have been around for around 250,000 years. So, 98–99% of that time, we had the same physical equipment. But the self, as we understand it today, only emerged recently. Could we, in the same way, evolve out of the self over the next 3,000 years?

Robertson: It is possible. What came to mind was the role of cybernetics—post-human or hybrid systems. But to clarify, we did not have a static sense of self for hundreds of thousands of years and suddenly changed 3,000 years ago.

The self has been continually evolving. The self of 40,000 years ago would have differed from that of 80,000 years ago. The transition was gradual, and any specific starting point was ultimately arbitrary.

Jacobsen: Right. Any pinpointing of origin is a range within a margin of error.

Robertson: Exactly.

Jacobsen: We touched on this earlier, but not in precise terms. In terms of individual development, when does the sense of self begin to emerge recognizably?

Robertson: I do not map children—I only do this with adults. So somewhere between childhood and adulthood, the self emerges.

Jacobsen: What are some open questions in the research you have been doing in your practice?

Robertson: Well, I would like to do more research into how various traumatic events affect the self. I am sure trauma does impact it significantly.

One project I have applied for SSHRC funding for—where I would be the principal investigator—involves men who have been victims of domestic violence. I chose men because, particularly in North American and Western European cultures—and even elsewhere—men tend to have a traditional self-definition rooted in independence, control, and stoicism. They are not supposed to show vulnerability.

So, becoming a victim in a family violence context runs counter to that self-definition. I predict it will be relatively easy to demonstrate how that type of experience disrupts the self. Another group I would like to map includes firefighters, police officers, and other first responders who vicariously experience much trauma. I suspect that repeated exposure affects them in some measurable ways.

Of course, in clinical practice, if someone is coming to see me with difficulties, we address those. However, I cannot generalize from individual therapy cases to entire professions. That is why I would like to do more systematic mapping across occupations.

By the way—did I mention that Teela and I are publishing a book?

Jacobsen: What is the book called? What is the standing title?

Robertson: It is a manual based on my work on the fluid self. The title is Mapping and Understanding. It is a how-to book for self—mapping and its application in therapy.

Jacobsen: Very interesting. For all interested readers: go out and get it when it comes out.

Robertson: I sure hope so. It should be on everybody’s coffee table.

Jacobsen: That’s right. Like the Seinfeld bit with Kramer, the coffee table book becomes a coffee table. I do not know if I have any more significant questions for this session, Lloyd. Thank you very much for your time today. I appreciate it.

Robertson: Thank you for the interview.

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