A spider’s web is like the mind

In his essay “The Judgment of the Birds,” Loren Eiseley describes an orb-weaver spider’s web like this:

There were a couple of iridescent green beetle cases turning slowly on a loose strand of web, a fragment of luminescent eye from a moth’s wing and a large indeterminable object, perhaps a cicada, that had struggled and been wrapped in silk. There were also little bits and slivers, little red and blue flashes from the scales of anonymous wings that had crashed there.
Some days, I thought, they will be dull and gray and the shine will be out of them; then the dew will polish them again and drops hang on the silk until everything is gleaming and turning in the light. It is like a mind, really, where everything changes but remains, and in the end you have these eaten-out bits of experience like beetle wings.

Courtesy Pixabay.

The essay appears in The Star Thrower (find in library). On the back of my copy, there’s a blurb from Ray Bradbury in which he predicts that the book “will be read and cherished in the year 2001” and go to the moon and Mars someday. It hasn’t left Earth, as far as I know, but it is still loved and cherished in 2017.

Book review: Teach Yourself to Meditate

Teach Yourself to Meditate in 10 Simple Lessons: Discover Relaxation and Clarity of Mind in Just Minutes a Day, by Eric Harrison

This is far and away the most approachable book on meditation that I’ve ever read, as demonstrated by the fact that I’m actually meditating as a result of reading it. Relaxation and focus are things that your mind and body naturally do, Eric Harrison tells us, and here’s how you can clear the space for these things to happen.Continue reading →

A season in the dark

One of the most fascinating manifestations of human creativity is the way we embellish our experience of events in the natural world. Who could have predicted the Yule log, the Nativity scene, and all the other complex structures of custom, cuisine, meaning, and imagination that we built in response to the winter solstice and the ways our bodies adapted to it?Continue reading →

Four kinds of introversion?

One of the most interesting things about personality to me is the range of expression of different traits. My introverted behavior and preferences are similar to but not identical to those of introverted friends, for example, and the reasons have to do with other personality characteristics as well as different personal histories. So I was interested in this article from Science of Us about an attempt to identify various kinds of introversion.Continue reading →

Troublesome terms in psychology

A group of authors has put together an article that gives an excellent primer on problematic terminology used in psychology and psychiatry. Although it’s aimed at students and teachers in the psychological sciences, I think it’s also very useful for anyone who reads (or writes) about the brain and mind, because it addresses common misconceptions that are perpetuated by frequently used words or phrases and points out areas where terminology hasn’t kept up with what we’ve learned. The discussion of terms having to do with statistics can be somewhat technical, but many of the terms are the kind of thing you see all the time in the news (e.g., “a gene for X,” “hard-wired,” “antidepressant medication”), and for each term there’s an explanation of what the problem is (whether it’s inaccurate, often misused, ambiguous, or an outright oxymoron). The article can be read online or downloaded for free. Highly recommended.

Book spine poem: Man and Time

What finer way to spend a Saturday morning in summer than browsing the bookshelves for good lines for a poem? Here’s the result:

Man and Time

The immense journey (the fool’s progress).
A sense of the future: the eternal frontier,
Untrodden peaks and unfrequented valleys
Beyond the blue horizon.
Always coming home.

book spine poem 3

With gratitude to the authors: J.B. Priestley, Loren Eiseley, Edward Abbey, J. Bronowski, Tim Flannery, Amelia Edwards, E.C. Krupp, Ursula Le Guin

Fiction and real life

I ran across this in Umberto Eco’s Confessions of a Young Novelist (The Richard Ellmann Lectures in Modern Literature):

The compelling nature of the great tragedies stems from the fact that their heroes, instead of escaping an atrocious fate, plunge into the abyss—which they have dug with their own hands—because they have no idea what awaits them; and we, who clearly see where they are headed so blindly, cannot stop them. We have cognitive access to the world of Oedipus, and we know everything about him and Jocasta—but they, even though they live in a world that depends parasitically on our own, do not know anything about us.  Fictional characters cannot communicate with people in the real world.

Such a problem is not as whimsical as it seems. Please try to take it seriously. Oedipus cannot conceive of the world of Sophocles—otherwise, he would not wind up marrying his mother. Fictional characters live in an incomplete—or, to be ruder and politically incorrect—handicapped world.

But when we truly understand their fate, we begin to suspect that we too, as citizens of the here-and-now, frequently encounter our destiny simply because we think of our world in the same way that fictional characters think of theirs. Fiction suggests that perhaps our view of the actual world is as imperfect as the view that fictional characters have of their world. This is why successful fictional characters become supreme examples of the “real” human condition.

This struck me for several reasons. The thing I’m still chewing over is the realization that I often act as if I assume that the world, like a book, has a reader, someone who is outside the story and sees the thing whole, someone who sees the pits that I am digging for myself and knows when I’m about to fall into one of them. Sometimes I want to see my own story whole; sometimes I want to ask an omniscient viewer, “What will happen if I do this?” I realize consciously that these things are impossible, but sometimes, especially when I’m making a difficult decision, I have a subtle but persistent sense that if I could just climb above my day-to-day circumstances for a moment, there’s a definite answer, a complete world, that I, like this mythical reader of the world, could see.

Maybe I believe in this reader because I’m a lifelong avid fiction reader, and I extrapolate too freely from fiction to life. Or maybe it’s because I was taught as a child that there is an omniscient god who knows and sees all (even though I left that deity behind long ago). Maybe it’s a common human bias because, when we’re children, we depend on these beings who know so much more than we do that they may as well be omniscient. As we grow up, we continue to consult experts, and indeed parents and experts do have a lot of useful things to tell us about what will hurt and what will help.

Of course, the tragedy of Oedipus, and many other fictional characters and real people, is that although someone in their own world might have been able to answer the question that could have saved their lives, kingdoms, marriages, jobs, reputations, and so on, it never even occurred to them to ask it. Eco’s point is that we, like fictional characters, often think that what we know of the world is what there is to know of the world. Even so, most meaningful questions are too complicated for simple answers, and if we think to ask for information, the best question we can come up with is often a broad, less answerable one, like “Should I go to Thebes?”

I think I’m fairly comfortable with the answer “It depends,” but lurking in my heart is a foolish belief that on the big, consequential questions, there are much more definite answers available, and there is some entity that can see them and perhaps share them. Maybe I should put these thoughts in the mind of a fictional character and see how his or her author (that would be me) responds. Or have I just disappeared down a rabbit hole?