The Unconscious Author

This train of thought started with a conversation on the Broad Universe Face Book page, and inspired an entry in my Live Journal. The thread went something like this: We writers draw on experiences of reality and cook them down into a soup from which we then reconstitute characters and situations.  The result can sometimes be unsettling.
Sometimes we really can’t be sure where the dividing line is between the real and the imaginary.  Most of us have had that conversation with the friend or family member who is convinced that a character is based on them, and how could we present them in such a negative light?

The worst part is when you are asked to explain “where you got that” or “did you mean to say that.”  Sometimes we just can’t answer.  There are a lot of conscious decisions in the writing process, but a huge part of it is iceberg effect.   We aren’t conscious of what’s happening or where it’s coming from.  It perks up from our subconscious.  Especially in first draft writing I almost feel like a secretary furiously taking down dictation as fast as I can as it is being hurled at me by the voice behind the door.   I have almost as little control over it as I would a dream.  Then, in the process of revision, I discover what it is I am trying to say, and figure out the best way to say it.

So what about those things that I didn’t notice until someone else points them out?  Are they my subconscious trying to tell me something? Or are they merely someone else reading into my text something that is not really there?

This could segue into a diatribe on deconstruction, but I want to go in a different direction. Back up to the first paragraph. It’s what human beings do all the time. Not just writers. All of us. We take the sum total of our experiences and create the narrative of our lives.

We may not articulate that narrative in book form, but we tell the story to ourselves. We observe the actions of others, interpret their motives, imagine their feelings, all based on what we have experienced ourselves. We try our best to make these narratives believable, not only to ourselves, but to others. When others challenge our narrative, we defend it, just like an author defending her plot line. Or, we begin to question it, re-examine it, as an author would in response to an effective critique.

The reason we authors get such vivid impressions of our characters as real people is because we are paralleling a process we do in everyday life with people who really do exist. We try to anticipate their actions and deduce their thoughts, their behavior in certain situations, based on the character we have created of them in our heads. Often, they surprise us.

Most of this takes place on the subconscious level. Even our main protagonist, ourselves, is a character we have created in our imagination based on our experience of ourselves. And we do sometimes surprise ourselves with what we say and do, because so much of the plot is being composed not by our conscious minds, but by our subconscious. We ride along, perched on the tip of the iceberg, reacting to what comes up from the murky depths.

Although we cannot remember every detail of our past, it has all had an effect on us. Our impulses, our intuitions, our motives, are not always clear to us. It’s as if we are being directed by some unseen force. The unconscious author of our personal narrative is at work. When we reflect on that narrative, it is rather like the process of revision, trying to discover who it is we are trying to be, and figuring out the best way to be it.

To the Mountains

Bugle Cliff — Mary Jolles photo

It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, and finally I feel I’ve got the equipment and enough experience to do it.

I’m addicted to the mountains. Every summit is a rush. I curse and groan and puff and pant up that steep grade, but when I come out onto a ledge and see the world spread out before me, there is no greater high. Hiking along a ridge, discovering an upland bog full of tiny flowers, falling face first into a rushing stream after hours of sweat and heat. Standing alone in a deep woods, listening. Feeling. It’s home.

Driving up 93 towards the White Mountains I feel the excitement start to build with that first glimpse of rugged peaks. Driving home I watch them retreat in my rear view mirror and it’s like leaving behind dear friends. I can’t wait to get back.

When I was younger, I should have gotten involved somehow, maintaining trails or working at an AMC hut, found some way to get paid for hanging out on a mountain. But Life was always tugging me in other directions. Now I’m too old. I couldn’t run up and down those trails with a 50 pound load the way those kids do. But I can walk with a 25 pound pack, carrying all the gear I’d need to spend a few days in the woods.

I’ve done several overnighters with some friends of mine, experienced hikers, folks who really know what they are doing. I know about shelters and bear boxes and camp sites. I can read a map and research a hike, check the weather and know how much water to bring. I can figure how long it would take me to hike so many miles at so much altitude gain. I can do this.

To the mountains. That’s where enlightenment happens, right? You find an ancient hermit sitting in a cave at the summit. Ask him the meaning of life, and he says something like, “Life is like a beanstalk — isn’t it?”

Maybe not, but it’s where I need to be.

So I’m packing my gear, my tent and pad, first aid kit, headlamp and all the rest, and I’m going to head up towards Twin Mountain. I’ll park off Gale Loop River Road and take the Garfield Trail up. Summit Garfield, then tent out at Garfield Ridge campsite. Next day I make for the Galehead hut and tackle North and South Twin. Drag myself back and crash at Galehead hut. Next morning, stroll up Galehead and then roll down the Gale River Trail towards home.

Four mountains in three days. All by myself.

Glorious.

Mt. Washington

Pledge Or Else

If you are a member of the Facebook world, you have probably seen this, or something like it, circulating among your “friends” (I put that in quotes, since most Facebook users include in their “friend” base people they have never met and barely know, straining the traditional understanding of the word).  Posts like this are all too common.  Usually they involve a kind of minor psychological blackmail: If you don’t repost this, it means you’re an insensitive, uncaring, totally bad person.  It’s rather like the good luck one is supposed to reap by passing on a chain letter, and the dire threats of what will happen if you don’t.  The digital age has made it so much easier to circulate these bacteria (like a virus, but not as evil).

This one in particular insinuates that anyone who doesn’t help in this effort isn’t an AMERICAN.  Evidently real AMERICANS like to shout.  And they all believe in GOD.  The propagators of this little piece of in-your-face theistic nationalism fail to understand that Facebook is international.   By attempting to flood Facebook with it they are screaming at Canadians, Europeans, Australians, and just about anybody else who is plugged into the network and can read English.  I imagine that would be pretty annoying.  But I expect folks from other countries may be used to that from AMERICANS.

Several of my FB connections reposted this before it finally died a well-deserved death (although it’s probably still out there somewhere; nothing ever really goes away on the Internet, as much as you might wish it would).  They are nice people.  But they didn’t think it through.  After several “Right on!” comments, the other side began weighing in.  Commenters began gently pointing out that this is really kind of offensive and intolerant.  One of the reposters went to great lengths to defend herself and affirm how tolerant she is; she was just reposting it as a favor to a friend who feels strongly about it.  Well, meant, I’m sure.  But again, not well-thought-out.

This, by the way, is probably what started the brouhaha, a decision made by NBC to voluntarily return to an earlier version of the Pledge that does not mention God.  For those who may not be aware of it, The Pledge has gone through several incarnations since it was adopted.  Here’s a brief and interesting summary of its history.  The “under God” business is pretty recent, added during the paranoid era of the 1950s as a response to “godless” Communism.  Rabid patriots act as if the current Pledge were penned by George Washington himself, forgetting that the Founding Fathers went to great pains to make this a secular government that would distance itself from any religion in order to assure tolerance for all, or none.  Hence the No Religious Test clause found in the Constitution, Article VI, paragraph 3: No religious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office or public trust under the United States.   By the way, kindly mention this next time you run across somebody who, in one breath praises the Constitution, and in the next advocates barring atheists from holding office.

So, going back to the little exercise in the overuse of capitals and exclamation points that started this off, besides forgetting that there are others besides AMERICANS that use Facebook, and disregarding the fact that many who are, in fact, loyal American citizens also happen to be atheist, how does reciting the Pledge without the words “under God” show disrespect for the country, the flag or the military?  There simply is no logic to this.  None whatsoever.  So, what is the point of all this capitalized outrage that must be reposted ad infinitum ad nauseum?

Beyond this teapot tempest of frantic religious flag-waving, I’d like to take issue with the Pledge itself.  I do not recite it, and do not encourage others (including my sons) to recite it.  I advocate standing respectfully but silently should others do so.  My allegiance lies with a body of principles, not a body of government.  Governments, institutions, and individuals within governments and institutions can become corrupt, and when they do, they not deserve either respect or support.

I respect those in the military who have served honorably.  I do not respect those in the military who have used their service as an excuse to bully and brutalize.  I support my government when I think it is acting properly.  I do not support it when it acts in a manner which I judge to be immoral.  I respect theists whose belief in God leads them to act with kindness and compassion.  I do not respect theists who think their religion gives them license to act with hatred and intolerance.

Thus, I am not going to take a pledge that my moral compass might prevent me from keeping, whether it is under an arguably fictional deity or not.   An allegiance I can confidently pledge is one to the principles of compassion, tolerance, understanding and forgiveness, to defend the rights of others no matter their national origin or belief system, and to resist the forces of violence and warfare whenever possible.  Write that one up, and I’ll happily sign on.

I might post it on Facebook but whether you want to share it or not is your affair.  You’re just as good a person if you choose not to.

Being Gentle with Ourselves

[Michelle Murrain describes herself as a polymath: writer, teacher, web developer, theologian, scientist. She is interested in just about everything. One of the things she does a lot of is "observe and reflect", and dig deeper into things that are happening in the world. In that way, she is a philosopher like myself, a lover of wisdom. In this guest post from her, she shares a little bit of that wisdom.]

I am, by far, my worst critic, and I think that is true for most of us. We often find the way we are, or the ways we behave, or the things we do, problematic in one way or another. We weigh too much, we eat too much sugar, we are too quick to anger, or we are too critical with our loved ones, on and on. We have long lists of things that we don’t like about ourselves.

And it is easy to walk through life with the weight of those critiques on our shoulders. Often, we assume those critiques should spur us to change. But sadly, the shame and guilt attached to those critiques keeps us locked in place.

The answer to this might surprise you. It might surprise you that the most important thing you can do is to look at those faults with compassion and gentleness, and work to come to accept that they are as they are, and come to accept all of who we are as we are. The irony is that it is only when we fully, completely accept the things we don’t like about ourselves, that we can change those things. Hating those things, and pushing the reality of those things as far away as possible is what keeps us where we are. It keeps us in the cycle of shame that immobilizes us.

Think of how you would hold an infant, or a baby chick, or a tiny kitten just born a few days ago. Think of that gentleness, that love that comes from somewhere inside of yourself in the presence of a new being like that. And then think of yourself, with all of your faults, and the things you don’t like, or even hate, with that kind of gentleness and love.

How you are and what you are is what is. It is all that is, but that doesn’t mean that is all that ever will be. It is just what is now. Accept it with gentleness. Let the shame go. And if you can’t let the shame go (it’s hard, I know,) accept the shame. And if you can’t accept the shame, accept that you can’t accept it.

Slowly but surely, you will come to see that you can accept yourself, as you are. And then you won’t be frozen in place anymore. Then you can move, and change, and grow.

Michelle Murrain

Things I haven’t quite worked out yet

Hiking: step by step, mountain to mountain, breathing, sometimes hard but always breathing

Being a philosopher doesn’t mean having all the answers – quite the opposite. It means being full of questions. Understanding is the process of getting those questions answered. Inevitably, there are questions that go wanting. Often the most important questions are the most difficult to answer – if they have answers at all.

For instance, what are the limits of tolerance? There is a point at which the right of one group to practice their beliefs begins to encroach on the rights of those around them. Should one group be able to silence other groups because it finds their speech offensive? At what point does respect for parental authority collide with the responsibility of a society to protect its children? Is spanking abuse? Is it harmful to a child to refuse to educate her in any way that conflicts with her family’s religious belief? At what point ought society to intervene?

If the government of a sovereign nation has decided to put Sharia Law into effect, with what we believe are draconian punishments for minor offenses and radically oppressive treatment of women, have we a moral obligation to oppose that government? And if so, how far does that moral obligation go? Rhetoric? Embargoes? Subversion? A declaration of war? And on the subject of war, when can we justify its suffering and destruction? Why, if I kill a man on the street it is murder, but if I do it in uniform in another country it is patriotism? There are those who refuse to kill even in self-defense. Are they heroes or fools?

We don’t often get called upon in our daily lives to make these kinds of decisions. We can debate the hypotheticals, and berate our leaders and lawmakers when they answer these questions in what we think is the wrong way. These are the sorts of issues you argue about over dinner with your friends (or, folly of follies, on Facebook). Other questions cut deeper, close and personal, and their debate takes place in anguished solitude.

We all suffer traumas. People we love die or abandon us. People we trust betray us. We are wounded, crushed, battered. Sometimes it is our own fault; sometimes it is no one’s fault. We are told we must deal with it and move on. What does this mean?

I have wrestled with it lying awake in the small hours. I have taken long walks and chewed on it. I’ve thought it through the best that I can, and it doesn’t haunt me anymore. I go through my days cheerful, never giving it another thought. Am I done now? If it is conjured up again, if I am forced to look into that box of snakes once more and I find myself twisted with emotion, does that mean that I’m not done yet and there’s something else I’m supposed to do? If so, what?

Vague terms like “finding closure” and “working through it” are not terribly helpful. There isn’t always a definable ending, like the firm click of a door closing, to let you know that it is finished. Somewhere along the continuum from “It torments me constantly” to “It doesn’t affect me at all” there is a point where one can live with a past trauma and it is no longer crippling. For many of us, I expect that’s the best we can hope for. Opening the box will never cease to make us shudder.

We are brought up with heroic stories of brave souls who persevered beyond all logic to achieve their dream, to reach a goal, to fight an enemy, to resist defeat. Because they refused to admit failure, they ultimately triumphed. Never give up, we are told. Never stop believing in yourself.

Life is seldom so accommodating. Sometimes we simply have to cut our losses and change course or Reality takes us out like the Sioux took out Custer at Little Big Horn. Don Quixote was a magnificent character, but not one we’d necessarily want to emulate. So, how does one know when it is time to quit? How does one tell the difference between wisdom and wimping out, between the courage of conviction, and mere delusion? If those around you say you need to be fixed, but you don’t feel broken, how do you decide who’s right?

As I said in the title, these are all things I haven’t quite figured out yet. It could be this way, but then, it’s possible to see how it could be that. The open mind is tugged constantly between enlightenment and doubt. Most of the time I have to default to the simple, three word answer: I don’t know. If forced to pick a direction, I can take a guess, close my eyes and jump, hoping for the best. An awful lot of life is like that; we just don’t know. We take our best shot and muddle through; maybe we did the right thing and maybe not.

Step by step, day by day, and wherever you are, there you are. This much I have worked out. I can’t change yesterday, I can’t be certain of tomorrow, all I have to work with is right now. As long as I’m breathing, there’s the hope some good will come of it. And maybe, a bit more understanding.

Monkey, the Fey Cat

“Strutting along the edge of Oppie’s stall was Monkey, the feral tom cat that ‘lived’ in the big stable with the riding ring… It looked like a mix of tortoise shell and Siamese with its funky coloring. The cat gave a half-hearted hiss in the Shire stallion’s direction, but returned its gaze to me. With a flick of his tail and an irritated angling of his ears, the feline began cleaning himself.
Yes, yes, I’m a cat that can communicate with humans. Your family’s being plagued by a kelpie and you just ran from the castle as if all the beasts of Hell were on your tail… are you really all that shocked about a talking cat?“

Justine Graykin has been another great friend for many years who has an excellent, moving, poignant, and informative blog that I happily subscribe to. She also lost two of her dear kitties last year in particularly difficult circumstances, so I wanted to send Monkey, the faerie cat who befriends Heather in The Kelpie, to her. Monkey would definitely love throwing philosophy around with Justine; it’s totally a cat thing. But he also has a very caring and loyal side, despite being a cat, that I think Justine would also appreciate.

Thank you very much for being part of my Cover Reveal Scavenger Hunt, Justine!

[No problem, Trisha! And, for the information of my regular readers, TJ Wooldridge is one of many writers I know who have turned to small Indie publishers to bring their work to print. Spencer Hill Press is one of these, publishing quality work that the “Big Six” have overlooked, taking chances on new authors with fresh ideas and innovative perspectives.  Blog hops and “scavenger hunts” like this are among the clever and fun ways they are using social media to spread the word about their books.  <rant> Small presses lack the deep pockets for the splashy advertising campaigns of major publishers, whose financial resources come largely from playing it safe with known big names and trusted formulas, from squeezing libraries and distributors, and offering progressively more penurious contracts to writers.  I strongly urge all the visitors to my website to support small independent presses and the work they promote.  Buy the books, read them, review them, Tweet them and talk them up.  It’s another small blow against the Empire.</rant>

We Are the Tribe

The more I look around at the research being done, the more the evolutionary roots of our social and moral behavior become clear. I saw a fascinating TED talk in which experiments done with chimps, elephants and monkeys clearly demonstrate empathy, cooperation, reciprocity and a strong sense of fairness. These are not the god-given characteristics of human souls, nor the result of values imposed on us by our upbringing. They are instincts hardwired into the very structure of minds as social animals. Far from being selfish, violent, competitive savages at heart, in need of the rigorous discipline of social institutions and religion to civilize us, it would seem that we have an innate impulse to cooperate, to console one another in times of sorrow, and to rebel when we are treated unfairly or see others unjustly treated.

Score one for compassion and the moral compass. I am also reading Jared Diamond’s “The World Until Yesterday”, and it becomes very clear as I see his comparisons of social organizations ranging from the small band to the large state, just where we get some of our more negative traits. While it is to an individual’s advantage to practice cooperation and compassion within one’s group, it is also advantageous to advance the needs of one’s own group over other groups, especially when resources are scarce. Thus, one needs a strong sense who is “in” and who is “out”. When you have a band of some hundreds of individuals, it’s possible to know everybody and easily tell who is familiar and who is a dangerous stranger (and in Diamond’s research, for most such cultures every stranger is considered dangerous). As social groups get larger, and greater organization is necessary, mechanisms are needed to enforce obedience to the chief and loyalty to the group. Religious belief is a particularly successful mechanism to accomplish both.

When you consider the frenzy that religious conviction is able to evoke in people, how fervently they defend their god and their leaders, it is easy to see how this trait would be selected for in tribes and nations. Commanding legions who are fanatically devoted and convinced against all reason that they are right and all others are wrong bestows a formidable amount of power. Other tribes who lack that blind, fervent dedication to group and leader would be swept aside. As the social group grows and increases in territory, population and wealth, the need to maintain control means that all other gods must be crushed in favor of the dominant one. Sound familiar?

It is not too difficult to transfer this deep-seated impulse to blind loyalty to the state itself, to substitute nationalism for religious devotion. When this happens, the State can afford to tolerate a diversity of faiths, so long as all subjects obey the leaders. This is what happened in Rome, for example. And no, the Romans did not systematically persecute other religions. As a general rule, a wide diversity of beliefs and even atheism was tolerated. What Rome would not put up with was anything that subverted the power of Rome. If Christians were persecuted, it was for their politics, not for their faith. And the Romans were just as brutal in dealing with insurrection as Christians were in dealing with heresy. Same principle.

We are the product of hundreds of thousands of years of selection for behaviors that promoted our survival, not just as individuals, but as groups. Both sides of the coin, compassion and fairness, as well as xenophobia and warfare, are built into us. But another brilliant evolutionary advantage is also built into us: the ability to reason, to understand, and to influence our own behavior. We are remarkably plastic. As we continue to study ourselves and come to understand who we are and how we came to be that way, the better we will be able to transcend our weaknesses and utilize our strengths.

It remains to be seen whether a new strategy of universal tolerance and dedication to undifferentiated human thriving can succeed, or if the baggage of our past will defeat us.