“Civilized man is in danger of losing all contact with the world of instinct — a danger that is still further increased by his living an urban existence in what seems to be a purely man-made environment. This loss of instinct is largely responsible for the pathological condition of contemporary culture.” Carl Jung
According to Norse mythology, all Nine Realms of the cosmos either hung from its branches, or else grew from its massive roots. As the source of cosmic structure, Yggdrasil commanded enormous respect. The Norse revered it as the giver and taker of life and order.
K.M. Weiland is one of my favorite writing coaches, and I never miss her posts. I learn something every time I check her blog. Her latest is on the craft of writing emotional fiction. She acknowledges it’s a difficult art, but there are good reasons for working to master it:
“The good news is that because fiction is an inherently emotional experience, it is well-suited to helping us access and process the very emotions we’re seeking to convey in our stories. … I recognize that my lifelong love of stories has certainly been influenced by their cathartic power to help me feel things in a safe container. For both readers and writers, stories offer the scientifically proven opportunity to expand the nervous system’s capacity to feel and process emotion—and, by extension, to experience life more expansively.”
That’s a worthy endeavor, one I’ve worked on for many years. But then came this:
“If you’re cut off from emotions, it’s because you’re cut off from your body. The act of vocally naming sensations helps promote a mind-body neural connection that makes it easier and easier to raise real-time emotional awareness.”
Absolutely. But why is this so?
The barrier to the emotional awareness that allows us to write honest, evocative fiction is the philosophical dualism that permeates the arts and sciences. Dualism asserts that mind and body are fundamentally different things unnaturally yoked together, with the rational mind trapped in an inferior, unintelligent body. That interpretation of human existence has been critiqued as “the ghost in the machine.” Charlene Spretnak, an ecowriter with compelling insights about the relationship between our bodies and the rest of nature, traces the development of dualism in her book The Resurgence of the Real:
“Rational thought could be exercised only if sealed off from ‘corrupting’ influences of the body (sensations, emotions, desires) and if properly isolated from ‘lowly’ nature. Plato felt that we, that is, our minds, are imprisoned in the dumb matter of our bodies.”
Plato believed the mind was a supernatural entity that made humans separate and above the rest of nature. Nature, according to dualism, is inherently inferior, worthy only of contempt and exploitation. Descartes cast this notion in concrete when he asserted that the mind defines humans. Sensations and emotions, rather than instant, crucial alerts from a knowing body, were regarded as confused, irrational reactions which should be ignored.
I examined the impact of dualism in my latest story, “Due Diligence.” Yes, it’s fantasy, but it gave me the freedom to explore what the unnatural separation of mind and body does to one’s ability to cope and find meaning.
The latest developments in neuroscience show us that thinking is grounded in the body. We now know much more about how neural networks in the brain store and retrieve memories. And if dualism were correct about the mind being fundamentally separate from the body, why are there so many studies confirming that physical exercisestrengthens our ability to remember and solve problems?
The art of writing is more than a craft or a hobby, it’s a path toward making oneself and the world around us a little better. I love the way Weiland put it:
“Learning how to write emotional fiction is, at its core, a journey into the heart of our shared humanity. It is not just an artistic endeavor; it’s an exploration of the human experience.”
“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of the birds, the ebb and flow of the tides, the folded bud ready for the spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature—the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter.”
The change of seasons means something different at different ages. There comes the point where we recognize the things that endure despite many changes. The pagan Celts, my ancestors, celebrated the autumnal equinox, when the length of night and day are roughly equal, as Mabon. Not only was it a time for hunting and harvesting, but of appreciating the return of balance. Even today, it’s a time for reflecting on what’s gone by and what we hope for.
It’s been a fine year. The grandkids are growing, and I’ve had a little luck writing and publishing. One of my stories will be published before year’s end by a publisher I’ve long admired and aspired to, and I have four submissions looking for love in the slush piles at various venues.
And I’m working on new stories. The coming of fall is a good time to reassess and rededicate. I love getting out into the wild, taking a few chances, letting myself get a little lost. I need more of that. And when I’m not stomping around in the maritime forests or desert. I also love exploring the wild places in my head and heart. There’s no more productive and exciting means of doing that than the craft and discipline of writing. Here’s to a productive and energizing fall.
“The mercy of the world is you don’t know what’s going to happen.” Wendell Berry
“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.” H. P. Lovecraft
“Sadness is caused by intelligence, the more you understand certain things, the more you wish you didn’t understand them.” Charles Bukowski
“A 25-year science wager has come to an end. In 1998, neuroscientist Christof Koch bet philosopher David Chalmers that the mechanism by which the brain’s neurons produce consciousness would be discovered by 2023. Both scientists agreed publicly on 23 June, at the annual meeting of the Association for the Scientific Study of Consciousness (ASSC) in New York City, that it is an ongoing quest — and declared Chalmers the winner.”
Koch made the bet on his confidence that science would pinpoint the exact location in the brain that produced consciousness because of the advances in magnetic resonance imaging (MRI), which reveals changes in blood flow associated with brain activity. The wager, a case of wine, added incentive in addition to both bragging rights and the lure of discovery.
So the game was on!
As the Nature article concludes, the researchers confirmed “areas in the posterior cortex do contain information in a sustained manner,” and that “some aspects of consciousness, but not all of them, could be identified in the prefrontal cortex.” Koch admits his theories were not totally proven, and, being a scientist of his word, paid up.
Who says science isn’t entertaining?
What’s distressing, however, is how proponents of dualism are using this story as some kind of vindication. The notion that humans are unique assemblages of mind and matter and therefore outside of and superior to nature goes back to Plato, the Vedic writers, and that notorious rascal Rene Descartes. One commenter claimed Koch’s failure to prove his hypothesis as vindication that we are truly “ghosts in the machine.”
Interesting they used that term, which was coined by philosopher Gilbert Ryle in his argument against dualism. He deemed the position as a gigantic category mistake. I love his illustration: A visitor to a university may see classrooms, libraries, and other parts of the campus, but at the end of the tour, asks, “But where is the university?” not realizing the term refers to all of its components working as a unit. Similarly, the various sections of the brain handle their own functions, and we use the term “consciousness” to refer to all those functions working in harmony.
Why is this important? If our supposedly supernatural minds make us superior, all of nature is dumb matter good for nothing but exploitation. This not only imperils nature but alienates us from the world in which we live. The next step is contempt for our own bodies. A philosophy that leads to ecological ruin and rootlessness is an evil that must be exposed for what it is. And just as Koch and Chalmers could entertain and enlighten us with their little joust for science, we can enjoy stories that both inspire and force us to consider where we’re going and where we could end up.
“What is all the philosophy in the world to the joy of the beautiful swallow? Civilisations have risen and crumbled, faded into nothingness, like footprints in the desert obliterated by sand. The sweet little whispering call of my long-tailed titmice fashioning their bottle nest, so happy in the sunshine, is a wiser and more profound utterance than all the philosophy collected from the books of the world.” Henry Williamson, The Lone Swallows
In my story, biotech pioneer Franklin Pratt builds a living house that senses and responds to the needs of its owner. Franklin’s invention has the potential to reduce homelessness, pollution, and social isolation, but a stroke robs him of the ability to communicate. And worse — he fears and distrusts the only person who can help him.
Little Blue Marble publishes speculative fiction and articles aimed at raising awareness about the environment. I can’t tell you how proud I am to have my work included with so many fine authors.
My reverence for nature inspires both my fiction and blog posts about the wild places I’ve explored, from maritime forests to deserts. One of the themes I keep returning to in my writing is the mismatch between human needs and the unnatural straitjacket of modern life. Culture and nature should complement each other. Media analyst Arthur Asa Berger has observed that “culture” comes from the Latin “colere,” which means to tend to the earth and cultivate. Humans, like all other living things, need a nurturing environment. I believe the disconnect between human nature and creeping global homogeniety is at the root of modern neuroticism.
But don’t let the serious subject matter fool you — this book features well-crafted, entertaining stories. Little Blue Marble’s 2022 Anthologynot only promotes a vital cause but will make a great Christmas present.
I am delighted to announce my story “A Tree Amid the Wood” is featured in the latest edition ofLittle Blue Marble, which publishes fiction, non-fiction, and poetry focusing on ecology.
Franklin Pratt lives in a special house of his own design. It is a living thing that senses and responds to its owner’s needs by growing rooms as needed and reflecting the owner’s emotional state with bioluminescent blossoms. Once it’s mass-produced, Franklin’s invention can provide housing for millions and help heal the environment.
But since his stroke, Franklin is unable to share his creation with the world. He feels he’s a prisoner in his own home and distrusts Carrie Masada, the woman who supervises his team of caretakers. Franklin fears she only wants to steal the secret of his house.
And he’s right. Carrie wants Franklin’s secret. But why?
My love and concern for nature has inspired a number of my postsand published stories, so while honored by this acceptance, I am especially pleased my story promotes a cause I believe in deeply. The title comes from one of Ezra Pound’s early poems, “The Tree“:
I stood still and was a tree amid the wood, Knowing the truth of things unseen before; Of Daphne and the laurel bough And that god-feasting couple old That grew elm-oak amid the wold. ‘Twas not until the gods had been Kindly entreated, and been brought within Unto the hearth of their heart’s home That they might do this wonder thing; Nathless I have been a tree amid the wood And many a new thing understood That was rank folly to my head before.
As in Pound’s lovely poem, my story explores how love of the natural world is the essential foundation for understanding, connecting, and caring — in other words, for becoming fully human.
“The most central and irrational faith among people is the faith in technology and economical growth. Its priests believe until their death that material prosperity bring enjoyment and happiness – even though all the proofs in history have shown that material prosperity doesn’t bring anything else than despair. These priests believe in technology still when they choke in their gas masks.”
Pentti Linkola, Can Life Prevail?
I view technology the way George Washington viewed government — like fire, a dangerous servant and fearful master. Used with wisdom, it can produce good things. Misused, it — or should I say we — can botch up a perfectly good planet. Hunting Ground, one of my published stories I’m most proud of, took a humorous but serious look at what happens when we imagine we can endlessly exploit nature without consequences.
