Cognitive Congestion
Explorations in the studies of cognitive science and the literary history of mind
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Tentative Thesis
Le Brun takes a very deterministic approach to the mapping of human emotions and how they manifest themselves physically. While there is much to his work that remains relevant today, modern psychological trends seem to refute the universality of Le Brun's methods, generally taking a more flexible view of this phenomenon. As such, there is room to propose a compromise between the antiquated and the modern, given that emotion does, inherently, manifest in physical form, however, these manifestations vary dramatically from culture to culture, era to era, and, most importantly, from person to person. In Austen's Persuasion and Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, particularly, there are clear demonstrations of both correct and incorrect inferences of the physical representations of various emotions. From these instances, the compromise between old and new thoughts becomes more clear.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
The Cost of Attention
In N. Katherine Hayles article Hyper and Deep Attention:
The Generational Divide in Cognitive Modes,
the supposition is leveled that humanity is shifting from one form of attention
to a very different form. The first form, deep attention, which is used most
often in higher education, is “characterized by concentrating on a single
object for long periods (say, a novel by Dickens), ignoring out-side stimuli
while so engaged, preferring a single information stream, and having a high
tolerance for long focus times.” While this form of attention is seen as being
traditional, Hayles notes that, evolutionarily, the more chaotic hyper
attention preceded its patient counterpart. This more capricious form of
attention is “characterized by switching focus rapidly among different tasks,
preferring multiple information streams, seeking a high level of stimulation,
and having a low tolerance for boredom.” There is a sense that the two have to
coexist with in each of us, as we are mere animals in the eyes of biology, yet
we have situated ourselves comfortably atop the food chain, enough so that we
are able to enjoy and reap the benefits of utilizing (the admittedly less
practical) deep attention. Though there are fewer than there once were, there
are still dangers present in the world, and we must be able to draw ourselves
away from Dickens on occasion (no matter how captivating), to ensure that we
may continue to enjoy such a “luxury.”
Hayles’
description of hyper attention seems quite relevant to Frank McCormick’s poem Attention
Deficit Disorder. The first stanza provides
an especially insightful vision of life through the perspective of an
individual who cannot focus in any way other than through hyper attention. The
first line, “I guess I paid attention to the wrong things,” suggests a) that
there is a qualitative value applied to the things on which one chooses to
focus (which may well be true) and b) that the speaker feels his attention is
not at his command, for if it were, he would have likely made an effort to pay
attention to the right things. The following lines depict the minor details to
which the speaker did pay attention, including the “empty space between the
words,” the “silent edges of the textbook,” and also the physical
characteristics of the teacher (i.e., shape, color, wrinkles). Despite being
able to only focus sporadically and on miscellaneous objects, the speaker, in
the final line of the stanza, remarks that he remembers them vividly, even
claiming the capacity to “re-draw them in my sleep.” It could be read and
interpreted to mean he has vivid, almost lucid dreams about the random subjects
of his hyper attention, but either way, waking or dreaming, the stanza as a
whole suggests that, while a Dickens novel may be cumbersome, in small doses,
what hyper attention lands on is locked into the memory with a tenacity that is
formidable.
Autism, Einstein & Facebook
According to PubMed Health, the number of diagnosed cases of
autism is increasing substantially. For instance, “a child who is diagnosed
with high-functioning autism today may have been thought to simply be odd or
strange 30 years ago.” With this in mind, might we consider the possibility
that autism is not a matter of having or not having the condition, but rather
looking at the condition as existing over a continuum, from which none of us is
exempt? That is to say, might we all, to some degree, be affected by the
socially impairing condition known as autism? It would explain the recent boom
in diagnosed cases, especially as we are, as a society, less willing to
consider a child simply “odd or strange,” but instead feel more comfortable
applying a medical explanation for this unusual behavior. An exceptional case
of autism going undiagnosed (although this is widely debated) is that of the
physicist and Nobel laureate Albert Einstein, who purportedly threw tantrums
and preferred solitude. Both of these behaviors are listed in the PubMed Health
article as symptoms of autism.
Furthermore,
it seems plausible that there may be a correlation between increased cases of
autism and the observable decrease in direct, face-to-face, human-to-human (not
to stress the point to much) communication. With the explosion of the
technological industry, the human interactions upon which society once relied
solely have been slowly replaced by more modern electronic means. Granted, the
population that is most affected by this technological usurpation of our most
basic human exchanges is well advanced beyond the age PubMed Health suggest we
are susceptible to developing autism (first 3 years). Rather it may be the
reverse, that is, a broader portion of the population having the condition
would likely encourage the establishment of an alternate form of social
communication. Is this utter speculation? Absolutely. Is there not, though, an
uncanny sense that all of our new contraptions for avoiding human contact have
an especially apparent use to those who have autism?
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
EGAUGNAL or LANGUAGE: Production v. Comprehension
In Stephens and Hasson’s article Speaker-listener neural
coupling underlies successful communication,
the essential distinction between language production and language
comprehension is drawn. From a fundamental linguistic perspective, an
individual is almost always capable of comprehending more language than he or
she can produce. This poses an interesting and curious dichotomy of
neurological language use, as it seems to suggest that the human mind has two
receptacles, if you will, in which language is stored. It seems as though the
first receptacle, where language is initially stored, houses the words and
phrases merely recognized, though not established well enough to duplicate in
usage. The second receptacle, then, houses words and phrases that are familiar
enough to recycle in one’s own language. Theoretically, words that have been
heard in proper use with sufficient repetition will eventually transfer from
the first to the second receptacle, allowing an individual to both comprehend
as well as produce that particular element of language.
This
notion seems to apply, although in a perplexingly reverse manner, to Dean
Young’s poem Handy Guide. Throughout the
piece, Young expresses a series of seemingly bizarre and unrelated thoughts,
all of which containing relatively basic language that ought to be familiar to
most adult users of language. The reversal from the underlying linguistic
notion, that comprehension precedes production, can be observed when considering
the readily accessible nature of most all of Young’s language in the poem
compared to the apparent inane and inexplicable nature of his statements. The
poem begins, for example, with the stupefying couplet, “Avoid adjectives of
scale. / Dandelion broth instead of duck soup.” The poem continues in this
manner and leaves the poor reader with a complete lack of any coherent or
cohesive understanding. It this unusual case, the reader’s ability to duplicate
or produce this language for himself is not at all difficult, but the same
reader’s ability to comprehend anything that he has just read or reproduced is
virtually impossible (besides, of course, applying a series of arbitrary
interpretations to the poem).
This
anomaly of a poem begs the question, is it not possible, then, to say many,
many things that we can almost never truly understand?
Thursday, March 22, 2012
The Grass is Always Greener
Russell Edson’s poem Antimatter offers an innovative representation of a very well
established notion. Humanity has long been familiar with the phenomenon
experienced when an individual has something, but feels as though he/she might
be happier with an alternative thing. This idea has been summed up concisely in
the colloquialism: the grass is always greener. In other words, whenever one believes that
happiness is just out of reach, they might reconsider that which they are
clutching at the present, and perhaps come to the conclusion that what they
have is more than enough to evoke happiness.
The
first and last lines of this poem play an especially crucial role in the
reconfiguration of this ideal. The poem begins, “On the other side of a mirror
there’s an inverse world,” setting up not only the visual concept of a division
between this side and the other, but also using the word inverse to capture the fundamentally backwards nature of
Edson’s hypothetical world. In a
world where such anomalies as insane people going sane and sunrise occurring at
night are the norm, one might consider this arrangement to be completely far
fetched. The surprising and revealing truth of the matter is, however, that in
a world where every person is insane, one is just as concerned about acquiring
sanity as we are of losing it in our world, on our side of the mirror. So,
while the picture Edson paints looks to us like a wild concoction of Tim Burton
and Salvador Dali, it is truly no more bizarre than our world might seem to a
citizen of this inverse society.
Finally,
in the last, and arguably most profound line in Edson poem, we learn, “In such
a world there is much sadness which, of course, is joy . . .” To us, a
reversion from adulthood into childhood, a loss of all the great benefits of
being a cognizant and responsible human, seem very sad indeed. But is it truly
any more sad than the exchange of innocence for corruption, the rise from
peaceful youth to aggressive age. Without Edson’s unique perspective into a
world upside down and backwards in every way, we might be inclined to consider
our own situation to be the very happiest a situation can be. When we consider
it against our own reality, though, it becomes apparent that life is only what
one makes of it. Happiness is achieved only through making the best of one’s
circumstances, not attempting to radically alter them for some invented or
imagined ideal.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
To Feel Or Not To Feel, That Is The Distinction
Suzanne Keen’s article, A Theory of Narrative Empathy, poses an interesting distinction between the
notions of empathy and sympathy. Empathy causes an individual to “feel what we
believe to be the emotions of others,” while sympathy only allows an individual
to experience “feelings for another” (208). In literature, the reader can only
ever hope to get as close to the characters as the author permits. If we are
only given a base description of a character, it is likely that we will become
significantly less emotionally invested in the character’s condition.
Alternatively, is we are given a good deal of insight into the character’s
thoughts and emotions, we stand a much better chance of coming closer to
understanding, appreciating, and ultimately feeling that which the character
feels. This does sound good in theory, which stands to support Keen’s choice of
title, however I am apprehensive to admit that a reader can ever fully
empathize with a fictitious character made of letters and sentences. At best,
we might hope to develop a sense of sympathy for the condition of a given
character.
That
is to say, while I, the reader, could certainly come to a conclusion where “I
feel pity for your pain,” like the physical pain experienced by Louisa from her
fall, or the emotional pain felt by those who witnessed it, I adamantly believe
that one can never truly feel the pain of another, especially not when the
other is comprised solely of symbols (209). It is entirely natural that we, as
insightful and intellectual creatures, can comprehend that the situation of
another is either bad or good or some variation. It seems that the only way one
could truly feel exactly the same physical or emotional sensation as another
would be to experience exactly what the other experienced and through that
individual’s perspective. The former would be difficult enough to orchestrate,
ensuring that each and every detail of the scenario is identical, but the
latter, as far as I am aware, is utterly impossible. Even if the replication of
a single experience were carried out flawlessly, it would be experienced
differently through the filter of the sympathizer’s perception than through
that of the initial subject. For this reason, I doubt whether true empathy can
ever be achieved, especially when the subject of the empathy is a series of
words on a page.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Skeleton Outline
Title
Geometric Metaphors in the Enlightenment: Squaring the
Circle of the Mind from Cavendish to Joyce
Introduction
Margaret Cavendish’s Poem, The Circle
of the Brain cannot be Squared,
alongside other historical perspectives on and images of cognition, reveals the
crucial role geometric metaphors played in theorizing the brain and mind in the
17th and 18th centuries. Cavendish, like other Enlightenment writers Cudworth,
Dryden and Pope, develops poetic metaphors that specifically called upon the
use of geometric imagery, primarily circle, square and line, to represent
elements of the brain and mind, as well as to explore the function and power of
each. The circle is specifically employed to represent various phenomena within
neuroscience, specifically due to its complex and perpetual nature. Cavendish
utilizes several other geometric shapes, including squares, triangles and
cubes, which are often used to contrast the infinite circle by way of their
rigid linear structure. While one does not typically associate the immensely
complicated inner workings of the brain or mind with mathematics, let alone
geometry, these writers create unique illusions in which the circle becomes
indicative of a higher faculty and a more bounded, restricted shape (often a
square) represents a lesser one. The influence and esteem of this metaphor has
preserved its relevance up to the present, extending its reach from poetry into
the realm of prose, and has even attained for it a planetary or astronomical
dimension in more modern depictions.
Geometry ¶ Topic Sentence
Before looking at some examples of this
geometric imagery in use, it is essential for one to possess a basic
appreciation for the geometric shapes being anthropomorphized in these literary
works.
Cudworth ¶ Topic Sentence
A primary instance of a circle
exemplifying the supreme cognitive function and a baser geometric arrangement
representing a simpler function can be found in Cudworth’s A Treatise Concerning Eternal and
Immutable Morality.
Cavendish ¶ 1 Topic Sentence
Contrary to the poetic imagery set forth by Cudworth, which
suggests the brain is a linear, mechanical device while the mind is a
cyclically perpetual intangibility, Cavendish proposes that “while the Brain is
round, no Square will be,” from which one can immediately infer that the
circular configuration is still more elusive than the square, but it is now
used to represent the brain, rather than the mind.
Cavendish ¶ 2 Topic Sentence
Cavendish also refers to the imagery of a
line, stating, “…each Brain / Hath on a Line been stretched,” yet proposes a
nuanced conception to that of Cudworth, in which the line represents both
simplicity and a futile effort to map the anatomical structure itself.
Dryden ¶ Topic Sentence
In looking at the use of such geometric
allegory among some of Cavendish’s contemporaries, there becomes a slightly
broader implication to the circular image and its accompanying curiosity.
Pope ¶ Topic Sentence
In a similarly distinct fashion, Pope reconstructs the
macabre atmosphere of Oedipus’ blindness in his poem, The First Book of
Statius his Thebais.
Joyce ¶ Topic Sentence
Finally, the geometric metaphor can be
considered from a more modern perspective with the help of Joyce.
Conclusion
From Cavendish to Joyce, the circle has
been an emblematic marker of the incredible majesty and potential of the human
brain and mind. While geometry is rarely thought of as relevant in a discussion
of cognitive faculties, it is clear that scholars from centuries past and up
through the present find it an integral mode of expressing the seemingly
inexpressible. Conveniently, such geometric imagery has certain flexibility,
meaning it can be applied to any number of scenarios, as the brain and mind are
used in myriad settings. The circle stands as the exemplary shape to represent
human cognition, for the simple reason that it has neither a beginning nor an
end, but rather cycles endlessly.
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