There’s been a major change in our understanding of what a human being is and to “operate” one. Before the scientific revolutions of DNA, deep hominin fossil analysis, and “during action” neurology study, people thought up systems on the basis of simple observation.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q28W7N6Th58 This link is to a “school” that teaches about systems of human thought. It’s cartoons, lots of fun and useful whether you already know this stuff or not. It will tell you almost nothing about writing.
As a public service, here’s a system about “writing” in the sense that people want to be famous, meaningful, valued, skillful by putting words on paper or a screen. This system reflecting on writing as a developmental process is based on “Object relations theory which in psychoanalytic psychology is the process of developing a psyche in relation to others in the environment during childhood.” In the School of Life series linked above, look for Bowlby, Klein and Winnicott, whose theories Princess Diana used to raise her two boys.
Upper class European children in the German/British nexus were often treated strictly, even punitively, separated from family in order to attend boarding schools, much emphasis made on correctness and competitive sports. This is reflected in their understanding of writing and echoes down through American values and practices. “Object relations” is against all that.
TRANSITIONAL OBJECT
The original idea from the “object relations” school of psych thought that caught on so deeply with ordinary people was that of the child’s comforting teddybear/blankie/binkie — an object said to be “carrying” the mother’s aura, but diluted, so that a little one could separate from mother by stages, carrying a bit of her along for courage. We’ve all seen the toddler experimenting with separation in a group of people, walking away from mom, then panicking and rushing back to bury his face in her lap. So the teddy bear was a TRANSITIONAL OBJECT. If the child took his bear or blankie along, he or she could venture further.
In fact, teddies so captured the imagination of people that they joined flower bouquets as an offering for the transition we call death — esp. the deaths of children. More practically, emergency responders carried them to help children caught in house fires or violent events.
The most common writing transitional object is the diary, personal and secret. But another, less recognized early version, often images rather than words, is what we might call “refrigerator art.” That is, vivid enough work to be taped to the fridge for the family to admire.
TRANSACTIONAL OBJECT
In the old days a certain kind of male was riveted by a pinball machine which was a mix of skill and chance. One tried to rack up a score by managing a ball rolling down a slanted board through obstacles. It made a lot of noise, flashed lights, recorded the scores, and generally was a lot more obvious than chess, that stately game of pondered patterns. So a pinball machine was a TRANSACTIONAL OBJECT. In the best of all worlds, one’s skill meshed with the challenge until one achieved “flow”, an entry into experience that leaves behind any self-consciousness. This is what computers can do with their games. A coherent manuscript that follows a thread is a pinball machine.
Or it might not be a game — it might be a real problem, maybe design or maybe computation or even military strategy. But you can do this with a book, too, if the skill level of the reader meets the challenge of the written words. A mismatch means contempt and boredom, either because it’s too hard or too easy. But success means entering a marketing paradigm — can it be “sold” as “publishing”? This writing means control by popular taste, but it will be welcomed by those who define success as sales.
TRANSFORMATIONAL OBJECT
With any of these “objects”, which are means rather than ends, there is the possibility of transformation — an emergent response of the brain in which it creates a reframing, a new point of view, a capacity not felt before, a new level — to use game theory jargon. Then you have found a TRANSFORMATIONAL OBJECT.
Writing can be met on any of these three levels: it can just be objects, a means to an end. Or it can be interactive, so that there is meshing and “flow.” Or it can be transformative, a door to a new level. In such a case, more than the brain is activated. The inner hallucination of who one is, one’s identity, can be changed. You can become a “second self.” The idea can be a world. This is true of writing. But it may not mean success. It might be rejected as pornographic, undecipherable, rebellious.
In spite of the availability of video cameras and so on, many people are still preoccupied with word writing as a way of presenting the self and what was learned or what is now seen in the world. These “trans” ideas above can be useful ways of thinking about the internal process of writing, a rather mysterious process since it all happens in the mind where it can’t be directly seen, so it’s hard to teach. It’s like riding a bicycle — one imitates the action and one day something happens and you’re no longer simply creating print. The brain has finally made the right connections. (That’s not a metaphor — it’s what physically happens.)
The stages of writing have been like these jumps of change for me. First, transitional as I ventured out to show myself in words on paper. Then, transactional as I wrote school assignments, columns, reviews and blogs — all of which triggered responses to the writing from other people.
And now I’m writing transformationally, hoping to trigger the next step in understanding, the next jump of ability. The problem, obviously, is that I’m also aging which means in some ways a diminishment: failing eyesight, legs that cramp, inability to remember stuff, awkward hands, mostly simple things — not dementia so much as from overcrowding and distraction in my brain, which can’t switch thought patterns as easily or as quickly as earlier. I no longer have the illusion that brains are not physical. I don’t know how much time is left.
TRANSPARENT AND TRANSCENDENT
But this is narcissistic. What am I writing that will contribute or possibly transform other people, society? Ten years in the ministry taught me that writing can’t always be controlled or even intended. No matter how transformative my ideas seem to me, there is no way they can be “sold” or even made widely public, unless they matter enough to other people to catch fire. Then mere words become TRANSCENDENT writing, inspired, memorable, shared: TRANSPARENT to something more that is behind words or even beyond defined concepts. Years later people may remember that moment of inspiration and be able to recount it accurately. It’s not a source of pride for the writer so much as humility, because you cannot intend or control it. It can't be marketed.
No comments:
Post a Comment