Vraith, man I like the way you think. I agree with your thoughts on healthsense. We do have it. It's not magic, it is directed intelligence, guided by purpose, experience, and empathy. There is a reason why some people look at a forest and see paper and furniture, while others see a crest of life riding a billion-year wave of evolution. Our view of the world--how its truths appear to our eyes--can be
elevated. No other creature can alter its understanding of the world the way we can. No other creature can have their view of the stars change from pinpricks of light, to "gods," to balls of thermonuclear fire. Our vision *is* penetrating reality, to a greater extent than even Donaldson's fictional healthsense. No one in the Land could tell you the chemical composition of the stars. That's a profoundly penetrating view we've acquired. And we're just scratching the surface of what we can see.
I also like your thoughts on "learning authenticity," and how this is more like remembering. Absolutely! (Reminds me of Plato's views on knowledge-as-remembering . . . ). Heidegger said that we are always already in-the-world, before we step back to analyze it. The very thing philosophy has tried to achieve through thematic study is already our "default position." We *have* access to the world. That's what our life is. So in a sense, it is impossible to lose it completely (inauthencity). So part of learning authenticity is to recognize both the impossibility of losing the world completely (which means we already have the "holy grail" of philosophy: transcendence)--combined with the realization Deer of the Dawn noted; namely, that our view of the world is always "colored." Recognizing our necessary inauthenticity is actually part of seeing the world authentically. (Paradox). Not to overcome it completely, but to overcome it in never-ending stages. Never-ending expansions of view.
I wanted to correct my typo above:
It is so inextricably tied to what it means to be human, that we often can't tell the difference between appreciatING life and fleeing it. (Instead of "appreciated.")
Some interesting Gradual Interview quotes that are loosely related to this subject (questions slightly edited by me to emphasize SRD's answers):
Paul
I wonder if it takes a particular type of person to read your Covenant books. I have recommended the Chronicles to various friends and colleagues and I have noticed a bizarre co-incidence. That is, the people who like it tend also to have a taste in 'dark' music. The last colleague I gave the book to got to page 30 of Lord Foul's Bane, had a bad dream that night about 'that horrible leper' that night and returned the book to me. She also happened to listen to the likes of Celine Dion so go figure!
It doesn't seem bizarre to me. My own taste in music tends toward the "dark": tragedy instead of comedy; articulation of pain rather than expression of pleasure. I discussed this somewhere earlier in the GI; but briefly--
As an extremely broad generalization, I think there are two types of readers: those who are repelled by expressions of pain; and those who feel a sense of recognition. Everybody is familiar with pain. But some people manage their own pain by denial, or by some other form of self-absorption (narcissism; a sense of victimization; etc.), and so they--in effect--have no patience for alternative approaches to pain. However, other people manage their own pain by every technique imaginable *except* denial and self-absorption, and so they feel recognition and even empathy when they encounter open expressions of pain from sources outside themselves.
Well, with occasional exceptions, Donaldson stories are pretty much all about pain. So it seems natural that people who respond to pain in other art forms would also respond to Donaldson stories.
(12/17/2004)
Laura
How did you learn despair? And how did you find your way to hold it at bay?
How did I learn despair? And how do I hold it at bay? Gosh, we could spend days on such topics without necessarily shedding any light. I'll be cryptically brief. "When you look into the abyss, the abyss looks into you." Well, I'm too bright, and I've experienced too much abuse, to be able to avoid looking into the abyss. Regularly. But when the abyss looks into me, it sees a fighter. The fact that this is *not* what most people see when they look at me is irrelevant.
Or approaching the question from a different direction: I think there are basically two kinds of people in the world, those who are diminished by their pains, problems, and losses, and those who learn and grow because of what they suffer. Long ago I chose to be one of the latter. Not because I possess any particular wisdom, courage, or strength, but because I found the sense of helplessness that I felt when I looked into the abyss intolerable--and I disliked my only obvious alternative (suicide). So I decided to believe that there are no conditions under which it is impossible to give battle. This is not a statement about "conditions" (many of which might legitimately be described as hopeless): it's a statement about *me*. If a situation appears hopeless to me, that simply means I need to learn how to perceive it differently: as an opportunity rather than as a blank wall.
This ain't easy, and I don't do it gracefully. Nevertheless my theme song is Simon and Garfunkle's "The Boxer," the last verse of which (if memory serves) goes like this: "In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade; and he carries the reminder of every glove that put him down or cut him 'til he cried out in his anger and his shame, 'I am leaving, I am leaving!' But the fighter still remains."
And *that*, my friends, is more personal revelation than I usually allow myself.
(12/21/2004)
I hope it's not too presumptuous of me to say . . . perhaps Lorin you don't give yourself enough credit. I think the fact that you're a fan of such a "dark" series (like all of us) means that you aren't one of those people who flee from expressions of pain. I think anyone who likes this writer falls into that second category Donaldson was talking about above when he said, "I think there are two types of readers: those who are repelled by expressions of pain; and those who feel a sense of recognition." Those who can't face pain don't bother reading books about pain. The fact that you see the beauty of the Land and long for it just makes you human. I think it was wrong of me (perhaps inauthentic!) to say I can't relate to this desire to escape. Of course I can. I've been trying to pinpoint why my earlier comments felt judgemental to me, and I think I just did it. I never should have implied I was above this desire. Sometimes I give myself too much credit.
)
Hmm. I no longer try to drug or drink it away. I no longer look for excuses or something to blame. I no longer live in the past or in wishes (overactive imagination notwithstanding). That is, I seek to live that way daily. However, I also enjoy "escaping" my stressful life through reading and movies, although I do not prefer them to my "real" life. Does that qualify?
