Discussion Questions for Feb. 10

Here are a few questions that have leapt out at me while doing this week’s readings and that I formulated in response to them.

Content

How can Damasio’s proto self, core self and autobiographical self (as Eakin presents them) be linked to Freud’s id, super-ego and ego?

“What I think about the event affects the event itself,” writes Hustvedt (p. 158). Both Hustvedt and Eakin declare that the self is basically an awareness of the self. So, does what I think about the self affect the self? Or is the self unaffected by me? Is there a separate self from the one having these thoughts — from me?

Being able to conceptualize one’s self indicates higher order functioning. I want to talk about the meta in all this — the above that is central to/in Hustvedt’s narrative, from which she observes the shaking woman and herself in the process of investigating the shaking woman. This meta/above contradicts with the inherent/within of Eakin’s and Damasio’s conception of self as within the movie of itself or as a continuous stream of music. How do these above and within schemas help us understand the self?

Why is it so much more powerful to read truth (ie, autobiography) than fiction? Why do Eakin and Hustvedt discuss subjectivity but rarely approach the concept of truth?

Methodology

What is the utility of having no chapters or formal divisions in The Shaking Woman? This format brings to mind hypergraphia or stream-of-consciousness writing.

The Shaking Woman reads as some combination of memoir, autobiography, novel and research paper. How does Hustvedt’s incessant citation of sources interfere with or add to her narrative? What about the way Eakin presents his work makes his reliance on sources not as disruptive?

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Paul John Eakins;

Eakin states that autobiography is not “something we read in a book,” but is also “a discourse of identity, delivered bit by bit, in the stories we tell ourselves day in and day out” It is also the story we tell others. It is ” an integral part of a lifelong process of identity formation”

And then there is the autobiography information about a NBC’s news anchorman. As reported in the NY TIMES on Sunday ” In his newscast on Wednesday, Mr. Williams said he had embellished an account of an incident in 2003; over the years he came to say that he was in a helicopter that was hit by enemy fire, an assertion he now says is not true. He now says he was in a trailing helicopter, and that he “conflated” the two aircraft. He made no mention of the matter during his newscasts on Thursday and Friday.”

What interest me was a psychological term he used “conflated” which I was reintroduced to in, The Story of a Shaking Women , but having a short term memory laps I can’t remember where in the book exactly.

On the other hand, even Wittgenstein criticized Freud’s of conflation regarding is merging   of reasons and causes, or confusing one for the other.

So the question in my mind is regardless of Eakin’s attempts to link autobiography with neurology and Damasio’s arguments about the the narrative being below consciousness I strongly suspect we all on occasion conflate our histories either maliciously, stupidly, or things just get mixed up in our imperfect brains and we just come to believe something be true until somebody questions us.Of course who is to say the person doing the questioning is remembering the right story?

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Reading Response to Paul John Eakin’s Autobiographical Consciousness: Body, Brain, Self, and Narrative

In this interesting interdisciplinary writing, Eakin is trying to draw on Antonio Damasio’s neurobiological theories on consciousness to shed new light on our reading of autobiography, especially on our understanding of narrative identify.

Eakin was fascinated by Damasio’s “the movie-in-the-brain” metaphor about self and consciousness. Damasio believes, according to my interpretation of Eakin’s interpretation of Damasio’s theories, it is the brain that generates our conscious mental states, such as our seeing a red rose. Those conscious mental states are like “the movie-in-the-brain”. Meanwhile, the brain also generates a sense of self or self-consciousness, which is like “the appearance of an owner and observer for the movie within the movie”. To me, Damasio is supporting some form of materialism about consciousness and trying to locate the neural correlates of consciousness in the brain. One of the major challenges facing any materialist theory is to explain conscious mental states from the first-person point of view: how can we explain why there is something it is like for us to see a red rose from our subjective point of view? Contemporary philosophers call this challenge “the explanatory gap” or “the hard problem of consciousness”. Of course, it is beyond the scope of Eakin’s discourse to further survey Damasio’s theories and to see if those theories can give a plausible reply to “the explanatory gap” objection. I believe such an endeavor is necessary if Eakin wants to give his literature theory a solid philosophical basis, though it seems Eakin was willing to admit that his discussion was indeed speculative (p. 68).

Damasio’s movie metaphor and the later music metaphor are very insightful and inspiring in the sense that they reject the split between the perceiver and the perceived, the subject and the object, the moviegoer and the movie, and the self and the narrative, and thus allow us to look at self and narrative identity from entirely different perspectives. One immediate merit of Damasio’s metaphor is that it avoids the need to posit the existence of a “homunculus” in our brain who is equipped with the knowledge necessary to interpret and organize different images formed in the brain. Since the homunculus must have its own brain to be knowledgeable, the “binding problem” starts again ad infinitum —we have to posit another homunculus inside the first homunculus’s brain! Self is no longer an innate endowment and stable entity as we traditionally understand it. Rather, self is in the narrative and in a process of constant change, and a persistent self-identity and unchanged observer outside the narrative over our lifetime is just an illusion. I agree with Eakin that this new attitude towards self can help us appreciate autobiography more insightfully in the sense that it prods us to look at not just the I-characters and the I-narrators but the whole I-narrative to locate the content of self-experience. But again, this attitude seems to me very speculative and lacking in philosophical and even scientific validity. It seems to explain away the “binding problem” instead of explaining it.

Regarding the section Doing Consciousness, I just could not see the logical connection between the results of the latest psychological experiments that deny our long held belief in free will and Eakin’s conclusion that autobiography is a doing or a performance.

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Some thoughts on The Shaking Woman

Since finishing The Shaking Woman, my mind has been spinning in the best possible kind of way. Hustvedt sheds light on some very murky and interesting issues. While her work is non-conclusive, it certainly galvanizes deep thought and curiosity. There are innumerable gems in this book so I will focus on a few of my favorite passages/ themes.

Hustvedt demonstrates that what it means to be a human being is a live question. She does this by investigating the self through a theoretical kaleidoscope and similarly by blurring binaries, boundaries and borders related to the self. As a social/neurological research-memoir, The Shaking Woman is experimental, imaginative and creative. It straddles various genres and explores the ambiguous, the absurd and the mysterious elements of existence.

This passage particularly resonated with me:

“It is impossible to separate nature and nurture. You cannot isolate a person from the world in which he lives, but more than that, notions of outside and inside, subject and object become entwined…we are made through others” (92)

I am interested in the notion of the self as porous, as always in a process of deconstruction and reconstruction. Echoing Hustvedt, Donna Haraway asks: “Why should our bodies end at the skin, or include at best other beings encapsulated by skin?” Judith Butler avers, “the category of the human is in the process of becoming.”

Throughout the Shaking Woman, Hustvedt demonstrates the interactive nature of binary structures, for instance between biology/culture, internal/external, mind/body, self/other. Her biological conundrum is approached through both her personal experiences and the personal experiences of others. According to Hustvedt, the self is not static or sovereign. It is mutable, process-oriented, both powerful and vulnerable. This is connected to her beliefs about epistemological pluralism and interdisciplinary scholarship:

The issue here is one of perception and its frames, disciplinary windows that narrow the view…when researchers are trapped in preordained frames that allow little air in or out, imaginative science is smothered. (p. 79)

Hustvedt brings together inter alia discussions of history, neurology, philosophy, psychology, fictional narrative, personal narrative, etc. Her biological condition requires investigation into all of these fields –often resulting in insoluble contradictions and impasses. Hustvedt is explorative. While she doesn’t reach “truth,” she moves toward it in various ways. She approaches truth as a fluid entity that cannot truly be penetrated. I think the fact that there is no solution or conclusion to the story speaks to the slipperiness of truth. This is also conveyed by the style. It has a stream-of-consciousness feel because of its non-linear structure and randomness. It seems to me that this is a project in taking control by relinquishing control. It exposes the beauty of letting go. Hustvedt lets go of the notion that she can fully understand and control her body. In doing so, she also resists the closure that comes from certainty/parochialism.

I also appreciate that in The Shaking Woman, Hustvedt draws attention both to the specific lived experiences of variously situated people and the universal aspects of humanity (for instance the “it” that haunts us all) that binds us together.

I also appreciated the breadth and complexity of her study because it was presented in a very accessible way.

Writing this novel and undergoing this journey is an incredibly brave endeavor. It bridges a gap between consciousness and unconsciousness. She willfully goes on a journey inward to confront the subterranean parts of herself. I find this concept very interesting. How do we deal with the determined and inaccessible elements of ourselves? How can we feel powerful in the face of something that has power over us? How do we grasp the ungraspable?

This passage is very powerful:

“It appeared that some unknown force had suddenly taken over my body…every sickness has an alien quality, a feeling of invasion and loss of control.”

In A Very Easy Death, after watching the slow and painful death of her mother, Simone de Beauvoir said, “You do not die from being born, nor from having lived, nor from old age… death is an accident and, even if he knows it and consents to it, an unjustifiable violation.” When Hustvedt merges with the shaking woman, it is a triumph on many levels. In accepting that undesirable part of herself, she also confronts her own mortality. Even if it is an intruder, even if it violates her, she recognizes that it is an inevitable part of herself. Like the various dichotomies she blurs (mind/body, inside/outside, self/other), the boundary between life and death is also a blur. Life is only life because we die and death is only death because we have lived. I believe that even to confront or to acknowledge morality on a deep level is a triumph. As terror management theorists such as Becker have argued, there are ubiquitous social and cultural structures and unconscious drives that prevent us from ruminating on this terror.

Anyways, this was a wonderful book and I really look forward to talking to you all about it on Tuesday!

🙂

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Reflections–2/10/15

“It is impossible to separate nature and nurture. You cannot isolate a person from the world in which he lives, but more than that, notions of outside and inside, subject and object become entwined.” (P 69 Hustvedt)

“The faculty of memory cannot be separated from the imagination, they go hand in hand. To one degree or another, we all invent our personal past. And for most of  us those pasts are built from emotionally colored memories”  (p 83 Hustvedt)

The idea expressed by Hustvedt is in direct correlation to Eakin’s idea that autobiography has an innately fictional element. When the according to Demasio’s 3 levels of consciousness the most malleable ‘self’ is the autobiographical self. Hustvedt notes the ambiguity present in our lingual and mental narratives the same question asked by Eakin. Can a story ever be wholly true when narratives stem from the autobiographical self. An aspect of consciousness that is constantly being revised with the advent of new stimuli with new realities, past influences, various environmental changes. “Freud wrote that the present colors the past, the memories are not always what they seem and cannot be relied upon as factual…Most crucially, people revise their memories at a later date.”  (P81 Hustvedt)

The main idea of a proto or primal self to a mammalian both preexist language. These authors use similar methods and  multiple sources to answer a question, which leads to the author’s motives. Both, Eakin and Hustvedt used elements from neurosciences; DeMasio, Self as a result of brain structure and the theory of self” beneath language” as developed by Demasio (P67   Eakin) Psychology; Freud  and their own experiences  to find an answer to their question or their motive.

The idea of ownership is prevalent in both pieces, the idea of I, me and mine. A link to the outer and inner world and the understandings between them.

 

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Damasio is everywhere

I had never heard of Antonio Damasio before this course, but we seem to have set up shop in a neighborhood where we can’t avoid bumping into him at every corner. A big chunk of the Eakins chapter is devoted to him. His “autobiographical self” notion is mentioned in Hustvedt, and his praise is on her back cover; he and Hustvedt apparently even became friends in the course of her research for The Shaking Woman. We’re reading from two of his books next week. Clearly he is the man of the hour.

So far I’m slightly resistant to him, partly because I was underwhelmed by his TED talk. He began with what seemed to me a false premise, the idea that there are lots of people who think we should not investigate the biological underpinnings of consciousness. (Who are these people? Nineteenth-century philosophers freaked out by Darwinism? Present-day religious conservatives? Politicians who want to cut STEM funding? I can’t imagine he meant his fellow neuroscientists, scientists at large, academics, or anyone in the audience for the talk.) He then went on to say not much of anything that seemed all that new to me. Aren’t most people already aware that there’s a distinction between brain and mind, and between mind and self? That the body and mind are tightly coupled? That we should care about the somatic basis of consciousness because we’re curious, and we want to understand our society and culture, and we want to cure Alzheimer’s disease?

Damasio is a guy you apparently have to grapple with if you want to study consciousness from a neurobiological angle, however, so I’m trying to get a handle on him. Fortunately, his ideas as presented in Eakins are more auspicious than those in the TED talk. Damasio’s book title The Feeling of What Happens is expressive of his notion of consciousness in an almost, dare I say it, literary way, and his theory of self makes sense both biologically and as a description of the lived experience of having a mind:

Self is a feeling, specifically “a feeling of knowing,” “a feeling of what happens.” And what does happen? The body responds to its encounters with objects in its environment, and it also responds to its own changing internal states. And self is Damasio’s name for the feeling of awareness or knowing that these events are taking place.” (Eakins, 68)

Or, as Eakins later helpfully rephrases:

From an evolutionary perspective, self is not some abstract philosophical concept but rather a name for a feeling embedded in the physiological processes necessary for survival. Self, then, for Damasio, is first and last of and about the body; to speak of the embodied self would be redundant, for there is no other. (Eakins, 70)

I’m not sure about Damasio’s idea of consciousness as “the movie-in-the-brain,” where there is “the appearance of an owner and observer for the movie within the movie” – doesn’t this privilege the visual (and, to a lesser extent, the auditory) sense too much above the others in describing the formation of consciousness? And does “appearance” mean that the seeming owner is not real, or not really in ownership of the movie? (I’m also not sure that Eakins’ Damasio-inspired notion of “a moviegoer inside the movie he or she is watching” is exactly “mind-bending”: isn’t there an actual, recent movie in which this very thing has been depicted? Probably something in which Michel Gondry and/or Charlie Kaufman was involved? But I can’t remember the details: time to go do the Joe Brainard exercise.)

Most difficult of all, though, is what Eakins calls the “teller-effect” (his coinage, inspired by Damasio’s concepts). As nearly as I can gather, this is the idea that what we experience as the “narrative” of consciousness is in fact generated by pre-narrative and therefore unnarrateable biological processes; an unnarrateable narrative can have no narrator, so there is only the feeling of a narrative and the illusion of an agent telling it. As to how that plays out in the context of an autobiography, I’ve thus far been unable to translate Eakins’ explanation (“It would be the I-narrative about Pokey and not just the Pokey-character it features that would be the true locus of Mary Karr’s reconstruction of her earlier self”) into non-Barthesian language. Guess I’ll leave that task to my double.

 

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Hustvedt and interdisciplinarity

As a lit person by background, I found Hustvedt’s book to be just the sort of thing I got into liberal studies to read: nonliterary material (albeit, in this case, material with plenty of literary implications) rendered with a literary sensibility. Hustvedt brings to her task not only a literary eye, a literary prose style and the ability to call up pertinent references to writers from Emily Dickinson to Borges to Rimbaud; she also brings literary values, including respect for readability and narrative, interest in the personal character and backstories of the doctors and patients she writes about, and an understanding of human emotion in its complexity and contradictoriness (and this isn’t a reference to her mirror-touch synesthesia). Since I value these things too, I’m predisposed to trust Hustvedt’s motives and therefore, probably, her findings.

It’s worth noting, though, that Hustvedt is not only a fiction (i.e., imaginative) writer; she is also a scholar and researcher. While the skill sets for those activities can overlap with that of a novelist, they’re not equivalent. Literary history shows that you certainly don’t need a PhD in literature to write good novels, but Hustvedt nevertheless has one, and you can’t earn a PhD (as opposed to, for instance, an MFA) without well-developed research skills. Rita Charon, the MD and literature PhD whose efforts to legitimize storytelling in medicine Hustvedt mentions in the text, and whom she names in the acknowledgements as a major impetus for her beginning the book in the first place, is an interesting parallel case. (I was, incidentally, surprised to read that Charon’s Program in Narrative Medicine is housed at Columbia University, an institution whose support for interdisciplinary work in general is sufficiently grudging that it doesn’t offer doctoral programs even in such established interdisciplinary fields as American studies, African-American studies and women’s studies.)

It’s clear from The Shaking Woman that Hustvedt hasn’t relinquished the research habit since graduate school: not only does extensive research seem to be a standard part of her novel-writing process, she appears to relish research in and for itself. I noticed, too, in looking over her biography, that her undergraduate major was history rather than literature. She clearly has retained that interest in history, along with a general thirst for extraliterary knowledge of all kinds. All of the above is to say that whatever she’s writing about, Hustvedt is likely to bring to the table a more interdisciplinary stance than many novelists would.

Hustvedt actually brings up the topic of interdisciplinarity herself at one point in the book. Though she’s talking specifically about the dangers of specialization and disciplinary isolation in the sciences, her observations also apply to the humanities and get at the pros and cons of a course/program like the one we’re in:

The issue here is one of perception and its frames, disciplinary windows that narrow the view. Without categories, we can’t make sense of anything. Science has to control and restrict its windows or it will discover nothing. At the same time, it needs guiding thoughts and interpretation or its findings will be meaningless. But when researchers are trapped in preordained frames that allow little air in or out, imaginative science is smothered. (p. 79)

And an earlier comment of Hustvedt’s suggests that scientists need to be at least interdisciplinary enough to admit the history of medicine into their training:

Medical history changes, and many if not most doctors have little grasp of what came before their own contemporary frames for diagnosis. They are incapable of drawing parallels with the past. (p. 75)

One obstacle interdisciplinary scholars often have to contend with is the perception that they’re dilettantes without deep knowledge of any one field. With The Shaking Woman, Hustvedt seems to have escaped this fate: the book’s front cover blurb (for the Picador edition) and the majority of its back cover blurbs are provided by scientists, not literary critics. Mark Solms, whose work she cites in the book, is even quoted as saying that Hustvedt “displays greater understanding of the underlying philosophical and historical issues that are at stake in this field than is displayed by many of my colleagues” (though not, significantly, the scientific issues). I’m not sure acceptance by scientists was Hustvedt’s primary goal in writing The Shaking Woman, but it’s interesting to consider what it is about this book that has made it so apparently successful in crossing disciplinary boundaries.

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The “I” is our own.

This is certainly an interesting way to being the semester. This first week we are asked to take describe what it is we are and the reading assigned really digs in deeper leaving us, or at least me, more confused about my person than I am comfortable to admit. Of course trying to find answers only leads to more questions is all part of the fun in the sciences and our lives.

Both Paul Eakin and Siri Hustvedt offer insight from multiple views, citing both controversial and well known research. Little opinion however is offered and instead the reader is nearly bombarded with countless stories, experiments and purposed conclusions. This much information in so little time is difficult to swallow without previous knowledge or motivation to check references. I felt smothered by the information and confused by which direction the authors may be leaning but I think it is more important to lean in to the feelings of confusion because the experiments, conclusion and accompanying theories seem just as confused and without proper evidence as I feel lost reading some of them. The fact is the answers are unknown and we should embrace the unknown so that we too can experience the parts of ourselves we are unsure of until the “I” becomes more clear as Hustvedt did.

I believe what is important is to understand that the “I” changes as we change, and we are capable of changing the “I” as we will it. Hustvedt’s journey is evidence of that. I believe her journey was more than just a search for answers but a struggle for her acceptance. Much of her shaking experience was surrounded by worry and rejection. She did not know why she shook and only wanted to understand it so that she could fix it. Toward the end of the book however, Hustvedt understands that there are many people who battle with their inner voices, phantom limbs or other mysterious illnesses only to miss them when they are gone. Many believe the illness is a part of them and they accept it as such, in turn learning to accept themselves. This was also experienced by Hustvedt, as she closes her book claiming a part of her she had spent years suppressing. The shaking woman was always a part of her it seemed, and in the end she claimed it for herself believing it was a part of her “I.”

In my personal opinion, I believe acceptance is key to happiness and fulfillment. I like to believe that change and growth follow shortly after. Denial can way heavy on our subconscious and on those we love. I would imagine it does more harm when the thing we are denying is ourself.  Recent therapies have focused on teaching patients to accept their depression, their bi-polar disorders and other illnesses because fighting them or denying them is exhausting and lowers a patients quality of life. No one wants to feel like they are not “normal” and while to better help individuals who may feel like they do not belong or parts of them do not belong, it is important to understand the biology and psychology of an individual, I believe it is most important is to lean in, experience and accept what it is that life dealt us and in doing so the “I” is our own and our consciousness will have no bounds.

 

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Paul John Eakin, “Autobiographical Consciousness” (Chapter 2)

Eakin’s passage begins with a Walt Whitman quote which is as dramatic as the content of his argument about the self.
Eakin offers conjecture coupled with ideas from noted neurobiological thinkers. The content is difficult to fully grasp as much of this chapter relies on work that we have to take his word for, as readers we would need to read the complete text of quoted works or already have a semblance of those works to fully be aware of this complex argument. For me “I” is a suggestion and a spotlight on the actual self making the person the actual focal point. I can be egotistical braggartism which lends to stories full of excitement or I can have more heartfelt emotional content melancholy and dark as in his illustration using Mary Karr’s “The Liars Club: A Memoir”. As for tolerating what is read in an autobiography, he suggest we are all gullible when reading one as autobiographers fabricate much of the content. We are told people “mis-speak”, people are judged to be in a traumatic state when recounting past events incorrectly.
If self happens before birth as suggested genetics and DNA shape our self long before we are born, offering the only true real self prior to contamination of social human influences. Damasio’s theory if founded would serve well as a defense to a serious crime where a disease such as PTSD or any other temporary emotional disorder is said to be the cause for the crime. We can see Damasio’s consciousness theory at play in today’s Reality TV programming and Social Media where individuals augment their persona’s to conspire to a more interesting self. Recently TV in operating rooms and surrounding patients in hospitals has been problematic where families have not been informed and therefore not agreed to the situation, but have complained that the care received by their loved ones has been reduced and undermined because the physician has been more interested in self promotion due to the access TV crews have been allowed.
http://www.bostonglobe.com/metro/2015/01/12/debate-over-cameras-crew-films-boston/we50wuQ6bUPAU6sFcXA17H/story.html

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Harvey’s Elements for Week 2

Thesis: David, Berni

Motive: Venita, Cheryl

Evidence: Justin

Analysis: Liz

Keyterms: Jeff

Structure: Jen

Stitching: Dag

Sources: Julia

Reflecting: Amber

Orienting: Yael

Stance: Andrew

Style: Mari

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