Maria Popova's Blog, page 11

The Lily vs. the Eagle: D.H. Lawrence on the Key to Balancing Mutuality and Self-Possession in Love

If you live long enough and wide enough, you come to see that love is simply the breadth of the aperture through which you let in the reality of another and the quality of attention you pay what you see. It is, in this sense, not a phenomenon that happens unto you but a creative act. The poet Robert Graves knew this: “Love is not kindly nor yet grim, but does to you as you to him,” he wrote as a young man a lifetime before the old man came to define love as “a recognition of truth, a recognition...

Your Soul Is a Blue Marble: How to See with an Astronaut’s Eyes

When the first hot air balloonists ascended into the skies of the eighteenth century, they saw rivers crossing borders and clouds passing peacefully over battlefields. They saw the planet not as a patchwork of plots and kingdoms but as a vast living organism veined with valleys and furred with forests. They had to leave the Earth to see it whole, torchbearers of that rude paradox of the human condition: often, we have to lose our footing to find perspective; often, it is only from a distance tha...

Darwin on How to Evolve Your Imagination

The year the young Charles Darwin (February 12, 1809–April 19, 1882) boarded The Beagle, Mary Shelley contemplated the nature of the imagination in her preface to the most famous edition of Frankenstein, concluding that creativity “does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos” — the chaos, she meant, of ideas and impressions and memories seething in the cauldron of the mind, out of which we half-consciously select and combine fragments to have the thoughts and ideas we call our own...

On Consolation: Notes on Our Search for Meaning and the Antidote to Resignation

The thing about life is that it happens, that we can never unhappen it. Even forgiveness, for all its elemental power, can never bend the arrow of time, can only ever salve the hole it makes in the heart. Despair, which visits upon everyone fully alive, is simply the reflexive tremor of resignation in the face of life’s irremediable happening. “There is no love of life without despair of life,” Albert Camus wrote — a simple equation, the mathematics of which we spend our lives learning. Consolat...

Change, Presence, and the Imperative of Self-Renewal: Existential Lessons from Islands

“No man is an island,” John Donne wrote in his timeless ode to our shared human experience. And yet each of us is a chance event islanded in time; in each of us there is an island of solitude so private and remote that it renders even love — this best means we have of reaching across the abyss between us — a mere row-boat launched into the turbulent waters of time and chance from another island just as remote.

Perhaps because we live with such inner islandness, islands became our earliest theor...

Forgiveness

Shortly after I began the year with some blessings, a friend sent me Lucille Clifton’s spare, splendid poem “blessing the boats.” We had met at a poetry workshop and shared a resolution to write more poetry in the coming year, so we began taking turns each week choosing a line from a favorite poem to use as a joint prompt. (The wonderful thing about minds, about the dazzling variousness of them, is what different things can bloom in them from the same seed.)

I had been thinking about forgivenes...

How to Make America Great: A Visionary Manifesto from the Woman Who Ran for President in 1872

In 1872, half a century before American women could vote, Victoria Woodhull (September 23, 1838–June 9, 1927) ran for President, with Frederick Douglass as her running mate.

Papers declared her candidacy “a brazen imposture, to be extinguished by laughter rather than by law.”

People — working-class people, people of color, people relegated to the margins of their time and place — clamored to hear her speak, rose up in standing ovation by the thousands, cried and cheered.

Victoria Woodhull by M...

The Light in the Abyss Between Us

Bless consciousness, for making blue different to me than it is to you.

I remember the moment a friend’s son came home from school to recount with something between shock and exhilaration how he realized while talking to a classmate that the notion of a mental image is not merely a metaphor, that other people can conjure up in their minds things not before their eyes. And the moment another friend discovered that the inner stream of language with which most of us narrate our lives courses throug...

On Love: Saint Paul and the Egret

Among the myriad things that didn’t have to exist — music, minds, the meadow lark — none is more symphonic, more defiant of logic, more capable of winging existence with life than love. Biologically, we could have done without it, could have spent the eons fertilizing cells without feeling. Hydrogen need not love oxygen to bind into the molecular cathedral that makes this rocky planet a wet breathing world. But we, creatures of poetry and psalms, bind differently, bind with passion and purpose, ...

The Countercultural Sanity of the Irrational: Pioneering Psychiatrist Otto Rank on the Blind Spots of Reason

In one crucial respect at least, the human animal does not pass the mirror test of self-knowledge: We move through the world by impulse and emotion, then look back and rationalize our choices, declaring ourselves creatures of reason. Western civilization, with its structural bias favoring the left brain, has been especially culpable in this dangerous dissociation from ourselves, our full and feeling selves. Despite everything our analytical tools have revealed about how the mind constructs the w...