Inspiration

What is it? Where does it come from?

1. What is Inspiration?

Dreams:
Our journey begins with the surreal landscapes of dreams. How do these nocturnal adventures contribute to the wellspring of inspiration? We explore the connection between dreams and creative insights, examining the role of the subconscious mind in shaping innovative thoughts.

Muses and Daemons:
Delving into ancient mythology, we uncover the concept of muses and daemons as sources of inspiration. From the inspirational whispers of muses to the mischievous nudges of daemons, these mythical beings have long been intertwined with human creativity.

Lightbulb Moment:
The episode progresses to the famed "lightbulb moment," a metaphorical spark that ignites groundbreaking ideas. We explore historical instances such as Kekule's Serpent and Paul McCartney's dream, highlighting how seemingly unrelated events can converge to birth profound insights.

2. Breath

The Symbolism of Breath:
Shifting gears, we explore the symbolic significance of breath in the context of inspiration. From the ancient Egyptian ritual of 'the opening of the mouth' to the poetic connection between inspiration and the intake of breath, we reflect on the life-giving essence associated with creative inspiration.

Anyone Can Be Inspired:
Demystifying the notion of inspiration being reserved for a select few, we emphasize that anyone has the potential to be inspired. By understanding the diverse sources and forms of inspiration, we empower listeners to tap into their creative reservoirs.

3. Neuroscience of Inspiration

Incubation in the Mind:
Drawing on the insights of cognitive neuroscientist Mark Jung Beeman, we explore the neuroscience of inspiration. The distinction between exhaustive problem-solving and sudden breakthroughs is dissected, revealing that moments of insight may be brewing in the mind, often unbeknownst to the individual.

Enrichment through Collective Minds:
Examining the collaborative aspect of inspiration, we showcase how external influences enhance the incubation process. From Einstein's realization during a mundane observation to Paul McCartney's creative misinterpretation, we illustrate how diverse minds contribute to the birth of groundbreaking ideas.

In conclusion, the episode paints a vivid picture of inspiration as a multifaceted phenomenon, blending mythology, symbolism, and neuroscience. Join us next time as we continue our exploration into the fascinating realms of creativity and the human mind.

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Music by LiteSaturation from Pixabay

Chapters

• 0:47 What is Inspiration?
• 2:08 Dreams
• 4:01 Muses and Daemons
• 6:03 Lightbulb Moment
• 8:49 Kekule’s Serpent
• 9:56 Paul McCartney’s Dream
• 12:42 Breath
• 14:31 Anyone Can Be Inspired
• 16:13 Neuroscience of Inspiration

Transcript

02. Inspiration

What is Inspiration?

Hello, my name is Darren, and this is The Makers Rage podcast. Inspiration. What is it? Where does it come from? Is it some external force, like a bolt of lightning striking us out of the blue? Or does it come from within, something that bubbles up from the unconscious - that mystical well, that is the source of dreams and neuroses; a part of ourselves over which we seem to lack agency. At least if you believe those great mythmakers of the 20th century, Freud and Jung, whose conclusions we're now somewhat skeptical of, but whose influence is nonetheless pervasive, lasting, impactful; whose teachings, whose writings are still taught in the humanities, at least, if not the sciences; whose jargon is still in the popular consciousness. When we speak of the Ego, the Id, archetypes, denial, repression, defense mechanisms, the Oedipus Complex, Shadow Personalities, the collective unconscious, etc. We hearken back to them. Even if we don't know it. The attempt to interpret dreams in a scientifically rigorous fashion, so that it's the province no longer of the shaman, but the psychiatrist. 

Dreams

And many of us today still entertain the notion that dreams are sources of inspiration; that they reveal something arcane, something hidden about ourselves, or about which we're not fully conscious. Because our dreams often surprise us, make us happy, sad, terrorize us, so that if they are indeed a source of inspiration, can we truly take credit for it? Plato expelled the poets or rhapsodes from his Republic, because he deemed them irrational, because they seemed to go into a frenzy as they delivered their incantations, their recitations; they seemed to lose themselves, become ecstatic. And ecstasy, itself - the word literally means 'standing outside oneself'. And Plato thought, this can't be a way to access philosophical truth. It leads to mysticism, to fanaticism, superstition, and most dangerous of all relativism. What is ambiguous, nuanced, what allows for multiple interpretations, cannot be true. What springs from improvisation, word play, and intoxicating music isn't philosophy, it's dangerous. It can lead to immorality. The truth Plato sought exists only in the light of day, in the light of reason. It can be seen from all sides for what it is; and that which is unclear, can be deduced. There are no surprises in Plato's Republic, nothing hidden behind a cloak of ambiguity. What is known to be true is fully disclosed. What is as yet unclear is wholly discoverable. It's no accident it is so often personified as a beautiful naked goddess. 

Muses and Daemons

Incidentally, the word rhapsode comes from the Greek and it means to sow stitch songs together, as in a tapestry, and rhapsodes weren't just standing around droning out poems by Homer, or Hesiod or Sappho. And we certainly shouldn't imagine a poetry reading down at the local bookshop? These guys were more like rock stars or rappers. And I'd like to imagine 2500 years ago, rhapsodes referring to themselves hypocoristically as rappers. The point is they whipped themselves up into a frenzy in their performance and the audience with them. They seemed daemonic, in the traditional sense - inspired from without by morally ambiguous spirits. Much like Homer invoking Calliope, the muse of epic poetry, to help him tell the story of Achilles' 'baneful wrath' (μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ) or Milton, 2500 years later invoking the Holy Spirit's aid to his adventurous song that "with no middle flight intends to soar above the Aonian mount." In other words, to outdo his Greek and Roman precursors. Or 300 years after Milton, Buck Mulligan in Ulysses lifting his mirror and razor in mockery of the mass "Introibo ad altare dei", before asking the Holy Spirit to switch off the current. Joyce of course in his tongue in cheek way, implying perhaps that, unlike Milton, he doesn't need the Holy Spirit's assistance. He may have secretly agreed that if one claims the inspiration comes from outside, from some muse or spirit, a demon, the gods, then one can really take credit for it. We can only claim to be favored of the gods. But the idea for the work and the work itself isn't fully your own. You're merely a channel or conduit, like a conductor of electricity. "Switch off the current now, there was a good chap", no need to inconvenience yourself. I've got this." 

Lightbulb Moment

The suggestion that the Holy Spirit is some celestial telegraph operator is both funny and profane, which is typical of Joyce, of course. But in 1904, when Ulysses is set, the light bulb itself was a relatively young invention, and a powerful symbol Indeed, it was in a 20th century of our ability to harness the forces of nature, like Prometheus stealing fire from the heavens. Until the symbol become so familiar and commonplace, that inspiration becomes a light bulb, turning on above Bugs Bunny's head, implying that the idea for its invention came to Edison as suddenly as the flick of a switch, and with the least possible reflection, and it was wasn't a result of a long process, a long arduous process of trial and error, of mostly failure, and that it was a completely solitary act, that he had no predecessors, no mentors, no collaborators, no investors, but that the idea came to him and him alone, suddenly, like a bolt of lightning or like a light bulb switching on, and that he went on to bestride the world like a colossus. The myth of the genius revolts at the idea of collaboration. And even though Edison himself said, genius is 99% perspiration. The implication perhaps was that the perspiration was all his. Yet, the famous remark is often cited as proof out of the horse's mouth that inspiration doesn't come like a bolt out of the blue, that there is always a long foregrounding and that there is nothing great that cannot be achieved by hard work. It is the Protestant work ethic that creates men of genius, not the gods, not demons or spirits. Not the flick of a switch. A genius is made not born. Great ideas are earned, not gifted. 

Benzene Dream

But then what about the claim of so many throughout history, that their ideas came to them in dreams? And far from being collaborative, dreaming is an intensely private act. No one else can dream our dreams. At least not yet. And if or when we choose to share them, we always redact, veil conceal what might expose too much, even incriminated us, unless they inspire us, in which case we take full credit for them, dismissing the rest as, I suppose, undigested cheese. Take the example of Friedrich Auguste Kekulé, a 19th century German chemist who famously discovered the structure of benzene, which had far reaching implications in Pure and Applied Chemistry, as the chemists and will you will know. In 1890, at the 25th anniversary of the paper's publication, he told a somewhat fanciful story of the theory's creation, claiming that the ring shape of the benzene molecule was conceived in a daydream when he was lying on the grass, imagining a serpent biting its own tail. We've all seen this symbol somewhere. The ancient Greeks called it an Uroboros, which means literally, 'tail eater'. The anecdote may or may not be true. I tend to be skeptical. But of course, similar claims of inspiration from dreams or reveries have been told across cultures since well, time immemorial. Scientists, poets, painters, shamans, religious figures, who claim they fell asleep and then woke up with complicated theory or composition or idea fully formed, and all they had to do was transcribe it. 

Paul McCartney’s Dream

Paul McCartney, for instance, often repeats the story of how the melody for Yesterday came to him in a dream. And I don't tend to disbelieve him. I think melodies can occur to one in dreams. The idea or germ for what will ultimately become a fully realized creative act - a song, a novel, a great scientific theory or paper. I don't think Special Relativity came to Einstein in a dream fully formed, and all he had to do is remember everything he saw in the dream, each equation fully worked out, etc. As if dreams are that pellucid, that clear, eidetic. As soon as we awaken, we start forgetting our dreams. And an hour or two later, we mostly forget them completely. But I suppose for a melody like Yesterday, which on its face is simple, inevitable. And yet, it had never been written before. And there's something about its simplicity, its inevitability, its beauty, its familiarity, that made Paul think perhaps this was a song that already existed. I suppose it was a case of imposter syndrome. He didn't believe a song so good had never existed before. But of course, it hadn't. No one recognized it. Everyone liked it. And it has since become the most covered song in the 20th century. 

The claim that an idea first occurred to one in a dream is both modest and mischievous. It preserves the artists from having to explain the creative process in too much detail by pointing to something as yet inexplicable, even mystical - the dream, the unconscious. It's no wonder artists, musicians, writers, etc., repeatedly claim their ideas are not fully their own, and that some external force or being or spirit breathed it into them. It's a version of the modesty topos, a rhetorical device for downplaying ones talents while at the same time flaunting them (as someone who says they're terrible at public speaking, for example, before giving a speech that prompts a standing ovation - and they act all surprised, as if they were unaware until that very moment they could deliver a great oration). But it's important to remember as the applause washes over them that the gods giveth and taketh away. The ability to speak or sing or write, in a way that makes the public stand and applaud is a supernatural afflatus, the work of inspired genius is a gift from the gods, and the artist a mere vessel or conduit. But the gods nonetheless chose him or her as their vessel or conduit, a calling they 'humbly' accepted. 

Breath

The word inspiration also means, of course, the intake of breath. Expiration not only means its opposite, or release, but its final release at death. To inspire, therefore, is to give life. Whereas at death the pneuma - Greek for breath -makes its final exit through the nose and mouth. The ancient Egyptians dedicated a ritual to the process, 'the opening of the mouth', and this poignantly illustrates the means by which the soul or anima departs the body for the afterlife. Of course, the ritual is made more macabre when we discover it was literally done as part of the mummification process. The Book of the Dead has a passage that reads like a poet answering a call, "my mouth is given to me, my mouth is opened by Ptah with that chisel of metal with which he opened the mouths of the gods." Ptah is the patron saint of craftsmen, cognate with the Greek Hephaestus or Roman Vulcan, more a divine blacksmith than a poet. And yet what's left after he applies his metal chisel, a vessel emptied of what animated it from birth. But we don't only exhale to breathe or sing songs or recite poetry or die. When a dog barks at exhales; it is the mechanism by which birds sing, by which loud and obnoxious people are loud and obnoxious. "Language" said W.H. Gass in 'The Sentence Seeks its Form' "is born in the lungs and is shaped by the lips, palate, teeth and tongue out of spent breath." Spent breath. But not necessarily wasted. "Oh Lord" says the psalmist "open thou my lips and my mouth shall show forth they praise." 

Anyone Can Be Inspired

And of course, when we think of inspiration, it's usually the artistic kind, the religious kind, the scientific kind. We don't like to think the businessmen or women are truly creative. That lawyers and judges cavort with the Muses. But I want to examine all aspects of the creative process, even as it’s manifested in the business world, in politics, in ordinary human interaction. One doesn't need to commune with the gods to be inspired. One doesn't need to be among those who, to quote Stephen Spender, "From the womb remember the soul's history through corridors of light. Where the hours are suns, endless and singing." Inspiration can come by slipping on a banana skin and landing in a pot of gold. It can come while lying on the grass with your eyes closed, daydreaming, as Kekulé claimed. Or by turning around and asking your colleague, friend, or family member a question. When restrictions began to lift in Ireland, I met my colleagues for the first time in two years and got to know them better than I had in those two years. Because in the pub, which is where we met over a pint, we were able to interact in a freely associative way, in a less inhibited way. Because our managers weren't there monitoring in the calls. We could speak about things other than what's on the meeting agenda. And we could bounce ideas off each other, whether they related to work or not. Almost in the way information percolates between areas of the brain's cortex.

Neuroscience of Inspiration

 The cognitive neuroscientist Mark Jung Beeman, and his colleagues at Northwestern University, looked at brain activity when people solved Association problems, and they distinguish between taking an exhaustive route towards the solution and having an instant breakthrough. Beeman says quote, "a network of brain regions becomes more active when people solve with sudden insight compared to when they solve analytically." So, it looks like the combination of brain areas allows people to cumulate activity from several weak connections, so that the 'full picture' gradually strengthens, but is initially still below the consciousness threshold. Beeman explains, "eventually this summated activation is detected. And some processes can help people switch attention to it, allowing the idea to emerge into consciousness. But it emerges as a whole. Hence, the strong sense of confidence. You just know the answer’s right? And that it connects all parts of the problem." 

Furthermore, Beeman suspects that people, individuals, are likely to vary in their tendency to solve either analytically or more creatively by insight. But they can also vary periodically, depending on their mood. And of course, the effect of mood on our cognitive processes, and our behavior can't be understated. And I will certainly dedicate a future episode on the relationship between mood disorders and creativity. Anxiety narrows attention, Beeman says, which isn't necessarily a bad thing; and a narrowing of one's attention, one's focus, can be useful, especially for analytic problem solving. But the research suggests narrower attention may suppress or ignore the weak activations that are necessary to solve creatively or with insight. On the other hand, a positive mood can help insight. "In positive mood, attention is relaxed," says Beeman, "and people can detect and switch to weaker associations, which potentially lead to a solution." And regarding the association problems during which the brain activity was observed, Beeman states "people in a positive mood, solve more of our problems overall, but specifically solve more by insight," and he adds "for intellectually rich productivity to occur, you need other individuals to interact with, and to be able to bounce ideas off."

So in other words, the moment of sudden insight, when it occurs, may appear sudden, though it has in fact been incubating in the mind for some time, unbeknownst. And moreover, the incubation process is enriched by the input of other minds. Einstein, who'd spent 10 years thinking about a generalized version of his special theory of relativity, that incorporates gravity, can walk down the street and see a paint or falling off a ladder, and all of a sudden, comes the realization which he claimed he had in 1907, that when a person falls, they do not feel their own weight, and that is equivalent to free fall in space. It will take years for him to formalize his theory. But in that moment, for him, the way seemed clear. Or more recently, the Beatles road manager Mal Evans may turn to Paul McCartney and ask him to pass the salt and pepper, which Paul said he misheard as Sgt pepper. A funny little character. Perhaps it has potential - something to bounce off the other members of the group.