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272 pages, Paperback
First published April 10, 2012
„Conform psihologului Shelley Taylor, o minte sănătoasă își spune mereu și mereu minciuni măgulitoare. Iar dacă nu se minte pe sine înseamnă că nu e sănătoasă. De ce? Pentru că, așa cum spunea filosoful William Hirstein, iluziile pozitive ne împiedică să ne lăsăm pradă deznădejdii: «Adevărul este deprimant. O să murim într-o zi, cel mai probabil după o boală; toți prietenii noștri vor muri și ei; nu sîntem decît niște punctulețe insignifiante pe o planetă minusculă. Poate că, odată cu apariția inteligenței vaste și a prevederii, vine și necesitatea autoamăgirii, pentru a ține la distanță depresia și letargia care îi urmează. Trebuie să existe o negare elementară a naturii noastre finite și a lipsei noastre de însemnătate pe scena mare a universului. E nevoie de un anumit grad de orgoliu impertinent doar ca să te dai jos din pat dimineața»” (p.208)
The characters in fiction are just wiggles of ink on paper (or chemical stains on celluloid). They are ink people. They live in ink houses inside ink towns. They work at ink jobs. They have inky problems. They sweat ink and cry ink, and when they are cut, they bleed ink. And yet ink people press effortlessly through the porous membrane separating their inky world from ours. They move through our flesh-and-blood world and weird real power in it. As we have seen, this is spectacularly true of sacred fictions. The ink people of scripture have a real, live presence in our world. They shape our behavior and customs, and in so doing, they transform societies and histories.
Recent research suggests that if geese dream – and it is possible that they do – they probably don’t dream of maize. They probably dream of foxes.
The storytelling mind is allergic to uncertainty, randomness and coincidence. If the storytelling mind cannot find meaningful patterns in the world, it will try to impose them. In short, the storytelling mind is a factory that churns out true stories when it can, but will manufacture lies when it can’t.
Conspiracy theories offer ultimate answers to a great mystery of the human condition: why are things so bad in the world? (…) for this reason, conspiracy theories – no matter how many devils they invoke – are always consoling in their simplicity. Bad things do not happen because of a wildly complex swirls of abstract historical and social variables. They happen because bad men live to stalk our happiness. And you can fight, and possibly even defeat, bad men. If you can read the hidden story.
Depressed people have lost their positive illusions; they rate their personal qualities much more plausibly than average. They are able to see, with terrible clarity, that they are not all that special. According to the psychologist Shelley Taylor, a healthy mind tells itself flattering lies. And if it does not lie to itself, it is not healthy. Why? Because (…) positive illusions keep us from yielding to despair.
Ours is not the age when poetry died; it is the age when poetry triumphed in the form of song. It is the age of American Idol. It is the age when people carry around ten or twenty thousand of their favorite poems stored on little white rectangles tucked into their hip pockets. It is an age when most of us know hundred of these poems by heart.