In a recent blog on NPR (“Where is Now? The Paradox of the Present”) astronomer Adam Frank tossed out a fascinating idea: there is a lot of ambiguity in the definition of the so-called “now.” Many people have spoken of the now, in contexts from religion to philosophy to science to New Age notions—as though it is a well-defined and precise thing. It is often defined as “the present moment,” referring to the instant between the past and the future.
Frank points out, however, that the present moment is really a rather fuzzy and enigmatic concept. He gives the simple example of what we're seeing when we gaze at the night sky and observe the stars. We can't perceive them in their present moment at all, but how they existed in the past. The light I'm now seeing from that star that's 100 light years away (about 600 trillion miles!) departed 100 years ago. What I'm seeing at my present moment is the star's present moment as it appeared 100 years in the past. It's history. It's antiquity... not the now. The star could have blown up five minutes ago and I won't know it for another 100 years. (Actually, I will never know it, since I'll also be history by then.)
In fact, at the present moment that I'm watching all those stars at various distances, I'm seeing them at various times in the past! So my starry “now” is really composed of countless overlapping starry pasts. I am unable to observe any one of those stars in its present moment, but only as it existed long before now (my now, that is). Some being living on a planet several light years away experiences a completely different set of starry nows. As Frank writes, “Where is now?” Whew!
He goes on to describe how this situation of overlapping pasts is true for any sensation logged by our brain. Each sensation begins with an organ of one or another of our senses—sight, touch, sound, smell, taste—and then travels via nerve pathways to the brain. Depending on the type of signal, its speed is somewhere between one and 200 miles per hour. That's pretty fast, but it's not instantly.
So our present moment is, just like starlight, an aggregation of multiple past events. Our “now” is a collection of old “nows.” We live in the past. Furthermore, the time differences for different observers of everyday events may be on the order of microseconds—rather than years—but it still is true that your present-moment perceptions are not the same as mine. Your now is not my now—you have your own collection of outdated nows.
That fact is a wee bit mind blowing, it seems to me. It causes me to ponder the various ways I have heard people refer to the present moment—particularly when it's implied that there is one unique now that we all share; as if it's the same now everywhere; as if the dividing line between the past and the future is something we all simultaneously experience; as if we all cross the demarcation line that marks the present moment in unison, collectively stepping from the past into the future. But no, your past could be my future, or vice versa. If that doesn't blow my mind, then it surely overwhelms it with paradoxical and perplexing images. As Frank asks, “Where is now?” I don't know, it's already gone.
But there's another, maybe more serious, message that this conundrum brought to me, after I mused over it for awhile—a message that's not nearly so enigmatic to me. If my now is really an overlay of multiple pasts, then my present moment is already over and done with. I can't change it; it's a done deal. I might as well not fight it, but accept it. It is what it is. Why get upset and get into a fuss over my lack of approval of it?
Now, that message may seem like a fatalistic one to some folks, as if I'm saying,
“It's too late. I can't do anything about it. It's fate.” With this interpretation one can become passive and powerless. The message I take, however, is that the only now I can perceive is my own now, and although it may already be locked into the past, my response to it is the crucial thing. How I respond to my now has a major influence on my future, since what I do now directly impacts my future.
And that response is directly determined primarily by how well I'm paying attention... right “now.” If I allow myself to be drawn into the past, or find myself leaning into the future, or have my attention diverted by distractions, I don't even get a clear picture of my now. It's muddied by diversions, or the fixed past or possible future events. My daydreaming can cause me to miss the reality of my now, and my subsequent actions may therefore be foolish. They'd more likely to be influenced by my inattentiveness, rather than reality.
So, pay attention. Act wisely. Enjoy the moment, because, in fact, it's already past. Soon you will be yesterday. Now... you got that?
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Sylvan Sanity
When I moved from the big city to the country, over a quarter-century ago, most of my urban companions and cohorts thought I had worked a few screws loose in my cranium. They were puzzled by my desire to trade a good job and the cultural assets of the city for the loneliness, hard labor, and fiscal uncertainty of the boondocks. I could only respond unconvincingly to them that it was just something I had a strong urge to do. How could I persuade them, when I was almost as naïve about sylvan life as they were? A few of them seemed to have a wee bit of appreciation for my courage, but most of them, I was sure, considered it a foolish move, and probably expected me soon to retreat back to the comforts of city life.
At the time it seemed to me that urban life was endangering my mental and physical health, and a move to the boondocks could be a healing step for me. As it has turned out, life out here has certainly been a physical challenge and finances have had to be carefully managed. Nonetheless I've never experienced any desire to go back, and I've felt that my health definitely benefited from the move. But how do I really know that's true? I can't live out two simultaneous separate lives and then later compare them. Besides, there's a tendency for one to make a life-changing decision and then later justify it as a wise move.
Now, after all these years, I get some kind of independent verification. Unbiased scientific research has recently shown that “the brains of people living in cities operate differently from those in rural areas,” according to a study just conducted at the University of Heidelberg. I'm willing to allow that German brains are wired similarly to American brains, so the results should apply to me too.
The German researchers noted that previous research findings (before they began their study) had already shown that city life increased three mental disorders over country life by: (1) 21% for anxiety disorders, (2) 39% for mood disorders, and (3) 100% for schizophrenia. Those numbers alone impress me! But what the Heidelberg professors wanted to know is why this was so. That was the aim of their research.
In these days when brain scans are routinely done for most any human study, the German scientists examined the brains of two groups of volunteers (city dwellers and country folks) who were put under artificially-induced stress in the lab. They found that two areas of the brain were far more active in city dwellers: the amygdala and the cingulate cortex. The amygdala is the danger-sensor of the brain and is linked to anxiety and depression. The cingulate cortex is important for controlling emotion and dealing with environmental stress.
The researchers noted that these areas of the brain are very sensitive to developmental stress, and that cities are “known for a greater demanding and stressful social environment” than rural locations. Other similar studies have demonstrated that stress is aggravated in the city by “social threats, lack of control, and subordination.”
So maybe I am better off having come out here! Certainly, I recognize that all types of personalities do not suffer from living in the city. Some thrive on the excitement of urban life. The frantic pace there, however, certainly seemed to be increasing my stress level. It's nice to discover all these years later that I may not have had a screw loose, but just needed the peace and quiet of the sylvan life.
At the time it seemed to me that urban life was endangering my mental and physical health, and a move to the boondocks could be a healing step for me. As it has turned out, life out here has certainly been a physical challenge and finances have had to be carefully managed. Nonetheless I've never experienced any desire to go back, and I've felt that my health definitely benefited from the move. But how do I really know that's true? I can't live out two simultaneous separate lives and then later compare them. Besides, there's a tendency for one to make a life-changing decision and then later justify it as a wise move.
Now, after all these years, I get some kind of independent verification. Unbiased scientific research has recently shown that “the brains of people living in cities operate differently from those in rural areas,” according to a study just conducted at the University of Heidelberg. I'm willing to allow that German brains are wired similarly to American brains, so the results should apply to me too.
The German researchers noted that previous research findings (before they began their study) had already shown that city life increased three mental disorders over country life by: (1) 21% for anxiety disorders, (2) 39% for mood disorders, and (3) 100% for schizophrenia. Those numbers alone impress me! But what the Heidelberg professors wanted to know is why this was so. That was the aim of their research.
In these days when brain scans are routinely done for most any human study, the German scientists examined the brains of two groups of volunteers (city dwellers and country folks) who were put under artificially-induced stress in the lab. They found that two areas of the brain were far more active in city dwellers: the amygdala and the cingulate cortex. The amygdala is the danger-sensor of the brain and is linked to anxiety and depression. The cingulate cortex is important for controlling emotion and dealing with environmental stress.
The researchers noted that these areas of the brain are very sensitive to developmental stress, and that cities are “known for a greater demanding and stressful social environment” than rural locations. Other similar studies have demonstrated that stress is aggravated in the city by “social threats, lack of control, and subordination.”
So maybe I am better off having come out here! Certainly, I recognize that all types of personalities do not suffer from living in the city. Some thrive on the excitement of urban life. The frantic pace there, however, certainly seemed to be increasing my stress level. It's nice to discover all these years later that I may not have had a screw loose, but just needed the peace and quiet of the sylvan life.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
Unpredictable Life—Part 2
These are just a few examples of how our lives are guided by a string of contingencies. At any one moment there are an uncountable number of possibilities that could happen to me, but only one does. I lose sight of—am mostly ignorant of—all those other possibilities, because only one thing did happen and I thus get accustomed to thinking that there is some determinable continuity to my life. It's almost as if what happened was destined to occur. I come to believe that my life is either mostly under my control or is steered by an invisible hand. It must have been fate.
We don't want to believe that life is really so fickle. We look back and see a string of events that appear to be sensible, continuous, and consistent. Of course, if I live, for example, in a specific place and time and follow a certain lifestyle, there is some degree of continuity to my existence. If I'm a shepherd in Australia, it's unlikely that I'll get elected to a political office in New York. If I've been a farmer all my life, it's a pretty good bet that I'll be in my fields in May, rather than on a cruise in the Bahamas.
We can also narrow our contingencies by the kind of life we live, but this unfolding of events can make us erroneously conclude that there is far more determinism to existence than there really is. In fact, there is very little necessity to life. We are not fated to do anything.
This situation can seem to some people as a grim message about the meaningless of life; that we are just buffeted about by random forces. Instead, we want to think that our life has a purpose and an intent—as we long for continuity (read: meaning). We want to believe that we are who we are, because destiny wanted us to be here, not because a string of random events brought us here. Is my life nothing but a succession of accidental happenings; a whimsical and senseless existence? None of us want to think that.
In fact, life is neither random nor predetermined. I see another message—one that lies between these extremes. More importantly, I think it can also mean that I am free to be who I want to be—that I am not permanently stuck with the person I've been telling myself I am. We tend to buy into stories about the type of person who we come to think we are—shy, overweight, unable to dance, prone to anger, incompetent at sports, not liked by my family, etc.
These stories are not necessarily true. I am not necessarily destined to stay who I am. I can break free of my shackles and change. I can reorder my life. There's nothing compelling me to do the things I've been doing. I don't have to be passively reacting to life. If I acknowledge and accept the fact that uncontrollable contingencies do impact who I am and what I'm doing, I can open up to them and dance with them. If I don't futilely try to control them, but see them coming and roll with them, I can be much happier.
If my attitude is influenced by gratitude for simply being alive and having uncountable possibilities, I can accomplish things I never thought possible. Fate has not laid it all out for me—I can play a part in the dance and take the initiative. Sure, dangers and threats lurk around the next bend, but so do gifts and grace. When I give up struggling and quit fighting life, I begin to fully accept it and become positively engaged with and captivated by it.
We don't want to believe that life is really so fickle. We look back and see a string of events that appear to be sensible, continuous, and consistent. Of course, if I live, for example, in a specific place and time and follow a certain lifestyle, there is some degree of continuity to my existence. If I'm a shepherd in Australia, it's unlikely that I'll get elected to a political office in New York. If I've been a farmer all my life, it's a pretty good bet that I'll be in my fields in May, rather than on a cruise in the Bahamas.
We can also narrow our contingencies by the kind of life we live, but this unfolding of events can make us erroneously conclude that there is far more determinism to existence than there really is. In fact, there is very little necessity to life. We are not fated to do anything.
This situation can seem to some people as a grim message about the meaningless of life; that we are just buffeted about by random forces. Instead, we want to think that our life has a purpose and an intent—as we long for continuity (read: meaning). We want to believe that we are who we are, because destiny wanted us to be here, not because a string of random events brought us here. Is my life nothing but a succession of accidental happenings; a whimsical and senseless existence? None of us want to think that.
In fact, life is neither random nor predetermined. I see another message—one that lies between these extremes. More importantly, I think it can also mean that I am free to be who I want to be—that I am not permanently stuck with the person I've been telling myself I am. We tend to buy into stories about the type of person who we come to think we are—shy, overweight, unable to dance, prone to anger, incompetent at sports, not liked by my family, etc.
These stories are not necessarily true. I am not necessarily destined to stay who I am. I can break free of my shackles and change. I can reorder my life. There's nothing compelling me to do the things I've been doing. I don't have to be passively reacting to life. If I acknowledge and accept the fact that uncontrollable contingencies do impact who I am and what I'm doing, I can open up to them and dance with them. If I don't futilely try to control them, but see them coming and roll with them, I can be much happier.
If my attitude is influenced by gratitude for simply being alive and having uncountable possibilities, I can accomplish things I never thought possible. Fate has not laid it all out for me—I can play a part in the dance and take the initiative. Sure, dangers and threats lurk around the next bend, but so do gifts and grace. When I give up struggling and quit fighting life, I begin to fully accept it and become positively engaged with and captivated by it.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Unpredictable Life—Part 1
Who we are and what we're doing at any given moment is heavily dependent on specific events that occurred moments before—in the time immediately before “now.” At any moment an uncountable number of possibilities could happen, but only one does. All the other potential candidates remain mostly hidden to us. In our ignorance we view the one event that did happen as something that must have been destined to be so, as if fate or some superior power had decided ahead of time what would happen to us. An earthquake will be viewed by some as punishment from God. Winning the lottery may be perceived as a reward for being good.
Even if we don't see a divine hand steering every event, we want to believe that our personal lives have order, that there is meaning to the things that happen to us. We want to think that things have a reason for happening—that there is a purpose and continuity to this existence.
On the personal level we especially want to see a continuum to our lives. So we tend to adopt the belief that there is an understandable order in our lives—even that there is some guiding hand that propels us down a certain path. It's almost as if we were destined to become who we are. That belief is mostly untrue. Our lives instead are largely contingent on arbitrary events that continually happen to us—events that are unforeseen by us and mostly out of our control.
When I was 17 and a new driver of that several-thousand-pound vehicle called a car, there were a few times that I nearly got killed—but managed to survive them all. The grace of God? Pure luck? My first job out of college depended on a recruiter arriving a week late on campus and my spur-of-the-moment signing up to talk to him that day. A week earlier I was otherwise involved and would never have met him. Where else may I have gone to begin my career? I bought my favorite house after a stroke of luck (for me!) saw the previous buyer's financing fall through.
Why do we marry the certain person we do? What determines when our first pregnancy happens and the baby's gender? What brought us down with a near-fatal case of the flu in 1998? What made my plane land safely and the next one crash? Wasn't my birth dependent on a random string of events—for example the one sperm out of millions of my dad's that led to me? What if my parents had decided to make love another night, or a month later, when Mom had a different egg in her uterus?
At any moment countless possibilities, innumerable contingencies are waiting, just a few seconds into the future. What I will end up doing in the moment following will be only one of those things—but until it actually happens, I could be pushed in many unpredictable directions. I plan to go outside and weed the garden, but the phone rings and the caller dramatically changes my direction. I walk heedlessly out the door, sprain my ankle, and spend the next few days in bed. I go to a restaurant for a meal, order the “wrong” thing, and come down with food poisoning.
All contingencies, of course, are not unfortunate ones. For example, I was dating a certain lady years ago, who seemed like she'd make a good mate; but we soon broke up and I shortly found a gal who's made my life far happier. I took a drive in the country one day and found exactly the piece of land I'd been dreaming about.
More on contingencies next time...
Even if we don't see a divine hand steering every event, we want to believe that our personal lives have order, that there is meaning to the things that happen to us. We want to think that things have a reason for happening—that there is a purpose and continuity to this existence.
On the personal level we especially want to see a continuum to our lives. So we tend to adopt the belief that there is an understandable order in our lives—even that there is some guiding hand that propels us down a certain path. It's almost as if we were destined to become who we are. That belief is mostly untrue. Our lives instead are largely contingent on arbitrary events that continually happen to us—events that are unforeseen by us and mostly out of our control.
When I was 17 and a new driver of that several-thousand-pound vehicle called a car, there were a few times that I nearly got killed—but managed to survive them all. The grace of God? Pure luck? My first job out of college depended on a recruiter arriving a week late on campus and my spur-of-the-moment signing up to talk to him that day. A week earlier I was otherwise involved and would never have met him. Where else may I have gone to begin my career? I bought my favorite house after a stroke of luck (for me!) saw the previous buyer's financing fall through.
Why do we marry the certain person we do? What determines when our first pregnancy happens and the baby's gender? What brought us down with a near-fatal case of the flu in 1998? What made my plane land safely and the next one crash? Wasn't my birth dependent on a random string of events—for example the one sperm out of millions of my dad's that led to me? What if my parents had decided to make love another night, or a month later, when Mom had a different egg in her uterus?
At any moment countless possibilities, innumerable contingencies are waiting, just a few seconds into the future. What I will end up doing in the moment following will be only one of those things—but until it actually happens, I could be pushed in many unpredictable directions. I plan to go outside and weed the garden, but the phone rings and the caller dramatically changes my direction. I walk heedlessly out the door, sprain my ankle, and spend the next few days in bed. I go to a restaurant for a meal, order the “wrong” thing, and come down with food poisoning.
All contingencies, of course, are not unfortunate ones. For example, I was dating a certain lady years ago, who seemed like she'd make a good mate; but we soon broke up and I shortly found a gal who's made my life far happier. I took a drive in the country one day and found exactly the piece of land I'd been dreaming about.
More on contingencies next time...
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
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