The Serpent's Wisdom

Lately I've been thinking a lot about what I've been naively calling iconic imagination. By this I mean the ways in which a story or narrative is broken up into bits which are conceptually iconic -- by which I mean they are immediately recognizable, are guaranteed to provoke a specific emotional response, and are meaningful. (My understanding of meaning is probably a bit controversial. There are other kinds of meaning, which I think are more shallow as they relate to the mechanics of language, such as the truth value and reference. I am much more concerned with the intent or reason behind an utterance.)

In the past I would have perhaps called them archetypes, but I think archetypes are special-case instances of iconic imagination. Archetypes are notable multi-faceted icons.

For a thorough education on what I mean by iconic imagination, spend a few hours on the TV Tropes site. Here you can see that a trope, which is an example of what I'm calling an icon, is a pattern that crops up in many different kinds of storytelling. And they vary widely in scope, from major character types to silly throwaway moments.

There's a lot of directions this has been taking me. For example, genre fiction vs. literary fiction. Genre fiction employs a lot of iconic imagination and so it's much easier to read (and to write). There's a sense among critics and academics that genre fiction is "lazy" because of this. Another way of phrasing this question is to ask whether or not the degree to which a work is iconic affects how artistic the work is.

Here I take art to be aesthetic reflection, or in other words a statement of some sort about harmonic proportion or beauty or the lack thereof. So I'll say naively that art does not come from iconic imagination.

Iconic works are "accessible" or "melodramatic." They appeal to our sense of play and fun. Art, on the other hand, moves in the other direction; it is contemplated solemnly or is considered "serious." It is not enjoyed, it is "appreciated."

I came to this by thinking about games, and game design, and child's play, and the question of what makes a game fun. Roger Ebert stepped into the fray not long ago when he wrote that video games will never be art. Insofar as games are necessarily iconic (in reaching for possible exceptions I came up with Nomic) I get what he's saying, though I'm not entirely convinced I agree. The difficulty may be that the human response to something iconic may preclude serious aesthetic reflection on it. So an iconic work which also has what would otherwise be recognized as artistic values is not typically appreciated artistically.

ETA: changing the "vs." in the title to "and," because I think the end result of all this is that iconic and artistic imagination are not necessarily opposites, though we act as if they are.

ETA 2: I tagged this "culture industry" because I do think the culture industry relies on iconic imagination in churning out its products. Products of the culture industry are often criticized as "derivative" which makes me realize that one of the effects of art on culture is the creation of new icons. This is potentially significant.

It is interesting that I get Avalokiteshvara when I took the Bodhisattva quiz. (Thank you, scarletserpent.)

Not only is this deity dual-gendered, but Dee had a vision of hir (a thousand-armed androgynous, compassionate, firm presence) before she knew anything about the Bodhisattvas.

And this reminds of something that has been, for several reasons, on my mind during the last few days.

When she had this vision she experienced for a few brief moments the kind of peace, calm, and happiness she wished for her whole life. When she tried to go back during meditation she was turned away; the bliss was not meant as a place of residence. During the depths of her depression one night I listened to her beg to go back. "Let me back in, let me back in," she sighed, and I knew what she was talking about.

One of the ironic cruelties of life is that happiness is held out for us in small doses and then pulled away. Lovers break up and are left with the memories of happiness together. Friends, parents, lovers, children die. Physical bliss itself might be the worst of these; the most fleeting of all, and the ones which our brains are wired to continually seek.

Alan Watts wrote in The Wisdom of Insecurity, "If you try to capture running water in a bucket, it is clear that you do not understand it and that you will always be disappointed, for in the bucket the water does not run. To 'have' running water you must let go of it and let it run." This it seems to me is the essence of apprehending beauty; part of what makes it special (in addition to what I have said about it in the past) is that it is fleeting and momentary.

Some people say that heaven would be a place where everything goes right, where there is no death, no pain, no misery. Some have even described heaven as a paradisical forest or oasis where endless sexual delights are offered. But in such a realm there would be no incentive to grow, to overcome anything, to evolve, to move beyond, to explore newness. Add just a little bit of adversity and you would have something little more interesting than a video game. Add just a little bit more adversity to that... and you have something that starts to resemble the world we live in.

Edit: Recommended viewing on this issue includes the movie "Pleasantville."

This is from Living Buddha, Living Christ, pp. 116-117. I have the strange feeling that these words will be useful to one or more of you on my friends list today. (And perhaps myself, as I am facing deadline pressure at work today, making this an uncharacteristically high-stress day.)

"Mindfulness is the key [to obtaining refuge -- SS]. When you become aware of something, you begin to have enlightenment. When you drink a glass of water and are aware that you are drinking a glass of water deeply with your whole being, enlightenment is there in its initial form. To be enlightened is always to be enlightened about something. I am enlightened about the fact that I am drinking a glass of water. I can obtain joy, peace, and happiness just because of that enlightenment. When you look at the blue sky and are aware of it, the sky becomes real, and you become real. That is enlightenment, and enlightenment brings about a true life and true happiness.

"The substance of a Buddha is mindfulness. Every time you practice conscious breathing, you are a living Buddha. To go back to yourself and dwell in mindfulness is the best practice in difficult moments. Mindfulness of breathing is your island, where you can be safe and happy, knowing that whatever happens, you are doing your best thing.

"This is the way to take refuge in the Buddha, not as mere devotion [in the 'religious' sense -- SS] but as a transformational practice. You do not have to abandon the world. You do not have to go to Heaven or wait for the future to have refuge. You can take refuge here and now. You only need to dwell deeply in the present moment."