
M.C. Escher
Excerpted from Roger von Oech's A Whack on the Side of the Head: How You Can Be More Creative (Hachette Book Group, 2008, p. 56):The models people use to understand mental processes often reflect the technology of their time.
For example, in the 17th century, people thought about the mind as though it were a mirror or lens, and this "reflects" the advances made then in the fields of optics and lens making.
The Freudian model of the mind, developed in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, seems based on the ubiquity of the steam engine locomotive. Ideas billow up from the subconscious to the conscious in the same way steam moves from boiler to compression chamber.
In the early twentieth century, the mind was viewed by some as a vast telephone switching network with circuits and relays running through the brain.
For the past forty years or so, we've had a new model of the mind: the computer. This model does a good job of describing certain aspects of our thinking. For example, we have "input" and "output" and "information processing." There is also "feedback," "programming," and "storage." This is fine as far as it goes, but some people take this model literally and think that the mind really is a computer. Indeed, they may not only dismiss the soft types of thinking for not being "logical," but even treat other people like machines.
I believe that the mind is not only a computer that processes information, it's also a museum that stores experiences, a device that encodes holograms, a playground in which to play, a muscle to be strengthened, a workshop in which to construct thoughts, a debating opponent to be won over, a cat to be stroked, a funhouse to be explored, a compost pile to be turned, and forty-one others [including a drunken crazed monkey that has St. Vitus' Dance, cavorting in a cage. Take that as a compliment, human.]
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I'm guilty of thinking of my mind as a machine. Why do we bang our heads repeatedly against the wall when we're frustrated, or against a desk? It's like when we smack a vending machine to get it to work, futilely.
I've also thought of my brain as a huge filing cabinet, one of those memory-ball keeper things from
The Neverending Story, and a labyrinth with many unknown rooms to be discovered. If only we could. My brain is aware of itself? Sorry, it's getting pretty embarrassed right now.