What Is ASMR? Watch the The New Yorker’s Introduction to the Whispering & Crinkling Sounds That Help Calm Anxiety and Induce Euphoria

ASMR… is it a med­ical con­di­tion? A sex­u­al fetish? A desire for peace and qui­et cou­pled with an inabil­i­ty to turn off YouTube? Maybe all or none of the above?

Maybe you caught Act One of This Amer­i­can Life’s “Tribes” episode, in which nov­el­ist Andrea Seigel describes her pas­sion­ate need for whis­per­ing, and finds a com­mu­ni­ty of peo­ple who need the same. She dis­cov­ered the “tin­gle” ear­ly in life, when a friend came over to inspect her shell col­lec­tion, describ­ing each item in a gen­tle whis­per and pro­vok­ing in Seigel an “autonomous sen­so­ry merid­i­an response,” a euphor­ic reac­tion thou­sands crave as though it were a drug. They get their fix, as we learn in the New York­er video above, from videos in which male and female “ASMR artists” gen­tly han­dle, manip­u­late, and describe objects in low mur­murs.

Sen­su­al sibi­lance, the sounds of a brush through hair, scis­sors clip­ping, plas­tic qui­et­ly crin­kling, tap­ping, spray­ing… all pro­duc­ing the same effect as Bob Ross’s hap­py lit­tle clouds and trees, a pio­neer­ing source of ASMR, though it had not yet been iden­ti­fied as such.

Many of Ross’s view­ers were not, in fact, aspir­ing artists, but peo­ple who respond­ed to his calm­ing demeanor and the swish­ing sounds of his brush on the can­vas. (Watch all episodes of his show here.) ASMR artist Maria of the YouTube chan­nel “Gen­tle Whis­per­ing” is not only a pur­vey­or of ASMR sounds, she’s also a client who her­self shiv­ers at fin­ger­tips on paper and breathy whis­pers. See one of her videos below (and many more here).

“No one’s been able to unrav­el the bio­chem­istry or the exact phys­i­o­log­i­cal expe­ri­ence that peo­ple are hav­ing,” says Shenan­doah University’s Craig Richard, an ASMR enthu­si­ast. Oxytocin—the “love hormone”—seems to be involved, which may explain why many ASMR videos have a slight­ly sexy feel to them. Sen­sa­tion, touch, and close­ness define the genre (often host­ed by young, con­ven­tion­al­ly attrac­tive women). ASMR videos may adhere to some spe­cif­ic cul­tur­al con­struc­tions, but the phe­nom­e­non seems real enough. And it has a psy­cho­log­i­cal neme­sis, miso­pho­nia, “an extreme dis­like of cer­tain sounds,” such as just those that set ASMR folks a‑tingling.

“How can a sound be so relax­ing for group A,” asks Richard, “and real­ly make group B angry?” Maybe there is a genet­ic com­po­nent, he spec­u­lates. And maybe the pop­u­lar­i­ty of ASMR videos shows a soft­er, G‑rated side of how lone­ly peo­ple meet a need online. ASMR artists “tend to be peo­ple with real­ly kind and car­ing dis­po­si­tions,” says Richard. “You’re brought into this world and this moment with you and anoth­er per­son. And this per­son just seems to real­ly care about you.” Role-play­ing plays a big role in ASMR videos, which can make them seem even more like adult movies.

But it’s not at all about sex, but about inti­ma­cy, calm, and con­nec­tion, which many peo­ple under­stand­ably hunger for in a noisy, alien­at­ing world. As Richard points out, many say that ASMR videos help with anx­i­ety and insom­nia. Stressed-out stu­dents, sin­gle moth­ers, vet­er­ans with PTSD—all have report­ed find­ing peace through ASMR. “Our soci­ety has become quick­er in every pos­si­ble way,” says Maria. “Every­thing is pushed to the top, to the lim­it. ASMR slows down your per­cep­tion of every­thing.” It’s a med­i­ta­tive art, she sug­gests, and an anti­dote to the brain-scram­bling dis­ori­en­ta­tion of con­tem­po­rary life.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Every Episode of Bob Ross’ The Joy Of Paint­ing Free Online: 403 Episodes Span­ning 31 Sea­sons

10 Hours of Ambi­ent Arc­tic Sounds Will Help You Relax, Med­i­tate, Study & Sleep

Hear “Weight­less,” the Most Relax­ing Song Ever Made, Accord­ing to Researchers (You’ll Need It Today)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Why Med Schools Are Requiring Students to Take Art Classes, and How It Makes Med Students Better Doctors

I have fol­lowed sev­er­al debates recent­ly about the lack of arts and human­i­ties edu­ca­tion in STEM pro­grams. One argu­ment runs thus: sci­en­tists, engi­neers, and pro­gram­mers often move into careers design­ing prod­ucts for human use, with­out hav­ing spent much time learn­ing about oth­er humans. With­out required cours­es, say, in psy­chol­o­gy, phi­los­o­phy, soci­ol­o­gy, lit­er­a­ture, etc., stu­dents can end up unthink­ing­ly repro­duc­ing harm­ful bias­es or over­look­ing seri­ous eth­i­cal prob­lems and social inequities.

Tech­no­log­i­cal mal­prac­tice is bad enough. Med­ical mal­prac­tice can have even more imme­di­ate­ly harm­ful, or fatal, effects. We might take for grant­ed that a doctor’s “bed­side man­ner” is pure­ly a mat­ter of per­son­al­i­ty, but many med­icals schools have decid­ed they need to be more proac­tive when it comes to train­ing future doc­tors in com­pas­sion­ate lis­ten­ing. And some have begun using the arts to fos­ter cre­ative think­ing and empa­thy and to improve doc­tor-patient com­mu­ni­ca­tion. The ver­bal­ly-abu­sive Dr. House aside, the best diag­nos­ti­cians actu­al­ly have sym­pa­thet­ic ears.

As Dr. Michael Flana­gan of Penn State’s Col­lege of Med­i­cine puts it, “Our job is to elic­it infor­ma­tion from our patients. By com­mu­ni­cat­ing more effec­tive­ly and estab­lish­ing rap­port with patients so they are more com­fort­able telling you about their symp­toms, you are more like­ly to make the diag­no­sis and have high­er patient sat­is­fac­tion.” From the patient side of things, an accu­rate diag­no­sis can mean more than “sat­is­fac­tion”; it can mean the dif­fer­ence between life and death, long-term suf­fer­ing or rapid recov­ery.

Can impres­sion­ist paint­ing make that dif­fer­ence? Dr. Flana­gan thinks it’s a start. His sem­i­nar “Impres­sion­ism and the Art of Com­mu­ni­ca­tion” asks fourth-year med­ical stu­dents to engage with the work of Vin­cent van Gogh and Claude Mon­et, in exer­cis­es “rang­ing from obser­va­tion and writ­ing activ­i­ties to paint­ing in the style of said artists,” notes Art­sy. “Through the process, they learn to bet­ter com­mu­ni­cate with patients by devel­op­ing insights on sub­jects like men­tal ill­ness and cog­ni­tive bias.” Why not just study these sub­jects in psy­chol­o­gy cours­es?

One answer comes from Penn State asso­ciate pro­fes­sor of art his­to­ry Nan­cy Locke, who presents to Flanagan’s class­es. “Art can make peo­ple see their lives dif­fer­ent­ly,” she says, “Doc­tors will see peo­ple reg­u­lar­ly with cer­tain prob­lems.” And they can begin to schema­tize their patients the way they schema­tize dis­eases and dis­or­ders. “But a paint­ing can con­tin­ue to be chal­leng­ing, and there are always new ques­tions to ask.” Impres­sion­ist paint­ing rep­re­sents only one road, among many oth­ers, to the ambi­gu­i­ties of the human mind.

Anoth­er Penn State pro­fes­sor, Dr. Paul Haidet, direc­tor of med­ical edu­ca­tion research, offered a sem­i­nar on jazz and med­ical com­mu­ni­ca­tions to fourth-year stu­dents in 2014 and 2015. As he men­tions in the video above, Flana­gan him­self took the course. “Just as one jazz musi­cian pro­vides space to anoth­er to impro­vise,” he tells Penn State News, “as physi­cians we need to pro­vide space to our patients to com­mu­ni­cate in their own style. It was a trans­for­ma­tion­al expe­ri­ence, unlike any­thing I ever had in med­ical school myself.” He was inspired there­after to intro­duce his paint­ing course.

One could imag­ine class­es on the Vic­to­ri­an nov­el, mod­ernist poet­ry, or impro­vi­sa­tion­al dance hav­ing sim­i­lar effects. Oth­er med­ical schools have cer­tain­ly agreed. Dr. Del­phine Tay­lor, asso­ciate pro­fes­sor of med­i­cine at Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty Med­ical Cen­ter, “empha­sizes that arts-focused activ­i­ties are impor­tant in train­ing future doc­tors to be present and aware,” Art­sy writes, “which is more and more dif­fi­cult today giv­en the per­va­sive­ness of tech­nol­o­gy and media.” Arts pro­grams have also been adopt­ed in the med­ical schools at Yale, Har­vard, and UT Austin.

The prece­dents for incor­po­rat­ing the arts into a sci­ence edu­ca­tion abound—many a famous sci­en­tist has also had a pas­sion for lit­er­a­ture, pho­tog­ra­phy, paint­ing, or music. (Ein­stein, for exam­ple, wouldn’t be part­ed from his vio­lin.) As the arts and sci­ences grew fur­ther apart, for rea­sons hav­ing to do with the struc­ture of high­er edu­ca­tion and the dic­tates of mar­ket economies, it became far less com­mon for sci­en­tists and doc­tors to receive a lib­er­al arts edu­ca­tion. On the oth­er hand, todays lib­er­al arts stu­dents might ben­e­fit from more required STEM cours­es, but that’s a sto­ry for anoth­er day.

via Art­sy

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Byrne & Neil deGrasse Tyson Explain the Impor­tance of an Arts Edu­ca­tion (and How It Strength­ens Sci­ence & Civ­i­liza­tion)

Your Brain on Art: The Emerg­ing Sci­ence of Neu­roaes­thet­ics Probes What Art Does to Our Brains

The Musi­cal Mind of Albert Ein­stein: Great Physi­cist, Ama­teur Vio­lin­ist and Devo­tee of Mozart

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

An Animated Introduction to Anna Freud: The Psychoanalyst (and Daughter of Sigmund) Who Theorized Denial, Projection & Other Defense Mechanisms for Our Egos

Being in denial, engag­ing in pro­jec­tion, ratio­nal­iz­ing or intel­lec­tu­al­iz­ing events, regress­ing into child­hood, dis­plac­ing your anger, retreat­ing into fan­ta­sy: who among us has­n’t been sub­ject to accu­sa­tions of doing these things at one time or anoth­er? And even if you haven’t, all of those terms sure­ly sound famil­iar. They owe their place in the cul­ture in large part to the psy­cho­an­a­lyst Anna Freud, who cat­a­logued these and oth­er “defense mech­a­nisms” in her 1934 book The Ego and Mech­a­nisms of Defense. In her analy­sis, we engage in these some­times unpleas­ant and even embar­rass­ing behav­iors to pro­tect our ego — anoth­er now-com­mon term that, in Freudi­an usage, refers to our pre­ferred image of our­selves.

As the daugh­ter of Sig­mund Freud, the “father of psy­cho­analy­sis,” Anna Freud’s name car­ried a con­sid­er­able weight in the psy­cho­an­a­lyt­i­cal world. We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured an ani­mat­ed intro­duc­tion to the work of Freud père from Alain de Bot­ton’s The School of Life here on Open Cul­ture, and today we have one from the same source on that of Freud fille.

Togeth­er they reveal that, though both Sig­mund and Anna Freud worked in the same field, and indeed each did more than their part to devel­op that field, each of their bod­ies of work on the human mind stands on its own. And though many terms coined by Sig­mund Freud — “Oedi­pus com­plex,” the “sub­con­scious,” and even “id, ego, and super­ego” — remain in our lex­i­con, the names Anna Freud gave the defense mech­a­nisms may well see even more every­day use.

You can hear all those mech­a­nisms explained in the video above or read about them in the accom­pa­ny­ing arti­cle at The Book of Life. “Anna Freud start­ed from a posi­tion of deep gen­eros­i­ty towards defense mech­a­nisms,” it says. “We turn to them because we feel immense­ly threat­ened. They are our instinc­tive ways of ward­ing off dan­ger and lim­it­ing psy­cho­log­i­cal pain.” Ulti­mate­ly, her work teach­es “a les­son in mod­esty. For she reveals the extreme prob­a­bil­i­ty that defense mech­a­nisms are play­ing a marked and pow­er­ful role in one’s own life – though with­out it being obvi­ous to one­self that this is so.” In oth­er words, you can’t, for the most part, help it. That expla­na­tion may not get you off the hook the next time some­one tells you to stop pro­ject­ing, intel­lec­tu­al­iz­ing, or dis­plac­ing, but bear in mind that when it comes to defend­ing the ego, no one else can help it either.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sig­mund Freud, Father of Psy­cho­analy­sis, Intro­duced in a Mon­ty Python-Style Ani­ma­tion

Sig­mund Freud’s Home Movies: A Rare Glimpse of His Pri­vate Life

Watch Lucian Freud’s Very Last Day of Paint­ing (2011)

An Ani­mat­ed Intro to the Ideas of Jacques Lacan, “the Great­est French Psy­cho­an­a­lyst of the 20th Cen­tu­ry”

The Psy­cho­log­i­cal & Neu­ro­log­i­cal Dis­or­ders Expe­ri­enced by Char­ac­ters in Alice in Won­der­land: A Neu­ro­science Read­ing of Lewis Carroll’s Clas­sic Tale

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Do Our Dreams Predict the Future? Vladimir Nabokov Spent Three Months Testing That Theory in 1964

Pho­to by NC Mal­lo­ry via Flickr Com­mons 

Why keep a dream jour­nal? There’s prob­a­bly amus­ing befud­dle­ment and even a kind of round­about enlight­en­ment to be had in look­ing back over one’s sub­con­scious visions, so vivid dur­ing the night, that van­ish so soon after wak­ing. But now we have anoth­er, more com­pelling rea­son to write down our dreams: Vladimir Nabokov did it. This we know from the recent­ly pub­lished Insom­ni­ac Dreams, a col­lec­tion of the entries from the Loli­ta and Pale Fire author’s dream jour­nal — writ­ten, true to his com­po­si­tion­al method, on index cards— edit­ed and con­tex­tu­al­ized by Nabokov schol­ar Gen­nady Barab­tar­lo.

“On Octo­ber 14, 1964, in a grand Swiss hotel in Mon­treux where he had been liv­ing for three years, Vladimir Nabokov start­ed a pri­vate exper­i­ment that last­ed till Jan­u­ary 3 of the fol­low­ing year, just before his wife’s birth­day (he had engaged her to join him in the exper­i­ment and they com­pared notes),” writes Barab­tar­lo in the book’s first chap­ter, which you can read online. “Every morn­ing, imme­di­ate­ly upon awak­en­ing, he would write down what he could res­cue of his dreams. Dur­ing the fol­low­ing day or two he was on the look­out for any­thing that seemed to do with the record­ed dream.”

He want­ed to “test a the­o­ry accord­ing to which dreams can be pre­cog­ni­tive as well as relat­ed to the past. That the­o­ry is based on the premise that images and sit­u­a­tions in our dreams are not mere­ly kalei­do­scop­ing shards, jum­bled, and mis­la­beled frag­ments of past impres­sions, but may also be a pro­lep­tic view of an event to come.”  That notion, writes Dan Piepen­bring at the New York­er, “came from J. W. Dunne, a British engi­neer and arm­chair philoso­pher who, in 1927, pub­lished An Exper­i­ment with Time, argu­ing, in part, that our dreams afford­ed us rare access to a high­er order of time.” The book’s fan base includ­ed such oth­er lit­er­ary nota­bles as James Joyce, T.S. Eliot, and Aldous Hux­ley.

Nabokov had his own take on Dun­ne’s the­o­ry: “The wak­ing event resem­bling or coin­cid­ing with the dream event does so not because the lat­ter is a prophe­cy,” he writes on the first note­card in the stack pro­duced by his own three-month exper­i­ment with time, “but because this would be the kind of dream that one might expect to have after the event.” But Nabokov’s dream data seem to have pro­vid­ed lit­tle in the way in absolute proof of what he called “reverse mem­o­ry.” In the strongest exam­ple, a dream about eat­ing soil sam­ples at a muse­um pre­cedes his real-life view­ing of a tele­vi­sion doc­u­men­tary about the soil of Sene­gal. And as Barab­tar­lo points out, the dream “dis­tinct­ly and close­ly fol­lowed two scenes” of a short sto­ry Nabokov had writ­ten 25 years before.

And so we come to the real appeal of Insom­ni­ac Dreams: Nabokov’s skill at ren­der­ing evoca­tive and mem­o­rable images in lan­guage — or rather, in his poly­glot case, lan­guages – as well as deal­ing with themes of time and mem­o­ry. You can read a few sam­ples at Lithub involv­ing not just soil but sex­u­al jeal­ousy, a lec­ture hasti­ly scrawled min­utes before class time, the Red Army, and “a death-sign con­sist­ing of two roundish gold­en-yel­low blobs with blurred edges.” They may bring to mind the words of the nar­ra­tor of Ada, the nov­el Nabokov pub­lished the fol­low­ing year, who in his own con­sid­er­a­tion of Dunne guess­es that in dreams, “some law of log­ic should fix the num­ber of coin­ci­dences, in a giv­en domain, after which they cease to be coin­ci­dences, and form, instead, the liv­ing organ­ism of a new truth.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Note­cards on Which Vladimir Nabokov Wrote Loli­ta: A Look Inside the Author’s Cre­ative Process

Take Vladimir Nabokov’s Quiz to See If You’re a Good Reader–The Same One He Gave to His Stu­dents

Vladimir Nabokov (Chan­nelled by Christo­pher Plum­mer) Teach­es Kaf­ka at Cor­nell

Alfred Hitch­cock and Vladimir Nabokov Trade Let­ters and Ideas for a Film Col­lab­o­ra­tion (1964)

How a Good Night’s Sleep — and a Bad Night’s Sleep — Can Enhance Your Cre­ativ­i­ty

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Famous Break Up of Sigmund Freud & Carl Jung Explained in a New Animated Video


Mak­ing friends with sim­i­lar inter­ests can be a chal­lenge for any­one. But imag­ine you are the founder of an entire­ly new dis­ci­pline, with its own pecu­liar jar­gon, set of prac­tices, and con­cep­tu­al cat­e­gories. Imag­ine, for exam­ple, that you are Sig­mund Freud, who in 1896 made his break with med­i­cine to pur­sue the work of psy­cho­analy­sis. Draw­ing on clin­i­cal expe­ri­ence with patients, his own self-analy­sis, cocaine-induced rever­ies, and an idio­syn­crat­ic read­ing of Greek mythol­o­gy, Freud invent­ed his strange psy­cho­sex­u­al the­o­ries with­in the con­fi­dence of a very small cir­cle of acquain­tances and admir­ers.

One of his close rela­tion­ships dur­ing those pro­duc­tive and tur­bu­lent years, with eccen­tric ear, nose, and throat doc­tor Wil­helm Fliess—a col­lab­o­ra­tor, influ­ence, “con­fes­sor and moral sup­port­er”—end­ed bad­ly in 1906. It was in that same year that Freud met the much-younger Carl Jung. At their first meet­ing, the two “talked non­stop for 13 hours,” the Aeon video above, ani­mat­ed by Andrew Khos­ra­vani, tells us. Thus began the intense and now-leg­endary six-year friend­ship between the psy­chi­a­trists, a “pas­sion­ate and sur­pass­ing­ly weird rela­tion­ship, which, giv­en the peo­ple involved, per­haps shouldn’t come as a sur­prise.” Freud set­tled upon Jung as his pro­tege and suc­ces­sor, the “Joshua to my Moses,” over­joyed to have found a friend who seemed to under­stand his ideas inti­mate­ly.

They trav­eled to the US to give joint lec­tures and ana­lyzed each other’s dreams. Freud wrote to pro­pose that Jung should think of their rela­tion­ship as between “father and son,” an odd pro­pos­al in any friend­ship, but espe­cial­ly when the “father” invent­ed the Oedi­pal com­plex; “this did not go unno­ticed by Freud, and he freaked out a lit­tle.” The unset­tling dynam­ic already pre­sent­ed a shaky basis for a long term bond, but it was their wild­ly diver­gent ideas that ulti­mate­ly drove them apart. Jung took issue with Freud’s obses­sion with libido as the pri­ma­ry dri­ver of human behav­ior. Freud cast a with­er­ing eye on Jung’s keen inter­est in reli­gion, mys­ti­cism, and the para­nor­mal as expres­sions of a col­lec­tive uncon­scious.

As he had divorced him­self from Wil­helm Fleiss in 1906, Freud sim­i­lar­ly, abrupt­ly, broke off his friend­ship with Jung in 1913, send­ing a rather nasty break-up let­ter to sev­er their “emo­tion­al tie.” Jung, he wrote, “while behav­ing abnor­mal­ly keeps shout­ing that he is nor­mal,” giv­ing rise to “the sus­pi­cion that he lacks insight into his ill­ness. Accord­ing­ly, I pro­pose that we aban­don our per­son­al rela­tions entire­ly.” The video ends by declar­ing Freud the win­ner of this “feud,” such as it was, though the per­son­al con­flict seems rather one-sided. As Jung would lat­er relate, he “soon dis­cov­ered that when [Freud] had thought some­thing, then it was set­tled.” After Freud broke it off, Jung wrote in his diary, “the rest is silence.”

As for the lega­cies of both men, these seem set­tled as well. They both had sig­nif­i­cant influ­ence on writ­ers and artists of all kinds, on lit­er­ary the­o­rists, new age mys­tics, and philoso­phers. But Jung is hard­ly tak­en seri­ous­ly in the main­stream of psy­chi­a­try, and Freud’s ideas have large­ly been aban­doned, save for one: as mil­lions who still reveal them­selves week­ly on ther­a­pists’ couch­es can attest, the talk­ing cure of psy­cho­analy­sis is alive and well.

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ani­mat­ed Video Tells the Sto­ry of Jean-Paul Sartre & Albert Camus’ Famous Falling Out (1952)

The Famous Let­ter Where Freud Breaks His Rela­tion­ship with Jung (1913)

Carl Jung Explains Why His Famous Friend­ship with Sig­mund Freud Fell Apart in Rare 1959 Audio

How a Young Sig­mund Freud Researched & Got Addict­ed to Cocaine, the New “Mir­a­cle Drug,” in 1894

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

You Don’t “Find” Your Passion in Life, You Actively Develop It, Explains Psychologist Carol Dweck, Theorist of the “Growth Mindset”

You might spend your whole life try­ing to find your life’s pas­sion, or pas­sive­ly hop­ing it comes to you. Many have done so and, trag­i­cal­ly, have nev­er dis­cov­ered it. Were they look­ing for pur­pose in all the wrong places? Maybe. Or maybe the idea that our life’s call­ing waits out there for us to find—like the fairy tale notion of a one true per­fect love—is kind of crap. That’s not how Stan­ford psy­chol­o­gists Car­ol Dweck and Gre­go­ry Wal­ton put it, exact­ly, but their research sug­gests that “the adage so com­mon­ly advised by grad­u­a­tion speak­ers,” as Stan­ford News reports, “might under­mine how inter­ests actu­al­ly devel­op.”

In oth­er words, when peo­ple think of inter­ests or tal­ents as “fixed qual­i­ties that are inher­ent­ly there,” they are more like­ly to give up on pur­suits when they encounter dif­fi­cul­ty, believ­ing they aren’t des­tined for suc­cess. Work­ing with data acquired by Stan­ford post­doc­tor­al fel­low Paul O’Keefe (now at Yale), Dweck and Wal­ton explained some recent research find­ings in a paper titled “Implic­it The­o­ries of Inter­est: Find­ing Your Pas­sion or Devel­op­ing it?” The arti­cle is forth­com­ing in Psy­cho­log­i­cal Sci­ence, and you can read a PDF ver­sion online.

The paper describes five stud­ies on “implic­it the­o­ries of inter­est” and con­trasts a fixed the­o­ry with a “growth the­o­ry” of inter­est, an idea that comes out of Dweck’s pri­or research on what she calls a “growth mind­set.” She has pub­lished a best­selling book on the sub­ject and giv­en very pop­u­lar talks on what she calls in her TED appear­ance in Swe­den above “the pow­er of yet”—a phrase she derives from a high school in Chica­go that gave stu­dents the grade of “not yet” when they hadn’t suc­cess­ful­ly passed a course. This hope­ful assess­ment encour­aged them to keep try­ing rather than to think of them­selves as fail­ures.

Dweck tells her TED audi­ence about giv­ing a group of ten-year-olds’ prob­lems she knew would be too hard for them to solve. Those with a “growth mind­set” respond­ed with excite­ment, eager for a chal­lenge and the oppor­tu­ni­ty to expand their capa­bil­i­ties. The kids who had a “fixed mind­set” crum­pled, feel­ing like they had been judged and come up want­i­ng. “Instead of lux­u­ri­at­ing in the pow­er of yet,” says Dweck, “they were gripped in the tyran­ny of now.” Chil­dren thus “tyr­an­nized” by feel­ings of fail­ure might be more like­ly to cheat rather than study, make down­ward com­par­isons to boost feel­ings of self-worth, or become avoidant and “run from dif­fi­cul­ty.”

These strate­gies are even vis­i­ble in images of brain activ­i­ty. None of them, of course, will lead to progress. But Dweck claims that the prob­lem is endem­ic to a gen­er­a­tion of peo­ple who need con­stant val­i­da­tion and who fold when they meet chal­lenges. So how can par­ents and teach­ers help kids become more growth-ori­ent­ed or, in Dweck’s lin­go, build “the bridge to yet”? Her rec­om­men­da­tions may not sound that rev­o­lu­tion­ary to those who have fol­lowed the back­lash against the well-mean­ing but mis­guid­ed “self-esteem move­ment” of the past few decades.

For one thing, prais­ing effort, rather than intel­li­gence or tal­ent, will help kids devel­op more resilience and val­ue ongo­ing process over instant results. Judi­cious appli­ca­tions of “good try!” go much far­ther than rep­e­ti­tions of “you’re bril­liant and amaz­ing!” Dweck’s oth­er strate­gies involve a sim­i­lar focus on process and progress. Unsur­pris­ing­ly, when we believe we can change and improve, we are far more like­ly to work at devel­op­ing tal­ent, instead of assum­ing we’ve either got it or we don’t, an unsci­en­tif­ic and self-defeat­ing way of think­ing that has done a lot of peo­ple need­less harm. Dweck and her col­leagues show that our life’s pas­sion isn’t a ful­ly-formed thing out there wait­ing for us, or an inborn, immutable qual­i­ty, but rather it comes as the result of patient and per­sis­tent efforts.

via Stan­ford News

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Is Pro­cras­ti­na­tion & How Can We Solve It? An Intro­duc­tion by One of the World’s Lead­ing Pro­cras­ti­na­tion Experts

What Are the Keys to Hap­pi­ness?: Take “The Sci­ence of Well-Being,” a Free Online Ver­sion of Yale’s Most Pop­u­lar Course

Why Incom­pe­tent Peo­ple Think They’re Amaz­ing: An Ani­mat­ed Les­son from David Dun­ning (of the Famous “Dun­ning-Kruger Effect”)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Bill Murray Explains How He Pulled Himself Out of a Deep, Lasting Funk: He Took Hunter S. Thompson’s Advice & Listened to the Music of John Prine

Judg­ing by the out­pour­ing of affec­tion in online com­ment sec­tions, Chica­go folk musi­cian John Prine (may he rest in peace) has helped a great many of his fans through tough times with his human­ist, oft-humor­ous lyrics.

Add fun­ny man Bill Mur­ray to the list.

Tap­ing a video in sup­port of The Tree of For­give­ness, Prine’s first album of new mate­r­i­al in over a decade, Mur­ray recalled a grim peri­od in which a deep funk robbed him of all enjoy­ment. Though he care­ful­ly stip­u­lates that this “bum­mer” could not be diag­nosed as clin­i­cal depres­sion, noth­ing lift­ed his spir­its, until Gonzo jour­nal­ist Dr. Hunter S. Thomp­son—whom Mur­ray embod­ied in the 1980 film, Where the Buf­fa­lo Roam—sug­gest­ed that he turn to Prine for his sense of humor.

Mur­ray took Thompson’s advice, and gave his fel­low Illi­nois­ian’s dou­ble great­est hits album, Great Days, a lis­ten.

This could have back­fired, giv­en that Great Days con­tains some of Prine’s most melancholy—and memorable—songs, from “Hel­lo in There” and “Angel from Mont­gomery” to “Sam Stone,” vot­ed the 8th sad­dest song of all time in a Rolling Stone read­ers’ poll.

But the song that left the deep­est impres­sion on Mur­ray is a sil­ly coun­try-swing num­ber “Lin­da Goes to Mars,” in which a clue­less hus­band assumes his wife’s vacant expres­sion is proof of inter­plan­e­tary trav­el rather than dis­in­ter­est.

To hear Mur­ray tell it, as he thumbs through a copy of John Prine Beyond Words, the moment was not one of gut-bust­ing hilar­i­ty, but rather one of self-aware­ness and relief, a sig­nal that the dark clouds that had been hang­ing over him would dis­perse.

A grate­ful Murray’s admi­ra­tion runs deep. As he told The Wash­ing­ton Post, when he was award­ed the Kennedy Cen­ter Mark Twain Prize for Amer­i­can Humor, he lobbied—unsuccessfully—to get Prine flown in for the cer­e­mo­ny:

I thought it would have been a nice deal because John Prine can make you laugh like no else can make you laugh.

Dit­to Prine’s dear friend, the late, great folk musi­cian, Steve Good­man, the author of “The Veg­etable Song,” “The Lin­coln Park Pirates” (about a leg­endary Chica­go tow­ing com­pa­ny), and “Go, Cubs, Go,” which Mur­ray trilled on Sat­ur­day Night Live with play­ers Dex­ter Fowler, Antho­ny Riz­zo, and David Ross short­ly before the Cub­bies won the 2016 World Series.

I just found out yes­ter­day that Lin­da goes to Mars

Every time I sit and look at pic­tures of used cars

She’ll turn on her radio and sit down in her chair

And look at me across the room as if I was­n’t there

Oh, my stars, my Lin­da’s gone to Mars

Well, I wish she would­n’t leave me here alone

Oh, my stars, my Lin­da’s gone to Mars

Well, I won­der if she’d bring me some­thing home

Some­thing, some­where, some­how took my Lin­da by the hand

And secret­ly decod­ed our sacred wed­ding band

For when the moon shines down upon our hap­py hum­ble home

Her inner space gets tor­tured by some out­er space unknown

Oh, my stars, my Lin­da’s gone to Mars

Well, I wish she would­n’t leave me here alone

Oh, my stars, my Lin­da’s gone to Mars

Well, I won­der if she’d bring me some­thing home

Now I ain’t seen no saucers ‘cept the ones upon the shelf

And if I ever seen one I’d keep it to myself

For if there’s life out there some­where beyond this life on earth

Then Lin­da must have gone out there and got her mon­ey’s worth

Oh, my stars, my Lin­da’s gone to Mars

Well, I wish she would­n’t leave me here alone

Oh, my stars, my Lin­da’s gone to Mars

Well, I won­der if she’d bring me some­thing home

Yeah, I won­der if she’d bring me some­thing home

Lis­ten to a Great Days Spo­ti­fy playlist here, though nei­ther Open Cul­ture, nor Bill Mur­ray can be held account­able if you find your­self blink­ing back tears.

Bonus: Below, watch Prine and Mur­ray “swap songs and sto­ries about the ear­ly days in Chica­go cross­ing paths with the likes of John Belushi, Steve Good­man and Kris Kristof­fer­son.” Plus more.


Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Phi­los­o­phy of Bill Mur­ray: The Intel­lec­tu­al Foun­da­tions of His Comedic Per­sona

Bill Mur­ray Reads the Poet­ry of Lawrence Fer­linghet­ti, Wal­lace Stevens, Emi­ly Dick­in­son, Bil­ly Collins, Lorine Niedeck­er, Lucille Clifton & More

Lis­ten to Bill Mur­ray Lead a Guid­ed Medi­a­tion on How It Feels to Be Bill Mur­ray

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Thurs­day June 28 for anoth­er month­ly install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Ralph Steadman Creates an Unorthodox Illustrated Biography of Sigmund Freud, the Father of Psychoanalysis (1979)

Sig­mund Freud died in 1939, and the near­ly eight decades since haven’t been kind to his psy­cho­an­a­lyt­i­cal the­o­ries, but in some sense he sur­vives. “For many years, even as writ­ers were dis­card­ing the more patent­ly absurd ele­ments of his the­o­ry — penis envy, or the death dri­ve — they con­tin­ued to pay homage to Freud’s unblink­ing insight into the human con­di­tion,” writes the New York­er’s Louis Menand. He claims that Freud thus evolved, “in the pop­u­lar imag­i­na­tion, from a sci­en­tist into a kind of poet of the mind. And the thing about poets is that they can­not be refut­ed. No one asks of ‘Par­adise Lost’: But is it true? Freud and his con­cepts, now con­vert­ed into metaphors, joined the legion of the undead.”

The mas­ter of a legion of undead psy­cho­log­i­cal metaphors — who, in the ranks of liv­ing illus­tra­tors, could be more suit­ed to ren­der such a fig­ure than Ralph Stead­man? And how many of us know that he actu­al­ly did so in 1979, when he pro­duced an “art-biog­ra­phy” of the “Father of Psy­cho­analy­sis”?

Sig­mund Freud, which has spent long stretch­es out of print since its first pub­li­ca­tion, tells the sto­ry of Freud’s life, begin­ning with his child­hood in Aus­tria to his death, not long after his emi­gra­tion in flight from the Nazis, in Lon­don. It was there that he met Vir­ginia Woolf, who in her diary describes him as “a screwed up shrunk very old man: with a monkey’s light eyes, par­a­lyzed spas­mod­ic move­ments, inar­tic­u­late: but alert.”

There, again, Freud sounds like one of Stead­man’s draw­ings, some­times out­ward­ly unap­peal­ing but always pos­sessed of an unig­nor­able vital­i­ty gen­er­at­ed by a sol­id core of per­cep­tive­ness. Ear­li­er chap­ters of Freud’s life, char­ac­ter­ized by intel­lec­tu­al as well as phys­i­cal vig­or­ous­ness aid­ed by the 19th-cen­tu­ry “mir­a­cle drug” of cocaine, also give the illus­tra­tor rich mate­r­i­al to work with. One can’t help but think of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which forged a per­ma­nent cul­tur­al link between Stead­man’s art and Hunter S. Thomp­son’s prose. How “true” is the drug-fueled desert odyssey that book recounts? More so, per­haps, than many of Freud’s sup­pos­ed­ly sci­en­tif­ic dis­cov­er­ies. But as with the work of Freud, so with that of Thomp­son and Stead­man: we return to it not because we want the truth, exact­ly, but because we can’t turn away from the often grotesque ver­sions of our­selves it shows us.

You can pick up a copy of Stead­man’s illus­trat­ed Sig­mund Freud here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sig­mund Freud, Father of Psy­cho­analy­sis, Intro­duced in a Mon­ty Python-Style Ani­ma­tion

Sig­mund Freud’s Psy­cho­an­a­lyt­ic Draw­ings Show How He First Visu­al­ized the Ego, Super­ego, Id & More

How a Young Sig­mund Freud Researched & Got Addict­ed to Cocaine, the New “Mir­a­cle Drug,” in 1894

Ralph Steadman’s Wild­ly Illus­trat­ed Biog­ra­phy of Leonar­do da Vin­ci (1983)

Gonzo Illus­tra­tor Ralph Stead­man Draws the Amer­i­can Pres­i­dents, from Nixon to Trump

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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