The other day, I came across a word that was new to me: apophenia. It is not in Chambers Dictionary, and at first I wondered whether it was a misprint. But, of course, there is masses about it on the internet.
What seems a reliable article in Wikipedia attributes it to the psychologist Klaus Conrad, who defined it in 1958 as ‘the unmotivated seeing of connections’, and the article goes on to say that ‘apophenia has come to imply a universal tendency to seek patterns in random information’.
The penny dropped that this is what is behind some of my ‘phantom flies in amber’ (search on that term for previous posts). I have put together certain objective features on the photograph of the 1st KOSB going over the top on 4 June 1915 and made a pattern that I’ve called ‘George Calderon’ (see my post of 14 June 2016). I took the facts that my great-aunt and -uncle lived a couple of miles from Kittie in Ashford, Kent, demonstrably shared some acquaintances with Kittie, and told me after I returned from Russia in 1973 that ‘Mrs X’s husband also went to Russia’, where X was a foreign-sounding name that I promptly forgot, and I perceived a pattern in this information that spelt ‘my family knew Kittie Calderon’. But in neither case, I stress, did I believe that these perceived patterns had any basis in reality. In fact, I regard them both as nearly unverifiable ever in this world, and therefore intriguing but nothing more.
There seems, however, to be some confusion about ‘apophenia’. You would have thought that the ability to see patterns was a vital creative ability for both artists and scientists. But Conrad’s 1958 publication was entitled Incipient Schizophrenia: An Attempt at a Gestalt-Analysis of Delusion and he thought ‘apophenia’ was a symptom of the onset of delusional thinking in psychosis!
Apparently, apophenia is all right when the pattern leads to empirical testing that in turn leads to ‘insight into the nature of reality or its interconnectedness’, but when it is just ‘a process of […] experiencing abnormal meanings in the entire experiential field’ then those meanings are ‘entirely self-referential, solipsistic, and paranoid’. In fact, one learns, the proper word for the first (i.e. leading to insight into the nature of reality etc) is pareidolia, and apophenia is the abnormal one leading to conspiracy theories, OCD, paranoia and schizophrenia.
It took me forty-five years before I could see the Man in the Moon, yet this is a standard case of pareidolia, apparently. Another would be the ‘face of Satan’ in the smoke trailing down one of the twin towers on 11 September 2001, which I spotted immediately. It’s difficult to see, though, how either of these provides ‘insight into the nature of reality or its interconnectedness’; there’s nothing empirically revealing about them, they are just images. On the other hand, if I jumped to the conclusion that the moon really is a big man’s head, or that Satan personally was telling us he is still alive and kicking, that would be apophenia and the first step towards schizophrenia.
So presumably, wondering whether the famous photograph of the 1st KOSB going over the top shows George Calderon, and hypothesising that my great-aunt and -uncle knew Kittie, are examples of pareidolia (even though I don’t attach any empirical value to them) because at least I’m not mad enough to attach any mystical, conspiratorial significance to the patterns I have perceived here.
That’s all right, then. But it seems to me that apophenia and pareidolia still share the very same process of initial discovery or ‘revelation’. According to Wikipedia’s entry on pareidolia, the latter is a sub-category of apophenia. But surely, if apophenia is the abnormal one, it should be a sub-category of pareidolia, or they both should be sub-categories of that ‘universal tendency to seek patterns in random information’ which apparently does not have a name of its own?
All I can say is, it seems to me that (a) as a biographer one should always be alert to these perceivable patterns, in case there is something verifiable and empirically useful in them, and (b) like the ‘phantom flies in amber’ these patterns don’t half ‘bug’ you once you’ve joined up the dots and perceived them!
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Patrick, you should take consolation in your affliction by apophenia and pareidolia — or perhaps, as you seem to fear, by a toxic mixture of the two so far unidentified by science. Mark Antony provides all the evidence of being a fellow-sufferer, as he laments the forfeiture of his ‘visible shape’ towards the end of the play:
Sometime we see a cloud that’s dragonish,
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
A towered citadel, a pendent rock,
A forked tower, or blue promontory
With trees upon’t that nod unto the world
And mock our eyes with air…
That which is now a horse even with a thought
The rack disdains, and makes it indistinct
As water is in water.
And Antony’s author was evidently a man who invested heavily in this condition; a man whose mind was a kaleidoscope of superimposed images, a privileged panopticon from whose vantage point all things in heaven and on earth were simultaneously visible and interchangeable, understood only and always in terms of each other. The condition is most memorably summarized by his man Theseus in The Dream, with his description of the ‘seething brains’ of the lunatic, the lover, and the poet; the poet whose privilege it is to give ‘to airy nothing/A local habitation and a name.’
So do keep that brain of yours seething, making those connections for us which we expect a poet/biographer to provide. And don’t be afraid (as I’m sure you aren’t, really) by those long words wheeled in by Holofernes the schoolmaster. He and his like ‘have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps’!
Damian Grant
Damian, how could I not be comforted and encouraged by such a gracious, civilised, scholarly and sympathetic Comment… Thank you! ‘Toxic mixture’ is, I think, spot on. I promise I will use no more Holofernes-parle after today’s post on brain surgery! How wonderful, though, those lines of the great Erotomane are…I had quite forgotten them, and they hit me as though they were written only yesterday. The scene itself, which I naturally looked up on the Net, is unbearably moving (what a part for the ‘extra’ EROS!). My own favourite quotation from The Dream is: ‘When the players are all dead, there needs none be blamed’! I’m sure you will understand. Patrick