### Wave in the Mind The concept is explicitly linked to Virginia Woolf, who used the phrase "a wave in the mind". Le Guin discusses this in the context of where art comes from, suggesting it goes deeper than words. For Woolf, this "wave" is described as a "rhythmic impulse" that exists _before_ it is put into words. It's not abstract, but rather an "imagined matter" that is "intensely concrete" and "embodied". This wave can be initiated by a sight or an emotion. Woolf used the image of a stone dropped into still water, causing circles to spread out in silence and perfect rhythm, which the mind follows until they become words. However, she also used a larger, more potent image: the wave is like a sea wave, a silent swell traveling across the "ocean of the mind". For the writer, the task is to recognize this wave, this "silent swell," far out in the mind's ocean, and follow it to the shore. Once it reaches the shore, this wave "can turn or be turned into words, unload its story, throw out its imagery, pour out its secrets". After this process, the wave can then "ebb back into the ocean of story". This "wave" is tied to having "ideas, and visions". Woolf felt she was full of them but couldn't "dislodge them" without finding their "right rhythm", emphasizing the crucial role of rhythm in unlocking and propelling creative ideas into narrative. Le Guin also connects this idea to the imagination, describing it as a "rational faculty". Others, like Deleuze and Guattari, also touch upon Virginia Woolf's work, including _The Waves_, in ways that resonate with this concept. They note how Woolf articulates a mixing of internal and external worlds, combining "thought; sensation; the voice of the sea". They connect her phrase "saturate every atom" to the conceptualization of "haecceities" or assemblages, which focus on particles defined by relationships of movement rather than fixed forms or subjects. Deleuze uses _The Waves_ and Woolf's diary entry to think about molecular movements on a "plane of consistency". While not directly using the phrase "wave in the mind," these connections highlight a philosophical engagement with the kind of dynamic, embodied, pre-linguistic processes that Le Guin, via Woolf, links to creativity. Ultimately, the concept of "The Wave in the Mind" in Le Guin's discussion, drawing from Woolf, offers a way to think about the intuitive, rhythmic, and embodied origins of stories and ideas. It suggests that creative content arises from a deep, perhaps unconscious or pre-conscious, source within the "ocean of the mind," requiring the writer to listen for its rhythm and allow it to surface and translate itself into language and narrative. This surface exploration of "The Wave in the Mind" opens doors to several related ideas you might find interesting to pursue further: - The connection between physical or embodied sensation and intellectual or creative thought. - The role of rhythm and non-verbal impulses in the creative process. - The relationship between the individual mind and a larger "ocean of story" or collective unconscious as a source of creative material. - The philosophical implications of ideas arising from dynamic, perhaps pre-subjective, "assemblages" or "particles" as suggested by the Deleuzean reading of Woolf. - How different art forms translate internal "waves" or visions into external expression. **1. Background & Context:** * **Published:** Originally published in *Parabola*, Volume 6, Number 4 (Winter 1978), it has since been included in several collections of Le Guin’s essays, most notably *The Language of the Night*. * **Anthropological Experience:** The essay stems directly from Le Guin's experiences as an apprentice anthropologist. She accompanied her husband, Charles Gilman Le Guin, on a research trip to Papua New Guinea in 1965-66. She was initially tasked with documenting Aitape myths and stories, but the experience fundamentally shifted her understanding of storytelling and its cultural significance. * **Le Guin's Creative Work:** It’s crucial to understand that Le Guin wasn't just an anthropologist; she was a highly acclaimed science fiction and fantasy writer. "The Wave in the Mind" is deeply informed by, and ultimately informs, her creative process. She saw parallels between anthropological fieldwork and the act of writing – both involve listening, observing, and attempting to understand something beyond oneself. **2. Core Argument & Key Concepts:** At its heart, "The Wave in the Mind" argues that **creative inspiration isn't solely a product of individual genius but arises from a deeper connection with a collective unconscious or cultural wellspring.** Le Guin uses the Aitape concept of *“mwin,”* which is difficult to translate directly into English, as her central metaphor. Here’s how she unpacks it: * **Mwin (and its Untranslatability):** The Aitape believe that stories and songs don't originate with the storyteller but are "found" – they emerge from *mwin*, a kind of spiritual or psychic ocean. Storytellers are not creators, but rather conduits or receivers of these pre-existing narratives. Le Guin emphasizes the frustration and richness of trying to translate this concept because it embodies a worldview fundamentally different from Western notions of authorship and originality. * **The "Wave":** The metaphor of the wave is key. *Mwin* isn't something you actively grab; it’s more like waiting for a wave to rise and break upon the shore. The storyteller (or artist) must be receptive, attuned, and ready to catch that wave when it comes. * **Rejection of Romantic Individualism:** Le Guin challenges the romanticized Western idea of the solitary genius who pulls ideas from thin air. She suggests that creativity is a collaborative process, even if only with an unseen cultural or spiritual force. It's about tapping into something larger than oneself. * **The Role of Listening & Observation:** The essay highlights the importance of listening and observation in both anthropology and creative work. To access *mwin*, one must be quiet, attentive, and willing to learn from others – even (or especially) when those "others" are vastly different from oneself. She contrasts this with a more assertive, imposing approach to knowledge acquisition. * **Language as a Bridge:** Le Guin explores how language acts as both a barrier and a bridge between cultures. While translation is imperfect, the attempt to understand another culture's language reveals profound differences in worldview. **3. Significance & Impact:** * **Reframing Creativity:** "The Wave in the Mind" has been influential in discussions about creativity, authorship, and originality across various fields – from literature and art to science and technology. * **Cultural Relativism & Understanding:** It promotes a deeper understanding of cultural relativism and challenges ethnocentric assumptions about knowledge creation. It encourages humility and respect for different ways of knowing. * **Le Guin's Own Writing:** The essay provides valuable insight into Le Guin’s own creative process, explaining her approach to world-building, character development, and storytelling in her fiction. Her work is often characterized by a deep empathy for other cultures and perspectives, which clearly stems from this anthropological experience. **4. Where to Find It & Further Reading:** * **Collections:** *The Language of the Night: Essays After Dark*, *Dancing at the Edge of the World* * **Online:** While not always freely available, excerpts and discussions of the essay can be found through academic databases (JSTOR, Project MUSE) and literary blogs. **Suggestions for Further Exploration:** * **Ursula K. Le Guin's Anthropology Essays:** Explore other essays in *The Language of the Night* or *Dancing at the Edge of the World*. They offer a broader picture of her anthropological experiences and their impact on her writing. * **Aitape Culture & Melanesian Anthropology:** Research the Aitape people and Melanesian cultures more generally. Understanding the specific cultural context enriches your understanding of Le Guin’s essay. * **The Concept of *Mwin* in Other Cultures:** Investigate similar concepts of a collective unconscious or spiritual wellspring in other cultures (e.g., the concept of "mana" in Polynesian societies, the idea of *anima/animus* in Jungian psychology). * **Theories of Creativity & Authorship:** Read about theories of creativity and authorship from different perspectives – psychological, sociological, philosophical. Consider how Le Guin’s ideas challenge or complement these existing frameworks. * **Postcolonial Theory:** "The Wave in the Mind" touches on themes relevant to postcolonial theory, particularly regarding power dynamics between colonizer and colonized, and the challenges of representing other cultures. ### Carrier Bag Theory One of the most fascinating starting points for understanding Le Guin's philosophy is her embrace of the "carrier bag theory" of fiction. This idea, borrowed from Elizabeth Fisher's concept of human evolution, suggests that the early human's gathering bag, used for collecting plants and small things, was just as crucial as the hunter's tools. Le Guin applies this to storytelling, moving away from the traditional "heroic" narrative structure, which she sees as often resembling a weapon – a spear or arrow thrusting towards a climax and resolution. Instead, she proposes that the novel, especially the modern novel, can function more like a carrier bag. What does this mean for her philosophy? Well, thinking of stories as carrier bags allows Le Guin to fill them with all sorts of things: "wimps and klutzes," tiny grains of observation, everyday life, beginnings without clear ends, initiations, losses, transformations, and tricks rather than just conflicts. This moves the focus from a singular, goal-oriented trajectory (like a hero's quest to kill the dragon) to a more meandering, process-oriented exploration of what it means to be human. It's about decision-making and living through experiences rather than simply winning or losing a battle. This perspective is fundamental to her work and her view of life itself – a continuous process rather than a fixed destination or a problem to be solved with a single heroic act. At the core of this carrier bag approach is a deep concern with morality and moral development. Le Guin is considered a remarkably innovative moral thinker. Her stories aren't just entertainment; they are "thought experiments" that challenge taboos and explore the essence of human morality. She's less interested in heroes who use others for their own glory and conquest. Instead, she focuses on the vulnerable, the imperfect characters who navigate life's challenges. Le Guin's moral framework is heavily influenced by her lifelong love of the Tao Te Ching, one of the oldest guides for moral development. Taoism emphasizes balance, acceptance, universal awareness, and compassion, often valuing weakness over strength, and yielding over force. This resonates with her rejection of aggressive, hero-centric narratives and her focus on finding a "Way" that exists naturally rather than being imposed from above. For Le Guin, the "true laws" – ethical and aesthetic – are not imposed by authority but are "found—discovered" within things and the natural world. This Taoist perspective is intertwined with her engagement with feminist thinkers like Carol Gilligan and Mary Field Belenky, whose work explores how women's moral development often follows a path based on care and connection rather than solely on abstract rules or rights. Moral maturity, in Le Guin's view, is a lifelong process. It involves learning to "not use other people" and understanding that love is a practice, something learned through action and struggle. It's about making decisions based on a "universal understanding of what is caring and just," sometimes even foregoing the strict letter of the law to do "the loving thing". This "ethic of care" evolves from understanding the interdependence of self and other and requires emotional availability, listening, and perception. An unexpected ingredient in Le Guin's exploration of morality is subversion. She often uses limited narrators and shifting viewpoints to draw readers into uncomfortable situations, forcing them to question their own values. This isn't about being preachy or didactic; it's about testing and deepening personal values through challenging dilemmas. Sexuality is one such complex issue she explores, asserting a woman's right to choose and suggesting that an inclusive morality "will have to be invented as we go along" because historical male philosophers often excluded women. Her acceptance of "natural organic messiness" counteracts attempts at purity or rigid control, including attempts at totalitarianism, which tries to force human nature into straight lines and order. Utopia, for Le Guin, must accept the "bawdy and the scatological" if it is to endure. Her thought experiments, like the fictional cultures she creates in novels such as _The Left Hand of Darkness_ with its androgynous society, or the Kesh in _Always Coming Home_, are designed to explore these ethical and social questions from unconventional angles. _Always Coming Home_, for instance, is a deliberate attempt to create a "habitable utopia" based on "yin" or feminine principles – non-European, non-Euclidean, non-masculinist. This isn't a perfect, static place ("utopia" means "no place") but a culture in progress, dependent on humans becoming less aggressive and more connected to each other and the natural world. It's a place that values community, connection, and respectful living lightly on the earth, avoiding the "big yang motorcycle trip" of consumerism and uncontrolled progress. Home and finding a stable but flexible center are crucial metaphors in this vision. Underpinning all of this is Le Guin's view of narrative itself. She sees storytelling as a fundamental human function, essential for making sense of our experiences and connecting the present to the past and future. Learning to speak is learning to tell a story. For a writer, this is an obsession, a constant process of telling and retelling stories in disguised ways, which inherently involves making decisions about what it means to be a person. Stories come from a deep place, a complex mix of experience, memory, and imagination, often emerging from a "writer's trance" or channeling voices from the subconscious. This process is described as hard work, involving stillness, tension, uncertainty, and often anxiety. But it's also described as a love affair with writing. The material isn't just intellectual; it's concrete and embodied, about finding the characters whose story it is. Trusting the story to find its own way is key during composition, followed by conscious revision. The relationship between writer and reader is also vital. Le Guin sees it as a collaboration, where the reader actively brings their own imagination to complete the story. She contrasts this with commercial writing that might try to manipulate the reader. Le Guin views literature as providing "operating instructions" for life. Her fiction, particularly her speculative work, offers imagined alternatives to challenge our assumptions and the status quo. She pushes back against prejudice in the literary world, where books about marginalized groups are often narrowly defined. Fantasy and science fiction are not mere escapism in a negative sense; they are powerful tools for exploring the human condition and challenging reality. Fantasy, in particular, speaks "the language of the night," accessing the intuitions and perceptions of the unconscious mind, "dreamstuff," and "primary process thinking". It's a way to explore the deep interior self, which she sees as a shared, universal space. This echoes Jungian ideas, which she found useful for articulating her own intuitive processes, though she emphasizes that Jung's theories didn't _cause_ her to write in a certain way, but rather provided a language to discuss what she had already discovered. Le Guin explicitly rejects shallow readings of her work, particularly allegorical or biographical interpretations. Allegory is "dead equivalence", while biographical readings focus on external details rather than the essence of the author which is already present "in the book". She sees fantasy and science fiction as operating on a deeper, symbolic level, connecting with archetypes and truths that are too complex to be reduced to simple one-to-one correspondences or autobiographical details. True art, she believes, aims to discover and express a "whole truth". Ultimately, Le Guin's philosophy, as revealed in these sources, is one that values connection, fluidity, interdependence, and a deep respect for the natural world and the complex messiness of human experience. It's a philosophy that encourages questioning, exploration of the inner self, challenging assumptions, and seeking a balance between different forces – yin and yang, doing and not doing, logic and intuition, mind and body. It's about the pursuit of liberty – the freedom to imagine, to question, to connect, and to live more consciously and morally in the world. This exploration just touches upon the many threads woven through Le Guin's philosophical tapestry! If these ideas resonate with you, you might find it interesting to explore further questions. For instance, how does her concept of "not-doing" (wei wu wei) from Taoism manifest in her characters' decisions? How do her depictions of community and connection offer practical models for navigating our own complex social worlds? And how can we, as readers, cultivate the kind of active listening and imaginative engagement she advocates for? There's so much more to discover and ponder in her work! ### The Hero Narrative One wonderful way Le Guin invites us into her philosophical world is through her view of narrative itself. Remember the idea of the "carrier bag"? This approach, moving away from the traditional "hero" narrative that often feels like a weapon thrusting forward, suggests stories can be more like a bag used for gathering all sorts of things – observations, everyday life, transformations, and tricks, not just conflicts. This perspective is fundamental because it shifts the focus from a singular, conquering goal to a more meandering, process-oriented exploration of life. Thinking of stories this way allows her to fill them with nuanced experiences and perspectives, focusing on decisions and living through things rather than just winning or losing. For Le Guin, storytelling isn't just entertainment; it's a fundamental human function, essential for making sense of our experiences and connecting the present, past, and future. Learning to speak is, in a way, learning to tell a story. For a writer, it's an obsession, a constant process of retelling stories in disguised forms, which inherently involves making decisions about what it means to be a person. Where do these stories come from? Le Guin suggests they emerge from a deep place, a complex mix of experience, memory, and imagination. She describes the creative process as hard work, involving stillness, tension, uncertainty, and anxiety, yet also like a love affair with writing. It often feels like accessing a "writer's trance" or channeling voices from the subconscious. She talks about this process as finding the characters whose story it is and learning to trust the story itself to find its own way during composition, followed by conscious revision. Virginia Woolf, whom Le Guin quotes, captures this beautifully, describing how "a sight, an emotion, creates this wave in the mind, long before it makes words to fit it". Writing, then, becomes about recapturing this rhythm, this wave, and letting the words form from it. It's not about having clear ideas upfront but about finding that beat, that rhythm, and letting the story carry you. She even uses the metaphor of learning to ride a horse by first controlling it, then taking off the bridle and trusting it – a process she admits is "stupid" in a conventional sense but aligns with a Taoist approach. The search for a story feels like looking for a stranger in her mind who will begin telling their tale. At the heart of Le Guin's philosophy, deeply intertwined with her narrative approach, is her exploration of morality and moral development. She's considered a wonderfully innovative moral thinker. Her stories serve as powerful "thought experiments" that delve into human morality, challenging taboos and conventions. She's less interested in traditional heroes focused on glory and conquest; instead, she highlights vulnerable, imperfect characters navigating complex challenges. A crucial insight here is her understanding of moral maturity as a lifelong process, involving learning not to "use other people" and recognizing love as a practice that requires struggle and learning. Le Guin's moral thinking is heavily influenced by her deep connection to the Tao Te Ching. Taoism emphasizes balance, universal awareness, acceptance, and compassion, often finding strength in weakness and valuing yielding over force. This resonates powerfully with her rejection of aggressive, hero-centric stories and her focus on finding a "Way" that exists naturally. For her, true laws – ethical and aesthetic – are not imposed from authority but are discovered within things and the natural world. This Taoist perspective is beautifully complemented by her engagement with feminist thinkers like Carol Gilligan and Mary Field Belenky. Their work, particularly Gilligan's on the ethics of care, informs Le Guin's depiction of how moral development can be rooted in connection and care rather than solely abstract rules or rights. Thinking about "women's ways of knowing" helps us understand different paths to moral reasoning. Belenky describes a process moving through received knowledge (listening to external authorities), subjective knowledge (finding one's inner voice), procedural knowledge (balancing subjective and objective knowing), and finally, constructed knowledge (integrating different voices and accepting one's complex self). Le Guin explores these stages in her characters, showing how individuals like Lavinia move towards procedural knowledge by challenging received wisdom and using critical thinking, and ultimately reaching the highest level of moral thinking, described as "constructivist reasoning," which integrates internal voices and accepts the true self. This highest level of moral development involves combining care and justice, which Aeneas, a character Le Guin admires, begins to grasp. Old Music in _Four Ways to Forgiveness_ exemplifies a high level of moral development in later life, demonstrating wisdom, compassion, self-control, and the ability to put aside his own needs to care for others even under extreme duress. His leadership is characterized not by ruling but by "walking with his people" and using stillness to make things clear, embodying Taoist principles. Le Guin uses her fiction to explore these moral ideas through compelling characters and societies. In _The Dispossessed_, Shevek's journey involves learning about intimacy and connection beyond shared suffering. His world, Anarres, exists in a dynamic "yin/yang dance" with Urras, reflecting a larger balance of forces. However, Odonian society, intended as a permanent revolution, sometimes stifles thinking among those in power, requiring Shevek to seek intellectual freedom elsewhere. In _Always Coming Home_, the Kesh culture is presented as a deliberate attempt to create a "habitable utopia" based on "yin" or feminine principles. Their villages are "hinge-shaped," symbolizing a stable but flexible center for moral education and community. The hinge metaphor represents freedom with constraints – a door opens freely but can't go anywhere it wants. This culture values community, connection, and living lightly on the earth, deliberately avoiding the "big yang motorcycle trip" of consumerism and unchecked progress. Stone Telling's journey in _Always Coming Home_ exemplifies moral development as she navigates between the Kesh and the aggressive, totalitarian Condor culture, which is founded on injustice and treats women as property. She learns that slavery involves learning "tricks" and witnesses a society consuming itself through war-mongering. In contrast, the Kesh rely on village meetings for moral decision-making. Her exploration of power and its absence, particularly slavery, is stark. The Condor culture's "moral education" is a militaristic, top-down system that allows bullying and violence against women. Justice cannot truly exist in such a system. The importance of education and voice becomes clear in cultures resisting oppression. Memer in _Voices_ finds her voice and agency by protecting cultural heritage (books) and learning to ask questions and interpret symbolic knowledge. She learns to listen to her own perceptions. This highlights how finding one's voice is key to making a difference. Le Guin also delves into the complex relationship between gender, sexuality, and power. She asserts a woman's right to choose and suggests that a truly inclusive morality must be invented as we go, as historical philosophies often excluded women. She challenges essentialist ideas of womanhood, showing characters like Tenar integrating "the dark" and recognizing that a woman's sexuality does not destroy her power. Her poem "Invocation" calls for reclaiming the "mother tongue," the language of women's common work, connection, and stories, to "sing the walls down". She notes that the literary world has been prejudiced against women writers, often narrowly defining their work or even forcing them to use male pseudonyms or initials. She herself was questioned about writing "so much about men," to which she replied that she often writes about "the person," who isn't always strictly male or female, and that she uses feminist tools to understand her own process. She later reflected on how her pronoun choices in _The Left Hand of Darkness_ might have inadvertently shaped the reader's perception of the Gethenians as more male. Her willingness to explore sexuality and the body, including difficult topics like foot binding and the potential connection between cruelty and sexual feeling, demonstrates her commitment to challenging discomfort and seeking understanding. She believes our understanding of cruelty is embodied and that recognizing it in the body is a step towards freedom. Her embrace of the "natural organic messiness" of life runs counter to attempts at rigid control and totalitarianism. Even utopia, for Le Guin, must accept the "bawdy and the scatological" if it is to endure. This echoes her acceptance of the complex reality of human nature, acknowledging that even in societies striving for ideals, there will be "termites and wood rot". Real change, like on the planet Seggri where power imbalances are slowly addressed, happens gradually and requires dialogue and resources provided by outsiders like the Ekumen, whose name suggests both ecumenical community and acumen (wisdom). For Le Guin, literature, particularly speculative fiction, provides "operating instructions" for life. Her fiction offers imagined alternatives to challenge our assumptions and the status quo. Fantasy and science fiction are not mere escapism in the negative sense; they are powerful tools for exploring the human condition and pushing back against reality. Fantasy speaks "the language of the night," accessing the unconscious, intuition, and "dreamstuff". It's a way to explore the deep interior self, which she sees as a shared, universal space. Science fiction, by presenting alternative realities, dislodges us from the "lazy, timorous habit of thinking that the way we live now is the only way people can live". This inertia allows injustice to continue unquestioned. She argues that we cannot know our own injustice or be free if we cannot imagine justice and freedom. Primo Levi, who survived Auschwitz, supports this, noting that while undeserved privilege is an "anguishing but unfailing phenomenon," it is the duty of righteous people to wage an endless war against it. Language itself holds immense power in Le Guin's view. Beyond its role in storytelling, she sees it as a fundamental connection to the world. In Earthsea, knowing the true name of a thing gives you power over it – a metaphor for the power of understanding and knowledge. She discusses the rhythms of language, arguing that style is "all rhythm" and that this rhythm exists as a wave in the mind before words form. She analyzes how speech expresses character, from the grand pronouncements of fantasy lords to the subtle shifts that reveal tragic flaws. The language of oral narratives, with its repetitive locutions and characteristic phrases, creates a shared understanding and expectation within a community. Literature creates a community too, one of "true minds" that can communicate across distance and time. Ultimately, Le Guin's philosophy is a rich tapestry woven with threads of connection, fluidity, interdependence, and a profound respect for the complex, often messy, reality of human experience. It's a philosophy that encourages questioning, exploration of the inner self, challenging assumptions, and seeking balance – between yin and yang, stillness and movement, logic and intuition, mind and body. It champions liberty – the freedom to imagine, to question, to connect, and to live more consciously, morally, and compassionately in the world. Her work provides not just stories, but maps for exploring these essential landscapes of being. This exploration opens up so many avenues for further thought! For example, how does Le Guin's emphasis on "found" laws and inherent value in the world connect to her critique of societies that value the world only for "gain"? How do the specific qualities of the "mother tongue" manifest in the narrative style or content of her "woman-identified" writing? And how can we, as readers and individuals, practice the kind of "listening" and "perception" that she suggests are crucial for moral development and understanding stories? Her work continues to offer profound insights, inviting us to dance the Tao ourselves, finding our own way through the dark and into the light.