Indigenous perspective on aging is different from what we are used to seeing in our current culture. In native culture, it is not only important to be respectful of your elders but responsible for caring for them. You learn very quickly that elders are a part of your life because they teach you what you need to know. Elders are the architects of the culture. They instill the traditions. Now we have the great distractions of technology—distractions that take us away from what our generations begore us gave to us. In Native communities, elders and young people are held in high esteem. Young people are the purpose for it all. That’s why elders have an obligation. Everyone must understand their obligation to the next generation, especially as we grow older . You always have the gift of youth inside you. But it’s up to you to rekindle it and to bring it back. It is our duty as elders to live, not just for ourselves, but for the generations of young people coming after us and for the earth.

This chapter explores the transition of editorial control over the Swiss journal Jahrbuch from Switzerland to Vienna in an analysis of the last issue that Jung edited under the shadow of his official resignation and the first issue that Freud edited in his stead. If Jung, Eugen Bleuler, and Freud launched the Jahrbuch with the publication of Freud’s “Little Hans,” which contained the psychoanalytic solution to the riddle of antisemitism in a startling digression, for the purpose of announcing the successful partnership between the Jewish members of the Vienna Psychoanalytic Society and the Protestant members associated with the Burghölzi Hospital, I argue that Jung’s publication of Alphonse Maeder’s “Dream of the Blue Horse” sought to repudiate Freud’s debut article. Whereas Freud had theorized that the roots of antisemitism lay in concerns over the circumcised Jewish penis in the non-Jewish psyche, the “Dream of the Blue Horse” theorized that the notion of intrapsychic antisemitism was a paranoid constellation wrought by oversexualized Jewish minds.

Here we uncover the mysteries of the baby as it develops in the womb, discussing how fetal development is controlled. We give insights into aspects of pregnancy not widely known, from the fetus starting to breathe months before it is born, to the question of whether it sleeps – and dreams. We discuss the ways in which information about the mother’s life and her environment affect the baby’s development. Although birth may seem the first major milestone for a baby, we emphasise that many other milestones have been passed before that, inside the womb, out of sight but over which parents can have substantial influence. We give insights into new discoveries about how the organs of the fetal body develop in prediction of the world in which that individual ‘expects’ to live, and what happens when the prediction turns out to be wrong. The idea that the fetus is preparing for life after birth will get the reader thinking about the long-term consequences of the way a fetus develops. Each of us is unique as a result of our development – and nobody is perfect. Our unique development starts from the moment of conception, which introduces the next chapter on sex.

Creativity, an apex of consciousness, contains the altered states of a creative trance that are treasured across cultures and time. Ranging from the creativity of everyday life to the reveries that inspire works of science and art to the fast-moving action of sports that shape and reshape personal goals, the creative trance can also be a transcendent experience, an ecstasy using the body’s own pharmacology. There are multiple depths of a creative trance, from light enjoyable flow states to deep experiences obliterating all external stimuli. The degree of depth can correlate with the psychological capacity for absorption. The creative trance relates to the Five-Factor Model of Personality, Openness, Big-C and little-c creativity, Wallas’ four-stage creative process, and Barron’s concept of a habitually creative person. The creative trance can be a pivot to personal transformation, creating new work and a new view of the world, and may also bring the capacity for transcendence.

In those moments, or seconds, or hours, when focus on our creative work overrides input from the outside world, we are in the altered state of a creative trance. Shaped by individual experiences, social circumstances, and cultural traditions, the creative trance is multifaceted and psychologically significant. Taking numerous forms throughout the sciences, arts, sports, and self-transformation, it can change the world. At age sixteen, Albert Einstein’s visualization of riding on a light beam became a basis for his theory of special relativity. It can also be the inner deliberations of both Mozart and Shostakovich, who composed finished music in their minds. Cross-culturally, meditation and sleep are central to a creative trance. The Native North American Chippewa weave dream images into their beadwork and banners. In addition to the trance of creation, there is an audience creative trance of reception that ranges from pleasant enjoyment to the overwhelming response of the Stendhal syndrome.

Overview of the main issues in Galen's scientific epistemology , the state of the art, and the contents of this volume.

This chapter examines the change in the fortunes of Galen that began to occur at the time when Aristotle was beginning to be recognised as the supreme ancient authority in the Arabic world, eventually eclipsing the reputation of Galen, at least as a philosopher. It shows how Galen’s pre-eminence as a philosophical authority was gradually undermined by a sequence of commentators on his great work of scientific method, On Demonstration. Its main focus is on al-Rāzī’s Doubts about Galen composed in order to bolster Galen’s reputation when it was beginning to be challenged, notably by al-Fārābī. Central to al-Rāzī’s (partial) defence is an endorsement of Galen’s strong, Aristotelian notion of a demonstrative empirical science, as well as of his rejection of mere induction and argument from example as appropriate means of arriving at the requisite axiomatic principles. However, al-Rāzī takes Galen to task for failing to observe his own distinctions, and for taking insufficient care to ground his own fundamental assumptions. Al-Rāzī then applies his modified Galenian method to theological arguments, notably design-arguments, and in order to reject supposedly fallacious materialists’ arguments against creation. The article then turns to al-Fārābī, who in contrast directly attacks Galen’s inferential methods to support contrary, Aristotelian, positions.

Dreams provided Bishop with a creative resource, a motif, a model, and a literary device in her work, exceeding the contexts of surrealism, psychoanalysis and autobiography in which they have been discussed. While the word “dream” and its variants turn up repeatedly in Bishop’s work, her usage and attitude vary. I argue that dreams in Bishop might best be understood within a literary/aesthetic or cognitive/phenomenological lens. Furthermore, symbolist practices are as pertinent to Bishop’s dream poetry as surrealist practices. This essay explores the nature of “dreaming” in Bishop as a poetic resource, a phenomenal experience and paradigm of imaginative activity. And, quite differently, I acknowledge Bishop’s ambivalence about dreams as a literary device and, more broadly, as a general pursuit of illusions with often precarious personal and social implications.

Although best known as a clear-eyed, realist poet of vivid, precise description, Elizabeth Bishop was powerfully drawn to surrealism, the avant-garde movement devoted to the unconscious, the irrational, and the power of dreams. This apparent contradiction is just one of the many paradoxes that make Bishop’s work and life so fascinating, but it is also one of the most significant and generative. This chapter argues that Bishop’s interest in surrealism is not merely a youthful enthusiasm that she definitively leaves behind. Surrealism struck a deep chord within her and remained a significant element of her poetic toolkit from beginning to end. Bishop’s poems are also not just influenced by surrealism, but in some ways are about it, thematically. She carries on a lifelong debate with surrealism and its implications, composing poems that probe fraught tensions between the unconscious and the conscious mind, between dream and waking, freedom and control.

This chapter examines the emergence of a dream aesthetic in the orbit of Surrealism. While André Breton’s “Manifesto of Surrealism” (1924) and Louis Aragon’s “Wave of Dreams” (1924) point to the dream as a catalyst for a new kind of imaginative freedom, free of moral or aesthetic judgement, it was in Communicating Vessels (1932) that Breton brought the dream into direct correspondence with urban wandering and objective chance. In the process, Breton identified how the manifest content of his dreams drives an affective and sensorial attunement to people and places in the urban street, revealing the cathectic forces driving our aleatory engagement with the material world, and thereby assigning the dream a more critical, indeed, political cast. The second part of the chapter turns to the striking affinities between the dream and film uncovered by Surrealism, via the symbolic mapping of the Freudian dream in Buñuel and Dalí’s Un chien andalou (1929) and the melodramatic tension between symbolic objects and unconscious bodily movement in Maya Deren’s Meshes of the Afternoon (1943).

This chapter examines Freudian psychoanalysis as a source of inspiration and ambivalence for Surrealism. Freudian postulates such as the centrality of subconscious activity in human behavior and its manifestation through automatic processes helped determine surrealist methods of art-making and poetical practice in the movement’s early years. Yet surrealists would gradually reappraise their reliance on automatism and other key psychoanalytical concepts which had been appropriated into the movement’s theoretical body, mainly by André Breton. Breton and his coterie developed forms of creative activity based on a looser interpretation of the inner life; in doing so, they helped provide inspiration for new psychoanalytic concepts – the most notable example was Jacques Lacan and Salvador Dalí’s iterative notion of paranoia. This novel understanding of the disorder illustrated how the same idée fixe could appear to manifest itself in different external phenomena by virtue of the subject’s delirious projections. The chapter demonstrates that, while Surrealism was influenced by psychoanalysis at its inception, in its later years it was Surrealism that influenced psychoanalysis.

Nabopolassar fought with an Assyrian-style army and took the throne of Babylon. Thirteen years later, Nineveh fell despite Egyptian help. Babylon took over much of the Assyrian empire. Later he defeated the last Assyrian king at Harran. His success was seen as Marduk’s revenge. Captured wealth from Assyrian royal cities allowed major building work at Babylon, which was continued by Nabopolassar’s son Nebuchadnezzar II. Neither king left statues of themselves, and cylinder seals represent gods by their symbols. Major subsidence in the citadel required frequent rebuilding on the Southern Palace. The names of temples and gates were compiled on to a clay tablet as a literary work. Colour-glazed bricks adorned the Processional Way leading to the temple of the New Year festival outside the citadel walls. That festival is described. Some of his creations Nebuchadnezzar described as a Wonder, but he made no mention of the Hanging Garden. In a separate part of the citadel, Nebuchadnezzar built a Summer Palace. His conquests included Tyre and Ashkelon but not Egypt or Lydia. He sacked the Temple in Jerusalem and deported its royal family to Babylon. Other captives settled on land nearby. Business archives of long duration continue into the Achaemenid period.

This chapter looks at dreams. We first examine the definition of a dream and ask how we can be sure that they are real experiences, rather than constructed on awakening, and we ask how reliable is our memory for them. It then looks at lucid dreaming - dreams in which we know we are dreaming - and methods of inducing lucid dreams. The chapter then looks at dream content, including different types of dream, such as nightmares and recurring dreams. It then moves on to the question of why we dream, and whether dreams have any meaning. We examine the biology of dreaming in terms of the default-mode network and the activation--synthesis model. The chapter concludes by looking at why we dream, including accounts such as dealing with threats, and the relationship between dreaming and learning. In particular, we look at psychoanalytic theories, particularly those of Freud, Jung and Adler, and the idea that dreams are a result of a struggle between the ego and the repressed unconscious, and the use of mechanisms such as dream symbols.

This chapter discusses Pope Gregory the Great’s ideas about visions and the afterlife, and how they were received in the early middle ages. To provide a fuller picture of Gregory’s ideas about afterlife visions, the chapter discusses his thought more generally about visions and dreams, especially the two main themes of this thought: the nature of dreams and visions, as ways through which invisible realities might be perceived; and the nature of afterlife visions, especially whether they represented the afterlife allegorically or as it was. The reception of Gregory’s ideas was influenced by the existing tradition of narrating afterlife visions and the way his works were excerpted and abbreviated to suit new needs. This process made Gregory known both as a proponent of the reality of visions and the author of a teaching critical of dreams, and his Dialogues an influential source of imagery for afterlife visions.

Commencing with the Hasidic world, the chapter places it in geopolitical context, focusing on the rise of the Habad movement and the intergenerational change around the Napoleonic Wars. Besides striking personalities and radical teachings, aspects of lifestyle are considered. Naturally, the chapter turns to transformations within the opponents of Hasidism. The interplay of moderation of theological positions and the persistence of asceticism is addressed, yet the leading drama is the emergence of the Musar movement, which displaced overt kabbalistic concerns. The narrative then shifts to Ottoman Palestine, describing the immigration of both the Hasidim and their opponents, to this emergent center, later revisited through the history of the local Sephardic kabbalists. Moving beyond the Jewish world, the academic and literary reception of Kabbalah in Western and Central Europe is examined, alongside the reception of Idealist philosophy amongst kabbalistic writers. In conclusion, messianism is posited as the common denominator of the highly divergent streams of the century's kabbalistic creativity. In this context, the beginnings of American Kabbalah are addressed.