In The Birth of the Modern Mind: Self, Consciousness, and the Invention of the Sonnet, Paul Oppenheimer argues that … the invention of the sonnet must itself be considered symptomatic of the slowly developing state of mind that we designate by the term “Renaissance.” The sonnet is so much more than a form. It marked a shift in Western thought, and what it left out is as important as what it ushered in. That’s what makes it alive and allows us to push up against its constraints. We can both live freely inside its walls and break its walls down to live free. It ain’t no pantoum, baby. That’s for sure. The sonnet exists on a whole other level.

In this piece on plagiarism, the author argues that it’s not a behavior caused by mental illness. I’ve been trying to understand the psychology behind plagiarism because a poet was recently identified as having plagiarized a number of poems that were published in literary journals, placed in or won contests, and may have been included in a forthcoming collection. Excerpt below.

—

As a psychiatrist, I do not believe primary mental illnesses (aside from the aforementioned personality disorders) cause plagiarism. Plagiarism involves an internally logical thought process, a steady hand carefully putting together portions of copied information in a linear fashion; the product pretends to be an original completed written piece. Plagiarism is difficult to detect without someone directly pointing out the absent attributions and copied words.

It seems atypical to me for this deliberate, planned, coherent act of writing to be associated with the thought disorder and flight of ideas and ramblings of someone in the throes of acute delusional psychosis or florid mania. It is also atypical of the creativity and originality well-known to be associated with some people with mood disorders (including famous artists and writers), who tend to have no trouble coming up with their own ideas and material, and if anything, seem the least likely types to merely copy someone else’s work.

I woke up at 2:34 a.m. when the nearly unbearable headache I developed two days ago turned into an unbearable headache.

[Do not keep reading this. It is not interesting.]

The pain is spreading down my back now, too. I know there are bigger problems in the world, but this is my immediate problem. Tylenol does nothing for this pain. Massage, creams, ice. Nothing. Meditation nothing. Distraction nothing. Writing nothing. Sleeping nothing.

[Seriously, why are you still reading this?]

It actually gets worse with sleep, this pain, hence my no longer being able to sleep. I feel like my head weighs too much. I need flying buttresses or similar architecture to help hold it up.

[Here comes a not-so big insight.]

Oh, this is from my posture when I use my phone. I’m using my phone right now. I’m making things worse. I literally need to shape up.

[I warned you about how this boring post was going to be boring.]

I don’t wanna sit up straight. I love my bad posture. I love my phone. So pretty. So bright. Thank you for coming to my Ted Whine. It’s like a Ted Talk only whiny.

accessible activism activists advocacy advocate advocates affirming care all-inclusive allyship anti-racism antiracist assigned at birth assigned female at birth assigned male at birth at risk barrier barriers belong bias biased biased toward biases biases towards biologically female biologically male BIPOC Black breastfeed + people breastfeed + person chestfeed + people chestfeed + person clean energy climate crisis climate science commercial sex worker community diversity community equity confirmation bias cultural competence cultural differences cultural heritage cultural sensitivity culturally appropriate culturally responsive DEI DEIA DEIAB DEIJ disabilities disability discriminated discrimination discriminatory disparity diverse diverse backgrounds diverse communities diverse community diverse group diverse groups diversified diversify diversifying diversity enhance the diversity enhancing diversity environmental quality equal opportunity equality equitable equitableness equity ethnicity excluded exclusion expression female females feminism fostering inclusivity GBV gender gender based gender based violence gender diversity gender identity gender ideology gender-affirming care genders Gulf of Mexico hate speech health disparity health equity hispanic minority historically identity immigrants implicit bias implicit biases inclusion inclusive inclusive leadership inclusiveness inclusivity increase diversity increase the diversity indigenous community inequalities inequality inequitable inequities inequity injustice institutional intersectional intersectionality key groups key people key populations Latinx LGBT LGBTQ marginalize marginalized men who have sex with men mental health minorities minority most risk MSM multicultural Mx Native American non-binary nonbinary oppression oppressive orientation people + uterus people-centered care person-centered person-centered care polarization political pollution pregnant people pregnant person pregnant persons prejudice privilege privileges promote diversity promoting diversity pronoun pronouns prostitute race race and ethnicity racial racial diversity racial identity racial inequality racial justice racially racism segregation sense of belonging sex sexual preferences sexuality social justice sociocultural socioeconomic status stereotype stereotypes systemic systemically they/them trans transgender transsexual trauma traumatic tribal unconscious bias underappreciated underprivileged underrepresentation underrepresented underserved undervalued victim victims vulnerable populations women women and underrepresented

I’m toying with the idea that people are beings who live and die every moment, and any sense of continuity between moments is similar to the way our eyes smooth out what we see through a combination of physical and perceptual processes, such as saccades.

Memory persists to some degree between these deaths and births, though imperfectly and sometimes as complete fabrications that allow this or that narrative to earn its wings so it can soar across momentary lifetimes in order to either free us or whisk us away to ruin.

I don’t mean bodily birth or bodily death. I mean birth and death of self and of the worlds available to the self at any given time.

I don’t expect anyone other than Matt Jasper to understand this or see anything of value in it. What this means, for me, is that I can only take people as they are in the moment—a moment that’s passed before I can even perceive it. It’s the best I can do.

We are flame and ash, flame and ash. Who we are today is not who we were yesterday or who we will be tomorrow. These are fictions. Even time is a fiction.

You are a person doing a thing in a place. I’ll meet you there to the best of my ability. Tomorrow, same. The day after that, same.

Is this nonsense? Maybe. Certainly. What isn’t.

My husband says the use of AI is inevitable. He tells me he uses it all day at work. It’s built into coding platforms now. It’s getting really smart really fast, he says. It can figure out context even when no context is provided.

It’s a requirement for software developers to use it. They’re all using it. Prompt engineering, he calls it.

But he’s using it as someone who knows how to think, not as someone who’s never learned to think, I say. What about those who never learn to form an argument, do their own research, make their own discoveries and assertions?

He doesn’t seem concerned. I worry that I’m losing him, that we’re shifting like tectonic plates only faster: me into the organic and him into the artificial.

He tells me to use AI, to give it a try. Have it write a poem for you, he says. You’d be surprised what it can come up with.

He doesn’t understand. I don’t care what AI can come up with where creativity and expression are concerned. I care what I come up with, what moves through me and what I’m moving through.

We grind past one another as we continue in our respective directions. I spend the rest of the day in bed alone, like a birdless island in a forgotten past.