The Minds of the Poets: Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes

A different entrée into the minds of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes comes via Previc’s (2009)[i] theory of the dominant neurotransmitters in men and women. In his view, the male mind tends towards left dominance with its abundant dopaminergic connections and a “detached,” “exploitative,” “linear” orientation towards future time and distant space; while the female mind is more right-hemispheric and serotonergic, interested in maintaining a close circle with communal, empathetic ties. In a nutshell, one could evoke the Paleolithic hunter versus the nurturing mother model. Previc’s theory is in many ways convincing; but, as with McGilchrist’s The Master and the Emissary, it does not take into account atypical right-hemispheric dominance, with switched hemispheric functions, or temporary reversals of normal linguistic dominance during manic states, or brain volume changes due to head injury or early trauma on the left that can release the right from the left’s inhibitory signals or vice versa.

Nonetheless, Ted Hughes possessed many traits of Previc’s highly dopaminergic male. Hughes was a hunter, with disheveled, unwashed ways. He was both highly intelligent and hypersexual, more interested in sexual conquest than in maintaining close bonds. He was thrilled at the birth of his daughter, Frieda, but less enthralled when his son, Nicholas, arrived. His lover, Assia Wevill, had a child, Shura, whom he never recognized as his daughter. He would abandon Assia, as he did Sylvia Plath. He will maintain a relationship with Brenda Hedden, marry Carol Orchard, then spend their honeymoon period with Hedden, dangling her along until she breaks it off.[ii] Brenda’s remarks exemplify the highly dopaminergic male’s need for conquest, not domesticity, which would also explain Hughes’s intense identification with Robert Graves’s theory of the White Goddess who abhors domesticity:

           

"He was a real hunter. The moment I drew away from him and became independent, I was more attractive in his eyes, and he chased me and pleaded that I would come back. It was the same with Assia: when she tried to break away and was out of his reach, he became motivated. But, when they were together, he did terrible things. I feared I would end up like her, and resisted his temptations. Her terrible suicide saved my life."[iii]

   Plath was highly intelligent, ambitious and sexually motivated as well, the dopaminergic side of her. But, living in a time when women were considered “sluts” if they acquiesced to male sexual overtures, she was very conflicted. She labeled her first experience a rape and had to go to the hospital for hemorrhaging, yet still went out with the man again. There were more men, sometimes involving violent sex, to whom she consented, whether as punishment or titillation.[iv] After marriage, she often commented on her “good” love-making sessions with her husband, considered crucial to their marriage, even though there was often violence involved there too.[v]

   Plath’s positive serotonergic side came out in maintaining a tidy home, cooking delicious meals and nurturing her children, while remaining deeply bound to her husband. She was initially attracted to Hughes because of his brute strength as well as his poetry, having long acknowledged her need to be dominated by a strong male who would not be jealous of her own ambitions. Only he seemed large enough, both physically and mentally, to fit her fantasy. In fact, during her marriage, as her serotonergic self waxed, her dopaminergic creativity waned. The final abandonment will spawn her best poetry with fierce words and bold imagery, suggesting a dopamine-mediated manic shift. Never particularly religious, she will now claim that God is speaking through her, another sign of mania, according to Previc.

  In addition to the abandonment, other physical and psychological factors must be implicated in her final tragedy: genetic predisposition to a mood disorder; the loss of her father at age 8, which will be felt and filtered again and again with each rejection, failed relationship and abandonment; badly administered ECT treatment; therapy which overplayed maternal hatred and underplayed the father’s role; a miscarriage; an appendectomy; post-partum depression; an upper-respiratory illness; some negative  reviews of The Bell Jar; long bouts of waiting by her window for Hughes to reappear; and, possibly, side effects from a new antidepressant. Her British doctor, John Horder, called her "pathologically depressed" and abnormally sensitive (Alexander, p. 325).

  In the end, Plath was coping with the coldest winter in London since the early 19^th century, with intermittent loss of light, heat and no telephone, plus an altercation with and loss of her au pair. Despite the urgency and publishing potential of the fiery new Ariel poems, an upcoming assignment for the BBC and a slated meeting with her British editor that day, she commits suicide. One would be tempted to say that her depressive side got the upper hand, but her odd behavior on the night of the suicide, as recounted by her downstairs neighbor, Trevor Thomas, suggests, rather, a manic shift. Wanting to pay for stamps he had given her that night,  she tells him "Oh! but I must I must pay you or I won't be right with my conscience before God, will I?" Ten minutes later, when Thomas finds her still in the hallway, he says he'll call their mutual Dr. Horder. Plath replies, "Oh, no please, don't do that. I'm just having a marvelous dream, a most wonderful vision." Perhaps it was in some kind of waking dream state that she made her preparations to die. Yet, true to her serotonergic self, she also prepared a small meal of milk and buttered bread for her children who slept safely behind a door sealed off from the deadly gas fumes that would engulf her alone (quotes from Alexander, p. 329). 

  Plath's mother wrote these poignant words at the end of her Letters Home: 

“Her physical energies had been depleted by illness, anxiety and overwork, and although she had for so long managed to be gallant and equal to the life-experience, some darker day than usual had temporarily made it seem impossible to pursue.” 

  Hughes will come to blame a triple threat: Plath’s mother, her therapist, and an unnamed friend for poisoning his wife’s mind against him. In a late poem, he questions his wife: “What was poured in your ears / While you argued with death? / Your mother wrote: ‘Hit him in the purse.’ / . . . And from your analyst: / ‘Keep him out of your bed’ / . . . / What did they plug into your ears / That had killed you by daylight on Monday?” (Howls & Whispers). But a final blow to her was the inscription she found in a new copy of a red Oxford Shakespeare during their last meeting in his flat. Assia had replaced what Sylvia had furiously rent when she first discovered their adultery. This lover would be remorseless when learning of the wife's demise. 

  Hughes himself claimed the relationship with his wife had been "almost completely repaired" before the fatal day (in Koren and Negev). One will never know what occurred between Sylvia and Ted during their last brief encounter on the evening of February 8 at her own flat in Yeats's old house; but, on returning to her friend Jillian Becker's, who was watching the children, she appeared distinctly different from her formerly sobbing self, now "direct" and "purposeful" (in Alexander, p. 328).

  Whatever the constellation of events, one can only wish that Plath had waited, had not succumbed to that darker day, or brighter, if the manic hypothesis prevails. Acknowledged and consoled by the recognition that would follow, she might well have flourished. In 1982, she received the Pulitzer Prize for her Collected Poems along with the enduring adoration of so many, many others.

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[i] See Previc (2009), The Dopaminergic Mind in Human Evolution and History (UK: Cambridge UP).

[ii] See Koren and Negev (2006), Lover of Unreason: Assia Wevill, Sylvia Plath’s Rival and Ted Hughes’ Doomed Love (UK: De Capo Press) for evidence of Hughes’s callous ways with women. In a letter to his brother, Gerald, Hughes “confessed that he had finally found it impossible to stay married to Sylvia, especially because of her ‘particular death-ray quality,’ and that he was pleased to have left her (ibid., p. 110)."

[iii] Ibid., p. 221.

[iv] Think Sabina Speilrein and Jung.

[v] Alexander (1991), Rough Magic: A Biography of Sylvia Plath (New York: Viking) provides many examples of the “rough magic” in her sex life.

What is Right for You, May not be Right for Others

In all of my blogs so far, I have been emphasizing the right hemisphere’s role in religious ideation, poetry, anomalous experiences, mental and developmental disorders and, especially, creativity. I think it is important at this point to make a caveat, which Iain McGilchrist, former Oxford literary scholar, now a doctor, psychiatrist and writer, stated so well in the introductory remarks to his exhaustive study of left and right-hemispheric differences:

". . . only 5 per cent of the population overall . . . are known not to lateralise for speech in the left hemisphere. Of these, some might have a simple inversion of the hemispheres, with everything that normally happens in the right hemisphere happening in the left, and vice versa; there is little significance in this, from the point of view of the book, except that throughout one would have to read 'right' for 'left', and 'left' for 'right'. It is only the third group, who it has been posited, may be truly different in their cerebral lateralisation: a subset of left-handers, as well as some people with other conditions, irrespective of handedness, such as, probably, schizophrenia and dyslexia, and possibly conditions such as schizotypy, some forms of autism, Asperger's syndrome and some 'savant' conditions, who may have a partial inversion of the standard pattern, leading to brain functions being lateralised in unconventional combinations. For them the normal partitioning of functions break down. This may confer special benefits, or lead to disadvantages, in the carrying out of different activities (McGilchrist, 2009, p. 12)."

So, yes, my interest lies in people with atypical lateralization, i.e. McGilchrist's "third group": those born with more symmetrical hemispheres, making the right more dominant than normal or those with unusual combinations of functions within a single hemisphere that should be constrained to only one. It is this small, but highly significant 5%, with their pronounced link to certain types of creativity, which is indeed my home base.

 McGilchrist further delineates why these genetic variations, potentially dangerous for an individual mind or for procreation, might continue to be passed on genetically in the general population: 

This may be the link between cerebral lateralisation and creativity, and it may account for the otherwise difficult to explain fact of the relatively constant conservation, throughout the world, of genes which, at least partly through their effects on lateralisation, result in major mental illnesses, such as schizophrenia and manic-depressive psychosis (now known as bipolar disorder), and developmental disorders, such as autism and Asperger's syndrome. It may also be associated with homosexuality, which is thought to involve a higher than usual incidence of abnormal lateralisation. Such genes may, particularly in the case of mental illness, be highly detrimental to individuals, and have an impact on fertility for the population at large – and would therefore have been bred out long ago, if it were not for some hugely important benefit that they must convey. If they also, through their effects on lateralisation, in some cases led to extraordinary talents, and if particularly they did so in relatives, who have some but not all of the genes responsible, then such genes would naturally be preserved, on purely Darwinian principles (Ibid., p. 13).

So, what I am saying, based on new research emerging in this fascinating field of atypical lateralization, is that while right- or some form of mixed-hemispheric functional lateralization for language can be detrimental to your health (mixed, more than extreme right), it can also push you to found a new religion, be a leader, write epic poetry, have a phenomenal photographic memory, artistic or musical talents; it can also make you believe in ghosts and spirits and have mediumistic powers of telepathy and prophecy. The atypical lateralization model helps explain so many of the unusual happenings in our species' past and helps us go forward into the future, with an understanding heart and an open mind, plus more appreciation for diverse brains and their potential for creativity.

All of the poets I study fit into the 5% by virtue of their genes and their traumatic experiences, which gave them their affinity to the occult, their actual paranormal experiences, their emotional disorders, and/or gay orientation. Like in the development of religions, which relied on the previous stories of their predecessors, so will the poets depend on theirs, while upping the ante with their own novelty in an effort to supplant them.

Previc (2006) makes an impressive argument for a neurochemical predisposition that links profound religious experience to the left hemisphere. But he does not mention poetry, so often intertwined with religious expression, which is right-hemispheric language (see Jaynes, 1976; Kane, 2004). Rather, he focuses on the difference between left-hemispheric visionary or auditory experience in extracorporeal (outside of the body) space vs. peripersonal (near the body) experiences mediated by the right hemisphere. The neurochemicals involved are respectively dopamine and acetylcholine on the left and noradrenalin and serotonin on the right. (In more ways than one, the left-hemisphere and the right can almost be said to house the male vs. the female inside us, making the Tao and Jungian psychology almost palpable.)

In contrast to Previc, I am writing about poetic geniuses who were highly verbally fluent and prone to right-hemispheric language and the occult through genetic predisposition and traumatic experiences (Platt, 2007). Except for Sylvia Plath, who did suffer from mania, especially in her final weeks, they did not suffer from the disorders Previc identified with excessive religiosity and the left hemisphere: mania, obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), schizophrenia and temporal-lobe epilepsy (TLE). Rather than gazing upward in a dopamine-mediated ecstatic vision of a mystic, my poets sat at their séances, stretching out their hands and lower their eyes toward their Ouija boards or tables. Connecting with a partner or other séance sitters, they disengaged the controlling prefrontal cortex, synchronized their hemispheres within themselves and with their partners, and waited for the dead or divine "spirits" to spell out their dissociative messages (Platt, 2009).

The same disengagement occurs in dreaming, allowing all sorts of unchecked creativity to occur, which definitely seems to be coming from "other" than the self. A recent article in Scientific American Mind says that:

Well over half of visual artists said that they had used dreams in their work. About half of fiction writers had. The numbers dropped off rapidly as the professions became more abstract. Within the sciences, inventors, engineers and others who benefit from visualizing problems in three dimensions were likelier to report helpful dreams. . . . Solutions frequently came from a dream character—one computer programmer got repeated nocturnal lessons from Albert Einstein—and people had trouble taking full credit for what their dreaming mind had done (Barrett, 2011, p. 32).

On the other hand, in lucid dreaming, the frontal cortex remains active as though awake. In fact, in this unusual dream state you are both awake and asleep at the same time, making it possible to consciously summon wise dream characters to provide instruction (Voss, 2011). In a previous post, "Hearing the Voice, Getting it Right," my guru, a madman on a psychiatrist's couch, came unheralded, stoked in the fire of a highly emotional reading before I went to bed. I don't know if anyone has studied this, but perhaps the atypically lateralized are more likely to be able to dream lucidly. (I have had a few lucid dreams myself; my sister, Janice, bathed in the same gene pool, is an expert lucid dreamer, as is her husband, and they have written a book together, The Conscious Exploration of Dreaming.)

Shamans receive wisdom from discarnate sources as well. They also have genetic atypical lateralization, along with a traumatic initiation into their profession. Their methods involve plants with psychotropic properties to attain altered states of consciousness with speaking entities. Their special powers of mind, which, from the evidence, seem to include great intuition, telepathy and prophecy, allow them to lead ritualistic ceremonies, bringing groups of initiates together. They may be wounded healers, but they are certainly not psychotic. EEG studies have shown synchronizing patterns in their frontal cortex. They may not be writers either, but they can be magnificent artists of their own visionary experiences and "may have been humanity’s first physicians, magicians, artists, storytellers, timekeepers and weather forecasters" (Kaplan, 2006, p. 1, citing Krippner 2002.) For a beautifully written, first-hand account of the Ayahuasca experience, read The Shaman and Ayahuasca; for an extremely thorough, thought-provoking look from a biological, psychological and social perspective read Michael Winkelman's book cited below.

Unfortunately, comprehensive studies on atypical right-hemisphere language dominant subjects are few and far between. Almost any time you start reading an abstract from a neuroimaging study, it starts: "Fifty right-handed subjects were tested . . ." Say no more. Nonetheless, I believe interest in anomalous minds is beginning to manifest. Simon McCrea’s work on "intuition, insight and the right hemisphere" is an example. He says that intuition is immediate and nonverbal, whereas insight requires voracious study, incubation, the "aha" moment, then conscious elaboration. Both are advantaged in right-hemisphere dominant individuals and women seem to be better at it. Being a left-handed, right-dominant female (judging by my anomalous experiences, my strengths and weaknesses and the way I hold a writing instrument), I offered up my brain to a local, highly regarded neuroscientist for imaging. I'd like to make a direct contribution to the field beyond my armchair analyses. Unfortunately, that email went unanswered.

Barrett, Deirdre, (2011), "Answers in your Dreams," Scientific American Mind, Nov-Dec: 27-33.

Brooks, Janice E. & Jay A. Vogelsang 1999/2000), The Conscious Exploration of Dreaming: Discovering How We Create and Control Our Dreams. Foreword J. Allan Hobson, M.D.

Campos, Don José, Ed. Geraldine Overton, (2011), The Shaman and Ayahuasca. Studio City, CA: Divine Arts.

Jaynes, Julian (1976), The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company.

Kane, Julie (2004), "Poetry as Right-Hemispheric Language." Journal of Consciousness Studies, 11 (5-6): 21-59.

Kaplan, Robert M. (2006), "The Neuropsychiatry of Shamanism." Before Farming, 4 (13): 1-14.

Krippner, Stanley (2002), "Conflicting perspectives on shamans and shamanism: Points and counterpoints." American Psychologist, 57 (11): 962-978.

McCrea, Simon M. (2010), "Intuition, insight, and the right hemisphere: Emergence of higher sociocognitive functions." Psychology Research and Behavior Management, 3: 1-39. 

McGilchrist, Iain (2009), The Master and his Emissary: The Divided Mind and the Making of theWestern World. New Haven and London: Yale UP.

Platt, Carole Brooks (2007), "Presence, Poetry, and the Collaborative Right Hemisphere." Journal of Consciousness Studies, 14 (3): 36-53.

Platt, Carole Brooks (2009), "The Medium and the Matrix: Unconscious Information and the Therapeutic Dyad." Journal of Consciousness Studies, 16 (9): 55-76.

Previc, Fred H. (2006), "The role of extrapersonal brain system in religious activity." Consciousness and Cognition, 15: 500-539.

Voss, Ursula (2011), "Unlocking the Lucid Dream," Scientific American Mind, Nov-Dec: 33-35.

Winkelman, Michael (2010), Shamanism: A Biopsychosocial Paradigm of Consciousness and Healing, 2nd Ed. Santa Barbara, CA, Denver, CO, Oxford, England: Praeger.