apophenia

                  The narrative structure of DeLillo’s Libra is (probably intentionally) as bewildering and disorienting as the real-life understanding of the event it describes. Yet in contrast to how the reader’s understanding of the plot is constantly elusive, one of the most prevailing themes in this novel is how the characters themselves are always very confident that they can find order in the chaos of the narratives they inhabit. Throughout the novel, these questions of patterns, order, and randomness appear in many different forms, and offer insights into larger themes.

                  Lee is a striking embodiment of these questions. He is the human expression of the sense of confusion that permeates the historical record surrounding the Kennedy assassination: there exists an enormous amount of information and facts about him, but none of it makes his actual character and actions make any sense. And yet Lee himself is unafflicted by any existential doubt about his own incongruity. On the contrary, he is eternally convinced that everything in his life makes perfect sense. He writes his “Historic Diary” with the unironic belief that it will be of great consequence to future readers, inflates his short stay in the brig to a herculean trial, and envisions that every conceivable intelligence organization is riveted with interest in his actions wherever he goes. He feels that everything he does is both very important, and also carefully arranged to lead him to a life that will make him a part of history. When the reader hears portions of Lee’s internal monologue in the novel, it’s often discussing how much stake Lee puts on this. In lieu of some passionate ideological, moral, or political conviction defining his choices, it’s instead that idea of “becoming a part of history” that takes on an almost religious significance for Lee.

               For other characters, there is a similarly distorted understanding of their life and place in history. David Ferrie remarks that he “believes in everything,” and is often musing about the implications of astrology, his miraculous mouse-based search for a cure for cancer, and, like Lee, the belief that nothing is a real coincidence. Win Everett, too, believes that nothing is really a coincidence but rather that everything that happens is leading to some greater historical end. Although Ferrie and Everett are the most prominent, this view is present in many of the other numerous co-conspirators as well. In the complex web of secrecy that the assassination plot occupies, nothing is what it seems. It is arguably very rational to view daily events with the same degree of skepticism as those facilitated by organizations that are fundamentally driven by secrecy.

             The idea of seeing many different narratives to explain a single event is a central theme this course: all of the books we’ve read have, to some degree, dealt with this question of whether any narrative at all can be truly accurate. However, this novel is unique in the sheer depth of conspiracy-theory-level paranoia that the main characters themselves believe in. As a result, I was thinking about an interesting psychological phenomenon that is related to this: apophenia, or, seeing patterns where there are no patterns. The basic reason for this phenomenon is that for most of human history, it was much better to err on the side of seeing patterns where none exist, than seeing no pattern where there should be one. It’s an evolutionarily advantageous adaptation: it’s much safer to mistakenly run away from a lion that turns out to be a random shadow than mistakenly run towards a random shadow that turns out to be a lion.

            The implications of apophenia in this novel are clear: everyone sees patterns that aren’t there, confusing the real narrative (whatever it is) with patterns they find in coincidences, and assuring each participant of their own greatness. But there are also larger implications of apophenia in the broader questions we’ve been considering in this course. We’ve discussed the idea that perhaps the most important part of history isn’t the objective facts themselves, but the narrative we create to explain and learn from them. What does it mean for our understanding of history that our minds are hardwired to see patterns -- to create our own narrative -- when no pattern really exists? What defines the barrier between genuine causal connections in these narratives of history, and patterns we deeply believe in but which actually arise from our own psychological flukes?

           And, in the case of JFK's assassination specifically -- could the phenomenon of apophenia be part of the reason this event has developed into such a cultural icon? Perhaps part of the reason people seek out conspiracy theories in general, and are so enamored by the mysterious nature of history, is because it's difficult to accept that some things might not ever make sense, and even more difficult to accept that events truly could be random. Just recently in physics C, we were discussing quantum mechanics, and the reasons researchers were initially opposed to the theory of quantum mechanics are the same reasons people are skeptical about the official narrative of JFK's assassination. Einstein's famous quote "God does not play dice with the universe" is in reference to this skepticism: quantum mechanics says that if you get deep enough into the fundamental particles of the universe, the universe is defined by probabilities; no matter how much information you know, you can't know for certain which result will occur, you can only know the probability of each. And, in the case of the Heisenberg uncertainty principle, there are certain things it is impossible to know -- it's impossible to simultaneously know both the exact position, and exact velocity, of a particle. The idea that there are fundamental limits to knowledge, and the idea that our entire universe is based to some degree on randomness, seems unbelievable. But as far as current scholarship knows, it's true. Einstein was mistaken: the universe is made up of probabilities -- a cosmic, metaphorical roll of the dice.

           It's hard to force yourself to believe that the mysterious coincidences in Oswald's history are really coincidences, and I'm not saying they were. I agree that it all seems pretty fishy. But what if they really were coincidences -- what if sometime in the future someone found incontrovertible proof that Oswald really was just an isolated madman shooting at the president, no secret societies or circumstantial patterns necessary? Would it change anything? Would we be content with that answer, and its conclusion: that history can depend on something so inconsequential, so random? Or would we still be as unsatisfied as Einstein, refusing to believe there are limits to human knowledge, when faced with evidence that there's not as much meaning to the universe as we thought there was?