Logical vs.

Intuitive Thinking

For many years we have known that the human brain is composed of two hemispheres.

It is only recently, however, that we have discovered that each hemisphere has a different mode

of thinking. Usually, we use the left hemisphere to do our conscious thinking.

The purpose of a college education is to train students’ minds to think clearly and

precisely. During my professional career I spent most of my time teaching students how to write

in a well-organized manner: a clear thesis statement in the first paragraph; three paragraphs, each

with its topic sentence related to the thesis; every sentence following logically from the previous

one, with clear transitions from one paragraph to another; and a final paragraph which

summarized the argument and indicated its significance. I call this masculine thinking, which is

increasingly necessary as our world becomes more mechanical and technological. The problem

is, such academic thinking tends to become rather boring. There is no life in it. This paragraph

is a good example of that.

The right brain is intuitive and emotional. It operates unconsciously and does not use

words, but pictures. We see this most clearly when we are in the process of going to sleep, or

when we wake up in the midst of a dream. Our right brain is just as active during the night as

our conscious mind is during the day. Quite often an inspiration for my teaching or writing

comes to me during the nighttime. It is our intuitive thinking that gives us the pictures to enliven

our work.

As a result, when I taught writing, I tried also to engage a student’s intuitive thinking

through brainstorming. We would meet together, and having given him or her the topic, I would

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ask what pictures came to mind, for often a person has difficulty beginning to write because he

does not know what he really feels about the matter. I remember one student in particular who

wanted to write about how grateful he was to his foster parents for the way in which they had

treated him as if he were their own child. I asked him to give some specific examples, and he

spoke about the time his parents had given a bicycle to their own boy, but he never got one.

After giving me several more stories in the same vein, I told him, “Your thesis is not how much

you appreciate your foster parents, but how much you resent them not treating you as one of their

own.” Good writing has to be based on how we really feel.

Academic writing is based upon abstract words that create no pictures. Each discipline

tends to develop a vocabulary which sounds impressive, but is scarcely intelligible to ordinary

people. I have attended conferences of English professors where papers have been read, followed

by polite applause. I wish I had had, at least one time, the courage to stand up and say, “Did

anyone really understand a word of what was just said?”

The most dangerous use of such abstract words is in the political arena. “The elimination

of undesirable elements” becomes the Nazi concentration camps. George Orwell’s “Politics and

the English Language” does an excellent job of probing the misuse of political speech.

In the field of religion, ecstatic religious experience degenerates into theology. We talk

about the Holy Spirit, but the word spirit is abstract. It creates no image in the mind. It is the

English translation of the Greek word πνευμα which has number of meanings:

breath, with its connotation of source of life [How do we know that a baby is alive?

Because it begins to breathe. How do we know that a person is dead? There is no longer any

breath.] and creativity [God is the Word; He spoke and the world was created];

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 air, wind [something not seen which is nevertheless able to move the leaves on trees,

even tear trees down].

In the original language that one word creates a kaleidoscope of visual images in an

attempt to imagine something totally beyond intellectual comprehension.

The use of such multidimensional words is the epitome of intuitive thinking. The

meaning of the words is felt intuitively, since we cannot contain so many meanings at one time in

logical thought. Such is the use of poetic language in its fullest form.

Poetic language is a gift. It springs from the unconscious mind and is therefore not

something we create ourselves. We must listen until it is given to us. My writing career began in

a rather unusual fashion. I was alone at home and decided to pray, not to God the Father, but to

Sophia, the Goddess of Wisdom. The answer to my prayer was that I began to speak in tongues.

It sounded to me like an African language with clicks and guttural sounds; so I assume my muse

is a black woman—quite appropriate as the opposite of my academic self. What I learned from

that experience is that I had to get out of the way, to rely on intuitive thinking in order to write.

We also rely on intuitive thinking to critique a piece of writing. We come to the table

feeling that there is something not right with our piece. Our fellow writers mull over our work

until they put their finger on what they feel is off and, listening to their own hearts, suggest

changes that might be made. We sense the Breath of the Word at work. We are grateful.