A
Anonymous
Guest
To all:
A commonly mentioned aspect of primitive societies is the belief that having a picture taken can rob a person of their soul. There do not seem to be many records of aboriginal natives' reactions if they finally have their photograph taken, but, certainly, many in "traditional science" would insist that their souls are still theirs. Certainly, they would insist, advanced, Western civilization members have their pictures taken, and none of them experience the loss, or diminishing, of their souls. To be sure, though,Many people do seem to have a knack for talking themselves out of a legitimate feeling. Many seem capable of utterly convincing themselves, for example, that government is always telling them the exact, unvarnished truth. Absolutely legitimate sensations of loss of diminshing of their souls, then, might be something they might just lauch away as something else! The effect on the spiritual content of a creature, then, might be more legitimate if the creature were something that didn't engage in "explaining away" what they see, think or feel.
Thursday, June 10, 2004, there was an unusual sight along the borders of our garden. A clutch of four, maybe five, birds was, apparently scanning for insects. Normally, the birds here hunt individually, running or hopping in their own directions, sometimes all over the lawn, picking individually at anything they see in the grass. This group, however, was all moving together. There was what looked like a main bird, always walking at the forefront, the other birds trailing behind, but close to the sides of the other. When the main bird turned, all the others would turn. When the main bird stopped, all the rest would, too. If the main bird turned around, they would wheel around, as a group, to stay by the other bird's side, walking with them. And the others didn't eat until the main bird stopped and started pecking. It seemed utterly unusual to me. I had never seen birds of any type act like this, before. I decided to take a picture.
While getting ready, though, the primitive predilection against having a picture taken occurred to me. To be sure, we have a warmer feeling toward birds than many here do, among other things, because they get rid of harmful pests in the garden. Anything that could be harmful, in any way, to them, I would want to avoid. But I wasn't, in that way, certain of the effect of having a picture taken, and I considered what I saw as something noteworthy. I stood about five feet inside our house, with a screen door closed, between me and the birds. The day was still lighter outside than the house was inside. The birds hadn't seemed to respond to my presence before, so I thought that this shouldn't effect them, either. The camera I used wasn't set on flash, and only had a small green light on top, but it was recessed, so that most of its illumination should go straight up. The camera made very little noise, when it took a picture, too.
The birds were chattering and moving toward the house, about ten feet from the house, when I took the picture. The second the camera clicked, the birds, every single one of them, stopped in their tracks, not even moving their heads. They stopped chattering, too. After about a second, when the camera, likely, had finished processing, the birds all wheeled about, and flew off to the right. They were still silent, and I didn't hear any chattering from where they went. I accessed the picture in the camera and erased it. No more than a second after that, I heard some chattering, again.
Any information on similar experiences could be helpful.
Julian Penrod
A commonly mentioned aspect of primitive societies is the belief that having a picture taken can rob a person of their soul. There do not seem to be many records of aboriginal natives' reactions if they finally have their photograph taken, but, certainly, many in "traditional science" would insist that their souls are still theirs. Certainly, they would insist, advanced, Western civilization members have their pictures taken, and none of them experience the loss, or diminishing, of their souls. To be sure, though,Many people do seem to have a knack for talking themselves out of a legitimate feeling. Many seem capable of utterly convincing themselves, for example, that government is always telling them the exact, unvarnished truth. Absolutely legitimate sensations of loss of diminshing of their souls, then, might be something they might just lauch away as something else! The effect on the spiritual content of a creature, then, might be more legitimate if the creature were something that didn't engage in "explaining away" what they see, think or feel.
Thursday, June 10, 2004, there was an unusual sight along the borders of our garden. A clutch of four, maybe five, birds was, apparently scanning for insects. Normally, the birds here hunt individually, running or hopping in their own directions, sometimes all over the lawn, picking individually at anything they see in the grass. This group, however, was all moving together. There was what looked like a main bird, always walking at the forefront, the other birds trailing behind, but close to the sides of the other. When the main bird turned, all the others would turn. When the main bird stopped, all the rest would, too. If the main bird turned around, they would wheel around, as a group, to stay by the other bird's side, walking with them. And the others didn't eat until the main bird stopped and started pecking. It seemed utterly unusual to me. I had never seen birds of any type act like this, before. I decided to take a picture.
While getting ready, though, the primitive predilection against having a picture taken occurred to me. To be sure, we have a warmer feeling toward birds than many here do, among other things, because they get rid of harmful pests in the garden. Anything that could be harmful, in any way, to them, I would want to avoid. But I wasn't, in that way, certain of the effect of having a picture taken, and I considered what I saw as something noteworthy. I stood about five feet inside our house, with a screen door closed, between me and the birds. The day was still lighter outside than the house was inside. The birds hadn't seemed to respond to my presence before, so I thought that this shouldn't effect them, either. The camera I used wasn't set on flash, and only had a small green light on top, but it was recessed, so that most of its illumination should go straight up. The camera made very little noise, when it took a picture, too.
The birds were chattering and moving toward the house, about ten feet from the house, when I took the picture. The second the camera clicked, the birds, every single one of them, stopped in their tracks, not even moving their heads. They stopped chattering, too. After about a second, when the camera, likely, had finished processing, the birds all wheeled about, and flew off to the right. They were still silent, and I didn't hear any chattering from where they went. I accessed the picture in the camera and erased it. No more than a second after that, I heard some chattering, again.
Any information on similar experiences could be helpful.
Julian Penrod