What the intentions of an aging soul taught me about human nature.
We have been told by well-meaning neuroscientists that human beings are nothing more than electro-chemical impulses, nothing more than synaptic connections firing whilst being bathed in an array of neurotransmitters. We have been told about results of fMRI experiments informing us we have no human will - - - we are simply automatons reacting to whatever is in our visual and perceptual field (those studies are normally conducted under exceptionally controlled conditions which likely do not appear in nature, btw). As human beings, we have no real purpose, but we are to make the best of whatever we can sort out and call it an existence. In short, there is no 'me'.
I remain unconvinced.
I know an individual who has seizures induced by cancer. I have seen her make an attempt to fight through them sometimes, even though the electrical storm in her brain is overwhelming. She has reported hearing my voice and even understanding my intentions of care whilst she was seizing. There is more to her than mere chemical impulses on brain canvas. She has an identity and knows who she is, regardless of the violent storm of uncontrollable brain activity. There's more to her than her brain. There's a 'me'.
Beyond her experience, I reflect upon the intentions of a very old man I observed in the throes of Alzheimer's disease and final stages of dementia (I have been told there are hundreds of variations of this disease).
I visited, talked and sat with this man almost daily throughout his last months. I watched him try, again and again, to be something, to do something. There was intention, even as his brain was shutting down. He wanted to fix things, he wanted to speak about things, he wanted to be about something, even though they were a jumble of intersecting memories he could not easily control.
He remembered old religious activities and was able to make the sign of the cross and say the Lord’s prayer. He reacted to things he felt were unjust in his personal care. He demonstrated a sense of autonomy ("I can do this myself") nearly to the end. He had a way of doing things – yelling at his daughter about how to squeeze the toothpaste. He was still a human being, even though his brain was failing. There was a 'me'.
He wanted to die and spoke directly about it. He felt his capacities leaving him and said everything he touched turned to garbage. He lamented existence. Came a time he no longer wanted to live and he said so. (There is a day when people want to go, when they’ve had enough of the fight. Their intention at that point is to die.)
Though the brain system is failing, the person is clinging to identity.
Clearly different controlling systems were shutting down, including ‘the filter’ of his cursing (Prefrontal Cortex), etc. much like the 19th century Nicholas Gage, a railroad worker with the iron bar through his head who lost his ability to manage irreverent impulses. (See Antonio Damasio). It became obvious that for this old man with a disease, brain systems were not working as they once did.
Yet there was still someone there trying desperately to make sense out of the impulses coming through his brain and senses. It was more than just electrical impulses. He was a real human - - - a person - - - trying to figure it out. He kept tracking through old memories to try to make sense of the present, sometimes effectively, but not often. Yet he knew that he could not manage those portions of his brain that were not working. He knew.
I have long speculated that the brain is the interface between this world and the next, between the physical domain we live in and the unseen 'me' the ancients called a soul. The brain controls so much of our earthly existence, but it is not ‘all we are’. Intention, even in it's slightest form, tells me people are not just chemical compounds and electromagnetic impulses. Even in the hard places, there's still a person trying to sort things out. There's someone trying to make sense of reality, trying desperately to retain a form of dignity and privacy and sense of self.
If we are nothing but electrochemical impulses and neurotransmitters, then there is no 'me' or 'we', and the ultimate implications of that thought are beyond profound. They are monstrously frightening. But my experience tells me differently ... even the ravages of seizures and the trauma of old age do not stop someone from displaying intention, from displaying evidence of "me".
As always, I welcome your thoughtful responses.
Warmest regards, Dr. Jim Bohn