(I dread writing this piece post. I had great visions of how it was going to be structured and the mood it will convey, but I had forgotten some of them now - the irony, and it isn't going to be as great as I envisioned it anymore, even if I write exactly what I would have. I wouldn't know, because I don't remember.)
This is a question my lecturer asked the class when I took the course on learning and cognition back in university. The question stayed at the back of my mind all these years, because of the absurdity it suggested to me then. Do you mean people who have dementia are not who they were anymore? It seemed callous and cruel. Of course, he meant nothing malignant by that question, merely as an icebreaker to a cerebral topic on a lazy Thursday afternoon. Yet the question comes back to haunt me periodically.
For example, when my boss, a tall strong Scottish-German man of forty years old, highly intellectual and conversational, who has no fear of anything - COVID, death, illness, retirement, judgement alike, all these saw a momentary sadness that took over his face when mentioned to him, but like a switch they left him, and his face returned to normal after five seconds. It was a formality, a politeness process to show grief to those grieving so to speak. It wasn't like he was devastated or anything. The only thing that puts him at a loss, that he can't seem to recover from, is when we talk about so-and-so's grandparent who keep forgetting his grandchildren's names, or keeps repeating the same thing over and over again. To this he exclaims with near-horror, "It is like their mind is just gone, gone! They are left just a shell of who they were." He has no answer in terms of facing this, his expression tells that this is one of the worst thing that could happen to someone, utterly devastating and no way to come back from.
There was once I took a train from Manchester to Sheffield. I sat beside an untidy-looking man with a head of white hair. We sat at a table, us two facing two other people, whom I have no recollection of. He told me a lot of things on the journey there and changed my view of him. Nearing every stop along the way, he would jot down the time when we pass by a particular pole, perhaps to check the time taken to travel to each stop. He told me he used to write papers on the railway system in England. The tunnel on the way from Manchester to Sheffield was the longest in England. He wrote a paper to suggest that the Eurostar run from Manchester to London to Paris, and how much time it would save, and how much more convenient, but eventually as we know that that didn't go through. He talked steadily at intervals. I grew fascinated. My lack of responses, other than the 'ooh' and 'I see', due to the lack of knowledge on the matter did not hinder him. I believe he was hard of hearing too, with a device in his ear. He spoke gently with grace and patience, like a teacher would to his favorite students. Except we were strangers. He was obviously an intellect of some sort in his prime, and his passion on his work did not quite fade after retirement. Which brought him onto this train in his old age, scribbling away and chatting to strangers, reliving the grandeur of the knowledge he acquired in the days of his youth. I was reluctant to sit beside this old man at the beginning of the train ride who looked too eager, and I was so glad I did by the end of it. His mind was preserved, although outwardly he was wasting away.
I sat beside a brown young man on my first ever work trip on the flight in 2019. It was a long flight so naturally we began chatting mid-way. Did we ask each other's names? Not sure. The part of the conversation became memorable when he described that the Wi-Fi was first invented for communication use in space. I didn't know that and was fascinated. Then he talked about the advancement of AI and how soon, amongst other developments, he thinks humans might be able to live forever. I thought he was out of his mind. He explained, there may come a time when technology is able to download all the thoughts and memories that a person ever had in his/her lifetime from their brains onto a machine. The machine will be able to be maintained by electricity and their families will be able to talk to them and have them respond as they would if they were here in the flesh. "But that is not the same," I exclaimed. We are humans, how are we just our thoughts and memories? Is there nothing to be said for the body, soul and spirit? He shrugged and asked me to think about it. A couple of years later in 2023, I started following a random science media guy on Instagram. He was brown and explained difficult and popular science topics in simple language and with illustrations. He has a leaning towards AI topics and is quite up-to-date on the topic, what with the latest ChatGPT competitor released by Google. I am not sure if he is the person I met on the flight, but I will keep the possibility alive.
Are we our memories is a difficult question to grapple with. On one hand I think we are more than that. Reading 'The Courage to be Disliked' showed that there is value to a society for every individual in being, not just in doing. On the other hand, it is hard to recognize someone when their memories are gone, how do you hold them down and tell them they are still who they are in that situation.
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