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rfmcdonaldBack in September 2004 I wrote about the case of Charles Fariala, a Montrealer in his 30s who was suffering from multiple sclerosis and, terribly depressed, recruited his mother Marielle Houle to help him end his life with a lethal cocktail of pills. Houle's trial is just beginning, with her lawyers promising to take the case all the way to the Supreme Court if necessary.
Houle's trial is of particular import to the debate of assisted suicide in that her son was not in imminent danger of death. His suicide, rather, was prompted by his desire to escape his body's deterioration, to leave while still in relatively decent physical form. I was skeptical of this argument at first--it seemed almost self-indulgent. But then, after I read read Masamune Shirow's Ghost in the Shell earlier this year, it struck me just how much of our consciousness is bound up with our bodies. In the world of Ghost in the Shell, with advanced cybernetics systems allowing for the transfer of memories, sensations, even consciousness from one physical platform to another, there are still some things that just don't translate from one mind to another, particularly the unique sensations of one's body.
Of course the human mind isn't autonomous from the human body; of course there's a mutual dependence, nothing merely dialectical but rather something dialogical. Every aspect of my physicality enters into my mind, setting certain parameters: my average height, my relative weight, the weakness of my eyes, the way that I think. Change one of these things, you'll change me; change all of these things, you'll change me utterly. Change isn't automatically bad, in fact I can envisage experimenting in radical changes if these were real, were inexpensive, were safe, and were reversible. What would it be like to live as a heterosexual, say?
If, however, these changes in my bodily state were caused by something outside of my control, I'd be unhappy. If these changes were not only irreversible but demonstrably bad, I'd be miserable. Who I am is so intimately bound up with my body that the prospect of irreversible degeneration, painful or otherwise, would be terrifying. Quite possibly I'd change my mind with the appropriate counseling. Quite possibly I wouldn't. I certainly think that counselling in these circumstances should be mandatory. I fail utterly to see why, if after counselling I remained determined to avoid a nasty death or worse, the state should prevent me from going out with a certain measure of controlled dignity.
Houle's trial is of particular import to the debate of assisted suicide in that her son was not in imminent danger of death. His suicide, rather, was prompted by his desire to escape his body's deterioration, to leave while still in relatively decent physical form. I was skeptical of this argument at first--it seemed almost self-indulgent. But then, after I read read Masamune Shirow's Ghost in the Shell earlier this year, it struck me just how much of our consciousness is bound up with our bodies. In the world of Ghost in the Shell, with advanced cybernetics systems allowing for the transfer of memories, sensations, even consciousness from one physical platform to another, there are still some things that just don't translate from one mind to another, particularly the unique sensations of one's body.
Of course the human mind isn't autonomous from the human body; of course there's a mutual dependence, nothing merely dialectical but rather something dialogical. Every aspect of my physicality enters into my mind, setting certain parameters: my average height, my relative weight, the weakness of my eyes, the way that I think. Change one of these things, you'll change me; change all of these things, you'll change me utterly. Change isn't automatically bad, in fact I can envisage experimenting in radical changes if these were real, were inexpensive, were safe, and were reversible. What would it be like to live as a heterosexual, say?
If, however, these changes in my bodily state were caused by something outside of my control, I'd be unhappy. If these changes were not only irreversible but demonstrably bad, I'd be miserable. Who I am is so intimately bound up with my body that the prospect of irreversible degeneration, painful or otherwise, would be terrifying. Quite possibly I'd change my mind with the appropriate counseling. Quite possibly I wouldn't. I certainly think that counselling in these circumstances should be mandatory. I fail utterly to see why, if after counselling I remained determined to avoid a nasty death or worse, the state should prevent me from going out with a certain measure of controlled dignity.
