Let us begin Part 2 with Aristotle.
And what a huge dick he was.
Father of philosophy, great uncle of rhetoric, second cousin of math, huge dick. Huuuuuuuuge.
Why was Aristotle such a huge dick? Well, first and foremost, he was pretty much the inventor of dramatic criticism. Which subsequently led to the invention of drama critics. So, q.e.d.
It also led to the invention of the Neoclassical Unities, which is directly responsible for me having to read Racine's Phaedra in college. Which, as we all know, is The Worst Play Ever Written, Except For Sara Kane's Crave.
"Oh girl, hold on! Are those shoes on sale?"
"I have no idea, but thank god we're not doing Crave."
It also led to the invention of the Neoclassical Unities, which is directly responsible for me having to read Racine's Phaedra in college. Which, as we all know, is The Worst Play Ever Written, Except For Sara Kane's Crave.
"Oh girl, hold on! Are those shoes on sale?"
"I have no idea, but thank god we're not doing Crave."
He also thought women were a lower form of life who could never be fully human, but some of our finest Supreme Court Justices believe the same thing, so let's just chalk that up as "controversial". No, the thing that made him a truly huge dick is the only thing I remember from my dabblings with philosophy in undergrad, which is drawing a big line from his name to "Mind/Body Dichotomy in Western Thought" in my notes.
See, we're stuck with this deep-seated belief that the mind, the Self, that-which-you-think-of-as-"me", is fundamentally separate from the body. Which, as anyone who's ever had to deal with any kind of neurochemical imbalance knows, is complete and utter bullshit.
The usual argument for their separation goes something like this: "You are yourself. Would you still be yourself if I cut off your arm? What about your leg? What about all your arms and legs? So, wouldn't you still be yourself without your body?"
Problem is, a brain is not a leg. Heck, a pancreas is not a leg. We cannot have a direct experience of what it is to be without a body, which is why the concept of life after death is exceedingly hard to debate... but we can have an experience of what it is to be without a self.
Let me turn that argument around: "You are yourself. Would you still be yourself if I cut out that part of you that feels happiness? What about the part of you that thinks? What about everything that you think of as consciousness? Would you still be yourself without a mind?"
And if you don't think we can do any of that, you've never met anyone that's had major depression. Much less a lobotomy.
See, we're stuck with this deep-seated belief that the mind, the Self, that-which-you-think-of-as-"me", is fundamentally separate from the body. Which, as anyone who's ever had to deal with any kind of neurochemical imbalance knows, is complete and utter bullshit.
The usual argument for their separation goes something like this: "You are yourself. Would you still be yourself if I cut off your arm? What about your leg? What about all your arms and legs? So, wouldn't you still be yourself without your body?"
Problem is, a brain is not a leg. Heck, a pancreas is not a leg. We cannot have a direct experience of what it is to be without a body, which is why the concept of life after death is exceedingly hard to debate... but we can have an experience of what it is to be without a self.
Let me turn that argument around: "You are yourself. Would you still be yourself if I cut out that part of you that feels happiness? What about the part of you that thinks? What about everything that you think of as consciousness? Would you still be yourself without a mind?"
And if you don't think we can do any of that, you've never met anyone that's had major depression. Much less a lobotomy.
"Oh, McMurphy! If your pneuma and your soma were not indissoluble, this would totally be a depressing ending!"
We don't like to think about this idea too much, because it has certain disturbing metaphysical implications (if "Self" is an expression of "Body", and "Body" can end... well, let's not go there), but it bears talking about because it has direct bearing on how we think about mental illness. Because "mental illness" is a panoply of diseases and injuries that attack the parts of our body (mainly the brain, but also the endocrine system) that create "self", and therefore are diseases and injuries that attack the "self".
Which is a bitch and a half, believe me.
One of the hardest things to wrap your head around as someone who has a mental illness is that there are thoughts and behaviors "you" are not responsible for... even though "you" are the one feeling and doing them. But it's vital that you do, because otherwise you spend all your time blaming yourself and feeling guilty for things you can't possibly control. I mean, if I break my leg, do I feel guilty about the fact that I suddenly can't walk without crutches? Heck, no. But I've had mornings when I could not -- and I mean could not -- get out of bed because of what was happening chemically in my brain. And blaming myself or feeling guilty about that wasn't just wrong-headed, it was incredibly counterproductive. It kept me from getting treatment for a long while.
The brain is an organ, like any other, and like all the other organs, it can break. When it breaks, it stops working... and that lack of function can make you sick, or even kill you. It's a very counterintuitive idea, but one that makes mental illness something you can treat just like any other injury or disease, instead of a fundamental fault in someone's being. And if you want to see the consequences of treating it one way instead of another, just look at the US Army. Treat PTSD like a brain injury? You get treatment for your soldiers. Treat it like a personality flaw? You get suicides, murders, and a generation of veterans that hate the service that betrayed them.
And if you've ever known anyone who's committed suicide due to a mental illness, it's a lot more comforting to think that they died of a disease, than that they chose to do it.
Next up, what "manic" means to me, or: "It's like there's a party in my pants... in my head!"
Which is a bitch and a half, believe me.
One of the hardest things to wrap your head around as someone who has a mental illness is that there are thoughts and behaviors "you" are not responsible for... even though "you" are the one feeling and doing them. But it's vital that you do, because otherwise you spend all your time blaming yourself and feeling guilty for things you can't possibly control. I mean, if I break my leg, do I feel guilty about the fact that I suddenly can't walk without crutches? Heck, no. But I've had mornings when I could not -- and I mean could not -- get out of bed because of what was happening chemically in my brain. And blaming myself or feeling guilty about that wasn't just wrong-headed, it was incredibly counterproductive. It kept me from getting treatment for a long while.
The brain is an organ, like any other, and like all the other organs, it can break. When it breaks, it stops working... and that lack of function can make you sick, or even kill you. It's a very counterintuitive idea, but one that makes mental illness something you can treat just like any other injury or disease, instead of a fundamental fault in someone's being. And if you want to see the consequences of treating it one way instead of another, just look at the US Army. Treat PTSD like a brain injury? You get treatment for your soldiers. Treat it like a personality flaw? You get suicides, murders, and a generation of veterans that hate the service that betrayed them.
And if you've ever known anyone who's committed suicide due to a mental illness, it's a lot more comforting to think that they died of a disease, than that they chose to do it.
Next up, what "manic" means to me, or: "It's like there's a party in my pants... in my head!"
-- The Prolix Wag
The Gold Standard of Deviation.
The Gold Standard of Deviation.
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