joefromchicago wrote:I don't think that's Cohen's argument. Cohen isn't saying that, absent a living will or some other incontestible evidence of a patient's wishes, doctors should preserve the patient's life. Instead, he's saying that, regardless of a living will or some other incontestible evidence of a patient's wishes, doctors should still preserve the patient's life. As he states: "it is foolish to believe that the competent person I am now can establish, in advance, how I should be cared for if I become incapacitated and incompetent."
Actually, that is a rather interesting philosophical problem: how much claim do our "former selves" have on our "current selves" or "future selves?" Can I, for instance, make a demand on myself that I must fulfill several years hence? Cohen, I think, is arguing that we cannot make a decision under one set of circumstances (writing a living will while in perfect health) that will control our destiny at some uncertain point in the future (when unconscious and in extremis). That's an interesting question, although I'm not convinced that Cohen has arrived at the right answer.
I see your point, Joe. In that case, i have even less regard for Mr. Cohen's thesis. My grandfather was the light of my boyhood. He was a giant in my eyes (and well above the average size in reality), and he was a genius. In 1959 he suffered a massive stroke. Absent today's medical emergency services, this condemned him to a hellish fate for his remaining years. He was whisked off to a veteran's hospital for therapy, and when returned to us, was confined to a wheelchair. He was also not the man i had known--he was become a stranger, and one whose grim demeanor and irrascibility made fearsome to me. In retrospect, i can see how mightily he struggled to regain "himself," to overcome his debilities, and to care for himself as much as possible--at the time i had only an inchoate understanding of what was going on.
Two days after Christmas, 1961, i awoke with the dawn, as i had habitually done all my young life. Once i would have gone downstairs to where my grandfather would have been shaving and preparing for work, and joined him at breakfast. That day, the house was still, but with a quiet which shouts at one's spirit. I went downstairs, and there were my grandmother and my mother and her twin sister, huddling in the center of the living room, weeping and mumbling incoherently, ignoring me totally. These women has always been the strongest, most fearsome people i knew. But now they recoiled at the sound of my voice, and looked at me as though "unseeing." I walked into the bedroom, and became very excited. I saw my grandfather lying in bed--not the frightful stranger who had come back from the veteran's hospital, but my real grandfather. On his lips was the faint smile which had always characterized his expression for me. His body was relaxed, and he simply resembled a sleeping version of the giant i had so long known and loved. He was stone dead.
I have thought much on the subject of death and debility as a result. My oldest brother suffered a C-4 spinal fracture in 1968, and was one of only three people to survive that injury that year. It was a long and diffictult road which restored him some semblance of paraplegic normality. My relations with him were quite different, and not germane, but the debility had a significant influence on my thinking about this topic, and in fact, on my "world view" altogether. He is now dead as well.
Certainly i may be deluding myself, but i have strong feelings about the case of my grandfather. Raised by my grandparents, i spent more time with my grandfather than any other adult in my boyish existence. He was ever frank and forthright with me, and although neither crude nor indiscreet, i never knew him to lie or even hide the truth from me. His strongest form of self-censorship would be somethin to the effect of: "That's enough of that, we should speak of other things." I don't believe i am deluding myself when i say i knew him as well as i've known any man, up to and including the present. I have been convinced for many years that had he known what lay in store, he would have wished for that first stroke to kill him outright.
Cohen i have little regard for, based upon what you've provided us to read. I find his reasoning facile, and his political agenda transparent and pathetic. Certainly i am a physical coward, although unafraid of death, and foolhardy when angered. I might be inclined to wish to stay alive at all costs. But there is an aspect of the personality about which the religionist like to harp, although usually just paying lip-service. That is the unique character of every "soul," and its free will. I believe that those who are good men and women seek always to live up to their own personal standards. Although in the weakness and cowardice of illness and the eminent prospect of death, i might be inclined to beg for my life were i able--my highest personal ideal would be to have the plug pulled, and i would want that wish respected. The man who came back from the Veteran's Hospital did not seem to be my grandfather. I now understand that he was man trying to regain what he had been. I believe the look of peaceful repose, the characteristic faint smile, were evidence that in death, he found what he had struggled for.
Alright, i'll say it--Cohen's a hack; interesting idea to explore, and Cohen's done a shite job of that.