When the person fades, the question of their essence arises
John Chesterman
I am collecting an expanding list of phenomena that one can sense but are nearly impossible to measure objectively. So far I have love, compassion, good will and flow. Although not everyone agrees, I would like to add spirit to this list; My preferred definition is “immaterial essence.”
I like the idea that we all have a non-material essence. Perhaps this essence becomes most evident and most important when the environmental and material elements of our lives are lost.
When my father died of dementia six years ago, his vocabulary was largely down to one word: “really,” and now I’ve written it on my arm. Out of thousands of possibilities, it seemed somehow fitting that this was the word that stuck with my father.
Does a person retain their true self in the face of cognitive decline, or is this something others simply project?
This is not just an academic question. When people can no longer make certain decisions for themselves, our laws in the areas of guardianship, aged care, medical decision-making and power of attorney increasingly require that people be supported to make their own decisions and that the decisions made on their behalf are in line with the person’s “will and preferences”.
This phrase “will and preferences” is used to distinguish a person’s long-held beliefs and life-shaping trajectory from the more temporary and instinctive choices a person can make at any given moment.
It amounts to a gesture by legislators of the enduring importance of a person’s essence or essence, and this should guide the making of decisions affecting them. This requires us to look at the life being lived, not just focus on what the other person is currently saying or pointing out.
This is important but also complex. It is admirable to remain true to one’s essence; but how can we also welcome the possibility of changing people’s minds and even their ways?
I co-presented a conference paper on advance planning with Theresa Flavin, an incredible advocate living with dementia. He is concerned that undue privileging of his momentary choices and desires at some point in the future will be “unacceptable to me because it conflicts with the values that give and give meaning to my entire human existence.”
And so the big question remains. Without the accoutrements of a human life, who are we? How do we define our essence? Perhaps more important than having immediate answers is to direct ourselves to ask such fundamental questions. I can hear my father’s answer.
John Chesterman is a Queensland public defender
