Death and the mechanical model - essay

One of the criticisms of modern medicine is that doctors treat patients too much as a “mechanical model,” and consequently ignore the more “human” aspects of health and disease. Things like patients’ intelligence or lack of it, their personal beliefs and emotions, fears and hopes, are ignored. This is perhaps a valid criticism of the medical profession in general, but when it comes to life and death there are things I find remarkably satisfying about the mechanical model. Having recently had to deal with a mild heart attack and subsequent chest pains, resulting in the acquisition of several stents in my arteries, I have given some thought to this matter.
Thinking of yourself as a machine solves certain existential questions. If you are a machine a malfunction is possible. A part here is damaged, a part there wears out, a part gets out of sync, etc. The doctor, a glorified mechanic, tinkers around a bit. Hence things like the stents. It is also possible that a machine can become obsolete and actually fail to function entirely, in which case it dies. It is possible that some parts might be salvaged and used to repair some other like machine, but eventually whatever is left is relegated to a dump where inevitably over time its essence disappears. As the essence of the machine is merely a lot of water and chemicals, these are released into the huge incomprehensible and infinite universe, making some infinitesimally tiny contribution. As a machine, this essence has no supernatural powers. It is not capable of flitting about in dreams or hovering over the living to create mischief. That is, as a machine, there is no soul:
“…a thin unsubstantial human image, in its nature a sort of vapour, film, or shadow; the cause of life and thought in the individual it animates, independently possessing the personal consciousness and volition of its corporeal owner; past or present; capable of leaving the body far behind, to flash swiftly from place to place; mostly impalpable and invisible, yet also manifesting physical power, and especially appearing to men waking or asleep as a phantom separate from the body of which it bears the likeness; continuing to exist and appear to men after the death of that body; able to enter into, possess, and act in the bodies of other men, of animals, and even of things (Edward Burnett Tylor, 1903, Primitive Culture).
Likewise it cannot leap tall buildings at a single bound. It is simply an essence, nothing more. Having disposed of the unnecessarily complicated idea of a soul, consider what else the mechanical model offers. The entire worry about life after death disappears. If there is no soul, ideas of the afterlife, such as heaven, hell, and all variations on reincarnation are eliminated. So, too, is the concern with ghosts. How could a machine possibly become a ghost, sprite, demon, spirit, phantom, specter, ghoul, banshee, doubleganger, or anything else? Similarly, as there is no heaven or hell for machines, there is no concern with either good deeds or guilt, sin, damnation, angelic or heavenly bliss or whatever. You don’t even have to ponder the question of original sin.
If you believe you are a machine, and if you also believe this machine can break down and even die, it means it could not have been created by an omnipotent and omnipresent creator. For if it had been it could neither break down nor die. So no matter how it was actually created, whether by design or accident, it is not a perfect creation. Thus omnipotence and omnipresence are ruled out.
Another feature of this model is that it sets to rest questions about the causes of death. It is hard to understand how either sorcery or witchcraft could affect a machine, they become irrelevant. It is true that someone with evil intentions could mechanically cause trouble, but they could not do it from a distance or by magical means. Magic is not something the machine has to worry about. This provides great relief to those troubled individuals in the world who believe in and are obsessed with magical causes of various kinds.
As a machine there is built in obsolescence. This eliminates the existential question of immortality. That is, why do we not live forever? For Christians this is a result of original sin. For the Cheyenne Indians it was because their culture hero chose to resemble a plant instead of a rock (if he had chosen a rock he could have been immortal). The Dani people of New Guinea believe they must die because they are like birds, and as birds must die, so must they. There are doubtless many different explanations around the world as to why there is no immortality. The Tahitians, however, approximate the mechanical model. They simply say, everyone dies and when you die you are dead, that’s all.
While machines might be said in some way to evolve, this is not evolution in the biological sense. For a machine to evolve it has to be first created and then improved over time. This is a very different matter than evolution as we ordinarily think about it. It is not a question of originating in some primeval slime and eventually working its way up to something recognizable as a machine. The machine has to come first. No need to argue about evolution here, but it does pose the question of “intelligent design,” a concept that seems to be coming into prominence these days, especially among those who refuse to accept evolutionary theory. The question of creation becomes paramount. In order for there to be a machine it has to have been created. It is highly unlikely that it was created by a supernatural power. No supernatural being in his or her right mind would have created something as awful as the internal combustion engine. It has to have been created by people and this could not have come about entirely by accident, although accidents from time to time may have been involved. An early creature suddenly realizes that a stick can become a weapon (a primitive machine). If its point is held in a fire it hardens and makes it even better. If you tie a piece of sharp rock on it, it becomes better still, and so on until these early primitive machines take on more and more complexity until eventually, voila, you have the internal combustion engine. You get the picture I am sure. So people through accident and design eventually created machines. This is all perfectly understandable and makes sense.
The problem here, of course, is where did the people come from? And why do they have the form they have? So inevitably you have to return to the basic theological and/or philosophical question. But notice this does not mean you cannot believe in the mechanical model. The question of origin does not interfere with the position that you are basically just a machine. While this one question of origin remains, think of all the other questions, beliefs, superstitions, delusions, and dogmas the mechanical model eliminates. It is, I submit, much easier on the psyche than having to believe in a bunch of utterly absurd religious falderol. The belief in the mechanical model is perfectly consistent with Occam’s razor (when there is more than one explanation always select the simplest). The mechanical model is by far the simplest, even if it does not provide the very best medical attention. So up with the machine and down with souls, ghosts, goblins, witches, sorcerers, omnipotent and omnipresent beings and what have you. The mechanical model sets you free!