For me the most intriguing part of Capgras syndrome is the profound implications this disorder has with regard to how we define our sense of self. The Hirstein and Ramachandran article details the multiple brain functions that are involved in the process of recognizing a face. Part of our neurology allows us to consciously interpret what we see in front of us as another person, while another part is responsible for triggering the emotional arousal that results from our associations with a face that is familiar to us. The authors suggest that in the case of Capgras patients, the limbic section of the brain fails to enact this emotional response to the faces of loved ones, thus forcing the patient to conclude that the person they are encountering is not the really the relative they know and love, but an imposter.
In The Echo Maker, Richard Powers creates a vivid picture of the impact this kind of neurological disconnect can have on the lives and relationships of an affected person and his loved ones. Our sense of self is defined by our connection to others. The relationships we create anchor us in our surroundings and give meaning to our place in the world. In the novel, Mark’s conception of one of his most important relationships becomes wrapped in distrust and suspicion. Once he no longer has the grounding link to the person he loves most, his sense of self is profoundly shaken. The syndrome deeply impacts Karin as well, since much of her understanding of herself relies on the role she once inhabited in Mark’s life. She knows herself as his protector, his caretaker, his sister, and she has shaped a significant part of her identity around this version of herself. Mark’s accident changes all of this. His brain can process her face intellectually, but can no longer elicit the warm emotional reaction that would allow him to accept Karin as his sister. She is stripped of a role that she has long relied on to define herself.
In his interview with Terry Gross, Powers suggests that although Capgras is a rare phenomenon, the theme of the novel may resonate with readers because we may experience this “decoupling of intellectual recognition and emotional recognition” in small ways in our everyday lives. He gives the example of someone professing their love to another person, only to later admit that they no longer have those passionate feelings toward them. In that example, the person would recognize their lover as the same familiar face, but no longer feel the emotional arousal that their partner used to bring forth. In neuro-typical people, this decoupling would lead the person to conclude not that their lover is a fake, but that some change has taken place within themselves or the other that has caused the initial feelings to fade. Powers also emphasizes that the self is a kind of novelist, in that it has an amazing ability to revise its view of the world. Our environment, our relationships, our place in society – all these factors that make up our lives are constantly shifting, and as a result we must constantly reconstruct the narrative of our experience. Whether it’s a brain malfunction like Mark’s that interrupts our understanding of a relationship, or the more common reality of falling out of love, life demands that we are flexible in how we view ourselves and organize the world around us.
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I think everyone (Ida, Katie, etc) are really spot-on with a lot of this.
ReplyDeleteI’ll admit: I still have a bit more to go on this book, however, I figured I’d pop in, post a bit, retreat, and then pull together a longer post for later in the night. It is my week and all.
As Katie was saying: a lot can be made out of those damn cranes. Yes, they’re the primordial basis of it all: saurian, they’re described as. And as such, yes, they can act as a central consistency, the basis for future fluidity. Let’s not forget that the creatures are facing danger; and Karin certainly feels that way: that the central basis of both herself and her brother is endangered. Early into the book, both lack an framework: Karin has carefully structured herself an identity outside of her hometown and her family; she is her job, she is the boy she flirts with, or at least, she’s attempting to be. Her identities pushed even further into confusion when she’s rejected by Mark; she reflects that maybe she isn’t her brother’s sister.
The mind-puzzles peppered through the beginning: two girls, born on the same day by the same parents: sisters, not twins. Who are they? It all points to that central idea: we define ourselves based on those around us (a framework). But the siblings in this book are still left puzzled by that strange game: who are they?
In the same way that Mark’s identity as strengthened as the previous pieces of his life begin to show themselves (his girlfriend, his buddies), or, in other words, as his life framework begins to reassemble itself, so too is Karin strengthening her identity framework by contacting Daniel. Of course she’s in that same period of identity disassembly that Mark’s been pushed through.
Maybe those cranes say something about her earlier perceived stability and normality. They, after all, appear more than healthy, flocking over in droves. Daniel explains though, so many appear only because there are limited environments left for them to migrate to.
The truth is: What looks like flourishing is really falling. What looks like normality is really illness. What looks like stability is really fluidity. Was Karin, after all, really healthy in that manufactured “stable” life of hers pre-Mark?
I’ll post more later; until then.
In the NPR interview the most striking point about Capgras was brought up by Richard Powers, and to me, this point really brings the self into question. In almost a silly banter-like manner, Powers speaks of the fear everyone has of not recognizing the ones they love, even on a minor level. This statement brought up a very poignant instance in my life where a capgras like moment occurred. Over Christmas break, I visited my mother's family in Glasgow, Scotland. It had been seven years since my last visit to see them, and obviously, some changes had occurred. I had images of my aunts and uncles and my cousins engrained into my mind from the last time I saw them, but as mentioned before, these images were seven years old. I had seen photographs of my cousins (nine and thirteen years old) as they had grown up, but photographs do not seem to leave a lasting image on my mind. Upon first appearance of my aunts, uncles, and cousins, part of me wanted to believe that these were not the same people I had pictured in my mind. Very quickly however, my brain ran through the infinitely complicated process of recognition in a matter of nanoseconds and I realized that these in fact were members of my family, just aged seven years. My images of them now are altered, but because of that instance I can see where capgras comes from. Even as prolific as a condition as it is, it is the most realistic (for me )of the conditions we have looked at thus far. Thus, I realize the idea of Sack's questioning the self and soul in his other patients. I now know that if I were asked the question of whether or not someone has a soul, I can answer immediately.
ReplyDeleteOne thing I found interesting about the Hirstein & Ramachandran article and also the NPR interview's mention of multiple brain functions involved in the process of recognizing a face, was that it brought to question the relationship between emotions and our sense of self. The lack of emotional connection which may lead to capgrass makes us think, that the 'self' recognizes something is lacking, and therefore expresses disbelief. Oftentimes we view emotions as merely the product of perception and recognitions by the self. In this case, emotions are part of the reasoning process. I think in another VK Ramachandran article, he once asked --are we scared because we are running, or running because we are scared?
ReplyDeleteIn the case of capgrass, it seems clear that Mark is running because he's scared --or that he is disbelieving because he lacks the emotional response.