Mind vs. Body: What makes us alive?

While watching Be Right Back, I couldn’t help but think about what I’d do if I was in Martha’s shoes. I constantly changed my answer throughout the film because I could see why she needed to talk to Ash. She was pregnant, alone, and scared. I also understand a wife wanting to know her husband’s reaction to becoming a father. I even felt sad when Ash 2.0 was crying, begging her not to make him jump off the cliff. But why did this make me sad? It seems odd that I didn’t want him to jump, and the thought of him doing it upset me. Ash 1.0 was already dead, so it shouldn’t matter if Ash 2.0 jumped off the cliff.  

            I started to think about what it means to be “alive.” My initial response is biological, that humans are alive because we have a beating heart, but then I realized that just because someone’s heart is beating doesn’t necessarily mean they’re alive. The term “brain dead” comes to mind. A person’s body can be functioning–have a pulse, even twitch–but when someone’s brain activity is virtually nonexistent, doctors label them as brain dead. Why is having no brain function described as a death when the rest of the body is still in working order? Maybe it’s because our brain is where the essential “we” is located; our emotions, thoughts, personalities, and quirks that make us individuals are all stored, processed, and played out by our brains. When the decision is made to “pull the plug” on a brain dead patient, it shows that people value the presence of a person’s mind greater than the presence of their body, and people say things like “they’re not here anymore.”

            I think I was sad during the cliff scene because Ash 2.0 jumping might make Martha feel like she’s experiencing Ash 1.0’s death all over again. That’s why she panicked when she dropped her phone in the doctor’s office; she was terrified about losing the pieces of Ash’s essence–not his body–that she’d gotten back. I don’t think Martha was trying to bring Ash back to life, but she was trying to remember what made him alive for a little while longer.

While I don’t know if I’d invest in the robotic Ash 2.0 if I was Martha, I think I’d be ok utilizing the chat and phone call versions of him. There were some gaps and inconsistencies, but his personality and how he thought was still there. A lot of what made him alive was present. I don’t think it’s wrong to miss who someone was and indulge in that if it helps you grieve, especially if the loss was as traumatic and sudden as the one Martha experienced. If technology can help someone heal, I think it’s worth considering.