Lately, I have been living a dual
existence. By day, I am the editorial director at BYU Studies, where I deal
largely with rational-thinking experts in various fields. These are mostly
professors who have been trained to think clearly, to present logical arguments,
and to rely on verifiable or at least reputable evidence. On the editorial end
of the publishing process, we source check everything, invite peer reviews, and
carefully consider the arguments presented to determine whether everything
“adds up.” Sometimes it doesn’t, and so we send articles back to their authors
for revision. I’ve been doing this for over sixteen years now, so I feel very
comfortable in this world of rational thought and careful reasoning. I believe
it has given me a pretty good eye for reliable information and reputable
sources.
At home, I spend a lot of time
with my wife, who is a self-employed math tutor, so rational thinking is also
the norm in our conversations. For the past few months of the pandemic, we have
also had our oldest son living with us. He works as a research analyst in New
York City for the Economist, so if you want accurate data about all sorts of
topics, he’s a great source. During the pandemic, the Economist’s office is
closed and he has to work remotely, so he figured he could work just as easily
from our house in Utah as from a New York apartment (and get better food), and
he’s moved in with us until the New York office opens back up. In essence, for
a good part of my waking hours, I live in a very rational world.
Then there’s the rest of my life.
At the end of May, my ninety-five-year-old dad fell and broke his hip. He was
starting to fail both physically and mentally before the accident; his balance
wasn’t very good, and his memory was deteriorating. He was still living alone
up until the broken hip, but we were worried about him because he had fallen
several times over the winter and spring. Even though his memory had been
getting worse over the past few years, he was still lucid and able to carry out
his daily routine, including driving around North Ogden to run errands (I used
to tease him that he drove better than he walked) and taking care of the house
and yard, with a little hired help to assist him. Despite his strength and
balance issues, he was in good enough shape physically that after he broke his
hip the orthopedist recommended surgery to stabilize the femur and reduce the
pain. After a month in rehab, where he made slow but steady progress, my dad
was discharged, and I brought him to an assisted living facility in Provo,
where he could continue receiving care and, we hoped, perhaps get well enough
to move back home.
But the shock to his system caused
by this major trauma was apparently too severe. As the hip healed, his general
physical health and his mental health began to decline. It soon became obvious
that he would never return home. It has been a roller-coaster ride since then,
but the overall trend has been downhill. The short-term memory issues he has
had for a few years suddenly blossomed into almost total memory loss. Some days
are better than others, but most days if I call him shortly after lunch, he
can’t remember if he has eaten or not. And he has been experiencing disorientation
in waves that last several days, followed by several days when he at least
knows where he is. When he gets disoriented, he sometimes hallucinates, or at
least inhabits a different reality than the one most people inhabit. He told me
one day, for instance, that he was down by the lake, and there were ten streams
there. He counted them for me. I knew he was in his room, however, because he
was talking to me on the phone, and it is a land line. Another day, he told my
sister that he had just returned from Ohio. This break with reality seems to ebb
and flow. For a few days, he’ll be present in his surroundings, albeit still
with little memory. But then he becomes detached and talks about things that
aren’t real.
The brain is a complex organ. We
really don’t understand it well. Even those who research it or counsel those
who deal with mental illnesses don’t really have a clue about how brain
chemistry works, what causes thought processes to sometimes derail and depart
from the rational world, or why some medications seem to ease the symptoms.
When the brain gets old, something often seems to break, sort of like a
computer with corrupted software. My dad is experiencing this. So, quite often
his reality is not the same as mine. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t very real
to him. I have no doubt that he actually saw in his mind the lake and the ten
streams.
There are similarities between my
dad’s atrophying brain and the brain of one of my sons, who is dealing with a
serious mental illness. Out of respect for his privacy, I won’t give any
details, other than to say that his reality is very different from mine. A
mental health professional gave me some advice one day. She said that it isn’t
possible to carry on a rational conversation with a mentally ill person when
the illness is manifesting. This advice has actually come in handy when I’m
talking with my dad. His brain is broken, and I am unable to experience his
reality in the bad stretches. I can try to ask him questions and gently nudge
him toward my reality, but his brain is experiencing something different than
mine is, so communication is impaired.
And this brings me to another
major part of my life that has been frustrating for at least the past four
years. I’ve found that I also cannot carry on a rational conversation with
Trump supporters. They inhabit a completely different reality, if we can even
call it that. The parallels here between dementia and mental illness and a
tribalistic Trumpian world view are both obvious and disturbing. Trying to
convince a Trump supporter that the president is lying (all the time), or that
he has grossly mismanaged the government response to the pandemic, or that he
is overtly racist, or that Joe Biden is not a socialist, or that socialism itself
is not really a danger (which part of Germany’s economy is it, exactly, that
scares you?), or that there has been no significant fraud in the recent
election is an exercise in futility. They are convinced that their “reality” is
right, and no amount of rational evidence can dissuade them. I’m not sure how
to classify this. Brainwashing? Tribalism? Mental illness? What do you call it
when someone cannot see the danger and disaster of their own thought processes?
How do you convince someone that almost all conspiracy theories are crazy? You
can’t give them facts, because they have their “alternative facts,” no matter
how inconsistent they are.
So my life right now is a
collision of two very different worlds. There is the rational world of evidence
and logical reasoning and common sense. In this world, two plus two equals
four. And then there is the world of dementia, mental illness, and Trumpian
irrationality. In this world, two plus two can equal anything. I want to be
able to carry on a sensible conversation with all three of these forms of
irrationality, but it may be impossible. For dementia and mental illness,
science has not found any cures, even though certain medications can ease the
symptoms to a degree. For the irreality inhabited by Trump’s supporters, even a
failure on the scale of America’s enormously catastrophic response to the
coronavirus can be explained away by his followers. They truly believe that he
has done a superb job, just like he says. And they are convinced that there was
massive voter fraud, just like he says, despite the lack of any evidence at
all. It’s all a big conspiracy to steal the presidency from him. What do you do
when millions of people, including your next-door neighbors inhabit a “reality”
that is wildly irrational . . . and very dangerous?
