Read I Am Charlotte Simmons Online
Authors: Tom Wolfe
I Am Charlotte Simmons (57 page)
Charlotte found herself holding Adam's hand tightly and once more leaning against his shoulder. He stopped. He released her hand and turned to face her. It was obvious what should come next. She experienced such a tender feeling for him, and she wanted to let him know thatâand in that same instant she wished ⦠he just wouldn't. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her toward him and at the same time pulled his head back so as to look into her eyes, she guessed ⦠and what was that look?âthat little smile? Mainly he looked nervous. And then he took hold of one of the temples of his glasses; and he pulled it up slightly, abandoned that activity, returned the hand to the back of her waist, and then cocked his head slightly and brought it closer and closer to hers. He was blinking rapidly, and it dawned on Charlotte that he had been trying to figure out whether to take his glasses off first or not. He brought his lips down to hers, and she parted her lips the way she had learned to do it with Hoytâand her lips landed above and below Adam's. She brought her lips closer together in order to engage his, but in that same moment he had opened his wider, seeking out hers, and when the two sets of lips finally met squarely, it was more like a ⦠mash ⦠than a kiss, and so she, with a mixture of sympathy and guiltâwhy guilt?âuttered a little moan. He pulled his head back just far enough to mouth the words, “Oh, Charlotte!”âthen mashed her lips again.
Charlotte was too embarrassedâembarrassed?âbut that was the way she felt!âto look at his face again. So she pulled her head downward from his lips and rested it on his chest, to spare his feelings. Big mistake. This merely spurred him on to more passionate moaning. He began rocking her body from one side to the other, saying, “Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte,” and then moaning some more. Now he seemed to draw her even closer, and he pressed his hip bones up against hers. And thenâCharlotte couldn't be absolutely sureâhe seemed to be thrusting his mons pubis in search of hers. She stuck her buttocks out far enough for that to be impossible. She took her head off his chest and looked at his face. Fog was developing on the lower part of his glasses, which made his eyes appear to be peering over a wall. “What are you thinking?” she said. She knew she shouldn't haveâbut how else to evade, gently, the quest of his rocking mons pubis?
Sure enough, he stopped rocking, although he kept an arm around her waist. He looked into her eyes and said, “I'm thinkingâI'm thinking I've
wanted to do this, to hold you like this, from the very moment I first laid my eyes on you.”
wanted to do this, to hold you like this, from the very moment I first laid my eyes on you.”
His throat had gone dry, and his voice was so hoarse and low and raspy it was as if he were pushing it on a sled on a dusty road.
“From the very first moment?” She pulled her head back so that he could see she was smiling. She thought she'd try to lighten the tone of this tête-à -tête. “You sure didn't
look
that way! Matter of fact, it looked to me you weren't very happy to see me sitting at that computer there in the library.”
look
that way! Matter of fact, it looked to me you weren't very happy to see me sitting at that computer there in the library.”
“All right, then why don't we call it the
second
moment.”
second
moment.”
He was smiling, but it wasn't what you would call a merry old smile. It appeared to be underwater, in a pool of the tears of a happy but terribly poignant recollection.
“It didn't take me long to change,” he said. “I hope you remember that, too. Don't you remember how I all of a sudden changed and introduced myself? And asked you your name?” The same dry voice, but this time with a certain extra note, a note of tender hush that one adopts when revealing lovely secrets that lie just below the surface. “I guess I can tell you this now. Afterward, I was sorry I had introduced myself to you as just Adam. You know how you get in the habit here of introducing yourself just by your first name? So naturally you just said Charlotte. Did you know there are
five
freshmen named Charlotte?”
five
freshmen named Charlotte?”
This gave Charlotte an opening to break free of him by jumping backward and putting her fists on her hips and her arms akimbo in the look of mock reproof a girl adopts when her boyfriend reveals emotions he couldn't very well have confessed to before now ⦠“You actually
looked it up
?” She went up to the coloratura level on the
up
. “You went through the whole list of freshmen?”
looked it up
?” She went up to the coloratura level on the
up
. “You went through the whole list of freshmen?”
Adam opened his eyes very wide, compressed his lips, and began nodding yes in the way lovers do when they admit to a euphoric guilt over something irrational the obsessiveness of their love has driven them to do.
“I don'tâ
believe
it!” cried Charlotte with the same smile and her eyes wide in wonderment. Above all, she wanted to keep things ⦠out of the mush.
believe
it!” cried Charlotte with the same smile and her eyes wide in wonderment. Above all, she wanted to keep things ⦠out of the mush.
But his face went very serious. “Charlotteâ” His voice was as dry and constricted as could be. “Why don't you come to my apartment, where we can really talk? I have so much to tell you. I don't live very far from here. I can walk you back.”
This caught her unprepared. He could probably read the dismay on her
face, but she managed to say, “I can't.” She just blurted it out, and yet, oddly, she said it correctly,
can't
instead of
caint
. Then she began ransacking her brain madly for the answer to the question that was bound to come next.
face, but she managed to say, “I can't.” She just blurted it out, and yet, oddly, she said it correctly,
can't
instead of
caint
. Then she began ransacking her brain madly for the answer to the question that was bound to come next.
“Why not?” said Adam.
“I've got to study. I've got a neuroscience quiz in the morning”âwhich she didn'tâ“and I should've been studying when we went over to Edgar's.”
“Not even for a little while? It's really not very far from here.” The way he said it, he was all but begging.
“No, Adam!” she said, managing to smile at the same time. “It's a hard course!”
“Well ⦠okay. I just wishâ” He broke off the sentence. He came toward her with an uneasy expression on his faceâthe opposite of confident, it occurred to Charlotteâfiddled with his glasses, and this time took them off. It was like printing an announcement.
Charlotte mashed her lips against his for a moment, then adroitly slid her head forward until they were cheek to cheek and let him hold her for a few seconds. He started the rocking business again, so she broke free and smiled at him as if giving up the bliss of that embrace was the hardest thing in the world for her, but she had to be stern with herself.
“I've just got to go, Adam. I wish I didn't.” She had already turned and started walking toward the entrance of the Little Yard by the time the
didn't
passed her lips.
didn't
passed her lips.
“Charlotte.”
From the grave, beseeching tone, she knew she'd better stop. She turned about. Soundlessly but unmistakably, his lips, tongue, and mouth formed the words “I love you.” He opened his mouth so wide on the
love
that when he snapped his tongue from the roof of his mouth to just behind his lower teeth, she could see his glottis guarding the descent into the larynx. He gave her a little wave and a smile of sweet sorrow. He had his glasses back on. Being nearsighted, he used them for distance.
love
that when he snapped his tongue from the roof of his mouth to just behind his lower teeth, she could see his glottis guarding the descent into the larynx. He gave her a little wave and a smile of sweet sorrow. He had his glasses back on. Being nearsighted, he used them for distance.
Charlotte gave him the same sort of wave back and some sweet sorrow along with it and hurried through the deep archway.
For the first time since she had come here, the courtyard seemed like a marvelously cozy, comforting, and at the same time luxurious haven. The luxury was in the way the lights here and there lit up the extravagantly leaded casement windows and brought the incisions of the brick and stonework into deep shadows.
Had she ever felt this confused, this delightfully confused, in her entire
life? Being with the Mutants and feeling the â¦
lift â¦
of their intelligence and their
ravenous appetite
⦠for knowledge and their ceaseless â¦
questâ
even in light momentsâto find the very structure, the very psychological and social structure, of the world ⦠What a rush the evening had given her! She
wanted
to fall in love with Adam. He was the best looking of the boys in the group. Actually, Edgar was basically the best looking, but he had a babyish coating of buttery flesh, and he was so unrelentingly serious, which only made it worse when he tried to be coolâleaning back aristocratically in his bulbous “elephant” chairâthe insouciant way Hoyt settled himself into the leather upholstery of the Saint Rays'
liber
-less library. Insouciance was the word. It was as if some Frenchman had coined it knowing that Hoyt Thorpe was coming into the world. But Hoyt did care about things if they were important enough. He had assaulted a brute twice his size ⦠for her.
life? Being with the Mutants and feeling the â¦
lift â¦
of their intelligence and their
ravenous appetite
⦠for knowledge and their ceaseless â¦
questâ
even in light momentsâto find the very structure, the very psychological and social structure, of the world ⦠What a rush the evening had given her! She
wanted
to fall in love with Adam. He was the best looking of the boys in the group. Actually, Edgar was basically the best looking, but he had a babyish coating of buttery flesh, and he was so unrelentingly serious, which only made it worse when he tried to be coolâleaning back aristocratically in his bulbous “elephant” chairâthe insouciant way Hoyt settled himself into the leather upholstery of the Saint Rays'
liber
-less library. Insouciance was the word. It was as if some Frenchman had coined it knowing that Hoyt Thorpe was coming into the world. But Hoyt did care about things if they were important enough. He had assaulted a brute twice his size ⦠for her.
She felt so confusedâyet she was soaring!
T
he next morning was one of those damp, chilly, gloomy, gray affairs, and windy on top of that. The wind got to you when you walked across the Great Yard, especially if, like Charlotte, your only pair of jeans was dirty and you didn't have tights or boarding-school-girl high wool socks or even a pair of panty hose. The wind invaded her shanks, flanks, and declivities as if her skirt wasn't there. Much of it wasn't, since she had hemmed it so highâand sloppily, since Momma had never insisted that her precocious little genius reduce herself to such Alleghany County housewifely toil as sewing and darning. Didn't matter; showing off her athletic legs was the main thing. She no longer thought of it as vanity. It was a necessity.
he next morning was one of those damp, chilly, gloomy, gray affairs, and windy on top of that. The wind got to you when you walked across the Great Yard, especially if, like Charlotte, your only pair of jeans was dirty and you didn't have tights or boarding-school-girl high wool socks or even a pair of panty hose. The wind invaded her shanks, flanks, and declivities as if her skirt wasn't there. Much of it wasn't, since she had hemmed it so highâand sloppily, since Momma had never insisted that her precocious little genius reduce herself to such Alleghany County housewifely toil as sewing and darning. Didn't matter; showing off her athletic legs was the main thing. She no longer thought of it as vanity. It was a necessity.
That being the case, the chill that gripped her nether parts scarcely bothered her. At the moment her consciousness was centered in the Broca's and Wernicke's regions of the brain, home of the higher mental functionsâas she had learned in the class she was heading for, Mr. Starling's.
She was feeling quite intellectual this morning. The evening with the Millennial Mutants had put her in that mood, which at the moment seemed glamorous. Mr. Starling would be lecturing in his peripatetic and Socratic way about José Delgado, the first giant of modern neuroscience, as he called him. This business of hanging out at the Saint Ray house and indulging
in long workouts at the gym and whiling the time away puzzling over Hoyt ⦠and Adam ⦠had begun to take its toll. Ordinarily, she would be heading for Mr. Starling's class knowing José Delgado's book
Physical Control of the Mind
backward and forward â¦
in long workouts at the gym and whiling the time away puzzling over Hoyt ⦠and Adam ⦠had begun to take its toll. Ordinarily, she would be heading for Mr. Starling's class knowing José Delgado's book
Physical Control of the Mind
backward and forward â¦
So caught up was she in thoughts of the higher things that she scarcely noticed the big figure rushing down the steps of Isles Hall and hustling toward her on one of the walkways that converged on the Saint Christopher's fountain. Charlotte was walking right by the fountain when he seemed to drop from the sky to right in front of her: Jojo, big as life.
“Hey, Charlotte!” Jojo's smile didn't seem so much one of happiness or surprise as of ingratiation.
“Oh, hi.” She stopped, but gave him a flat smile and some body language that said, “I really have to be somewhere.”
“Stocks for Jocks just let out,” said Jojo, “and you know what? This is the truth. I was just saying to myself I hope I'd run into you.”
His eyes were wide open in an attitude of supplication. “Can IâI gotta talk to you for a second. Can we go somewhere?”
“I can't.” It occurred to her that she at last had “can't” under control. Without even thinking first, she had pronounced it
can't
instead of
caint.
“I don't want to be late for class.”
can't
instead of
caint.
“I don't want to be late for class.”
“It'll take two seconds.” Jojo's face turned serious. What was it that was different about him? Ah, he was wearing a shirt with a collar and some sort of loose warm-up jacket. He wasn't giving the world an eyeful of his muscles. “It's important,” he said.
“I
can't,
Jojo.”
can't,
Jojo.”
“It'll onlyâ” His face fell. “Okay, I'm not gonna lie to you. It won't take just a second. When do you get outta class? I've got a real problem.”
Charlotte breathed a deep breath of frustration. Whatever problem Jojo had, it wasn't going to be on a very high level, and she was primed for a high levelâthe highest, Victor Ransome Starling. But not knowing how to parlay the question, she said tonelessly, “In an hour.”
“Can I meet you somewhereâthen? Please?”
With such a begrudging reluctance it didn't even sound like a question: “Where.”
“How about out front of Mr. Rayon?”
By the time she nodded a down-in-the-mouth yes, she was already on the move around him.
The huge athlete looked whipped, the way his eyes tracked her as she
went. It gave her an odd sensation, having the upper hand with this enormous sports star and campus celebrity. As she turned away, there rising above them both, Jules Dalou's statue of Saint Christopher carrying the infant Jesus across a stream. The great French sculptor had rendered the figures so dramatically that Charlotte had the sensation that they were actually moving. It stirred her. She was capable of
experiencing
art, not just looking at it. The rest of the world, or most of it, was like Jojo; which is to say, cut off from the life of the mind.
went. It gave her an odd sensation, having the upper hand with this enormous sports star and campus celebrity. As she turned away, there rising above them both, Jules Dalou's statue of Saint Christopher carrying the infant Jesus across a stream. The great French sculptor had rendered the figures so dramatically that Charlotte had the sensation that they were actually moving. It stirred her. She was capable of
experiencing
art, not just looking at it. The rest of the world, or most of it, was like Jojo; which is to say, cut off from the life of the mind.
Â
Â
The lights were down, and on the amphitheater's stage an eight-foot-high slide screen gleamed with a photographic portrait of a swarthy white man with a grand mustache and a trimmed beard that swooped down from his temples along a pair of strong jawlines to the thick but carefully coifed beard on his chin. The widow's peak of his hairline was by now, in his middle years, well out in front of the rest of the stand of hair on his pate, but the avant-garde strands on the peak had been combed back with such blow-dry bravura that the overall effect was of a unified flowing mane. He looked rather like one of the Three Musketeers, except that at the bottom of the picture you got a glimpse of the knot of a necktie and the collar of a white smock.
Mr. Starling was saying, “Delgado was one of those scientists who faced deathâor so it seemed to other peopleâby using themselves as guinea pigs to test their own discoveries.”
The lectern was off to one side of the stage so that everyone in the class could see the screen. A beam of light from above illuminated Mr. Starling's slim figure and his heathery blue-green tweed jacket ever so romantically, in Charlotte's eyes. She found it easy to imagine Victor Ransome Starling as one of those death-defying heroes of discovery, even though she knew that aside from cat scratches, he had been in no danger during the experiment for which he had won science's highest award.
“I'm not mentioning this so you'll admire their courage,” he was saying. “In fact, it's quite theâwell, not the opposite, but the obverse, I suppose is the word. Friends and colleagues were terrified for them, but here we have two men, Walter Reed and José Delgado, and one woman, Madame Curie, who had such faith in the empirical validity of their physical knowledge and their own powers of logicâsuch faith in rationalism, which was barely two centuries old, to touch upon that theme againâthey had no more fear than
the conjurer who swallows fire, although even if you take that into account, I think you may be impressed by how Delgado proved his point.”
the conjurer who swallows fire, although even if you take that into account, I think you may be impressed by how Delgado proved his point.”
Now the picture on the screen was a long shot of a bullfighting ring. There were no more than a couple dozen people in the stands. On one side of the picture, in the ring, was a charging bull. On the other side was a man in a white smock standing stock-still and holding a small black object in his hands at waist level. Other than Mr. Starling's voice, there was not a sound in the amphitheater. Charlotte was completely absorbed in Mr. Starling and the slide screen. There was no periphery, not in this hall, not in this world. Hoyt and his hand and Adam and his anxious lips and Jojo and his hangdog face no longer existed. The El Dorado that Charlotte Simmons had come to Dupont to find was at last the entire known world.
“That's José Delgado,” said Mr. Starling, “and
that's
a two-thousand-pound Andalusian bull ⦠and those ⦠sticks ⦠you see sticking out of his shoulders are the
picas
the picadorsâyou know
picador
?âhave stabbed him with to make him angry.”
that's
a two-thousand-pound Andalusian bull ⦠and those ⦠sticks ⦠you see sticking out of his shoulders are the
picas
the picadorsâyou know
picador
?âhave stabbed him with to make him angry.”
“OhâmyâGod!” It was an indignant yelp from a girl somewhere below. Charlotte had no trouble interpreting it. Animal rights was one of the issues some people on campus really got heated over. “Thatâisâhorrible! It'sâsoâwrong!”
From the lectern Mr. Starling said sharply, “
That's
your reaction to a culture different from your own? I'm sure I mentioned that José Delgado was Spanish, and in case I didn't mention it, that's a bullring in Madrid. Spanish culture is far older than ours, by a factor of millennia. You are perfectly free to object to it. You are free to object to
all
cultures different from your own. Would you favor us with a list of alien cultures you find most objectionable?”
That's
your reaction to a culture different from your own? I'm sure I mentioned that José Delgado was Spanish, and in case I didn't mention it, that's a bullring in Madrid. Spanish culture is far older than ours, by a factor of millennia. You are perfectly free to object to it. You are free to object to
all
cultures different from your own. Would you favor us with a list of alien cultures you find most objectionable?”
Laughter spread slowly through the amphitheater. Clever parry, Mr. Starling. Denigration of another culture, especially one whose people are less well off than your own, and referring to anything as evil, which would indicate you might very well have religious convictions, were more socially unacceptable at Dupont than cruelty to animals.
Mr. Starling returned to his discourse. “Now. What is about to happen in this picture is actually not as important as what leads up to it.” He gestured toward the screen. “This photograph was taken in 1955. In 1955 Delgado was known not as a neuroscientist but as a brain physiologist.” He moved out from behind the lectern. “Can anyone tell me what the status of brain physiology, the physical study of the brain, was at that time?”
No takers. Charlotte silently berated herself. If she had studied harderâhad gone to the sources, as Mr. Starling had advisedâhad been the student she was supposed to beâshe would be able to star at this very moment. Mr. Starling was still surveying the class â¦
Finally he gave up and said, “It barely
existed
at that time, brain physiology. It had been rendered irrelevant medically by Freudianism. If psychoanalysis was the ultimate cure for dysfunctional mental capabilities and behaviors, why waste time on the taxidermy of the matter? That was the idea. Freud stopped the study of the brain cold for half a century, especially in this country, which by the 1930s had become the very headquarters, so to speak, of the Freudian method. Delgado was a rare creature. His contention was that you couldn't understand human behavior without understanding how the brain worked. Today that seems obvious. It seems axiomatic. But it didn't then. Delgado had found a way of mapping the brainâwhich is to say, determining which areas of the brain controlled what behaviorâby using stereotaxic needle implants and stimulating them electronically.”
existed
at that time, brain physiology. It had been rendered irrelevant medically by Freudianism. If psychoanalysis was the ultimate cure for dysfunctional mental capabilities and behaviors, why waste time on the taxidermy of the matter? That was the idea. Freud stopped the study of the brain cold for half a century, especially in this country, which by the 1930s had become the very headquarters, so to speak, of the Freudian method. Delgado was a rare creature. His contention was that you couldn't understand human behavior without understanding how the brain worked. Today that seems obvious. It seems axiomatic. But it didn't then. Delgado had found a way of mapping the brainâwhich is to say, determining which areas of the brain controlled what behaviorâby using stereotaxic needle implants and stimulating them electronically.”
A loud gasp, probably from the girl who had yelped when Mr. Starling mentioned the picadors' handiwork. But she said nothing, and this time Mr. Starling ignored her.
He gestured toward the screen again. “In this case Delgado has implanted an electrode in the bull's caudate nucleus, which is just under the amygdala. As you can see, the bull was charging full tilt. When it came close enough to make it interesting, Delgado pressed a button on the little radio transmitter in his hand, and the bull's aggressiveness vanished”âhe snapped his fingersâ“like
that
. The sheer momentum brought the bull all the way to Delgado. You have to imagine a ton of beef with horns coming at you.”
that
. The sheer momentum brought the bull all the way to Delgado. You have to imagine a ton of beef with horns coming at you.”
Another slide, a close-up. “The bull appears to be a foot or so on the other side of Delgado. The animal's legs are bent in the attitude of a lazy canter. But you'll note that the anger has vanished. The bull's head is up, and it appears to be loping. This picture doesn't show it, but in fact the bull actually altered its course to
keep from
hitting Delgado.”
keep from
hitting Delgado.”
Mr. Starling seemed to be enjoying himself, perhaps because he knew he
had them all,
even the animal rights girl. “Now, what was the lesson of this experiment? The instantaneous lesson was that an emotion as powerful as a raging urge to kill can be turned off”âhe snapped his fingers againâ“by stimulating a particular area of the brain. The more profound lesson was that not only emotions but also
purpose
and
intentions
are
physical
matters. They can be turned on and off physically. Delgado could have turned a perfectly
peaceful, bashful bullâthere used to be a children's book called
The Bashful Bull
âor a cow, for that matterâhe could have turned either one into a raging killer by stimulating the amygdala itself. As I've mentioned, Delgado was a physician as well as an experimental neuroscientist, and he hoped to find a way to improve people's health and behavior through âphysical control of the mind.' That was the title of the one book he ever wroteâalthough he must have written a hundred scientific monographs recording his various experimentsâthat was the title of his book,
Physical Control of the Mind
. The philosophical implications were enormous, and he recognized that right away. His position was that the human mind, as we conceive itâand I think all of us doâbears very little resemblance to reality. We think of the mindâwe can't help but think of the mindâas something from a command center in the brain, which we call the âself,'and that this self has free will. Delgado called that a âuseful illusion.' He said there was a whole series of neural circuitsâmost of which the human animal isn't aware ofâthat work in parallel to create the illusion of a selfââme,' an âindividual' with free will and a soul. He called the self nothing more than a âtransient composite of materials from the environment.' It's not a command center but a village marketplace, an arcade, or a lobby, like a hotel lobby, and other people and their ideas and their mental atmosphere and the Zeitgeistâthe spirit of the age, to use Hegel's term from two hundred years agoâcan come walking right on in, and
you
can't lock the doors, because
they
become
you
, because they
are
you. After Delgado, neuroscientists began to put the words
self
and
mind
and, of course,
soul
in quotation marks. Delgado's conception of the self as a product of a physical mechanism has begun to turn philosophy and psychology upside down. It's occurring right now, in our time. The most influential theories of the self throughout most of the last century were
external
theories. Marxism was a philosophical theory that said that
you
, your
self
, were the product of the competing forces in the class struggle between the proletariatâor the working class, including the
lumpenproletariat
, the term for what we now call the âunderclass'âand the bourgeoisie and the aristocracy. Freudianism was a psychological theory that said each of us is the product of the oedipal conflict within our families. In both theories we are the product of external forcesâsocial class, in one case, the family you're born into, in the other. Marxists prided themselves on being materialistsârealists who faced facts and didn't fall for the usual idealism peddled by the philosophers. But the Marxist notion of materialism is sheer whimsy compared to that of the neuroscientists. Neuroscience says to us, âYou want
materialism? We'll show you the real thing, the material of your own brains and central nervous systems, the autonomous circuits that operate outside of what you conceive of as “consciousness,” the behavioral responses you couldn't change even if you trained for a lifetime, the illusions you will neverâ'”
had them all,
even the animal rights girl. “Now, what was the lesson of this experiment? The instantaneous lesson was that an emotion as powerful as a raging urge to kill can be turned off”âhe snapped his fingers againâ“by stimulating a particular area of the brain. The more profound lesson was that not only emotions but also
purpose
and
intentions
are
physical
matters. They can be turned on and off physically. Delgado could have turned a perfectly
peaceful, bashful bullâthere used to be a children's book called
The Bashful Bull
âor a cow, for that matterâhe could have turned either one into a raging killer by stimulating the amygdala itself. As I've mentioned, Delgado was a physician as well as an experimental neuroscientist, and he hoped to find a way to improve people's health and behavior through âphysical control of the mind.' That was the title of the one book he ever wroteâalthough he must have written a hundred scientific monographs recording his various experimentsâthat was the title of his book,
Physical Control of the Mind
. The philosophical implications were enormous, and he recognized that right away. His position was that the human mind, as we conceive itâand I think all of us doâbears very little resemblance to reality. We think of the mindâwe can't help but think of the mindâas something from a command center in the brain, which we call the âself,'and that this self has free will. Delgado called that a âuseful illusion.' He said there was a whole series of neural circuitsâmost of which the human animal isn't aware ofâthat work in parallel to create the illusion of a selfââme,' an âindividual' with free will and a soul. He called the self nothing more than a âtransient composite of materials from the environment.' It's not a command center but a village marketplace, an arcade, or a lobby, like a hotel lobby, and other people and their ideas and their mental atmosphere and the Zeitgeistâthe spirit of the age, to use Hegel's term from two hundred years agoâcan come walking right on in, and
you
can't lock the doors, because
they
become
you
, because they
are
you. After Delgado, neuroscientists began to put the words
self
and
mind
and, of course,
soul
in quotation marks. Delgado's conception of the self as a product of a physical mechanism has begun to turn philosophy and psychology upside down. It's occurring right now, in our time. The most influential theories of the self throughout most of the last century were
external
theories. Marxism was a philosophical theory that said that
you
, your
self
, were the product of the competing forces in the class struggle between the proletariatâor the working class, including the
lumpenproletariat
, the term for what we now call the âunderclass'âand the bourgeoisie and the aristocracy. Freudianism was a psychological theory that said each of us is the product of the oedipal conflict within our families. In both theories we are the product of external forcesâsocial class, in one case, the family you're born into, in the other. Marxists prided themselves on being materialistsârealists who faced facts and didn't fall for the usual idealism peddled by the philosophers. But the Marxist notion of materialism is sheer whimsy compared to that of the neuroscientists. Neuroscience says to us, âYou want
materialism? We'll show you the real thing, the material of your own brains and central nervous systems, the autonomous circuits that operate outside of what you conceive of as “consciousness,” the behavioral responses you couldn't change even if you trained for a lifetime, the illusions you will neverâ'”
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