When philosophers imagined Ship of TheseusThey asked the question: Can a ship sailing uncharted waters and having all its planks replaced one by one over time still be considered the same ship?
Neuroscience offers an interesting answer to this riddle. Yes. But that’s not the correct answer. The brain is rebuilt in much the same way, plank by plank, neuron by nerve. Cells are born and die, synapses are rewired, and entire populations of neurons drift in and out of activity. Our sense of self even seems to sail unhindered.
To me, this is not an abstract metaphor for how the brain works. This is the reality I experienced.
I study memory at Boston University. My lab investigates how specific networks of brain cells encode, store, and even rewrite memories. we are displayedFor example, artificially activating positive memories in mice can alleviate stress and depression.
But my most personal experiment came when alcohol rewired my brain from the inside out and quietly began rotting away its most important boards. For about 10 years, I spiraled until I decided to channel my brain’s innate variability into the potential for health, healing, and happiness rather than oblivion.
In biology, change is not an option, it is a default setting. Almost every cell in the body eventually turns over, and every memory we revisit reorganizes its own neural circuits. Memories are not static records. It is a living reconstruction. The same plasticity that allows us to learn and adapt also makes us vulnerable to patterns that hijack the system. Biology is always in motion, right down to our DNA.
But sometimes adversity and genetic predisposition intersect to create the illusion of stagnation. We are trapped in the moment we are trying to escape.
At the heart of addiction is the dark side of memory. That is, over-associating relief with a substance, with practice, until it becomes automatic. I learned this the hard way. After the sudden death of my dear friend and lab partner Xu Liu, I continued to move forward in the lab, driven by the need to preserve his legacy through the science we love.
But behind that progress, sadness and exhaustion began to carve new paths in my brain. What started out as a nightly drink to soften the edges turned into a ritual of escape. Then it became something I couldn’t live without. I wake up at 3 am necessary For example, having two drinks to prevent the physical and mental pain of withdrawal symptoms. The same scientist who studied memory manipulation discovered that he was manipulated by his memories. That is, seeking forgetfulness to avoid reliving the loss and refusing to face the weight of death’s inherent finality.
Eventually my oldest friend and my wife initiated an informal intervention. The boat that was mine, creaking under the weight of silence and sadness, would not capsize while they watched. Their message was simple and unwavering. Connection, not control, is what will save you. I joined the Recovery Elevator Café RE community, an alternative to AA without any religious affiliation, and there I first internalized a phrase that has become central to both my work and my life. The opposite of addiction is connection.
This wasn’t just an emotional breakthrough. It was a neurobiological problem. Positive social interactions flood the brain with chemicals like oxytocin and dopamine. These chemicals aren’t just mood-boosting regulators in the brain. They are molecular glues that help form new nerve connections. Healing, like remembering, is a relational act. Neurons that fire together become connected, and people who are there for each other become a gift to each other. In my recovery, connection became my new experiment. I began retraining my brain to extract rewards from conversations, movement, and simply being here.
Sobriety did not restore the previous version of me. It allowed me to create something new from past nomadism. Like the Ship of Theseus, recovery is an iterative reconstruction. Neurons that once activated when we reached for a drink now seem to activate when we reach for conversation, exercise, or moments of gratitude. In this sense, biology is indelible. The purpose changes.
Some of the most difficult memories I have have become some of the most instructive. The darkest of them centered on the few nights I almost died. But today I no longer feel shame. Those memories went from pure sadness to a deep and lasting gratitude that the same neuroplasticity that once fueled addiction also powered recovery. In scientific terms, it is the physical basis of memory. engram, Updated. From a human perspective, I found a kind of inner salvation by updating what these memories meant to me.
These individual changes are similar to what we observed in the laboratory. Activating a rat’s positive memory increases the rat’s stress response. shrink; their brains literally Reset your emotional communication channels. In humans, therapy and mindfulness work similarly: Recontextualizing Painful Memories until they start Alleviate their emotional pain. Once fear is encoded, the neural ensemble is gradually replaced or silenced by something representative of the present. In biology, this is called representational drift. I have come to believe that life is healing.
This principle of using good memories as an antidote guides both my research and recovery. Each week, I ask my students, colleagues in recovery, and readers to remember a moment that reminds them of who they are. Each memory placed a new plank on Theseus’ ship. Over time, the ship becomes strong enough to carry your grief without capsizing. We do this because addiction is isolating, but recovery is reconnecting. At Café RE, sharing stories of relapse and recovery helped transform shame into empathy. social connection This isn’t just therapeutic; it’s literally chemical. Increases serotonin, stabilizes cortisol, and restores activity in the following areas: brain Like the prefrontal cortex, it is the control center of the brain. The very systems that hijack addiction can be recruited with communities for resilience.
It’s easy to think of recovery as a turning point, a before and after moment. But the brain reminds us that it is a continuous process. Sobriety is not the finish line. It is an ongoing act of remembering and continually choosing different versions of ourselves that we want to strengthen.
When people hear that my lab can “create and delete” memories in rodents, they imagine a sci-fi scene where minds can be erased. But the reality is more subtle and hopeful. Memory manipulation is not about deletion. It’s about reframing our emotional tone and what our experiences mean to us. You can calm the fears tied to traumatic memories without deleting the event itself. Treatment proceeds in the same way. That is, reframing painful stories while respecting the truth.
That’s what I did with my past. Xu’s death, once too painful to bear, now feels like a lesson in love, loyalty, and purpose. The night I got drunk and almost died became a benchmark for gratitude. My memories didn’t disappear. They have evolved. And as I changed them, I changed myself.
In neuroscience, there is a name for it: post-traumatic growth. It’s the measurable increase in empathy, gratitude, and meaning that can come after a crisis. Brains that survive trauma often become more connected and flexible. It’s not inevitable, but it’s possible. Biology shows us how. Changes at the synaptic level support changes at the personal level.
That truth is humbling and empowering. The same brain that created my addiction also created my recovery. The same plasticity that encodes fear also encodes courage. We are all literally wired for renewal.
Today, I am still learning how to live with change. But now I accept it. The question is not whether we change, but whether we change. What are we changing for? Nature changes fundamentally. But is there any progress? It takes direction. For me, the direction is clear: connection, discovery and service. Mentoring young scientists. Supporting the recovery of others. Turn sadness into fuel for compassion.
The Ship of Theseus is not a philosophical puzzle. That’s a permit saying we’re allowed to rebuild. Whether we’re recovering from trauma, loss, or addiction, every new plank is a testament to our resilience.
Biology gave us a malleable brain. Memory gives us the ability to control it. Change is both a cost of survival and a gift that allows us to become better people.
Steve Ramirez, Ph.D., is an associate professor of psychology and brain sciences at Boston University.
