Byways' the theory originally propounded by Sir Henry Holland, but
then recently advocated by Dr. Brown-Sequard, of New York, that we
have two brains, each perfectly sufficient for the full performance
of mental functions. I did not for my own part either advocate or
oppose that theory, but simply considered the facts which had been
urged in support of it, or which then occurred to me as bearing upon
it, whether for or against. I showed, however, that some classes of
phenomena which had been quoted in support of the theory seemed in
reality opposed to it, when all the circumstances were considered. For
example, Brown-Sequard had referred to some of those well-known cases
in which during severe illness a language forgotten in the patient's
ordinary condition had been recalled, the recollection of the language
enduring only while the illness lasted. I pointed to a case in which
there had not been two mental conditions only, as indicated by the
language of the patient, but three; the person in question having in
the beginning of his illness spoken English only, in the middle of his
illness French only, and on the day of his death Italian only (the
language of his childhood). The interpretation of that case, and of
others of a similar kind, must, I remarked, be very different from that
which Brown-Sequard assigned, perhaps correctly, 'to cases of twofold
mental life.' A case of the last-named kind has recently been discussed
in scientific circles, which seems to me to bear very forcibly on the
question whether Holland's theory of a dual brain is correct. I propose
briefly to describe and examine this case, and some others belonging to
the same class, two of which were touched upon in my former essay, but
slightly only, as forming but a small part of the evidence dealt with
by Brown-Sequard, whose arguments I was then considering. I wish now to
deal, not with the question of the duality of the brain, but with the
more general question of dual or intermittent consciousness.
Among the cases dealt with by Brown-Sequard was that of a boy at
Notting Hill, who had two mental lives. Neither life presented
anything specially remarkable in itself. The boy was a well-mannered
lad in his abnormal as well as in his normal condition,--or one might
almost say (as will appear more clearly after other cases have been
considered) that the _two_ boys were quiet and well-behaved. But the
two mental lives were entirely distinct. In his normal condition the
boy remembered nothing which had happened in his abnormal condition;
and _vice versâ_, in his abnormal condition he remembered nothing which
had happened in his normal condition. He changed from either condition
to the other in the same manner. 'The head was seen to fall suddenly,
and his eyes closed, but he remained erect if standing at the time, or
if sitting he remained in that position (if talking, he stopped for a
while, and if moving, he stopped moving); and after a minute or two his
head rose, he started up, opened his eyes, and was wide awake again.'
While the head was drooped he appeared as if either sleeping or falling
asleep. He remained in the abnormal state for a period which varied
between one hour and three hours; it appears that every day, or nearly
every day, he fell once into his abnormal condition.
This case need not detain us long; but there are some points in it
which deserve more attention than they seem to have received from Dr.
Brown-Sequard. It is clear that if the normal and abnormal mental lives
of this boy had been entirely distinct, then in the abnormal condition
he would have been ignorant and--in those points in which manners
depend on training--ill-mannered. He would have known only, in this
condition, what he had learned in this condition; and as only about
a tenth part of his life was passed in the abnormal condition, and
presumably that portion of his life not usually selected as a suitable
time for teaching him, the abnormal boy would of necessity have been
much more backward in all things which the young are taught than the
normal boy. As nothing of this kind was noted, it would appear probable
that the boy's earlier years were common to both lives, and that his
unconsciousness of his ordinary life during the abnormal condition
extended only to those parts of his ordinary life which had passed
since these seizures began. Unfortunately, Brown-Sequard's account does
not mention when this had happened.
It does not appear that the dual brain theory is required so far
as this case is concerned. The phenomena seem rather to suggest a
peculiarity in the circulation of the brain corresponding in some
degree to the condition probably prevailing during somnambulism or
hypnotism, though with characteristic differences. It may at least
be said that no more valid reason exists for regarding this boy's
case as illustrating the distinctive duality of the brain than for so
regarding some of the more remarkable cases of somnambulism; for though
these differ in certain respects from the boy's case, they resemble
it in the circumstances on which Brown Sequard's argument is founded.
Speaking generally of hypnotism,--that is, of somnambulism artificially
produced,--Dr. Carpenter says, 'In hypnotism, as in ordinary
somnambulism, no remembrance whatever is preserved, in the waking
state, of anything that may have occurred during its continuance;
although the previous train of thought may be taken up and continued
uninterruptedly on the next occasion when hypnotism is induced.' In
these respects the phenomena of hypnotism precisely resemble those of
dual consciousness as observed in the boy's case. In what follows, we
observe features of divergence. Thus 'when the mind is not excited
to activity by the stimulus of external impressions, the hypnotised
subject appears to be profoundly asleep; a state of complete torpor,
in fact, being usually the first result of the process just described,
and any subsequent manifestation of activity being procurable only by
the prompting of the operator. The hypnotised subject, too, rarely
opens his eyes; his bodily movements are usually slow; his mental
operations require a considerable time for their performance; and there
is altogether an appearance of heaviness about him which contrasts
strongly with the comparatively wide-awake air of him who has not
passed beyond the ordinary biological state.'
It would not be easy to find an exact parallel to the case of the
two-lived boy in any recorded instance of somnambulism. In fact, it
is to be remembered that recorded instances of mental phenomena are
all selected for the very reason that they are exceptional, so that it
would be unreasonable to expect them closely to resemble each other.
One case, however, may be cited, which in certain points resembles the
case of Dr. Brown-Sequard's patient. It occurred within Dr. Carpenter's
own experience. A young lady of highly nervous temperament suffered
from a long and severe illness, characterised by all the most marked
forms of hysterical disorder. In the course of this illness came a
time when she had a succession of somnambulistic seizures. 'The state
of somnambulism usually supervened in this case in the waking state,
instead of arising, as it more commonly does, out of the conditions
of ordinary sleep. In this condition her ideas were at first entirely
fixed upon one subject--the death of her only brother, which had
occurred some years previously. To this brother she had been very
strongly attached; she had nursed him in his last illness; and it was
perhaps the return of the anniversary of his death, about the time
when the somnambulism first occurred, that gave to her thoughts that
particular direction. She talked constantly of him, retraced all the
circumstances of his illness, and was unconscious of anything that was
said to her which had not reference to this subject.... Although her
eyes were open, she recognised no one in this state,--not even her own
sister, who, it should be mentioned, had not been at home at the time
of her brother's last illness.' (It will presently appear, however,
that she was able to recognise those who were about her during these
attacks, since she retained ill-feeling against one of them; moreover,
the sentences which immediately follow suggest that the sense of sight
was not dormant.) 'It happened on one occasion, that when she passed
into this condition, her sister, who was present, was wearing a locket
containing some of their deceased brother's hair. As soon as she
perceived this locket she made a violent snatch at it, and would not
be satisfied until she had got it into her possession, when she began
to talk to it in the most endearing and even extravagant terms. Her
feelings were so strongly excited on this subject, that it was deemed
prudent to check them; and as she was inaccessible to all entreaties
for the relinquishment of the locket, force was employed to obtain
it from her. She was so determined, however, not to give it up, and
was so angry at the gentle violence used, that it was found necessary
to abandon the attempt, and having become calmer after a time, she
passed off into ordinary sleep. Before going to sleep, however, she
placed the locket under her pillow, remarking, "Now I have hid it
safely, and they shall not take it from me." On awaking in the morning
she had not the slightest consciousness of what had passed; but the
impression of the excited feelings still remained, for she remarked to
her sister, 'I cannot tell what it is that makes me feel so, but every
time that S. comes near me I have a kind of shuddering sensation;'
the individual named being a servant, whose constant attention to her
had given rise to a feeling of strong attachment on the side of the
invalid, but who had been the chief actor in the scene of the previous
evening. This feeling wore off in the course of a day or two. A few
days afterwards the somnambulism again returned; and the patient being
upon her bed at the time, immediately began to search for the locket
under her pillow.' As it had been removed in the interval, 'she was
unable to find it, at which she expressed great disappointment, and
continued searching for it, with the remark, "It _must_ be there--I
put it there myself a few minutes ago, and no one can have taken it
away." In this state the presence of S. renewed her previous feelings
of anger; and it was only by sending S. out of the room that she could
be calmed and induced to sleep. The patient was the subject of many
subsequent attacks, in every one of which the anger against S. revived,
until the current of thought changed, no longer running exclusively
upon what related to her brother, but becoming capable of direction
by _suggestions_ of various kinds presented to her mind, either in
conversation, or, more directly, through the several organs of sense.'
I have been particular in quoting the above account, because it appears
to me to illustrate well, not only the relation between the phenomena
of dual consciousness and somnambulism, but the dependence of either
class of phenomena on the physical condition. If it should appear that
dual consciousness is invariably associated with some disorder either
of the nervous system or of the circulation, it would be impossible,
or at least very difficult, to maintain Brown-Sequard's explanation of
the boy's case. For one can hardly imagine it possible that a disorder
of the sort should be localised so far as the brain is concerned, while
in other respects affecting the body generally. It so chances that the
remarkable case recently dealt with by French men of science forms a
sort of connecting link between the boy's case and the case just cited.
It closely resembles the former in certain characteristic features,
while it resembles the latter in the evidence which it affords of
the influence of the physical condition on the phenomena of double
consciousness. The original narrative by M. Azam is exceedingly prolix;
but it has been skilfully condensed by Mr. H.J. Slack, in the pages of
a quarterly journal of science. I follow his version in the main.
The subject of the disorder, Felida X., was born in Bordeaux in 1843.
Until the age of thirteen she differed in no respect from other
girls. But about that time symptoms of hysterical disorder presented
themselves, and although she was free from lung-disease, she was
troubled with frequent spitting of blood. After this had continued
about a year, she for the first time manifested the phenomena of
double consciousness. Sharp pains attacked both temples, and in a
few moments she became unconscious. This lasted ten minutes, after
which she opened her eyes, and entered into what M. Azam calls her
second state, in which she remained for an hour or two, after which
the pains and unconsciousness came on again, and she returned to her
ordinary condition. At intervals of about five or six days, such
attacks were repeated; and her relations noticed that her character
and conduct during her abnormal state were changed. Finding also that
in her usual condition she remembered nothing which had passed when
she was in the other state, they thought she was becoming idiotic;
and presently called in M. Azam, who was connected with a lunatic
asylum. Fortunately, he was not so enthusiastic a student of mental
aberration as to recognise a case for the lunatic asylum in every
instance of phenomenal mental action. He found Felida intelligent, but
melancholy, morose, and taciturn, very industrious, and with a strong
will. She was very anxious about her bodily health. At this time the
mental changes occurred more frequently than before. Nearly every day,
as she sat with her work on her knees, a violent pain shot suddenly
through her temples, her head dropped upon her breast, her arms fell
by her side, and she passed into a sort of sleep, from which neither
noises, pinches, nor pricks could awaken her. This condition lasted
now only two or three minutes. 'She woke up in quite another state,
smiling gaily, speaking briskly, and trilling (_fredonnant_) over her
work, which she recommenced at the point where she left it. She would
get up, walk actively, and scarcely complained of any of the pains
she had suffered from so severely a few minutes before. She busied
herself about the house, paid calls, and behaved like a healthy young
girl of her age. In this state she remembered perfectly all that had
happened in her two conditions.' (In this respect her case is distinct
from both the former, and is quite exceptional. In fact, the inclusion
of the consciousness of both conditions during the continuance of one
condition only, renders her case not, strictly speaking, one of double
consciousness, the two conditions not being perfectly distinct from
each other.) 'In this second life, as in the other, her moral and
intellectual faculties, though different, were incontestably sound.
After a time (which in 1858 lasted three or four hours), her gaiety
disappeared, the torpor suddenly ensued, and in two or three minutes
she opened her eyes and re-entered her ordinary life, resuming any work
she was engaged in just where she left off. In this state she bemoaned
her condition, and was quite unconscious of what had passed in the
previous state. If asked to continue a ballad she had been singing, she
knew nothing about it, and if she had received a visitor, she believed
she had seen no one. The forgetfulness extended to everything which
happened during her second state, and not to any ideas or information
acquired before her illness.' Thus her early life was held in
remembrance during both her conditions, her consciousness in these two
conditions being in this respect single; in her second or less usual
condition she remembered also all the events of her life, including
what had passed since these seizures began; and it was only in her
more usual condition that a portion of her life was lost to her--that,
namely, which had passed during her second condition. In 1858 a new
phenomenon was noticed as occasionally occurring--she would sometimes
wake from her second condition in a fit of terror, recognising no one
but her husband. The terror did not last long, however; and during
sixteen years of her married life, her husband only noticed this terror
on thirty occasions.
A painful circumstance preceding her marriage somewhat forcibly
exhibited the distinction between her two states of consciousness.
Rigid in morality during her usual condition, she was shocked by the
insults of a brutal neighbour, who told her of a confession made to
M. Azam during her second condition, and accused her of shamming
innocence. The attack--unfortunately, but too well founded as far as
facts were concerned--brought on violent convulsions, which required
medical attendance during two or three hours. It is important to
notice the difference thus indicated between the character of the
personalities corresponding to her two conditions. 'Her moral
faculties,' says M. Azam, 'were incontestably sound in her second life,
though different,'--by which, be it understood, he means simply that
her sense of right and wrong was just during her second condition,
not, of course, that her conduct was irreproachable. She was in this
condition, as in the other, altogether responsible for her actions.
But her power of self-control, or rather perhaps the relative power of
her will as compared with tendencies to wrong-doing, was manifestly
weaker during her second condition. In fact, in one condition she
was oppressed and saddened by pain and anxiety, whereas in the other
she was almost free from pain, gay, light-hearted, and hopeful. Now
I cannot altogether agree with Mr. Slack's remark, that if, during
her second state, 'she had committed a robbery or an assassination,
no moral responsibility could have been assumed to rest upon her with
any certainty, by any one acquainted with her history,' for her moral
faculties in her second condition being incontestably sound, she was
clearly responsible for her actions while in that condition. But
certainly, the question of punishment for such an offence would be not
a little complicated by her twofold personality. To the woman in her
ordinary condition, remembering nothing of the crime committed (on the
supposition we are dealing with), in her abnormal condition, punishment
for that crime would certainly seem unjust, seeing that her liability
to enter into that condition had not in any degree depended on her own
will. The drunkard who, waking in the morning with no recollection
of the events of the past night, finds himself in gaol for some crime
committed during that time, although he may think the punishment he has
to endure severe measure for a crime of which in his ordinary condition
he is incapable, knows at least that he is responsible for placing
himself under that influence which made the crime possible. Supposing
even he had not had sufficient experience of his own character when
under the influence of liquor, to have reason to fear he might be
guilty of the offence, he yet perceives that to make intoxication
under any circumstances an excuse for crime would be most dangerous
to the community, and that he suffers punishment justly. But the case
of dual consciousness is altogether different, and certainly where
responsibility exists under both conditions, while yet impulse and the
restraining power of will are differently related in one and the other
condition, the problem of satisfying justice is a most perplexing one.
Here are in effect two different persons residing in one body, and it
is impossible to punish one without punishing the other also. Supposing
justice waited until the abnormal condition was resumed, then the
offender would probably recognise the justice of punishment; but if the
effects of the punishment continued until the usual condition returned,
a person would suffer who was conscious of no crime. If the offence
were murder, and if capital punishment were inflicted, the ordinary
individuality, innocent entirely of murder, would be extinguished along
with the first, a manifest injustice. As Huxley says of a similar case,
'the problem of responsibility is here as complicated as that of the
prince-bishop, who swore as a prince and not as a bishop. 'But, your
highness, if the prince is damned, what will become of the bishop?'
said the peasant.'[21]
It does not appear to me that there is in the case of Felida X. any
valid reason for regarding the theory of two brains as the only
available explanation. It is a noteworthy circumstance, that the pains
preceding each change of condition affected both sides of the head.
Some modification of the circulation seems suggested as the true
explanation of the changes in condition, though the precise nature
of such modification, or how it may have been brought about, would
probably be very difficult to determine. The state of health, however,
on which the attacks depended seems to have affected the whole body of
the patient, and the case presents no features suggesting any lateral
localisation of the cerebral changes.
On the other hand, the case of Sergeant F. (a few of the circumstances
of which were mentioned in my essay entitled 'Have we two Brains?'),
seems to correspond with Dr. Holland's theory, though that theory is
far from explaining all the circumstances. The man was wounded by
a bullet which fractured his _left_ parietal bone, and his _right_
arm and leg were almost immediately paralysed. When he recovered
consciousness three weeks later, the _right_ side of the body was
completely paralysed, and remained so for a year. These circumstances
indicate that the cause of the mischief still existing lay in the shock
which the left side of the brain received when the man was wounded.
The right side may have learned (as it were) to exercise the functions
formerly belonging to the left side, and thus the paralysis affecting
the right side until this had happened may have passed away. These
points are discussed in the essay above named, however, and need not
here detain us. Others which were not then dealt with may now be
noted with advantage. We would specially note some which render it
doubtful whether in the abnormal condition the man's brain acts at all,
whether in fact his condition, so far as consciousness was concerned,
is not similar to that of a frog deprived of its brain in a certain
well-known experiment. (This appears to be the opinion to which
Professor Huxley inclines, though, with proper scientific caution, he
seems disposed to suspend his judgment.) The facts are very singular,
whatever the explanation may be.
In the normal condition, the man is what he was before he was
wounded--an intelligent, kindly fellow, performing satisfactorily the
duties of a hospital attendant. The abnormal state is ushered in by
pains in the forehead, as if caused by the constriction of a band of
iron. In this state the eyes are open and the pupils dilated. (The
reader will remember Charles Reade's description of David Dodd's eyes,
'like those of a seal.') The eyeballs work incessantly, and the jaws
maintain a chewing motion. If the man is _en pays de connaissance_,
he walks about as usual; but in a new place, or if obstacles are set
in his way, he stumbles, feels about with his hands, and so finds his
way. He offers no resistance to any forces which may act upon him,
and shows no signs of pain if pins are thrust into his body by kindly
experimenters. No noise affects him. He eats and drinks apparently
without tasting or smelling his food, accepting assafoetida or vinegar
as readily as the finest claret. He is sensible to light only under
certain conditions. But the sense of touch is strangely exalted (in
all respects apparently except as to sensations of pain or pleasure),
taking in fact the place of all the other senses. I say the sense of
touch, but it is not clear whether there is any real sensation at all.
The man appears in the abnormal condition to be a mere machine. This
is strikingly exemplified in the following case, which I translate
directly from Dr. Mesnet's account:--'He was walking in the garden
under a group of trees, and his stick, which he had dropped a few
minutes before, was placed in his hands. He feels it, moves his hand
several times along the bent handle of the stick, becomes watchful,
seems to listen, suddenly he calls out, "Henry!" then, "There they are!
there are at least a score of them! join us two, we shall manage it."
And then putting his hand behind his back as if to take a cartridge,
he goes through the movement of loading his weapon, lays himself
flat on the grass, his head concealed by a tree, in the posture of a
sharpshooter, and with shouldered weapon follows all the movements of
the enemy whom he fancies he sees at a short distance.' This, however,
is an assumption: the man cannot in this state _fancy_ he sees, unless
he has at least a recollection of the sensation of sight, and this
would imply cerebral activity. Huxley, more cautious, says justly
that the question arises 'whether the series of actions constituting
this singular pantomime was accompanied by the ordinary states of
consciousness or not? Did the man dream that he was skirmishing? or was
he in the condition of one of Vaucanson's automata--a mechanism worked
by molecular changes in his nervous system? The analogy of the frog
shows that the latter assumption is perfectly justifiable.'