MIND AND BRAIN
"For nothing is that errs from law."--TENNYSON
It is sometimes thought that memory is located in the brain; and
undoubtedly there must be some physiological process at work in the
brain when any incident of memory is recalled and either uttered or
written. But it does not at all follow that memory itself is located
in the brain; though there must be some easier channel, or some
already prepared path, which enables an idea to be translated from
the general mental reservoir into consciousness, with clarity and
power sufficient to stimulate the necessary nerves and muscles into a
condition adequate for reproduction.
Sometimes in order to remember a thing, one writes it in a note-book;
and the memory may be said to be in the note-book about as accurately
as it may be said to be in the brain. A physical process has put it
in the note-book; there is a physical configuration persisting there;
and when a sort of reverse physical process is repeated, it can be
got back into consciousness by simply what we call 'looking' at the
book and reading. But surely the real memory is in the _mind_ all the
time, and the deposit in the note-book is a mere detent for calling
it out or for making it easy of recovery. In order to communicate
any information we must focus attention on it; and whether we
focus attention on a part of the brain or on a page of a note-book
matters very little; the attention itself is a mental process, not a
physiological one, though it has a physiological concomitant.
This is an important matter, the keystone in fact of our problem
about the connexion between mind and matter, and I propose to amplify
its treatment further; for this is an unavoidably controversial
portion of the book.
THE SEAT OF MEMORY
I am familiar with all the usual analogies drawn between organic
habit and memory on the one hand, and the more ready repetition of
physical processes by inorganic material on the other. Imperfectly
elastic springs, for instance, which show reminiscences of previous
bendings or twistings by their subsequent unwindings; and cogs which
wear into smooth running by repetition; are examples of this kind.
A violin which by long practice becomes more musical in tone, is
another; or a path which by being often traversed becomes easier to
the feet. A flower-bed recently altered in shape, by being partly
grassed over, is liable to exhibit its former outline by aid of bulbs
and other half-forgotten growths which come up through the grass in
the old pattern.
This last is a striking example of apparent memory, not indeed in the
inorganic but in the unconscious world; where indeed it is prevalent,
for every one must recognise the memory of animals--there can be no
doubt of that. And it would seem that a kind of race-memory must be
invoked to account for many surprising cases of instinct; of which
the building of specific birds' nests, and the accurate pecking of a
newly-hatched chicken, are among the stock instances. No experience
can be lodged in the _brain_ of the newly-hatched!
That some sort of stored facility should exist in the adult brain,
is in no way surprising; and that there is some physical or
physiological concomitant of actual remembrance is plain; but that is
a very different thing from asserting that memory itself, or any kind
of consciousness, is located in the brain; though truly without the
aid of the brain it is, as far as this planet is concerned, latent
and inaccessible.
Plotinus puts the matter in an interesting but perhaps rather too
extreme form:--
"As to memory, the body is an impediment ... the unstable
and fluctuating nature of the body makes for oblivion not
for memory. Body is a veritable River of Lethe. Memory
belongs to the soul" (_Enn._ IV. iii. 26).
The actual reproduction or remembrance of a fact--the demonstration
or realisation of memory--undoubtedly depends on brain and muscle
mechanism; but memory itself turns out to be essentially mental,
and is found to exist apart from the bodily mechanism which helped
originally to receive and store the impression. And though without
that same or some equivalent mechanism we cannot get at it, so that
it cannot be displayed to others, yet in my experience it turns out
not to be absolutely necessary to use actually the same instrument
for its reproduction as was responsible for its deposition:
though undoubtedly to use the same is easier and helpful. In the
early Edison phonographs the same instrument had to be used for
both reception and reproduction; but now a record can readily be
transferred from one instrument to another. This may be regarded as
a rough mechanical analogy to the telepathic or telergic process
whereby a psychic reservoir of memory can be partially tapped through
another organism.
But, apart from any consideration of what may be regarded as
doubtful or uncertain, there are some facts about the relation of
brain to consciousness, which, though universally admitted, are
frequently misinterpreted. Injure the brain, and consciousness
is lost. 'Lost' is the right word--not 'destroyed.' Repair the
lesion, and consciousness may be restored, i.e. normal manifestation
of consciousness can once more occur. It is the _display_ of
consciousness, in all such cases, that we mean when we speak of the
effect of brain injury; the utilisation of bodily organs is necessary
for its exhibition. If the bodily organs do not exist, or are too
damaged, no normal manifestation is possible. That is the fact which
may be misinterpreted.
In general we may say, with fair security, that no receptivity to
physical phenomena exists save through sense-organ, nerve, and brain;
nor any initiation of physical phenomena, save through brain, nerve,
and muscle. Apart from physical phenomena consciousness is isolated
and inaccessible: we have no right to say that it is non-existent.
In ordinary usage it is not customary or necessary to be always
harping on this completer aspect of things: it is only necessary when
misunderstanding has arisen from uniformly inaccurate, or rather
unguarded, modes of expression.
In an excellent lecture by Dr. Mott on "The Effects of High
Explosives upon the Central Nervous System," I find this sentence:--
"It is known that a continuous supply of oxygen is essential for
consciousness."
What is intended is clear enough, but analysed strictly this
assertion goes far beyond what is known. We do not really know that
oxygen, or any form of matter, has anything to do with consciousness:
all that we know, and all that Dr. Mott really means to say, I
presume, is that without a supply of oxygen consciousness gives no
physical sign.
Partial interruptions of physical manifestations of consciousness
well illustrate this: as, for instance, when speech-centres of
the brain alone are affected. If in such case we had to depend on
mouth-muscle alone we should say that consciousness had departed, and
might even think that it was non-existent; but the arm-muscle may
remain under brain control, and by intelligent writing can show that
consciousness is there all the time, and that it is only inhibited
from one of the specially easy modes of manifestation. In some cases
the inhibition may be complete,--from such cases we do not learn
much; but when it is only partial we learn a good deal.
I quote again from Dr. Mott, omitting for brevity the detailed
description of certain surgical war-cases, under his care, which
precedes the following explanatory interjection and summary:--
"Why should these men, whose silent thoughts are perfect,
be unable to speak? They comprehend all that is said
to them unless they are deaf; but it is quite clear
that [even] in these cases their internal language
is unaffected, for they are able to express their
thoughts and judgments perfectly well by writing, even
if they are deaf. The mutism is therefore not due to
an intellectual defect, nor is it due to volitional
inhibition of language in silent thought. Hearing, the
primary incitation to vocalisation and speech, is usually
unaffected, yet they are unable to speak; they cannot
even whisper, cough, whistle, or laugh aloud. Many who
are unable to speak voluntarily yet call out in their
dreams expressions they have used in trench warfare and
battle. Sometimes this is followed by return of speech,
but more often not. One man continually shouted out in
his sleep, but he did not recover voluntary speech or
power of phonation till eight months after admission to
the hospital for shell-shock."
Very well, all this interesting experience serves among other things
to illustrate our simple but occasionally overlooked thesis. For it
is through physical phenomena that normally we apprehend, here and
now; and it is by aid of physical phenomena that we convey to others
our wishes, our impressions, our ideas, and our memories. Dislocate
the physical from the psychical, and communication ceases. Restore
the connexion, in however imperfect a form, and once more incipient
communication may become possible again.
That is the rationale of the process of human intercourse. Do we
understand it? No. Do we understand even how our own mind operates on
our own body? No. We know for a fact that it does.
Do we understand how a mind can with difficulty and imperfectly
operate another body submitted to its temporary guidance and control?
No. Do we know for a fact that it does? Aye, that is the question--a
question of evidence. I myself answer the question affirmatively;
not on theoretical grounds--far from that--but on a basis of
straightforward experience. Others, if they allow themselves to take
the trouble to get the experience, will come to the same conclusion.
Will they do so best by allowing their own bodies or brains to be
utilised? No, that seems not even the best, and certainly not the
only way. It may not, for the majority of people, be a possible
way. The sensitive or medium who serves us, by putting his or her
bodily mechanism at our disposal, is not likely to be best informed
concerning the nature of the process. Mediums have perhaps but
little conscious information to give us concerning their powers; we
must learn from what they do, not from what they say. The outside
observer, the experimenter, whose senses are alert all the time and
who continues fully conscious without special receptivity or any
peculiar power of his own, is in a better position to note and judge
what is happening,--at least from the normal and scientific point of
view. Let us be as cautious and critical, aye and as sceptical as we
like, but let us also be patient and persevering and fair; do not let
us start with a preconceived notion of what is possible and what is
impossible in this almost unexplored universe; let us only be willing
to learn and be guided by facts, not by dogmas; and gradually the
truth will permeate our understanding and make for itself a place in
our minds as secure as in any other branch of observational science.