Fear Page #17
THE learned and eloquent Professor of Physiology at Turin has given us in the book which he has entitled “Fear,” an analysis of this mental condition and its accompanying physical states, which, marked as it is by scientific accuracy and couched in charming and even in poetical diction, will take high rank as a popular exposition of our knowledge of the expression of one of the most interesting of the emotions of both men and animals.
It suffices to increase or diminish in a slight degree the rapidity of the blood penetrating to the brain, in order to cause an immediate change of our 'ego.’ The equilibrium of the molecules in the organs where consciousness has its seat is greatly disturbed by causes which scarcely affect the functions of other parts of the body; because, in the brain, nutrition is more active, and the state of the substances composing it more unstable. The sublimity of psychic phenomena has its root in the greater complication of the material facts by which they are originated. If I were asked which of the functions of the organism were most sensitive to the slightest organic change, I should, without hesitation, answer--consciousness. VIII Often, in contemplating the brain of my patients, pondering over its structure and functions, and seeing the blood coursing through it, I have imagined that I might penetrate into the inner life of the brain-cells, might follow the movements which agitate their minute branches in the labyrinth of the nerve-centres; I have thought I might learn the laws of organic change, the order, harmony, the most perfect concatenations; but my mind might work as it listed, and imagination seize the reins, I never yet saw anything, not the faintest gleam, which gave me hope of penetrating to the source of thought. During my investigations I have discovered the mechanism with which nature provides for a more rapid circulation of blood when the brain must enter into activity; I was the first to admire some of the phenomena in which the material activity of this organ reveals itself; but although I have scrutinised the functions of the brain with the most exact methods of physiological investigation while it was pulsing under my eyes, while ideas were seething in it, or while it rested in sleep, the nature of the psychic processes still remains a mystery. We all believe that the faculties of the mind are the fruit of an uninterrupted series of natural causes, of physical and chemical actions which lead from the simplest reflex-movements, step by step, to instinct, reason, sentiment, and will; but as yet nothing has been found which might lead us even to suspect, much less to comprehend, the nature of consciousness. We attain our firmest convictions in the domain of positivism, not from the narrow field of physiology but from the whole kingdom of science. We imagine that the impressions of the external world form a current which penetrates the nerves, and, without either abatement or check, diffuses and transforms itself in the centres, finally reappearing in the sublime form of the idea; this is the notion of the soul held by the philosophers of remote antiquity; this is the base of modern psychology. We may suppose that thought must be a form of motion, because the science of the present day demonstrates that all intimately known phenomena may be reduced to a vibration of atoms and to a displacement of molecules. I can think of my brain by the analogy which it must have with that of another; but the bridge which leads me from external to internal observations I cannot find; between physical and psychic phenomena there is a gulf which we cannot pass. The soul was regarded by the ancients as a harmony. But how this sublime harmony of imagination, of memory, of the passions, and of thought, results from the vibration of the molecules constituting the brain, no one knows. The road which connects psychic facts with the transformation of energy has not yet been pointed out. I know the chemical transformations which give rise to the mechanical work of the muscles of my hand in writing, but I do not know the processes of my brain which thinks and dictates. Many have thought and asserted, because the muscles and glands of our body grow heated by their work, that the brain and nerves also grew warm during activity. For my part, I doubt the accuracy of the methods used in these experiments, nor shall I be convinced unless it be clearly shown to be a fact. As the nature of the chemical processes taking place in the brain is totally unknown to us, it may be that the brain grows colder during activity. The question can only be decided when we succeed in eliminating the serious complications which the greater flow of blood produces in such cases. Till the present day no one knows what parts of the brain are consumed in order to produce thought; no one can imagine how the molecules of the blood penetrate the mass of cerebral cells and become part of consciousness, and neither do we know how, from the joint life of the single cells, something can arise which represents consciousness and sensitivity. Doctrines are here of no use. When our mind has arrived at the last division of matter, at the last localisation of psychic processes, we feel that it is vain to say we are materialists or spiritualists. All schools are confounded in the nullity of our ignorance. The nature of matter is as incomprehensible as that of spirit. From Lucretius, who gave thirty proofs to demonstrate the materiality of the soul, down to modern materialists, not one step has been taken towards the discovery of the nature of thought. As a matter of fact, many materialists throw down one dogma and build another out of its ruins. If we reject the hypothesis of the spiritualists, we must, with the same severity, banish from the borders of experimental science those who, in our time, wish to explain, by means of materialistic doctrines, the mechanism generating thought. Anatomy and physiology, the knowledge of structure and of cerebral functions, have scarcely lisped their first words, and dense darkness reigns over the nature of nervous processes, over the physical and chemical movements animating the hidden parts where consciousness has its throne. Let us speak neither of spirit nor of matter; let us candidly acknowledge our ignorance. We trust to the future of science and persevere in the search after truth. CHAPTER V PALLOR AND BLUSHING I Man has, on the average, four kilograms of blood, and this fluid flows incessantly in a system of tubes, in the centre of which the heart is situated. The arteries carrying the blood from the heart to the surface divide into many branches, separate, extend, and visit all parts of the body, feeding and irrigating them. When the ramifications of the arteries become so small that the eye can no longer see them, as, for instance, in the lips, the finger-tips, the cheeks, the ears, or any part of the skin, they take the name of capillaries. This is meant to indicate that these little arteries are as fine as a hair, but in reality they are very much finer. These last closely connected capillary nets give the skin its beautiful rosy colour. But however much they diminish, dividing and subdividing ad infinitum, they still form a system of canals, with walls and closed on all sides. There must be a wound, a cut, or a contusion, before the blood oozes out of these little vessels. Out of the capillaries the blood passes into larger canals called veins. Several veins flowing into each other form a bigger vein; in the same way as a brook is formed by springs, as the brooks, running into each other, form a rivulet, and the rivulets, a river; so the veins gradually receive the blood in larger streams, until at last they carry it in the great trunk-veins to the heart, which drives it again into the arteries.
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"Fear Books." Literature.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Dec. 2024. <https://www.literature.com/book/fear_137>.
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