Fear Page #6

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.

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And from the glowing faces, the sparkling eyes, we know that the blood is rushing in abundance to the brain. The tongue is loosed, ideas accumulate in the mind, as though some kind hand had set the rusty wheels of thought in motion and poured oil on the hinges of the vocal mechanism.

There is no need to say more. We have all experienced this transformation which takes place in the work of the brain. It enters on another phase when the wine begins to circulate. If we had not already met the guests on similar social occasions, we should be greatly surprised at their metamorphosis, and feel constrained to correct previous misconceptions of their character. Men, whom I had always thought silent and cold, I have seen, to my amazement, carrying on the most daring discussions with brilliant fluency, and rebutting sarcasms with such promptitude and success as to earn them loud applause. Other timid ones, known to all as slow, tiresome, clumsy talkers, find in the wine-glass a sparkling vivacity, a flow of speech which makes them more agreeable; nor do they hesitate to propose toasts and drink to the health of each of the guests. They rise, glass in hand, finding a witty word for each and showering compliments on all sides. Men, calm and sedate, in whom none suspected a poetic soul, are capable of rising and improvising verses, and we are full of admiration at their skill, and at the harmonious grace of rhythm, metaphor, and rhyme.

Each one feels something like inspiration within him, as though warmed by the quickening pulse of life.

But let us leave the joyous company: so far as our psychological study is concerned, we have already lingered too long, and it would be superfluous to follow them as they leave, in order to see how confident, kind, and courageous they have all become.

The next day each will resume his own character and his own business. If it happens that one of the guests meets another in the street, they smile as they shake hands, and words which are a revelation are heard: 'We were a lively party last night, eh? I scarcely recognised you, and as for some others, there was no keeping them quiet!’

IV

The analysis of memory better than anything else shows us the connection between the various parts of the brain which enter into activity in order to provide us with the elements that form speech.

We must distinguish two kinds of memory:

1. The fixation of impressions, whether these be images, or representations of movements, words, sounds or sensations.

2. The re-awakening of these impressions as recollection.

The phenomena of memory remain quite incomprehensible if we do not admit their intimate connection with physical changes of the nerve substance. An external impression acting upon receptive nerve-cells is retained by them permanently, as though it were photographed, if it be allowable to explain the unknown by a comparison with the known. It is the blood which carries those substances to the brain which are necessary to the functions of memory. Attention cannot be developed in all its intensity without causing considerable alterations in the circulation. Now when we are absent-minded, images leave no lasting impression on the memory, as no provision is then made by the physical changes in the organism accompanying attention for a more rapid circulation of blood in the cerebral hemispheres.

The old notion that the brain was a storehouse in which each idea had its nook where it might stay till needed, is truer than it appears. Modern science has proved that the matter is much more complicated than one thinks. It suffices that the blood should coagulate in the artery which carries it to some convolution, or that a tumour should destroy a part of the brain, for us to lose, as it were, a province of memory.

Let us first consider verbal memory. That region of the brain in which it is placed is, generally speaking, the parietal region of the left side; so that anyone who has had a blow on the temple at that side nearly always loses his speech, although he still remembers things and can pronounce their names when they are repeated to him by others, a sufficient proof that the movements of the tongue are not impeded. Sometimes it happens that a person in this condition looks in the dictionary for the missing word, in order to recover the pronunciation of it.

In learning a language, we believe that certain cells undertake functions which they did not before possess, that connections with other cells are established, like very intricate nets in which the impressions of nouns and verbs, the graphic representations of ideas and words, are collected. As we exercise ourselves in the language, the blood carries new elements to these cells, and the greater our attention, the stronger become the impressions. Oxidation does not destroy the impression once received, but it weakens it. If we have had no practice for some years in speaking a language, we meet with great difficulties, our communications being made in set, stiff words; but after a few days one regains the former fluency.

We might quote cases in which, through illness, a man has completely forgotten a language, recovering it as health returned. Others have forgotten several languages in the order of succession in which they had learnt them, regaining them later in the inverse order to that of acquisition.

When groping in the dim recesses of memory, we always perceive that there are associations and intimate connections amongst the phenomena of thought. The blood, making its way into certain parts of the brain, is like the light of a torch penetrating subterranean passages, on the walls of which are painted pictures of things we know. Often the blood-vessels do not yield, and we then wander in vain in that labyrinth, retracing our steps, roaming hither and thither, until suddenly we see an opening, and what we were seeking appears unexpectedly before us. The supposition that we here have to do with an effect of the blood, an expansion or contraction of the vessels, and with phenomena of nutrition, seems to be strengthened by the circumstance that sometimes, in consequence of violent emotion, a succession of things which before seemed totally forgotten suddenly reappears in our memory.

The link between physical phenomena and phenomena of memory is more apparent during fatigue and the refreshing state of repose. Memory may fail entirely from anæmia, from poisoning by narcotics, innutrition of the brain, and in old age; for we all know how much better we remember the events of our youth than those of later occurrence.

Men who have had wounds or contusions on the head have been known to forget that they had children; authors have forgotten even the titles of their works; but as soon as the fever had passed, or the wound healed, they regained their memory. Others, during a fever, have related events and remembered names which they had quite forgotten previously, and which they were unable to recall after recovery.
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