This morning I read an op-ed in the New York Times by Lisa Feldman Barrett titled “Your Brain is Not for Thinking”. Her argument was that the primary function of the brain is to keep the body going, not to think. From an evolutionary perspective this is obviously true, however surprising we find it. Throughout most of evolutionary history the brain’s only function was to monitor and control the body. Thinking is a relatively recent thing that humans do, and humans are a very young species. Most brains in the world, of course are non-human, and we hesitate to say they “think” in the same way humans do. This reminded me that I hadn’t yet written a review of Matthew Cobb’s splendid “The Idea of the Brain”. Let’s remedy that.
We tend to assume that our models of the brain are correct. For example, we “instinctively” think of the brain as separate from the body, the seat of consciousness, as a computer, and as a collection of neurons; we “instinctively” think that what the brain does is think (Cobb’s argument), or remember, or create consciousness. Cobb documents that each of these ways of understanding the brain are relatively modern and incomplete—not instinctive or obvious at all.
Cobb walks us through a history of models of the brain, then he surveys the state of brain science, and finally he speculates about where brain science is going. He says “neuroscience” rather than “brain science”, apparently without realizing that the term itself begs the question, assuming the brain is best understood in the context of neurons which provide neural functions. Cobb is a neuroscientist who studies olfaction and the neuronal basis of behavior. So it is natural that his instinctive characterization of the brain is neuro-centric, even though he argues that this is just one among many models that humans have used to explain the squishy gray stuff we keep above our necks.
In the ancient western world the seat of emotion, perception, consciousness, and thought was the heart, not the brain. If you think of it, with whatever organ you choose, this makes sense. The brain just sits there. But the heart is always moving. You can’t ignore the heart. But you can’t feel the brain at all.
This changed in the 17th century. This was an era of mechanical devices: clocks, music boxes, automata, and such. Naturally (“instinctively”?) the body was considered to be a mechanism, and the brain the thing that drives it. This was the time of René Descartes and “Cartesian dualism”, the idea that mind and body are distinct. Most people still assume dualism is obviously true, though it is only a few hundred years old. Thinkers in this era explained the interaction between mind and body in mechanical terms. The mind “tugs” on strings and the body moves; you pull on the nerve in a frog’s leg and it twitches. Nicolaus Steno was particularly forceful in advancing this view, using a new state-of-the-art instrument, the microscope. He showed nerves to be hollow, like straws within which flows some vital substance.
In the 18th century a new phenomenon, electricity, captured the scientific and artistic imagination. Witness Frankenstein animating his monster with a lightening bolt, or Galvani shocking a frog’s leg with a battery. Scientists performed experiments on animal bodies, including humans, and not always dead, to show that electricity induces corporeal motion. This is when Giovani Aldani, possibly the model for Dr. Frankenstein, flogged a kind of freakish road show, stepping from from a table with just human heads, to one with a headless corpse, to a full body, connecting each in turn to a battery. However, it was never clear what role electricity actually played in these demonstrations. Merely tugging on nerves did produce motion, after all, and attaching a battery did not always work.
In the 19th century, the electrical paradigm became less spark-like, and more like that modern miracle, the telegraph. Brain studies shifted from mechanism to function. Phrenologists measured lumps in the skull, on the theory that specific functions and capabilities arose from specific parts of the brain, so that talents and deficiencies could be explained by having excess or deficient brain matter, which one could discover by measuring lumps and dips in the skull. Thus one could “prove” that someone was a natural criminal, laborer, or intellectual by measuring the skull. For example, the fact that men’s brains are bigger than women’s was taken to prove that men are more intelligent than women. Phrenology was eventually discredited when scientists began looking at the actual brain, rather than the skull. Parts of the brain were indeed sometimes associated with mental abilities, but these were not enlarged nor did they lie beneath lumps. Still, some capabilities such as “intelligence” did not have seem to be localized. A surprisingly acrimonious debate emerged over whether specific mental activities were localized in the brain or whether they arose from the brain as a whole. This is an active debate, even today.
In the latter part of the 19th century, evolution came into the picture. The argument was that differences in mental capacities between species were a matter of degree, not kind, which was best explained by common ancestry. Spiritualism also became popular, however, so that even some highly influential evolutionary biologists thought that at least some mental phenomena, such as consciousness, transcended the body, so that evolution was not a significant factor.
As the 19th century seeped into the 20th, neurons became the center of focus for “brain science”. New tools, such as better microscopes and staining techniques, revealed a chemical basis to neural and brain function. Ramón y Cajal showed that neurons had distinct, disconnected components such as axons and dendrites, which were linked in a specific orientation, head to tail. Also, he found gaps, synapses, between neurons. So, neural function could not be explained by parts that contacted each other, like mechanical switches, or by connected things like wires. Something had to pass between neurons in one direction, rather than along them.
This led to a new conception of the neural system in the mid 20th century, a new kind of electronic machine built out of digital circuits. The brain became a computer.
All of that is from the “Past” section of the book. In the “Present” section Cobb describes our current understanding of how memory works, how circuits have limited explanatory power, and how brains are similar to but different from digital computers. He describes the chemical basis for neural and mental phenomena. He describes the current view, that mental functions are both local and global; though some regions must be present for specific functions, those function may still require the whole brain. I was surprised to learn that fMRI “brain scans” are misleading, and that results from fMRI data are often over-hyped.
In the “Future” section Cobb describes where brain science might be going, and which new metaphors and technologies may help. This was the most exciting part of the book. But to say too much would spoil the journey for you, dear reader. And this review is long enough already.
If you are at all curious, this book will help you understand how that curiosity can arise from your body and your brain. This book is utterly engrossing and surprising. Excellent read.