In this unprecedented history of a scientific revolution, award-winning author and journalist Carl Zimmer tells the definitive story of the dawn of the age of the brain and modern consciousness. Told here for the first time, the dramatic tale of how the secrets of the brain were discovered in seventeenth-century England unfolds against a turbulent backdrop of civil war, the Great Fire of London, and plague. At the beginning of that chaotic century, no one knew how the brain worked or even what it looked like intact. But by the century's close, even the most common conceptions and dominant philosophies had been completely overturned, supplanted by a radical new vision of man, God, and the universe.
Presiding over the rise of this new scientific paradigm was the founder of modern neurology, Thomas Willis, a fascinating, sympathetic, even heroic figure at the center of an extraordinary group of scientists and philosophers known as the Oxford circle. Chronicled here in vivid detail are their groundbreaking revelations and the often gory experiments that first enshrined the brain as the physical seat of intelligence and the seat of the human soul. Soul Made Flesh conveys a contagious appreciation for the brain, its structure, and its many marvelous functions, and the implications for human identity, mind, and morality.
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About the Author
Carl Zimmer's work appears regularly in The New York Times, National Geographic, Newsweek, Discover, Natural History, and Science. A John S. Guggenheim Fellow, he has also received the Pan-American Health Organization Award for Excellence in International Health Reporting and the American Institute of Biological Sciences Media Award. His previous books include Evolution: The Triumph of an Idea; Parasite Rex; and At the Water's Edge. He lives in Guilford, Connecticut.
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Soul Made FleshThe Discovery of the Brain and How It Changed the World
By Carl Zimmer
Free PressCopyright © 2005 Carl Zimmer
All right reserved.
Chapter OneIntroduction: A Bowl of Curds
To imagine a time and place - say, the city of Oxford on a summer day in 1662 - you have to engage not only the mind's eye and ear but also the mind's nose. The warm odor of malt and corn flour rises from the boats landing at the wharves along the Thames. The stink of cured fish hanging in fishmongers' stalls mixes with the soft smell of bread in the bakeries. The smell of manure is everywhere, in the open sewers, on the town common where cows graze, in the streets where horses haul wagons and coaches. Sometimes a coach rolls through the narrow gate of one of Oxford's colleges, to be swallowed up behind a high, windowless stone wall. The chimneys of the college kitchens relay smoke signals to the surrounding neighborhoods, carrying the smell of roasting capon and mutton or perhaps a goose stolen from a nearby village by students.
On a summer day the perfume of the surrounding fens and meadows drifts into the city and mixes with the exotic scents of the physik garden on the High Street, a home to exotic species such as leopard's bane, mimosa trees, Virginian spiderwort, and scorpion grass. Botanists gather their leaves and seeds and roots and carry them to an apothecary's shop to be ground down, cooked, distilled, and mixed with sharp-odored hartshorn or spirits of wine.
Every building in Oxford has an internal signature of smells: the incense burning in the churches once again, now that the Puritans have been routed and the monarchy restored; the roasted beans in the new coffeehouse on High Street; the foul reek of the prisons, where thieves, Quakers, and various enemies of King Charles II languish together. But the strangest smells in all of Oxford can be found off the main thoroughfares, on Merton Street. Across the street from the gates of Merton College is a medieval two-story house known as Beam Hall. Its odors are almost unbearable: a reeking blend of turpentine and the warm, decaying flesh of dissected dogs and sheep, along with an aroma that none but a handful of people in Oxford - in the world, even - would recognize as that of a nobleman's decapitated and freshly cracked open head.
The room where his body is being dissected is something between a laboratory and a butcher's shop. Knives, saws, and gimlets hang on the walls, along with pliers and razors, brass and silver probes, pincers, bugles for inflating membranous sacs, curved needles, augurs, mallets, wimbles, and bodkins. Syringes and empty quills sit on a table, along with bottles of tincture of saffron and a simple microscope, illuminated by an oil lamp and a globe of brine. Hearts rest at the bottom of jars, pickled. On a long table lies the corpse, surrounded by a crowd of natural philosophers. Depending on the day, the audience may include a mathematician who is laying the groundwork for calculus or a chemist who is in the process of turning alchemy into a modern science. Astronomers, doctors, and ministers come to watch. They all stare intensely, because they know they are part of an unprecedented experience. They are anatomizing the soul.
An inner circle of men stands closest to the body. Christopher Wren, thirty years old and not yet England's great architect, studies the exposed flanges and curves of the skull. He can sketch bowels and hearts as beautifully as he will later sketch a cathedral dome. Richard Lower, who in a few years will perform the first successful blood transfusion in history, severs the nobleman's carotid arteries and slices the gristly cartilage between his cervical vertebrae. The finest dissector in all Europe, he serves as assistant to another man in the inner circle, the owner of Beam Hall, the man who has assembled this herd of natural philosophers within its walls - a short, stammering physician with hair that one neighbor describes in his diary as being "like a dark red pigge." His name is Thomas Willis.
Willis has brought these men together this day in 1662 in order to come to a new understanding of the brain and nerves. He and Lower strip the skin and then cut away the inner mask of muscle. They saw off the bones of the skull, prying away each one with a penknife or a pair of scissors. They snip the nerves that tether the brain to the eye and nose. All that is left is the brain encased in its membranes. Next Willis and Lower turn the brain upside down and gently peel away the membranes so as not to damage the delicate nerves and blood vessels at its base. Furrowed and lobed, the brain is liberated, and Willis holds it aloft for his audience to see.
Today, when we look at a brain, we see an intricate network of billions of neurons in constant, crackling communication, a chemical labyrinth that senses the world outside and within, produces love and sorrow, keeps our hearts beating and lungs breathing, composes our thoughts, and constructs our consciousness. To most people in 1662, however, this would all have sounded quite absurd. When the contemporary English philosopher Henry More wrote about the brain, he declared that "this lax pith or marrow in man's head shows no more capacity for thought than a cake of suet or a bowl of curds." The brain, More wrote, was a watery, structureless substance which could not contain the complex workings of the soul. The idea that the frail flesh in our heads was capable of the soul's work was more than just absurd. It bordered on atheism. If reason, devotion, and love were the work of mortal flesh instead of immaterial spirit, then what would become of the soul after death? What need was there for a soul at all? Henry More put the matter simply: "No spirit, no God."
Exactly what spirits and soul consisted of and where they could be found were questions that had been asked and re-asked for well over two thousand years. At the beginning of the seventeenth century, most Europeans would have agreed that the soul was the immortal, immaterial essence of a person, which would be saved or damned by God. But the same word could also refer to an intelligence at work throughout the entire body - making it grow to its destined shape, making it warm and alive, reproducing its form in children. Spirits were the instruments used by the soul and body to reach their goals. For many philosophers, alchemists, apothecaries, and mystics, the cosmos also had a soul, which channeled spirits through planets and stars to enact its will - spirits that could be harnessed by magic or alchemy. With each breath, the world's spirits entered the human body and infused it with life and intelligence, uniting the soul of the microcosm with the soul of the macrocosm.
As widely held as all these beliefs were in 1600, they were being steadily undermined. By the end of the seventeenth century, they would all be either obliterated or fatally wounded, and Thomas Willis and his friends were playing a crucial role in the transformation. Their grisly work in Beam Hall was the first modern investigation of the nervous system. Whenever Willis held a brain in his hands and described it to his audience, he did not limit himself to the branchings of nerves and other anatomical details. He showed how the brain's intricate structures could form memories, hatch imaginations, experience dreams. He reconceived thoughts and passions as a chemical storm of atoms. Willis called his brain project a "doctrine of the nerves" and coined a new Latin word for it: neurologie.
Although Willis and his friends were establishing the modern science of the brain, they do not fit the modern definition of a scientist. Some were alchemists who searched out the philosopher's stone so as to be able to communicate with angels. Some were physicians who recommended carved-up puppies for clearing the skin. All of them were seeking signs of God's work in a universe that had become terrifying and alien. They were scarred by civil war and hoped that a new conception of the brain would bring order and tranquility to the world. Their claims were often accepted not so much because they were true (which, fairly often, they were not), but because the world itself had developed an appetite for them.
These men of Oxford ushered in a new age, one in which we still live - call it the Neurocentric Age - in which the brain is central not only to the body but to our conception of ourselves. The seventeenth century saw many scientific revolutions, but in some ways the revolution of the brain is its most shattering triumph - and its most intimate. It created a new way of thinking about thinking and a new way of conceiving the soul. Today, some three hundred forty years later, the Neurocentric Age is more deeply entrenched than ever. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, thousands of neuroscientists follow Willis's trail. They continue to dismantle the brain, but they don't have to pull it from a corpse to do so. Instead, they can scan the positronic glow of neurons recalling the faces of friends, searching for a word, generating anger or bliss, or reading the minds of others. These scientists have started to isolate the molecules that these neurons trade and are manipulating them with drugs.
To some extent, we have become comfortable with this new brain. Few will deny that the workings of our minds are the product of billions of neurons organized into clusters and networks, trading trillions of signals with one another every second. We demonstrate our comfort by buying billions of dollars of drugs in the hope of lifting our mood, calming our jitters, or otherwise modifying who we are, simply by boosting or squelching the right neurochemical signals.
This comfort may have come too easily. The big business of brain drugs belies science's enormous ignorance about the organ. The maps that neuroscientists make today are like the early charts of the New World with grotesque coastlines and blank interiors. And what little we do know about how the brain works raises disturbing questions about the nature of our selves. In many ways, we are still standing in the circle at Beam Hall, with the odor of discovery in our noses, looking at the brain and wondering what this strange new thing is that Thomas Willis has found.
Excerpted from Soul Made Flesh by Carl Zimmer Copyright © 2005 by Carl Zimmer. Excerpted by permission.
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Introduction: A Bowl of Curds
Chapter One: Hearts and Minds, Livers and Stomachs
Greeks explore the soul, puzzle over the brain, and embrace the heart
Christians build a soul from ancient parts
Natural philosophy is born and anatomy becomes a sacred art
Vesalius discovers monkeys where men once stood
The Greeks are transformed, the soul questioned
Chapter Two: World Without Soul
Anatomy of the cosmos
Galileo's new sky
Marin Mersenne makes the world a machine
Pierre Gassendi sanctifies the atom
Descartes's anatomy of clear ideas
The human body as earthen machine
The soul climbs into its cockpit
The perfect argument
The ice queen makes Descartes an offer
The captive leaves its prison
Chapter Three: Make Motion Cease
Thomas Willis with the beasts of the field
Protestants and Puritans
The divine right of kings and the complaints of Parliament
God and Aristotle at Oxford
Servant and alchemist
Mystical medicine comes to England
Chapter Four: The Broken Heart of the Republic
Charles I stumbles toward war
Fever swings its scythe
Portrait of a physician as a young man
Willis fights for his king
Oxford dark and nasty
William Harvey under siege
Harvey at the school of Aristotle
Harvey finds the soul in the blood and says little about the brain
Harvey discovers the circle of blood
Oliver Cromwell tightens the noose
Surrender to madness
Chapter Five: Pisse-Prophets Among the Puritans
Thomas Willis returns
Medicine in the marketplace
Ferments dissolve the four humors
The Puritans demand an oath
The Oxford Experimental Philosophy Club
William Petty: From Thomas Hobbes's mouth to Thomas Willis's ear
Charles becomes a martyr to the people
England the republic
The madness of defeat
The Miraculous Case of Anne Greene, or A Clock Reset William Petty measures the soul of a nation
Willis hosts an illegal church
Chapter Six: The Circle of Willis
William Harvey comes out of retirement
Thomas Willis searches for the agents of fever
The Experimental Philosophy Club fights for its life and for respectability
Hobbes as politician and neurologist
Robert Boyle gives shape to the New Science
Chapter Seven: Spirits of Blood, Spirits of Air
Willis stirs up a ferment of atoms
A crude dream of the brain
Robert Boyle and Robert Hooke pump away the soul
Christopher Wren, surgeon and injector
The return of the king
Chapter Eight: A Curious Quilted Ball
The Church of England meets its less than divine leader
Thomas Willis becomes hero of a nation
"I addicted myself to the opening of heads"
Willis discovers a doctrine of the nerves
The Royal Society
Chapter Nine: Convulsions
The lady with a migraine
Convulsions in the year of plague and fire
Chapter Ten: The Science of Brutes
From Oxford to London
Richard Lower transfuses blood into a madman
Lower and Hooke discover Willis's mistake in the lungs of dogs
Willis constructs a doctrine of the soul
Thomas Willis avoids Hobbes's fate
Chapter Eleven: The Neurologist Vanishes
A final book by Thomas Willis and a ridiculously sumptuous funeral
How John Locke buried his teacher
Robert Boyle sees the future before he dies and is not consoled
Chapter Twelve: The Soul's Microscope
A long journey forward
The soul as information
Lightning in a nerve
The wisdom of the reflex
Neurologists read the brain
MRI and the module
The networked mind
The able animal soul
Emotion with reason, not versus
Steel syrup and Prozac
The self anatomized
The social brain
Morals and neurons
Lady Conway and Dr. Willis meet again
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
This book is a fascinating history of what the scientific world looked like in the late 1600's. I don't think I ever realized so completely how many of our breakthroughs in medicine and physiology came from ¿scientists¿ who were so deeply steeped and interested in alchemy. A great many of these men (few women are mentioned) were the snake-oil salesmen of their day. And, in truth, many of these ideas of spirits and fires and ferments happening in the blood and other organs of the body and not far from the truth, and no more fanciful or magical then some of our own ideas in developmental biology today. (See The Making of the Fittest by Sean B. Carroll, for example.)Most interesting to me were the descriptions of experiments these practitioners of the medical arts came up with to understand the human body. How does one, for example, prove that the blood circulates in the body? Or that something in the blood (invisible to everyone then as now) was required for life? Fascinating reading by an excellent science writer.
This is the story of Thomas Willis, who in the seventeenth century was the first to understand (or, at least, to conjecture) the importance of the brain as the body's control center. At the same time, the book follows the tumultuous history of England and other experiments by Willis's circle---for example, the study of respiration and blood circulation. Willis is an interesting character, for while he based his studies on careful dissections of patients (from all classes) and animals, his medical treatments were mostly the same traditional ones---just justified with new logic. He also had to juggle to stay on the right side of the church, which did not like purely mechanistic explanations for reason. Willis proposed that every person has a sensitive soul and a rational soul, both located in the brain but the latter not being material and surviving the body's death. Zimmer can be a good writer, and there are several interesting stories here. He overstates Willis's importance, but that is to be expected. He claims that people are pleased to learn of depression's physical causes because that means it is separate from the self. He is trying to argue that Willis's separation of the sensitive and rational souls is deeply embedded in modern culture (because we are relieved that depression is a disease of the sensitive soul), and that this false dichotomy---mental versus physical, the self versus the brain---causes grief and confusion. In fact, the real reason for this relief is that it makes depression something treatable. It is still interesting that Willis, being unwilling to accept purely mystical explanations for rationality, was among the first to confront these separations. More importantly, the book cries out for editing; it should be half as long.
Ostensibly about Thomas Willis, a 17th century physician and anatomist, and his discovery of the the brain as the seat of intelligence and the 'command center' of the rest of the body, the book actually documents what is essentially the transition from 'natural philosophy' to 'science'. It centers on Oxford in the mid 17th century and the extraordinary men who working there, men who were willing to discard centuries of accepted wisdom about the natural world, including medicine, in favor of doing actual experiments to discover how things, including the human body, actually worked. Unlike Willis, many of these men did not limit themselves to medicine, and the list of them reads like a who's who of 17th C science, philosophy, and of all things, architecture! The cast, besides Willis, includes: Descartes, Hobbes, Boyle, Vesalius, Paracelsus, Harvey, Hooke, Locke, Wallis, Ward, Wilkins, Wren, Sydenham, and many others.The ferment of ideas in this period is extraordinary and Zimmer does an excellent job in summarizing them and tying them together, showing how discoveries in one 'area', like chemistry, affected other in other 'areas', like medicine (though these men certainly had not conceived of our modern 'areas' of science like chemistry and physics), and how these discoveries both were influenced by, and influenced in turn, the way we view the world around us.Zimmer's centerpiece is Willis' investigations into the brain and nerves, and he argues that his discoveries essentially presaged much of modern neurology, limited mostly by Willis' lack of knowledge of electricity. He further argues that these discoveries had a profound effect on how we viewed sickness and health, and how we understand 'the soul'.I want to spend a second taking issue with some comments by another reviewer: First, because Willis is not generally as well known as some of the other scientists described here does not mean his importance has been overstated. Zimmer's arguments that his discoveries changed how we look at the body and world are compelling, even if most of the world has forgotten where the discoveries originated. Second, I don't think that people feel relief just because they find out that mental illness is treatable; whether treatable or not, patients are often relieved to find out that their illness has a rational basis, that we can put a label on it, and describe why it is happening. It relieves them to know that they are not just 'crazy'. Third, to paraphrase Mozart in 'Amadeus', the book is precisely as long as it needs to be to get Zimmer's points across. It does not ramble, it is not repetitious, and is just plain interesting from beginning to end.For all students of science and history, this is a wonderful book and is well worth your time.
As science progresses, our views about humanity and our place in the world are constantly in flux. This was just as true in history as if is for us today, colorfully illustrated by Carl Zimmer. Following developments stretching back to ancient views on medicine and the human body, through the enlightenment all the way to modern day MRI machines, pulling back the curtain on the brain and the soul. If you hold to old notions of the soul and feel firm in your facts, you'll see that commonly held conventions have changed radically from old ones as science uncovers further natural truths. A decent read for perspective for neuroscience students and lay people alike.
The American writer Carl Zimmer has written a brilliant book on Thomas Willis (1621-75), the founder of neurology. Willis discovered the human brain¿s role and importance, and was the first to examine how it worked. Willis was part of the remarkable generation of Britons who founded the Royal Society, aiming to understand the physical world: William Harvey, who by discovering the circulation of the blood had, as Willis said, created `a new foundation of medicine¿, Christopher Wren, Robert Hooke, Robert Boyle and William Petty, whom Karl Marx called the father of political economy. To keep the Restoration Stuart state on side, they excluded from the Society the materialist Thomas Hobbes, who had said that the mind was `matter in motion¿. As the Platonist Henry More realised, `No spirit, no God¿. Willis¿ book `The Anatomy of the Brain and Nerves¿ mapped the brain, and was the first unified treatment of the brain and the nerves. The new science combined anatomical study of the human brain with comparisons to animal brains, experiments and medical observations. He identified the loop of arteries that supplies the brain, which became known as the Circle of Willis. The 20th century neurologist Lord Brain described Willis as `the Harvey of the nervous system¿. Willis ¿created a material explanation of the soul and its disorders. ¿ He had transformed the traditional three-part soul, which had existed since Plato, into the corpuscular chemistry of the nervous system. The soul was not just moved to the brain but limited to it, and only through the nerves could it experience the world.¿ But the idealist philosopher John Locke attacked Willis¿ materialist approach, holding back neurology¿s development. Zimmer explains, ¿Locke also influenced the way philosophers pondered the mind itself. He dismissed details of neurology and concerned himself with ideas and how they fit together, and generations of philosophers followed his lead. It would take neurologists 150 years to show that Willis was right, that studying the anatomy and chemistry of the brain can indeed reveal the workings of the mind, that they can map the geography of passion, reason, and memory.¿