INTRODUCTION
THE
Western world
has been slow to recognize the power of the mind over the body by
reason of the
fact that our philosophers from very early times regarded the mind as
an
independent entity—a something to be considered quite apart from the
body.
"Mind
cannot
move matter," they contended, because an impassable gulf exists between
the two; and therefore a mental fact can not possibly be represented by
a
corresponding physical fact. The body, in their thought, was simply the
chosen
tenement of the soul, and operated independently of it. And this view
in a
modified form is maintained even to the present day by the adherents of
the old
psychology or metaphysical school.
But
with the
striking of the shackles from the insane by Dr. Pinel in France, with
the work
of Dr. Tuke in England and Dr. Rush in America, toward the latter half
of the eighteenth
century there sprang into being a new psychology, based upon the study
of
nerve-tissue and brain-action. The old psychology was speculative; the
new is
scientific. It has exchanged theory for the microscope.
By
this method it
was soon demonstrated that the brain is the organ of mind, and that the
nervous
system is the channel of communication between the mind and the
external
world, or the means by which man is put into relation with his
environment.
The
early
phrenologists, in their attempts to localize brain function,
popularized the
former idea, while the brain-physiologists proved conclusively the
indissoluble
connection between the mind and the nervous system. Meanwhile the
histologists,
by their discovery of the nerve-cell and its processes, discovered the
physical
basis of association of ideas and memory.
Toward
the middle
of the nineteenth century German scientists took up the problem; and
Weber,
with his law of variation, Fechner, with his psychophysical law, and
Wundt, by
his researches in physiological psychology, demonstrated the physical
basis of
mind. Henceforth psychology was to be reckoned among the natural
sciences.
As
was to be
expected, the charge of materialism has been flung at the new by the
adherents
of the old school. With them, to deny the independent existence of the
soul was
to "rule God out of the universe." To affirm that mind and body are a
unit is to negative the doctrine of immortality.
While
admitting
the justice of the criticism of those extremists who assert that
"thought
is a function of the brain" or that "the brain secretes thought as
the liver secretes bile," it is unjust to that large body of monists
who
hold that, the mind and body must be regarded as a unit, the
soul-principle is
the real ego or being, and the physical organism the vehicle of
its
expression or embodiment. As Dr. Carus puts it, "Modern psychology does
not destroy the soul, but merely a false view of the ego."
Accepting
the
position that the brain is the immediate organ of mind, and that by
means of
his nervous system man gets into relation with his environment, our
inquiry as
to the influence which mind may exert upon matter may be conducted upon
both
rational and scientific lines.
Chapter
1
THE
MIND
WE feel
before we think; but this is merely another way of saying that
mind is
developed by means of sensations.
Each
one of us is
possessed of five senses—sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell; and
if it
were not for these we could acquire no knowledge. But by their
operation we not
only become self-conscious beings, but come into conscious relation
with the
world outside ourselves.
A
moment's
reflection will show this to be true. If, for instance, you could
neither see
nor hear nor touch your friend, could you form any idea of his
character or
personality? Would you even know that you had a friend? Or if you could
neither
see nor smell nor touch a rose, would not a thistle be just as
acceptable?
It is
unnecessary
to multiply examples. The simple fact is that if it were not for the
activity
of the senses, each one of us would live in a world of darkness and
ignorance.
We would have no fuller measure of life than a jellyfish.
This
is
essentially the modern view. It was formerly held that each member of
the human
species entered upon life endowed with certain ideas—innate ideas,
so-called—and hence the purpose of education, as the word implies, was
to
"draw out" of the mind what was already in it.
But
since modern
science has studied the human brain with the microscope, we have
learned that
this was a wrong conception, and that the mind is really a growth or
development from small and poor beginnings.
The
brain of the
infant at birth, according to some authorities, contains all the brain
cells,
but they are not fully developed. No actually new cells are afterward
produced.
These cells by constant sense impressions are rapidly developed in the
growing
child.
The
new-born
infant cannot think if he would; he is blind, deaf, and dumb—"his only
language but a cry." But he can feel, and because of this, his
mind
begins to develop.
Thus,
waves of
light strike upon the retina of his eye, pass along the optic nerve to
the
brain, and a sight-impression is registered upon the brain; waves of
sound
strike upon the auditory nerve, are passed up to the brain, and in the
same way
a sound impression is made. And so with impressions of touch, taste,
and smell.
Yet
sight,
hearing, etc., do not take place upon the first impact; many, many such
impressions must be made before the infant consciously sees, hears,
etc. For
the first three months of life—what our German cousins call the dumm
viertel—the
brain is busy taking care of these sense-stimuli, as they are called.
But just
as soon as a sufficient number have been recorded, then one of nature's
greatest miracles takes place: the infant looks up into his mother's
face and
smiles; he "crows" with delight at the sound of her voice.
Very
beautiful!
and quite as mysterious; for just how these sense-impressions become
transmuted
into consciousness we no more understand than we do chemical affinity
or
magnetism or gravitation. Neither science nor philosophy can solve the
riddle.
We merely know that all the sight-impressions are sent to one place in
the
brain, and those of sound to another, and smell to another, and so on;
and that
all these various impressions that beat upon the brain through the
senses
become at last elements of consciousness or mind. But this is merely
the
alphabet of mind-growth. Our infant must put the letters together to
form
words; and this is the way he does it:
When
his mother
holds up before him a round, bright object and says "ball," it
means nothing to him—he does not understand—but if she continues to do
this
daily for some time, he will finally learn to "associate" the object
"ball" with the word "ball," so that he will think
ball when he hears the word, or sees the object. And in the same
way—that is,
by "association "—he learns the use to which it is put.
Now
if you should
put into the hands of an Eskimo an orange, and he had never before seen
one,
like the infant he would not know what it was or what to do with it.
But your
child and mine have learned by experience that an orange tastes
sweet
and is good to eat.
And
just so, by
experience—that is, knowledge gained through sensations—ideas spring up
in the
infant mind; and each idea associated by experience with other ideas
gives rise
to still others, and so on. Naturally, the broader the sense-experience
the
greater the stock of ideas.
It
may be
conjectured that the greater the stock of ideas the greater the mental
confusion. But no; nature has provided for that. Just as a business man
files
away the letters he receives daily; just as a great manufacturer
systematizes
his business, dividing it into departments; just as a general organizes
his
army, so the mind files and systematizes and organizes its ideas; so
that the
adult mind has groups or clusters of ideas about art, science,
politics, and so
on. And what is quite to the point is the fact that these idea-clusters
can get
into communication with one another.
The
nation is
divided into cities, towns, villages, and hamlets, each distinct from
the
others; but a business man in Boston or New York can quickly get into
communication with an associate in San Francisco or elsewhere, by mail
or
telegraph. And in much the same way, by what is known as "association
of
ideas" and memory, one idea-cluster gets into vital touch with another.
Many
people think
that the present moment of consciousness is the mind. But this is
merely a
transitory phase of mind—"the stream of consciousness"—which is as
evanescent as the dissolving cloud. It is necessary to mind-action and
mind-growth, but the real mind is made up of the facts that we have learned
by experience; and these facts are marshaled and organized into a
great
army of ideas, which are grouped into clusters, as we have just seen.
And
this brings us
face to face with a most important fact: The human mind is not a fixed,
unchanging entity, but a virile, active force. How can this be proved?
One
of your ideas
or convictions may be that "the truth should be spoken at all times";
but I by many arguments may induce you to modify that view or "change
your
mind." Every day of our lives we are likely to hear someone say: "I
can't believe that," or "I refuse to believe it"; yet sometimes
we come to believe in spite of ourselves and thus "change our mind."
And if one can thus at any time change his mind, then the ideas which
constitute the mind can not be unchanging or fixed.
Now
that which is
permanent or fixed is in a state of rest; but that which is
impermanent
or changeable must be in a state of motion. Therefore the mind must be
an
active force, since there can be no motion without force.
Again,
mind is a
growth, and growth involves change, and change involves motion, and
motion,
force.
It is
an axiom of
science that "no force is ever lost," so we may well ask, what
becomes of the force which we call mind?
The
brain is
commonly spoken of as the organ of mind; in reality, the entire body is
the
organ of mind, but it is upon the brain that the mind-force, or ideas
in a
state of activity, immediately acts. Just as the wind ruffles the
surface of
the water, breaking it up into waves, so the mind-force plays upon the
brain
and sets up waves in the sensitive tissue. In other words, the brain reacts
upon the mind-force.
If
you should
strike your fist against the solid rock, you would feel pain. Why?
Because the
rock is harder than your fist and presents resistance—strikes back at
you; and
this striking back, as you know, is called a reaction. And so
just as
the water reacts upon the wind, the brain reacts upon the mind-force
blowing
upon it. Changes are thus made in the brain-substance. Movements of the
minute
particles or molecules take place, and in consequence there is a
rearrangement
or "reposition" of the molecules; hence it is a molecular
change, and it is accompanied by a chemical change.
As a
result, a new
force comes into being, unlike anything else in nature. Some call it
vital force,
others nervous energy, or nervous fluid; but it might just as well be
called
mental energy, because it comes into being wholly as the result of mind
or
ideas acting upon the brain. And, moreover, the character or quality of
those
ideas tempers, colors, weakens or strengthens—in fact, varies in a
hundred ways—this
new energy. Indeed, it must be insisted upon that this energy exactly reflects
or repeats the idea-force which gave rise to it.
But
we have said
"no force is ever lost," and since mind in action is seen to be
transmuted into a new force by the subtle Chemistry of life, the same
problem
confronts us. What becomes of it?
Part
of it is
stored up in the brain to meet the emergencies of life; we call it
reserve
energy.
Another
part
supplies power to the muscles. A moment's reflection will show you that
you
must think before you act. The desire and the will to act draw from the
brain
the energy or power to act. Hence every movement that you make is mind
in
action.
The
remainder of
the mental energy is communicated to all parts of the body, with what
effect we
shall now see.
If
you desire to
lift a heavy weight or drive a nail, the energy to do so is provided by
the
joint action of the mind and brain. First there was the desire in the
mind
accompanied by will; and this acting on the brain caused a change in
its
substance and set free the energy to do just what you wanted to do. Now
if you
should make it your life-work to lift weights or drive nails, those
muscles
which you put into daily operation would develop and grow strong; that
is,
certain muscles and parts, being more often brought into action, would
develop
out of proportion to other muscles and parts, would they not? And so we
come
logically to another of Nature's mysteries—the law of correspondence.
This
being translated means that the habit of thought, desire, and will
writes
itself upon the physical body, because it forms the habit of
life; that
is, action. The mental energy communicated to certain muscles and parts
gives
to them a greater development. Consequently, we come finally to look
and be as we think and do. There takes place
what Herbert
Spencer calls "a mental and physical correspondence," or
"coordination of mind and body."
It is
a common
fact of observation. No one mistakes a clergyman for a jockey, or a
college
professor for a dancing-master. The avaricious man proclaims his ruling
passion
in his face, voice, manner, and gait; the vain or envious woman's face
is set
by muscular contractions plain enough to the discerning eye.
So
well is this
principle of correspondence understood that phrenologists, palmists,
graphologists, and muscle-readers interpret the inner life and
character by its
aid.
But
the operation
of the law, as already shown, is dependent upon the reaction of the
brain upon
the mind-force; upon the quality and quantity of the mental energy set
free by
the brain; therefore, it will be worth our while to study more minutely
the
structure of the brain and its mode of action.
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