Mind vs. Matter: Animal or Human?

As freshmen in veterinary school, we were taught that our brains were hardwired, and that the window for change was effectively closed many years in advance. Despite the countless days we spent scribbling notes in darkened lecture halls, the late nights in brightly lit laboratories dissecting our cadavers, and most of the other waking hours at our desks and in our cubicles studying, we knew that we were dealing with the fate of being human. Faced with the inevitable death of thousands of neurons every day, the long-term prospects for preserving all our new knowledge seemed terribly bleak.

More than thirty years later, we now understand that our brains live in a state of flux, where thousands of new neurons can be stimulated to form in a single day. Existing neurons grow new branches to reach in new directions, framing and rewiring their synaptic connections with other cells – new ones form, others burn out. The simple act of learning prompts cells to strengthen their connections. These bonds make it easier to send their messages and work as one. Their speed and efficiency are imprinted in their cellular memory, which in turn shapes and shapes what we remember in our minds. This ability of the brain to endlessly reshape itself, what scientists call neuroplasticity, allows us to adapt to an ever-changing environment. As the world around us changes and evolves, in a very real sense, so do our minds.

As I routinely observe human behavior on a daily basis, I find it interesting how often we treat our minds and bodies as if they were separate. From health insurance providers to friends and neighbors, I’m struck by how we tend to view mental illness as fundamentally different from other illnesses. It’s easy to think of our cancer-stricken neighbor as an unfortunate victim. Yet our colleague at work, struggling through years of depression, may carry a stigma.

This mentality is no different among animals. A cat deformed with gnarled, crusty ears and scabby, cancerous lips from pemphigus (a disfiguring disease in which the immune system decides to attack the body’s own cells) is tenderly cared for by everyone in his family. Yet a cat with a bald, bleeding tail that manically hunts and gnaws on it for hours is viewed by its family with a certain reluctance and often even with contempt. When I listen to my client’s stories, a common theme emerges. People naturally identify with the behavior of their animal and often relate to it just as they do to people.

We can certainly influence what happens in our bodies, but the functions of our cells and tissues are largely determined by factors beyond our control: genetics, physiology, and the environment, to name a few. In both health and disease, our cells follow their own fate. Just as our hepatocytes can unconsciously go haywire, releasing floods of enzymes into our gut, our neurons can mess up the way they communicate. When neurons and their connections malfunction, our senses, feelings, memories and thoughts can wander, sometimes far off course.

Despite everything we now know, or think we know, about our brains, we still have so many fundamental questions to understand. How does a bundle of cells produce thoughts and feelings? How do small waves of chemicals transform into a cherished memory? Why can a wave of emotions determine what we perceive and think? How can a group of neurons instinctively sense that we are in danger, despite everything our eyes and ears tell us?

The brain is, of course, made of matter: atoms and molecules that make up cells, and the sea of ​​chemicals within and around them. The mind, on the other hand, is disembodied: an enigmatic energy field made up of thoughts and feelings; hope and fear; endless memories, wishes and dreams. How does matter manifest the abstract?

CH Vanderwolf, the esteemed neuroscientist, notes: “The conventional theory of the brain as an organ of the psyche or mind offers us the comforting illusion that we already understand the big picture.”

It is naive to believe that the mind is nothing more than a cellular product. Without a doubt, our brain cells give rise to the energy fields of our mind. At the same time, our thoughts literally shape and rewire our brains. Each undeniably shapes and transforms the other.

As I make my rounds around the zoo, from the tropics to Australasia, I am constantly reminded of how the brain differs from species to species. The amount of space within the skull; the size of the centers of vision, smell and hearing; the surface of the cortex, including all folds and grooves. Each reflects specializations in anatomy and function. These measurements tell me how each species has evolved and adapted from their perspective. Compared to the animals they hunt, carnivores have proportionately larger brains, which presumably allows them to devise strategies to capture their prey. Dogs have a pair of olfactory bulbs that together weigh four times as much as humans, allowing them to smell the fear pheromones secreted by humans. The area of ​​the brain that integrates sounds is much more developed in dolphins than in humans, giving them the ability to know where they are and ‘see’ through sound beneath the waves.

While monkeys and moon bears are certainly different from each other, I am much more struck by their similarity. From the thousands of synapses that connect each neuron to the nuclei in which they cluster, the anatomy of our brains is remarkably similar from species to species. Even more striking to me are the similarities between the behavior of species. Regardless of species, we rely – second by second – on our neurons for our survival. From humans to monkeys and from dingoes to dogs: we all use our brains to understand the world. Lights, sounds, smells, textures and what we see others doing are received, sorted, processed and woven into an image. We respond to this image with our instincts, emotions, thoughts and actions.

Although they may do this a little differently than you or I, animals clearly perceive with awareness, think with reflection, and act with intention. Like us, they routinely consider their circumstances, as well as those of others, weighing their options and considering the consequences before deciding how to respond. This requires attentiveness, foresight and consideration – all qualities that are common to both humans and animals.