Broca's Brain: The Romance of Science

and the treatment of aneurisms, and made a landmark contribution to understanding the origins of aphasia-an impairment of the ability to articulate ideas. Broca was a brilliant and compassionate man. He was concerned with medical care for the poor. Under cover of darkness, at the risk of his own life, he successfully smuggled out of Paris in a horse-drawn cart 73 million francs, stuffed into carpetbags and hidden under potatoes, the treasury of the Assistance Publique which-he believed, at any rate-he was saving from pillage. He was the founder of modern brain surgery. He studied infant mortality. Toward the end of his career he was created a senator.

He loved, as one biographer said, mainly serenity and tolerance. In 1848 he founded a society of “freethinkers.” Almost alone among French savants of the time, he was sympathetic to Charles Darwin’s idea of evolution by natural selection. T. H. Huxley, “Darwin’s Bulldog,” remarked that the mere mention of Broca’s name filled him with a sense of gratitude, and Broca was quoted as saying, “I would rather be a transformed ape than a degenerate son of Adam.” For these and other views he was publicly denounced for “materialism” and, like Socrates, for corrupting the young. But he was made a senator nevertheless.

Earlier, Broca had encountered great difficulty in establishing a society of anthropology in France. The Minister of Public Instruction and the Prefect of Police believed that anthropology must, as the free pursuit of knowledge about human beings, be innately subversive to the state. When permission was at last and reluctantly granted for Broca to talk about science with eighteen colleagues, the Prefect of Police held Broca responsible personally for all that might be said in such meetings “against society, religion, or the government.” Even so, the study of human beings was considered so dangerous that a police spy in plain clothes was assigned to attend all meetings, with the understanding that authorization to meet would be withdrawn immediately if the spy was offended by anything that was said. In these circumstances the Society of Anthropology of Paris gathered for the first time on May 19, 1859, the year of the publication of The Origin of Species. In subsequent meetings an enormous range of subjects was discussed-archaeology, mythology, physiology, anatomy, medicine, psychology, linguistics and history-and it is easy to imagine the police spy nodding off in the corner on many an occasion. Once, Broca related, the spy wished to take a small unauthorized walk and asked if he might leave without anything threatening to the state being said in his absence. “No, no, my friend,” Broca responded. “You must not go for a walk: sit down and earn your pay.” Not only the police but also the clergy opposed the development of anthropology in France, and in 1876 the Roman Catholic political party organized a major campaign against the teaching of the subject in the Anthropological Institute of Paris founded by Broca.

Paul Broca died in 1880, perhaps of the very sort of aneurism that he had studied so brilliantly. At the moment of his death he was working on a comprehensive study of brain anatomy. He had established the first professional societies, schools of research, and scientific journals of modern anthropology in France. His laboratory specimens became incorporated into what for many years was called the Musee Broca. Later it merged to become a part of the Musee de l’Homme.

It was Broca himself, whose brain I was cradling, who had established the macabre collection I had been contemplating. He had studied embryos and apes, and people of all races, measuring like mad in an effort to understand the nature of a human being. And despite the present appearance of the collection and my suspicions, he was not, at least by the standards of his time, more of a jingoist or a racist than most, and certainly not that standby of fiction and, more rarely, of fact: the cold, uncaring, dispassionate scientist, heedless of the human consequences of what he does. Broca very much cared.

In the Revue d’Anthropologie of 1880 there is a complete bibliography of Broca’s writings. From the titles I could later glimpse something of the origins of the collection I had viewed: “On the Cranium and Brain of the Assassin Lemaire,” “Presentation of the Brain of a Male Adult Gorilla,” “On the Brain of the Assassin Prevost,” “On the Supposed Heredity of Accidental Characteristics,” “The Intelligence of Animals and the Rule of Humans,” “The Order of the Primates: Anatomical Parallels between Men and Apes,” “The Origin of the Art of Making Fire,” “On Double Monsters,” “Discussion on Microcephalics,” “Prehistoric Trepanning,” “On Two Cases of a Supernumerary Digit Developing at an Adult Age,” “The Heads of Two New Caledonians” and “On the Skull of Dante Alighieri.” I did not know the present resting place of the cranium of the author of The Divine Comedy, but the collection of brains and skulls and heads that surrounded me clearly began in the work of Paul Broca.

BROCA WAS a superb brain anatomist and made important investigations of the limbic region, earlier called the rhinencephalon (the “smell brain”), which we now know to be profoundly involved in human emotion. But Broca is today perhaps best known for his discovery of a small region in the third convolution of the left frontal lobe of the cerebral cortex, a region now known as Broca’s area. Articulate speech, it turns out, as Broca inferred on only fragmentary evidence, is to an important extent localized in and controlled by Broca’s area. It was one of the first discoveries of a separation of function between the left and right hemispheres of the brain. But most important, it was one of the first indications that specific brain functions exist in particular locales in the brain, that there is a connection between the anatomy of the brain and what the brain does, an activity sometimes described as “mind.”

Ralph Holloway is a physical anthropologist at Columbia University whose laboratory I imagine must bear some resemblance to Broca’s. Holloway makes rubber-latex casts of the insides of skulls of human and related beings, past and present, to attempt a reconstruction, from slight impressions on the interior of the cranium, of what the brain must have been like. Holloway believes that he can tell from a creature’s cranium whether Broca’s area is present, and he has found evidence of an emerging Broca’s area in the brain of Homo habilis some two million years ago-just the time of the first constructions and the first tools. To this limited extent there is something to the phrenological vision. It is very plausible that human thought and industry went hand in hand with the development of articulate speech, and Broca’s area may in a very real sense be one of the seats of our humanity, as well as a means for tracing our relationships with our ancestors on their way toward humanity.

And here was Broca’s brain floating, in formalin and in fragments, before me. I could make out the limbic region which Broca had studied in others. I could see the convolutions on the neocortex. I could even make out the gray- white left frontal lobe in which Broca’s own Broca’s area resided, decaying and unnoticed, in a musty corner of a collection that Broca had himself begun.

It was difficult to hold Broca’s brain without wondering whether in some sense Broca was still in there-his wit, his skeptical mien, his abrupt gesticulations when he talked, his quiet and sentimental moments. Might there be preserved in the configuration of neurons before me a recollection of the triumphant moment when he argued before the combined medical faculties (and his father, overflowing with pride) on the origins of aphasia? A dinner with his friend Victor Hugo? A stroll on a moonlit autumn evening, his wife holding a pretty parasol, along the Quai Voltaire and the Pont Royal? Where do we go when we die? Is Paul Broca still there in his formalin-filled bottle? Perhaps the memory traces have decayed, although there is good evidence from modern brain investigations that a given memory is redundantly stored in many different places in the brain. Might it be possible at some future time, when neurophysiology has advanced substantially, to reconstruct the memories or insights of someone long dead? And would that be a good thing? It would be the ultimate breach of privacy. But it would also be a kind of practical immortality, because, especially for a man like Broca, our minds are clearly a major aspect of who we are.

From the character of this neglected storeroom in the Musee de l’Homme I had been ready to attribute to those who had assembled the collection-I had not known it was Broca at the time-a palpable sexism and racism and jingoism, a profound resistance to the idea of the relatedness of human beings and the other primates. And in part it was true. Broca was a humanist of the nineteenth century, but unable to shake the consuming prejudices, the human social diseases, of his time. He thought men superior to women, and whites superior to blacks. Even his conclusion that German brains were not significantly different from French ones was in rebuttal to a Teutonic claim of Gallic inferiority. But he concluded that there were deep connections in brain physiology between gorillas and men. Broca, the founder of a society of freethinkers in his youth, believed in the importance of untrammeled inquiry and had lived his life in pursuit of that aim. His falling short of these ideals shows that someone as unstinting in the free pursuit of knowledge as Broca could still be deflected by endemic and respectable bigotry. Society corrupts the best of us. It is a little unfair, I think, to criticize a person for not sharing the enlightenment of a later epoch, but it is also profoundly saddening that such prejudices were so extremely pervasive. The question raises nagging uncertainties about which of the conventional truths of our own age will be considered unforgivable bigotry by the next. One way to repay Paul Broca for this lesson which he has inadvertently provided us is to challenge, deeply and seriously, our own most strongly held beliefs.