The best books for bridging the gap between mind and brain

The brain people are all over art.

Anjan Chatterjee has managed to write a book that a) is very accessible, b) provides thorough coverage of current attempts to understand art and aesthetic experience by using information from the cognitive sciences, and c) outlines an original hypothesis about why humans evolved a love for art. That last part changes the book from a nice review of the topic to a groundbreaking attempt at an explanation of our art practices.

Chatterjee examines our judgments of peoples’ attractiveness, the brain’s system of reward chemicals, and our evolutionary history, in an attempt to understand our passion for art scientifically. 

In an upcoming book on art, I refer to Chatterjee frequently. I don’t always agree with him, but his sensible, clear, and broad approach made his book very useful to me. 

In the mid-1980s, Patricia Churchland started to pursue the idea that philosophers interested in the mind might want to have a look at what is going on in neuroscience, in her book Neurophilosophy.

This book was formative for me, in that it showed a way I could combine my interest in the brain with my love for philosophy. Since then, new generations of graduate students have seen the naturalness of the link and begun to bring the wealth of neuroscientific discoveries into the philosophical debates. 

In Conscience, she looks at the evolutionary roots of our tendencies to form bonds and create social norms to approach the issue of whether our sociality is hardwired. She also discusses the troubling case of sociopaths, who appear to be naturally unethical.

V. S. Ramachandran is a gifted experimentalist and writer who does not hesitate to pursue deep and important questions about our minds. Rather than employing expensive imaging or large sample sizes, he is more likely to use a cardboard box, an old stereopticon, or a rubber hand in his experiments. 

His creativity in finding concrete ways to test seemingly vague but interesting claims about our minds has led to several breakthroughs, in our understanding of phantom limbs and our ability to treat phantom pain, and also in our study of synesthesia—cases in which people see numbers as having colors, for example.

As I can attest, he is able to transmit to his students the idea that pursuing scientific questions can be thrilling, fulfilling, and so much fun that you can’t wait to get to work in the morning.

Are philosophers like detectives, in that they chase their culprit over any terrain, and follow any clue? What can count as a clue?

Given the right context, pretty much anything, a pencil placed here rather than there, a picture of a car, something someone said, a fingerprint, can count as a clue. Or are we more like technicians, like the fingerprint expert who is only allowed to look at a certain type of clue? The problem with being the fingerprint expert is that it can completely remove philosophers from their originating problems and turn them into mere technicians.

Ned Block is a detective, who has followed clues about the nature of consciousness deep into psychology and neuroscience. Here Block argues that there is a genuine distinction between seeing and thinking, and draws out the consequences of that for our theories of consciousness.

Oliver Sacks was a person who really loved science and being a scientist. Instead of describing some neurological condition or syndrome then explaining why that condition matters to our humanity, he describes the condition and the people who have it in ways that make it clear why it matters. 

In Musicophilia, Sacks’ object of study is musical disorders, including cases of people who suddenly showed a great interest in music after having little prior interest, as well as people who suddenly lost all love for music. He also looks at people who have hallucinations of music, and struggle to find where the sound is coming from.