Sherlock Holmes, the renowned detective, proposed a theory that likens the brain to an attic, suggesting that it can only hold a limited number of memories. Dr. Watson once mentioned to Holmes that the Earth revolves around the sun, to which Holmes responded, "Now that I am aware of it, I will make an effort to forget it."
Holmes believed that filling one's mind with trivial facts and information would leave little space for important matters, such as discerning subtle distinctions between deadly poisons. This raises the question: was Holmes correct in his assumption?
Is our memory truly restricted, akin to the storage capacity of a computer? Or is our memory boundless? Furthermore, if we possessed flawless memory, what would life be like if we never forgot anything? The animated film Inside Out portrayed memories as luminous spheres stacked within the brain, resembling books in a library.
However, the reality is more intricate. There is no singular location in the brain that serves as a memory bank. Instead, individual memories are dispersed throughout various regions of the brain. Numerous brain cells in different areas collaborate to form a single memory. For instance, recollecting the experience of eating grandma's apple pie may involve certain brain cells aiding in visualizing the appearance of the pie, others recalling the scent of cinnamon, and even cells remembering the delectable taste – just to name a few examples.
In truth, a memory is not a tangible entity that can be pinpointed within a specific brain cell. It is an action, rather than an object. Consider the phenomenon of baseball fans performing "the wave": no individual fan embodies the wave itself; the magic unfolds only when all the fans come together, synchronizing their actions in a specific sequence.
The brain's memory storage capacity is enhanced by this phenomenon. Deep within the brain, there exists a cluster of cells resembling a seahorse, which was named the 'hippocampus' by scientists in the 18th century. Without this seahorse-shaped structure, our ability to remember would be greatly impaired. One individual, known only by the initials H.M., played a significant role in advancing our understanding of memory. H.M. underwent surgery for epilepsy in 1953, resulting in the removal of a major portion of his hippocampus. As a consequence, he developed a severe form of amnesia, rendering him unable to form new memories of facts or events. However, he retained the ability to recall information learned prior to the surgery.
Days or weeks later, a particular scent may trigger the same pattern of nerve cell activity in the mouse's brain, leading to the recall of memories associated with the maze. Similarly, for humans, the smell of cinnamon, for example, can evoke memories of one's grandmother. However, the brain's memory formation process is not infallible. At times, our mental replay of imagined scenarios can feel as vivid as real experiences.
Forgetting occurs naturally, but our brains also intentionally forget. There are at least three different mechanisms of forgetting. The first occurs when a memory gradually fades over time, known as "passive obliviscence" (a term that may slip your mind). This fading could be due to the gradual weakening of connections between brain cells, or it could be that the memory is still present, but the triggers necessary to retrieve it, such as sights, sounds, or smells, have been lost. Another theory suggests that memories could potentially last indefinitely, but when the same neurons are utilized in other memories, this "interference" disrupts the original memory.
This gradual fading type of forgetting eventually happens to all of us. The second type of forgetting, known as targeted forgetting, occurs during sleep. This is when our brains eliminate random, insignificant pieces of information acquired throughout the day and erase outdated memories. For instance, if yesterday you believed that the Earth was a flat disk supported by three elephants, but today you learned that the Earth is actually round, your brain needs to discard one of these contradictory ideas – hopefully, the one about the elephants.
Forgetting is a crucial function of our brains because it allows us to move on from traumatic events and clear out unnecessary information. Without forgetting, our neural networks would become overwhelmed with irrelevant details, hindering our ability to process new information and update our understanding of the world.
When it comes to erasing memories in humans, our most effective tool still resembles a hammer rather than a scalpel. It is no coincidence that our ability to forget, much like our ability to remember, is a complex and finely-tuned mechanism. If humans were unable to remember and learn from significant events, our species likely would not have survived. However, it appears that the ability to forget is equally crucial, serving as an essential component in unraveling the enigma we call life.
About the Creator
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis6 days ago in Humans
Patience is power:The legacy of the watchmaker.
In the heart of a bustling city, surrounded by the incessant hum of life, lived an old watchmaker named Elias. His shop, nestled between a bakery and a bookshop, was a relic of a bygone era. The sign above his door, painted in faded gold letters, read "Elias's Timepieces."Elias was renowned for his craft, not just for his meticulous repairs but for the clocks and watches he created. Each piece was a testament to his patience and precision. He often said, "Patience is power," a phrase he had learned from his grandfather, who had been a watchmaker before him. To Elias, these words were not just a motto but a way of life.One rainy afternoon, as Elias sat hunched over his workbench, adjusting the tiny gears of a grandfather clock, the doorbell chimed. He looked up to see a young man, no older than twenty, dripping water on the wooden floor. The young man held a pocket watch in his hand, its chain dangling loosely."Can I help you?" Elias asked, peering over his spectacles."My name is Thomas," the young man began. "This watch belonged to my father. It's been broken for years. I was hoping you could fix it."Elias took the watch from Thomas's hand and examined it. The casing was tarnished, and the hands were frozen at twelve. He opened the back and saw that the intricate mechanisms were caked with dust and rust. It was a challenge, but one Elias accepted without hesitation."This will take time," Elias said. "Patience is power, young man. Come back in a week."Thomas nodded, though his eyes betrayed his doubt. He left the shop, the bell jingling softly behind him.Elias set to work. Each evening, after the day's customers had left, he labored over the watch. He carefully cleaned each gear, replaced worn parts, and meticulously reassembled the delicate mechanism. The work required a steady hand and a calm mind. Elias found a strange solace in the task, losing himself in the rhythmic ticking of the clocks surrounding him.As the days passed, Thomas returned to the shop, watching Elias work, asking questions about the process. Elias answered each question patiently, teaching Thomas about the delicate balance of a watch's components, the importance of each tiny part working in harmony with the others.Thomas was fascinated. He began to understand why Elias valued patience so highly. The old man's dedication to his craft, his ability to lose himself in the minutiae, and his unwavering calm were qualities Thomas admired and aspired to.On the seventh day, Elias called Thomas into the workshop. The pocket watch lay on the workbench, gleaming as if it were new. Elias handed it to Thomas, who held it with a mixture of reverence and excitement. He wound the watch and listened as it began to tick, the sound steady and strong."It works," Thomas whispered, a smile spreading across his face."Indeed it does," Elias replied. "Remember, patience is power. With patience, you can achieve things others might think impossible."Thomas thanked Elias and left the shop, the watch safely tucked in his pocket. As he walked home, he thought about the lessons he had learned. He realized that his father's watch was more than just a timepiece; it was a symbol of the values his father had tried to impart, values that Elias had helped him understand more deeply.Years passed, and Thomas found himself returning to Elias's shop often, not just for repairs but for the wisdom the old watchmaker imparted. He learned the art of watchmaking, working alongside Elias, absorbing the skills and the mindset required for such a meticulous craft.When Elias grew too old to continue, he passed the shop on to Thomas. The young man, now older and wiser, continued the tradition, always remembering the lessons of patience and dedication he had learned. He placed a new sign above the door, in fresh gold letters: "Thomas's Timepieces." Below it, in smaller letters, he added, "Patience is Power."Thomas ran the shop with the same care and precision Elias had shown. He taught his own apprentices, sharing the wisdom that had been passed down to him. The shop thrived, a testament to the enduring power of patience and the legacy of a humble watchmaker who had understood that true power lies not in haste, but in the quiet strength of persistence.
By Eric anexis 5 days ago in Humans
A Flower Song
Apparently the Aztecs, Toltecs, Chichimecs and other Mexica were crazy about poetry. Despite the book-burning, slaughter, and epidemics that characterized the early stages of the Spanish conquest of the empires of Mexico, some hundreds of poems from the height of their tradition come down to us in Classical Nahuatl, preserved by Nahua and Spanish scholars of the 16th century. One of the most famous poets, Nezahualcoyotl, was a sage-king who opposed the cult of human sacrifice associated with Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror, and favored Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Flowers and feathers were the favorite offering of the Plumed Serpent. Moreover, flowers and feathers are a metaphor for poetry. Individual words, scattered petals, the down of tropical birds. The temples of blood sacrifice could be transformed into temples of flower and song. A sublimated offering to the Heart of Earth and the Heart of Sky encapsulated in the Classical Nahuatl kenning for poetry: in xōchitl in cuīcatl, meaning, "the flower and the song." The following poem is part of a longer work, and is in a state of flux, so take the waters as they flow:
By Rob Angeli7 days ago in Poets
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