And then a quiet panic in the brain sets in — or, less colorfully speaking, a total irradiation of stimulation. The nerve impulses arouse the areas of logical analysis (maybe I'll figure something out!) and the cells of visual memory (maybe I've seen it?). Vision, hearing, and sense of smell sharpen. The student sees with amazing acuity the ink spot on the edge of the desk and a bunch of scribbles, hears the leaves rustling outside the window, someone's footsteps in the hall, and even the whisper: “Guys, Alex is in trouble!” But that's not it. And so stimulation passes to greater and newer parts of the brain — danger, danger — spilling over the motor centers in the frontal convolution, penetrating into the midbrain, the medulla, and finally, into the spinal cord. And here I want to move away from the dramatic situation to sing the praises of the soft grayish white growth about a half meter in length that penetrates our spine to the waist — the spinal cord.
The spinal cord…oh, we are greatly mistaken if we think that it is nothing more than an intermediary between the brain and the body's nerves, that it is subjugated to the brain and can only control a few simple reflexes of natural functions! It's still a moot point as to which is subordinate to which! The spinal cord is an older and more venerable process than the brain. It saved man in those days when his brain wasn't developed enough, when in fact he wasn't yet man. Our spinal cord guards memories of the Paleozoic, when our distant ancestors, the lizards, wandered, crawled, and flew among giant ferns; of the Cenozoic, the period when the first apes appeared. It has sorted and stored synapses and reflexes proven over millions of years to be effective in the struggle for survival. The spinal cord, if you will, is our inner seat of rational conservatism.
Of course nowadays, that old cord of man, which can react to the complex stimulation of contemporary reality in only two positions — saving life and propagating the species — can't help us out all the time, as it did in the Mesozoic Era. But it still has influence on many things! For example, I would posit that it is the spinal cord that often determines our literary and cinematic tastes. What? No, the spinal cord is not literate and does not contain any special reflexes for viewing film. But, tell me, why do we soften prefer detective movies and novels, no matter how poorly they are made or written? Why do so many of us like love stories — everything from jokes and gossip to the Decameron? Because it's interesting? Interesting? Why is it interesting? Because the firmly engrained instincts for survival and propagation encoded in our spinal cords force us to gather information — what can you die of? — so that we can save ourselves in that situation. How and why does happy and true love come about, the kind that results in offspring? What destroys it? — so that you don't blow it yourself. And it doesn't matter that such a dangerous situation may never come up in your safe, comfortable lives. And it doesn't matter that there is love and more descendants than you know what to do with — the spinal cord tows its line. I'm not going to call these desires in the viewer and reader base, as so many critics do. Why? These are healthy, natural desires, admirable desires. If cows in their evolution ever learn to read, then they'll also begin with mysteries and romances.
But let us return to the student whose brain failed him in responding to the examiner's question. “Ah, you greenhorn,” the spinal cord seems to say to its colleague as it receives the panic signals and goes into action. First, it sends signals to the motor nerves of the entire body; the muscles tense into a position of readiness. The primary sources of muscular energy — adenosine triphosphate and phosphocreatine — break down in tissue into adenosine diphosphate and creatine, releasing phosphoric acid and the first amounts of heat and energy. And I want to direct your attention once more to the biological expediency of raising muscle tone. After all, danger in the old days required quick energetic movement, to leap away, strike, bend, climb a tree. And since it is not yet clear which way you will have to jump or strike, all the muscles are brought into readiness.
Simultaneously, the sympathetic nervous system is also stimulated and begins to command the whole kitchen array of metabolism in the organism. Its signals reach the adrenal gland, which throws adrenaline into the blood, stimulating everything. The liver and spleen, like sponges, squeeze out several liters of extra blood into the circulatory system. Blood vessels expand in the muscles, lungs, and brain. The heart beats faster, pumping blood into all the organs, and with it, oxygen and glucose. The spinal cord and the autonomous nervous system prepare thestudent's bodyforheavy, fierce, and long fighting for life or death!
But the examiner cannot be stunned with a cudgel or even with a marble inkwell. And you can't run away from him either. The examiner won't be satisfied even if the student, overflowing with muscular energy, performs a handstand on the desk instead of answering the question. That's why the secret, stormy activity of the student's organism ends in a useless burning up of glucose in the muscles and heat generation. The thermoreceptors in different parts of the body send hysterical signals of overheating to the brain and spinal cord. And the brain responds in the only way it knows — by expanding the vessels of the skin. Blood rushes to the skin (incidentally, also causing the student to blush) and heats up the air between the body and the clothes. The sweat glands open up to help the student with evaporation of moisture. The reflex chain, stimulated by the question, is finally over.
I'm sure you will make your own conclusions about the role of knowledge in the correct regulation of the human organism in our complex environment, and about its role in the regulation of the student organism at our next session…”
From a lecture by Professor V. A. Androsiashvili in his course, Human Physiology.
Yes, he was leaving in order to become himself, and not the Krivoshein who lived and worked in Dneprovsk. He threw the apartment key which Val had tucked into his pocket out of the train window. He crossed out all the addresses and phone numbers of Moscow acquaintances from his book, including his Aunt Lapanalda. He had no friends, no relatives, no past — only the present, from the moment he entered the biology department, and the future. He knew a simple but dependable way of establishing himself in the future; the method had never let him down. It was work.
And he had more than that.
Once upon a time physicists had perfected the methods of measuring the speed of light, just so that they could achieve the greatest accuracy. They did. And they determined a scandalous fact: the speed of light did not depend on the speed of motion of the light source. “Impossible! The equipment is wrong! The results contradict classical mechanics!” They checked. They measured the speed of light another way — with the same results. And the almost completed, logically perfect universe rising in the scaffolding of right — angled coordinates, crumbled, raising an awful lot of dust. The “crisis of physics” began.
The human mind often strives for a reconciliation of all the facts in the world rather than for a deeper knowledge of those facts: the important thing is for everything to become simpler and more logical. And then some sneaky little fact floats out, irreconcilable with the neat theories, and you have to start all over again….