I was interested in the nature of human mental processes, which

Hear the words of Eric Kandel, seeker of truth in the labyrinth of the mind, who spoke thus: “I was interested in the nature of human mental processes, which is what got me interested in psychoanalysis. And it became clear to me after a while that mental processes come from the brain, and in order to understand them, you need to be a biologist of the brain.” These words are not merely reflections of science but a beacon for all who wish to uncover the mysteries of the human soul. They reveal a journey from wonder to knowledge, from shadows to light, from speculation to truth.

For ages uncounted, humankind has pondered the question: What is the mind? The ancients looked to the heavens, believing thought to be the whisper of gods, or to the heart, imagining emotion to dwell in its beating chambers. Psychoanalysis, born in the modern era, sought to unravel the hidden depths of dreams, desires, and fears. It gazed inward and saw a theater of symbols, yet still the root of it all remained shrouded in mystery. Kandel reminds us that the mind is not disembodied spirit alone—it is woven into the flesh, into the living fabric of the brain.

Consider the tale of Hippocrates, the ancient physician, who long before modern instruments declared: “From the brain, and from the brain alone, arise our pleasures, joys, laughter, and jests, as well as our sorrows, pains, and griefs.” Though centuries passed and many dismissed this truth, in time science returned to his wisdom. Kandel’s journey mirrors that of Hippocrates: to see that the soul’s theater is built upon the stage of biology, and to study the mind one must kneel before the organ that gives it life.

And yet, Kandel does not dishonor psychoanalysis. He honors it as a starting place, a spark, a means by which he first turned his gaze inward. But he teaches that speculation must give way to structure, that to understand the mental processes we must follow them to their roots. Just as a gardener does not only admire the flower but studies the soil and water that nourish it, so too must the student of the mind study the neurons, the circuits, the electric symphony of the brain. Only then does true understanding grow.

This journey carries a deeper meaning: that wisdom often begins in one discipline but finds fulfillment in another. The seeker who begins with poetry may find truth in science; the philosopher who begins in mystery may arrive at mathematics. So it is with Kandel, who began with the psychoanalyst’s couch and ended with the microscope of the biologist. The lesson is clear: let your search for truth guide you beyond boundaries, for truth itself knows no borders.

From his journey we learn a lesson for our own lives: do not stop at the surface of things. If you wish to understand love, do not only sing of it—study its patterns, its origins, its roots in biology and behavior. If you wish to understand fear, do not only shudder at it—seek the hidden circuits of the mind that shape it. To truly understand anything, we must be willing to travel from symbol to substance, from poetry to practice, from surface to depth.

Practical action flows from this teaching. When you are curious, do not be content with first answers. Dig deeper. Read beyond your field. If you are an artist, study science. If you are a scientist, embrace philosophy. Let curiosity be your compass, and let humility guide you, for no single path contains the whole of truth. The mind is vast, and to honor its mystery we must honor both the symbols of psychoanalysis and the circuits of biology.

Thus, O listener, remember the wisdom of Eric Kandel: “To understand the mental processes, you need to be a biologist of the brain.” Let these words remind you that the human spirit, wondrous and infinite, is also rooted in matter. To seek truth, we must hold both reverence and reason, both poetry and proof. In this union lies the key to understanding ourselves, and in understanding ourselves, to shaping a future of wisdom.