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All in Your Head: Franz Gall, the Fowler Brothers, and the Science That Wasn’t.

I believe a central question lurks in the depths of every person, and our lives unfold in pursuit of the answer. For some, the question surfaces fully articulated; for others, it remains mumbled, tangled in the soft algae of their subconscious.

In the 18^th Century, a young German boy named Franz Gall seemed born in possession of a question that began in childhood and ended only in death: Why are people different from one another?

He began from the outside, studying the externals: his siblings’ features, the people in his town, and his parents.

Soon, peculiarities began to stand out. His classmates, for instance, had large foreheads, while others had small ones. He started looking for commonalities. The boys with more pronounced features seemed preternaturally good at memorization, while those with strangely shaped skulls struck Gall as linguistically gifted. 

Coincidence? He didn’t think so.

Gall believed there was a connection between the shape of a skull and the capacity of the mind it held.

Born into a world of rudimentary biological knowledge, Gall’s thinking and tools were aligned with the early science of the time, based on description and observation, not experiments.

In 18th-century Europe, the idea that the external form reflected inner reality was not a shallow conceit or unusual.

Gall’s fascination with skulls, anatomy and the nervous system led him to medical school, where he studied under the french physician and naturalist Johann Hermann and Austrian physician Maximilian Stoll whose detailed and systematic approach to his patients history and symptoms left a lasting imprint that natural observation was, above all else, the essential ingredient of science. 

It was there, in medical school, that Gall studied the brains of dissected animals and the details of a human skull—the bumps, ridges, and cavities uniquely different from skull to skull—that he slowly began forming what would become his lasting legacy: Organology AKA Schädellehre (doctrine of the skull).

Rolls off the tongue!

And what if—here’s where Gall’s revolutionary idea emerged—the bumps and ridges of a person’s skull provided a map to an individual’s psychological landscape, characteristics, personality traits, and more?

He divided the brain into 27 distinct sections, ranging from mechanical ability to love of property, from a talent for poetry to what he chillingly termed the “tendency to murder.” 

He believed that larger brain areas exerted pressure on the skull, causing bumps on the head. In short, you could read a person’s head and make educated assumptions about their faculties and, therefore, their character. It was a simple, seductive idea—and one that caught fire.

Can’t you smell the eugenics?

Gall’s idea of localization (while heavily influenced by his professors and readings) made Gall the first person to create a theory of mental illness as a brain disease.

The implications of Gall’s claims were staggering: the skull was a blueprint to the human mind, accessible through tactile observation.

It was both a science and a promise—a way to understand ourselves and others without the messy uncertainties of the mind. Gall’s theory spread rapidly throughout Europe and was embraced by scientists and the public. And yet, as seductive as phrenology was, its scientific rigor was shaky at best, and its subtext deplorable.

The heart of phrenology (a term originating from the British naturalist Thomas Ignatius Maria Forster in 1815, and wasn’t used in Gall’s lifetime) and other grand ideas was not destined to remain in circles of privilege.

As H.H. “Henry” Goddard did with Alfred Binet’s first IQ Test, two upstate brothers did to Gall, transforming a science practiced in elite circles into a widespread phenomenon. 

Orson Squire Fowler and Lorenzo Niles Fowler came from a modest farming upstate family but, like Gall, were fascinated by unlocking human potential through skull readings.

The brothers discovered phrenology at Amherst College and quickly became its most fervent evangelists. Who wouldn’t be drawn to a science that offered a roadmap to understanding oneself and others, and a tool for self-improvement and social advancement?

The Fowlers saw in phrenology not just a scientific theory, but a business opportunity, and the timing was excellent. 

See how these Brothers brought their junk science to the world, and chance upon the surprising educator, literary giant, and humanitarian who credited head shape analysis for their successes.

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