The Senses and the Mind

by Anonymous

This muscular sense is sometimes called the sense of motion; and rightly, because it is a feeling of muscular action; not a feeling of extraneous bodies, but a feeling of what passes within ourselves, as far as such feeling is permitted (many internal operations go on without our consciousness)—a feeling of what we do, according to our will, and the permission of God Almighty. Does the uninstructed man, who looks upon and admires a lovely landscape, think about the inverted picture on his retina? No. Does the athlete who lifts a great weight think of the biceps, or the deltoid, or the pectoral muscles? No. But does he not feel, while he strives, while he struggles, while he runs, an internal consciousness of action totally distinct from touch?

This perception is termed by sir Charles Bell the "muscular sense." He thus illustrates his idea: "When a blind man, or a man with his eyes shut, stands upright, neither leaning upon nor touching aught, by what means is it that he maintains the erect position? The symmetry of his body is not the cause. The statue of the finest proportions must be soldered to its pedestal, or the wind will cast it down. How is it, then, that a man sustains the perpendicular posture, or inclines in a due degree towards the winds that blow upon him? It is obvious, that he has a sense by which he knows the inclination of his body, and that he has a ready aptitude to adjust it, and to correct any deviation from the perpendicular. What sense, then, is this? for he touches nothing, and sees nothing; there is no organ of sense hitherto observed which can serve him, or in any degree aid him. Is it not that sense, which is exhibited so early in the infant in the fear of falling? Is it not the full development of that property which was early shown in the struggle of the infant, while it lay in the nurse's arms? It can only be by the adjustment of muscles that the limbs are stiffened, the body firmly balanced and kept erect. There is no other source of knowledge but a sense of the degree of exertion in his muscular frame, by which a man can know the position of his body and limbs, while he has no point of vision to direct his efforts, or the contact of any external body. In truth, we stand by so fine an exercise of this power, and the muscles are, from habit, directed with so much precision and with an effort so slight, that we do not know how we stand. But if we attempt to walk on a narrow ledge, or stand in a situation where we are in danger of falling, or rest on one foot, we become then subject to apprehension; the actions of the muscles are, as it were, magnified, and demonstrative of the degree in which they are excited.

"We are sensible of the position of our limbs; we know that the arms hang by the sides, or that they are raised and held out, although we touch nothing and see nothing. It must be a property internal to the frame by which we thus know the position of the members of our body; and what can it be but a consciousness of the degree of action, and of the adjustment of the muscles? At one time, I entertained a doubt whether this proceeded from a knowledge of the condition of the muscles, or from a consciousness of the degree of effort which was directed to them in volition. It was with a view to elucidate this that I made the observations which terminated in the discovery that every muscle had two nerves; one for sensation, and one to convey the mandate of the will, and direct its action. I had reasoned in this manner: we awake with a knowledge of the position of our limbs; this cannot be from a recollection of the action which placed them where they are; it must, therefore, be a consciousness of their present condition. When a person in these circumstances moves, he has a determined object, and he must be conscious of a previous condition before he can desire a change, or direct a movement."

In walking, riding, swimming, and other bodily exercises; in writing, playing on the piano, or any other instrument of music, the muscular sense is called into activity, and co-operates with the senses of sight, touch, etc. Muscular exertion is in itself pleasurable, when not pushed too far; and, indeed, the healthy condition, both of the body and mind, results from muscular exertion, and the alternations of activity and repose. The appointment of man, after the fall, to a life of labour, was a judgment tempered by mercy. Man is not destined to lead a life of sloth or supineness, but, urged on by his natural wants, he cultivates the ground, he tames the wild beast of the forest or mountain, he builds houses, he constructs ships, he clothes himself with fabrics, he surrounds himself with the comforts, the decencies, the luxuries of life, and in every work which his hands find to do his muscular sense is in requisition; it is this sense which appreciates resistance, which enables us to balance our bodies, to move with gracefulness, to run, to walk, to leap, to throw the shuttle with precision, or wield the hammer with skill. It is improved by education; the child learns first to walk, and then to run and leap, and in due time to know its own strength, and also the best mode of employing that strength, without reflecting upon the laws of mechanics, or any philosophic theories. It is evident, then, that we have "a perception of the condition of the muscles previous to the exercise of the will," and that with respect to the hand, "it is not more the freedom of its action which constitutes its perfection, than the knowledge which we have of these motions, and our consequent ability to direct it with the utmost precision."

That the lower animals are endowed with this muscular sense cannot be doubted. It enables the tiger to spring with accuracy upon his prey, the cat upon the mouse, the greyhound in pursuit of the hare when to make the fatal snap, and the horse to leap the fence, which his eye tells him is within his power; it teaches the loris to creep upon its victim, as slowly but as surely as the hand on the clock-face traverses the dial-plate, and attains the given number; it is immediately connected with instinct, and man, when he steps aside to avoid a threatened stroke, or raises his arm to parry a blow, puts the muscular sense into exercise.

The muscular sense is, to use a homely expression, an every-day working sense; touch and sight are its prime supporters, and to these in turn it lends its aid. Nevertheless, to a certain degree it is independent of them; the infant seeks the breast as it were by an instinctive impulse, or applies the coral to its mouth; and in the dark as well as in the light, we transmit our food directly and precisely to the organs of mastication and deglutition, without thinking upon the manner in which the varied actions are performed, or even transiently noting them. We will to perform an act within our power of achievement, and by the complicated action of muscles, nerves, vessels, and bones, we accomplish our object, at the same time, perchance, we know not the origin and insertion of a single muscle, the direction of a single nerve, the course of a single artery.

The muscular sense is, in fact, in perpetual exercise; it is intimately connected with self-consciousness, for we feel that we corporeally exist, that other bodies exist around us, that they resist us, that they lead us to calculate our own powers, nor will all the arguments of the school of Berkeley convince us that we exist only in idea. When Dr. Johnson stamped upon the ground to disprove Berkeley's idea, he was right.

So much for the senses with which we are endowed, and the information which the mind receives through their respective channels. They teach us all that we know concerning the qualities of matter, and they subserve many of our enjoyments—they are essential to our comfort, our activity, our usefulness; but we gain through their medium no abstract truths, no determinate principles. These are elaborated in the mind itself by its own self-analysis; but, then, they do not teach us our own position as it respects time and eternity. The wisest of the heathens of Greece or Rome lived in doubt, entangled in the mazes of a vain system of philosophy; and though they might believe in a god, or in gods, deducing their arguments as to the existence of an all-powerful Being from the works of nature, and from that internal conviction which seems common to the human race—they knew nothing of His attributes, of his laws, of his requirements, of man's fallen nature, of the intrinsic sinfulness of the heart, of the means of grace, of a hope of glory. They could write noble poems, deep philosophic treatises, histories of empires, narratives of events, details of characters, descriptions of works of art; they could carve statues of matchless perfection, and build temples of surpassing splendour. They displayed an intellectual pre-eminence, which still sheds a lustre over the civilized world. Who by searching can find out God? Unless God graciously reveals himself to us, a true knowledge of him in our fallen state is impossible; the capabilities of our minds are, after all, but limited; and though, through reflection on the evidences of our senses, we may come to the conclusion that there is an omnipotent Power, we remain in ignorance as to what that Power is, and as to our relationship thereunto. Hence, then, the necessity of information beyond what the mind can gain through the senses, or by its own reflex operations; we are conscious of our position as respects the lower animals, and we have natural longings after and hopes of immortality; the soul whispers to itself, Non omnis moriar, I shall not all die; but here, were it not for revelation—a revelation from God, we should be left in darkness.

God gave a revelation of his will to Adam; our first parents transgressed, but then in mercy a promise was given, that the seed of the woman should bruise the serpent's head. God gave a further revelation of his will to Moses, with promises and commands, and elected from among the nations a peculiar people, of whom from the line of Jesse after the flesh should arise the Messiah; in Him are all the promises and prophecies centred, and through him the great revelation of God's purposes of mercy to a fallen world was ordained to be published. The Messiah came; He of whom Isaiah prophesied; the despised and rejected of men—God manifest in the flesh. The prophet's words were verified, "He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed."[23]

[23] Isa. liii. 5.