The Senses and the Mind

by Anonymous

The senses of smell and taste require a passing notice. We conjoin these senses together, because the latter depends much for its discrimination on the functional perfection of the former; in fact, much of that which in the enjoyment of food is commonly attributed to the sense of taste, depends on the odour carried from the mouth to the nose. If, for example, we masticate any spice, or aromatic substance, as cinnamon, while at the same time the nostrils are strongly compressed, and breathing through those channels obstructed, we perceive no definite flavour from the spice, although the essential oil expressed may sting the tongue and palate. Stoppage of the nasal passages, from catarrh, influenza, or other affections, and preternatural dryness or thickening of the schneiderian membrane, impair or destroy both the sense of smell and taste. We may here observe, that irritation of the schneiderian membrane by ammonia, by snuff, and other things of the like nature, has nothing to do with the sense of smell residing in the nerves of that membrane: smell is the appreciation of odours; any delicate membrane may be irritated, as, for example, the conjunctiva of the eye. With irritants, scents may be combined; in such admixtures for the stimulation of the olfactory nerves many persons eagerly indulge, and under certain circumstances they are medicinally useful; but it is the perception of scent or odour, irrespective of irritation, which is the proper function of the olfactory nerves.

With respect to taste, this sense resides in a branch of the fifth cerebral nerve, called, from its function, gustatory. For the sensation of taste, moisture must be present; an utterly insoluble body, as crystal, is tasteless; we reduce to a pulp, by means of the teeth and the saliva, the food which we eat, excepting, indeed, such articles as come under the denomination of drink, or, in other words, viands in a fluid state, such as wine, ale, coffee, etc. Perfectly pure water is tasteless.

The contact of two metals in the mouth, producing a galvanic discharge, excites a sensation or flavour which cannot be well described; but the moisture of the saliva is requisite for the effect. It is said, that the superior flavour of porter drunk out of a pewter vessel results from a slight galvanic action going on. Mr. Mayo says, "various substances, after exciting the sense of touch on the fauces, and that of taste on the tongue, are capable of producing a third impression, which is popularly referred to the palate, but which is really felt upon the sentient membrane of the nostrils." In the case of metals taken into the mouth, this mode of the reception of flavour would appear to take place.

Loss of taste, like that of smell, may arise from various causes; when the mouth is parched up by fever or intense thirst, the sense of taste is greatly impaired, or even altogether suspended; but this condition may be regarded as temporary. A few instances have come under our own observation, in which, though the senses of smell and taste were not obliterated, they were extremely obtuse, insomuch that the most nauseous medicines or offensive odours created no feeling of repugnance or disgust, and the most delicate viands, or the fragrance of sweetest flowers, no pleasurable sensation. In idiots, this loss of taste and smell is far from being uncommon; but it is not to such that we here allude, nor is it to those who have suffered from repeated partial strokes of paralysis or apoplexy, but to persons of sane mind and sound health. In such cases, the deficiency is either in the sensitive and conducting power of the nerves, or in some a loss of tone in the portion of the brain to which they immediately lead—at all events, a barrier is interposed between organic structure and the mind.

As far as the operations of intellect are concerned, the loss of smell or of taste is of secondary consideration; these senses administer to our animal enjoyments rather than to the spiritual part of our being; nevertheless, mind and body are so united that the breath of early flowers, the incense of the fields, the balmy breeze, the taste of wholesome food, or of the refreshing draught, call forth the feelings of the mind, awaken gratitude, and lead us to offer up our thanks to Him who is the Giver of every good.

With respect to the sense of touch, we have few additional observations to make; this sense is trained to its highest perfection in those who are born blind, and who from early childhood have acquired the habit of supplying by its exercise their visual deficiency, as far as one sense can compensate for the loss of another. In the educated blind, the faculty of distinguishing minute differences in impression, and of receiving from a given surface of sentient integument the largest number of separate sensations of contact, appears most remarkably developed; in the blind, too, the exploring movements of touch are performed with the most skill and delicacy. To so high a pitch, indeed, is the sense of touch elevated, that many have been led to believe that the blind are even capable of appreciating colour; it may be, we admit, that they are able to detect by touch certain differences of texture, which depend on the chemical processes of dyeing, or on certain modes of preparation connected with the impartation of colour to the surface of objects, and thus discriminating or analyzing, may be taught to associate the name of blue with one sensation, of red with another, and so on—more than this is impossible.

Obtuseness of feeling, or of tact, arises from various causes; the horny hand of the labourer is less discriminative than that of the man who is not called to toil in the field, or work at the anvil. As regards feeling, independent of the pure sense of touch, there is much difference even among individuals, according to the general nervous susceptibility of the frame. Among the North American Indians this susceptibility is less than among Europeans, as may be concluded from the horrid details given by Mr. Catlin, and others, who have witnessed the revolting practices of the red men of the western world.

Loss of feeling, or of tact, in one or more limbs, is the result of paralysis, and other morbid conditions of the system, to which our frail tenement is subject. The same observations apply to the muscular sense, which sense is moreover deranged, or suspended, during a fit of intoxication, (Proh pudor!) or when placed on some dizzy height, one, unaccustomed to such a situation, is agitated by extreme terror. The sailor in the rigging of the topmast, the cragsman of the Hebrides, the hunter of the chamois, have learned to surmount such a sense of fear, and are secure in their place of peril. The loss of sensibility, and the loss of the muscular sense, can never pervade the whole frame, till that hour arrives when the soul is about to quit its mortal abode, and enter the regions of another world. To this condition all are destined—the sentence of death is gone forth! Oh that, while living, while in the enjoyment of our senses, and of the energies of our body, we may "lay hold upon eternal life," and live as "dying daily!" Let us aim at being able to appropriate to ourselves the expression of the psalmist, "My flesh and my heart faileth: but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever."[35] No one can say this in verity, who is not established on the "Rock of Ages."

[35] Psa. lxxiii. 26.

The Almighty has not designed that man, even in this his probationary state, should pass through his pilgrimage without experiencing pure pleasures and delights. It is to these that the senses administer, each in its appointed way. The sublimity and the beauty of natural scenery—the grandeur of mountains, forests, and seas—the glory of the sun, moon, and starry expanse above—the works of art, towers, and temples—all these, and more, received into the mind through vision, produce the most delightful emotions. The flowers that strew our pathway, the insects glittering in the sun, the waving cornfields, the grazing cattle, the rustic cottage of the hardy labourer—all combine to fill the soul with pleasure and thankfulness. Can we listen to the roar of waters, to the deep murmur of the wind rushing through the forest, to the song of birds, or the notes of sweet melody, and feel no pleasure—no spirit of praise and gratitude? Is not food sweet to the healthy appetite? Do we not rejoice in our strength, in the use of our limbs, and in our manual address and precision? Are not the perfumes of flowers, the scent of the bean-field, of the bower of honey-suckle, of the new-mown hay, delicious? Is not the earth full of riches? Has not the Creator adapted it to our pleasures, as well as our necessities, and endowed us with every sense requisite for enjoyment? How delightful to the Christian—how doubly enjoyed by him is nature in all her phases, in all her manifestations, in all her variety! To him nothing is uninteresting, from the mightiest creature to the animalcule, from the cedar to the humble weed; and reflecting that knowledge stores his mind, and pleasure gladdens, refreshes, and animates him, through each respective medium; and delighting in life, and life's enjoyments, he praises God for every bodily and mental endowment, and for all the glorious works which his hands have created—works which lead him to muse upon that inscrutable wisdom, power, love, and consideration, which the Almighty has displayed in fitting the earth for him as his temporary abode—glorious in its mountains, its plains, its seas, and rivers—glorious in the light of day and the darkness of night—glorious in the air and the clouds, in the lightning and the rainbow; but yet an abode to be exchanged by the believer for one infinitely more glorious, in which sin and pain are unknown, and from which mortality is banished for ever.