"Out of the same mouth proceedeth blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not so to be."—James iii.
The actions of the senses must necessarily affect the mind, which is the head steward of the Soul; and the Soul becomes rich in goodness, or poor in sin, in proportion as the stewardship, held by his many servants, is rightly or wrong-fully fulfilled. As in an establishment where the servants are not properly directed and ruled, they often gain the ascendancy, and the master has no power over them, so with man, when he gives himself up to sensual indulgences. The Soul becomes the slave of the senses—the master is controlled by the servants.
With regard to the mechanism of motion, let us take the case of a man who is walking a crowded thoroughfare, and we shall see how active are all the servants of the Soul, under the influence of the mind. He walks along in a given direction. But for the act of volition in the mind, not a muscle would stir. The eye is watching his footsteps. There is a stone in his path, the eye informs the mind, the mind communicates with the brain, and the nerves stimulate the muscles of the leg to lift the foot a little higher, or turn it on one side, and the stone is avoided. The eye alights on a familiar face, and the mind remembers that the eye has seen that face before. The man goes on thinking of the circumstance under which he saw that person, and partially forgets his walk, and the direction of his steps. But the nerves of volition and motion unite to keep the muscles up to their work, and he walks on without having occasion to think continually, "I must continue walking." He has not to make an effort to lift his leg along between each interval of meditation; he walks and meditates the while. Presently a danger approaches him from behind. The eye sees it not—knows no more, in fact, than if it were dead. But the ear sounds the alarm, tells the man, by the rumbling of a wheel, and the tramp of horses' feet, that he is in danger; and then the nerves, putting forth their utmost strength, whip the muscles up to the quick performance of their duty; the man steps out of the way of danger, and is saved. He draws near to a sewer, which is vomiting forth its poisonous exhalations. The eye is again unconscious—it cannot see the poison lurking in the air. The ear, too, is helpless; it cannot bear witness to the presence of that enemy to life. But the nose detects the noxious agent, and then the eye points out the direction of the sewer, and guides his footsteps to a path where he may escape the injurious consequences. A clock strikes, the ear informs him that it is the hour of an appointment; the nerves stimulate the muscles again, and he is hastened onward. He does not know the residence of his friend, but his tongue asks for him, and his ear makes known the reply. He reaches the spot—sits—rests. The action of the muscles is stayed; the nerves are for a time at rest. The blood which had flown freely to feed the muscles while they were working, goes more steadily through the arteries and veins, and the lungs, which had been purifying the blood in its course, partake of the temporary rest.
"I am but a little child: I know not how to go out or come in."—I Kings iii.
Let us remember that there are two sets of muscles, acting in unison with each other, to produce the various motions; they are known by the general terms of flexors and extensors; the first enable us to bend the limbs, the other to bring the limbs back to their former position. The flexors enable us to close the hand, the extensors to open it again. The flexors enable us to raise the foot from the ground; the extensors set the foot down again in the place desired. Consider for a moment the nicety with which the powers of these muscles must be balanced, and the harmony which must subsist between them in their various operations. When we are closing the hand, if the extensor muscles did not gradually yield to the flexors—if they gave up their hold all at once, the hand, instead of closing with gentleness and ease, would be jerked together in a sudden and most uncomfortable manner. If, in such a case, you were to lay your hand with its back upon the table, and wish to close the hand, the fingers would fall down upon the palm suddenly, like the lid of a box. Again, consider how awkward it would be in such a case; our walk through the streets would become a series of jumps and jerks; when a man had raised his foot, after it had been jerked up, there it would stand fixed for a second before the opposite muscles could put on their power to draw it down again. This case is not at all suppositious: there is a derangement frequently observed in horses, in which one set of muscles becomes injured, and we may see horses suffering from this ailment, trotting along with one of their legs jerking up much higher than the others, and set down again with difficulty, just in the manner described.
It is also to be observed that very nice proportions must exist between the sizes of the muscles and the sizes of the bones. If this were not the case, our motions, instead of being firm and steady, would be all shaky and uncertain. In old persons the muscles become weak and relaxed; hence there is a tendency in the movements of the aged to fall, as it were, together; the head is no longer erect, the body bends, the knees totter, and the arms lean towards the body as for support.