Dedicated to Eva Pasco who has also written about her passion for the world of scent.
This is another excerpt from my book WISDOM OF THE SENSES. Interested readers can let me know through reviews/comments if they are interested in seeing more of the chapter.
THE EVOCATIVE POWER OF SCENT
by John Herlihy
A careful study of the dusky archives of history both ancient and modern reveals a human fascination with the undeniable powers of scent. The varied aspects of its mystery, its beauty, and its refusal to give up its dark and ethereal secrets have captured the minds and hearts of people everywhere down through the ages. Men and women throughout history have sought a variety of ways to fulfill their instinctive desire to raise their spirits and smell the scents of the paradise. In today’s environment with its secular worldview and the propensity of people the world over to base much of their understanding of the reality of the world on the perception, if not the raw experience, of their senses, scent has undoubtedly played a predominant role in the way humans define their experience of the world.
Scent is nothing if not provocative, evocative, erotic, compelling, alluring, pungent, disgusting, revolting, nauseating, and sickening; creating a virtual drama of conflicting emotions that set the scene and color our reactions to every experience from eating to intimacy. Adjectives abound in every language that endeavor to articulate in words the essence of a meaning that captures the quality at the heart of a particular scent, running the gambit from the sublime to the revolting. Just read the attempted description on the back of French wine label to appreciate the extend people will go in their attempt to describe the impossible. Scent projects into the air, then into the nose, and ultimately the human sensibility the aromatic essence of a thing with its summative statement “here I am; this is what I am and what I have to offer.” There is no secret to the knowledge, and its fascinating history will verify, that the human sense of smell contains evocative powers that can raise the human sensibility on high to the very threshold of the paradise or cast the anguished mind down into the depths of the realm of revulsion and despair from which they may never fully return, all attributable to the incredible range of octave notes on the scale of olfactory sensation. From the sublime to the repulsive, we smell our way through the approbation and censure of our experiences of the world. Through smell, we can identify the true polarity of any olfactory experience in life.
There is a fleeting quality to the sense of smell that leaves us unsatisfied and longing for more, provided it emanates from the pole of pleasure; from the pole of displeasure, we flee in horror from its corrupting wake. It is as if a given scent has no true history and not recognizable future; but rather lives only in the present moment. The smell of the lilac and the distinctive odor of burning autumn leaves was the same during the time of the Roman empire as it was on the streets of New England last Fall. Only the immediate experience gives value to its name and while odors linger, they do not last and they are almost impossible to resurrect through memory even if a given scent sends memory afloat through a myriad of remembrances. On the contrary, their distinctive odors evoke memory and serve as a strong remembrance of that which is associated with its distinctive scent, and yet we cannot fully remember the essence of a scent until it makes itself known and we experience it again, reviving its history once again into an immediate experience we cannot deny. From an evolutionary point of view, the power of scent is one of the most ancient of the senses, the primitive sense if you will, that served as a means of identification for food, people, predators, pleasure, pain, danger. If the sense of smell is well tuned, as we expect all the senses were in more primitive times, as with wild animals not to mention proto-forms, it is an effective instrument through which the environment and the natural order communicate with us their hidden secrets.
There is an intensity to the sense of smell and the odors that invade the olfactory canals that leaves us wondering if it is possible to have too much of a good thing. All of the five senses are conduits of things whose ultimate destination we never seem to reach, so that when we do fall victim to some chance intensity of sound or smell, we can wonder if enough is already too much. We have a hint of something sweet or sour, brash or revolting; but we never fully arrive on the other side of the smell and perhaps that is a mercy in itself. The scent of jasmine is glorious, but we could only stand so much and we sense an instinctive limit; we do not want to arrive at the heart of the jasmine flower when the sight of the bud and the smell of its nectar will suffice to bring us into its presence without losing our own identity to the identity of the flower. The sacred aromatic odor of incense has the power to elevate the spirit, its pungent smoke invades the nostrils with its distinctive intensity and recreates for us in a sniff every temple, church or mosque we have ever visited. Scent should titillate but not intoxicate the centers of sensation, just as images should encapture meaning and suggest significance without blinding the mind with flashes of light without the defining distinctions of color to guide the way toward a sensible impression that is understandable and has meaning.
Odors are the advertisement of all they inhabit and serve; it is up to us to read the messages that they reveal to us. Borne on high by an invisible force, they reveal the wanderings of the wind even by their scents alone. Seafarers detect the richly scented bouquet of land-winds far at sea, while farmers who live close to the land and are attuned to the forces of nature pick up the fragrance of impending rain on the invisible currents of the north wind. The odor of earth within the plowed fields or the smell of semen emanating from freshly cut grass or the salty smell of the sea in the wind along the seashore all merge together with the smell of cut flowers and cooked spices and take their rightful place within the history of scent until we may hear them all chanting together in one grand anthem that rises to the heavens in a clear inner vision that falls back to earth as a sweet remembrance of a higher order of reality. We are all earth-bound passengers on a journey of discovery, but we all travel the Milky Way together, men and women, scents on the wind, the trees of the forest and the flowers waving in the meadows, all travelers across distance and time in search of the meaning that every created thing is attempting to reveal. Many things and many journeys, some of them extensive, like the scent of the sea borne far inland by the wind or the warning of storm winds in the moisture of the air, all journeys of a sort that reveal unexpected destinations through sight and sound and scent, in sight of that distant Milky Way whose true destination reveals itself only at night to the inspired dreamer with a searching eye.
* * * *
Scents have always played a major role in making connections with the spiritual world. The tombs of swamis, walis and saints often exude a peculiar odor that is attributed to the presence and spirit of the holy person as a linger residue of their sacred presence. A reminder if you world of all that is sacred and holy with a power that is strong enough to resurrect sacred feelings of those visiting the tomb. I remember an unusual experience I had when visiting various places in Istanbul, Turkey. I found myself one afternoon looking past the grill into a mausoleum in which resided the tomb of Suleiman the Magnificent (1494 – 1566) alternatively known as the Lawgiver. Here was the greatest warrior of the Ottoman empire who reigned for 46 years and extended the Ottoman empire to the gates of Vienna and as far West as Algeria in North Africa. He presided over the Golden Age of the Ottoman Empire during a time that represented the pinnacle of cultural achievement in terms of architecture, literature, art, theology and philosophy. I stumbled upon the tomb by accident one afternoon, in back of the Suleimani Mosque in central Istanbul. The domed mausoleum was grand enough in terms of design and architecture. The tomb of the great sultan was raised on a dais and covered with a green cloth inscribed with Quranic calligraphy with gold-embroided script. While I assumed that the tomb held some personage of renown within its cold embrace, I had no idea it was the illustrious Suleiman himself, the great 16th century monarch who was the rival of King Henry the VIII of England and Ivan the IV of Russia, so-called “the Terrible” (Ivan Gronzy) until I read through my guidebook and realized it was none other than the Magnificent himself. There were a few other people milling about; but I had the grilled window to myself through which you could see inside the mausoleum. In spite of the heat of the day, there was a cold and dusty chill emanating from the enclosure of the tomb as I put my face to the grill and the scent of dead leaves and mouldy wood assaulted my nose with its aura of death and decay that even the Quranic calligraphy encircling the vaulted dome couldn’t dissipate. Wherever the soul of the great Suleiman had ended up, it certainly hasn’t lingered here in this neglected and abandoned burial place amid the shadows and cobwebs of an eternal death.
This experience stands in stark contrast to another tomb that I took the opportunity of visiting just outside of Istanbul. It was not easy to get to and required that I take several buses asking directions along the way; but it was worth the effort of my part to find the Eyup Sultan Mosque situated outside the walls of Istanbul. The mosque rises on the spot where Abu Ayyub al-Ansare, the standard-bearer of the Prophet Mohammed, died during the Arab assault on Constantinople. His tomb is greatly venerated by Muslims and attracts many pilgrims, although I didn’t know that at the time. It was by accident that I found myself saying the mid-afternoon prayer in the mosque, the third prayer of the day, when the shadow of a man equals his height. After the prayer as I sat down to rest and refresh my soul by reading some Quran, I was befriended by several Turks who sat down on the floor in a circle around me and made their humble introductions. They were interested in my “story” and how I came to be sitting there in the mosque, an experience that is not uncommon for me being a Westerner and something of an anomaly sitting there cross-legged with the Quran spread open before me with its exotic script ornamenting the sun-faded pages. They simply cannot fathom this seemingly alien dream and it always seems to resurrect feelings of happiness and joy in them to learn the story of a person’s conversion to their religion, as though someone had emerged from the depths of some ocean awash with the residue of its sparkling waters. They told me that there was a hadith or traditional saying of the Prophet Mohammed which states that a Muslim convert is guaranteed the Paradise by virtue of this supreme act of conversion. I had heard this many times before, needless to say, and always feel humbled by these remarks and their generous attitude towards me. Before leaving to take their afternoon siesta, they told me about the tomb of Abu Ayyub on the other side of the courtyard of the mosque. I assured them that I would visit the tomb and make my traditional salaams to the beloved flag-bearer of the Prophet, after they took their leave with respectful bows and a warm embrace.
I made my way over to the other side of the courtyard, opposite the central fountain where the worshippers could make their traditional ablutions before the ritual prayer, where I noticed a small domed building inlaid into the surrounding outer wall of the courtyard. There was a grill in the door of the small mausoleum and as I gazed into the dark interior, I was immediately struck by sweet scent of some otherworldly odor that emanated from the tomb. The stone tomb itself rested in the interior of the circular room and was covered with a green gilted clothed and embellished with the elegant calligraphy of some Quranic verses. There is a strong tradition in Islam that identified scent with wind and spirit, the two Arabic words rih and ruh are derived from the same root meaning. The Quran itself states that after Allah had fashioned the human being from water and clay, He “blew into him of His Spirit,” thereby bringing the primordial man Adam to life as the prototype first human being.
And spirit is none other than presence. When the brothers of Joseph brought back his shirt as proof to his bereaved father Jacob that his favourite son was still alive, Jacob immediately smelt the “presence” of his beloved son Joseph in the shirt. When his brothers arrive home, Jacob said: "I do indeed scent the presence (rih) of Joseph.” In its translated form, to "scent the presence" literally means to feel the scent, air, atmosphere, even the breath of Joseph, for the word rih has all these implications and is a close derivative of the word spirit (ruh) in Arabic, the very same ruh that God breathed into the body of Adam. Needless to say, the beatific smells that unexpectedly flooded my sense of smell from the darkness of this tomb, in stark contrast to the mouldy and dank chill of death that emanated from the tomb of Suleiman the Magnificent, lifted my mind and heart out of the doldrums of my routine and sent me soaring upward as if in pursuit of birds in flight. The power of smell evokes higher levels of consciousness and experience that is quite simply undeniable, as much as we would like to deny the presence of God in our midst and live our lives as if He didn’t exist.
However, I was suddenly struck out of my reverie in pursuit of the sublime by the sound of footsteps. Two young men came up and stood beside me, attempting to peer through the grill into the interior of the tomb. They both nodded and uttered the ritual salaam to me as I stood there on tiptoes looking into the dark interior. I noted that they were both strong, powerful looking men with a somewhat rough-edged demeanor and a little shabbily dressed. I remember thinking, perhaps a little rudely, that I wouldn’t want to meet these Turks in some dark alley under other circumstances. I politely stepped aside and gave way to their supplications to the saint buried within. I wondered briefly if they could smell what I did; but I didn’t have to wait long for an answer to my rhetorical inquiry. While one of them stood there and looked with interest into the enclave of the tomb, the other’s face had reddened noticeably and he was holding both hands cupped in front of his face in a posture of grave supplication. At first, it is not something that I might not have paid much attention to, and when I did notice something amiss, thought nothing of it until he suddenly began to sob quietly with a great heaving of his massive shoulders. At first, I was stunned and looked with renewed interest into the depths of the tomb to see what he was seeing and had not noticed on my own. The other man began to comfort his friend, putting his hand over his shoulders and whispering soft Turkish phrases into his ear; but the friend would not be consoled and gave himself up completely to the emotion of the moment. He continued to utter profound sobs, as though he had some special insight that the world was about to end or that some profound personal misery was weighing unmercifully upon his shoulders.
A small wind blew around us as I felt myself caught up suddenly into the emotion of the moment. I looked into the tomb once again and thought of the great flag-bearer and companion of the Prophet whose remains lay within the enclosure and had done so for centuries; but what matters time in the face of an eternity of repose. The more the young man wept, the more I felt caught up suddenly in the spirit of the moment to the extent that the man now fell down on his knees and put his hands to the grill as though clinging for life. I myself began to weep, first innerly with a sinking of the heart and then real tears began to sprout from my eyes and down my cheeks as I surrendered to a moment that had suddenly and unexpectedly become irrevocably sacred. This was the so-called “gift of tears” of which the traditions speak, when, sparked by some unexpected catalyst, deep spiritual emotion comes to the surface of human consciousness with an overwhelming sense, first of a deep humility, followed then by profound awe in the face of some overwhelming reality, indeed the only reality that matters. It is an experience of high spiritual sentiment that actually induces real tears, in addition to the heart-felt sense of the sacred that we wish we could carry in the first tier of our consciousness everyday of our lives, but that we are grateful to have experienced for at least a few moments on rare occasions such as this. It is an act of purification followed by a radiant sense of bliss that is the inevitable result of some true realization of what condition we are in and what we have done or not done, followed by joy in the realization that there is a Supreme Being there to shed his blessing and light upon us and lead us to perfection that is the true vocation of humanity. The moment passed into eternity; but has lingered on some shelf of the mind to remind me of the sweet promise that life holds in its embrace and that sometimes finds its way into the tears of a raw emotion that ends up purifying the heart with the waters of its sweet revelation. Such is the experience of the world. You enter a mosque to say a simple, ritual prayer, and leave it later in the afternoon a changed person with a shaken soul.
Since all senses are interconnected and part of our innate survival mechanism, more useful when we were hunters and gatherers, it is only natural that a certain scents can trigger emotions. However, in the case you relate here, I think it was more your innate empathy that triggered your emotion related to the young man, and not the scent emanating from the tomb.
Once again, your way with words in your description of olfactory adventures is almost beyond comprehension, much more literary than scientific and very rich. However, there does seem to be a tendency towards repetition, that, I think, a good editing might remove and not take away the richness.
While I was reading I thought of the dog with a sense of smell 20 times greater than ours. And yet they have no trouble with putrid smells that we can barely stand. I am surprised that you did not discuss perfume and its effort to disguise less desirable scents. I believe I recall that certain incense and other aromatic herbs were replaced in Egyptian tombs, probably to give the deceased pleasant aroma if the afterlife and to ward off the evil smells of death and decay.
While I have no allergies to any of the no suspects, including poison ivy, I find myself highly irritated by some perfumes that women think make them attractive. One scent from childhood that I cannot stand is camphor. Because my hands are paralyzed and my torso now very unsteady, I have great difficulty holding cups and glasses to drink. Therefore, I use a straw. Even water tastes better when you can smell it as you drink it, so I miss the smell of various things that I drink with a straw. Fortunately, with help until the glass is only about one third full and I can handle it, I still drink my evening wine in a glass and am able to savor its full richness.
My sincere gratitude to you for dedicating this moving piece to someone who has, since childhood, been ruled by the olfactory sense. Having read "Song of the Hinge," I am not surprised you would have a keen sense of smell, and be moved by your olfactory sensation outside the tomb of Abu Ayyub al-Ansare.
You already know how Mid-Easterners have a penchant for the art of perfumery. One of your many profound statements in this article which sums up my lifelong obsession with fragrances is that they have the ability to "raise the human sensibility on high to the very threshold of a paradise ..." It is one of the ways through which I seek tranquility. I've yet to come across a perfume to capture in a bottle the intoxicating fragrance of sea roses predominant throughout the coastal areas I frequent in RI. That would be nirvana!
At the heart of the eight compelling nonfiction stories and five-article appendix which make up Dreams of the Immortal City Savannah is this interesting question: What would your life mean if you were living someone else's dream of what it should be?
An account of adventures in Scandinavia that involved flying dragons, Russian and German submarines, old WW2 era battlefields, Finnish foxes (female kind), Finnish-Mexican cuisine and much more. Written for the most part with a light touch, it ends o
THE EVOCATIVE POWER OF SCENT
