The constant effects produced by causes which do not appear connected with
them, are phenomena both of organic and inorganic nature which have long
fixed the attention of philosophers, and have not yet been satisfactorily
explained. This operation between distant bodies cannot be traced to any
medium of communication. It arises from an attractive and a repulsive
power that cannot be defined. Almost every substance evinces inclinations
or antipathies; is attracted with more or less strength by one body,
indifferent towards a second, and constantly avoiding a third; nay, bodies
appear to act where they are not present, and where no communication can
exist. We are as ignorant of the nature of these phenomena as of those of
gravitation, magnetism, and electricity. Still, although this medium of
communication is not evident, it must be admitted by inference that there
must exist a connecting channel, although its nature be unknown.
The ancients called sympathy _consensus_, and the moderns have also
defined it a _consent of parts_; nor is this definition incorrect, since
sympathy arises from the relative ties that mysteriously unite our several
organs, however distant and unconnected they may appear; thus establishing
a beauteous harmony between all the functions of the animal economy.
Sympathies must therefore constitute the chief study of the physiologist:
on this alone can the physician ground his investigation of the various
disorders to which flesh is heir. Symptoms arise from sympathies: without
a knowledge of the one we can never attain a clear insight in the other.
Sympathies are of a physical or a moral nature. The first consist, as I
have already stated, of a consent between the different parts of the
organism; the latter of certain impressions, unaccountable, unconquerable,
that harmonize in a multiplicity of phenomena various individuals, or that
induce them, without their being able to assign any reason or motive to
warrant the repugnance, to avoid each other, and not unfrequently to
entertain a feeling of disgust or horror. A secret voice has
spoken,--organism instinctively obeys. Moral sympathies have been defined
as faculties that enabled us to partake of the ideas, the affections, or
the dislike of others; although this sentiment is by no means reciprocal,
and we often dislike those who fondly love us. So far sympathy is
instinctive; yet, like many instincts, it is more or less under the
control of our reason. We often acquire an artificial partiality to
substances that we naturally disliked. Our senses may be considered the
instruments of our sympathies; yet senses are regulated by education and
habit. Oil, olives, tobacco, and various other substances, are naturally,
one might say instinctively, unpleasant to most individuals; yet by custom
they are not only relished, but ardently wished for when they cannot be
obtained. It is the same with our relative partiality or aversion towards
individuals; and indifference is often turned into affection, while the
most ardent love is not far remote from hate, when vanity more especially,
removes its boundaries.
If we admit that our sympathies are lodged in certain specific organs, we
must consider that we are the slaves of organism; whereas it is pretty
positive that to a certain extent we are the slaves of habit. Even the
most ardent and prevailing passions, the indulgence in which has become an
absolute necessity, cease to be brought into action when they have long
remained dormant. To associate our moral sympathies with physical consents
of parts is to level man with the brute creation; although we hourly see
the most decided instinctive dislikes in animals overcome by education. A
mouse may be brought up with a cat, and a hawk with a sparrow; although a
chicken has been known to dart at a fly the moment its head was out of the
egg.
Nor can we view in the same light the affinities of inorganic bodies. They
are subject to chemical laws; each is endowed with specific qualities
that seldom or never vary, and some other body must be interposed to check
their attraction; and that body, in the relation of inorganic matter, may
be compared to the influence of the mind in intellectual beings. In
animals, the very laws of nature are not unfrequently unheeded; and in
these instances natural instincts appear less powerful than the mechanical
discrimination that we witness in vegetable life, where germs, and
molecules, and fibrils not only select each other, according to nature's
harmonic institutions, but actually attract each other from distant
situations. This attractive power is beautifully illustrated in the
mysterious vegetation of the _vallisneria spiralis_, an aquatic plant, in
which the male and female are distinct individuals. The organization of
the male qualifies it to adapt itself to the surface of the water, from
the bottom of which the plant shoots forth, and to float in the middle of
the deep and rapid tide. The female, on the contrary, is only found in
shallow waters, or on shores where the tide exerts but little influence.
Thus differently formed and situated, how does their union take place? It
is a wonderful mystery. As soon as the male flower is perfect, the spinal
stem dries away, and the flower thus separated sails away towards the
shore in pursuit of the female, for the most part driven by a current of
wind or the stream; yet as soon as it arrives near its destination it
obeys a new influence, and is attracted towards the object of its pursuit,
despite the powers of that wind and tide which until then directed it. No
hypothesis, however ingenious, can explain this phenomenon.
Notwithstanding the doctrines of various writers, I am of opinion that our
passions are clearly instinctive, but fortunately more or less under the
control of our mental faculties in well-regulated individuals, who do not
yield to these instinctive feelings an unbridled course; and I doubt much
if there does exist a single passion, however inordinate it may appear,
that cannot be mastered. Both good and evil qualities are frequently
artificial, and arise from peculiar moral and physical conditions.
Self-preservation is an instinctive feeling; yet man will wantonly risk
his existence from false views regarding his social position. Courage has
been considered as differing in its quality (if I may use the term), and
arises sometimes from a natural animal or brute propensity, at others from
calculation and reflection; and the latter most unquestionably may temper
the former. Duclos' distinction between what is called the courageous
heart and the courageous mind, is by no means as objectionable as some of
his opponents maintain. If courage is an instinctive faculty, residing in
a certain organ, how comes it that this organism varies at different
periods? How comes it, moreover, that this variety depends upon
circumstances? I have seen a desperate duellist disgrace himself by a
cowardly flight in the field of battle. I have known an arrant poltroon
defend himself desperately against robbers; and a man, considered of
undoubted courage, surrender his arms to a single footpad. In our
instincts, our sympathies, we are to a certain extent the children of
circumstances; and it would be as absurd to maintain that we cannot
control our moral sympathies, as to excuse the commission of murder or of
theft.
Our physical sympathies are of a nature totally different. Here they are
brought into action according to certain laws of the organization, as
uncontrollable as chemical affinities; and I doubt much whether our
unaccountable antipathies may not be considered as appertaining to this
category: they seem to depend upon certain laws of attraction and
repulsion. The channel of this communication, as I have already observed,
will perhaps remain for ever in utter obscurity. To this day we know not
in what manner certain articles of food and medical substances find a path
to the kidneys with such a rapidity as to render it improbable that it was
through the medium of the circulation. The nature of other physiological
phenomena is equally unexplained. Through what channel of communication
does the cat-hater know that one of these animals is in the room, although
unseen by him? Yet these antipathies might be conquered. A man was wont to
fall into fits at the sight of a spider; a waxen one was made, which
equally terrified him. When he had recovered his faculties, his error was
pointed out, the wax figure was put into his hand without inspiring dread,
and shortly the living insect no longer disturbed him.
Certain antipathies appear to depend upon a peculiarity of the senses. The
horror inspired by the odour of certain flowers may be referred to this
cause. Amatus Lusitanus relates the case of a monk who fainted when he
beheld a rose, and never quitted his cell when that flower was blooming.
Scaliger mentions one of his relations who experienced a similar horror
when seeing a lily. In these instances it is not the agreeableness or the
offensive nature of the aroma that inspires the repugnance; and Montaigne
remarked on this subject, that there were men who dreaded an apple more
than a musket-ball. Zimmerman tells us of a lady who could not endure the
feeling of silk and satin, and shuddered when touching the velvety skin of
a peach. Boyle records the case of a man who felt a natural abhorrence to
honey. Without his knowledge, some honey was introduced in a plaster
applied to his foot, and the accidents that resulted compelled his
attendants to withdraw it. A young man was known to faint whenever he
heard the servant sweeping. Hippocrates mentions one Nicanor who swooned
whenever he heard a flute: our Shakspeare has alluded to the effects of
the bagpipe. Julia, daughter of Frederick, king of Naples, could not taste
meat without serious accidents. Boyle fainted when he heard the splashing
of water; Scaliger turned pale at the sight of water-cresses; Erasmus
experienced febrile symptoms when smelling fish; the Duke d'Epernon
swooned on beholding a leveret, although a hare did not produce the same
effect. Tycho Brahe fainted at the sight of a fox, Henry the Third of
France at that of a cat, and Marshal d'Albert at a pig. The horror that
whole families entertain of cheese is generally known. Many individuals
cannot digest, or even retain certain substances, such as rice, wine,
various fruits, and vegetables.
There are also antipathies that border upon mental aberration. Such was
the case with a clergyman who fainted whenever a certain verse in Jeremiah
was read. I lately dined in company with a gentleman who was seized with
symptoms of syncope whenever a surgical operation or an accident was
spoken of. St. John Long's name happened to be mentioned, and he was
carried out of the room. I have also known a person who experienced an
alarming vertigo and dizziness whenever a great height or a dizzy
precipice was described. A similar accident has been occasioned by Edgar's
description of Dover Cliff in King Lear. All these sympathies may be
looked upon as morbid affections, or rather peculiar idiosyncrasies,
beyond the control of our reason or our volition, although it is not
impossible that they might be gradually checked by habit. Our dislikes to
individuals are often as unaccountable, when we are obliged to confess
with the poet Martial:
Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare;
Hoc tantum possum dicere, Non amo te.
It is the same with our affections. The ancients, amongst others
Empedocles, fancied that attraction and repulsion constituted the
principal actions of life, and harmonized the universe. Hesiod dispels
Chaos through the agency of Love. Aversions were attributed to the
influence of an evil eye. To avoid its direful effects, strange practices
were adopted, according to Tibullus; and to check the malefices of wicked
crones, it was customary to spit three times in an infant's bosom,
Despuit in molles et sibi quisque sinus;
while the well-known amulet representing the god Fascinus, was suspended
round the child's neck. Maidens were veiled to guard them against this
noxious power, and secrecy and retirement were deemed the most effectual
means of security.
Latendum est dum vivimus, ut feliciter vivamus.
In a preceding article I have given a sketch of the custom of
administering love-philters.
The singular sympathies that forewarn a future union between the sexes
have in some instances been most surprising. The following example, that
came within my knowledge, is perhaps one of the most singular: Mr. ----, a
brother officer of mine, was a man of taciturn and retired habits, seldom
frequenting public places of amusement, and, when there, felt any thing
but gratification. One evening after dinner he was, however, prevailed
upon to go to a ball. We had not been long in the room when, to my utter
surprise, he expressed great admiration of a young lady who was dancing,
and, what still more amazed us all, he engaged her to dance. Such an act
of apparent levity on his part struck us as a singularity which might have
been attributed to an unusual indulgence at table, had not the contrary
been the case, for he was remarkably abstemious. The dance was scarcely
over when he came to me, and told me with a look of deep despondency, that
his lovely partner was a married woman. The tone of sadness in which he
addressed me was truly ludicrous. A few minutes after he left the
ball-room. The strangeness of his conduct led me to fear that his mind was
not altogether in a sound state; but I was confirmed in my apprehension
when he told me the following morning that he was convinced he should be
married to the object of his admiration, whose husband was a young and
healthy clergyman in the neighbourhood. Here matters rested, and we both
went abroad. We did not meet until three years after, when, to my utter
surprise, I found that his prediction had been verified. The lady's
husband had died from a fall from his horse, and the parties were married.
But what rendered this circumstance still more strange is, that a similar
presentiment was experienced by the young lady herself who, on returning
from the ball, mentioned to her sister with much emotion, that she had
danced with a stranger, to whom she felt convinced that she was destined
to be married. This conviction embittered every moment of her life, as,
despite her most strenuous endeavours, she could not dismiss her partner
from her constant thoughts, reluctantly yielding to the hope of seeing him
again.
The sympathetic power of fascination is another unaccountable phenomenon.
It is well known that in regions infested with venomous snakes, there are
persons endowed both by nature and by art with the power of disarming the
reptiles of their poisonous capacities. The ancient Cyrenaica was overrun
with poisonous serpents, and the Psylli were a tribe gifted with this
faculty. When Cato pursued Juba over the Cyrenaica desert, he took some of
these Psylli with him to cure the poisoned wounds that these reptiles
might have inflicted on his soldiers. Bruce informs us that all the blacks
in the kingdom of Sennaar are perfectly armed by nature against the bite
of either scorpion or viper. They take the cerastes, or horned serpent,
(one of the most venomous of all the viper tribe,) in their hands at all
times, put them in their bosoms, and throw them to one another, as
children do apples or balls; during which sport the serpents are seldom
irritated to bite, and, when they do bite, no mischief ensues from the
wound. It is said that this power is derived from the practice of chewing
certain plants in their infancy. This is most probably the fact; these
substances may impregnate the body with some quality obnoxious to the
reptile. The same traveller has given an account of several of these
roots. In South America a similar practice prevails, and a curious memoir
on the subject was drawn out by Don Pedro d'Orbies y Vargas, detailing
various experiments. He informs us that the plant thus employed is the
_vejuco de guaco_, hence denominated from its having been observed that
the bird of that name also called the serpent-hawk, usually sucked the
juice of this plant before his attacks upon poisonous serpents. Prepared
by drinking a small portion of this juice, inoculating themselves with it
by rubbing it upon punctures in the skin, Don Pedro himself, and all his
domestics, were accustomed to venture into the fields, and fearlessly
seize the most venomous of these serpents. Acrell, in the _Amoenitates
Academicae_, informs us that the _senega_ possesses a similar power. The
tantalus or ibis of Egypt, that derives its chief food from venomous
animals, depends in a like manner on the protection of antidotes. This
power of fascinating serpents is so great, that they remain totally torpid
and inactive under its influence, and are not even able to offer any
resistance when skinned from tail to head like an eel, and eaten alive.
According to Bruce, they sicken the moment they are laid hold of, and are
exhausted by this invincible power as though they had been struck by
lightning or an electric battery, shutting their eyes the moment they are
seized, and never attempting to turn their mouth towards the person that
holds them. It has been asserted that the Hindoo jugglers render serpents
innocuous by the extraction of their teeth, and although this may be the
practice in some parts of India, it is not generally resorted to in other
countries.
Dr. Mead and Smith Barton of Philadelphia endeavour to explain this power
by the influence of terror. This supposition, however, is not correct,
since the serpent will injure one man and not another, if the latter is
gifted with this faculty and the former one is not. Major Gordon of South
Carolina attributes the fascinating power of reptiles to a vapour which
they exhale and shed around them; and he mentions a negro who, from a
peculiar acuteness of smell, could discover a rattlesnake at two hundred
feet distance. That certain odours are overpowering there is not the least
doubt; and trout and other fresh-water fishes are charmed and caught
without resistance when the hand is smeared with asafoetida, marjoram,
and other aromas. The fishes, delighted no doubt with this odour, or
intoxicated by its power, will actually flock towards the fingers, and
allow themselves to be laid hold of.
Thieves and housebreakers have been known to possess the power of quieting
watch-dogs, and keeping them silent during their depredations. Lindecrantz
informs us that the Laplanders can instantly disarm the most furious dog,
and oblige it to fly from them with every expression of terror. The
strange faculty of taming the most unmanageable horses, possessed by an
Irishman, hence called the _Whisperer_, is well known. Several
horse-breakers have appeared at various periods possessing the same art,
and they would make the wildest horse follow them as tamely as a dog, and
lie down at their bidding. It has been affirmed that these whisperers
introduce a globule of quicksilver, or some other substance, into the
animal's ears. It is, however, more probable that these charmers derive
their power of fascination from some natural or artificial emanation. The
most singular power of fascination is perhaps that exhibited by the
jugglers of Egypt, who, by merely pressing the serpent called _haje_ on
the neck, stiffen the reptile to such a degree, that they can wave it like
a wand.
To explain this sympathetic influence that living beings exercise on each
other, as I have already observed, has long been the study of
philosophers. Their chief theories may be divided into those of the
advocates of _pneumatism_ or _spiritualism_, who maintained that the
nerves transmitted a subtle fluid susceptible of external transmission.
Such were the disciples of Plato; and, amongst the moderns, the Arabian
writers, Paracelsus, Van Helmont, Willis, Digby, Wirdig, and even
Boerhave. The _mechanicians_ formed another class, refusing to admit the
doctrine of influences, and submitting all sympathetic phenomena to the
laws of mechanism and chemistry. Amongst these we find the Cartesians,
Boyle, Hoffmann, and Haller. Their doctrine had already been established
amongst the ancients by Asclepiades. The third system was that of the
_organicians_, who attributed these effects to our organization, governed
by a principle of free agency. In this school are recorded the names of
Hippocrates, Galen, Stahl, Bordeu, and many illustrious writers of various
ages. An investigation of these discrepancies would be foreign to these
sketches. I can only observe, that none of them are tenable, and have only
tended to display scholastic learning and ingenuity, without any practical
beneficial results. Indeed, the only advantages that might possibly accrue
from these pursuits would be the shedding of some faint light upon our
systems of early education, by finding out the most judicious method of
counteracting innate dispositions and peculiar idiosyncrasies.
The life of man is a relative and external existence. He lives in
communion with all around him, and before his ultimate dissolution he is
doomed to die with every object of his affections that perishes before
him. To these objects he has been united by the secret powers of sympathy.
The organism of both appears to have been subject to mutual laws; and
grief and joy, our pains and pleasures, are transmitted with the rapidity
and power of the magnetic fluid. Nor time nor distance can affect these
sympathies, which have been known to remain latent in our breasts till
called into action by accidental circumstances. Thus, a man has never
known how fondly he loved until he was suddenly deprived of the object of
his sympathies, although until that moment this affection had been unknown
even to himself. This circumstance clearly proves that these sympathies
are not under the influence of our imagination. Although it is to this
creative faculty that these reminiscences are attributed by Madame De
Stael in the following exquisite words, "The creative talents of
imagination, for some moments at least, satisfies all our desires and
wishes,--it opens to us heavens of wealth; it offers to us crowns of
glory; it raises before our eyes the pure and bright image of an ideal
world: and so mighty sometimes is its power, that by it _we hear in our
hearts the very voice and accents of one whom we have loved_."
Sympathies might be denominated a moral contagion in mankind: in the brute
creation they merely produce a physical impulse. Reid attributed to the
nervous system an atmosphere of sensibility, influencing all that came
within its range. Ernest Platner maintained that our soul could diffuse
itself in mutual transmission; and in another paper I have shown that life
may be prolonged by sacrificing the health of others, when the genial
warmth of youth is surreptitiously communicated to decrepitude.
What is then this invisible vital fluid, this electric principle, that the
touch, the breath, the warmth, the very aroma of those we are fond of,
communicates, when trembling, fluttering, breathless, we approach them?
that enables us, even when surrounded with darkness, to recognise by the
feel the hand of her we love? Nay, whence arises the feeling of respect
and veneration that we experience in the presence of the great and the
pre-eminently good? It may be said this is the result of our education; we
have been taught to consider these individuals as belonging to a superior
class of mortals. To a certain extent this may be true; yet there does
exist an impressive contagion when we are brought into the presence, or
placed under the guidance, of such truly privileged persons. Their
courage, their eloquence, their energies, their fanaticism, thrill every
fibre, like the vibration of the chord under the skilful harpist's hand.
Actuated by this mystic influence the coward has boldly rushed into the
battle, the timid dared imminent perils, and the humane been driven to
deeds of blood. Fanatic contagion has produced both martyrs and heroes.
Example stimulates and emulates, despite our reasoning faculties. _Regis
ad exemplar totus componitur orbis._ Imitation is the principle of action,
the nursery of good and great deeds. We either feel degraded by the
ascendancy of others, when we fancy, however vainly, that we may attain
their level; or devote ourselves to their cause and their service, when we
tacitly recognize their mastery. It is more particularly in our devotion
and in our love,--two sentiments more analogous than is generally
believed,--that this _mutuality_ of sympathies prevails; and when Galigai
was asked by his judges by what means he had obtained his influence over
Mary of Medicis, his reply was similar to that of the Moor when describing
his course of love,--the witchcraft he had used to win his Desdemona, when
with a greedy ear devouring his discourse.
There is no doubt that education, circumstances, our state of health,
predisposes us more or less to the action of these sympathetic powers, for
then our feelings are actually more or less morbid. Affliction, for
instance, predisposes to tender sentiments. There is perhaps much
psychological matter of fact in the old story of the Ephesian widow; and
our immortal Shakspeare felt the truth not only of the contagion of grief,
but of its consoling power when reciprocally felt, although no doubt the
reciprocity has often been assumed to woo and win.
Grief best is pleased with grief's society.
True sorrow then is feelingly surprised,
When with like feeling it is sympathized.
Fortunately for our frail race, sympathies are liable to be worn out by
their own exhausting powers. Attrition polishes but indurates at the same
time: thus does social intercourse harden our gentle predispositions. The
mathematical world dispels the illusions of our fervent youth, as chilling
truth banishes fancy's flattering dreams. Experience is to man what rust
is to iron; it corrodes, but at the same time protects the metal to a
certain degree, from the magnet's mighty power.
Although the nature of sympathies most probably will never be ascertained,
their study is essential both to the moralist and the physician, and both
may be materially aided in their vocations by the temperament of the pupil
or the patient; for, as I shall endeavour to show in a subsequent sketch,
our temperaments generally indicate individual characteristics. It is in
vain that some philosophers may deny the power of innate faculties and
dispositions. The very expression '_human nature_' implies their
existence. To encourage their growth, or to check their developement,
becomes the duty of those who are entrusted with the education of youth,
when yielding to, or counteracting propensities, becomes as necessary as
the care the horticulturist devotes to his plants. By the inclination that
trees have taken, we can generally learn the prevalent winds of a
district. The plastic hand of our early teachers may, in most instances,
obtain a similar result; though in the vegetable kingdom, as well as in
the animal kingdom, there will be constantly found stubborn trunks that
will resist all influence. Were we to admit that our material organism
cannot be counteracted, we should inevitably fall into many lamentable
errors, and many a crime would be extenuated on the plea of fatalism. It
is to be feared that some of our ingenious theorists have too frequently
tortured organism on a Procrustean couch, to suit their favourite
phantasies. We might reply to the visions of these enthusiasts in the
words of Iago, "Our bodies are our gardens, to which our wills are
gardeners--either to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with
industry. The power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If
the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of
sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to the
most preposterous conclusions."