§ 22. The great Adam Smith, in a book called _Moral Sentiments_, which
he seems to have thought out as a sort of antidote to the selfishness of
the _Wealth of Nations_,[5] managed to deduce all the virtues from this
one root of sympathy. Starting from the fact that man is a gregarious
animal, with social instincts, he showed that the desire to be in
sympathy with our fellow-creatures, and so command their love and
respect, made us watch them, consider what they felt about us, and avoid
everything which might shock or hurt their opinions or their feelings.
It was this indefinite and impersonal public opinion which was by
degrees made a part of ourselves, and under the name of conscience was
set up as ‘a man within the breast’ of each of us to approve and
disapprove even our most secret actions.
Footnote 5:
Cf. on the relation of these two books, the highly interesting passage
in H. T. Buckle’s chapter on the development of the Scotch intellect
in his famous _History of Civilisation_.
I quote this once famous theory here, to show how a great thinker,
probably the greatest of his age, estimated the force and influence of
sympathy; and whatever exaggerations he may have made concerning it in
the province of morals, it seems hard to over-estimate it in the
province of social intercourse. The first condition of any conversation
at all, is that people should have their minds so far in sympathy that
they are willing to talk upon the same subject, and to hear what each
member of the company thinks about it. The higher condition which now
comes before us is, that the speaker, apart from the matter of the
conversation, feels an interest in his hearers as distinct persons,
whose opinions and feelings he desires to know.
This is the real secret of the power of personal beauty in society. Only
a very small number of people will fall in love with each beautiful man
or woman. But nearly every one will be so far attracted by beauty that
he will pay attention to what the beautiful person says, and feel a keen
interest to know what mind and temper accompanies such perfection of
form. Thus personal beauty secures the sympathy of any company, so much
so, that even when found out to be a mere shell, with no mental force
behind it, the attraction lasts, and lends some charm to what would
otherwise be called trivial and stupid. This natural sympathy with
beauty of external form is a sort of symbol of the feeling which seeks
for any mental beauty or advantage to be found in a company, and by
showing an interest in it, disposes the possessor of it to expand and
become friendly in response to such appreciation. The sympathetic man
will feel that his company talk best about the things they know best, or
have had special opportunities of learning, and he will be naturally
anxious to find the best side of them, and to exhibit it by his
suggestions. And as in every conversation there must not only be good
talking but good listening, the intellectual gifts which make the talker
are often marred if he has not the sympathy which makes the listener.
This remark suggests that the social virtues of the sexes are broadly
distinguished by some such principle. Women ought not to be obliged to
lead in a conversation, but it will grow dry and dull if they are not
ready with their sympathy to hear what is said with pleasure, and to
stimulate others by quick and intelligent appreciation. I have known a
clever woman maintain a deservedly high character for her conversation
who really said very little, but was so sympathetic that she made her
guests eloquent, and thus so thoroughly pleased with themselves, that
she was lit up by the glow of their satisfaction, and earned very justly
the credit for talking well simply because she made others talk. There
is probably no social talent higher than this—or rarer.
§ 23. But I suppose no one will be disposed to dispute this, or to
underrate the value of sympathy as a quality for conversation. It is
much more likely that people may think to simplify the whole matter by
arguing that, with the postulate of some brains and some education, all
that is required is sympathy, and the more of it the better, so that
nothing else remains to be said. We must, therefore, consider carefully
how far this is true, and whether there be not some important
limitations which complicate the question.
There is one on the very surface. Sympathy must not be excessive in
quality, which makes it demonstrative, and therefore likely to repel its
object. We have an excellent word which describes the over-sympathetic
person, and marks the judgment of society, when we say that he or she is
_gushing_. Of course as women are more frequently endowed with this
virtue than men, they also err more frequently in the excess, at least
in Teutonic races, for among Latin races a gushing man is quite a common
phenomenon. This sort of person not only volunteers to show his sympathy
before it is required, and often spoils conversation at the outset, but
is ever ready to agree with everybody, so making a discussion, which
implies differences in opinion, impossible. There results a social
impression of a mixed kind, which is even more disagreeable than
downright dislike, and therefore socially worse—I mean that of feeling a
dislike and contempt for a person who is known to be full of goodness
and benevolence. Many people resent being obliged to confuse their
judgment in this way, and feel a stronger antipathy to this marred
goodness than to proclaimed evil.
In the next place, sympathy must not be excessive in quantity or
indiscriminate, otherwise it ceases to have any great social value. The
most seductive way of conveying your sympathy to another is to join with
him in some strong antipathy, thus showing that all the world cannot
claim your friendship, but that you distribute your likes and dislikes
with judgment and discrimination. A man who is known to have a special
sympathy for some particular age or sex or class in society is far more
agreeable to that class than he who embraces all the world in his
affections. Nay, if one usually reserved or shy expands for once, or to
some few people, in contrast to his usual habit, this sympathy is indeed
treasured as a real token of confidence.
These and many similar observations, which will occur to the intelligent
reader, will indicate how important are the limitations of sympathy, and
how essential it is that this, like every other social virtue, should be
carefully husbanded, and not squandered at random without regard to its
value. I should add that the foregoing remarks are specially applicable
to English (I do not mean English-speaking) society. There is no people
more distant and reserved in social intercourse, or that more resents
any display of feeling, most of all of sympathy, without a careful
introduction and considerable intimacy among the company. Thus those who
are accustomed to freer and more outspoken societies, not to say French
and Italian life, may make social mistakes in England on the score of
sympathy, which are sins only in the heavy atmosphere of Anglo-Saxon
manners.
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