PSEUDO-ANTIPATHY
The analysis of antipathy and its relationship to sympathy is a subject which may be worth more detailed and careful study than it appears as yet to have received. It is much less easy to observe in this case than in that of sympathy, and the state itself is happily more rare. In sympathy, a pleasant state and still more as one morally approved, we do not tend ordinarily to suppress the emotional manifestations: they continue naturally with us and can be studied with ease. So sympathy, and all the social emotions for which it furnishes material, has been observed and described with much more care than has yet been devoted to antipathy and its unsocial brood. The latter subject may be less conducive to edification. It is certainly more disagreeable and, therefore, more difficult to pin down in consciousness and describe. I have endeavored as occasion- not very frequently- arose, to pin it down and scrutinize its features. These few remarks on its nature are the result of this scrutiny.
There is a pseudo-sympathy which consists in the arbitrary projection of one's own joys, sorrows, and virtues into another mind,- a work of pure imagination in which the other is seen as the self, without much reference to the signs he gives of his own idiosyncrasy.Similarly there is a pseudo-antipathy, often remarked but very curious, which consists in the careless and arbitrary interpretation of another person's acts and expressions in accordance with the worst side of one's self. Thus we ascribe to him our own defects, and, in proportion as we abhor them, the abhorrence is transferred to him. Just as we project our virtues into another and love them, so do we also project our faults and hate them.It may be that there is a certain wrong-headed sense of cleansing in this hatred of one's besetting sin either realized or imagined in another.
Antipathies--and sympathies--of this kind, being grounded solely on a false imagination of character or state of mind, may be called imaginary, and they are apt to vanish on a better acquaintance. They are unreal of their kind because in the extreme when projection of the self into the other becomes everything and projection of the other into the self nothing at all. In the ratio of these two projections the real types vary indefinitely, and shade off,as the arbitrary personal projection prevails, into this pseudo-type at the end of the scale.
True antipathy, like true sympathy, not only contains but starts from, a true intuition, however obscure and confused, of the other's mind. The most peculiarly sympathetic and deepest sympathies--those which make people think of each other as affinities--have a very profound,extended and, for the most part,obscure intuition at their base. The intuition is so total that in the main its content must lie outside the region of clear consciousness. Hence the delightful quality of mystery--a mystery in this case to be trusted as one trusts oneself. A limited intelligible sympathy extends self beyond self and is very good; but the extension of self without clear limits--not by infatuation for, but by sympathy with, another--is much better, granted always that we know enough to trust it.
This intuition of another, often profound and extended, nearly always in part obscure, appears to be founded in emotional imitativeness. Emotion is always in part obscure, and, in case of imitation, the obscure part may very well come up first. A more or less confusedly takes on the feelings of B. Now, so far as my observation goes, antipathy originates in exactly the same way. The well marked specimens are most fruitful for study; and, certainly, violent, soul-cleaving antipathies exist only between those who feel and read each other closely, and with some consciousness of being dawn into each other against the will.
This is how I find it to occur. Antipathy begins like sympathy in emotional imitativeness; A is drawn out towards B to feel what he feels. If the new feeling harmonises, distinctly or obscurely,with the whole system of A's consciousness (or the part then identified with his will), there follows that joyful expansion of self beyond self which is sympathy. But if not if the new feeling is out of keeping with the system of A's will--tends to upset the system, and brings discord into it--there follows the reaction of the whole against the hostile part which transferred to its cause in B, pushes out B's state, as the antithesis of self, yet threatening self, and offensive.
This is more than mere dislike. We are indifferent to those who do not draw our sympathies,and we dislike those whom we realize as of a nature not to be sympathised with by us. But dislike is a cool state, does not upset our equilibrium- has no thrill about it or not much, unless indeed anger be superadded. Especially it has, as distinguished from antipathy, little of the physical accompaniment, on which, as the whole of emotion, Prof. W. James lays so much stress. Antipathy is full of horrid thrill: it stirs the physical being like a shock: it is a thing of nervous tremors and heart-pangs and even deranged digestion.Sometimes, it seems to begin and concentrate itself throughout in these symptoms--the well-known symptoms of strong painful emotions, as if the whole physical being were compelled to reverse its action and run counter to itself.
Unpleasant symptoms like these arise because the objectionable person comes into the room. The curious thing is that the presence of such a person should excite so much interest.The imagination of the same will sometimes, up to a certain point, produce similar effects; but there seems to be an immense difference in degree between the effect of the imagined and the real presence here, as there is also in the case of sympathy--more difference probably, because it is natural for the healthy mind to shut out antipathetic imaginings with force of will.
It is clear that the physical presence of the antipathetic object arrests attention--fascinates. But more than this is implied in the effect. A physical presence may arrest attention by its deformity of actual body or suggested mind. It may repel, but without the antipathetic sting. The peculiar horror of the antipathy springs from the unwilling response to the state abhorred. We feel ourselves actually like the other person, selfishly vain, cruelly masterful, artfully affected, insincere, ungenial and so on. We feel dramatically like that person,and, summoning all our moral energy to abhor the feeling, we abhor it also in the person who provoked it. If this be so, it is easy to understand the deadly effect of the physical presence. With it there come into the room the physical signs of those emotional states which enforce the superficial response we dread. The perception of these physical signs leads to the instinctive imitation of them, not actually but nascently, and this, being the outside circle of the total emotional state, tends to involve that state more or less obscurely in its train. This is, so far, just what happens in the initial stage of intuitive sympathy: through the nascent imitation of external signs the feeling is taken on. Ordinarily the imitation is only nascent; I get just as far in taking on the other person's pose of the head in straining after effect, as I do in making with my vocal chords the notes of a song to which I listen in perfect silence. Thus, just as I am conscious of ability to join in the song, so am I conscious of a capacity to attitudinise as she does and indulge in a thirst for admiration if I choose. In such cases people sometimes ask their intimate friends whether they do appear like those persons who affect them so. It is only the presence of the "if" that makes the difference. There is some affinity between between those who antipathise, but the affinity is superficial, the divergence rooted deep. That which comes upon me in consequence of the other person is incongruous with something settled and permanent in me--very possibly my moral ideal of self. Incongruity, when too serious for laughter, is pain, and is followed by a revulsion from that which hurts. On the other hand, if the induced emotion is congruous with my moral ideal and lifts me up to a more perfect unity with it, then I throw myself joyfully into the emotion and draw near with affection to the inspiring presence.
Thus the imitative instinct is at once the source of our social and our anti-social nature, on the emotional, as distinguished from the rational, side. If that which I imitate is such that I could have originated it, then, not only do I take it on, but I take it in, responding to it, and this is sympathy. If, on the other hand, it is impossible to my nature as a whole, and yet, by imitative instinct, it gets into my imagination, then I fling it out again with loathing as a foreign thing, and this is antipathy.
Confirmatory evidence may be found in study of the state intermediate between antipathy and sympathy, wherein we, more or less confusedly, take on another person's mind, without either taking it to us or casting it from us. This is a cool state that lends itself well to study when it occurs. Probably it is not very common, but the psychologist may find his opportunity in this that its extremes certainly tend to return to its type when made the object of study. In this state the subject stops short of sympathy and antipathy alike, but the other person has caught hold of the imitative attention, and momentarily imposed, though obscurely, his leadership in feeling. This seems to be little more than pure imitation and hence the obscurity of the feeling, which indeed hardly goes beyond the outer circles of itself. If I knew what it is I am feeling I should know whether I approve of it or not. But I do not know, and am only aware that it is something like what the other person is feeling, or would be if it were to get clearly into my imagination. Mannerisms in another sometimes affect us thus.
The facts seem to be these. In the case of an echo to the other so obscure as this, we cannot strictly be said to feel his feelings at all. But we are moved by the signs of his feelings, as he is moved by the feelings themselves. This obscure state may continue indefinitely, or the feelings corresponding may presently wake up followed by sympathy or antipathy more or less. The exception to this last effect is when they turn out so unimportant as to excite the sense of humor and thus escape antipathy. When the obscure state.continues indefinitely it gives rise to a curious sense of irritation against the person because of his unintelligibility. This may amount to dislike but is hardly antipathy, unless evil affinities are suspected, in which case we get the obscure unexplainable antipathy which is common enough.
What all these obscure echoes show more unmistakeably than the clearer ones is the very external character of the first stage. A is moved before he feels--moved as B is moved. It is not the feeling directly, but the signs of the feeling, which he imitates. His physical being is drawn into unison with B's, and his emotional being is apt to follow, though not necessarily. When it does not follow, there is friction and vexation more or less; when it does follow, there is sympathy or antipathy more or less. Sympathy affects the emotional being as Truth affects the intellect. Antipathy is the recognition of an emotional error. The obscure state affects us like the unknown.
Further confirmation may be derived from consideration of the kinds of persons who, according to the theory, would be apt respectively to provoke and be affected by all these states. Who are these and do they coincide in character with the corresponding persons in our experience? Every reader will best answer the second part of the question for himself. The writer may content herself with answering the first.
Inexpressive people could not be expected to provoke the states as described. This power obviously must belong to the persons who are free in the manifestation of their moods, who have expressive faces, expressive movements of limb, whether aided by eloquent speech and frank nature or not. Gesture is the "magnetism" of the public speaker, and the simple means, though a very complex means, by which men draw other men to follow them, to wonder at them, or to hate them. This we must expect if the incipient imitation of gesture is the means of revelation in another of the man behind. At the same time we should expect that all advantages which show outwardly strengthen the effect--good looks, abundant health and physical energy, a dignified presence and above all, when they show themselves in the presence, a spiritual vitality and concentrated will.
The emotional imitation itself is consequent, first on quick and accurate observation of the other, and secondly on mobility of imagination by which the emotion is constructed from within to join the circle of effects from without. Moreover it would seem that muscular mobility is another requisite, since the conditions of the physical response require that there should be much readiness and rapidity in adapting muscular activity to new forms under the suggestion of vision or visual imagination. Observation, muscular adaptability, imagination are all required for proficiency in the pathetic states. This is the theoretic conclusion and it will be agreed that it is consonant with fact. General mobility of brain and nerve covers all the conditions of the intuitive gift.
For many sympathies in the course fo a lifetime it wold seem that a wide and complex, as well as mobile, nature is required. For decided antipathy a strong nature of marked individuality, but mobile imagination, is essential. Antipathy stands specially in need of mobile imagination as the means of access while certainty of character ensures the subsequent repulsion. The two characteristics of breadth and strength may be found, and more often than not probably are found, in the same person.Then we should expect to find many sympathies and a few marked antipathies not lightly to be disregarded. This is just what experience tells us. The narrower nature has many antipathies, but the permanence of these depends on the firmness of the individual character. Emphatic it must be for antipathy however brief.
A third type occurs which should be noticed. When individuality is not marked, but the imitative instinct good, we have a nature, not very capable of deep sympathy or strong antipathy, but prone to take on the colour of its neighbour for the time being. This is the fluid
impressionable character that prospers amidst good surroundings, but yields to the influences of evil company.In the extreme case it is an instrument on which any other can play any tune.
There is a pseudo-sympathy which consists in the arbitrary projection of one's own joys, sorrows, and virtues into another mind,- a work of pure imagination in which the other is seen as the self, without much reference to the signs he gives of his own idiosyncrasy.Similarly there is a pseudo-antipathy, often remarked but very curious, which consists in the careless and arbitrary interpretation of another person's acts and expressions in accordance with the worst side of one's self. Thus we ascribe to him our own defects, and, in proportion as we abhor them, the abhorrence is transferred to him. Just as we project our virtues into another and love them, so do we also project our faults and hate them.It may be that there is a certain wrong-headed sense of cleansing in this hatred of one's besetting sin either realized or imagined in another.
Antipathies--and sympathies--of this kind, being grounded solely on a false imagination of character or state of mind, may be called imaginary, and they are apt to vanish on a better acquaintance. They are unreal of their kind because in the extreme when projection of the self into the other becomes everything and projection of the other into the self nothing at all. In the ratio of these two projections the real types vary indefinitely, and shade off,as the arbitrary personal projection prevails, into this pseudo-type at the end of the scale.
True antipathy, like true sympathy, not only contains but starts from, a true intuition, however obscure and confused, of the other's mind. The most peculiarly sympathetic and deepest sympathies--those which make people think of each other as affinities--have a very profound,extended and, for the most part,obscure intuition at their base. The intuition is so total that in the main its content must lie outside the region of clear consciousness. Hence the delightful quality of mystery--a mystery in this case to be trusted as one trusts oneself. A limited intelligible sympathy extends self beyond self and is very good; but the extension of self without clear limits--not by infatuation for, but by sympathy with, another--is much better, granted always that we know enough to trust it.
This intuition of another, often profound and extended, nearly always in part obscure, appears to be founded in emotional imitativeness. Emotion is always in part obscure, and, in case of imitation, the obscure part may very well come up first. A more or less confusedly takes on the feelings of B. Now, so far as my observation goes, antipathy originates in exactly the same way. The well marked specimens are most fruitful for study; and, certainly, violent, soul-cleaving antipathies exist only between those who feel and read each other closely, and with some consciousness of being dawn into each other against the will.
This is how I find it to occur. Antipathy begins like sympathy in emotional imitativeness; A is drawn out towards B to feel what he feels. If the new feeling harmonises, distinctly or obscurely,with the whole system of A's consciousness (or the part then identified with his will), there follows that joyful expansion of self beyond self which is sympathy. But if not if the new feeling is out of keeping with the system of A's will--tends to upset the system, and brings discord into it--there follows the reaction of the whole against the hostile part which transferred to its cause in B, pushes out B's state, as the antithesis of self, yet threatening self, and offensive.
This is more than mere dislike. We are indifferent to those who do not draw our sympathies,and we dislike those whom we realize as of a nature not to be sympathised with by us. But dislike is a cool state, does not upset our equilibrium- has no thrill about it or not much, unless indeed anger be superadded. Especially it has, as distinguished from antipathy, little of the physical accompaniment, on which, as the whole of emotion, Prof. W. James lays so much stress. Antipathy is full of horrid thrill: it stirs the physical being like a shock: it is a thing of nervous tremors and heart-pangs and even deranged digestion.Sometimes, it seems to begin and concentrate itself throughout in these symptoms--the well-known symptoms of strong painful emotions, as if the whole physical being were compelled to reverse its action and run counter to itself.
Unpleasant symptoms like these arise because the objectionable person comes into the room. The curious thing is that the presence of such a person should excite so much interest.The imagination of the same will sometimes, up to a certain point, produce similar effects; but there seems to be an immense difference in degree between the effect of the imagined and the real presence here, as there is also in the case of sympathy--more difference probably, because it is natural for the healthy mind to shut out antipathetic imaginings with force of will.
It is clear that the physical presence of the antipathetic object arrests attention--fascinates. But more than this is implied in the effect. A physical presence may arrest attention by its deformity of actual body or suggested mind. It may repel, but without the antipathetic sting. The peculiar horror of the antipathy springs from the unwilling response to the state abhorred. We feel ourselves actually like the other person, selfishly vain, cruelly masterful, artfully affected, insincere, ungenial and so on. We feel dramatically like that person,and, summoning all our moral energy to abhor the feeling, we abhor it also in the person who provoked it. If this be so, it is easy to understand the deadly effect of the physical presence. With it there come into the room the physical signs of those emotional states which enforce the superficial response we dread. The perception of these physical signs leads to the instinctive imitation of them, not actually but nascently, and this, being the outside circle of the total emotional state, tends to involve that state more or less obscurely in its train. This is, so far, just what happens in the initial stage of intuitive sympathy: through the nascent imitation of external signs the feeling is taken on. Ordinarily the imitation is only nascent; I get just as far in taking on the other person's pose of the head in straining after effect, as I do in making with my vocal chords the notes of a song to which I listen in perfect silence. Thus, just as I am conscious of ability to join in the song, so am I conscious of a capacity to attitudinise as she does and indulge in a thirst for admiration if I choose. In such cases people sometimes ask their intimate friends whether they do appear like those persons who affect them so. It is only the presence of the "if" that makes the difference. There is some affinity between between those who antipathise, but the affinity is superficial, the divergence rooted deep. That which comes upon me in consequence of the other person is incongruous with something settled and permanent in me--very possibly my moral ideal of self. Incongruity, when too serious for laughter, is pain, and is followed by a revulsion from that which hurts. On the other hand, if the induced emotion is congruous with my moral ideal and lifts me up to a more perfect unity with it, then I throw myself joyfully into the emotion and draw near with affection to the inspiring presence.
Thus the imitative instinct is at once the source of our social and our anti-social nature, on the emotional, as distinguished from the rational, side. If that which I imitate is such that I could have originated it, then, not only do I take it on, but I take it in, responding to it, and this is sympathy. If, on the other hand, it is impossible to my nature as a whole, and yet, by imitative instinct, it gets into my imagination, then I fling it out again with loathing as a foreign thing, and this is antipathy.
Confirmatory evidence may be found in study of the state intermediate between antipathy and sympathy, wherein we, more or less confusedly, take on another person's mind, without either taking it to us or casting it from us. This is a cool state that lends itself well to study when it occurs. Probably it is not very common, but the psychologist may find his opportunity in this that its extremes certainly tend to return to its type when made the object of study. In this state the subject stops short of sympathy and antipathy alike, but the other person has caught hold of the imitative attention, and momentarily imposed, though obscurely, his leadership in feeling. This seems to be little more than pure imitation and hence the obscurity of the feeling, which indeed hardly goes beyond the outer circles of itself. If I knew what it is I am feeling I should know whether I approve of it or not. But I do not know, and am only aware that it is something like what the other person is feeling, or would be if it were to get clearly into my imagination. Mannerisms in another sometimes affect us thus.
The facts seem to be these. In the case of an echo to the other so obscure as this, we cannot strictly be said to feel his feelings at all. But we are moved by the signs of his feelings, as he is moved by the feelings themselves. This obscure state may continue indefinitely, or the feelings corresponding may presently wake up followed by sympathy or antipathy more or less. The exception to this last effect is when they turn out so unimportant as to excite the sense of humor and thus escape antipathy. When the obscure state.continues indefinitely it gives rise to a curious sense of irritation against the person because of his unintelligibility. This may amount to dislike but is hardly antipathy, unless evil affinities are suspected, in which case we get the obscure unexplainable antipathy which is common enough.
What all these obscure echoes show more unmistakeably than the clearer ones is the very external character of the first stage. A is moved before he feels--moved as B is moved. It is not the feeling directly, but the signs of the feeling, which he imitates. His physical being is drawn into unison with B's, and his emotional being is apt to follow, though not necessarily. When it does not follow, there is friction and vexation more or less; when it does follow, there is sympathy or antipathy more or less. Sympathy affects the emotional being as Truth affects the intellect. Antipathy is the recognition of an emotional error. The obscure state affects us like the unknown.
Further confirmation may be derived from consideration of the kinds of persons who, according to the theory, would be apt respectively to provoke and be affected by all these states. Who are these and do they coincide in character with the corresponding persons in our experience? Every reader will best answer the second part of the question for himself. The writer may content herself with answering the first.
Inexpressive people could not be expected to provoke the states as described. This power obviously must belong to the persons who are free in the manifestation of their moods, who have expressive faces, expressive movements of limb, whether aided by eloquent speech and frank nature or not. Gesture is the "magnetism" of the public speaker, and the simple means, though a very complex means, by which men draw other men to follow them, to wonder at them, or to hate them. This we must expect if the incipient imitation of gesture is the means of revelation in another of the man behind. At the same time we should expect that all advantages which show outwardly strengthen the effect--good looks, abundant health and physical energy, a dignified presence and above all, when they show themselves in the presence, a spiritual vitality and concentrated will.
The emotional imitation itself is consequent, first on quick and accurate observation of the other, and secondly on mobility of imagination by which the emotion is constructed from within to join the circle of effects from without. Moreover it would seem that muscular mobility is another requisite, since the conditions of the physical response require that there should be much readiness and rapidity in adapting muscular activity to new forms under the suggestion of vision or visual imagination. Observation, muscular adaptability, imagination are all required for proficiency in the pathetic states. This is the theoretic conclusion and it will be agreed that it is consonant with fact. General mobility of brain and nerve covers all the conditions of the intuitive gift.
For many sympathies in the course fo a lifetime it wold seem that a wide and complex, as well as mobile, nature is required. For decided antipathy a strong nature of marked individuality, but mobile imagination, is essential. Antipathy stands specially in need of mobile imagination as the means of access while certainty of character ensures the subsequent repulsion. The two characteristics of breadth and strength may be found, and more often than not probably are found, in the same person.Then we should expect to find many sympathies and a few marked antipathies not lightly to be disregarded. This is just what experience tells us. The narrower nature has many antipathies, but the permanence of these depends on the firmness of the individual character. Emphatic it must be for antipathy however brief.
A third type occurs which should be noticed. When individuality is not marked, but the imitative instinct good, we have a nature, not very capable of deep sympathy or strong antipathy, but prone to take on the colour of its neighbour for the time being. This is the fluid
impressionable character that prospers amidst good surroundings, but yields to the influences of evil company.In the extreme case it is an instrument on which any other can play any tune.
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