CEPI Curiosities: Duchenne’s Smiles

CEPI Curiosities: Tales from Medical History's Strange Side

Greetings and salutations, medico-historico enthusiasts and welcome to the latest installment of CEPI Curiosities, our regular look back at the thought-provoking and downright strange from the history of medicine. Past forays into the medically weird have included 1990s anti-drug PSAs, the famous Siamese Twins (Chang and Eng Bunker), and a physician who collected thousands of swallowed objects.

This month’s iteration is a continuation of our look from last month at physiognomy, the pseudoscience of divining evidence of one’s character by examining the physical dimensions of their face. As I enumerated upon last month, physiognomy, as with phrenology, was next to impossible to measure scientifically and, again as with phrenology, gradually fell out of favor. This time around we are going to take the science of faces from a different direction and examine some interesting, dare I say shocking, facial research. Today, it is my pleasure to introduce you to renowned faceologist (well, technically, French neurologist) Guillaume-Benjamin-Amand Duchenne de Boulogne.

Duchenne was a pioneer in neurology. He was one of the first in his field to use electricity to study muscular anatomy, also known as myology, and was an early adopter of photography, using the new medium to record his experiments. Among his contributions to the field was his extensive research on the myology of the face, which he first published in his 1862 treatise The Mechanism of Human Facial Expression (TMHFE). One of the legacies of his research is a genuine smile (one where the sides of the mouth curl upward, the cheeks raise, and the eyes form crow’s feet) is known today as a Duchenne smile. A contemporary of the physiognomy movement, Duchenne was politely dismissive of Lavater’s conclusions, in part calling out the Swiss theologian for his silence on facial movement to say nothing of his lack of scientific credentials, writing:

Lavater devoted himself to the study of facial expression at rest, of physiognomy as such. His research was concerned with the difference between the combinations of contours and lines, the profiles and silhouettes that make up the static face. He certainly would not have neglected as much as he did of the study of facial expression in movement, which should serve as the basis for the examination of the physiognomy at rest, had he been either an anatomist or a physiologist or a doctor or even a naturalist. Duchenne The Mechanism of Human Facial Expression 4.

Rather than study the face to measure the temperament of the human soul, Duchenne focused on mapping the functions of human facial muscles to determine what specific muscles a person used to convey different expressions. This is where the mention of Duchenne’s dual interest in electricity and photography become important, because Duchenne drew his conclusions by shocking patients’ faces with electricity and photographing the results. Even Duchenne himself was aware his methodology might come as…er…shocking to his contemporaries, musing in the early pages of TMHFE: “No one thought that the study of myology could benefit from gross experiments by a physician who provoked convulsions on the faces of his tortured subjects using electrical currents” (Duchenne 10).

Between 1852 and 1856, Duchenne conducted his experiments on a series of live human subjects, including a young man, a nine-year-old girl, and an elderly woman. However, he performed the bulk of his tests on an elderly man with localized facial paralysis that left him with an inability to feel pain. Duchenne described him as an ideal candidate for this sort of experiment because “I could stimulate his individual muscles with as much precision, and accuracy as if I were working with a still irritable [responsive to stimuli] cadaver” (43). He had each subject convey a facial expression displaying one of several emotions, which he listed as attention, reflection, aggression, pain, joy, kindness, scorn, lasciviousness, sadness, crying, sniveling, surprise, and astonishment. Duchenne then recreated the expressions by subjecting parts of the patients’ faces to localized electric shocks. In both cases he photographed their visages, publishing 73 photographic plates in TMHFE.

What I find especially interesting about Duchenne’s work, aside from the whole zapping people’s faces part, is his photographs provide a contrast to what one typically expects from historic photography. Long exposure times and the novelty and highly specialized nature of photographic technology led many 19th century portraits to take on a serious, or downright somber, tone. The Civil War photography of Mathew Brady offers an example of the gravity of 19th century portraits and provides the glimpse most modern observers think about when they think of the 1800s.

1864 Portrait of Abraham Lincoln by Matthew Brady; Source: National Archives and Records Administration

1864 Portrait of Abraham Lincoln by Matthew Brady; Source: National Archives and Records Administration

By contrast, in Duchenne’s imagery, we see people in various stages of joy, fright, sarcasm, and downright silliness; something people tend to associate with more modern images.

To bring Duchenne into the present day, his work recently gained some popular attention during the 2016 US Presidential Election.  Richard E. Cytowic, a professor of neurology at George Washington University, observed during the Republican primaries that Texas Senator and Presidential hopeful Ted Cruz stood at a disadvantage among voters because he lacked a Duchenne smile.

Now, while physiognomy has been disproven, there is a natural response to attempt to ascertain a person’s character by looking at them. It is a practice frequently seen in visual-based fiction, such as movies, comic books, and cartoons, where facial characteristics are used as a visual shorthand for viewers (think about the last TV show or film you watched; were you able to tell who were the “good guys” and “bad guys” by simply looking at them). The same, in this particular case, goes for politics.

And that wraps up our look at physiognomy and the science of faces. Until next time, catch you on the strange side!


CEPI Curiosities: Physiognomy

CEPI Curiosities: Tales from Medical History's Strange Side

Greetings and salutations once again to all you enthusiasts of the medically weird. This is Kevin, back for another installment of CEPI Curiosities, our monthly journey down the rabbit hole of medical curiosities. Past installments have examined such varied topics as anti-drug cartoon specials, the differences between venom and poison, medical experiments on inmates, and health-related video games.

Regular readers will perhaps recall from my article way back in March on the stealing of Shakespeare’s and Mozart’s skulls that I briefly touched upon phrenology, the since-discredited practice of measuring character based on the shape and contours of the skull. If you recall, the impetus behind anatomist Joseph Hyrtl’s famous skull collection (located at the Mütter Museum for your perusal) was to disprove phrenology. However, phrenology was not the only attempt by scientists of the time to find a direct correlation between personality and physical appearance. Allow me to introduce you to physiognomy.

Where phrenology examines the entire skull, physiognomy is the act of using the physical characteristics of the face as a measure of personal character. Conceptually, the practice dates back to ancient Greece, and one of the oldest mentions of it comes from the Physiognomonica, a text attributed to Aristotle although his authorship of the treatise has been highly disputed. Aristotle or not, the author argued in favor of a direct quantifiable connection between the body and the soul. According to the author:

MENTAL character is not independent of and unaffected by bodily processes, but is conditioned by the state of the body; and contrariwise the body is sympathetically influenced by affections of the soul.

While the concept is an old one, the height of its popularity came in the late 18th and early 19th century (roughly around the same time of phrenology’s popularity). This time around the most influential name in the practice was a Swiss theologian by the name of Johann Kaspar Lavater (1741-1801). His signature work on the subject was Physiognomische Fragmente zur Beförderung der Menschenkenntnis und Menschenliebe, a sprawling, four-volume tome published between 1775 and 1778. An English translation with the less word-intensive title Essays in Physiognomy appeared in the 1790s and went through multiple editions through the 19th century.

Image of Johann Kasper Lavater, 17th century advocate of physiognomy

Source: Wikimedia Commons

As with its skull-fixated, pseudoscientific cousin, observations related to physiognomy originated by examining animals. Advocates of physiognomy believed each species held certain innate qualities (the lion as noble, the fox as crafty, the sloth as lazy, etc.) and that these qualities manifested themselves in some facial characteristic. The goal of the human physiognomist (that is the physiognomist examining humans, not a physiognomist who was also a human, although they would be that as well) was to look for manifestations of those physical traits in their human subjects. Lavater’s analyses were exhaustive, complete with images of various faces and the characteristics they represented. My favorite of which, from a condensed version of his work from 1832 titled The Pocket Lavateris recreated below:

An image of a face depicted in the physiognomy book titled The Pocket Lavater. The face was to represent cruelty and deception.

Watch out for this fellow!

So what to look for in a person, aside from the nefarious scoundrel above? First and foremost, Lavater argued there was a direct correlation between a person’s physical attractiveness and their moral character. In other words, the better one looked on the outside, the better they were on the inside. As Lavater explains, “It being granted that man is the work of supreme wisdom, is it not infinitely more conformable to wisdom that a harmony between physical and moral beauty rather should than should not exist; and that the Author of all moral perfection should testify his high good pleasure by the conformity between the mental and bodily faculties?” (Essays on Physiognomy 95). He goes on to add, “The beauty and deformity of the countenance is in a just and determinate proportion to the moral beauty and deformity of the man. The morally best, the most beautiful. The morally worst, the most deformed” (99). Furthermore, Lavater argued that a person’s moral character in life also left visual cues on the visage, as in the case of the miserly fellow below:

Caricature of a miserly man, from Johann Kasper Lavater's Essays in Physiognomy

Nature forms no such countenance; at least, no such mouth. Vice can only thus disfigure. Rooted unbounded avarice. Thus does brutal insensibility deform God’s own image. Enormous depravity has destroyed all the beauty, all the resemblance. Can any benevolent, wise, or virtuous man, look or walk, thus? Where is the man, however unobservant, daring enough to maintain the affirmative? (Lavater 110)

This aspect of physiogonomy made its way into mainstream popular culture through English author and playwright Oscar Wilde’s classic 1890 novel The Picture of Dorian GrayA friend of Gray, a handsome, young socialite, paints him a portrait. As the years go on, Gray comes to realize the painting has begun to age instead of him. Moreover, he further learns that ill deeds, such as driving a spurned lover to suicide and Gray’s murder of the portrait’s painter, lead to physical distortions on the face in the painting.

Going back to our original question of what to look for in a person, here are some stray observations. Clean teeth indicated good character but “long teeth” meant cowardice. Conforming to the logic of comic book superheroes, courage was directly proportional to one’s chin size; however, a pointed chin was a sign of artistic creativity. A large head demonstrated low intelligence. Small nostrils meant one was timid. Earnest character could be measured based on how close a person’s eyebrows were to their eyes. Speaking of eyes, the old adage of the eyes serving as the windows to the soul took on literal meaning in the work of Lavater and his disciples: brown eyes indicated kindness and vivacity, while blue eyes meant weakness, and the rare person who had gray eyes was temperamental and prone to anger.

As with phrenology, physiognomy was both shaped by and helped to shape racial and cultural prejudices of their time. White Europeans in certain regions were assumed a priori to be inherently superior than other races (for Lavater, ancient Greeks of the era of Socrates possessed the ideal facial form), and advocates of racist ideology turned to phrenology and physiognomy as scientific justifications for racial prejudice. I should also add that Lavater’s observations only applied to men, as women’s role, according to Lavater, was solely as complimentary and subservient to men (among his observations of women: “A woman with a beard is not so disgusting as a woman who acts the free thinker”).

Keen observers can see many of the same flaws between physiognomy and phrenology. They are both beliefs that based a great deal on assumptions are are difficult, if not impossible, to prove scientifically (how do you quantitatively measure a person’s honesty by measuring, say, the length of the bridge of their nose; how do you measure for courage in lions). It was a conclusion reached by anatomist Joseph Hyrtl who found no evidence of any common characteristics of criminality when he examined the skulls of dozens of European criminals.

Image of the Hyrtl Skull Collection at the Mütter Museum

Speaking of scientific challenges to physiognomy, in our next issue we will look at one influential scientist who studied the human face…by rigging electrodes to people’s faces to see what happened.

Until next time, catch you on the strange side!