"On the following Thursday I went to see the ladies in question, and in the course of conversation (without any allusion to the subject on my part) the elder one told me that on the previous Sunday night she had been much terrified by perceiving me standing by her bedside and that she screamed when the apparition advanced toward her, and awoke her little sister who saw me also...." (Corroborative evidence was obtained from the two ladies mentioned.)

Such a case is called a "telepathically induced hallucination" or an "experimental apparition," for the reason that the figure seen is doubtless hallucinatory in character and was induced by means of telepathy. Such cases (and there are plenty of them) are very striking proof of the direct action of mind on mind; and at the same time form a sort of bridge across the gulf which otherwise seems to exist between the experimental cases we have just quoted and the spontaneous cases to which we must now refer.

Soon after the Society began its work it was noticed that numbers of cases were sent in, in which apparitions were seen at the very moment of the death of the person symbolized by the apparition. In many such cases, no other experience such as this has happened to the percipient throughout his or her life; but on the very occasion when such a figure was seen, the individual was found to have died at that particular time! Can so many cases of so remarkable a character be attributed to chance?

The answer at first sight is: No. But here we must be cautious. In scientific research such as this, we must not be guided by impressions, but by facts and figures. Accordingly it was decided to put this matter to the test, and an "International Census of Hallucinations" was inaugurated, which extended throughout several countries (America being represented by Professor William James), and the taking of which lasted several years. As the result of this laborious undertaking, 30,000 answers were received—the percentage of coincidental apparitions being calculated. After making allowances for all possible sources of error, it was ascertained that the number of coincidences received were several hundred times too numerous to be attributed to chance; and the following statement was signed by Professor Sidgwick's Committee[41]:

"Between deaths and apparitions of the dying person a connection exists which is not due to chance alone. This we hold as a proved fact."

These are important words in many senses; and donne a penser. It shows us that, after all is said and done, this old theory of "ghosts" is not so far wrong, and that they, in a certain sense, do exist; it is only a matter of their interpretation: the "mystics" have as usual been right as to the existence of the facts, but the "scientists" may be right in their interpretation of them.

So we have the whole class of "spontaneous" telepathic phenomena, so called because they are not induced by direct experiment. In this class we have all those manifestations which take place at or about the moment of death; phantasms of the living, phantasms of the dying, and phantasms of the dead—according to whether the subject is yet living, is dying, or has recently died. In all such cases we may postulate a telepathic action at the moment of death, for in those cases when the apparition was seen but a few minutes or even a few hours after death, the impact might have been transmitted at the moment of death, and only have emerged into consciousness during the quietness and peace of the evening, or when night gave it a chance to do so. For we now know that subconscious ideas do tend to rise into consciousness when the latter is less occupied with the events of the day.

It is, of course, impossible to detail here the mass of evidence of all kinds which has been accumulated of late years in favour of the existence of telepathy, but enough has been quoted to indicate the method of approach and the character of the evidence adduced. Suffice it to say that, in the eyes of those who have inquired into the subject closely, telepathy is now held to be proved; it is now considered to be a scientific fact, though not as yet explained. Again I repeat, the question is not: Is it possible? but, Is it a fact?

Taking all that has been said into consideration, it may fairly be contended that the mere fact of telepathy may therefore be said to have been proved. This being so, the interesting question of its nature or character presents itself. How is such action to be explained? How account for the facts?

There are many theories which have been advanced from time to time to explain this remarkable phenomenon, and, if it be a fact in nature, its scientific explanation must some day be forthcoming. Once telepathy stands proved it will mean the remoulding and recasting of many of our scientific theories, and even a reconstruction of science—in so far, at least, as it refers to physiological psychology. Such being the case, and telepathy being proved, as many eminent men of science today believe, the question of its theoretical explanation becomes most important.

Now the first analogy which strikes one in the consideration of this question is that of wireless telegraphy—the subtle electric vibrations which journey to and fro with incredible swiftness through the universal ether. In short, telepathy is thought by many to be simply a species of physical vibration, proceeding from brain to brain, just as electric waves pass from the transmitter to the receiver in wireless telegraphy. This explanation is so common that many persons accept it without further ado, as being the correct explanation of the facts. But such a theory cannot be said to cover the facts in a satisfactory manner.

In the first place, there seems to be no definite or prescribed area in the brain adapted for such a purpose; no cell or centre has as yet been discovered which appears destined to send out waves of this character. Still, perhaps it will be some day, for the functions of certain portions of the brain—particularly the frontal lobes—are as yet very little understood. But there is the argument that, if such waves exist, they must be detected by means of our scientific instruments—instruments so delicate and subtle that they are able to measure the difference of the pull of gravity of an article when placed on the table or on the floor, or can register the heat of a candle at a distance of more than a mile (Langley's bolometer). Compared with such delicate instruments, our five senses are coarse indeed, and any vibrations which can affect these same senses must surely affect the more delicate and sensitive instruments just mentioned. Yet none of them have as yet been able to indicate the existence of any such vibrations, and this would seem to show that they cannot exist.[42]

But there is a reply to this argument. It may be said that, although the senses do not register any such vibrations, the brain might do so, in some direct manner; and the brain might be far more sensitive than any instrument so far devised. Indeed the definition of telepathy, "the ability of one mind to influence or be influenced by another mind otherwise than through the recognized channels of sense," would seem to indicate that in this process only the brain is involved, and not necessarily the physical senses at all. So far, then, so good; telepathy might still be vibratory in character.

But if so, how could such waves get through the skull to act upon the brain direct? This is a staggering thought to the ordinary materialist, and at first sight renders such an action unintelligible and hence "impossible"! But to reason thus would be very superficial. For we know that certain physical energies pass through solid substances—substances impervious to other physical energies. Thus we know that glass permits light to pass through it, but is a non-conductor of electricity; while steel is impervious to light, yet electricity can traverse miles of steel in the fraction of a second. "Gravity" seems the only energy which cannot be isolated by some means or other. No substance is opaque to gravity. It acts through all substances, at all times, continuously. In this respect telepathy may resemble gravitation.[43] If this were true, or anything like it were true, we could easily see why a solid substance, such as the human skull, might offer no appreciable resistance to the passage through it of undulations of a certain velocity—of a speed so great, perhaps, that they could not be detected by any of the instruments at the command of the physicist today.

But there are other and still more serious objections to the vibratory action of telepathy which have not as yet been mentioned. For if we try to push the analogy further, we shall find that it is by no means so clear as might be supposed. Thus in the case of wireless telegraphy the vibratory action of the ether is a purely mechanical process and does not carry emotion, thought, or intelligence with it—being vibration pure and simple. Now, in the case of a supposed telepathic message, thought flashed from one brain to another must be supposed to convey with it intelligence of some sort; for if it were a purely mechanical vibratory action, how is it that this would impress another brain in such an entirely different manner from all other vibrations as to create in that brain not only a thought, but the precise kind of thought—the replica of the thought—which originated in the brain of the agent? Granting that vibrations are but "symbols," and that they are interpreted by our brains as things, the difficulty remains that, in all other cases, such vibrations, no matter what their intensity, convey to the brain the idea of external objects, or qualities of those objects, and do not convey to it the idea of mind or intelligence. How is it, therefore, that one particular species of vibration, which, we must assume, would vary more or less with each individual, can convey with it the idea of thought, and that this vibration is associated with mind, and in fact is thought, while all other vibrations in the world are in nowise connected with intelligence and do not appear to us to be so connected? And further, how infinitely we should have to vary the degree and type of vibration to correspond to all shades of thought and feeling and emotion! Sir William Crookes some years ago urged the possibility of this vibratory action of telepathy; but Mr. Myers has pointed out its defects and stated that all we can at present say about telepathy is that "life has the power of manifesting to life"—a formula surely general enough, yet highly significant.

Again, the theory has been advanced that all minds are in touch in a sort of subterranean way—through their subliminal regions—just as all spokes of a wheel ultimately reach the hub, though each spoke is distinctive. In this way we could imagine an inter-connection taking place, of which we are quite unaware, under certain favourable conditions. To use an analogy somewhere employed by Professor James, our conscious minds are like the leaves of the trees which whisper together, but the roots of the trees are all embedded in the same soil and are interlaced inextricably. So our minds, though they appear to be so separate and apart, may really be at basis fundamentally one. There must be, it is said, some common ground of interaction; possibly a sort of universal fluid, in which all minds are bathed, and by means of which interaction of thought is effected. This is somewhat akin to the theory first propounded by Mesmer, and which has been revived, in somewhat altered form, more than a hundred years later. Mesmer held that thought was communicated from brain to brain "by the vibrations of a subtle fluid with which the nerve substance is in continuity." Truly, if any sort of physical action is employed, this seems a significant enough remark. We know that two tuning forks will resound in unison, if one of them be struck. Put in motion a magnetized needle; at a certain distance and without contact another magnetized needle will oscillate synchronously with the first. Set in vibration a violin string, or the string of a piano; and at a certain distance the string of another piano or violin will vibrate in unison with it. Such analogies make us wonder whether or not communication of this kind might not exist, and, certainly, in order to make telepathy intelligible at all, we must suppose some such action taking place. We all have a tendency to think in physical symbols, owing to our materialistic training.

For if we try to picture to ourselves the process of telepathy as taking place in some manner other than physical, how are we to conceive such action? Does one consciousness stretch out, as it were, and grasp the other passive mind? or does the agent project the thought from his brain and impress the mind of the percipient with it—just as a bullet might be shot from a rifle, or light waves radiate from some centre? The first of these theories would be somewhat akin to true mind-reading, the other to thought-projection or transference. But if the latter theory be correct, is all thought directed into one single channel—at a target as it were—or does it spread equally in all directions, like all other vibratory radiations? It may be conceived that telepathy is a combination of both the above processes—it being a kind of mutual action—a projection on the part of one, and a mental reception or grasping on the part of the other. If this be the case, we must conceive the thought as met, as it were, in space, and in some way joined or seized upon by the percipient thought; but how can we conceive such seizing or such perception?

It will be seen that the problems arising from a study of telepathy are numerous and remarkable. Let us briefly summarize the chief theories which have been advanced to date. These are:

1. The Theory of Exalted Perception.—This is, that the subject is in some manner enabled to see the thoughts of his "magnetizer" or hypnotist. This explanation applies only to those telepathic manifestations observed when the percipient is in a state of trance; and even here the theory cannot be said to explain, for it explains one mystery by propounding another.

2. The Hypothesis of Brain Exaltation with Paralysis of the Senses.—On this theory, a sort of sympathetic action and reaction or rapport is supposed to take place, but of the exact nature of this process its exponents can tell us nothing. Again, it only evades the direct issue and answers one problem by asking another.

3. The Hypothesis of Direct Psychic Action.—This is the view whose ablest exponent is Mr. Frederic Myers. It is supposed that such action takes place in its own world—its own sphere—just as distinct and just as real as the material world. If this were true we could never demonstrate the action of telepathy scientifically, since it would be beyond the reach of such demonstration. Others again believe that the action of telepathy is akin to the phenomena of induction; others that it is akin to gravitation or the magnetic force. While the details of these theories are lacking, there is here a valuable suggestion and a field for future research.

4. The Hypothesis of Direct Physical Action.—This supposes that the molecular changes in one brain, accompanying thought or emotion, set certain ether vibrations in motion, which are caught up by another brain, sensitive enough to receive them, or attuned to the proper degree. This theory is one which appeals to most persons, though it is open to the criticisms before raised. Nevertheless, it may be true; and if so, its law ought one day to be discovered. There is here also a field for legitimate scientific research.

5. The Idea of a Universal Fluid.—This is the theory held to by the majority of mystics and occultists. There is supposed to exist a sort of fluidic intermediary between mind and mind, which acts as the means for thought transmission, and it is upon this that all thought is impressed. It acts as a sort of mirror, which reflects the thoughts of all living persons, just as a material mirror might reflect material objects. In such a case, the thought is really made objective and is perceived by the subject in a sort of clairvoyant manner. I do not feel competent to pronounce upon this hypothesis in the present embryonic state of psychical science.

6. The Theory of Spiritual Intermediaries.—This is the theory that our thoughts are read by some purely "spiritual" process, by "spirits," who convey this thought to another individual and impress him in some psychical manner directly. They thus act as carrier-pigeons between mind and mind. To this theory it may be replied, as Professor Flournoy has replied in his Spiritism and Psychology, that it represents the grave methodological defect of multiplying causes without necessity; by postulating spirits and importing them into the problem when they are not wanted. It would be better to seek an explanation elsewhere.

7. The Psycho-Physical Theory.—This theory supposes that all thought is accompanied by nervous undulations, which are carried to the surface of the body, there setting the ether in vibration; and this, in turn, impinges upon the periphery of another person, particularly sensitive to receive them, and by him re-transformed into nervous currents—into thought! Such a theory completely fails to take into account those cases of long-distance telepathy, of which so many have now been collected; and in other ways is very defective.

8. Assuming all the above theories to be insufficient, we now come to:

The Elements of a Scientific Explanation

In studying this subject we must remember certain things:

(a) That telepathy is a highly complex phenomenon, and for that reason we must not expect to find its solution easily or state it in a single sentence.

(b) That we must consider it from the double standpoint, physical and mental; and

(c) That we must consider the conditions affecting the operator, the subject, and, if possible, the connection between them.

All scientific explanation consists in reducing the unknown to terms of the known. We can often classify a phenomenon without being able to explain its innermost nature. If we discover its laws, we have advanced to that extent.

Dr. J. Ochorowicz, who has made a prolonged and minute study of this question, writes as follows regarding the necessary conditions to be observed in the operator:

"On the side of the operator the conditions have been very little studied. But it is probable:

"1. That there are personal differences.

"2. That these differences may be due not only to the degree of thought intensity, but also to the nature of the thought itself, according as it is visual, auditive, or motor.

"3. That some account has to be taken of a sort of accord, of concordance between the two intelligences.

"4. That excessive will-power impairs the definiteness of the transmission without much enhancing its intensity.

"5. That strong, persistent, prolonged thinking of a thought repeated for a longer or shorter time constitutes a condition in the highest degree favourable.

"6. That any distraction which causes the thought to disappear for a moment, or that makes it cease to be isolated, seems eminently unfavourable to the mental action.

"7. That, nevertheless, thoughts that are not intense, and even thoughts that are at the moment unconscious (subconscious), may be transmitted involuntarily.

"8. That the muscular efforts which usually accompany an exertion of will are more or less indifferent; but that the muscle expression of the operator may be useful, subjectively, by reason of the habitude that connects thought with these expressional signs.

"It follows from these considerations that the operator should insist less upon the 'I will it' than upon the content of that willing; and hence it is probable that, properly speaking, it is not the 'strong will' that helps telepathy so much as clear thinking."

As to the subject or percipient, experience has taught us that the four following states are probably the most important for the recipience of a telepathic message:

1. In the state of profound aideia (complete lack of thought) transmission is never immediate, but it may sometimes be latent.

2. In the state of nascent monoideism (one idea) it may be immediate and perfect.

3. In the state of passive polyideism (many thoughts) it may be either immediate or may take place after an interval of greater or lesser length.

4. In the state of active polyideism the conditions are complex and subject to further subdivisions, for:

(a) Transmission may be direct if the subject helps by voluntary self-absorption in a concentration of mind more or less monoideic; he lends himself to the action; he listens mentally; he seeks, sometimes he finds!

(b) It may be indirect, i.e. latent; this time also with some concurrence on the part of the subject. This seems more frequent.

(c) Finally, it may in exceptional instances be either mediate (delayed) or immediate, even without the subject's being advised beforehand of the action.

* * * * *

Here, then, are the probable conditions; also the state of the agent and percipient. Now what about the connecting links?

Here we come to the heart of the problem. I shall be as brief as possible, since we cannot pretend that the problem is yet solved. I merely offer a few suggestions, some original, others advanced before by writers on these subjects.[44]

In order to obtain a specific action we must employ a specific instrument: a telephone for a telephone; a brain for a brain.

Every living thing is a dynamic focus.

A dynamic focus tends ever to propagate the motion which is proper to it.

Propagated motion becomes transformed according to the medium it traverses. A force may be transmitted or transformed.

In an identical medium there is only transmission.

In a different medium there is transformation.

A dynamic nucleus, in propagating its motion, sends it out in every direction; but this transmission becomes perceptible only on the lines of least resistance.

A process that is at once chemical, physical, and psychical goes on in the brain. A complex action of this kind is propagated through the grey matter, as waves are propagated in water.

Regarded physiologically, a thought is only a vibration, probably, which does not pass out of its appropriate medium. It is propagated, and it must be along the motor nerves, since science admits no other route. But the thought itself does not radiate; it remains "at home," just as the chemical action of a battery remains in the battery; it is represented abroad by its dynamic correlate, called, in the case of the battery, a current; and in the case of the brain, I know not what; but whatever its name may be, it is the dynamic correlate of thought. Thought, therefore, is dynamic. Thought is transformed; and may be re-transformed, in another organism which supplies the necessary conditions. Thought may be restored.

We have now reached, from a purely physiological standpoint, a position which I desired to reach before I advance the final part of the theory—which may at first sight appear somewhat fantastic. But telepathy itself is fantastic; and yet, being a fact, it must be accounted for somehow, or left altogether unexplained.

It has always been contended by a peculiarly-gifted group of individuals known as "clairvoyants," that we possess a "spiritual body"—just as we possess a physical body—of exactly the same shape and appearance; and that we inhabit this body at death. It is further contended that all our physical senses find their exact counterpart in this "etheric double"; there is a physical eye and a spiritual eye; a physical ear and a spiritual ear, etc. With the spiritual eye we see "clairvoyantly"; with the spiritual ear we hear "clairaudiently," and so forth. I shall not discuss the possibility of such a body, except to say that there is now a mass of evidence in its favour. Assuming it to exist—assuming it to be the exact counterpart of the physical body—then it too possesses a brain; and it too must pulsate and vibrate just as the physical brain does, when accompanying thought.

Now this inner body may be the vehicle of thought. It may possess "centres" whose normal office is to send and receive telepathic messages. One "etheric centre" may thus act upon another "etheric centre" directly—only indirectly upon the physical brain cells. The action would thus be dynamic, yet psychical; physical in a sense, yet not physical as we conceive it. Philosophy tells us that the table we see (the phenomenon) is not the "real" table (the noumenon)—the reality behind; but, if we knock the two tables together, the noumena touch, just as the phenomenal tables do; only we have no means of knowing or directly seeing it. Thus there is a sort of physical communication of a spiritual thing. Those who have entered rooms of a certain character have often sensed their "psychic atmosphere." This is a sort of duplicate or replica of the physical atmosphere, yet it is different from it. The whole subject is so subtle that one cannot follow it unless he has had some experience or some knowledge of these things. The process cannot be explained in clear-cut fashion—any more than mediums can tell the source of their thoughts and impressions. A little intuition is needed in order to grasp the problem and comprehend its difficulties.

Were I to try and state my theory briefly, then it would be somewhat as follows: Every thought necessitates a three-fold phenomenon—(1) the purely psychic activity; (2) the physiological correlate; and (3) the "dynamic correlate," which is as yet unrecognized by science. This "dynamic correlate" is the manifestation of the activity of the etheric double; which sets into motion certain vibratory activities which, though they are not physical vibrations, are their counterpart or equivalent on the plane above matter—the "astral" plane, if the term be allowable; which is parallel to, but not identical with, the material plane. Thus by a sort of "doctrine of correspondences" we arrive at the conclusion that telepathic action is physical, in a sense, yet is not sufficiently physical to be measured by our instruments in the laboratory. The activity is, as it were, the noumenon, of which the physical vibration would be the phenomenon; but no phenomenal aspect of this activity may ever be manifested to us; and hence never be capable of being registered by science, as it exists today.

I do not know whether or not I have made this theory very comprehensible, but it seems to me some such theory might explain the facts and at the same time do away with the difficulties. At all events no theory of telepathy which has been advanced to date can be said to be explanatory, when all the facts are taken into consideration; and if this first tentative groping serves to stimulate others to speculate, and above all to experiment, in this obscure field, I shall feel that a first onward step has been taken toward a correct understanding of the "Marvels of Telepathy."

FOOTNOTES:

[40] See Dr. G. B. Ermacora's paper in Proceedings, S.P.R., vol. xi. pp. 235-308.

[41] Professor Henry Sidgwick, as we know, was Professor of Moral Philosophy in Cambridge, and his works on Ethics and Political Economy are considered standard in all countries.

[42] This is the argument put forward by, e.g., Carl Snyder, in his New Conceptions in Science, pp. 306-7.

[43] See my article in The Monist (July-September 1913, pp. 445-58), "Earlier Theories of Gravity."—H. C.

[44] Especially Dr. Ochorowicz, in his excellent work, Mental Suggestion, to which I am indebted for several of the ideas which follow.



CHAPTER IX

THE USES AND ABUSES OF MIND-CURE

Within the past few years the country has been flooded by a host of books, pamphlets, and periodicals dealing with "psychotherapy" and mind-cure in general. In some ways it would be impossible to exaggerate the good which this has done. It has cheered-up many desponding souls; it has brightened many a life; it has stimulated activities and lines of thought which otherwise would have remained dormant; it has added real zest to life and made it worth living. Undoubtedly, too, real cures have been effected by means of these modern mental methods, and any one who denies this must surely be ignorant of the vast amount of steadily accumulating evidence in their favour. The many advantages of the system are doubtless pointed out with acuteness and insisted upon with vigour in the books which defend it, and need not be re-stated here. And yet, while I acknowledge all this; while I am forced to admit the many wonderful cures and much mental relief on account of these newer methods of healing, I still believe that a vast amount of harm is also brought about by the incautious application of the doctrines taught; by over-enthusiasm for the ideals which are ever before us, luring us on and on. In the present chapter, therefore, I propose to show in what these pitfalls consist; to illustrate some of the errors into which over-enthusiastic "mental-curists" are apt to fall.

First of all, however, a confession of faith! For a number of years I believed as implicitly as it was possible for any one to believe in the great power of mind to cure disease. I read nearly every book of importance that had been published on this theme—including Mrs. Eddy's books, all the standard works on hypnotism, mind-cure, faith-cure, new thought, etc. I was deeply imbued with the truths they contained. I became greatly opposed to the so-called "materialism" of medical science. The rationality and philosophical truth of the mind-cure systems appeared to me irrefutable.

The fundamentals of the system are indeed well laid. We know of the tremendous effects of the emotions upon the body—its functions, secretions, etc. Cheering faith and optimism are assuredly great incentives to health; more than that, they are actual physiological health-stimulators. We know that we can make ourselves ill by morbid and unwholesome thoughts; and, as Feuchtersleben says: "If the imagination can make man sick, can it not make him well?" By opening up the great "sluice-gates" of the organism we somehow allow a great influx of spiritual energy to pervade us, and the disease vanishes. It is a very fascinating doctrine, and, for many diseases, doubtless a true one.

In spite of all this, however, I believe the present tendency to treat all diseases—or next to all—by purely mental methods is a great mistake. It leaves many persons ill and crippled for life; it allows many hundreds of others to sink and fall into premature graves.

And the first objection I would make to mind and faith-curing, and all kindred systems, is this: that they tend to suppress symptoms rather than remove causes. This is a very grave objection indeed. If one suffers constantly from constipation or dyspepsia, the natural habit of the mind would be to worry about them more or less and take steps to prevent their continued progress. But the faith and mind-curists say: "No, it is not at all important; imagine yourself whole and well, and whole and well you will be!" Many persons have done this and their troubles have, apparently, lessened and disappeared. They may have and they may not. It is easy to ignore troubles of this kind; but this sort of ostrich-philosophy, which buries its head in the sand and refuses to look at what is before its eyes, is not natural or by any means the best for the bodily organism. Ignoring symptoms does not cure them. What such persons fail to take into account is this: that any unpleasant symptom which may have arisen must be due to some cause—sickness and disease do not arise de novo and without just cause. This is not the order of a good and kind nature. It must be due to something, and generally that "something" is the condition of the body at the time; and that condition depends, in turn, upon the previous habits and modes of life. These have engendered the diseased condition we see before us; and the only effective and rational way to stop the effects—the symptoms—is to stop the causes, to change the habits of life which have led to such results; and not to tinker with the effects. Even pain may be ignored to some extent; but pain is due to a certain pathological state which requires treatment. It is simply an indication of an existing bodily condition. What is the good of ignoring that state, when it exists? Symptoms may be ignored, but the causes of those symptoms run on in the body, nevertheless, and in the end work havoc and breed sickness and decay.

I am aware of the fact that the Christian Scientists, e.g., would reply to this that the bodily state (there is no body, according to them, but we let that pass, for the moment) is cured at the same time; that, by the mere affirmation that the body is whole, we thereby make it whole; we do not suppress symptoms, we remove causes as well. This I deny, at least in many cases. I have seen too many of such "cures" and relapses not to know whereof I speak. A patient goes to a "healer" and becomes "cured." A few weeks or months later his trouble returns; or, if not the same trouble, another and perhaps a worse one. This is "cured" in turn, and so on.

Now it is a well-known fact that a disease suppressed in one place or one direction has a tendency to break out in another. It has been gathering in force all the time within the body, and finally bursts forth again worse than before. "And the last state of that man was worse than the first." The causes have run on. Similar causes can produce opposite effects—just as opposite causes can produce similar effects. Although no tangible connection between the first and the second illness can be traced, it is there nevertheless; and both have been produced by a common cause. We cannot ignore causes; we must treat them; and if we do not, they will, in the majority of cases, repay us a thousandfold for our past neglect.

When a person is diseased the majority of mental-scientists would at least admit that certain unphysiological conditions were present and needed to be overcome. If this be so, I ask: Why should we allow the body to become diseased at all and thus necessitate its cure by mental or any other means? Would it not be much simpler to prevent such a diseased condition, in the first place, by proper physiological habits of life; and so render any cure by mental or other means unnecessary? It seems to me that, by thus allowing the body to become diseased, and then "curing" it by mental control (even granting that this is the case), we burn the candle at both ends—for the reason that we devitalize the body by allowing it to become diseased and then waste more energy in the mental effort to get well again! Would it not be more simple and more philosophical so to regulate the life that such diseased states and such cures are unnecessary?

The fundamentals of Mrs. Eddy's doctrine are well known. God is all in all; God is good; hence all is good. Sin and sickness are delusions of poor mortal mind. They do not really exist. And this, they say, may easily be proved—on the one hand by the cures which take place; and on the other by the doctrine of idealism, which philosophers and scientists alike are accepting more and more as a satisfactory interpretation of the universe. The whole system is very delightful—and very illusory!

In the first place, as to the cures. I must contend that because some remarkable cures have been effected, that, therefore, the doctrines of Christian Science are not thereby established. We know similar cures have been effected at Lourdes; over the bones of saints (which did not really exist under the sacred cloth); over (fraudulent) "chips of the Cross"; by means of hypnotism, and in a hundred ways. The whole root of the matter lies in auto-suggestion; in the patient's faith in himself, and in the degree of faith he places in the curing object or dogma. The dogma may be quite false, but the cures are effected just the same. Because cures are effected by Christian Science methods, therefore, it is no proof whatever that the Christian Science theology or philosophy is right. It may be one huge error, but the cures would be effected just the same—provided the faith, the emotions, the imagination and spirit of the patient be touched in an appropriate manner.

True it is that science and philosophy tend towards idealism; and the belief that there is, strictly speaking, "no matter." But this belief need not make us any the more believers in Christian Science and its methods. There is a subtle error here which is unperceived by the majority. When first the truth reaches the mind that there is "no matter" that matter cannot feel, etc., it bursts like a flood of light upon the unfettered mind and appears a fact so overwhelmingly great, so vast and so true, that to gainsay it would be to acknowledge ignorance of its teaching; to admit intellectual shortsightedness. (This is perhaps the reason for the supercilious superiority of many Christian Scientists; they imagine that no one perceives this truth but themselves.) And once grasped, is it not self-evident, and does not all else follow in consequence? At first sight it would indeed appear so!

The great error, however, lies here. Because this fact is theoretically true, it is not practically true also. We may admit the one; we cannot accept the other. The fallacy has been clearly pointed out by Sir Oliver Lodge (Hibbert Journal, January, 1905), and I cannot do better than to quote his words in this connection. He says:

"We cannot be permanently satisfied with dualism, but it is possible to be over-hasty and also too precisely insistent. There are those who seem to think that a monistic view of existence precludes the legitimacy of speaking of soul and body, or of God and spiritual things, or of guidance and management, at all; that is to say, they seem to think that because these things can be ultimately unified, therefore they are unified proximately and for practical purposes. We might as well urge that it is incorrect to speak of the chemical elements, or of the various materials with which, in daily life, we have to deal, or of the structures in which we live, or which we see and handle, as separate and real things, because in the last resort we believe that they may all be reduced to a segregation of corpuscles, or to some other mode of unity.... The language of dualism or of multiplism is not incorrect or inappropriable or superseded because we catch ideal glimpses of an ultimate unity; nor would it be any the less appropriable if the underlying unity could be more clearly or completely grasped. The material world may be an aspect of the spiritual world, or vice versa perhaps; or both may be aspects of something else; but both are realities, just the same, and there need be no hesitation in speaking of them clearly and distinctly as, for practical purposes, separate entities."

This, it seems to me, disposes of the argument for Christian Science drawn from idealism. No matter whether the material world exists or not, we always have to live as if it existed. If we close our eyes and walk across the room, we shall be rudely stopped by the brick wall at the opposite end when we come to it. No matter how strongly we believe that such a wall does not exist, it does, nevertheless, stop us; we have to live as if it existed. And, just so, it seems to me; no matter how strongly we may believe that the body does not exist, we always have to live and act as if it existed—so long, at least, as we live in and inhabit the body at all.

Christian Science says that hygiene, diet, etc., are unimportant factors in the cure of disease. They "do not count." Apart from the immediate, practical disproof which cases of blood-poisoning, etc., would offer to such a theory, it may also be disproved theoretically. For if it be unnecessary, e.g., to fast during illness—if food is a negligible quantity and can be left out of account—why do Christian Scientists ever eat at all? If food is unimportant in one case, it must be in the other case also. And if it be replied to this, as it is, that the only reason for food is because the Christian Scientists are not yet sufficiently "advanced" and have not yet sufficient "enlightenment" to do without it; then, I reply, by the same logic they are not as yet sufficiently advanced, and have not as yet sufficient knowledge to treat all cases of accident and disease, which, in point of fact, they do treat. If the limitation be acknowledged in one direction, it must be acknowledged in the other direction also. Christian Scientists cannot yet live without food because they have not yet sufficiently "perfected" themselves. So, in like manner, they should not treat many cases of disease they do treat because they have not yet sufficiently "perfected" themselves.

I might advance arguments such as the above to fill many pages. But I do not think it necessary. As a cure for certain functional diseases, for nervous disorders, and for many of the affections of the mind, mental methods of treatment must be acknowledged to be a great and a most important factor. But when an organic lesion is present, in grave states demanding immediate attention, I think it little short of criminal that such states should meet with almost total neglect because of the perverted ideas of physiology and a sickly sentimentalism illogically extended from the philosophical doctrine of idealism. As a metaphysical doctrine, it may be correct; as a basis for medical practice, it is certainly incorrect. Let us once more set our feet to earth and determine to live a good and a useful life in the material world of which we undoubtedly form a part. We are in a material world, and I believe we should be of it. I, for one, raise my voice in protest against the tide of intellectual asceticism which is inclined to accept without question the modern doctrine and methods of "psychotherapy" and mind-cure in place of the more rational and certain measures of hygiene and medicine. The further a pendulum swings in one direction, the further will it swing in the other, when released. And I believe that the modern extreme acceptance of faith and mind-cure in all its forms is but the moral and intellectual and spiritual reaction against the materialism of the past generation. Hail the day when it again swings back to its mid-position; and when mental methods of cure and bodily hygiene shall together march hand in hand to the joint attack against disease! They each have their mission to fulfil, their cases to cure. Tolerance, tolerance! Let them each recognize the rights of the other!



CHAPTER X

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OUIJA BOARD[45]

Before we proceed to discuss the intelligence lying behind the Ouija Board, I must offer a few remarks upon the subject of automatic writing in general, passing in very brief review the various theories that have been advanced from time to time by way of explanation of the action of this extraordinary little device.

One of the sanest and most rational popular accounts of this instrument and its workings that I have so far come across (all things considered) is a little pamphlet entitled The Planchette Mystery, very little known, from which I shall quote in writing this review. Epes Sargent's book, Planchette: the Despair of Science, contains in reality very little on the planchette board, and the title is somewhat deceptive. Mr. Myers's articles on the subject (particularly in Proceedings of S.P.R., vol. ii. pp. 217-37; vol. iii. pp. 1-63; and vol. ix. pp. 26-128) are, of course, classical, but are involved and inaccessible for the general reader, even had he the time to read them carefully; so that perhaps the following resume may not be unnecessary or out of place.

It is to be presumed that every reader of this book knows what a Ouija Board is, and, roughly, what it does. How it does it is a more difficult question to answer; in fact, it may be said that no definite answer has even yet been forthcoming. All that has been done, or that we can do, is to examine the facts, and to advance an explanatory theory that is really explanatory and in accord, as nearly as possible, with accepted theories and teaching.

First, let us consider the movement of the board. There can be little doubt that the same force which propels the planchette board propels the ouija board also; and this is still further demonstrated by the fact that, in many experiments, the planchette board is used as a ouija, and points to the letters, which are written out on a large piece of paper, and the pencil point indicates the letter in the same manner as does the ouija. It certainly appears far easier for the board to point to letters than to write—and this is most suggestive and interesting when we consider it. It would seem to indicate that the controlling intelligence found it easier to convey its thoughts when the letters were before it, in plain sight—a very suggestive fact, taken in conjunction with certain mediumistic phenomena.[46] Of course there is the alternative explanation of this fact—that a straight push-and-pull action is easier to accomplish than the more detailed and complicated action of forming words and letters. But that would not make plain to us why it is that no attempt at writing should be made, very often, until the letter-pointing system is adopted.

Presuming, then, that the movement or impelling force is the same in each instance, the question is: What is this force? In the great bulk of cases there can only be one answer to this question: unconscious muscular action. Whenever muscular contact is allowed, this may safely be assumed to be the explanation of the movements of the board—even if it shows an apparently independent will and movement of its own, and apparently drags the hands of the sitters with it. I have discussed this at some length in my Physical Phenomena of Spiritualism, pp. 66-72, and it is unnecessary to go into the question again here. Unconscious muscular action will account for so much that, even if it were not the true explanation of the facts, in reality, we should have to assume that it was.

It will be observed that I have said "in the great bulk of cases." Some of my readers may object to this limitation, and say that it is the true and sufficient explanation of all the cases, without exception. Personally I doubt that fact. There are numerous cases on record when the board has continued to write after the hands of all the sitters have been removed from it. Now, if there be operative a force which has been in some way generated during the sitting, it is quite possible, of course, that this same force may be operative in those cases where contact is allowed, only it is difficult to prove that fact.[47] Personally I have no difficulty in conceiving such a force or power, at least theoretically. This force may be the first glimmerings of the force whose more powerful manifestations we see in the movements of tables (witness Gasparin's experiments, e.g.), and ultimately in telekinetic phenomena, as, for example, in the Palladino case. This would seem to indicate that such forces and powers are possessed by every one in a limited degree, but that it is only in certain individuals that it becomes so marked and extraordinary that it produces the phenomena spoken of above.

Granting, then, for the sake of argument, that the board is moved by the sitter, either consciously or unconsciously; by unconscious muscular action or by some "fluid" emanating from his fingers (and we must remember that even were a spirit using the writer's organism to manifest through, it must use the muscular and motor system), the great and vital question still remains: What is the intelligence behind the board that directs the phenomena? Who does the writing? What is the source of the information so often given?

Let us first consider the theory held by a very large number of persons—that the board is moved by some kind of "electricity." We must suppose that the generally recognized electricity is meant, because, if not, the motive force would be electricity plus something, and the "something" would be the explanation. And yet, if the force moving the board be "electricity," how comes it that this "electricity" can answer back, and possess an individuality so independent from that of the writer; capable, too, of giving a vast mass of information to the sitters, on occasion, of which they knew nothing? Then, again, it must be remembered that a ouija or planchette is almost universally made of wood—not metal or any well-known good conductor of electricity, but of wood—which is generally recognized to be an exceedingly bad conductor. Obviously the theory is absurd. And when we come to remember those cases in which the board gave information previously unknown to the writer having his hands on the board at the time, the theory sinks into its proper place—oblivion.

Then there is the theory of a floating, ambient mentality. This theory is held by many, and it is contended by them that this mentality is clothed, by some mysterious process, with a force similar to that which it possessed in the living organism; and that, in its expression of the combined intelligence of the circle, it generally follows the strongest mind, or the mind that is best qualified or conditioned to give correctly the thought. This theory found its champion in the person of Dr. Joseph Maxwell (see his Metapsychical Phenomena), and must be taken into account seriously. But an objection, and to my mind a fatal objection, to this theory is the fact that the intelligence seems to possess, not a collective but a decidedly personal character—one which is sufficiently stable and individual to argue back and to maintain its own opinions and beliefs in the face of great opposition from all the members of the circle. Is there anything in all this that suggests a floating, compound mentality; or does it not rather bear the marks of being a theory made up for the occasion, in order to evade some alternative explanation, objectionable, perhaps, to the sitters or critics?

All that has been said above also applies to the theory of a spiritus mundi, or spirit of the universe, which formed so large a part in the cosmological theories of many ancient philosophers. It is supposed to be a sort of all-pervading nervous principle, having, however, a mind of its own, when occasion demands—for otherwise how are the results to be accounted for? I think this and the preceding theory can best be met, perhaps, by asking its supporters to produce one iota of evidence in its behalf. When this has been forthcoming it will be time enough to consider it seriously.

Then there is the theory that the unconscious muscular action of the sitters is the cause of the movement and writing. This has been considered before, and it was pointed out that, even granting for the sake of argument that the board was actually moved by this means, the question still remains: How are we to account for the mentality behind the movement—especially when facts are given unknown to all the members of the circle? (For an example of this see Proceedings, S.P.R., vol. ix. pp. 93-8.)

The question thus arises: What did the writing? The theory of unconscious muscular action has been considered, and found not to explain all the facts. Many might contend that the board was moved by a principle or force as yet unknown, and think the question settled in that way. Of course this is a mere begging of the question, for all practical purposes, because, if the explanation were known, there would be no mystery and no argument about it. But the mere statement that the board is operated by a force as yet unknown merely restates the problem, without in any way attempting to solve it, and hence leaves us precisely where we were. Certainly this theory will not do!

Undoubtedly, the simplest explanation—and the correct one—for the majority of the facts is that the subconscious mind is alone responsible for them. Thoughts, images, reflections, imaginations, tend to externalize or express themselves in this manner,—in motor avenues,—through the movement of the board. The vast majority of ouija board "communications" are to be accounted for in this way. But what of those other (relatively rare) cases in which supernormal information, unknown to the sitter, is obtained? Any theory which is advanced must explain these cases also, as well as the movement of the board, and pure subconscious activity does not. We should still have to account for this knowledge, unknown to the writer; so that we shall have to seek further yet, in order to discover the true cause of the intelligence doing the writing.

We seem to be driven, then, into one of two alternatives: (1) that unconscious muscular action pushed the board, and that the supernormal information given was obtained by telepathy, clairvoyance, etc.; or (2) that spirits did the writing. Let us examine each of these hypotheses in turn a little more carefully. It seems to me that the first theory is practically unable to account in any satisfactory way for many communications that have been received. On the other hand, it would be perfectly absurd to invoke the agency of "spirits" for every one of the messages that have been written out—I mean supernormal messages. On the contrary, there are many experiments that point to clairvoyance or telepathy as the true explanation. It is highly probable, it seems to me, that the same agency is not involved on every occasion, but that there may be spirits (granting such to exist) on some occasions; telepathy and clairvoyance on other occasions; and purely unconscious muscular action on most occasions, when no supernormal is involved. It is only the prevailing tendency to cover all facts by a single explanation that has led to the difficulty. If we were willing to admit that there may be operative many different influences and causes, on different occasions, it seems to me that much of the difficulty would vanish.

There can be no doubt as to the fact that the ouija board is a far more mysterious little instrument than the majority of persons suppose—or rather, the forces and the mentalities behind the movement of the board are exceedingly complex, and but little understood. As the author of The Planchette Mystery said: "A wonderful jumble of mental and moral possibilities is this little piece of dead matter, now giving utterance to childish drivel, now bandying jokes and badinage, now stirring the conscience by unexceptionable Christian admonitions, and now uttering the baldest infidelity or the most shocking profanity; and often discoursing gravely on science, philosophy, or theology." Any theory that is advanced to explain the facts must take all this into consideration, and much more. Let us turn for a few minutes to consider the automatic script, as frequently obtained.

There are, very frequently, answers to mental questions—questions, too, the answer to which none of those having their hands on the board could possibly know. Often, again, remarks are volunteered conveying information not possessed by any one of the writers. The distinct characterization of a personality is frequently seen,—and a personality of a very detestable sort. The language employed, frequently, is quite unprintable. The "ouija" lies as coolly and confidently as it tells the truth; in fact, it is dogmatically positive that its statements are correct in every case, even when they are glaringly incorrect at the very time they are written. This spirit of dogmatism is shown in many passages, and suggests to us the attempt at domineering on the part of an intelligence unused to such a position, and rejoicing in its supremacy.

I wish to insist primarily upon the action of the board itself, and its apparently human characteristics—quite apart from any information which it volunteers; and this will be of the greater interest, I fancy, for the reason that such observations have, to the best of my knowledge, rarely been made. I can perhaps best illustrate my point by giving a few concrete examples.

There can be no question that the board has moods. It gets angry on occasion, for example, and at such times will tear round the table like a living thing, pointing first to one letter and then to another, and accentuating its meaning or calling attention to certain letters that are important, or that have been omitted in the rapid spelling, by rapping impatiently on the latter with the point—the point being lifted off the board at such times half an inch or so, and the board remaining planted on its two hind legs. I have seen the front leg of the board rap a dozen or so times on a letter that had been omitted; and sometimes the board would get so violent that it had to be quieted—just as the hand in automatic writing has to be quieted. Then, again, the board gets a certain "technique" of its own, acting in certain ways on certain occasions, and in other ways on other occasions; and frequently assuming a perfectly definite form of movement with certain persons—a certain sweep or an erratic manner of pointing to letters which it maintains uniformly so long as that person has his or her hands on the board. Occasionally the ouija will assume a different personality, according to the communicating intelligence, and not according to the person having his hands on the board. Just as raps or tables assume distinct personalities (see Dr. Maxwell's book for examples of this), so the ouija board assumes a perfectly definite personality, on occasion, and moves and writes according to that personality's idiosyncrasies. And this becomes all the more marked when we take into account certain peculiarities of the board—for example, its unwillingness to give names and dates, or to furnish any definite information about itself. I have observed over and over again that, whenever the intelligence doing the writing is closely questioned about itself, it will become angry, and refuse to give this information—either sulking or swearing at the writers. On the other hand, the board has some good points. It refused to disclose secrets about other persons, and got angry in the same way when pressed. Another exceedingly interesting and suggestive thing is that the intelligence operating the board occasionally gets tired. "Give me a rest now" is an expression frequently observed, and would seem to indicate that the "intelligence" gets confused and fatigued by the very process of communicating its thoughts—just as the "controls" do in the Piper case.

The very movements of the board frequently showed great skill and intelligence also; for instance, if the ouija encountered a rough or uneven place in the paper on one occasion it would always avoid crossing that spot in the future, and would go carefully round it, so as to avoid catching its legs in the hole or rough place in the paper. Still more striking was the manner in which the board pointed to certain letters on occasion. Many times the board was unable to point to a certain letter because the point of the ouija was in an awkward position, or on the edge of the table, or for some other reason. On such occasions the board backed one of its hind legs around until one of these legs pointed to the desired letter! Those having their hands on the board had many a hearty laugh over these antics, and particularly this one, which always reminded them of a horse backing itself round in this ludicrous way. It was always entirely unexpected, and was the source of great amusement. But what was the intelligence guiding the board when the only person having her hands upon it was not looking at its antics, or paying attention to what it was spelling out? Was it a spirit? If so, how did it manage to move the board? Did it act directly upon the matter of the board, and push it with its hands, as a material being would push it, or did it act in some more mysterious manner? Granting, for the sake of argument, that a spirit of some sort was involved in the production of the writing, how are we to assume its interaction with the matter of the board and its movements?

Two theories will at once present themselves to the reader: (1) that the spirit acts directly upon the matter of the ouija board, and pushes it as any mortal would push it; and (2) that the spirit acts only through the brain and nervous and muscular system of the person or persons having their hands on the board. I leave these for the present, because they have been discussed so often before. The following is the ouija board's own theory of such action—so we can at least listen to it with interest. In the course of some writing obtained, the following explanation of the action of the board was given by the "spirits" controlling it. I quote from the record:

"... Two spirits can always, when it is in divine order, readily communicate with each other, because they can always bring themselves into direct rapport at some one or more points. Though matter is widely discreted from spirit, in that the one is dead and the other is alive, yet there is a certain correspondence between the two, and between the degrees of the one and the degrees of the other; and according to this correspondence, relation, or rapport, spirit may act upon matter. Thus your spirit, in all its degrees and faculties, is in the closest rapport with all the degrees of matter composing your body, and for this reason alone is able to move it as it does, which it will no longer be able to do when that rapport is destroyed by what you call death. Through your body it is en rapport with and is able to act upon surrounding matter. If, then, you are in a susceptible condition, a spirit can not only get into rapport with your spirit, and through it with your body, and control its motions, or even suspend your own proper action and external consciousness by entrancement; but if you are at the same time en rapport with this little board it can, through contact of your hands, get into rapport with that, and move it without any conscious or volitional agency on your part. Furthermore, under certain favourable conditions, a spirit may, through your sphere and body combined, come into rapport even with the spheres of the ultimate particles of material bodies near you, and thence with the particles and the whole bodies themselves—and may thus, even without contact of your hands, move them or make sounds upon them as has often been witnessed. Its action, as before said, ceases where the rapport ceases; and if communications from really intelligent spirits have sometimes been defective as to the quality of the intelligence manifested, it is because there has been found nothing in the medium which could be brought into rapport or correspondence with the more elevated ideas of the spirit. The spirit, too, in frequent instances, is unable to prevent its energizing influences from being diverted by the reactive power of the medium into the channels of the imperfect types of thought and expression that are established in his mind, and it is for this simple reason that the communication is as you say often tinctured with the peculiarities of the medium, and even sometimes is nothing more than a reproduction of the mental states of the latter—perhaps greatly intensified."

Such is the theory originated by "ouija" itself—ingenious enough, if not very scientific. The majority of my readers will probably prefer to believe, either that some external intelligence moved the board directly; or that the sitter himself did so—from purely subconscious motives, or because he was thereby externalizing or acting as the channel for the expression of ideas imparted to him from without. In view of the reality of physical phenomena, I should be inclined to leave the question open as to which of these two interpretations is correct in any specific case. But there can be no doubt that, in most instances at least, the board is moved by the subconscious muscular activity of the sitter; and this is the most sane and rational view to take until definite proof to the contrary be forthcoming.

FOOTNOTES:

[45] More properly, "the psychology of ouija board writing" or "of writing obtained by means of the Ouija Board." This general title is shorter, however, for a chapter heading.

[46] I have in mind especially one remarkable (but hitherto unpublished) experiment with Mrs. Piper. A certain lady of my acquaintance—an old Piper sitter—has tried to convey a certain word to "Rector" telepathically—to be given by automatic writing through the trance. Several attempts failed. Finally, one day, the lady in question wrote out the word on a blackboard, and sat looking at it for about half an hour. The word was given the next day through Mrs. Piper. The blackboard was in the lady's own house, distant some 800 miles from Mrs. Piper, in Boston. This certainly seems to show that there is a peculiar "magic" in thoughts or things that are objectified in this manner. It serves to explain why it is that many clairvoyants cannot read thoughts and questions—e.g., until written out on paper—as in the case of Bert Reese, whom I have frequently seen.

[47] Dr. W. J. Crawford's experiments have since confirmed this.



CHAPTER XI

WITCHCRAFT: ITS FACTS AND FOLLIES

It has frequently been pointed out that, "where there is so much smoke there must be some fire"; also that there is, probably, and almost necessarily, some grain of truth in any popular superstition, no matter how absurd it may appear at first sight. This is not less true of witchcraft—though it would be difficult to convince the average person, in all probability, that there was anything connected with it but the grossest and most repulsive superstition. Taken all in all, it most assuredly is that, and very little else; and, before proceeding to examine the residuum of truth that probably exists in connection with this subject, it will be well for us briefly to examine the other and darker side of this curious relic of mediaeval superstition, and to see it in its most sombre hues. A belief for which more than nine million persons were either burned or hanged since it sprang into being; in whose cause five hundred persons were executed in three months in 1515 in Geneva alone, is not to be put aside as unworthy of a moment's consideration; but should, on the contrary, be considered as a most extraordinary and lasting delusion—helping to colour the times in which it occurred and influence the whole course of a nation's history.

The first trial for sorcery in England was in King John's reign; the last within the past two hundred years. In England, America, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Russia—every country without exception—witches have lived, flourished, and been burned at the stake. Laws were enacted against witches, and they were condemned on the most trivial and even ridiculous evidence imaginable. If an old woman were seen to enter a house by the front door, and a black cat was seen to leave the house by the back door, it was deemed sufficient evidence that the old woman was a witch, without further evidence or investigation—and indeed much of the evidence was not nearly so good and circumstantial as this! When a witch was caught, she was questioned and generally tortured; but it was soon ascertained that torture was a very unfair and unsafe method of extracting the truth (here as elsewhere), for the reason that a weak soul, even if innocent, might confess, and a strong and stubborn one would hold out and contend for her innocence to the last, whether guilty or not. For these reasons, it was finally given up before the burning was abolished.

Witches were supposed to be possessed of the most extraordinary powers for evil; they could bewitch a man, woman or child—even the cows and flocks—by casting an "evil eye" upon them, by uttering an imprecation, or in other ways casting a spell upon them. This power was derived directly from the devil himself, with whom witches were supposed to be in direct compact; consequently their influence was all for evil. These deeds were practised daily throughout the year; but every year there was a grand meeting of the demons and witches—a "Sabbath," as it was called—and here were recounted all the evil deeds of the past year, and here the witches saw and conversed with the devil himself, and received their instructions from him. It would be almost impossible to conceive a more grotesque and gruesome picture than some of these Sabbaths were supposed to be: every impossible and inconceivable thing that man's mind could invent was apparently attributed to these meetings. In order to form some faint idea of men's beliefs in those days, I quote the following, supposedly from a more or less contemporary account, of what actually transpired at these Sabbaths:

"A witch should be an old woman with a wrinkled face, a furred brow, a hairy lip, a gobber tooth, a squint eye, a squeaky voice, a scolding tongue, having a ragged coat on her back, a skull cap on her head, a spindle in her hand, a dog or cat by her side. There are three classes or divisions of devils—black, grey, and white. The first are omnipotent for evil, but powerless for good. The white have power to help, but not to hurt. The grey are efficient for both good and evil.... The modes of bewitching are: by casting an evil eye (fascinating); by making representations of a person to be acted upon in wax or clay, roasting this image before a fire; by mixing magical ointments, or other compositions or ingredients; or sometimes merely by uttering an imprecation.... Witches can ride in sieves on the sea, on brooms, or spits, magically prepared. The meeting of the witches is held every Friday night—between Friday and Saturday.... They steal children from the grave, boil them with lime till all the flesh is loosed from the bones, and is reduced to one mass. They make of the firm part an ointment, and fill a bottle with the fluid; and whosoever drinks this with due ceremony belongs to the league, and is capable of bewitching.... Every year a grand Sabbath is held or ordered for celebration on the Blocksberg Mountains, for the night before the 1st of May. Witches congregate from all parts, and meet at a place where four roads meet, in a rugged mountain range, or in the neighbourhood of a secluded lake or some dark forest; these are the spots selected for the meeting....

"When orders have been issued for the meeting of the Sabbath, all the wizards and witches who fail to attend it are lashed by demons with a rod made of serpents and scorpions. In France and England the witches ride upon broomsticks; but in Italy and Spain the Devil himself, in the shape of a goat, supports them on his back, which lengthens or shortens according to the number of witches he is desirous of accommodating. No witch, when proceeding to the Sabbath, can go out by a door or window, were she to try ever so much. Their general mode of ingress is by a keyhole and of egress by the chimney, up which they fly, broom and all, with the greatest ease. To prevent the absence of the witches being noticed by their neighbours, some inferior demon is commanded to assume their shapes and lie in their beds, feigning illness, until the Sabbath is over. When all the wizards and witches arrive at the place of rendezvous, the infernal ceremonies begin. Satan, having assumed his favourite shape of a large he-goat, with a face in front and another in his haunches, takes a seat upon the throne; and all present in succession pay their respects to him and kiss him on his face behind. This done, he appoints a master of the ceremonies, in company with whom he makes a personal examination of all the witches to see whether they have the secret mark upon them by which they are stamped as the Devil's own. The mark is always insensible to pain. Those who have not yet been marked receive the mark from the master of ceremonies—the Devil, at the same time, bestowing nicknames upon them. This done, they all begin to sing and dance in a most furious manner, until some one arrives who is anxious to be admitted into the society. They are then silent for a while until the newcomer has denied his salvation, kissed the Devil, spat upon the Bible, and sworn obedience to him in all things. They then begin dancing with all their might, and singing.... In the course of an hour or two they generally become wearied of this violent exercise, and then they all sit down and recount all their evil deeds since last meeting. Those who have not been malicious and mischievous enough towards their fellow-creatures receive personal chastisement from Satan himself, who flogs them with thorns and scorpions until they are covered with blood and unable to sit or stand. When this ceremony is concluded, they are all amused by a dance of toads. Thousands of these creatures spring out of the earth, and, standing upon their hind legs, dance while the Devil plays the bagpipes or the trumpet. These toads are all endowed with the faculty of speech, and entreat the witches there to reward them with the flesh of unbaptized infants for their exertions to give them pleasure. The witches promise compliance. The Devil bids them remember to keep their word, and then, stamping his foot, causes all the toads to sink into the earth in an instant. The place being thus cleared, preparations are made for the banquet, where all manner of disgusting things are served and greedily devoured by the demons and witches—although the latter are sometimes regaled with choice meats and expensive wines from golden plates and crystal goblets; but they are never thus favoured unless they have done an extraordinary number of evil deeds since the last period of meeting. After the feast they begin dancing, but such as have no relish for any more exercise in that way amuse themselves by mocking the holy sacrament of baptism. For this purpose the toads are again called and sprinkled with filthy water, the Devil making the sign of the cross, and the witches calling out [oath omitted]. When the Devil wishes to be particularly amused, he makes the witches strip off their clothes and dance before him, each with a cat tied round her neck and another dangling from her body in the form of a tail. When the cock crows they all disappear, and the Sabbath is ended...."

There, reader, is a very fair idea of the monstrous form of belief held during the Middle Ages. Scarcely anything that was fanciful and diabolical was not conjured up to the mind and said to happen at these Sabbaths. There was also a certain amount of ingenious theorizing afoot in order to account for certain facts, as, for instance, the cloven hoof, which it was said must always appear, no matter how concealed—it being due to the fact that the devil took the form of a goat so often that he finally acquired the hoof. Sir Thomas Browne explains it to us thus:

"The ground of this opinion at first might be his frequent appearing in the shape of a goat, which answers this description. This was the opinion of the Ancient Christians concerning the apparitions of the ancient panites, fauns, and satyrs; and of this form we read of one that appeared to Anthony in the wilderness. The same is also confirmed from exposition of Holy Scripture. For whereas it is said, 'Thou shalt not offer unto devils,' the original word is Seghuirim, i.e., 'rough and hairy goats,' because in that shape the Devil most often appeared, as is expounded by the rabbis, as Tremellius hath also explained; and as the word Ascimah, the God of Emath, is by some explained."

It will be noted that the word "Devil" is invariably capitalized by the mediaeval writers, and to them he must have been a very real personage, and these curious beliefs terrible truths. Indeed, if true, what could be more terrible? Even so learned a man as Bacon, we are told—whose soul was promised to the devil, no matter "whether he died in or out of the church"—endeavoured to cheat the devil out of his due, and had his body buried in the wall of the church—thus being neither in nor out of it—and so he hoped to cheat the devil of his due!

With the coming of Reginald Scott there arose a certain scepticism throughout Europe, which was later echoed in America. Scott wrote a monumental work entitled The Discoverie of Witchcraft, in which he bitterly attacked the credulity of the people, and showed himself entirely incredulous of any of the alleged phenomena. Some years before, had he published such a book, it was likely that he would have been burned himself; but the times were probably ripe for just such a publication; there was already much unrest and uneasiness afoot, and his book appeared in the nick of time. Scott attempted to account for the phenomena of witchcraft on a rational basis, and showed himself completely sceptical of the reality of most of the manifestations. He even went so far as to attack many of the older "miracles," which apparently supported the newer, even taking the very bold course (in that day) of attacking some of the Biblical miracles. Thus we read:

"The Pythoness (speaking of the Witch of Endor) being ventriloqua, that is, speaking as it were from the bottom of her belly, did cast herself into a trance, and so abused Saul in Samuel's name in her counterfeit hollow voice."

Indeed, something was necessary to check the rank credulity of the times. If an old woman scolded a carter, and later on in the day his cart got stuck in the mud or overturned, it was positive evidence that he and his cart and horse had been "bewitched"! If an old woman kept a black cat or a pet toad, it was most assuredly her "familiar," and she was branded as a witch forthwith. If cows sickened and died, it was because a "spell" had been cast over them; and so on and so on. The superstitions of witchcraft were as innumerable as they were extraordinary. Are there any facts, amid all this superstition and ignorance, tending to show that genuine supernormal phenomena ever occurred at all? And if so, what are they?

It must be remembered that, in the days of witchcraft, virtually nothing was known of hysteria, epilepsy, the varied forms of insanity, hallucination, hypnotism, or of the possibilities of mal-observation and lapse of memory: while such a matter as first-hand circumstantial evidence seems to have been lost to sight entirely. If any mental or extraordinary physical disturbance took place, if the witch went into a trance and described things that were not, this was held to be proof positive that she was bewitched and under the influence of the devil. But we now know that most of these facts really indicated disease—mental and bodily—or the results of hysteria or trance, spontaneous or induced. Possibly there were also traces of hypnotism and telepathic influence, upon occasion. Of course, fraud pure and simple would account for many of the phenomena—the vomiting of pins and needles, for instance. But there remain certain facts which cannot be accounted for on any of these theories. Let us see, briefly, what these are.

First there are the "witches' marks." These were anaesthetic patches or zones on the body that were quite insensible to pain. They were searched for with the aid of sharp needles, and often found! It was thought that these were the spots which the devil had touched; this was his "trade-mark," so to speak, by which all witches were known. Now we know that just such anaesthetic patches occur in hysterical patients, and are not due to supernatural causes at all, but to pathological states.

Then, again, there is the possible occurrence of hallucinations. Edmund Gurney pointed this out in Phantasms of the Living, vol. i. p. 117, where he said:

"We know now that subjective hallucinations may possess the very fullest sensory character, and may be as real to the percipient as any object he ever beheld. I have myself heard an epileptic subject, who was perfectly sane and rational in his general conduct, describe a series of interviews that he had had with the devil with a precision and an absolute belief in the evidence of his senses equal to anything that I ever read in the records of the witches' compacts. And further, we know now that there is a condition, capable often of being induced in uneducated and simple persons with extreme ease, in which any idea that is suggested may at once take sensory form, and may be projected as an actual hallucination. To those who have seen robust young men, in an early stage of hypnotic trance, staring with horror at a figure which appears to them to be walking on the ceiling, or giving way to strange convulsions under the impression that they have been changed into birds or snakes, there will be nothing very surprising in the belief of hysterical girls that they were possessed by some alien influence, or that their distinct persecutor was actually present to their senses. It is true that in hypnotic experiments there is commonly some preliminary process by which the peculiar condition is induced, and that the idea which originates the delusion has then to be suggested ab extra. But with sensitive 'subjects' who have been much under any particular influence, a mere word will produce the effect; nor is there any feature in the evidence for witchcraft that more constantly recurs than the touching of the victim by the witch. Moreover, no hard and fast lines exist between the delusions of induced hypnotism and those of spontaneous trance, or of the grave hystero-epileptic crises which mere terror is now known to develop."

Unquestionably, hypnotism and hallucination played their part; also perhaps telepathy; and, as Gurney points out elsewhere, "The imagination which may be unable to produce, even in feeble-minded persons, the belief that they see things that are not there, may be quite able to produce the belief that they have seen them, which is all, of course, that their testimony implies" (p. 118).

Doubtless a large part of witchcraft, particularly that portion of it which relates to the Sabbath and the scenes said to be enacted there, can be explained as being due to the morbid workings of the mind while in a trance state. It is asserted on good authority that salves and ointments were rubbed into the pores of the skin all over the body; and that soon after this the witch would feel drowsy and lie down, and frequently remain in a semitrance state for several hours. During that time she would visit the Sabbath,—so it was said; but her body remained on the bed meanwhile, clearly showing that it had not been there.[48]

One of the most curious beliefs prevalent at the time was the belief in lycanthropy, that is, that certain individuals can, under certain conditions, change their bodily shape, and appear as animals to persons at a distance! Frequently this animal would be injured, in which case the person whom the animal represented would be found to be injured in the same way, and in exactly the same place. The witch in such cases would frequently be lying at home in bed in a trance state, while her "fluidic double," in the shape of the animal, would be roaming about "seeking whom he might devour." The following is a typical case, which I quote from Adolphe D'Assier's Posthumous Humanity, p. 261:

"A miller, named Bigot, had some reputation for sorcery. One day, when his wife rose very early to go and wash some linen not very far from the house, he tried to dissuade her, repeating to her several times, 'Do not go there; you will be frightened.' 'Why should I be frightened?' answered she. 'I tell you you will be frightened.' She made nothing of these threats, and departed. Hardly had she taken her place at the wash-tub before she saw an animal moving here and there about her. As it was not yet daylight she could not clearly make out its form, but she thought it was a kind of dog. Annoyed by these goings and comings, and not being able to scare it away, she threw at it her wooden clothes-beater, which struck it in the eye. The animal immediately disappeared. At the same moment the children of Bigot heard the latter utter a cry of pain from the bed, and add: 'Ah! the wretch! she has destroyed my eye.' From that day, in fact, he became one-eyed. Several persons told me this fact, and I have heard it from Bigot's children themselves."

How does our author attempt to account for such a fact as this? He says:

"It was certainly the double of the miller which projected itself while he was in bed and wandered about under an animal form. The wound which the animal received at once repercussed upon the eye of Bigot, just as we have seen the same thing happen in analogous cases of the projection of the double by sorcerers."

Without endorsing such a view of the case, it may be said that recent experiments have shown it to be less incredible than might at first appear. Thus: We read further:

"Innumerable facts, observed from antiquity to our own day, demonstrate in our being the existence of an internal reality—the internal man. Analysis of these different manifestations has permitted us to penetrate its nature. Externally it is the exact image of the person of whom it is the complement. Internally it reproduces the mould of all the organs which constitute the framework of the human body. We see it, in short, move, speak, take nourishment; perform, in a word, all the great functions of animal life. The extreme tenuity of these constituent molecules, which represent the last term of inorganic matter, allows it to pass through the walls and partitions of apartments. Hence the name of phantom, by which it is generally designated. Nevertheless, as it is united with the body from which it emanates by an invisible vascular plexus, it can, at will, draw to itself, by a sort of aspiration, the greater part of the living forces which animate the latter. One sees, then, by a singular inversion, life withdrawn from the body, which then exhibits a cadaverous rigidity, and transfers itself entirely to the phantom, which acquires consistency—sometimes even to the point of struggling with persons before whom it materializes. It is but exceptionally that it shows itself in connection with a living person. But as soon as death has snapped the bonds which attach it to our organism, it definitely separates itself from the human body and constitutes the posthumous phantom."

This interpretation of the facts, it will be seen, forms a sort of connecting link between apparitions, ghosts, materializations, vampirism, and witchcraft; it is also in accord with the statements of the theosophists as to the astral body, conforms with certain statements made through Mrs. Piper and others as to the fluidic or ethereal body, and accounts for many of the phenomena of "collective hallucination" and haunted houses. I am far from saying that I think such a theory proved, but it is at least consistent and plausible; it is also in accord with many facts, and explains them as no other theory can or does.