"The great field for new discoveries," said a scientific friend to me
the other day, "is always the unclassified residuum." Round about the
accredited and orderly facts of every science there ever floats a sort
of dust-cloud of exceptional observations, of occurrences minute and
irregular and seldom met with, which it always proves more easy to
ignore than to attend to. The ideal of every science is that of a
closed and completed system of truth. The charm of most sciences to
their more passive disciples consists in their appearing, in fact, to
wear just this ideal form. Each one of our various _ologies_ seems to
offer a definite head of classification for every possible phenomenon
of the sort which it professes to cover; and so far from free is most
men's fancy, that, when a consistent and organized scheme of this sort
has once been comprehended and assimilated, a different scheme is
unimaginable. No alternative, whether to whole or parts, can any
longer be conceived as possible. Phenomena unclassifiable within the
system are therefore paradoxical {300} absurdities, and must be held
untrue. When, moreover, as so often happens, the reports of them are
vague and indirect; when they come as mere marvels and oddities rather
than as things of serious moment,--one neglects or denies them with the
best of scientific consciences. Only the born geniuses let themselves
be worried and fascinated by these outstanding exceptions, and get no
peace till they are brought within the fold. Your Galileos, Galvanis,
Fresnels, Purkinjes, and Darwins are always getting confounded and
troubled by insignificant things. Any one will renovate his science
who will steadily look after the irregular phenomena. And when the
science is renewed, its new formulas often have more of the voice of
the exceptions in them than of what were supposed to be the rules.
No part of the unclassified residuum has usually been treated with a
more contemptuous scientific disregard than the mass of phenomena
generally called _mystical_. Physiology will have nothing to do with
them. Orthodox psychology turns its back upon them. Medicine sweeps
them out; or, at most, when in an anecdotal vein, records a few of them
as 'effects of the imagination,'--a phrase of mere dismissal, whose
meaning, in this connection, it is impossible to make precise. All the
while, however, the phenomena are there, lying broadcast over the
surface of history. No matter where you open its pages, you find
things recorded under the name of divinations, inspirations, demoniacal
possessions, apparitions, trances, ecstasies, miraculous healings and
productions of disease, and occult powers possessed by peculiar
individuals over persons and things in their neighborhood. We suppose
that 'mediumship' {301} originated in Rochester, N. Y., and animal
magnetism with Mesmer; but once look behind the pages of official
history, in personal memoirs, legal documents, and popular narratives
and books of anecdote, and you will find that there never was a time
when these things were not reported just as abundantly as now. We
college-bred gentry, who follow the stream of cosmopolitan culture
exclusively, not infrequently stumble upon some old-established
journal, or some voluminous native author, whose names are never heard
of in _our_ circle, but who number their readers by the
quarter-million. It always gives us a little shock to find this mass
of human beings not only living and ignoring us and all our gods, but
actually reading and writing and cogitating without ever a thought of
our canons and authorities. Well, a public no less large keeps and
transmits from generation to generation the traditions and practices of
the occult; but academic science cares as little for its beliefs and
opinions as you, gentle reader, care for those of the readers of the
Waverley and the Fireside Companion. To no one type of mind is it
given to discern the totality of truth. Something escapes the best of
us,--not accidentally, but systematically, and because we have a twist.
The scientific-academic mind and the feminine-mystical mind shy from
each other's facts, just as they fly from each other's temper and
spirit. Facts are there only for those who have a mental affinity with
them. When once they are indisputably ascertained and admitted, the
academic and critical minds are by far the best fitted ones to
interpret and discuss them,--for surely to pass from mystical to
scientific speculations is like passing from lunacy to sanity; but on
the other hand if there is {302} anything which human history
demonstrates, it is the extreme slowness with which the ordinary
academic and critical mind acknowledges facts to exist which present
themselves as wild facts, with no stall or pigeon-hole, or as facts
which threaten to break up the accepted system. In psychology,
physiology, and medicine, wherever a debate between the mystics and the
scientifics has been once for all decided, it is the mystics who have
usually proved to be right about the _facts_, while the scientifics had
the better of it in respect to the theories. The most recent and
flagrant example of this is 'animal magnetism,' whose facts were
stoutly dismissed as a pack of lies by academic medical science the
world over, until the non-mystical theory of 'hypnotic suggestion' was
found for them,--when they were admitted to be so excessively and
dangerously common that special penal laws, forsooth, must be passed to
keep all persons unequipped with medical diplomas from taking part in
their production. Just so stigmatizations, invulnerabilities,
instantaneous cures, inspired discourses, and demoniacal possessions,
the records of which were shelved in our libraries but yesterday in the
alcove headed 'superstitions,' now, under the brand-new title of 'cases
of hystero-epilepsy,' are republished, reobserved, and reported with an
even too credulous avidity.
Repugnant as the mystical style of philosophizing maybe (especially
when self-complacent), there is no sort of doubt that it goes with a
gift for meeting with certain kinds of phenomenal experience. The
writer of these pages has been forced in the past few years to this
admission; and he now believes that he who will pay attention to facts
of the sort dear to mystics, {303} while reflecting upon them in
academic-scientific ways, will be in the best possible position to help
philosophy. It is a circumstance of good augury that certain
scientifically trained minds in all countries seem drifting to the same
conclusion. The Society for Psychical Research has been one means of
bringing science and the occult together in England and America; and
believing that this Society fulfils a function which, though limited,
is destined to be not unimportant in the organization of human
knowledge, I am glad to give a brief account of it to the uninstructed
reader.
According to the newspaper and drawing-room myth, soft-headedness and
idiotic credulity are the bond of sympathy in this Society, and general
wonder-sickness its dynamic principle. A glance at the membership
fails, however, to corroborate this view. The president is Prof. Henry
Sidgwick,[2] known by his other deeds as the most incorrigibly and
exasperatingly critical and sceptical mind in England. The hard-headed
Arthur Balfour is one vice-president, and the hard-headed Prof. J. P.
Langley, secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, is another. Such
men as Professor Lodge, the eminent English physicist, and Professor
Richet, the eminent French physiologist, are among the most active
contributors to the Society's Proceedings; and through the catalogue of
membership are sprinkled names honored throughout the world for their
scientific capacity. In fact, were I asked to point to a scientific
journal where hard-headedness and never-sleeping suspicion of sources
of error might be seen in their full bloom, {304} I think I should have
to fall back on the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research.
The common run of papers, say on physiological subjects, which one
finds in other professional organs, are apt to show a far lower level
of critical consciousness. Indeed, the rigorous canons of evidence
applied a few years ago to testimony in the case of certain 'mediums'
led to the secession from the Society of a number of spiritualists.
Messrs. Stainton Moses and A. R. Wallace, among others, thought that no
experiences based on mere eyesight could ever have a chance to be
admitted as true, if such an impossibly exacting standard of proof were
insisted on in every case.
The S. P. R., as I shall call it for convenience, was founded in 1882
by a number of gentlemen, foremost among whom seem to have been
Professors Sidgwick, W. F. Barrett, and Balfour Stewart, and Messrs. R.
H. Hutton, Hensleigh Wedgwood, Edmund Gurney, and F. W. H. Myers.
Their purpose was twofold,--first, to carry on systematic
experimentation with hypnotic subjects, mediums, clairvoyants, and
others; and, secondly, to collect evidence concerning apparitions,
haunted houses, and similar phenomena which are incidentally reported,
but which, from their fugitive character, admit of no deliberate
control. Professor Sidgwick, in his introductory address, insisted
that the divided state of public opinion on all these matters was a
scandal to science,--absolute disdain on _à priori_ grounds
characterizing what may be called professional opinion, while
indiscriminate credulity was too often found among those who pretended
to have a first-hand acquaintance with the facts.
As a sort of weather bureau for accumulating {305} reports of such
meteoric phenomena as apparitions, the S. P. R. has done an immense
amount of work. As an experimenting body, it cannot be said to have
completely fulfilled the hopes of its founders. The reasons for this
lie in two circumstances: first, the clairvoyant and other subjects who
will allow themselves to be experimented upon are few and far between;
and, secondly, work with them takes an immense amount of time, and has
had to be carried on at odd intervals by members engaged in other
pursuits. The Society has not yet been rich enough to control the
undivided services of skilled experimenters in this difficult field.
The loss of the lamented Edmund Gurney, who more than any one else had
leisure to devote, has been so far irreparable. But were there no
experimental work at all, and were the S. P. R. nothing but a
weather-bureau for catching sporadic apparitions, etc., in their
freshness, I am disposed to think its function indispensable in the
scientific organism. If any one of my readers, spurred by the thought
that so much smoke must needs betoken fire, has ever looked into the
existing literature of the supernatural for proof, he will know what I
mean. This literature is enormous, but it is practically worthless for
evidential purposes. Facts enough are cited, indeed; but the records
of them are so fallible and imperfect that at most they lead to the
opinion that it may be well to keep a window open upon that quarter in
one's mind.
In the S. P. R.'s Proceedings, on the contrary, a different law
prevails. Quality, and not mere quantity, is what has been mainly kept
in mind. The witnesses, where possible, have in every reported case
been cross-examined personally, the collateral facts {306} have been
looked up, and the story appears with its precise coefficient of
evidential worth stamped on it, so that all may know just what its
weight as proof may be. Outside of these Proceedings, I know of no
systematic attempt to _weigh_ the evidence for the supernatural. This
makes the value of the volumes already published unique; and I firmly
believe that as the years go on and the ground covered grows still
wider, the Proceedings will more and more tend to supersede all other
sources of information concerning phenomena traditionally deemed
occult. Collections of this sort are usually best appreciated by the
rising generation. The young anthropologists and psychologists who
will soon have full occupancy of the stage will feel how great a
scientific scandal it has been to leave a great mass of human
experience to take its chances between vague tradition and credulity on
the one hand and dogmatic denial at long range on the other, with no
body of persons extant who are willing and competent to study the
matter with both patience and rigor. If the Society lives long enough
for the public to become familiar with its presence, so that any
apparition, or house or person infested with unaccountable noises or
disturbances of material objects, will as a matter of course be
reported to its officers, we shall doubtless end by having a mass of
facts concrete enough to theorize upon. Its sustainers, therefore,
should accustom themselves to the idea that its first duty is simply to
exist from year to year and perform this recording function well,
though no conclusive results of any sort emerge at first. All our
learned societies have begun in some such modest way.
But one cannot by mere outward organization make much progress in
matters scientific. Societies can {307} back men of genius, but can
never take their place. The contrast between the parent Society and
the American Branch illustrates this. In England, a little group of
men with enthusiasm and genius for the work supplied the nucleus; in
this country, Mr. Hodgson had to be imported from Europe before any
tangible progress was made. What perhaps more than anything else has
held the Society together in England is Professor Sidgwick's
extraordinary gift of inspiring confidence in diverse sorts of people.
Such tenacity of interest in the result and such absolute impartiality
in discussing the evidence are not once in a century found in an
individual. His obstinate belief that there is something yet to be
brought to light communicates patience to the discouraged; his
constitutional inability to draw any precipitate conclusion reassures
those who are afraid of being dupes. Mrs. Sidgwick--a sister, by the
way, of the great Arthur Balfour--is a worthy ally of her husband in
this matter, showing a similarly rare power of holding her judgment in
suspense, and a keenness of observation and capacity for experimenting
with human subjects which are rare in either sex.
The _worker_ of the Society, as originally constituted, was Edmund
Gurney. Gurney was a man of the rarest sympathies and gifts.
Although, like Carlyle, he used to groan under the burden of his
labors, he yet exhibited a colossal power of dispatching business and
getting through drudgery of the most repulsive kind. His two thick
volumes on 'Phantasms of the Living,' collected and published in three
years, are a proof of this. Besides this, he had exquisite artistic
instincts, and his massive volume on 'The Power of Sound' was, when it
appeared, the most important {308} work on aesthetics in the English
language. He had also the tenderest heart and a mind of rare
metaphysical power, as his volumes of essays, 'Tertium Quid,' will
prove to any reader. Mr. Frederic Myers, already well known as one of
the most brilliant of English essayists, is the _ingenium praefervidum_
of the S. P. R. Of the value of Mr. Myers's theoretic writings I will
say a word later. Dr. Hodgson, the American secretary, is
distinguished by a balance of mind almost as rare in its way as
Sidgwick's. He is persuaded of the reality of many of the phenomena
called spiritualistic, but he also has uncommon keenness in detecting
error; and it is impossible to say in advance whether it will give him
more satisfaction to confirm or to smash a given case offered to his
examination.
It is now time to cast a brief look upon the actual contents of these
Proceedings. The first two years were largely taken up with
experiments in thought-transference. The earliest lot of these were
made with the daughters of a clergyman named Creery, and convinced
Messrs. Balfour Stewart, Barrett, Myers, and Gurney that the girls had
an inexplicable power of guessing names and objects thought of by other
persons. Two years later, Mrs. Sidgwick and Mr. Gurney, recommencing
experiments with the same girls, detected them signalling to each
other. It is true that for the most part the conditions of the earlier
series had excluded signalling, and it is also possible that the
cheating may have grafted itself on what was originally a genuine
phenomenon. Yet Gurney was wise in abandoning the entire series to the
scepticism of the reader. Many critics of the S. P. R. seem out of all
{309} its labors to have heard only of this case. But there are
experiments recorded with upwards of thirty other subjects. Three were
experimented upon at great length during the first two years: one was
Mr. G. A. Smith; the other two were young ladies in Liverpool in the
employment of Mr. Malcolm Guthrie.
It is the opinion of all who took part in these latter experiments that
sources of conscious and unconscious deception were sufficiently
excluded, and that the large percentage of correct reproductions by the
subjects of words, diagrams, and sensations occupying other persons'
consciousness were entirely inexplicable as results of chance. The
witnesses of these performances were in fact all so satisfied of the
genuineness of the phenomena, that 'telepathy' has figured freely in
the papers of the Proceedings and in Gurney's book on Phantasms as a
_vera causa_ on which additional hypotheses might be built. No mere
reader can be blamed, however, if he demand, for so revolutionary a
belief, a more overwhelming bulk of testimony than has yet been
supplied. Any day, of course, may bring in fresh experiments in
successful picture-guessing. But meanwhile, and lacking that, we can
only point out that the present data are strengthened in the flank, so
to speak, by all observations that tend to corroborate the possibility
of other kindred phenomena, such as telepathic impression,
clairvoyance, or what is called 'test-mediumship.' The wider genus
will naturally cover the narrower species with its credit.
Gurney's papers on hypnotism must be mentioned next. Some of them are
less concerned with establishing new facts than with analyzing old
ones. But omitting these, we find that in the line of pure {310}
observation Gurney claims to have ascertained in more than one subject
the following phenomenon: The subject's hands are thrust through a
blanket, which screens the operator from his eyes, and his mind is
absorbed in conversation with a third person. The operator meanwhile
points with his finger to one of the fingers of the subject, which
finger alone responds to this silent selection by becoming stiff or
anaesthetic, as the case may be. The interpretation is difficult, but
the phenomenon, which I have myself witnessed, seems authentic.
Another observation made by Gurney seems to prove the possibility of
the subject's mind being directly influenced by the operator's. The
hypnotized subject responds, or fails to respond, to questions asked by
a third party according to the operator's silent permission or refusal.
Of course, in these experiments all obvious sources of deception were
excluded. But Gurney's most important contribution to our knowledge of
hypnotism was his series of experiments on the automatic writing of
subjects who had received post-hypnotic suggestions. For example, a
subject during trance is told that he will poke the fire in six minutes
after waking. On being waked he has no memory of the order, but while
he is engaged in conversation his hand is placed on a _planchette_,
which immediately writes the sentence, "P., you will poke the fire in
six minutes." Experiments like this, which were repeated in great
variety, seem to prove that below the upper consciousness the hypnotic
consciousness persists, engrossed with the suggestion and able to
express itself through the involuntarily moving hand.
Gurney shares, therefore, with Janet and Binet, the {311} credit of
demonstrating the simultaneous existence of two different strata of
consciousness, ignorant of each other, in the same person. The
'extra-consciousness,' as one may call it, can be kept on tap, as it
were, by the method of automatic writing. This discovery marks a new
era in experimental psychology, and it is impossible to overrate its
importance. But Gurney's greatest piece of work is his laborious
'Phantasms of the Living.' As an example of the drudgery stowed away
in the volumes, it may suffice to say that in looking up the proofs for
the alleged physical phenomena of witchcraft, Gurney reports a careful
search through two hundred and sixty books on the subject, with the
result of finding no first-hand evidence recorded in the trials except
the confessions of the victims themselves; and these, of course, are
presumptively due to either torture or hallucination. This statement,
made in an unobtrusive note, is only one instance of the care displayed
throughout the volumes. In the course of these, Gurney discusses about
seven hundred cases of apparitions which he collected. A large number
of these were 'veridical,' in the sense of coinciding with some
calamity happening to the person who appeared. Gurney's explanation is
that the mind of the person undergoing the calamity was at that moment
able to impress the mind of the percipient with an hallucination.
Apparitions, on this 'telepathic' theory, may be called 'objective'
facts, although they are not 'material' facts. In order to test the
likelihood of such veridical hallucinations being due to mere chance,
Gurney instituted the 'census of hallucinations,' which has been
continued with the result of obtaining answers from over twenty-five
thousand persons, asked {312} at random in different countries whether,
when in good health and awake, they had ever heard a voice, seen a
form, or felt a touch which no material presence could account for.
The result seems to be, roughly speaking, that in England about one
adult in ten has had such an experience at least once in his life, and
that of the experiences themselves a large number coincide with some
distant event. The question is, Is the frequency of these latter cases
too great to be deemed fortuitous, and must we suppose an occult
connection between the two events? Mr. and Mrs. Sidgwick have worked
out this problem on the basis of the English returns, seventeen
thousand in number, with a care and thoroughness that leave nothing to
be desired. Their conclusion is that the cases where the apparition of
a person is seen on the day of his death are four hundred and forty
times too numerous to be ascribed to chance. The reasoning employed to
calculate this number is simple enough. If there be only a fortuitous
connection between the death of an individual and the occurrence of his
apparition to some one at a distance, the death is no more likely to
fall on the same day as the apparition than it is to occur on the same
day with any other event in nature. But the chance-probability that
any individual's death will fall on any given day marked in advance by
some other event is just equal to the chance-probability that the
individual will die at all on any specified day; and the national
death-rate gives that probability as one in nineteen thousand. If,
then, when the death of a person coincides with an apparition of the
same person, the coincidence be merely fortuitous, it ought not to
occur oftener than once in nineteen thousand cases. As a matter of
fact, {313} however, it does occur (according to the census) once in
forty-three cases, a number (as aforesaid) four hundred and forty times
too great. The American census, of some seven thousand answers, gives
a remarkably similar result. Against this conclusion the only rational
answer that I can see is that the data are still too few; that the net
was not cast wide enough; and that we need, to get fair averages, far
more than twenty-four thousand answers to the census question. This
may, of course, be true, though it seems exceedingly unlikely; and in
our own twenty-four thousand answers veridical cases may possibly have
heaped themselves unduly.
The next topic worth mentioning in the Proceedings is the discussion of
the physical phenomena of mediumship (slate-writing, furniture-moving,
and so forth) by Mrs. Sidgwick, Mr. Hodgson, and 'Mr. Davey.' This, so
far as it goes, is destructive of the claims of all the mediums
examined. 'Mr. Davey' himself produced fraudulent slate-writing of the
highest order, while Mr. Hodgson, a 'sitter' in his confidence,
reviewed the written reports of the series of his other sitters,--all
of them intelligent persons,--and showed that in every case they failed
to see the essential features of what was done before their eyes. This
Davey-Hodgson contribution is probably the most damaging document
concerning eye-witnesses' evidence that has ever been produced.
Another substantial bit of work based on personal observation is Mr.
Hodgson's report on Madame Blavatsky's claims to physical mediumship.
This is adverse to the lady's pretensions; and although some of Madame
Blavatsky's friends make light of it, it is a stroke from which her
reputation will not recover.
{314}
Physical mediumship in all its phases has fared hard in the
Proceedings. The latest case reported on is that of the famous Eusapia
Paladino, who being detected in fraud at Cambridge, after a brilliant
career of success on the continent, has, according to the draconian
rules of method which govern the Society, been ruled out from a further
hearing. The case of Stainton Moses, on the other hand, concerning
which Mr. Myers has brought out a mass of unpublished testimony, seems
to escape from the universal condemnation, and appears to force upon us
what Mr. Andrew Lang calls the choice between a moral and a physical
miracle.
In the case of Mrs. Piper, not a physical but a trance medium, we seem
to have no choice offered at all. Mr. Hodgson and others have made
prolonged study of this lady's trances, and are all convinced that
super-normal powers of cognition are displayed therein. These are
_primâ facie_ due to 'spirit-control.' But the conditions are so
complex that a dogmatic decision either for or against the
spirit-hypothesis must as yet be postponed.
One of the most important experimental contributions to the Proceedings
is the article of Miss X. on 'Crystal Vision.' Many persons who look
fixedly into a crystal or other vaguely luminous surface fall into a
kind of daze, and see visions. Miss X. has this susceptibility in a
remarkable degree, and is, moreover, an unusually intelligent critic.
She reports many visions which can only be described as apparently
clairvoyant, and others which beautifully fill a vacant niche incur
knowledge of subconscious mental operations. For example, looking into
the crystal before breakfast one morning she reads in printed
characters of the {315} death of a lady of her acquaintance, the date
and other circumstances all duly appearing in type. Startled by this,
she looks at the 'Times' of the previous day for verification, and
there among the deaths are the identical words which she has seen. On
the same page of the Times are other items which she remembers reading
the day before; and the only explanation seems to be that her eyes then
inattentively observed, so to speak, the death-item, which forthwith
fell into a special corner of her memory, and came out as a visual
hallucination when the peculiar modification of consciousness induced
by the crystal-gazing set in.
Passing from papers based on observation to papers based on narrative,
we have a number of ghost stories, etc., sifted by Mrs. Sidgwick and
discussed by Messrs. Myers and Podmore. They form the best ghost
literature I know of from the point of view of emotional interest. As
to the conclusions drawn, Mrs. Sidgwick is rigorously non-committal,
while Mr. Myers and Mr. Podmore show themselves respectively hospitable
and inhospitable to the notion that such stories have a basis of
objectivity dependent on the continued existence of the dead.
I must close my gossip about the Proceedings by naming what, after all,
seems to me the most important part of its contents. This is the long
series of articles by Mr. Myers on what he now calls the 'subliminal
self,' or what one might designate as ultra-marginal consciousness.
The result of Myers's learned and ingenious studies in hypnotism,
hallucinations, automatic writing, mediumship, and the whole series of
allied phenomena is a conviction which he expresses in the following
terms:--
{316}
"Each of us is in reality an abiding psychical entity far more
extensive than he knows,--an individuality which can never express
itself completely through any corporeal manifestation. The self
manifests itself through the organism; but there is always some part of
the self unmanifested, and always, as it seems, some power of organic
expression in abeyance or reserve."
The ordinary consciousness Mr. Myers likens to the visible part of the
solar spectrum; the total consciousness is like that spectrum prolonged
by the inclusion of the ultra-red and ultra-violet rays. In the
psychic spectrum the 'ultra' parts may embrace a far wider range, both
of physiological and of psychical activity, than is open to our
ordinary consciousness and memory. At the lower end we have the
_physiological_ extension, mind-cures, 'stigmatization' of ecstatics,
etc.; in the upper, the hyper-normal cognitions of the medium-trance.
Whatever the judgment of the future may be on Mr. Myers's speculations,
the credit will always remain to them of being the first attempt in any
language to consider the phenomena of hallucination, hypnotism,
automatism, double personality, and mediumship as connected parts of
one whole subject. All constructions in this field must be
provisional, and it is as something provisional that Mr. Myers offers
us his formulations. But, thanks to him, we begin to see for the first
time what a vast interlocked and graded system these phenomena, from
the rudest motor-automatisms to the most startling sensory-apparition,
form. Quite apart from Mr. Myers's conclusions, his methodical
treatment of them by classes and series is the first great step toward
overcoming the distaste of orthodox science to look at them at all.
{317}
One's reaction on hearsay testimony is always determined by one's own
experience. Most men who have once convinced themselves, by what seems
to them a careful examination, that any one species of the supernatural
exists, begin to relax their vigilance as to evidence, and throw the
doors of their minds more or less wide open to the supernatural along
its whole extent. To a mind that has thus made its _salto mortale_,
the minute work over insignificant cases and quiddling discussion of
'evidential values,' of which the Society's reports are full, seems
insufferably tedious. And it is so; few species of literature are more
truly dull than reports of phantasms. Taken simply by themselves, as
separate facts to stare at, they appear so devoid of meaning and sweep,
that, even were they certainly true, one would be tempted to leave them
out of one's universe for being so idiotic. Every other sort of fact
has some context and continuity with the rest of nature. These alone
are contextless and discontinuous.
Hence I think that the sort of loathing--no milder word will do--which
the very words 'psychical research' and 'psychical researcher' awaken
in so many honest scientific breasts is not only natural, but in a
sense praiseworthy. A man who is unable himself to conceive of any
_orbit_ for these mental meteors can only suppose that Messrs. Gurney,
Myers, & Co.'s mood in dealing with them must be that of silly
marvelling at so many detached prodigies. And such prodigies! So
science simply falls back on her general _non-possumus_; and most of
the would-be critics of the Proceedings have been contented to oppose
to the phenomena recorded the simple presumption that in some way or
other the reports _must_ be {318} fallacious,--for so far as the order
of nature has been subjected to really scientific scrutiny, it always
has been proved to run the other way. But the oftener one is forced to
reject an alleged sort of fact by the use of this mere presumption, the
weaker does the presumption itself get to be; and one might in course
of time use up one's presumptive privileges in this way, even though
one started (as our anti-telepathists do) with as good a case as the
great induction of psychology that all our knowledge comes by the use
of our eyes and ears and other senses. And we must remember also that
this undermining of the strength of a presumption by reiterated report
of facts to the contrary does not logically require that the facts in
question should all be well proved. A lot of rumors in the air against
a business man's credit, though they might all be vague, and no one of
them amount to proof that he is unsound, would certainly weaken the
_presumption_ of his soundness. And all the more would they have this
effect if they formed what Gurney called a fagot and not a chain,--that
is, if they were independent of one another, and came from different
quarters. Now, the evidence for telepathy, weak and strong, taken just
as it comes, forms a fagot and not a chain. No one item cites the
content of another item as part of its own proof. But taken together
the items have a certain general consistency; there is a method in
their madness, so to speak. So each of them adds presumptive value to
the lot; and cumulatively, as no candid mind can fail to see, they
subtract presumptive force from the orthodox belief that there can be
nothing in any one's intellect that has not come in through ordinary
experiences of sense.
But it is a miserable thing for a question of truth {319} to be
confined to mere presumption and counter-presumption, with no decisive
thunderbolt of fact to clear the baffling darkness. And, sooth to say,
in talking so much of the merely presumption-weakening value of our
records, I have myself been wilfully taking the point of view of the
so-called 'rigorously scientific' disbeliever, and making an _ad
hominem_ plea. My own point of view is different. For me the
thunderbolt _has_ fallen, and the orthodox belief has not merely had
its presumption weakened, but the truth itself of the belief is
decisively overthrown. If I may employ the language of the
professional logic-shop, a universal proposition can be made untrue by
a particular instance. If you wish to upset the law that all crows are
black, you must not seek to show that no crows are; it is enough if you
prove one single crow to be white. My own white crow is Mrs. Piper.
In the trances of this medium, I cannot resist the conviction that
knowledge appears which she has never gained by the ordinary waking use
of her eyes and ears and wits. What the source of this knowledge may
be I know not, and have not the glimmer of an explanatory suggestion to
make; but from admitting the fact of such knowledge I can see no
escape. So when I turn to the rest of the evidence, ghosts and all, I
cannot carry with me the irreversibly negative bias of the 'rigorously
scientific' mind, with its presumption as to what the true order of
nature ought to be. I feel as if, though the evidence be flimsy in
spots, it may nevertheless collectively carry heavy weight. The
rigorously scientific mind may, in truth, easily overshoot the mark.
Science means, first of all, a certain dispassionate method. To
suppose that it means a certain set of {320} results that one should
pin one's faith upon and hug forever is sadly to mistake its genius,
and degrades the scientific body to the status of a sect.
We all, scientists and non-scientists, live on some inclined plane of
credulity. The plane tips one way in one man, another way in another;
and may he whose plane tips in no way be the first to cast a stone! As
a matter of fact, the trances I speak of have broken down for my own
mind the limits of the admitted order of nature. Science, so far as
science denies such exceptional occurrences, lies prostrate in the dust
for me; and the most urgent intellectual need which I feel at present
is that science be built up again in a form in which such things may
have a positive place. Science, like life, feeds on its own decay.
New facts burst old rules; then newly divined conceptions bind old and
new together into a reconciling law.
And here is the real instructiveness of Messrs. Myers and Gurney's
work. They are trying with the utmost conscientiousness to find a
reconciling conception which shall subject the old laws of nature to
the smallest possible strain. Mr. Myers uses that method of gradual
approach which has performed such wonders in Darwin's hands. When
Darwin met a fact which seemed a poser to his theory, his regular
custom, as I have heard an able colleague say, was to fill in all round
it with smaller facts, as a wagoner might heap dirt round a big rock in
the road, and thus get his team over without upsetting. So Mr. Myers,
starting from the most ordinary facts of inattentive consciousness,
follows this clue through a long series which terminates in ghosts, and
seeks to show that these are but extreme manifestations of a {321}
common truth,--the truth that the invisible segments of our minds are
susceptible, under rarely realized conditions, of acting and being
acted upon by the invisible segments of other conscious lives. This
may not be ultimately true (for the theosophists, with their astral
bodies and the like, may, for aught I now know, prove to be on the
correcter trail), but no one can deny that it is in good scientific
form,--for science always takes a known kind of phenomenon, and tries
to extend its range.
I have myself, as American agent for the census, collected hundreds of
cases of hallucination in healthy persons. The result is to make me
feel that we all have potentially a 'subliminal' self, which may make
at any time irruption into our ordinary lives. At its lowest, it is
only the depository of our forgotten memories; at its highest, we do
not know what it is at all. Take, for instance, a series of cases.
During sleep, many persons have something in them which measures the
flight of time better than the waking self does. It wakes them at a
preappointed hour; it acquaints them with the moment when they first
awake. It may produce an hallucination,--as in a lady who informs me
that at the instant of waking she has a vision of her watch-face with
the hands pointing (as she has often verified) to the exact time. It
may be the feeling that some physiological period has elapsed; but,
whatever it is, it is subconscious.
A subconscious something may also preserve experiences to which we do
not openly attend. A lady taking her lunch in town finds herself
without her purse. Instantly a sense comes over her of rising from the
breakfast-table and hearing her purse drop upon the floor. On reaching
home she finds {322} nothing under the table, but summons the servant
to say where she has put the purse. The servant produces it, saying;
"How did you know where it was? You rose and left the room as if you
did n't know you 'd dropped it." The same subconscious something may
recollect what we have forgotten. A lady accustomed to taking
salicylate of soda for muscular rheumatism wakes one early winter
morning with an aching neck. In the twilight she takes what she
supposes to be her customary powder from a drawer, dissolves it in a
glass of water, and is about to drink it down, when she feels a sharp
slap on her shoulder and hears a voice in her ear saying, "Taste it!"
On examination, she finds she has got a morphine powder by mistake.
The natural interpretation is that a sleeping memory of the morphine
powders awoke in this quasi-explosive way. A like explanation offers
itself as most plausible for the following case: A lady, with little
time to catch the train, and the expressman about to call, is excitedly
looking for the lost key of a packed trunk. Hurrying upstairs with a
bunch of keys, proved useless, in her hand, she hears an 'objective'
voice distinctly say, "Try the key of the cake-box." Being tried, it
fits. This also may well have been the effect of forgotten experience.
Now, the effect is doubtless due to the same hallucinatory mechanism;
but the source is less easily assigned as we ascend the scale of cases.
A lady, for instance, goes after breakfast to see about one of her
servants who has become ill over night. She is startled at distinctly
reading over the bedroom door in gilt letters the word 'small-pox.'
The doctor is sent for, and ere long pronounces small-pox to be the
disease, although the lady says, "The thought of {323} the girl's
having small-pox never entered my mind till I saw the apparent
inscription." Then come other cases of warning; for example, that of a
youth sitting in a wagon under a shed, who suddenly hears his dead
mother's voice say, "Stephen, get away from here quick!" and jumps out
just in time to see the shed-roof fall.
After this come the experiences of persons appearing to distant friends
at or near the hour of death. Then, too, we have the trance-visions
and utterances, which may appear astonishingly profuse and continuous,
and maintain a fairly high intellectual level. For all these higher
phenomena, it seems to me that while the proximate mechanism is that of
'hallucination,' it is straining an hypothesis unduly to name any
ordinary subconscious mental operation--such as expectation,
recollection, or inference from inattentive perception--as the ultimate
cause that starts it up. It is far better tactics, if you wish to get
rid of mystery, to brand the narratives themselves as unworthy of
trust. The trustworthiness of most of them is to my own mind far from
proved. And yet in the light of the medium-trance, which is proved, it
seems as if they might well all be members of a natural kind of fact of
which we do not yet know the full extent.
Thousands of sensitive organizations in the United States to-day live
as steadily in the light of these experiences, and are as indifferent
to modern science, as if they lived in Bohemia in the twelfth century.
They are indifferent to science, because science is so callously
indifferent to their experiences. Although in its essence science only
stands for a method and for no fixed belief, yet as habitually taken,
both by its votaries and outsiders, it is {324} identified with a
certain fixed belief,--the belief that the hidden order of nature is
mechanical exclusively, and that non-mechanical categories are
irrational ways of conceiving and explaining even such things as human
life. Now, this mechanical rationalism, as one may call it, makes, if
it becomes one's only way of thinking, a violent breach with the ways
of thinking that have played the greatest part in human history.
Religious thinking, ethical thinking, poetical thinking, teleological,
emotional, sentimental thinking, what one might call the personal view
of life to distinguish it from the impersonal and mechanical, and the
romantic view of life to distinguish it from the rationalistic view,
have been, and even still are, outside of well-drilled scientific
circles, the dominant forms of thought. But for mechanical
rationalism, personality is an insubstantial illusion. The chronic
belief of mankind, that events may happen for the sake of their
personal significance, is an abomination; and the notions of our
grandfathers about oracles and omens, divinations and apparitions,
miraculous changes of heart and wonders worked by inspired persons,
answers to prayer and providential leadings, are a fabric absolutely
baseless, a mass of sheer _un_truth.
Now, of course, we must all admit that the excesses to which the
romantic and personal view of nature may lead, if wholly unchecked by
impersonal rationalism, are direful. Central African Mumbo-jumboism is
one of unchecked romanticism's fruits. One ought accordingly to
sympathize with that abhorrence of romanticism as a sufficient
world-theory; one ought to understand that lively intolerance of the
least grain of romanticism in the views of life of other people, which
are such characteristic marks of those who {325} follow the scientific
professions to-day. Our debt to science is literally boundless, and
our gratitude for what is positive in her teachings must be
correspondingly immense. But the S. P. R.'s Proceedings have, it seems
to me, conclusively proved one thing to the candid reader; and that is
that the verdict of pure insanity, of gratuitous preference for error,
of superstition without an excuse, which the scientists of our day are
led by their intellectual training to pronounce upon the entire thought
of the past, is a most shallow verdict. The personal and romantic view
of life has other roots besides wanton exuberance of imagination and
perversity of heart. It is perennially fed by _facts of experience_,
whatever the ulterior interpretation of those facts may prove to be;
and at no time in human history would it have been less easy than
now--at most times it would have been much more easy--for advocates
with a little industry to collect in its favor an array of contemporary
documents as good as those which our publications present. These
documents all relate to real experiences of persons. These experiences
have three characters in common: They are capricious, discontinuous,
and not easily controlled; they require peculiar persons for their
production; their significance seems to be wholly for personal life.
Those who preferentially attend to them, and still more those who are
individually subject to them, not only easily may find, but are
logically bound to find, in them valid arguments for their romantic and
personal conception of the world's course. Through my slight
participation in the investigations of the S. P. R. I have become
acquainted with numbers of persons of this sort, for whom the very word
'science' has become a name of reproach, for reasons that I now both
understand {326} and respect. It is the intolerance of science for
such phenomena as we are studying, her peremptory denial either of
their existence or of their significance (except as proofs of man's
absolute innate folly), that has set science so apart from the common
sympathies of the race. I confess that it is on this, its humanizing
mission, that the Society's best claim to the gratitude of our
generation seems to me to depend. It has restored continuity to
history. It has shown some reasonable basis for the most superstitious
aberrations of the foretime. It has bridged the chasm, healed the
hideous rift that science, taken in a certain narrow way, has shot into
the human world.
I will even go one step farther. When from our present advanced
standpoint we look back upon the past stages of human thought, whether
it be scientific thought or theological thought, we are amazed that a
universe which appears to us of so vast and mysterious a complication
should ever have seemed to any one so little and plain a thing.
Whether it be Descartes's world or Newton's, whether it be that of the
materialists of the last century or that of the Bridgewater treatises
of our own, it always looks the same to us,--incredibly perspectiveless
and short. Even Lyell's, Faraday's, Mill's, and Darwin's consciousness
of their respective subjects are already beginning to put on an
infantile and innocent look. Is it then likely that the science of our
own day will escape the common doom; that the minds of its votaries
will never look old-fashioned to the grandchildren of the latter? It
would be folly to suppose so. Yet if we are to judge by the analogy of
the past, when our science once becomes old-fashioned, it will be more
for its omissions of fact, for its {327} ignorance of whole ranges and
orders of complexity in the phenomena to be explained, than for any
fatal lack in its spirit and principles. The spirit and principles of
science are mere affairs of method; there is nothing in them that need
hinder science from dealing successfully with a world in which personal
forces are the starting-point of new effects. The only form of thing
that we directly encounter, the only experience that we concretely
have, is our own personal life. The only complete category of our
thinking, our professors of philosophy tell us, is the category of
personality, every other category being one of the abstract elements of
that. And this systematic denial on science's part of personality as a
condition of events, this rigorous belief that in its own essential and
innermost nature our world is a strictly impersonal world, may,
conceivably, as the whirligig of time goes round, prove to be the very
defect that our descendants will be most surprised at in our own
boasted science, the omission that to their eyes will most tend to make
it look perspectiveless and short.
[1] This Essay is formed of portions of an article in Scribner's
Magazine for March, 1890, of an article in the Forum for July, 1892,
and of the President's Address before the Society for Psychical
Research, published in the Proceedings for June, 1896, and in Science.
[2] Written in 1891. Since then, Mr. Balfour, the present writer, and
Professor William Crookes have held the presidential office.
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