[Illustration: Fig. 123]
[Illustration: Fig. 123a]
A design, evidently felt as a design, though not well got (Figs. 124,
124a):
[Illustration: Fig. 124]
[Illustration: Fig. 124a]
A screw, with comment: “light-house or tower. Too fat at base.” If
Craig’s drawing were made narrower at base, it would reproduce the screw
very well. Note that in the right-hand “tower” the screw-like effect of
the “set backs” is kept (Figs. 125, 125a):
[Illustration: Fig. 125]
[Illustration: Fig. 125a]
Here is a love story which seems to go wrong, the hearts being turned to
opposition (Figs. 126, 126a):
[Illustration: Fig. 126]
[Illustration: Fig. 126a]
Here is the flag, made simpler—“e pluribus unum!” (Figs. 127, 127a):
[Illustration: Fig. 127]
[Illustration: Fig. 127a]
Here is a cow, as seen by the cubists. Comment: “Something sending out
long lines from it” (Figs. 128, 128a):
[Illustration: Fig. 128]
[Illustration: Fig. 128a]
Telegraph wires, apparently seen as waves in the ether (Figs. 129,
129a):
[Illustration: Fig. 129]
[Illustration: Fig. 129a]
Comment on the following: “Horns. Can’t see what they are attached to”
(Figs. 130, 130a):
[Illustration: Fig. 130]
[Illustration: Fig. 130a]
And here is a parrot turned into a leaf, with comment. “See veins and
stem with sharp vivid bend in it”—which seems to indicate a sense of the
parrot’s beak (Figs. 131, 131a):
[Illustration: Fig. 131]
[Illustration: Fig. 131a]
_19_
The border-line between successes and failures is not easy to determine.
Bear in mind that we are not conducting a drawing class, nor making
tests of my wife’s eyesight: we are trying to ascertain whether there
does pass from my mind to hers, or from my drawing to her mind, a
recognizable impulse of some sort. So, if she gets the essential feature
of the drawing, we are entitled to call it evidence of telepathy. I
think the fan with “crumpled cloth” (Fig. 102), and the umbrella handle
that may be a “snake crawling out of something,” but that “looks like a
cat’s tail” (Fig. 122), and the screw that was called a “tower” (Fig.
126)—all these are really successes. I will append a number of examples,
about which there seems to me no room for dispute, and which I have
called successes. The first is a sample of architecture (Figs. 132,
132a):
[Illustration: Fig. 132]
[Illustration: Fig. 132a]
And here is an hourglass, with sand running through it. Not merely did
Craig write “white sand,” but she made the tree the same shape as the
glass. I have turned the hourglass upside down so that you can get the
effect better. It should be obvious that “upside-downness” has nothing
to do with these tests, as Craig is as apt to be holding a drawing one
way as another (Figs. 133, 133a):
[Illustration: Fig. 133]
[Illustration: Fig. 133a]
And these three circles, with comment: “Feel sure it is,” written above
the drawing (Figs. 134, 134a):
[Illustration: Fig. 134]
[Illustration: Fig. 134a]
As to the next comment, “Trumpet flower,” let me explain that we have
them in our garden, whereas we do not have any musical trumpets or horns
(Figs. 135, 135a):
[Illustration: Fig. 135]
[Illustration: Fig. 135a]
This strange object from my pencil tried to be a conch-shell, but got a
bad start, and was left unclassified. Craig made it “life buoy in
water,” which is good, except for the spelling. She insists upon my
pointing out that shells also belong in water (Figs. 136, 136a):
[Illustration: Fig. 136]
[Illustration: Fig. 136a]
This one, described in good country fashion, “Muley cow with tongue
hanging out” (Fig. 137):
[Illustration: Fig. 137]
This next one was described by the written word: “Goat” (Fig. 138):
[Illustration: Fig. 138]
And this one is so striking that I give the words in facsimile (Figs.
139, 139a):
[Illustration: Fig. 139]
[Illustration: Fig. 139a]
For the following, my wife described a wrong thing, and then added: “Now
a sudden new thing, cone-shaped or goblet-like. This feels like _it_”
(Figs. 140, 140a):
[Illustration: Fig. 140]
[Illustration: Fig. 140a]
This was correctly named: “2 legs of something running” (Figs. 141,
141a):
[Illustration: Fig. 141]
[Illustration: Fig. 141a]
This Alpine hat with feather seems to me no less a success because it is
called “Chafing dish” (Figs. 142, 142a):
[Illustration: Fig. 142]
[Illustration: Fig. 142a]
Nor this wind-mill because the sails are left off (Figs. 143, 143a):
[Illustration: Fig. 143]
[Illustration: Fig. 143a]
These concentric circles are called “Horn (very curled), or shell”
(Figs. 144, 144a):
[Illustration: Fig. 144]
[Illustration: Fig. 144a]
And here is a curious one, which came early in the tests. I call
attention to the comment about the handle, which ran off the sheet of
paper without any ending, just as she says. “Letter A with something
long above it. Key or a sword, there seems to be no end to the handle.
Think it’s a key” (Figs. 145, 145a):
[Illustration: Fig. 145]
[Illustration: Fig. 145a]
And finally, this still more astonishing one, to serve as a climax. Let
me explain that I am not so good an artist as this; I copied my drawing
from some magazine (Figs. 146, 146a):
[Illustration: Fig. 146]
[Illustration: Fig. 146a]
You note that my wife “got,” not merely the whole top of the drawing,
but some impression of the arms, which are crossed in a peculiar way. I
ask her about this case—the drawing having been made less than a month
ago—and I find that she remembers it well. She saw what she thought was
a turban wound about the head, and got the impression of color. She
wrote the words “not hair” to make this clear. The rest of the comment
written at the time was: “See back of head, ear, and swirling scarf tied
around head.”
_20_
I have now given nearly all the 65 drawings which I call “successes,”
and about half the 155 which I call “partial successes.” This, I think,
is enough for any purpose. No one can seriously claim that such a set of
coincidences could happen by chance, and so it becomes necessary to
investigate other possible explanations.
First, a hoax. As covering that point, I prepared a set of affidavits as
to the good faith of myself, my wife, her sister, and her sister’s
husband. These affidavits were all duly signed and witnessed; but
friends, reading the manuscript, think they use up space to no purpose,
and that the reader will ask no more than the statement that this book
is a serious one, and that the manuscript was carefully read by all four
of the persons mentioned above, and approved by them as representing the
exact truth.
That a group of persons should enter into a conspiracy to perpetrate a
hoax is conceivable. Whether or not it is conceivable of the group here
quoted is something of which the reader is the judge. But this much is
clear: any reader who, having read the above, still suspects us, will
not be convinced by further protestations.
How about the possibility of fraud by one person? No one who knows Mary
Craig Sinclair would suspect her; but you who do not know her have,
naturally, the right to consider such an hypothesis. Can she be one of
those women who enjoy being talked about? The broaching of this idea
causes her to take the pencil away from her husband, and you now hear
her own authentic voice, as follows:
“I happen to be a daughter of that once very living thing, ‘the Old
South,’ and there are certain ideals which are in my blood. The
avoidance of publicity is one of them. But even if I had ever had a
desire for publicity, it would have been killed by my actual experiences
as the wife of a social crusader. My home is besieged by an endless
train of persons of every description, who travel over the place,
knocking on doors and windows, and insisting upon having a hearing for
their various programs for changing the nature of the universe. I have
been driven to putting up barriers and fences around my garden, and
threatening to flee to the Himalayas, and become a Yogic mistress, or
whatever a Yogic ‘master’ of my sex is called.
“Jack London tried to solve this problem by putting a sign on the front
door which read, ‘Go to the back door,’ and on the back door one which
read, ‘Go to the front door.’ But when I tried this, one seeker of
inspiration took his seat halfway between the two doors, and declared
that he would remain there the rest of his life, or until his wishes
were acceded to. Another hid himself in the swimming-pool, and rose up
from its depths to confront me in the dusk, when, as it happened, I was
alone on the place, and went out into the garden for a breath of air. A
third announced that he had a million dollars to present to my husband
in person, and would not be persuaded to depart until my brother invited
him to go downtown to supper, and so got him into a car. Having
faithfully fed the hungry millionaire, my brother drove him to the
police-station, where, after a serious talking-to by the chief, he
consented to carry his million dollars away. A fourth introduced himself
by mail as having just been released from the psychopathic ward in Los
Angeles, and intending to call upon us, for reasons not stated. A fifth
announced himself by telephone, as intending to come at once and shoot
my husband on sight. Yet another, seven feet tall and broad in
proportion, announced that he had a revelation direct from God, and had
come to have the manuscript revised. When politely asked as to its
nature, he rose up, towering over my none too husky spouse and declaring
that no human eye had ever beheld it, and no human eye would ever be
permitted to behold it. Such experiences, as a continuing part of a
woman’s life, do not lead her to seek publicity; they tend rather to
develop a persecution complex.
“Speaking seriously, I consider that I have every evidence of the effect
of people’s thoughts on each other. And my distrust of human nature, in
its present stage of evolution, is so great, that the idea of having
many persons concentrate their attention on me is an idea from which I
shrink. I agree with Richet that the fact of telepathy is one of the
most terrifying in existence; and nothing but a deep love of truth has
induced me to let this very personal story be told in print.”
Next, what about the possibility of unconscious fraud? This also is a
question to be frankly met. All students of psychology know that the
subconscious mind has dubious morals. One has only to watch his own
dreams to discover this. A person in a trance is similar to one talking
or walking in sleep, or a drunken man, or one under the influence of a
drug. But in this case it must be noted that my wife has never been in a
trance. In these mind-reading tests, no matter how intense the
“concentration,” there is always a part of her mind which knows what she
is doing. If you speak to her, she is immediately “all there.” When she
has her mental pictures, she sits up and makes her drawing, and compares
it with mine, and this is a completely conscious act.
Moreover, I point out that a great deal of the most impressive evidence
does not depend upon Craig alone. The five drawings with her
brother-in-law, Figures 1, 16, 17, 18, 19, constitute by themselves
evidence of telepathy sufficient to convince any mind which is open to
conviction. While it would have been possible for Craig and Bob to hoax
Dollie and me, it could certainly not have been done without Bob’s
connivance. If you suggest that my wife and my brother-in-law may have
been fooling me, I reply that there is a still greater mass of evidence
which could not have been a hoax without my connivance. When I go into
my study alone—a little sun-parlor at the front of a beach-house, with
nothing but a couch, a chair and a table—I certainly know that I am
alone; and when I make a drawing and hold it before my eyes for five or
ten minutes, I certainly know whether any other person is seeing it.
This covers the drawings presented as Figures 2, 20, and 21, with four
others told about in the same series. It seems to me these seven cases
by themselves are evidence of telepathy sufficient to convince any open
mind.
Furthermore, there are the several score drawings which I made in my
study and sealed up in envelopes, taking them to my wife and watching
her lay them one by one upon her body and write down more or less
accurately what was in them. I certainly know whether I was alone when I
made the drawings, and whether I made the contents of the envelopes
invisible, and whether my wife had any opportunity to open the envelopes
before she made her drawings. Of course, I understand the familiar
conjuring trick whereby you open one envelope, and hide it in your palm,
and pretend to be describing the next one while really describing the
one you have seen. But I would stake my life upon the certainty that my
wife knows no sleight-of-hand, and anyhow, I made certain that she did
not open the first one; I sat and watched her, and after each test she
handed me the envelopes and drawings, one by one—the envelopes having
previously been numbered by me. She would turn out the reading-light
which was immediately over her head, but there was plenty of light from
other parts of the room, enough so that I could look at drawings as they
were shown to me. Often these tests were done in the daytime, and then
all we did was to pull down the window-shades back of the couch.
It should be obvious that I stand to lose much more than I stand to gain
by publishing a book of this sort. Many have urged me not to take the
risk. It is the part of prudence not to believe too many new and strange
ideas. Some of my Socialist and materialist friends are going to
say—without troubling to read what I have written: “Sinclair has gone in
for occultism; he is turning into a mystic in his old age.” It is true
that I am fifty-one, but I think my mind is not entirely gone; and if
what I publish here is mysticism, then I do not know how there can be
such a thing as science about the human mind.
We have made repeated tests to see what happens; we have written down
our observations as we go along; we have presented the evidence
carefully and conscientiously, without theories; and what any scientist
can do, or ask to have done, more than this, I cannot imagine. Those who
throw out these results will not be scientists, but merely another set
of dogmatists—of whom new crops are continually springing up, wearing
new disguises and new labels. The plain truth is that in science, as in
politics and religion, it is a lot easier to believe what you have been
taught, than to set out for yourself and ascertain what happens.
Of course the thing would be more convincing if it were done in the
presence of strangers. That brings up a question which is bound to be
asked, so I will save time by answering it here. The first essential to
success in these tests is a state of mind; and at present my wife is a
sensitive woman, at the stage of life described as “glandular
imbalance.” She has never tried these experiments in the presence of a
stranger, and has no idea whether she could get the necessary
concentration. She learned from her experiments with her sick
brother-in-law that the agent can send you pain and fear, as well as
chairs and table-forks, and she would certainly not enter lightly into a
condition of _rapport_ with those whom she did not know and trust.
She insists that the way for you to be really certain is to follow her
example. If you sat and watched her do it, you might go away with
doubts, as she did after her experiments with Jan. But when you have
done it yourself, then you _know_. One reason the thing has not been
proven to the public is that people depend on professional mediums, many
of whom are deliberate and conscious cheats. Others are vain and
temperamental, difficult to manage; and research is hindered by their
instability. That is why Craig set to work and learned to do it, and she
believes that others can do the same, if they have the desire and the
patience.
_21_
The next thing is to carry out our promise and tell you the technique.
My wife has, among her notes, a mass of writing on this subject in the
form of instructions to Bob, and others who were interested. I tried to
condense it, but found I could not satisfy her, and in the end I
realized that her point of view is correct. No one objects to repetition
of phrases in a legal document, where the one essential is precision;
and the same thing applies to descriptions of these complicated mental
processes. This was the most difficult writing task she ever undertook,
and the reason lies in its newness, and the complexity of the mind
itself.
If you want to learn the art of conscious mind-reading, this will tell
you how; and if you don’t want to learn it, you can easily skip this
section of the book. Here is Craig’s statement:
“The first thing you have to do is to learn the trick of undivided
attention, or concentration. By these terms I mean something quite
different from what is ordinarily meant. One ‘concentrates’ on writing a
chapter in a book, or on solving a problem in mathematics; but this is a
complicated process of dividing one’s attention, giving it to one detail
after another, judging, balancing, making decisions. The kind of
concentration I mean is putting the attention on _one_ object, or one
_uncomplicated_ thought, such as joy, or peace, and holding it there
steadily. It isn’t thinking; it is inhibiting thought, except for one
thought, or one object in thought.
“You have to inhibit the impulse to think things about the object, to
examine it, or appraise it, or to allow memory-trains to attach
themselves to it. The average person has never heard of such a form of
concentration, and so has to learn how to do it. Simultaneously, he must
learn to relax, for strangely enough, a part of concentration is
complete relaxation.
“There seems to be a contradiction here, in the idea of simultaneous
concentration and relaxation. I do not know whether this is due to a
contradiction in the nature of the mind itself, or to our
misunderstanding of its nature. Perhaps we each have several mental
entities, or minds, and one of these can sleep (be blankly unconscious),
while another supervises the situation, maintaining the first one’s
state of unconsciousness for a desired period, and then presenting to it
some thought or picture agreed on in advance, thus restoring it to
consciousness.
“Anyway, it is possible to be unconscious and conscious at the same
time! Almost everyone has had the experience of knowing, while asleep,
that he is having a bad dream and must awaken himself from it. Certainly
some conscious entity is watching the dream, and knowing it is a dream;
and yet the sleeper is ‘unconscious.’ Or perhaps there is no such thing
as complete relaxation—until death.
“All I can say is this: when I practice this art which I have learned,
with my mind concentrated on one simple thing, it is a relaxation as
restful, as seemingly ‘complete’ as when I am in that state called
normal sleep. The attention is not allowed to be on the sensations of
the body, or on anything but the one thing it is deliberately
‘concentrated’ on.
“Undivided concentration, then, means, for purposes of this experiment,
a state of complete relaxation, under specified control. To concentrate
in this undivided way you first give yourself a ‘suggestion’ to the
effect that you will relax your mind and your body, making the body
insensitive and the mind a blank, and yet reserving the power to ‘break’
the concentration in a short time. By making the body insensitive I mean
simply to relax completely your mental hold of, or awareness of, all
bodily sensation. After giving yourself this suggestion a few times, you
proceed to relax both body and mind. Relax all mental interest in
everything in the environment; inhibit all thoughts which try to wander
into consciousness from the subconsciousness, or from wherever else
thoughts come. This is clearly a more thorough affair than ‘just
relaxing.’
“Also, there is something else to it—the power of supervising the
condition. You succeed presently in establishing a blank state of
consciousness, yet you have the power to become instantly conscious,
also; to realize when you are about to go into a state of sleep, in
which you have not the power of instantly returning to consciousness.
Also, you control, to a certain degree, what is to be presented to
consciousness when you are ready to become conscious. For example, you
want a message from the person who is sending you a message; you do not
want a train of subconscious ‘day dreams.’
“All this is work; and so far, it is a bore. But when you have learned
to do it, it is an art worth knowing. You can use it, not only for such
experiments as telepathy and clairvoyance, but for improving your bodily
health. To relax thoroughly several times each day while holding on to a
suggestion previously ‘planted’ in the subconsciousness is more
beneficial to health than any other one measure I know.
“The way to relax is to ‘let go.’ ‘Let go’ of every tense muscle, every
tense spot, in the body. Pain is tension. Pain can be inhibited by
suggestion _followed by complete relaxation_. Drop your body, a
dead-weight, from your conscious mind. Make your conscious mind a blank.
It is the mind, conscious or subconscious, which holds the body tense.
Give to the subconsciousness the suggestion of concentrating on one
idea, and then completely relax consciousness. To make the conscious
mind a blank it is necessary to ‘let go’ of the body; just as to ‘let
go’ of the body requires ‘letting go’ of consciousness of the body. If,
after you have practiced ‘letting go’ of the body, you find that your
mind is not a blank, then you have not succeeded in getting your body
rid of all tension. Work at it until you can let both mind and body
relax completely.
“It may help you to start as follows: Relax the body as completely as
possible. Then visualize a rose, or a violet—some pleasant, familiar
thing which does not arouse emotional memory-trains. Gaze steadily,
peacefully, at the chosen object—think only of it—try not to let any
memories it may arouse enter your mind. Keep attention steady, just
seeing the color, or the shape of the flower and nothing else. Do not
think things about the flower. Just look at it. Select one thing about
it to concentrate on, such as its shape, or its color, or the two
combined in a visual image: ‘pink and round.’
“If you find that you are made nervous by this effort, it is apt to be
due to the fact that you are thinking things. Maybe the object you have
chosen has some buried memories associated with it—something which
arouses unconscious memories of past unhappy events. Roses may suggest a
lost sweetheart, or a vanished garden where you once were happy and to
which you long to return. If so, select some other flower to concentrate
on. Flowers are usually the most restful, the things which are not so
apt to be involved with distressing experiences. A bottle of ink might
suggest the strain of mental work, a spoon might suggest medicine. So,
find a peace-inspiring object to look at. When you have found it, just
look at it, with undivided attention.
“If you succeed in doing this, you will find it hard not to drop asleep.
But you must distinguish between this and the state you are to maintain.
If you drop asleep, the sleep will be what is called auto-hypnotic
sleep, and after you have learned to induce it, you will be able to
concentrate on an idea, instead of the rose, and to carry this idea into
the sleep with you as the idea to dominate the subconsciousness while
you sleep. This idea, taken with you into sleep in this way, will often
act in the subconsciousness with the same power as the idea suggested by
a hypnotist. If you have ever seen hypnotism, you will know what this
means. You can learn to carry an idea of the restoration of health into
this auto-hypnotic sleep, to act powerfully during sleep. Of course this
curative effect is not always achieved. Any idea introduced into the
subconsciousness may meet a counter-suggestion which, if you are ill,
already exists in the subconsciousness, and a conflict may ensue. Thus,
time and perseverance may be necessary to success.
“But this is another matter, and not the state for telepathy—in which
you must avoid dropping into a sleep. After you have practiced the
exercise of concentrating on a flower—and avoiding sleep—you will be
able to concentrate on holding the peculiar blank state of mind which
must be achieved if you are to make successful experiments in telepathy.
There may be strain to start with, but it is getting rid of strain, both
physical and mental, which constitutes relaxation, or blankness, of the
conscious mind. Practice will teach you what this state is, and after a
while you can achieve it without strain.
“The next step: ask someone to draw a half-dozen simple designs for you
on cards, or on slips of paper, and to fold them so that you cannot see
the contents. They should be folded separately, so that you can handle
one at a time. Place them on a table, or chair, beside your couch, or
bed, in easy reach of your hand, so that you can pick them up, one at a
time, while you are stretched out on the bed, or couch, beside them. It
is best at first to experiment in the dark, or at least in a dimly lit
room, as light stimulates the eyes and interferes with relaxation. If
you experiment at night, have a table lamp within easy reach, so that
you can turn the light off and on for each experiment without too much
exertion, as you must keep your body and mind as passive as possible for
these experiments. If you have no reading light near, use a candle. You
must have also a writing pad and pencil beside you.
“After you have placed the drawings on the table, turn off the light and
stretch your body full length on the couch. Close your eyes and relax
your body. Relax completely. Make the mind a complete blank and hold it
blank. Do not think of anything. Thoughts will come. Inhibit them.
Refuse to think. Do this for several moments. It is essential to induce
a passive state of mind and body. If the mind is not passive, it feels
body sensations. If the body is not relaxed, its sensations interfere
with the necessary mental passivity. Each reacts on the other.
“The next step, after having turned off the light and closed your eyes
and relaxed mind and body full length on the couch, is to reach for the
top drawing of the pile on the table. Hold it in your hand over your
solar plexus. Hold it easily, without clutching it. Now, completely
relaxed, hold your mind a blank again. Hold it so for a few moments,
then give the mental order to the unconscious mind to tell you what is
on the paper you hold in your hand. Keep the eyes closed and the body
relaxed, and give the order silently, and with as little mental exertion
as possible.
“However, it is necessary to give it clearly and positively, that is,
with concentration on it. Say to the unconscious mind, ‘I want the
picture which is on this card, or paper, presented to my consciousness.’
Say this with your mind concentrated on what you are saying. Repeat, as
if talking directly to another self: ‘I want to see what is on _this_
card.’ Then relax into blankness again and hold blankness a few moments,
then try gently, without straining, to see whatever forms may appear on
the void into which you look with closed eyes. Do not try to conjure up
something to see; just wait expectantly and let something come.
“My experience is that fragments of forms appear first. For example, a
curved line, or a straight one, or two lines of a triangle. But
sometimes the complete object appears; swiftly, lightly, dimly-drawn, as
on a moving picture film. These mental visions appear and disappear with
lightning rapidity, never standing still unless quickly fixed by a
deliberate effort of consciousness. They are never in heavy lines, but
as if sketched delicately, in a slightly deeper shade of gray than that
of the mental canvas. A person not used to such experiments may at first
fail to observe them on the gray background of the mind, on which they
appear and disappear so swiftly. Sometimes they are so vague that one
gets only a notion of how they look before they vanish. Then one must
‘recall’ this first vision. Recall it by conscious effort, which is not
the same thing as the method of passive waiting by which the vision was
first induced. Instead, it is as if one had seen with open eyes a
fragment of a real picture, and now closes his eyes and looks at the
_memory_ of it and tries to ‘see’ it clearly.
“It is necessary to recall this vision and make note of it, so as not to
forget it. One is _sure_ to forget it—indeed it is his duty to do so—in
the process of the next step, which is one of blankness again. This
blankness is, of course, a deliberate putting out of the conscious mind
of all pictures, including the one just visioned. One must now order the
subconscious not to present it to the conscious mind’s picture-film
again unless it is the right picture, _i.e._, the one drawn on the card
which is held in hand. Make the conscious mind blank again for a brief
space. Then look again on the gray canvas of mind for a vision. This is
to test whether the first vision came from subconscious guessing, or
whether it came from the deeper mind—from some other source than that of
the subconscious, which is so apt to offer a ‘guess,’ or false picture.
“Do this whole performance two or three times, and if the first vision
persists in coming back, accept it. As soon as you have accepted it—that
is, decided that this is the correct vision—turn on the light, and
without looking at the card, or paper, which contains the real picture,
pick up the writing pad and pencil and make a sketch of every detail of
the vision-picture. This is a nuisance, as it interrupts concentration
and the desired passivity. But it is absolutely necessary to record the
vision in every detail, before one looks at the real picture, the one on
the card he has been holding in hand. If one does not make a record of
his vision in advance of looking at the card picture, he is certain to
forget at least some part of it—maybe something which is essential.
Worse yet, he is apt to fool himself; the mind is given to
self-deception. As soon as it sees the real drawing, it not only forgets
the vision, but it is apt to imagine that it visioned the picture it now
sees on the card, which may or may not be true. Imagination is a far
more active function than the average person realizes. This
conscious-subconscious mind is ‘a liar,’ a weaver of fiction. It is the
dream-mind, and also it is the mind of memory trains.
“Do not omit fragments which seem to be out of place in a picture. These
fragments may be the real things. If in doubt as to what the object of
your vision is, do not try to guess. But if you have a ‘hunch’ that
something you have seen is connected somehow with a watch, for example,
or with an automobile, make a note of this ‘hunch.’ I use this popular
word to indicate a real presentation from some true source, something
deeper and more dependable than our own subconscious minds. I call this
the ‘deep mind’ in order to have a name for it. I do not know what it
is, of course—I am only judging from the behavior of the phenomena.
“Do not fail to record what seems to be a very stray fragment, for it
may be a perfect vision of some portion of the real picture. Record
everything, and then later you can compare it carefully with the real
drawing. Of course, do not be fantastic in your conclusions. Do not
think you have gotten a correct vision of an automobile because you saw
a circle which resembled a wheel. However, I once saw a circle and
_felt_ that it was an automobile wheel—felt it so vividly that I became
overwhelmed with curiosity to see if my ‘feeling’ was correct, and
forthwith turned on the light and examined the real picture in my hand.
I found that it was indeed the wheel of an automobile. But I do not do
this kind of thing unless I have a very decided ‘hunch,’ as it tends to
lead back to the natural impulse of the mind to ‘guess’—and guessing is
one of the things one has to strive to avoid. To a certain extent, one
comes to know a difference between a guess and a ‘hunch.’
“The details of this technique are not to be taken as trifles. The whole
issue of success or failure depends on them. At least, this is so in my
case. Perhaps a spontaneous sensitive, or one who has a better method,
has no such difficulties. I am just an average conscious-minded person,
who set out deliberately to find a way to test this tremendously
important question of telepathy and clairvoyance, without having to
depend on a ‘medium,’ who might be fooling himself, or me. It was by
this method of careful attention to a technique of details that I have
found it possible to get telepathic messages and to see pictures on
hidden cards, and symbolic pictures of the contents of books.
“This technique takes time, and patience, and training in the art of
concentration. But this patience is in itself an excellent thing to
learn, especially for nervous and sick people. The uses of mental
concentration are too various and tremendously beneficial to enumerate
here. The average person has almost no power of concentration, as he
will quickly discover by trying to hold his undivided attention on one
simple object, such as a rose, or a bottle of ink, for just a few
minutes. He will find that a thousand thoughts, usually association
trains connected with the rose, or the ink, will appear on his mental
canvas, interrupting his concentration. He will find that his mind
behaves exactly like a moving-picture film, or a fireworks display. It
is the division of attention that uses up energy, if I am not mistaken.
“Of course this technique is not ‘original.’ I got it by selecting from
hints here and there in my reading, and from my general study and
observation of the behavior of the mind.
“Among the difficulties to be overcome—and this is one which is easily
detected—is the appearing of visions of objects one has observed in the
environment just before closing the eyes. When I close my eyes to make
the next test, I invariably find that the last picture, and my own
drawing of it, and also the electric light bulb which I have lighted in
order to see the last picture—all these immediately appear on the
horizon of my mind. It often takes quite a while to banish these
memory-ghosts. And sometimes it is a mistake to banish them, as the
picture you hold in your hand may be quite similar to the preceding one.
If, therefore, a picture resembling the preceding continues obstinately
to represent itself, I usually accept it, and often find that the
preceding and present cards contain similar pictures.
“Another difficulty is the way things sometimes appear in fragments, or
sections, of the whole picture. A straight line may appear, and it may
be either only a portion of the whole, or it may be all there is on the
card. Then I have to resist the efforts of my imagination to speculate
as to what object this fragment may be part of. For instance, I see a
series of points, and have the impulse to ‘guess’ a star. I must say no
to this guesswork, unless the indescribable ‘hunch’ feeling assures me
it is a star. I must tell myself it may be indeed a part of a star, but,
on the other hand, it may be a complete picture of the drawing in hand,
perhaps the letter W, or M, or it may be a part of a pennant, or what
not. Then I must start over, and hold blank a while. Then repeat the
request to the deep mind for the true picture. Now I may get a more
complete picture, or maybe this fragment reappears alone, or maybe it
repeats itself upside-down, or doubled up in most any way.
“I start all over once more and now I may get a series of fragments
which follow each other and jump together as do the comic cartoons which
are drawn on the screen with pen and ink. For instance, two points
appear, then another appears separately and jumps to the first two, and
joins up with them, then two more. The result is a star, and this may be
the true picture. It usually is. But sometimes this is the subconscious
mind, or perhaps the conscious, trying to finish the object as it has
‘guessed’ it should be. This error of allowing the conscious or the
subconscious mind to finish the object is one to be most careful about.
As one experiments, he realizes more and more that these two minds, the
conscious and the subconscious, are really one, subconsciousness being
only a disorderly store-house of memories. The third, or ‘deep mind’ is
apparently the one which gives us our psychic phenomena. Again I say, I
do not know what this ‘deep mind’ is; I use the words merely to have a
name for that ‘other thing’ which brings the message.
“The conscious mind, combined with the subconscious, not only wants to
finish the picture, but decides sometimes to eliminate a detail which
does not belong to what it has guessed should be there. For example, I
will discuss the drawings which have been given as Figures 35, 35a, in
this book. I ‘visioned’ what looked like a figure 5, except that at the
top where there should be a small vertical line projecting toward the
right, there was a flare of very long lines converging at one end. I
consciously decided that the long lines were an exaggeration and
multiplication of what should properly be at the top of a five, and that
I should not accept them. Here was conscious mind making a false
decision. But by obeying the rules I had laid down in advance, I was
saved from this error of consciousness. I closed my eyes, gave a call
for the true picture, and the lines appeared again, so I included them
in my drawing. When I opened the envelope and looked at the picture
inside, it was an oil derrick. So the flare of long lines was the real
thing, while the figure 5 was the interloper—at least, so I now
consciously decided. I thought that the figure 5 and the flare of lines
were entirely separate mental images, one following the other so rapidly
that they appeared to belong together.
“But again my conscious decision was in error. Several hours later,
after I had put the whole matter out of my mind and had been attending
to household duties, I suddenly remembered the paper jacket of a German
edition of my husband’s novel, ‘Oil,’ which was on a shelf in the next
room to the one in which I had made my experiments. Why did I suddenly
remember this book? I had not noticed it for a long time—its jacket
drawings were out of sight, as the book was wedged between many others
on the book shelves in an inconspicuous place in the room. On one side
of the jacket of this book was a picture of three oil derricks; on the
other side was a large dollar mark, almost covering one entire side of
the book. I had seen this jacket, had indeed taken special notice of it,
at the time of its arrival from Germany. So here seems to have been a
clear case of the subconscious mind at work during my experiment, adding
to my true vision of an oil derrick, the subconsciously remembered
dollar mark which looked like a figure 5, partly hidden by the oil
derrick in my vision. Here was a grand mix-up of the false guesses of
consciousness and subconsciousness, and the true presentations from the
‘deep mind.’
“But this was not the end. This confusion in regard to the dollar mark
went forward, in memory-trains to two other experiments. Several days
later, I was trying a new set of drawings, and one of them caused in my
mind a vision of the capital letter S. Instantly, two parallel straight
lines crossed it, turning it into a dollar mark: $. Then it became an S
again without the lines. Then the lines came back. This strange behavior
of my vision continued. I was in a quandary as to which to accept, the S
or the $. Then there appeared an old-fashioned money-bag, such as I used
to see in my father’s bank as a child, full of small coins. It took its
place in the vision beside the dollar mark. I decided with the usual
erroneous consciousness that this money-bag was a hint from my real
mind, so I accepted the dollar mark as correct. But it turned out not to
be. When I looked at the drawing in hand it was a letter S. My
subconsciousness had supplied the money-bag, and the two parallel lines.
“Several days later, in a vision with a third set of drawings, I saw a
letter S, and then at once the bag of small change appeared, but there
were no parallel lines on the S. This time the real drawing was a dollar
mark! So, my subconsciousness, as soon as the dollar mark had appeared
in subconsciousness, had meddled again; it had remembered the last
experiment and the scolding I had given it for its guess work, so it now
subtracted the parallel lines from the new vision to make it correct,
according to the last experiment. It had remembered the last experiment
only, forgetting the first one, of the oil derrick, just as I had
ordered it to do on the occasion of the second experiment. So, it
subtracted the two parallel lines, but it added the remembered bag of
money, which I had included in my scolding. From this kind of
interference by the subconsciousness, I realized that it is indeed no
simple matter to get things into consciousness from the ‘deep mind’
without guesses and additions and subtractions made by the
subconsciousness. Why the subconscious should meddle, I do not know. But
it does. Its behavior is exactly like that of the conscious mind, which
is also prone to guessing. All this sounds fantastic—to anyone who has
not studied his mind. But I tell you how it seems to me.
“Maybe everything comes from the subconscious. Maybe there is no ‘deep
mind.’ Maybe the subconscious gets its knowledge of what is on the
drawing directly from the drawing, and is merely blundering around,
adding details by guesswork to what it has seen incompletely. But I
think that these experiments prove that this is not the case. I think a
study of them shows that a true vision comes into the subconsciousness,
not directly from the drawing, but from another mind which has some
means of knowing, and sending to consciousness via the subconsciousness
whatever I ask it for. Of course I cannot attempt to prove this here. It
was one of the questions to which I was seeking an answer, and the
result seems to point to the existence of a deeper mind, showing how its
behavior is quite different from that of the subconscious.
“I wanted to find out if the true vision could in any way be
distinguished from ‘imagination,’ or these busy guesses of the
subconsciousness. To help myself in this matter, I first made an
examination of exactly how these guesses come. I said to myself: every
thought that ever comes to consciousness, excepting those due to direct
outside stimulation, may proceed from some deeper source, and by
subconscious memory-trains attaching to them, appear to be the work of
subconsciousness. So I shut my eyes and made my mind blank, without
calling on my mind to present any definite thing. I had no drawing in my
hand. After a brief space of blankness, I relaxed the enforced blankness
and waited, dreamily, for what might come. A picture soon came, with a
whole memory-train. First a girl in a large garden hat, then a garden
path and flowers bordering it, then a spade, a wheelbarrow, and so
on—things associated in my memory with a girl in a garden hat. As to
where the girl in the hat came from, I know not. As to why she should
come instead of any other of billions of things seen by me during my
life, I know not. I had not asked my mind for her. The question of why
she came is interesting.
“But it was easy to account for the other things—the association-train.
I learned from this experiment, and several repetitions of it, that
something always came—a girl, or a steamship, or the fact that I had not
attended to some household duty, or what not—and a train of associated
ideas followed. I learned, in a more or less vague way, how these things
behaved, and how I _felt_ about them. This enabled me to notice, when
later I got a true vision, that there was a difference between the way
this true vision came and the way the ‘idle’ visions came. When the true
visions came, there usually came with them a ‘something’ which I call a
‘hunch.’ There was, of course, always in my consciousness the question:
is this the right thing, or not? When the true vision came, this
question seemed to receive an answer, ‘yes,’ as if some intelligent
entity was directly informing me.
“This was not always the case. At times no answer came, or at least, if
it came, it was obscured by guesses. But usually it did, after I had
watched for it, and a sort of thrill of triumph came with it, quite
different from the quiet way in which the money-bag had appeared in
answer to my uncertainty. The subconscious answers questions, and its
answers are always false; its answers come quietly, like a thief in the
night. But the ‘other’ mind, the ‘deep mind’ answers questions, too, and
these answers come, not quietly, but as if by ‘inspiration,’ whatever
that is—with a rustling of wings, with gladness and conviction. These
two minds seem different from each other. One lies and rambles; the
other sings, and is truthful.
“But do not misunderstand me. I am not a religious convert. I am
searching for knowledge, and recording what I find. Others on this
search may have found these same things, but the conclusions they have
drawn may not turn out to be the ones I shall draw.
“One or two other things of interest should perhaps be mentioned. First,
I found that, in doing a series of several drawings, the percentage of
successes was higher in the first three attempts. Then there began to be
failures, alternating with successes. This may have been due to the fact
that the memory-pictures of these first three experiments now
constituted a difficulty. So much attention had to be given to
inhibiting these memory-pictures, and in deciding whether or not they
were to be inhibited. Or it may be due to some other cause, such as
fatigue or boredom.
“The second detail is that during the earliest experiments, I developed
a headache. I think this was due to the fact that I strained my closed
eyes trying to see with them. I mean, of course, trying to see a vision,
not the card in my hand. Using the eyes to see with is a habit, and
habits are not easily overcome. I soon learned not to use my eyes, at
least not in a strained way, and this was the end of the headaches.
However, this use of the eyes in telepathy may perhaps mean more than a
mere habit. The mental canvas on which these ‘visions’ are projected
seems to be spread in the eyes, and it is the eyes which seem to see
them—despite the fact that the room may be dark, the eyes closed, and
the drawing on the paper be wrapped in thick covering and not within
normal range of the eyes. But this may be due to the habit of
associating all pictures with your eyes.”
_22_
So much for the art of voluntary mind-reading. In conclusion I, the
husband, attempt to say a few words about what these phenomena mean, and
how they come about.
This attempt involves me in a verbal duel with my wife, which lasts into
the small hours of morning. It involves the everlasting debate between
the vitalists and the mechanists, which had best be left to Dr. Watson
and Professor McDougall, and the others who are no more able than I am
to look at the neurons of the brain in action, to see what happens. But
I insist that until Craig and Dr. Watson, Professor Eddington and Mrs.
Eddy have found out positively whether the universe is all mind or all
matter, I must go on speaking in the old-fashioned way, as if there were
two worlds, the physical and the mental, two sets of phenomena which
interact one upon the other continuously, even though the manner of this
happening is beyond comprehension.
With this much apology, I obtain permission to put forth my humble guess
as to the part played by mental concentration in the causing of
telepathy, clairvoyance, and trance phenomena. It seems to me that the
process of intense concentration may cause the nervous energy, or brain
energy, whatever it is, to be withdrawn from some of the brain centers
and transferred to others; and it may be this displacement and
disturbance of balance which accounts for such phenomena as catalepsy,
automatism, and somnambulism. Portions of the mind which are ordinarily
below the level of consciousness are raised to more intense forms of
activity. New levels of mind are tapped, new “personalities” or
faculties are brought into action, and persons under hypnotism develop
mental powers they do not consciously possess.
That it is intense concentration upon one suggestion—the narrowing of
the attention to one focus—which produces the cataleptic trance is
something which my wife set out to prove, and by going close to the
border-line she feels that she did prove it. The rigidity began at the
extremities and crept rapidly over the body. In spite of my protests,
Craig insisted that she was going the whole way, and asked me to stand
by and make some tests. I was to wait three minutes, and then lift her
up by the feet. I did so, and found an extraordinary thing—the body was
perfectly rigid, like a log of wood, except at the neck! When I lifted
her by her feet, the neck bent, so that the head remained on the pillow,
while the feet were raised at least a yard in the air. Later, when Craig
had relaxed, she told me that she had known what was happening; there
had been one point of consciousness left, and she had the belief that
she could let that go in another moment, but was afraid to do so,
because she might not come out again. For an instant, she had felt that
strange terror one feels at the moment he ceases to struggle against the
fumes of gas or ether, and plunges into oblivion. The difference is
that, in the case of gas or ether, one cannot hold on to consciousness;
but in the case of the cataleptic state, he can recall his receding
consciousness. Craig, of course, had not concentrated with complete
attention to one idea; one portion of her mind was concentrated upon
achieving rigidity, while another was watching and protesting against
oblivion.
Dr. Morton Prince wrote to Craig: “You are playing with powerful and
dangerous forces.” And so she dropped this form of experiment. But more
should be known about these trances, which often occur spontaneously,
and can be caused by fear—that is to say, an intense concentration on
the idea of escape from danger, which produces a tension amounting to
paralysis. In such cases there are a number of new dangers; one being
that some doctor will try to restore you with drugs and wrong
suggestions. Every suggestion of fear on the part of the onlookers must
be avoided in case of trances, for the subconscious mind of the victim
hears every word, and believes it; also telepathy has to be remembered.
One must not only speak quietly and firmly, repeating that everything is
all right, and that the person will come out safely; one must also
_think_ this. The trance may last a long time, but keep calm and sure of
success, and keep the doctor and the undertaker away. The condition of
catalepsy is more common than is realized, and it is unpleasant to think
how many persons are embalmed while in this condition.
All this sounds disturbing, but it has nothing to do with our telepathy
experiments, in which the state of concentration is not one of tension
accompanied by the suggestion of rigidity, or of fear, but on the
contrary is a state of relaxation, accompanied by the suggestion of
control, or supervision. This matter of supervision has been carefully
set forth by Craig in her statement. It is one of the mind’s great
mysteries: how, while thinking about nothing, you can not only remember
to give a suggestion, but can also act upon it. Craig insists that we
have three minds; and she has in this the backing of William McDougall,
an Englishman, who was called the “dean” of American psychologists.
McDougall talks about the various “monads” of the mind; so let us say
that one “monad” gives an order to a second “monad” to become blank,
after it has given an order to a third to present to the first a
picture.
The psychic Jan gives such “autosuggestions” to himself when he goes
into a trance, and tells his trance mind to bring him out at a certain
moment. How that trance mind can measure time as exactly as a clock is
another of the mysteries; but that it happens is beyond doubt. My wife
took Jan to a group of scientists in Boston, and several of them held
watches and expressed their surprise at what Jan was able to do. It is
obvious that when the psychic lets himself be buried six feet under the
ground in an ordinary pine-wood coffin, he is staking his life upon his
certainty that he will not come out of the state of lethargy until after
he has been dug up.
He also stakes it upon the hope that the physicians who have the test in
charge will have sufficient sense to realize the importance of having
him dug out at the time agreed. In one case they were several minutes
late, and Jan nearly suffocated. I never saw one of these burials,
because Craig obtained his promise not to do them after she knew him;
but I have talked with several physicians who watched and directed all
the details, and I have a moving-picture film of one.
_23_
Mention telepathy in company, and almost everyone has a story to tell.
You can find a clairvoyant to tell you about yourself for a dollar—and
maybe she is a fraud, but then again, maybe she is a person with a gift
which she does not understand, and the police throw her into jail
because they don’t understand it either. I am sorry if I aid the mass of
fraud which I know exists in this field, but there is no power of man
which may not and will not be abused. The person who invented high
explosives and made possible great tunnels and bridges, also made
possible the destruction of the Louvain library. The person who makes a
dynamo may electrocute himself.
In spite of all fraud, I am convinced that there are thousands of
genuine clairvoyants and psychics. My friend Will Irwin told me recently
how he spent a year or so collecting material and writing an exposure of
fraud, “The Medium Game,” published in _Collier’s Weekly_ some twenty
years ago. At the end of his labors he went, on sudden impulse, into a
“parlor” on Sixth Avenue, a cheap neighborhood of New York, and a fat
old woman in a greasy wrapper took his dollar, and held his hand in
hers, and told him things which he believed were known to no human being
but Will Irwin.
“What is the use of it?” some will ask. I reply with another question:
“What was the use of the lightning which Franklin brought down from the
clouds on his kite-string?” No use that Franklin ever knew; yet today we
make his lightning turn the wheels of industry, and move great railroad
systems, and light a hundred million homes, and spread jazz music and
cigarette advertising thousands of miles in every direction. It is an
axiom of the scientist that every scrap of knowledge will be put to use
sooner or later; get it, and let the uses wait. The discovery of the
cause of bubonic plague was made possible because some foolish-minded
entomologist had thought it worth-while to collect information about the
fleas which prey upon the bodies of rats and ground squirrels.
I know a certain Wall Street operator who employed a “psychic” to sit in
at his business conferences, and tell him if the other fellow was
honest. I believe it didn’t work very well; perhaps the circumstances
were not favorable to concentration. Needless to say, Craig and I have
no interest in such uses to be made of our knowledge. What telepathy
means to my wife is this: it seems to indicate a common substratum of
mind, underlying our individual minds, and which we can learn to tap.
Figure the conscious mind as a tree, and the subconscious mind as the
roots of that tree: then what of the earth in which the tree grows, and
from which it derives its sustenance? What currents run through that
earth, affecting all the trees of the forest? If one tree falls, the
earth is shaken—and may not the other trees feel the impulse?
In other words, we are apparently getting hints of a cosmic
consciousness, or cosmic unconsciousness: some kind of mind stuff which
is common to us all, and which we can bring into our individual
consciousness. Why is it not sensible to think that there may be a
universal mind-stuff, just as there is a universal body-stuff, of which
we are made, and to which we return?
When Craig orders her mind, or some portion of it, or faculty of it, to
get what is in Bob’s mind, while Bob is forty miles away—and when her
mind does that, what are we to picture as happening? If I am correct in
my guess, that mind and body are two aspects of one reality, then we
shall find some physical form of energy being manifested, just as we do
when we communicate by sound waves. The human brain is a storage
battery, capable of sending impulses over the nerves. Why may it not be
capable of sending impulses by means of some other medium, known or
unknown? Why may there not be such a thing as brain radio?
Certainly we know this, that every particle of energy in the universe
affects to some slight extent every other particle. The problem of
detecting such energy is merely one of getting a sufficiently sensitive
device. Who can say that our thoughts are not causing vibrations? Who
can set a limit to the distance they may travel, or to the receiving
powers of another brain, in some way or other attuned thereto? Any truly
scientific person will admit that this is a possibility, and that it is
purely a question of experimenting, to find out if it does happen, and
how.
Again, consider the problem of clairvoyance, suggested by Craig’s
ability to tell what is inside a book she holds in her hand without
seeing it, or to reproduce drawings when no human mind knows what
drawing she holds. How are we to figure that as happening? Shall we say
that brain vibrations affect material things such as paper, and leave
impressions which endure for a long time, possibly forever? Can these
affect another brain, as in the case of a bit of radium giving off
emanations? It seems to me correct to say that, theoretically, it is
inevitable. Every particle of energy that has ever been manifested in
the universe goes on producing its effects somewhere, somehow, and the
universe is forever different because of that happening. The soil of
Britain is still shaking with the tramp of Caesar’s legions, two
thousand years old. Who can say that some day we may not have
instruments sensitive enough to detect such traces of energy? On the
very day that I am reading the galley proofs of this book, I find in my
morning paper an Associated Press dispatch, from which I clip a few
paragraphs.
“A fundamental discovery in photography that takes the ‘pictures’
directly on cold, hard untreated metal without the usual photographer’s
medium of a sensitized plate was made public tonight at Cornell
University. It reveals that seemingly impervious metal records on its
surface unseen impressions from streams of electrons and that these
marks can be brought into visibility by the right kind of a ‘developer,’
exactly as photographic images are brought out on sensitized paper....
“While studying sensitivity of photographic plates to electron rays it
suddenly was realized that polished metal surfaces might be able to pick
up impressions of these beams, and when tests were made they showed that
not only could such records be made on metals, but the amazing fact
appeared that some metals are almost as sensitive as photographic film,
and for very low velocity electrons much more sensitive....
“This young physicist one day was looking at the rough spots produced on
the metal target of an x-ray tube by electron bombardment. Such spots
are commonplace, familiar sights to laboratory workers. It occurred to
Dr. Carr that perhaps long before the electrons produced the rough place
they made an invisible impression, which might be ‘developed’ in the
same manner that the still invisible image on a photo is brought out by
putting it into a developing bath. Carr shot the electron rays at gold
plates and developed them with mercury vapor, he shot them at silver and
developed with iodine, he used hydrochloric acid to develop zinc plates
and iodine to develop copper.”
And now, if x-rays leave a permanent record on metal, why might not
brain-rays, or thought-rays, leave a record upon a piece of paper? Why
might not such energies be reflected back to another brain, as light is
reflected by a mirror? Or perhaps the record might stay as some other
form of energy, turned back into brain-rays or thought-rays by the
percipient. We are familiar with this in the telephone, where sound
vibrations are turned into electrical vibrations, and in this form
transported across a continent and under an ocean, and then turned back
into sound vibrations once again.
That mental activities do leave some kind of record on matter seems
certain; at any rate, it is the basic concept of the materialistic
psychologist. For what is memory, to the materialist, but some kind of
record upon brain cells? He compares these cells to photoelectric cells,
and imagines a lot of stored up records which we can consult. If now it
should be found that such memory records are impressed, not merely upon
living brain cells, but upon the molecules or electrons which compose
any form of matter, what would be so incredible about that?
I have gone this far, in the effort to meet my materialist friends
halfway. For my part, I have no metaphysics; I am content to say that I
do not know what matter is, nor what mind is, nor how they interact. If
you want to realize the inadequacies of the materialistic dogma, so far
as concerns this special field, you may consult the work of Dr. Rudolph
Tischner, a qualified scientist of Germany, whose book, _Telepathy and
Clairvoyance_, is published in translation by Harcourt, Brace and
Company. The last chapter, called “Theory,” deals with the suggested
explanations in more detail than I have the space for here.
_24_
April 21, 1929. I am over at the office fixing up this manuscript to
send to the publisher; and just as I have it nicely wrapped, it has to
be opened again—for this is what has happened. Craig, with her anxiety
complex, has had this thought: “Here is Upton committing himself in this
public way, on a subject about which people know so little and suspect
so much; and suppose this faculty, whatever it is, should be gone in
these last few weeks, while I have been fussing over spring
housecleaning! Suppose I should find I can never do it again!”
She has to make sure all over again. She has in her desk a fat envelope
marked: “To try.” A lot of old drawings, left-overs from different
series that she has tried and failed on during the past several months;
some that she herself has drawn for friends; some that she was
interrupted while doing—a job lot, in short. She does not know how many,
as she has stuck them in from time to time, and never looked into the
envelope; but it is well filled. Now she takes out some drawings, with
averted eyes, and lies down and tries them. The house is quiet, a good
opportunity, so she does nine drawings, and there is only one complete
failure in the lot.
One is a marvel—as good as any. It is a drawing I had made, a donkey’s
head and neck, with a wide collar. Craig writes: “Cow’s head in
‘stock’”—a “stock” being in Mississippi a wooden yoke made to keep
cattle from jumping fences. She draws the head of the so-called “cow”
and the “stock”; it is a perfect donkey’s head, facing just as mine
does.
And then there is a duck, about to eat a snail. Such a jolly duck, and
such a wheely snail shell! Craig has made this drawing to amuse the
little daughter of Bob and Dolly, who had a pet duck, called “Mary Ann,”
fed on snails. Craig made this drawing several months ago, to let the
child “concentrate” on, and try telepathy like the grown-ups. And now,
with this drawing under her hand, Craig writes: “See wheels. Think of
children. Has to do with children.” The drawing of the snail shell is
plainly a lot of “wheels.”
Now, of course, Craig had previously seen every one of these drawings,
and so they were all in her subconscious mind. But these drawings had
never been seen by her at the same time. They were put into the
envelope, some at one time, some at another. Now she has taken out a few
at random. What a jumble for any subconscious mind to keep track of! How
is Craig’s mind to know which drawings she has taken out, and which one
she is holding under her hand?
Again we have something more than telepathy. For no human mind knows
what drawings she has taken from that envelope. No human mind but her
own even knows that she is trying an experiment. Either there is some
superhuman mind, or else there is something that comes from the
drawings, some way of “seeing,” other than the way we know and use all
the time. Make what you can of this, but don’t laugh at it, for most
certainly it happens.
_25_
October, 1929. At my wife’s insistence, I have held up this book for six
months, in order to think it over, and have the manuscript read by
friends whose opinions we value. A score or more have read it, and made
various suggestions, many of which I have accepted. Some of the
reactions of these friends may be of interest to the reader.
The news that I was taking up “psychic” matters brought me letters both
of curiosity and protest. My friend Isaac Goldberg of Boston reported
the matter in the Haldeman-Julius publications under the title:
“Sinclair Goes Spooky.” I hope that when he has read this book, he will
find another adjective. My friends, both radical and respectable, must
realize that I have dealt here with facts, in as patient and thorough a
manner as I have ever done in my life. It is foolish to be convinced
without evidence, but it is equally foolish to refuse to be convinced by
real evidence.
There came to me a letter of warning from a good comrade, T. H. Bell of
Los Angeles, an elderly Scotchman who has grown up in the Socialist
movement, and known the old fighters of the days when I was a child. He
begged me not to jeopardize my reputation; so I thought he would be a
good test for the manuscript, and asked him to read it. Some of his
suggestions I accepted, and the work is the better for them. But Comrade
Bell was not able to believe that Craig’s drawings could have come by
telepathy, for the reason that it would mean that he was “abandoning the
fundamental notions” on which his “whole life has been based.”
Comrade Bell brought many arguments against my thesis, and this was a
service, because it enables me to answer my critics in advance. First,
what is the value of my memory? Can I be sure that it does not
“accommodate itself too easily to the statement Sinclair wishes to
believe?” My answer is that few of the important cases in the book rest
upon my memory; they rest upon records written down at once. They rest
upon drawings which were made according to a plan devised in advance,
and then duly filed in envelopes numbered and dated. Also, my memory has
been checked by my wife’s, who is a fanatic for accuracy, and has caused
me torment, through a good part of our married life, by insisting upon
going over my manuscripts and censoring every phrase. Also Bob and
Dollie and my secretary have read this narrative, and checked the
statements dealing with them.
Next objection, that I am “a man without scientific training.” The
acceptance of that statement depends upon the definition of the word
“scientific.” If it includes the social sciences, then I have had
twenty-five years of very rigid training. I have made investigations and
published statements, literally by thousands, which were criminal libels
unless they were true and exact; yet I have never had any kind of libel
suit brought against me in my life. As to the scientific value of the
particular experiments described in this book, the reader can do his own
judging, for they have been described in detail. I don’t see how
scientific training could have increased our precautions. We have
outlined our method to scientists, and none has suggested any change.
Next, the fact that in the past I have shown myself “naïve and credulous
at times.” No doubt I have; but I have learned by such experiences, and
I am not so naïve and credulous as when I was younger. Neither do I see
how these qualities can play much part in the present matter. I surely
know the conditions under which I made my drawings, and whether I had
them under my eyes while my wife was making her drawings in another
room; I know about the ones I sealed in envelopes, and which were never
out of my sight. As for my wife, she certainly has nothing of the
qualities of naïveté and credulity. She was raised in a family of
lawyers, and was given the training and skeptical point of view of a
woman of the world. “Trust people, but watch them,” was old Judge
Kimbrough’s maxim; and following it too closely has almost made a
pessimist of his daughter.
Next, that Craig is “in poor health.” That is true, but I do not see how
it matters here. She has often been in pain, but it has never affected
her judgment. She chose her own times for experimenting, when she felt
in the mood, and her mind was always clear and keen for the job.
Next, “a husband and wife are a bad pair to make telepathic experiments.
Living so much together, their common life does tend to make them think
of the same thing at the same time.” This is true; but how does it
account for the half-dozen successes with a brother-in-law, twenty or
thirty with a secretary, and many with Jan? How does it account for the
covers and jackets of books in which I had no interest, but which had
come to me by chance, and which Craig had never even glanced at, so far
as she remembers?
It is true that in the early days most of our drawings were of obvious
things which lay about the house, scissors, table-forks, watches,
chairs, telephones; so there was a better chance of guess work. How much
chance, was determined by my son and his wife, who, hearing that Craig
and I were trying telepathy experiments, decided to try a few
also—without knowing anything about the technique. They also drew
scissors, table-forks, watches, chairs, telephones, and such common
objects. The only trouble was that when David tried to reproduce Betty’s
drawings, he drew the chair where she had drawn the scissors, and drew
the watch where she had drawn the table-fork, and so on. They did not
get a single success.
I think that if you will go back and look over those drawings as a
whole, you must admit that the objects were as varied as the imagination
could make them. I do not see how any one could choose a set of objects
less likely to be guessed than the series which I have numbered from 5
to 12—a bird’s nest full of eggs and surrounded by leaves, a spiked
helmet, a desert palm-tree, a star with eight double points, a coconut
palm, a puppy chasing a string, a flying bat, a Chinese mandarin, and a
boy’s foot with a roller-skate on it. None of these objects has any
relationship whatever to my life, or to Craig’s, or to our common life.
To say that a wife can guess such a series, because she knows her
husband’s mind so well, seems to me out of all reason.
Next, the point that some of the cases are not convincing by themselves.
I am familiar with this method of argument, having encountered it with
others of my books. Let me beg you to note that the cases are _not_
taken by themselves, but are taken as a whole. I can think, for example,
of several ways by which Craig might have known that I had put my little
paper of written notes into the pocket of my gray coat, or that I had
left some medical apparatus under the bathtub at the office. She might
have seen these things, and then have forgotten it, and her subconscious
mind might have brought back to her the location of the objects, but
failed to remind her of the previous seeing. If such cases had stood
alone, I would not have thought it worth while to write this book.
The same thing applies to Craig’s production of German words. Having
spent several weeks with me in Germany, and having known many Germans,
she no doubt has German words in her subconscious mind. This also
applies to certain dream cases. Any one who wants to can go through the
book and pick out a score of cases which can be questioned on various
grounds. Perhaps it would be wiser for me to cut out all except the
strongest cases. But I rely upon your common sense, to realize that the
strongest cases have caused me to write the book; and that the weaker
ones are given for whatever additional light they may throw upon the
problem.
If you want to deal fairly with the book, here is what you have to
explain. How did it happen that at a certain agreed hour when Bob at
Pasadena drew a table-fork and dated and signed the drawing, Craig in
Long Beach wrote: “See a table-fork, nothing else,” and dated and signed
her words? If you call this a coincidence, how are you going to account
for the chair, and the watch, and the circle with the hole in the
middle, and the sense of pain and fear, and the spreading black stain
called blood, all reproduced under the same perfect conditions? I say
that if you call all this coincidence, you are violating the laws of
probability as we know them. I say that there are only two possible
explanations,—either telepathy, or that my wife and her brother-in-law
were hoaxing me.
But if you want to assume a hoax, you have to face the fact that my wife
a few days later was reproducing a series of drawings which I made and
kept in front of my eyes in a separate room from her, in such a position
that she could not see them if she wanted to. If I thought it worth
while, I could draw you a diagram of the place where she sat and the
place where I sat, and convince you that neither mirrors, nor a hole in
the wall, nor any other device would have enabled my wife to see my
drawings, until I took them to her and compared them with her drawings.
The only way you can account for that series of successes is to say that
I am in on the hoax.
My good friend and comrade, Tom Bell, does not suggest that I am in it;
but others may say it, so I will answer. Let me assure you, there is no
reason in the world why I should take the field on behalf of the
doctrine of telepathy—except my conviction that it has been proved. I
don’t belong to any church which teaches telepathy. I don’t hold any
doctrine which is helped by it. I don’t make any money by advocating or
practicing it. There is no more reason why I should be concerned to
vindicate telepathy, than there is for my coming out in support of the
Catholic doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, or the Mormon doctrine
of Urim and Thummim, or the Koreshan doctrine that the earth is a hollow
sphere and we live on the inside of it.
I assure you I am as cold-blooded about the thing as a man can be. In
fact, I don’t like to believe in telepathy, because I don’t know what to
make of it, and I don’t know to what view of the universe it will lead
me, and I would a whole lot rather give all my time to my muckraking job
which I know by heart. I don’t expect to sell especially large
quantities of this book; I am sure that by giving the same amount of
time and energy to other books I have in mind, I could earn several
times as much money. In short, there isn’t a thing in the world that
leads me to this act, except the conviction which has been forced upon
me that telepathy is real, and that loyalty to the nature of the
universe makes it necessary for me to say so.
My friend and publisher Charles Boni thinks that I should write this
book without protestations; taking a dignified position, sure that my
readers will trust me. But as it happens, I have read, not merely the
literature of psychic research, but also the literature in opposition to
it, and I know the arguments advanced by persons who are unwilling to
change their “fundamental notions.” It seems common sense to answer here
the objections which are certain to be made.
I submitted this manuscript to the two leading psychologists of America,
Morton Prince and William McDougall. Dr. Prince was taken by death
before he found time to read it, but Professor McDougall read it, and
has stated his reactions in the preface. In writing to me, he expressed
the hope that my wife would be able to make some of these telepathy
tests under the observation of well-known scientists. In replying, I
assured him that my wife and I shared this hope; but whether it can ever
be realized is a problem for the future. All Craig’s work so far has
depended upon a state of complete peace and relaxation. As she has
pointed out, it is a matter of “undivided concentration,” and even such
disturbing things as light and noise are an interference. One friend who
has tried to experiment lately at our instigation gave it up because of
automobile horns in the street outside. She declared that these had
never disturbed her before, but that the effort not to hear them when
concentrating only caused her to concentrate on the horns, and so
threatened to give her a case of “nerves.”
Whether Craig would be able to get the necessary state of mind in the
presence of strangers, skeptical or possibly hostile, is a problem yet
to be solved. Unless we are going to beg the question, we have to assume
that telepathy may be a reality; and if it be a reality, then certainly
what is in the other person’s mind makes a difference, and certainly it
is a serious matter to ask a woman in delicate health to open her mind
to the moods of strangers. Some day in the future Craig is going to make
the test, but whether it succeeds or fails will not alter, so far as I
am concerned, what has already happened in my presence.
Another of my friends who read the manuscript was Floyd Dell, and he
thinks that readers of my books will wish to know to what extent, if
any, my interest in the subject of telepathy is going to change my
attitude to the struggle for social justice. To that I reply that I have
been interested in psychic research for the past thirty-five years, ever
since, as a youth, I met Minot J. Savage; but this has not kept me from
believing ardently in the abolition of parasitism, exploitation, and
war. While the telepathy experiments were going on I wrote “Boston,” a
novel of some 325,000 words, in less than a year. While I am consulting
with my friends about this manuscript, I am writing a novel, “Mountain
City,” which I hope my Socialist friends will find of interest. The only
discovery that can weaken my interest in the economic problem will be
one which enables human beings to live without food, clothing, and
shelter. But in the meantime, I see no reason why Socialists are
required to be ignorant of psychology.
James Fuchs, another patient critic of my writings, thinks I appear
naïve in this book, and should reveal some knowledge of the vast
literature on the subject. My reason for not doing so is that very
vastness; one would need several volumes to handle it. In the
Proceedings of the American and British Societies for Psychical Research
lies buried endless evidence on the subject; but scientific authority
remains for the most part uninterested in that evidence, and would not
be interested in my rehash of it. I have written this book to tell my
readers and friends what I myself have seen with my own eyes. That is my
job, and I leave the rest to others who are better qualified.
Fuchs reminds me that “umbilical sensory perception” is a well-known
psychic phenomenon, and that Craig, in holding the drawings over her
solar plexus, is repeating the method of Justinus Kerner (1786–1862),
about whom you will find an article in the “Encyclopedia Britannica.”
Craig knew about that from various sources, and some of her experiments
were designed to test the explanation. I made eight drawings and laid
them face down on the table by her couch, perhaps three feet from her
head. I put them there while she was out of the room, and I sat and
watched, to be sure she did not ever touch them. She lay on the couch
and made some notes and drawings which reproduced the essential features
of half a dozen of my drawings—all at once! So, if Craig has an
umbilical eye, she must also have one in the side of her head which can
see through several thicknesses of paper.
My daughter-in-law at that time also made suggestions which I accepted.
She spoke for the new generation of radicals, saying: “The book aroused
a storm of metaphysical speculation in my mind, and I could wax eloquent
with slight provocation.” This is different from refusing to “abandon
the fundamental notions on which my whole life has been based.”
_26_
One interesting point I observe: in any company where the subject of
this manuscript is brought up, invariably some person declares that he
or she has had such experiences. One lady, highly educated, assured me
that she and her husband had developed telepathy to a point where it
served them on a lonely ranch in the place of telegraph and telephone.
Only a few days ago I met at luncheon Bruno Walter, orchestra leader,
who had come from Germany to conduct concerts in the Hollywood Bowl. Mr.
Walter narrated to me the incident which follows:
While conducting in some middle western city, he was a guest at a
luncheon, and found himself becoming very ill. He explained matters to
his host, who called a taxicab, but this cab did not arrive, and Mr.
Walter, in great distress, took his hat and left the house, saying that
he would look for a cab. Turning the corner of the street, he came upon
his manager, driving a car, and hailed him. “A most fortunate accident!”
exclaimed the sick man, but the manager assured him that it was no
accident; about half an hour previously, the manager had been seized by
an intense feeling that Mr. Walter was in trouble, and had been moved to
get into his car and drive. He did not know where Mr. Walter had gone,
but simply followed his impulse to drive in a certain direction.
Another incident, told me by Fremont Older, editor of the San Francisco
_Call_, and a veteran fighter in the cause of social justice. Older had
seen many demonstrations of telepathy, and was completely convinced of
its reality. A friend of his, living on a ranch, employed a cook named
Sam who had the gift, and agreed to give a demonstration for the Olders.
Sam asked Older to get a book and wrap it in thick paper, and Sam would
tell the name of the book and the author. Older went out to his car, but
could find no book, only a folder of maps, which he wrapped in several
thicknesses of paper. Sam put the package to his head, and after a
minute or two said, “This is not a book, it is a map or something. Why
don’t you get me a regular book?” So Older went to his car again and
found a book belonging to his wife, and wrapped it with care and tied
it. Sam put it to his head, and began to spell letters, and finally
stated as follows: “Julia France and her Times, by Gertrude Atherton,
published by the Macmillan Company.” This was correct. Sam added: “I get
another name. What has Ernest Hopkins got to do with this book?” Older
and his wife were dumbfounded; for the name was that of a member of the
newspaper staff who had been asked to review the book, but Mrs. Older
had taken the copy from him because at the last moment she wanted
something to read on her trip.
As this book is going to the printer, my attention is called to the fact
that Dr. Carl Bruck of Berlin has published a book entitled
“Experimentelle Telepathie,” in which he reports a series of tests
closely resembling those here described. The main difference is that he
used hypnotized subjects, four different young men, as the recipients of
his telepathic messages. He made drawings at home, and locked them in a
large portfolio, which he placed in an adjoining room from the subject,
two or three yards distant through a wall. He himself sat in front of
the hypnotized subject, and concentrated upon “sending” one of the
drawings. Under these conditions, in a total of 111 experiments,
one-third were successful. The Berlin correspondent of the “Scientific
American” reported these tests in the issue of May, 1924, where those
interested may read the details, and inspect twelve of the drawings. The
tests were conducted in the presence of various physicians and
scientists; and I am interested in a recent comment on the matter by a
German physician living in Mexico City: “Bruck’s work has gone almost
wholly unnoticed.”
I say to scientific men, that such work deserves to be noticed. There is
new knowledge here, close to the threshold, waiting for us; and we
should not let ourselves be repelled by the seeming triviality of the
phenomena, for it is well known that some of the greatest discoveries
have come from the following up of just such trivial clews.
What did Benjamin Franklin have to go on when he brought the lightning
down from the clouds on the string of a kite? Just a few hints, picked
up in the course of the previous hundred years; a few traces of
electricity noted by accident. The fact that you got a spark if you
stroked a cat’s fur; the fact that you got the same kind of a spark by
rubbing amber, and a bigger one by storing the energy in a glass jar
lined with tinfoil—that was all men had as promise of the miracles of
our time, dynamos and superpower, telegraph and telephone, x-ray
surgery, radio, wireless, television, and new miracles just outside our
door. If now it be a fact that there is a reality behind the notions of
telepathy and clairvoyance, to which so many investigators are bearing
testimony all over the world, who can set limits to what it may mean to
the future? What new powers of the human mind, what ability to explore
the past and future, the farthest deeps of space, and those deeps of our
own minds, no less vast and marvelous?
To set limits to such possibilities is not to be scientific, it is
merely to be foolish. The true scientist sets no limits to human powers,
he merely asks that we verify our facts. This my wife and I have tried
to do, and I think that, so far as concerns telepathy at least, we can
claim success. We present here a mass of real evidence, and we shall not
be troubled by any amount of ridicule from the ignorant. I tell you—and
because it is so important, I put it in capital letters: TELEPATHY
HAPPENS!