"Why do you think me a liar?"
I turned round confused, protesting that of course I did nothing of the
kind.
"I often am guilty of what people call lying," he said, "but never
intentionally of deceiving a guest. That is why I so seldom indulge in
the pleasure of entertaining."
As he said this he rose, and we went together into his study.
"Come," he continued, "I have a surprise for you."
He went up to one of the book-cases, touched a concealed spring, and the
whole oak framework moved slowly round on a pivot, forming a doorway
through which we passed.
Having gone down a few steps into what I judged must be an underground
passage, we once more ascended into a large room, lined on every side
with crowded book-cases.
"You are surprised," he said, "to see so large a room in so small a
house. We are now in part of what are usually supposed to be my
farm-buildings. There are three rooms here which I use for different
purposes. I will show you the other two later on."
The library was lighted by a skylight arranged in such a way, that from
outside it would not be visible. My companion sat down on a comfortable
couch, and beckoning me to another, said--
"I must ask you to promise me that you will reveal nothing of what I am
now going to say, or anything which I may show you until you have my
permission. I have a strong opinion that for some reason or other the
time has not yet come when it would be advisable to make generally known
many facts which I have discovered belonging to a power which is lying
dormant in all men. The world, however, is progressing quickly, and the
responsibility must rest with you at some future time, when I am gone,
as to the wisdom of making known part or all of the knowledge which you
will gather from me."
Saying this, he got up, and going to one of the shelves in his
book-case, took down a volume.
"You may judge," he continued, "by the collection here, that at one time
I was an ardent lover of books. Now they have little interest for me:
but this volume will always have a special value, for it was from it
that I first gained the knowledge which has influenced my whole life.
"While travelling in France, and making, as was then my custom, a round
of any old book-stalls that came in my way, I noticed a small shop which
outwardly had little appearance of containing anything of interest to
the bibliomaniac. In the window there were various ancient curiosities,
but knowing that these antique dealers sometimes bought books which they
did not display, it seemed worth while to make an inquiry. I was well
rewarded, for the old man, after saying that he did not as a rule buy
books, told me that he had at various times picked up at sales a few
which he usually sent to be sold by auction in Paris. He had some by
him at the time, and amongst these a curious Latin manuscript. Though
evidently a seventeenth-century work, it was not dated. I thought at
first that it would probably prove of little value, until turning over
the leaves, I noticed that it was by no less celebrated a writer than
Descartes. This author's works were at the time little known to me, and
it never occurred to my mind that this volume could be anything more
valuable than a manuscript of one of his published works. However,
published or unpublished, it was certainly worth a thousand times more
than the dealer asked for it, so I took it back to my hotel well pleased
with my morning's work, and spent the whole afternoon reading. An
entirely new idea of existence seemed opening before me, and it appeared
incredible that a work of this description could have been known for two
hundred and fifty years without my having even heard a repetition of the
views found there. Then remembering that many of Descartes' works had,
owing to the opposition of the Romish Church, never been printed, I
decided to find out at once whether by any chance this might be one of
them. I sent immediately to Paris for a complete edition of Descartes,
which had recently been published, and soon found that this volume was
not among them. A little further inquiry satisfied me of the
authenticity of the MS., and that it was entirely unknown.
"You may remember that Descartes, in his 'Discourse on Method,'
published in 1637, says, 'It appears to me that I have discovered many
truths more useful and more important than all I had before learned, or
even expected to learn. I have essayed to expound the chief of these
discoveries in a treatise which certain considerations prevent me from
publishing.' Now we know that the chief consideration was his fear of
offending the Church, and every one who has read Descartes' published
works must observe through them a perpetual veiling of what he thought
to be true so as to avoid being brought in conflict with the religious
opinions of his day. Notice this passage from the work just mentioned.
'It may be believed without discredit to the miracle of creation, that
things purely material might in course of time have become such as we
observe them at present, and their end is much more easily conceived
when they are beheld coming in this manner gradually into existence,
than when they are only considered as produced at once in a finished and
perfect state.'
"He then applies this theory to man. He says that as yet he has not
sufficient knowledge to treat of this development, and is obliged to
remain satisfied with the supposition that God formed the body of man
wholly like to one of ours, but at first placed in it no rational soul.
Having gone thus far and apparently fearing to go further, he breaks off
suddenly and never satisfactorily returns to the subject in his
published works. But how different is his method when we turn to the
manuscript before me, which I fancy must have been his last work, as it
is unfinished! How much more lucid and complete we find his conclusions
here! There is no attempt to suppress his real view. I will give you
briefly a summary of the chief conclusions which interested me, and
which will be enough for the present purpose.
"'All things have slowly developed.'
"'Man is the most perfectly developed being of whose existence we are
conscious.'
"'The lower orders of life have a varying number of powers of perception
which we term senses.'
"'The higher orders of life have five.'
"'These senses diminish in power as they increase in number, being
relieved one by the other.'
"'No deterioration in sense-power is known to have taken place without
causing deterioration to the possessor unless at the same time
accompanied by the development of a new perceptive faculty.'
"'Man alone is credited with being an exception to this rule. He is
inferior in keenness of sense to the animals below him, yet superior in
power. It is also noticeable that the savage is in like manner superior
to the civilized man. It is therefore probable that man is really the
possessor of a sixth sense as yet imperfectly developed and unequally
distributed.'
"Briefly this is the key to the remarkable conclusions at which he
eventually arrives, and which are worked out with his usual mathematical
exactitude and care. He has fully satisfied me that this theory
explains most of the mysteries of life; but there is not time now to go
more fully into the matter."
"But," I said, "he appears to have forgotten entirely the importance of
intellect."
"There you are mistaken. He goes very fully into the matter and
anticipates Darwin. 'Intellect,' he writes, 'is not a means of
perception, but an organ for the arrangement and use of the senses, and
is to be found in all animal life though in a less developed form than
is noticeable in man.'"
"But," I interrupted, "is not that therefore the explanation; the higher
intellect of man needs a lower standard of sensitive faculty, and he is
thus enabled to produce from lesser gifts a greater gain?"
"I will," he answered, "as nearly as possible give you Descartes' answer
to this objection. 'To say that the more highly developed a being, the
less it will require its perceptive powers, and that therefore through
want of use they have gradually deteriorated, would lead us to this
_reductio ad absurdum:_--that in time man will become so perfectly
developed that his senses must continue deteriorating until at last he
will arrive at the perfection of an insensitive existence, with
intellect to place in order all things which he perceives while he is
unable to perceive anything.' Of course in endeavouring to give you his
argument in a few words--an argument which requires close and careful
reasoning, I do Descartes considerable injustice, but I hope on some
future occasion to be able to go more fully into the discussion. I have
said enough for my present purpose, and am not fond of argument unless
satisfied that my opponent agrees with me upon the primary ground of
discussion; much valuable time is otherwise wasted. For instance, if
you are speaking on the subject of the colour red to a man born blind
and his idea of red is some sound which resembles the blast of a
trumpet, you cannot possibly hope to arrive at any very satisfactory
conclusion. In the same way if man is unconscious of the power granted
him through the sixth; or, as for lack of a better term we may call it,
the spiritual sense, no argument on the subject would be of the least
value. It will suffice at present to say that the theory which
Descartes fully works out was to me personally a revelation; a
revelation, because it seemed but the perfected expression of my own
dormant thought. Having therefore carefully considered the advice which
the writer gives to those who are anxious to prove the value of this
partially developed power, namely, to use it, I started on a course of
experiments which, should you care to follow me, I will endeavour to
explain. You may thus be able to judge of the truth of the theory by
its results, which after all is by far the safer plan. Moreover, some
of my experiences may be of interest."