That the phenomena now so commonly exhibited under the above title,
demand a careful examination, and, if possible, a distinct
explanation, will be readily admitted. It is clear that they ought not
to be allowed to rest as materials for popular amusement, but should
be submitted to strict scientific inquiry. The theory which so boldly
ascribes them to electric influence, should be strictly examined. If
this theory is found to be untenable, some important questions will
remain to be considered; such as: May not the phenomena be explained
on physiological principles? and, Is it not probable that the means
employed may have an injurious tendency?
The extent to which public attention has been excited by the
phenomena, may be guessed by a glance at the advertising columns of
the _Times_, and by placards meeting the eye in various parts of the
country, announcing that, 'at the Mechanics' Institute,' or elsewhere,
experiments will be performed in 'electro-biology,' when 'persons in a
perfectly wakeful state' will be 'deprived of the powers of sight,
hearing, and taste,' and subjected to various illusions. One
advertiser professes to give 'the philosophy of the science;' another
undertakes to 'reveal the secret,' so as to enable _any_ person to
make the experiments; and another undertakes the cure of 'palsy,
deafness, and rheumatism.' Lectures on the topic, in London and in the
provincial towns, are now exciting great astonishment in the minds of
many, and give rise to considerable controversy respecting the theory
and the _modus operandi_.
It is on this latter point--the means by which the effects are
produced--that we would chiefly direct our inquiry, for we shall very
briefly dismiss the attempt to explain them by a vague charge of
collusion or imposture.
If this charge could be reasonably maintained, it would, of course,
make all further remarks unnecessary, as our topic would then no
longer be one for scientific investigation, but could only be added to
the catalogue of fraud. It is possible that there may have been _some_
cases of feigning among the experiments, but these do not affect the
general reality of the effects produced. So epilepsy and catalepsy
have been feigned; but these diseases are still found real in too many
instances. We need not dwell on this point; for it may be safely
assumed, that all persons who have had a fair acquaintance with the
experiments of electro-biology (so-called), are fully convinced that,
in a great number of cases, the effects seen are real and sincere, not
simulated. The question then remains: Are these effects fairly
attributed to 'electric' influence, or may they not be truly explained
by some other cause?
Before we proceed to consider this question, it will be well to give
some examples of the phenomena to which our remarks apply. We shall
state only such cases as we have seen and carefully examined.
A. is a young man well known by a great number of the
spectators--unsuspected of falsehood--knows nothing of the
experimenter or of electro-biology, not even the meaning of the words.
After submitting to the process employed by the lecturer--sitting
still, and gazing fixedly upon a small disk of metal for about a
quarter of an hour--he is selected as a suitable subject. When told by
the experimenter that he cannot open his eyes, he seems to make an
effort, but does not open them until he is assured that he can do so.
He places his hand upon a table--is told that he cannot take the hand
off the table--seems to make a strong effort to remove it, but fails,
until it is liberated by a word from the lecturer. A walking-stick is
now placed in his right hand, and he is challenged to strike the
extended hand of the lecturer. He throws back the stick over his
shoulder, and seems to have a very good will to strike, but cannot
bring the stick down upon the hand. He afterwards declares to all who
question him, that he 'tried with all his might' to strike the hand.
A. has certainly no theatrical talents; but his looks and gestures,
when he is made to believe that he is exposed to a terrific storm,
convey a very natural expression of terror. He regards the imaginary
flashes of lightning with an aspect of dismay, which, if simulated,
would be a very good specimen of acting. In many other experiments
performed upon him, the effects seem to be such as are quite beyond
the reach of any scepticism with regard to his sincerity. He cannot
pronounce his own name--does not know, or at least cannot _tell_, the
name of the town in which he lives--cannot recognise one face in the
room where scores of people, who know him very well, are now laughing
at him. On the other side, we must state, that when a glass of water
is given to him, and he is told that it is vinegar, he persists in
saying that he tastes water, and nothing else. This is almost the only
experiment that fails upon him.
B. is an intelligent man, upwards of thirty years of age, of nervous
temperament. His honesty and veracity are quite beyond all rational
doubt. The numerous spectators, who have known him well for many
years, are quite sure that if he has any will in the matter, it is
simply to defeat the lecturer's purpose. However, after he has
submitted himself to the process, the experiments made upon him prove
successful. He is naturally a fluent talker, but now cannot, without
difficulty and stammering, pronounce his own name, an easy
monosyllable--cannot strike the lecturer's hand--cannot rise from a
chair, &c. We may add, that he cannot be made to mistake water for
vinegar.
One more case. C. is a tradesman, middle-aged, has no tendency to
mysticism or imaginative reverie--knows nothing of 'mesmerism' or
'electro-biology'--was never suspected of falsehood or imposition. He
proves, however, the most pliable of all the patients--the experiments
succeed with him to the fullest extent--his imagination and his senses
seem to be placed entirely under the control of the experimenter.
Standing before a large audience, he is made to believe that he and
the lecturer are alone in the room. He cannot recognise his own wife,
who sits before him. He cannot step from the platform, which is about
one foot higher than the floor. When informed that his limbs are too
feeble to support him, he totters, and would fall if not held. Many of
the experiments upon him, shewing an extreme state of mental and
physical prostration, are rather painful to witness, others are
ludicrous; for instance, he is made to believe that he is out amid the
snow in the depth of winter--he shivers with cold, buttons up his
coat, beats the floor with his feet, brushes away the imagined
fast-falling flakes from his clothes, and almost imparts to the
spectators a sympathetic feeling of cold by his wintry pantomime: then
he is jocosely recommended not to stand thus shivering, but to make
snow-balls, and pelt the lecturer. Heartily, and with apparent
earnestness, he acts according to orders. Next, he is made to believe
that the room has no roof.--'You see the sky and the stars,
sir?'--'Yes.' 'And there, see, the moon is rising, very large and red,
is it not?'--'Yes, sir.' 'Very well: now you see this cord in my hand;
we will throw it over the moon, and pull her down.' He addresses
himself to the task with perfect gravity, pulls heartily. 'Down she
comes, sir! down she comes!' says the experimenter: 'mind your head,
sir!'--and the deluded patient falls on the platform, as he imagines
that the moon is coming down upon him.
These instances will be sufficient for our purpose. We have given them
as fair average examples of many others. If any reader still supposes
that these effects have all been mere acting and falsehood, we must
leave that reader to see and examine for himself as we have done.[4]
For other readers who admit _the facts_ and want an explanation, we
proceed to discuss the _modus operandi_.
In the first place, then, we assert that _there is no proof whatever_
that these effects depend upon any electric influence: there is
absolutely no evidence that the metallic disk, as an '_electric_'
agent, has any connection with the results. On this point, we invite
the lecturers and experimenters who maintain that electricity is the
agent in their process, to test the truth of our assertion, as they
may very easily. _Coeteris paribus_--all the other usual conditions
being observed, such as silence, the fixed gaze, monotony of
attention--let the galvanic disk be put aside, and in its place let a
sixpence or a fourpenny-piece be employed, or indeed any similar small
object on which the eyes of the patient must remain fixed for the
usual space of time, and we will promise that the experiments thus
made shall be equally successful with those in which the so-called
galvanic disk is employed. The phenomena are physiological and not
electrical.
Our conviction is, that the results proceed entirely from _imagination
acting with a peculiar condition of the brain_, and that this
peculiarly passive and impressible condition of the brain is induced
by the _fixed gaze_ upon the disk. These are the only agencies which
we believe to be necessary, in order to give us an explanation of the
phenomena in question. In saying so, however, we are aware that such
data will seem to some inquirers insufficient to account for the
effects we have described. It may be said: 'We know that imagination
sometimes produces singular results, but can hardly see how it
explains the facts stated.' We have only to request that such
inquirers, before they throw aside our explanation, will give
attention to a few remarks on the power of imagination in certain
conditions. We propose, _1st_, To give some suggestions on this point;
_2d_, To notice the relations of imagination with reason; and, _3d_,
To inquire how far the physical means employed--the fixed gaze on the
disk--may be sufficient to affect the mental organ, the brain, so as
to alter its normal condition.
1. Our usual mode of speaking of imagination, is to treat it as the
opposite of all reality. When we say, 'that was merely an
imagination,' we dismiss the topic as not worthy of another thought.
For all ordinary purposes, this mode of speaking is correct enough;
but let us ask, Why is imagination so weak?--why are its suggestions
so evanescent? Simply because it is under the control of reason. But
if the action of reason could be suspended, we should then see how
great, and even formidable, is the imaginative power. It is the most
untiring of all our mental faculties, refusing to be put to rest even
during sleep: it can alter the influence of all external agents--for
example, can either assist or prevent the effects of medicine--can
make the world a prison-house to one man, and a paradise to
another--can turn dwarfs into giants, and make various other
metamorphoses more wonderful than any described by Ovid; nay, these
are all insufficient examples of its power when left without control;
for it can produce either health, or disease, or death!
To give a familiar instance of the control under which it is generally
compelled to act: You are walking home in the night-time, and some
withered and broken old tree assumes, for a moment, the appearance of
a giant about to make an attack upon you with an enormous club. You
walk forward to confront the monster with perfect coolness. Why? Not
because you are a Mr Greatheart, accustomed to deal with giants, but
because, in fact, the illusion does not keep possession of your mind
even for a moment. Imagination merely suggests the false image; but
memory and reason, with a rapidity of action which cannot be
described, instantly correct the mistake, and tell you it is only the
old elm-tree; so that here, and in a thousand similar instances, there
is really no sufficient time allowed for any display of the power of
imagination.
A tale is told--we cannot say on what authority--which, whether it be
a fact or a fiction, is natural, and may serve very well to shew what
would be the effect of imagination if reason did not interfere. It is
said that the companions of a young man, who was very 'wild,' had
foolishly resolved to try to frighten him into better conduct. For
this purpose, one of the party was arrayed in a white sheet, with a
lighted lantern carried under it, and was to visit the young man a
little after midnight, and address to him a solemn warning. The
business, however, was rather dangerous, as the subject of this
experiment generally slept with loaded pistols near him. Previously to
the time fixed for the apparition, the bullets were abstracted from
these weapons, leaving them charged only with gunpowder. When the
spectre stalked into the chamber, the youth instantly suspected a
trick, and, presenting one of the pistols, said: 'Take care of
yourself: if you do not walk off, I shall fire!' Still stood the
goblin, staring fixedly on the angry man. He fired; and when he saw
the object still standing--when he believed that the bullet had
innocuously passed through it--in other words, as soon as reason
failed to explain it and imagination prevailed--he fell back upon his
pillow in extreme terror.
2. The point upon which we would insist is that, in the normal
condition of the mind and the body, the power of imagination is so
governed, that a display of the effects it produces while under the
control of reason, can give us but a feeble notion of what its power
might be in other circumstances. To make this plain, we add a few
suggestions respecting the nature and extent of the control exercised
by reason over imagination; and we shall next proceed to shew, that
_the activity of reason is dependent upon certain physical
conditions_.
We shall say nothing of a metaphysical nature respecting reason, but
shall simply point to two important facts connected with its exercise.
The _first_--that it suspends or greatly modifies the action of other
powers--has already been noticed in our remarks on imagination; but we
must state it here in more distinct terms. We especially wish the
reader to understand how wide and important is the meaning of the
terms 'control' and 'overrule' as we use them when we say: 'reason
controls, or overrules, imagination!' When we say that, in nature, the
laws which regulate one stage of existence _overrule_ the laws of
another and a lower stage, we do not intend to say that the latter are
annulled, but that they are so controlled and modified in their course
of action, that they can no longer produce the effects which would
take place if they were left free from such control. A few examples
will make our meaning plain. Let us contrast the operations of
chemistry with those of mechanism. In the latter, substances act upon
each other simply by pressure, motion, friction, &c.; but in
chemistry, affinities and combinations come into play, producing
results far beyond any that are seen in mechanics. On mechanical
principles, the trituration of two substances about equal in hardness
should simply reduce them to powder, but in chemistry, it may produce
a gaseous explosion. Again--vegetable life overrules chemistry: the
leaves, twigs, and branches of a tree, if left without life, would,
when exposed to the agencies of air, light, heat, and moisture, be
partly reduced to dust and partly diffused as gas in the atmosphere.
It is the vegetative life of the tree which controls both the
mechanical and the chemical powers of wind, rain, heat, and
gravitation; and it is not until the life is extinct that these
inferior powers come into full play upon the tree. So, again, the
animal functions control chemical laws--take digestion, for example: a
vegetable cut up by the root and exposed to the air, passes through a
course of chemical decomposition, and _is_ finally converted into gas;
but when an animal consumes a vegetable, it is not decomposed
according to the chemical laws, but is digested, becomes chyle, and is
assimilated to the body of the animal. It is obvious that animal life
controls mechanical laws. Thus, the friction of two inert substances
wears one of them away--the soft yields to the hard; but, on the
contrary, the hand of the labourer who wields the spade or the pickaxe
becomes thicker and harder by friction.
The bearing of these remarks upon our present point will soon be
obvious: we multiply examples, in order to shew in what an important
sense we use the word _control_, with regard to the relation of reason
with imagination. As we have seen, chemistry overrules the mechanical
laws; vegetation suspends the laws of chemistry; a superior department
of animal life controls influences which are laws in a lower
department; again, mind controls the effects of physical influences;
and, lastly, one power of the mind controls, and in a great measure
suspends, the natural activity of another power--_reason controls
imagination_. A second fact with regard to the action of reason must
be noticed--that _it requires a wakeful condition of the brain_. Some
may suppose that they have reasoned very well during sleep; but we
suspect that, if they could recollect their syllogisms, they would
find them not much better than Mickle's poetry composed during sleep.
Mickle, the translator of the _Lusiad_, sometimes expressed his regret
that he could not remember the poetry which he improvised in his
dreams, for he had a vague impression that it was very beautiful.
'Well,' said his wife, 'I can at least give you two lines, which I
heard you muttering over during one of your poetic dreams. Here they
are:
"By Heaven! I'll wreak my woes
Upon the cowslip and the pale primrose!"'
If we required proof that the operation of reason demands a wakeful
and active condition of the brain, we might find it in the fact, that
all intellectual efforts which imply sound reasoning are prevented
even by a partial sleepiness or dreaminess. A light novel may be read
and enjoyed while the mind is in an indolent and dreamy state; music
may be enjoyed, or even composed, in the same circumstances, because
it is connected rather with the imaginative than with the logical
faculty; but, not to mention any higher efforts, we cannot play a game
of chess well unless we are 'wide awake.'
Now we come to our point:--Supposing that, by any means, the brain can
be deprived of that wakefulness and activity which is required for a
free exercise of the reasoning powers, then what would be the effect
on the imagination? For an answer to this query, we shall not refer to
the phenomena of natural sleep and dreaming, because it is evident
that the subjects of the experiments we have to explain are not in a
state of natural sleep; we shall rather refer to the condition of the
brain during what we may call 'doziness,' and also to the effects
sometimes produced by disease on the imagination and the senses.
We all know that in a state of 'doziness,' any accidental or
ridiculous image which happens to suggest itself, will remain in the
mind much longer than in a wakeful condition. A few slight, shapeless
marks on the ceiling will assume the form of a face or a full-length
figure; and strange physiognomies will be found among the flowers on
the bed-curtains. In the impressible and passive state of the brain
left by any illness which produces nervous exhaustion, such
imaginations often become very troublesome. Impressions made on the
brain some time ago will now reappear. Jean Paul Richter cautions us
not to tell frightful stories to children, for this reason--that,
though the 'horrible fancies' may all be soon forgotten by the
healthful child, yet afterwards, when some disease--a fever, for
instance--has affected the brain and the nerves, all the dismissed
goblins may too vividly reproduce themselves. Our experience can
confirm the observation. Some years ago, we went to a circus, where,
during the equestrian performances, some trivial popular airs were
played on brass instruments--cornets and trombones--dismally out of
tune. Now, by long practice, we have acquired the art of utterly
turning our attention away from, bad music, so that it annoys us no
more than the rumble of wheels in Fleet Street. We exercised this
voluntary deafness on the occasion. But not long afterwards, we were
compelled, during an attack of disease which affected the nervous
system, to hear the whole discordant performance repeated again and
again, with a pertinacity which was really very distressing. Such a
case prepares us to give credit to a far more remarkable story,
related in one of the works of Macnish. A clergyman, we are told, who
was a skilful violinist, and frequently played over some favourite
_solo_ or _concerto_, was obliged to desist from practice on account
of the dangerous illness of his servant-maid--if we remember truly,
phrenitis was the disease. Of course, the violin was laid aside; but
one day, the medical attendant, on going toward the chamber of his
patient, was surprised to hear the violin-solo performed in rather
subdued tones. On examination, it was found that the girl, under the
excitement of disease, had imitated the brilliant divisions and rapid
passages of the music which had impressed her imagination during
health! We might multiply instances of the singular effects of
peculiar conditions of the brain upon the imaginative faculty. For one
case we can give our personal testimony. A young man, naturally
imaginative, but by no means of weak mind, or credulous, or
superstitious, saw, even in broad daylight, spectres or apparitions of
persons far distant. After being accustomed to these visits, he
regarded them without any fear, except on account of the derangement
of health which they indicated. These visions were banished by a
course of medical treatment. In men of great imaginative power, with
whom reason is by no means deficient, phenomena sometimes occur almost
as vivid as those of disease in other persons. Wordsworth, speaking of
the impressions derived from certain external objects, says:
------------ on the mind
They lay like images, _and seemed almost
To haunt the bodily sense_!
Again, in his verses recording his impression of the beauty of a bed
of daffodils, he says:
And oft, _when on my couch I lie_, [dozing?]
They _flash_ before that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude.
These words are nothing more, we believe, than a simple and
unexaggerated statement of a mental phenomenon.
Enough has now been said to shew, that in a certain condition of the
brain, when it is deprived of the wakefulness and activity necessary
for the free use of reason, the effects of imagination may far exceed
any that are displayed during a normal, waking state of the
intellectual faculties. The question now remains: Are the means
employed by the professors of electro-biology sufficient to produce
that peculiar condition to which we refer? We believe that they are;
and shall proceed to give reasons for such belief.
3. What are these means? or rather let us ask, 'Amid the various means
employed, which is the real agent?' We observe that, in the different
processes by which--under the names of electro-biology or mesmerism--a
peculiar cerebral condition is induced, such means as the following
are employed:--Fixed attention on one object--it may be a metallic
disk said to have galvanic power, or a sixpence, or a cork; silence,
and a motionless state of the body are favourable to the intended
result; monotonous movements by the experimenter, called 'passes,' may
be used or not. The process may be interrupted by frequent winking, to
relieve the eyes; by studying over some question or problem; or, if
the patient is musical, by going through various pieces of music in
his imagination; by anything, indeed, which tends to keep the mind
wakeful. Now, when we find among the various means _one_ invariably
present, in some form or another--_monotony of attention producing a
partial exhaustion of the nervous energy_, we have reason to believe
that _this_ is the real agent.
But how can the 'fixed gaze upon the disk' affect reason? Certainly,
it does not immediately affect reason; but through the nerves of the
eye it very powerfully operates on the organ of reason, _the brain_,
and induces an impressive, passive, and somnolent condition.
Such a process as the 'fixed gaze on a small disk for about the space
of a quarter of an hour,' must not be dismissed as a trifle. It is
opposed to the natural wakeful action of the brain and the eye. Let it
be observed that, in waking hours, the eye is continually in play,
relieving itself, and guarding against weariness and exhaustion by
unnumbered changes of direction. This is the case even during such an
apparently monotonous use of the eye as we find in reading. As sleep
approaches, the eye is turned upwards, as we find it also in some
cases of disease--hysteria, for example; and it should be noticed,
that this position of the eye is naturally connected with a somnolent
and dreaming condition of the brain. In several of the subjects of the
so-called electro-biological experiments, we observed that the eyes
were partially turned upward. It is curious to notice that this mode
of acting on the brain is of very ancient date, at least among the
Hindoos. In their old poem, the _Bhagavad-Gita_, it is recommended as
a religious exercise, superior to prayer, almsgiving, attendance at
temples, &c.; for the god Crishna, admitting that these actions are
good, so far as they go, says: '_but he who, sitting apart, gazes
fixedly upon one object until he forgets home and kindred, himself,
and all created things--he attains perfection_.' Not having at hand
any version of the _Bhagavad-Gita_, we cannot now give an exact
translation of the passage; but we are quite sure that it recommends a
state of stupefaction of the brain, induced by a long-continued fixed
gaze upon one object.
We have now stated, _1st_, That such an act of long-fixed attention
upon one object, has a very remarkable effect on the brain; _2d_, That
in the cerebral condition thus induced, the mental powers are not free
to maintain their normal relations to each other; especially, will,
comparison, and judgment, appear to lose their requisite power and
promptitude of action, and are thus made liable to be overruled by the
suggestions of imagination or the commands of the experimenter.
To this explanation we can only add, that all who doubt it may easily
put it to an experimental test. If it is thought that the mere 'fixed
gaze,' without electric or galvanic agency, is not sufficient to
produce the phenomena in question, then the only way of determining
our dispute must be by fair experiment. But here we would add a word
of serious caution, as we regard the process as decidedly dangerous,
especially if frequently repeated on one subject.
To conclude: we regard the exhibitions now so common under the name of
electro-biology as delusions, so far as they are understood to have
any connection with the facts of electricity; so far as they are
_real_, we regard them as very remarkable instances of a mode of
acting on the brain which is, we believe, likely to prove injurious.
As we have no motive in writing but simply to elicit the truth, we
will briefly notice two difficulties which seem to attend our theory.
These are--1. The _rapid transition_ from the state of illusion to an
apparently wakeful and normal condition of mind. The patient who has
been making snow-balls in a warm room, and has pulled the moon down,
comes from the platform, recognises his friends, and can laugh at the
visions which to him seemed realities but a few minutes since. 2. The
_apparently slight effects_ left, in some cases, after the
experiments. Among the subjects whom we have questioned on this point,
one felt 'rather dizzy' all the next day after submitting to the
process; another felt 'a pressure on the head;' but a third, who was
one of the most successful cases, felt 'no effects whatever'
afterwards; while a fourth thinks he derived 'some benefit' to his
health from the operation. We leave these points for further inquiry.