TRANCE.—Distinction of esoneural and exoneural mental
phenomena—Abnormal relation of the mind and nervous system
possible—Insanity—Sleep—Essential nature of Trance—Its alliance with
spasmodic seizures—General characters of Trance—Enumeration of its
kinds.
The time has now arrived for expounding the phenomena of Trance; an
acquaintance with which is necessary to enable you to understand the
source and nature of the delusions with which I have yet to deal.
You have already had glimpses of this condition. Arnod Paole was in a
trance in the cemetery of Meduegna—Timarchus was in a trance in the
cave of Trophonius.
Let me begin by developing certain preliminary conceptions relating to
the subject.
I. Common observation, the spontaneous course of our reflections, our
instinctive interpretation of nature, reveal to us matter, motion,
and intelligence, as the co-existing phenomena of the universe. In
the farthest distances of space cognisable to our senses, we discern
matter and motion, and their subordination to intelligence. Upon the
earth’s surface we discern, in the finely designed mechanism of each
plant, the agency of life; and we recognise in the microcosm of each
animal a living organization, fitted to be the recipient of individual
consciousness, or of personal being.
II. The intelligence which is communicated to living beings becomes,
to a great extent, dependent upon the organization with which it is
combined. Thus every mental faculty is found to have its definite seat
and habitat in the bodily frame. The principal successes of modern
physiologists have been achieved in determining with what precise parts
of the nervous system each affection of consciousness is functionally
associated. Different classes of nerves are found to be appropriated to
sensation and volition; different parts of the spinal cord are proved
to minister to different offices; and of the subdivisions of the brain,
each is thought to correspond with a separate faculty, or sentiment,
or appetite. So far the mental forces, or operations of a living human
being, may be conceived to be essentially esoneural, (εσω νευζον.) Each
appears to have its proper and special workshop or laboratory in the
nervous system.
III. But there are not wanting facts which make it reasonable to
think that our mental forces or operations transcend occasionally and
partially the limits of our corporeal frame. The phenomena adverted
to in the preceding letter, in connexion with the narrative of
Zschokke’s seer-gift, hardly seem to admit of explanation on any other
supposition. Nor is it a very improbable conjecture, that phenomena
of the same class form, as it were, the complements of many ordinary
esoneural operations. Possibly in common perception the mind directly
reaches the object perceived, being excited thereto by the antecedent
material impressions on our organs, and the sensations which follow. To
denote mental phenomena of the kind I am supposing, I propose the term
exoneural, (εξω νευζον.) I venture even, following out this idea, to
conjecture further, that the Od force may somehow furnish the dynamic
bridge along which our exoneural apprehension travels.
IV. The affections of consciousness would thus be in part esoneural,
in part exoneural, during the healthy and normal state of our being;
the esoneural part being executed in immediate connexion with its
appropriate organ, and every manifestation of it being attended with a
physical change in the latter.
V. But it is conceivable, on the assumption of mind being a separate
principle from matter, that the human soul may be capable of retaining
its union with the body in a new, unusual, and abnormal relation. The
hypothesis is startling enough. I adopt it only from seeing no other
way of accounting for certain facts which, with the evidence of their
reality, will presently be brought forward. I venture to suppose
that the mind of a living man may energize abnormally in two ways:
first, that a much larger share of its operations may be conducted
exoneurally—that is, out of the body—than usual; secondly, that
the esoneural mental functions may be conducted within the body in
unaccustomed organs, deserting those naturally appropriated to them.
Two or three instances have been already given, which favour, at all
events, the supposition of the possibility of such an abnormal relation
between the mind and the body being realized. But in most of the
instances hitherto adverted to, the normal relation may be supposed to
have remained.
VI. Thus all the ordinary phenomena of sensorial illusions at once are
esoneural, and suppose the persistence of the normal relation of mind
and body. The material organ to which the physical agencies preceding
sensation are propagated being irritated, is to be supposed to excite
in the mind sensuous recollections or fancies that are so vivid as to
appear realities.
VII. In mental delusions, again, there is no reason for surmising
the intervention of the abnormal relation. But what are mental
delusions? They are a part of insanity. And what is insanity? I will
summarily state its features; for some of the instances which remain
for explanation are referrible to it, and because I delight to crush a
volume into a paragraph.
The phenomena of insanity may be arranged under five heads: The first,
the insane temperament; the next three the fundamental forms of mental
derangement; the fifth, the paroxysmal state. The features of the
insane temperament are various; some of them are incompatible with the
simultaneous presence of others. When a group of them is present, as a
change in natural character, without insanity, insanity is threatened:
no form of insanity manifests itself without the presence of some of
them. The features of the insane temperament are these: The patient
withdraws his sympathies from those around him, is shy, reserved,
cunning, suspicious, with a troubled air, as if he felt something to
be wrong, and wonders if you see it; he is capricious, and has flaws
of temper; being talkative, he is flighty and extravagant; he is
hurried in his thoughts, and mode of speaking, and gestures; he has
fits of absence, in which he talks aloud to himself; he is restless,
and anxious for change of place. Of the elementary forms of insanity,
one consists in the entertainment of mental delusions: the patient
imagines himself the Deity, or a prophet, or a monarch, or that he
has become enormously wealthy; or that he is possessed by the devil,
or is persecuted by invisible beings, or is dead, or very poor, or
that he is the victim of public or private injustice. The second form
is moral perversion: the patient is depressed in spirits without a
cause, perhaps to the extent of meditating suicide; or he feels an
unaccountable desire to take the lives of others; or he is impelled
to steal, or to do gratuitous mischief; or he is a sot; or he has fits
of ungovernable and dangerous rage. The third form exhibits itself
in loss of connexion of ideas, failure of memory, loss of common
intelligence, disregard of the common decencies of life. Each of these
three elementary forms is sometimes met with alone; generally two
are combined. Sensorial illusions are common in insanity; auditory,
unaccompanied by visual illusions, are almost peculiar to it, and to
the cognate affection of delirium from fever or inflammation of the
brain. To the head of the paroxysmal state belongs the history of
exacerbations of insanity, of their sudden outbursts in persons of the
insane temperament, of their preferential connexion with this or that
antecedent condition of the patient, of their occasional periodicity.
VII. In congenital idiotcy and imbecility, the relation of the mind and
brain is normal. Often the defective organization is apparent through
which the intelligence is repressed. In many countries a popular
belief prevails that the imbecile have occasional glimpses of higher
knowledge. There is no reason evident why their minds should not be
susceptible of the abnormal relation.
VIII. In sleep, the mind and brain are in the normal relation. But what
is sleep, psychically considered?
It is best to begin by looking into the mental constituents of waking.
There is then passing before us an endless current of images and
reflections, furnished from our recollections, and suggested by our
hopes and our fears, by pursuits that interest us, or by their own
inter-associations. This current of thought is continually being
changed or modified, through impressions made upon our senses. It is
further liable to be still more importantly and systematically modified
by the exercise of the faculty of Attention. The attention operates
in a twofold manner. It enables us to detain at pleasure any subject
of thought before the mind; and, when not on such urgent duty, it
vigilantly inspects every idea which presents itself, and reports if
it be palpably unsound or of questionable tendency. To speak with more
precision, it is a power we have of controlling our thoughts, which
we drill to warn us whenever the suggested ideas conflict with our
experience or our principles.
Then of sleep. We catch glimpses of its nature at the moments of
falling asleep and of waking. When it is the usual time for sleep,
if our attention happen to be livelily excited, it is in vain we
court sleep. When we are striving to contend against the sense of
overwhelming fatigue, what we feel is, that we can no longer command
our attention. Then we are lost, or are asleep. Then the head and body
drop forwards; we have ceased to attend to the maintenance of our
equilibrium. Any iteration of gentle, impressions, enough to divert
attention from other objects, without arousing it, promotes sleep.
Thus we recognise as the psychical basis of sleep the suspension of the
attention.
Are any other mental faculties suspended in sleep? Sensation and the
influence of the will over the muscular system are not; for our dreams
are liable to be shaped by what we hear. The sleeper, without waking,
will turn his head away from a bright light, will withdraw his arm if
you pinch it, will utter loud words which he dreams he is employing.
The seeming insensibility in sleep, the apparent suspension of the
influence of the will, are simply consequences of the suspension of
attention.
I have, on another occasion, shown that the organs in which
sensations are realized, and volition energizes, are the segments of
the cranio-spinal cord in which the sentient and voluntary nerves
are rooted. I think I see now that the seat of the attention is the
“medulla oblongata.” For—alas for the imperfect conceptions into
which the imperfection of language as an instrument of thought forces
us!—what is the faculty of attention, which we have been considering
almost as a separate element of mind, but the individual “ich”
energizing, now keenly noticing impressions and thoughts, now allowing
them to pass, while it looks on with lazy indifference; now, at length,
worn out and exhausted, and incapable of further work? But this
inspecting and contrasting operation, where should it more naturally
find its bureau than at a point situated between the organs of the
understanding and those of the will?—that is to say, somewhere at the
junction of the spinal marrow and the brain. Well, Magendie ascertained
that just at that region there is a small portion of nervous matter,
pressure upon which causes immediately heavy sleep or stupor, while
its destruction—_for instance, the laceration of the little organ with
the point of a needle_—instantaneously and irrevocably extinguishes
life.[4] This precious link in our system is, reasonably enough, stowed
away in the securest part of our frame—that is to say, within the
head, upon the strong central bone of the base of the skull. How came
the fancy of Shakspeare by the happy figure which seems to adumbrate
Magendie’s discovery of to-day, in poetry written three hundred years
ago?
[Footnote 4: The reader who wishes to pursue this subject farther, will
find it expounded, in connexion with a large body of collateral facts,
in my work entitled _The Nervous System and its Functions_. Parker,
West Strand: 1842.]
“Within the hollow crown,
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits
Mocking his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little hour,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceits,
As if the flesh that walls about our life
Were brass impregnable. Till, humoured thus,
He comes at last, and, with a little pin,
Bores through his castle wall—and farewell king!”
To return to our argument, Are the sentiments and higher faculties of
the mind suspended during sleep? Certainly not, if dreaming be a part
of natural sleep, as I hold it to be. For there are some who dream
always; others, who say they seldom dream; others, who disavow dreaming
at all. But the simplest view of these three cases is to suppose that
in sleep all persons always dream, but that all do not remember their
dreams. This imputed forgetfulness is not surprising, considering the
importance of the attention to memory, and that in sleep the attention
is suspended. Ordinary dreams present one remarkable feature; nothing
in them appears wonderful. We meet and converse with friends long dead;
the improbability of the event never crosses our minds. One sees a
horse galloping by, and calls after it as one’s friend—Mr. so-and-so.
We fly with agreeable facility, and explain to an admiring circle how
we manage it. Every absurdity passes unchallenged. The attention is off
duty. It is important to remark that there is nothing in common dreams
to interfere with the purpose of sleep, which is repose. The cares and
interests of our waking life never recur to us; or, if they do, are not
recognised as our own. The faculties are not really energizing; their
seeming exercise is sport; they are unharnessed, and are gambolling and
rolling in idle relaxation. That is their refreshment.
The attention alone slumbers; or, through some slight organic change,
it is unlinked from the other faculties, and they are put out of gear.
This is the basis of sleep. The faculties are all in their places; but
the attention is off duty; itself asleep, or indolently keeping watch
of time alone.
In contrast with this picture of the sleeping and waking states, of the
alternation of which our mental life consists, I have now to hold up to
view another conception, resembling it, but different, vague, imposing,
of gigantic proportions, the monstrous double of the first—like the
mocking spectre of the Hartz, which yet is but your own shadow cast by
the level sunbeams on the morning mist.
To answer to this conception, there is more than the ideal entity made
up of the different forms of trance. For although trance may occur as
a single sleep-like fit of moderate duration, yet it more frequently
recurs—often periodically, dividing the night or day with common sleep
or common waking; or it may be persistent for days and weeks—in which
case, if it generally maintain one character, it is yet liable to have
wakings of its own.
Then the first division of trance is into trance-sleep and
trance-waking. In extreme cases it is easy to tell trance-sleep from
common sleep, trance-waking from common waking; but there are varieties
with less prominent features, in which it is difficult, at first, to
say whether the patient is entranced at all.
There is, upon the whole, more alliance between sleep and trance, than
between waking and trance. Or, in a large class of cases, the patient
falls into trance when asleep. It is a cognate phenomenon to this that
the common initiatory stage of trance is a trance-sleep.
Trance is of more frequent occurrence among the young than among the
middle-aged or old people. It occurs more frequently among young
women than among young men. In other words, the liability to trance
is in proportion to delicacy of organization, and higher nervous
susceptibility.
But what is trance? The question will be best answered by exhibiting
its several phases. In the mean time, it may be laid down that the
basis of trance is the supervention of the abnormal relation of the
mind and nervous system. In almost all its forms it is easy to show
that some of the mental functions are no longer located in their
pristine organs. The most ordinary change is the departure of common
sensation from the organ of touch. Next, sight leaves the organs of
vision. To make up for these desertions, if the patient wake in trance,
either the same senses reappear elsewhere, or some unaccountable mode
of general perception manifests itself.
A strict alliance exists between trance and the whole family of spasms.
Most of them are exclusively developed in connexion with it; all are
liable to be combined with it; they are all capable of being excited
by the same influences which produce trance; so they often occur
vicariously, or alternate with trance. One kind is catalepsy; the
body motionless, statue-like, but the tone of spasm maintained low,
so that you may arrange the statue in what attitude you will, and it
preserves it. A second is catochus, like the preceding, but with a
higher power of spasm, so that the joints are rigidly fixed; and if
you overcome one for a moment with superior strength, being let go, it
flies back to where it was. A third, partial spasm of equal rigidity,
arching the body forwards or backwards or laterally, or fixing one
limb or more. The fourth, clonic spasm, for instance, the contortions
and convulsive struggles of epilepsy. The fifth, an impulse to rapid
and varied muscular actions, nearly equalling convulsions in violence,
but combined so as to travesty ordinary voluntary motion; this is the
dance of St. Veitz, which took its name from an epidemic outbreak
in Germany in the thirteenth century, that was supposed to be cured
by the interposition of the saint; then persons of all classes were
seized in groups in public with a fury of kicking, shuffling, dancing
together, till they dropt. Now, the same agency is manifested either
in a violent rush, and disposition to climb with inconceivable agility
and precision; or alternately to twist the features, roll the neck, and
jerk and swing the limbs even to the extent of dislocating them.
The causes of trance are mostly mental. Trance appears to be
contagious. Viewed medically, it is seldom directly dangerous. It is
a product of over-excitability, which time blunts. The disposition to
trance is seldom manifested beyond a few months, or, at most, two or
three years. For epilepsy is not a form of trance; it is, however, a
mixed mental and spasmodic seizure, much allied to trance. Those who
suffer from its attacks are found to be among the most susceptible of
induced trance.
But let me again ask, what then is trance?
Trance is a peculiar mental seizure, (totally distinct from insanity,
with which again, however, it may be combined,) the patient taken with
which appears profoundly absorbed or rapt, and as if lost more or less
completely to surrounding objects or impressions, or at all events
to the ordinary mode of perceiving them; he is likewise more or less
entirely lost to his former recollections. The mental seizures may or
may not occur simultaneously or alternately with spasmodic seizures of
any and every character.
This definition of trance conveys, I am afraid, no very exact or
distinct picture; but it is the definition of a genus, and a genus is
necessarily an abstraction. However, it gives the features essential to
all the forms of trance. A true general notion of trance can, indeed,
only be realized by studying in detail each of the forms it includes.
These are separated by the broadest colours. In the one extreme an
entranced person appears dead, and no sign of life is recognisable in
him; in the opposite, he appears to be much as usual, and perfectly
impressible by any thing around him, so that it demands careful
observation to establish that he is not simply awake.
Then trance presents no fewer than five specific forms, distinguished
each from the other by clear characters, their essential identity being
established by each at times passing into either of the others. The
terms by which I propose to designate the five primary forms of trance
are—Death-trance, Trance-coma, Initiatory Trance, Half-waking-trance,
Waking-trance. The five, however, admit, as I have before said,
of being arranged in two groups: the first three forms enumerated
constituting varieties of trance-sleep; the two latter constituting
varieties of waking-trance. The next letter will treat of the first
group; the two following will treat of the two varieties of the second.
I have observed that the causes of trance are for the most part mental
impressions; but it will be found that certain physical influences
may produce the same results. The causes of trance, whether mental or
physical, deserve again to be regarded in three lights. Either they
have operated blindly and fortuitously, or they have been resorted to
and used as agents to produce some vague and imperfectly understood
result, or they have been skilfully and intelligently directed to
bring out the exact phenomena which have followed. It is with trance
supervening in the two former ways that I alone propose at present to
deal; that is to say, with trance as it was imperfectly known as an
agent in superstition, or as a rare and marvellous form of nervous
disease. Of the third case of trance, as it may be artificially
induced, I shall afterwards and finally speak.