Telepathy and the Subliminal Self

Young Baker, however, was sure he had no copper in his pocket at the time of the accident; the medical attendant found no indications of it, so it was concluded that the clairvoyant had made a mistake.

Later, however, a foreign substance made its appearance in the wound, and was removed by the mother of the patient with a pair of embroidery scissors; it proved to be a copper cent. The removal of the foreign substance was followed by rapid recovery. The discovery of the copper coin was made by the clairvoyant while at a distance of nearly one thousand miles from the patient.

Mrs. H. Porter, while at her home in Bridgeport, Conn., in the presence of the same writer, declared that a large steamer was on fire on the Hudson River; that among other objects in the vicinity she could clearly distinguish the village of Yonkers, and that the name of the steamer was the Henry Clay. The whole sad catastrophe was described by her with minuteness, as if occurring in her immediate presence.

The next morning the New York papers gave a full account of the burning of the Henry Clay off the village of Yonkers—an occurrence which, doubtless, some of my readers may still remember—corresponding in every important particular with that given by the clairvoyant.

Mr. John Fitzgerald of Brunswick, Me., once a somewhat noted temperance lecturer, but at the time now referred to a bedridden invalid, saw, clairvoyantly, and fully described the great fire in Fall River, Mass., in 1874, by which a large factory was destroyed. He described the commencement and progress of the fire, the means employed to rescue the operatives, criticised the work of the firemen, shouted directions, as if he were present, and at last as the roof fell in, he fell back upon the pillow and said:

“It is all over—the roof has fallen, and those poor people are burned.”

It was not until three days later that Mrs. Fitzgerald obtained a paper containing an account of the fire. This she read to her husband, who frequently interrupted her to tell her what would come next as “he had seen it all.” The account corresponded almost exactly with the description given by Mr. Fitzgerald while the fire was in progress.

I have, myself, recently found a very excellent subject whom I will call A. B., whom I first hypnotized on account of illness, but who afterward proved to have psychic perception and clairvoyant powers of a remarkable character. Once, while in the hypnotic condition, I asked her if she could go away and see what was transpiring in other places, as for instance, at her own home. She replied that she would try. I then told her to go to her home, in a small town three hundred miles away and quite unknown to me, and see who was in the house and what they were doing. After a minute of perfect silence she said: “I am there.” “Go in,” I said, “and tell me what you find.” She said: “There is no one at home but my mother. She is sitting in the dining-room by a window; there is a screen in the window which was not there when I left home. My mother is sewing.” “What sort of sewing is it?” I asked. “It is a waist for D.” (her little brother). I wrote down every detail of her description, and then awoke her. She had no recollection of anything which had transpired, but said she had had a restful sleep. I then desired her to write at once to her mother and ask who was in the house at four o’clock this same afternoon, where she was, and what she was doing.

The answer came, describing everything exactly as set down in my notes.

On another occasion when I made my visit, it happened to be the day of the races occurring at a well known track some ten miles away, and members of the household where she was residing had gone to witness them. Neither she nor I had ever attended these races—we knew nothing of the appearance of the place, of the events that were expected, nor even of the ordinary routine of the sport. She was put into the deep hypnotic sleep, and thinking it a good opportunity to test her clairvoyance, I requested her to go to the grounds and I carefully directed her on her journey. Once within the inclosure she described the bright and cheerful appearance—the pavilion, the judge’s stand, and the position of persons whom she knew. She said there was no race at the time; but that boys were going around among the spectators and getting money; that the people seemed excited; that they stood up and held out money, and beckoned to the boys to come—but she did not know what it meant. I suggested that perhaps they were betting. She seemed to look carefully and then said: “That is just what they are doing.” She then described the race which followed, was much excited, and told who of the persons she knew were winners. I then said: “You will remember all this and be able to tell M. when she comes home.”

It was found that everything had transpired as she had described. One of the races had been a failure, the horses coming in neck and neck; all bets were cancelled and new bets were made, which caused the excitement which she had witnessed. She surprised those who were present by the accuracy of her description, both of the place and the events, especially of the excitement caused by making the new bets.

On the same occasion, before awakening her, I said to her: “Now, I have something very particular to say to you and I want you to pay close attention.

“This evening when your dinner is brought up to you—you, A. B.’s second self, will make A. B. see me come in and stand here at the foot of the bed. I shall say to you: ‘Hello! you are at dinner. Well, I won’t disturb you,’ and immediately I shall go. And you will write me about my visit.” I then awoke her in the usual manner. This was Tuesday, July 3, 1894. On Thursday following I received this note, which I have in my possession.

The clairvoyant faculty is sometimes exercised in sleep, and hence the importance so often attached to dreams. I have a patient, Miss M. L., thirty-five years of age, who has been under my observation for the past fifteen years, and for whose truthfulness and good sense I can fully vouch. From childhood she has been a constant and most troublesome somnambulist, walking almost every night, until two years ago when I first hypnotized her and suggested that she should not again leave her bed while asleep, and she has not done so.

This person’s dreams are marvellously vivid, but her most vivid ones she does not call dreams. She says, “When I dream I dream, but when I see I see.”

Nine years ago, M. L., had a friend in New Mexico whom I will call G., from whom she had not heard for months, and of whose surroundings she knew absolutely nothing.

One night she dreamed, or, as she expresses it, saw this friend in Albuquerque. She was, as it seemed to her, present in the room where he was, and saw everything in it with the same degree of distinctness as though she were actually present. She noticed the matting on the floor, the willowware furniture, bed, rocking-chair, footstool, and other articles. He was talking with a companion, a person of very striking appearance, whom she also minutely observed as regarded personal appearance, dress, and position in the room.

He was saying to this companion that he was about to start for New York for the purpose of interesting capitalists in a system of irrigation which he had proposed. His companion was laughing sarcastically and ridiculing the whole scheme. He persisted, and the conversation was animated—almost bitter.

Three weeks later, early one morning, she dreamed that this man was in New York. She saw him coming up the street leading to her house, and saw her father go forward to meet him. At breakfast she told her father her dream, and they also talked freely about her former dream or vision of three weeks before.

After breakfast her father sat upon the front stoop reading the morning paper, and M. L. went about some work. Suddenly she heard her father call out in a startled sort of way: “Mary, sure enough, here comes G.!” She stepped to the window and there was G. coming up the street and her father going forward to meet him exactly as she had seen him in her dream. He had just arrived from the West, and had come for the very purpose indicated by his conversation in M. L.’s vision. After some general conversation M. L. said to G.; “By the way, who was that remarkable person you were talking with about this journey, three weeks ago?” mentioning the night of her dream. With evident surprise he said:

“What do you mean?”

She then related the whole dream just as she had experienced it, even to the minutest details. His astonishment was profound. He declared that the details which she gave could never have been so exactly described except by some one actually present; and with some annoyance he accused her of playing the spy.

There are many other instances of remarkable clairvoyant vision on her part, and especially two which have occurred within the year—the visions having been fully described before the events were known.

Such are a few among hundreds of cases which might be adduced as examples of the clairvoyant power. They are from every period of history, from the earliest down to our own times. Looked at broadly, they at least show that a belief in the clairvoyant power of some specially endowed persons has existed throughout the historic period; they also exhibit a great similarity in their character and the circumstances under which they are observed.

Apollonius stops short in his discourse, apparently in his natural state, sees the assassination of Domitian, and shouts, “Strike the tyrant!”

Fitzgerald at Brunswick suddenly beholds the burning factories at Fall River, and shouts his orders to the firemen. Others spontaneously go into the somnambulic condition and only then become clairvoyant; while still others need the assistance of a second person to produce somnambulism and independent vision.

What is the nature and what the method of this peculiar vision which has been named clairvoyance?

Is it a quickening and extension of ordinary vision, or is it a visual perception obtained in some other manner, independent of the natural organ of sight?

It has been noted how vastly the action of the senses may be augmented by cultivation, but never has cultivation increased vision to such an extent as to discover a penny a thousand miles away and through opaque coverings. Besides, the clairvoyant vision is exercised quite independent of the bodily eye. The eyes may be closed, they may be turned upward or inward so that no portion of the pupil is exposed to the action of light, or they may be covered with thick pads of cotton or closed with plasters or bandages, yet the clairvoyant vision in proper subjects is obtained in just the same degree and with just the same certainty as when the eyes are fully exposed to the light.

It is true there has been much doubt and discussion on this vital point, the objectors maintaining that sight was possible and practicable by experts, notwithstanding the precautions used in blindfolding; in short, that the whole thing might safely be set down as deception and fraud.

In the face of facts such as are here cited, and the thousand others that might be adduced, it is hardly possible to treat this charge seriously.

To such objectors, cumulative evidence regarding facts out of their own mental horizon is useless. Their motto is: “No amount of evidence can establish a miracle;” and their definition of a miracle is something done, or alleged to have been done, contrary to the laws of nature. But the objector who refuses credence to well-attested facts on that ground alone, simply assumes that he is acquainted with all the laws of nature.

A miracle, really, is only something alleged to have been done, and we are not able to explain how; nevertheless, it may be perfectly in accordance with natural laws which we did not understand or even know existed. To the West Indian, whom Columbus found in the New World, an eclipse of the sun was a miracle of the most terrible character; to the astronomer it was a simple fact in nature. To the ignorant boor, “talking with Chicago” or cabling between New York and London is a miracle; to the electrician it is an everyday, well-understood affair. For a long time scientific men did not believe in the existence of globular, slowly-moving electricity; if such a thing had existed, it certainly should have put in an appearance before members of the “Academy,” or “Royal Society” some time in the course of all these years; but it never had done so; only a few cooks, blacksmiths, or back-woodsmen had ever seen it, and they certainly were not the sort of people to report scientific matter; they did not know how to observe, and undoubtedly “they did not see what they thought they saw.” But for all that, globular, slowly-moving electricity is now a well known fact in nature.

Neither the West Indian, the ignorant boor, nor the man of science had, at the time these several facts were presented to him, “any place in the existing fabric of his thought into which such facts could be fitted.” The fabric of thought in each case must be changed, enlarged, modified, before the alleged facts could be received or assimilated.

The objector to the fact of clairvoyance and other facts in the new psychology is often simply deficient in the knowledge which would enable him properly to judge of these facts; he may be an excellent mathematician, physicist, editor, or even physician, but he has been educated to deal with a certain class of facts, and only by certain methods, and he is wholly unfitted to deal with another class of facts, perhaps requiring quite different treatment.

An excellent chemist might not be just the man to analyze questions of finance or to testify as an expert on the tariff, or a suspension bridge; the “texture of his thought” would need some modifying to fit him for these duties; indeed, he is fortunate if he can even be quite sure of morphia when he sees it; it might be a ptomaine.

If, then, the objector to well authenticated facts in any department of research expects his objections to be seriously considered, he must, at least, exhibit some intelligence in that department of research to which his objection relates.

I shall then simply reiterate the statement that there is abundant evidence of visual perception by some specially constituted persons, independent of any use of the physical organ of sight.

What the exact nature or method of this supranormal vision is, may not yet be absolutely settled, any more than the exact nature of light or of life or even of electricity is settled, and each of their various methods of action known, though of the fact itself in any of these cases there is no doubt.

From a careful consideration of the best authenticated facts and examples, we are led to believe that the faculty of clairvoyance is no supernatural gift, but may be possessed, to some degree, by many, perhaps by all, people; that it is a natural condition, developed and brought into exercise by a few, but undeveloped and dormant in most; that the faculty may include not only the power of obtaining visual perceptions at a distance and under circumstances which render ordinary vision impossible, but also the perception of general truth and the relation of things in nature to such a degree as to render the person who possesses it a teacher and prophet of seemingly supernatural endowments. Carefully excluding cases of unusual extension, or skill in using normal perceptive faculties, and also thought-transference, which, although bearing a certain relation to clairvoyance, should not be confounded with it, the phenomena of independent clairvoyance appear in certain persons under the following conditions:—

In certain states, brought about by disease, and at the near approach of death, in the hypnotic condition, whether self-induced or produced by the influence of a second person, and especially in the condition known as trance; it may also appear in sleep of the ordinary kind—in dreams, and especially in the condition of reverie or the state between sleeping and waking; a few persons also possess the clairvoyant faculty while in their natural condition, without losing their normal consciousness. In general it may be said that the faculty is most likely to appear when there exists a condition of abstraction, and the mind is acting without the restraint and guidance of the usual consciousness—and it reaches its most perfect exercise when this usual guidance ceases entirely—the body becoming inactive and anæsthetic and the mind acting independent of its usual manifesting organs. Such is the condition in trance.

This view is, of course, in direct opposition to the materialistic philosophy which makes the mind simply a “group of phenomena,” the result of organization, and absolutely dependent upon that organization for its action, and even for its existence. To discuss this question here would occupy too much space; besides, one of the objects of these papers is to show this mind, spirit, psychos, mentality, “group of phenomena,” whatever it may be, and whatever name may be applied to it, acting under circumstances which will enable us to consider with greater intelligence this very question, viz.: Whether the mind, under some circumstances, is not capable of intelligent action independent of the brain and the whole material organization through which it ordinarily manifests itself.

CHAPTER V.

Now, while this dogma, which still expresses the general consensus of mankind, may in a sense be well founded, still certain facts have been ascertained by the observant scouts in the outlying fields of psychology which, unless they can be interpreted to mean something different from their seeming and obvious import, make strongly against that stability and unquestioned oneness of human personality about which every individual in his own consciousness may feel so absolutely certain. What are these facts which have come to the notice of students of psychology?

The case of Félida X., reported by Dr. Azam of Bordeaux, is one of the earliest to attract the serious attention of medical men and students of psychology, and has become classic in relation to the subject.

She was a nervous child, given to moody spells and hysterical attacks, and, in 1856, when she was about fourteen years of age, she also began to have more serious attacks of an epileptiform character, from which she would emerge into a new and unusual condition, which was at first taken to be somnambulism. In this condition her general appearance was quite changed, and she talked and acted in a manner altogether different from her usual self. These attacks were at first very brief, lasting only a few minutes, but gradually they increased in duration until they occupied hours, and even days.

In her usual state she had no recollection and no knowledge whatever of her second condition, and the whole time spent in that condition was to her a blank; on the other hand, all the different occasions when she had been in this second condition were linked together, constituting a distinct chain of memories and a personality just as consciously distinct and conspicuous as her original self. In her second state she not only had the distinct memories connected with her own secondary personality, but she also knew facts concerning the first or original self, but only as she might have knowledge of any other person.

The two personalities were entirely different in character and disposition; the original one was sickly, indolent, and melancholy, while the new one was in good health, and in disposition bright, cheerful, and industrious. She married early in life, and was intelligent and efficient in the care of her family, rearing children and attending to the little business of a shop. At length this secondary self came to occupy nearly the whole time, and considered herself the normal personality, as, indeed, she was, being superior in every way to the original one. She knew very well how unhappy and miserable was the condition of the primary self, and, while she pitied her and did what she could to assist her, she disliked to have her return. She called the condition of the primary self, “that stupid state.”

The lapses of the original or No. 1 personality became at length so frequent, or rather, so continuous, that she lost the proper knowledge and relation of things about her. She was a stranger in her own home, and on that account became still more morose and melancholy. To relieve as much as possible this distressing state of affairs the second self, or No. 2, when she knew that No. 1 was about to appear, would write her a letter, informing her of the general condition of the household, whom she might expect to meet, and where she would find certain needful articles; she would also offer advice regarding the conduct of affairs, which was always appropriate and useful and far superior to the judgment of the original self in the matters to which it referred.

As a second well marked and abundantly authenticated example of this divided or secondary personality, I will refer to a case in our own country and in our own vicinity.

Jan. 17th, 1887, Ansel Bourne, an evangelist, left his home in Rhode Island, and, after transacting some business in Providence, one item of which was to draw some money to pay for a farm for which he had bargained, he went to Boston, then to New York, then to Philadelphia, and, finally, to Norristown, Penn., fifteen or twenty miles from Philadelphia, where he opened a small store for the sale of stationery, confectionery, and five-cent articles. In this business he was known as A. J. Brown. He lived in a room partitioned off from the back of the store, eating, sleeping, and doing his own cooking there. He rented the store from a Mr. Earl, who also, with his family, lived in the building. Mr. Brown went back and forth to Philadelphia for goods to keep up his stock, and seems to have conducted his business as if accustomed to it.

Sunday, March 13th, he went to church, and at night went to bed as usual. On Monday, March 14th, about 5 o’clock in the morning, he awoke and found himself in what appeared to him an altogether new and strange place; he thought he must have broken into the place, and was much troubled, fearing arrest. Finally, after waiting two hours in great uneasiness of mind, he got up and found the door locked on the inside. He went out into the hall, and, hearing some one moving about, he rapped at the door. Mr. Earl, his landlord, opened it, and said: “Good-morning, Mr. Brown.”

“Where am I?” said Mr. Brown.

“You are all right,” replied Mr. Earl.

“I’m all wrong, and my name is not Brown. Where am I?”

“You are in Norristown.”

“Where is Norristown?”

“In Pennsylvania, about seventeen miles west of Philadelphia.”

“What day of the month is it?” inquired Mr. Brown.

“The 14th,” replied Mr. Earl.

“Does time run backward here? When I left home it was the 17th.”

“Seventeenth of what?” said Mr. Earl.

“Seventeenth of January.”

“Now it is the 14th of March,” said Mr. Earl.

Mr. Earl thought Mr. Brown was out of his mind, and sent for a physician. To the doctor he said his name was Ansel Bourne; that he remembered seeing the Adams Express wagons on Dorrance Street in Providence on Jan. 17th, and remembered nothing since, until he awoke here this morning, March 14th.

“These people,” said he, “tell me that I have been here six weeks, and have been living with them all this time; I have no recollection of ever having seen one of them, until this morning.”

His nephew, Mr. H., was telegraphed to in Providence.

“Do you know Ansel Bourne?”

Reply: “He is my uncle; wire me where he is, and if well.”

Mr. H., went on to Norristown, took charge of his uncle and his affairs, sold out his store property, and Mr. A. J. Brown went back and resumed his life in Rhode Island as Ansel Bourne, but the time from Jan. 17th to March 14th was to him a blank.

Prof. James of Harvard and Dr. Hodgson, Secretary of the American Branch of the Society for Psychical Research, who reported this case to the society, now became interested in the matter. They went to see Ansel Bourne and learned the above history; but of the journey from Providence to Norristown in January no account of any kind could be obtained. Finally, he was put into the hypnotic condition, when he was again A. J. Brown, and gave a connected account of his journey to Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and of his stay in each of these cities; of his arrival at Norristown, and of his experience there up to the morning of March 14th, when everything was again confused. As A. J. Brown he knew of Ansel Bourne and of his remarkable history, but could not state positively that he had ever met him.

This transition was repeatedly made. Immediately on being put in the hypnotic trance and aroused to somnambulism he was A. J. Brown, a distinct personality, perfectly sane, and with a full appreciation of the relation of things as relating to that personality, and with a distinct chain of memories, beliefs, and affections; but, when introduced to the wife of Ansel Bourne, he entirely repudiated the idea of her ever having been his wife, though he might some time have seen her.

Immediately on being awakened from this hypnotic condition he was Ansel Bourne, with his usual consciousness, beliefs, affections, and chain of memories; but the primary Ansel Bourne personality had no knowledge whatever of the secondary, or A. J. Brown, personality, and for any act, either criminal or righteous, committed by the person A. J. Brown, the person Ansel Bourne had no more knowledge and consequently no more responsibility than for any good or bad action committed by a person in Australia and of whose existence he was ignorant.

A few other cases quite similar and in every respect of equal interest have been observed, notably that known as Louis V., which was reported by Dr. Voisin of Paris and by several other well-known French physicians, under whose care from time to time he has been, and whose several reports have been summed up by Mr. Frederick W. H. Myers, the efficient London Secretary of the Society for Psychical Research.

Here the stability of personality was unsettled at the age of fourteen by a terrible fright from a viper. Four or five distinct personalities were represented.

(1) In his childhood, previous to his fright by the viper, he had good health and was an ordinary, quiet, obedient, well-behaved boy.

(2) A new personality, of which the primary self had no knowledge, was induced by the fright. This No. 2 personality had frequent epileptic attacks, but was able to work, learning the trade of a tailor.

(3) After one of these attacks of great violence, lasting fifty hours, another personality came to the surface—a greedy, violent, quarrelsome, drunken, thievish vagabond, paralyzed on one side, and with an impediment in his speech. He was an anarchist, an atheist, and a blackguard, always ranting and thrusting his opinions upon those about him, perpetrating bad jokes, and practicing disgusting familiarities with his physicians and attendants. In this state, he knows nothing of the tailor’s business, but he is a private of marines.

(4) He is a quiet, sensible man, retiring in behavior and modest in speech. If he is asked his opinions upon politics or religion, he bashfully replies that he would rather leave such things to wiser heads than his. In this condition he is without paralysis and speaks distinctly.

(5) As a man forty years of age he returns to the condition of childhood previous to his fright—a child in intellect and knowledge, having no occupation; he is simply an ordinary, quiet, well-behaved, obedient boy.

Each of these personalities was distinct from all the others; the earlier ones had no knowledge of those which came after them; the later ones had a knowledge of the earlier ones, but only as they might have knowledge of any other person.

A fourth typical case is that of Alma Z., recently reported by me for The Journal of Nervous and Mental Diseases. In this case, an unusually healthy, strongly intellectual girl, an expert in athletic sport and a leader wherever she might be, on account of overwork, and finally, of broken-down health, developed a second, and, later, a third personality. Each was widely different from the others, all were normal so far as a perfect knowledge of and adaptation to their surroundings were concerned, and all were of unusual intellectual force and brightness, as well as moral worth; but each was distinct, peculiar, and even in marked contrast to the others in many important characteristics. No. 1 had no knowledge of No. 2 nor of No. 3, except from circumstances and the report of others, and also from letters which passed between them giving information to No. 1 regarding changes which had occurred in her absence, as, for instance, of expected company or other engagement which it would be important for her to know.

Both of the later personalities were peculiarly fond of No. 1, and devoted to her welfare on account of her superior knowledge and admirable character. The case has been under my observation, both professionally and socially, for many years, and, in addition to its typical character, it presented an example of the singular fact of the persistence of the later personality, with the ability to observe, retain its chain of memories, and afterward report them, while the primary self was at the same time the dominant and active personality.

An instance of this occurred at one of the concerts of a distinguished pianist a few years since. No. 3 was the reigning personality, and she was herself a lover of music and an excellent critic. Beethoven’s concerto in C major was on the programme, and was being performed in a most charming manner by soloist and orchestra. I was sitting near her in the box, when all at once I noticed a change in the expression of her face, which denoted the presence of No. 1. She listened with intense interest and pleasure to the performance, and at its close I spoke a few words to her, and she replied in her usual charming manner. It was No. 1 without doubt. Soon after, she leaned back in her chair, took two or three quick, short inspirations, and No. 3 was present again. She turned to me smiling and said:

“So No. 1 came for her favorite concerto; wasn’t it splendid that she could hear it?”

I said: “Yes; but how did you know she was here?”

“Oh, I sat on the front of the box,” she said. “I heard the music, too, and I saw you speaking to her.”

The four cases here briefly outlined represent both sexes, two distinct nationalities, and widely-varying conditions in life. In each case one or more personalities crop out, so to speak, come to the surface, and become the conscious, active, ruling personality, distinct from the original self, having entirely different mental, moral, and even physical, characteristics; different tastes, and different sentiments and opinions; personalities entirely unknown to the original self, which no one acquainted with that original self had any reason to suppose existed in connection with that organization.

The cases present so many points of similarity in their history as to render it probable, if not certain, that some common principle, law, or mental state underlies them all—some law which, if clearly defined, would be valuable in reducing to order the seemingly lawless mass of phenomena which constantly meets us in this new and but little explored field of research.

It may be, also, that other mental states more frequently met with and more easily observed present points in common with these more striking and unusual ones; and that they also may assist us in finding the clue.

CHAPTER VI.

In this state the subject, while apparently in ordinary sleep, arises from his bed and proceeds, sometimes to perform the most ordinary, everyday actions—cooking a dinner, washing clothes, sawing wood, or going out to a neighboring market town to transact business; sometimes, on the other hand, he does the most unusual things; he performs perilous journeys in dangerous and unfamiliar places in perfect safety and with unusual ease; sometimes intellectual work of a difficult nature, such as had baffled the student in his waking hours, is easily accomplished, and he finds the solution of his mathematical problem or the needed point in his argument all plainly wrought out and prepared for him when he goes to his desk the following morning; moreover, if the work from any cause should be interrupted, and the same conditions recur upon the following or some subsequent night, it may be resumed at the point where it was interrupted; or if the somnambulist talks, as well as acts, in his sleep the conversation shows that each succeeding occasion is connected with previous ones, all together constituting a chain of memories similar to that of the different personalities which have been presented in the four cases already described.

Sometimes all these different actions are accomplished without light or with the eyes fast closed, or else open and staring, but without vision. Sometimes, however, the new personality developed in the sleep of the somnambulist fails to come into proper relations with his surroundings, when he may also fail to accomplish the dangerous journey, and may walk from an open window or an unguarded balcony with disastrous results.

The second condition which presents analogies to the duplex or multiplex personalities, which are under consideration, is that of the somnambulism which occurs in the hypnotic sleep. While usually the hypnotic subject is passive and unconsciously receives the suggestions which are impressed upon him, not unfrequently a personality comes to the front which acts independently, and presents all the characteristics which we have found pertaining to a distinct personality.

A rare example of this alternating personality brought about by hypnotism is afforded by the French subject, Mme. B., whose acquaintance we have already made as a subject upon whom hypnotism at a distance was successfully carried out by Prof. Janet and Dr. Gibert of Havre. As we have already seen, in her ordinary condition Mme. B. is a stolid, substantial, honest French peasant, about forty years of age, of very moderate intelligence, and without any education or any ambition for notoriety. In this state Prof. Janet calls her Léonie.

Hypnotized, she is at once changed into a bright, vivacious, mischief-loving, rather noisy personality, who considers herself on excellent terms with the doctor, and whom the professor names Léontine. Later, by further hypnotization and a deeper trance, there appears a sedate, sensible personality, intellectually much superior to Léonie, the primary self, and much more dignified than the vivacious Léontine, and this third personality Prof. Janet calls Léonore.

Léontine, the hypnotic or second self, knows Léonie, the original Mme. B., very well, and is very anxious not to be confounded with her. She always calls her “the other one,” and laughs at her stupidity. She says, “That good woman is not I, she is too stupid.” One day Prof. Janet hypnotized Léonie, and as usual at once Léontine was present. Prof. Janet then suggested to Léontine that when she awoke and Léonie had resumed the command, she (Léontine) should take off the apron of Léonie, their common apron, on their one physical personality, and then tie it on again. She was then aroused from her hypnotic condition, and at once Léonie was present without the slightest knowledge of Léontine, for she never knew of this second personality, nor of hypnotic suggestion in any form. Léonie, supposing the professor’s experiment was over, was conducting him to the door, talking indifferently in her slow, dull way, and at the same time unconsciously her fingers were working at her apron-strings. The loosened apron was falling off when the professor called her attention to it. She exclaimed, “Why, my apron is falling off!” and then, fully conscious of what she was doing, she replaced and tied it on again. She then continued her talk. She only supposed that somehow accidentally the apron had come untied and she had retied it, and that was all.

To the now submerged Léontine, however, this was not enough; her mission had not been completed, and at her silent prompting Léonie again fumbled at the apron-strings; unconsciously she untied and took off the apron, and then put it on again without her attention having been drawn to what she had now the second time done. The next day Prof. Janet again hypnotized Léonie and Léontine made her appearance.

“Well,” said she, “I did what you told me yesterday. How stupid ‘the other one’ looked while I took her apron off? Why did you tell her that her apron was falling off? Just for that, I had to do the job all over again.”

Here the hypnotic or secondary self, as in my own reported case, appears as a persistent entity, remembering and reasoning, while the primary self was at the same time in command of their common body. Léontine not only caused Léonie to untie and retie her apron, but she enjoyed the fun, remembered it, and told it the next day.

Again Léonore was as much ashamed of Léontine’s flippancy as Léontine was of Léonie’s stupidity.

“You see well enough,” she said, “that I am not that prattler, that madcap. We do not resemble each other in the least.”

In fact, she sometimes gave Léontine good counsel in regard to her behavior, and in a peculiar manner—by producing the hallucination of hearing a voice, thus again showing the conscious activity of the submerged self while a primary self was at the same time dominant and active. As Dr. Janet relates the incident, Léontine was one day in an excited, hysterical condition, noisy and troublesome with her chatter, when suddenly she stopped her senseless talk and cried out with terror:

“Oh! Who is it there talking to me like that?”

“No one was speaking to you.”

“Yes, there on the left.” And she opened a closet door in the direction indicated, to see that no one was hidden there.

“What is it that you hear?” asked the professor.

“I hear a voice on the left there which keeps saying to me: ‘Enough, enough; be quiet. You are a nuisance!’” which, the professor remarks, was exactly the truth.

Léonore, in her turn, was then brought to the surface.

“What was it that happened,” asked Prof. Janet, “when Léontine was so frightened?”

“Oh, nothing,” she replied. “I told her she was a nuisance and to keep quiet. I saw she was annoying you. I don’t know why she was so frightened.”

I may be pardoned for mentioning one other fact regarding the relationship of these singular personalities, because it illustrates more pointedly if possible than anything else their entire duplex and separate character. Léonie or Madame B. is married, but Léontine is not. Madame B. however, was hypnotized at her accouchements, and became Léontine. So Léontine was the presiding personality when the children were born. Léontine therefore considers herself the mother of two children, and would be greatly grieved were any doubts expressed regarding her right of motherhood in them.

The analogies between the mental conditions presented respectively in ordinary somnambulism and the somnambulism of the hypnotic trance, and the mental conditions presented in the four cases previously recited are numerous and obvious; in fact, they seem as indeed they are, like the same conditions differently produced and varying in the length of time they occupy, and it is evident that in them there is brought to view a mental state of sufficient uniformity, as well as of sufficient interest and importance, to be worthy of serious consideration.

The facts thus far brought into view are these: That in a considerable number of persons there may be developed, either spontaneously or artificially, a second personality different in character and distinct in its consciousness and memories from the primary or original self; that this second personality is not a mere change of consciousness, but in some sense it is a different entity, having a power of observation, attention and memory not only when the primary self is submerged and without consciousness or volition, but also at the same time that the primary self is in action, performing its usual offices, and in its turn it is equally capable of managing the affairs and performing the offices properly pertaining to the common body whenever needed for that purpose.

Reckoning these different personalities as No. 1, No. 2, No. 3, etc., No. 1 has no knowledge of No. 2, nor of any succeeding personality, nor of their acts, but the time occupied by them is to No. 1 a blank, during which it is without volition, memory, or consciousness. No. 2 has a distinct consciousness and chain of memories of its own, but it also knows more or less perfectly the history and acts of No. 1—it knows this history, however, only as pertaining to a third person; it knows nothing of No. 3, nor of any personality subsequently coming into activity. No. 3 has also its distinct personality, and knows both No. 1 and No. 2, but knows them only as separate and distinct personalities; it does not know any personality coming into activity after itself.

So distinct are these personalities that No. 2 not only may not possess the acquirements, as, for instance, the book knowledge, trade, or occupation of No. 1, but may possess other capabilities and acquirements entirely foreign to No. 1, and of which it possessed no knowledge.

Ansel Bourne was a farmer and preacher, and knew nothing of storekeeping. A. J. Brown, the second personality, was a business man, neither farmer nor preacher. Louis V., as No. 2, was a tailor, and a very good boy; as No. 3, he was a private of marines, and knew nothing of tailoring, and he was a moral monster; while, in what might be called his No. 5 condition, he was again an undeveloped child, as he was before his fright.

Still another fact which comes prominently into view in examining these cases is that the No. 2 personality may not, by any means, be inferior to the No. 1, or original self. In none of the cases cited has the intellectual capacity of the later developed personality been inferior to that of the original self, and generally it was notably superior; only in the No. 3 personality of Louis V. was the moral state worse than in No. 1, and, in general, the moral standing of No. 2 or No. 3 was fully equal to the primary self.

The emergence and dominance of a secondary personality, therefore, does not by any means imply that the general standing of the individual dominated by this second personality, as judged by disinterested observers, is in any way inferior to the same individual dominated by the primary self, but, on the contrary, a superior personality is rather to be expected, and especially is this true when the secondary personality is intelligently sought and brought to view by means of hypnotism.

It is, however, quite impossible by any á priori reasoning, or from the character of the primary self, to form any definite estimate concerning the character or general characteristics of any new personality which may make its appearance, either spontaneously or through the aid of hypnotism.

Having become to a certain degree familiarized with the idea that in some persons, at least, and under some peculiar circumstances, a second personality may come to the surface and take the place for a longer or shorter time of the primary self, it may be asked whether, after all, these comparatively few persons in which this unusual phenomena has been observed are essentially different in their mental constitution from other people.

When those best acquainted with the slender and melancholy Félida N., or the ordinary, quiet, well-behaved Louis V.; the industrious and respected evangelist Ansel Bourne, or the large-brained, intellectual leader of women, Alma Z., saw them in their ordinary state, before any subliminal personality had emerged and made itself known, no one of those most intimate acquaintances, no expert in character-reading, no student of mental science could have given any reasonable intimation that any one of them would develop a second personality, much less give any trustworthy opinion as to the character which the new personality would possess.

A few months ago I was called in haste to see a patient, a large, strong man of one hundred and eighty pounds weight, who had been thrown down and trampled upon by his nineteen-year-old son during an attack of somnambulism, and had received such serious injuries as to require immediate surgical aid. The next day this son came to consult me regarding his unfortunate habit of sleep-walking, which has often got him into trouble before, and has now resulted in serious injury to his father. He is a slight youth of one hundred and twenty pounds weight, light hair, gray eyes, and a bright, frank face, expressive of good health and good nature—“a perfect gentleman,” as his father expressed it, “when himself, but ten men cannot manage him when he gets up in his sleep; he will do what he sets out to do.”

Who would ever imagine that this slender, good-natured, gentlemanly lad, sooner than any other lad, would in his sleep develop somnambulism and a second personality, or that when it came that second personality should prove a stubborn Samson?

Little could Prof. Janet imagine that beneath the surface consciousness of that serene and stupid Léonie dwelt the frisky, vivacious, fun-loving Léontine, waiting only the magic key of hypnotism to unlock and bring her to the surface to reign instead of the heavy Léonie.

The people who, in various ways, develop second personalities may not differ, it seems, in any perceptible manner from other people; is it not quite possible, then, that other normal, ordinary people, possess a second personality, deep-down beneath their ordinary, everyday self, and that under conditions which favor a readjustment, this hidden subliminal self may emerge and become for a longer or a shorter time the conscious, acting one; and not only so, but may prove to be the brighter and better organized of the two?

Having now, as it were, a chart, imperfect though it be, of this outlying region, having some idea what to look for, and in what direction to look for it, it is possible that glimpses of this subliminal personality which each one unconsciously carries with him may be obtained under ordinary conditions and in everyday life, more frequently and more easily than we had imagined; for, as Ribot expresses it, the ordinary conscious personality is only a feeble portion of the whole psychical personality.

One example of this more usual form of double personality is afforded in ordinary dreaming. The dream country, like most of this outlying territory, has for the most part been studied without chart or compass. There is scarcely a point connected with the discussion of the subject upon which the most eminent authorities are not divided; it is Locke against Descartes, Hamilton against Locke, and Hobbes against the field.

If there be any one point, however, on which there is tolerable unanimity among all writers, ancient and modern, great and small, it is the absence in dreams of the normal acts and processes of volition, and, especially, of the faculty of attention. Now, this is exactly the condition which is conducive to the more or less perfect emergence and activity of the subliminal self, under whatever circumstances it occurs.

There is first, loss of consciousness from catalepsy, fright, depressing illness, hypnotism, or natural sleep, that is to say, the power of attention or volition in the primary self is abolished; then comes a readjustment of personalities, varying in completeness according to the ease with which, in different persons, this readjustment may be effected, and according to the completeness of the abolition of the power of attention and volition.

In sleep the conditions are favorable for this readjustment, and the subliminal self comes more or less perfectly to the surface; then appears that most peculiar and interesting series of pictures and visions which we call dreams; sometimes the rearranged, or rather unarranged, impressions and perceptions of the waking hours brought together, possibly just before the power of attention is entirely lost; sometimes the Puck-like work of the subliminal personality, the Léontines of the dream-country influencing the unconscious or semi-conscious primary self; sometimes the veridical or truth-telling dreams, which have been the wonder of all ages, and sometimes giving complete and active supremacy to the subliminal self as in natural somnambulism. Another portion of the field in which it might be profitable to look for evidence of the existence of a subliminal personality is in the eccentric work of genius; and still another, in the unexpected and often heroic actions of seemingly ordinary persons under the stress and stimulus of a great emotion, as of joy, sorrow, or anger, or of intense excitement, as for instance, the soldier in battle, the fireman at the post of danger, or the philosopher or astronomer on the eve of a new discovery; in all these cases the ordinary personality with its intense self-consciousness and self-considering carefulness is submerged—it disappears—the power of voluntary attention to mental states or physical action is lost; a new and superior personality comes to the surface and takes control. The supreme moment passes, and the primary self resumes sway, scarcely conscious of what has been done or how it was accomplished; even sensation has been abolished, and it is only now that he discovers the bleeding bullet-wound, the charred member, or the broken bone.

In physical science, whenever some new fact or law or principle has been discovered, it is at once seen that many things which before were obscure, or perhaps could only be accounted for by a theory of chance, or of direct interference by an omnipotent Deity, are now illuminated by a new light, and order reigns where before only confusion and darkness were visible. Something of the same sort is beginning to be recognized in the world of mental and psychical phenomena. If the mathematical exactness which measured the force of gravity, or placed the sun in one of the foci of an ellipse instead of the centre of a circle cannot be applied here, it is only on account of the vast complexity of the problem presented, and of which we know so few of the elements.

When matter alone is concerned we know exactly how it will act under given conditions. When life is added, the problem becomes more complex. The general law of evolution and the special law of natural selection in the development of species are accepted facts, although we cannot with success apply to them mathematical formulæ. When mind is added to life, the problem becomes still more complicated and mathematical exactness still less likely to be attained. Many facts, however, are being ascertained in psychical science, and some principles are being established which help to bring order out of confusion and shed light on some dark places.

The recognition of a subliminal self as forming a part of the psychical organization of man will throw light upon many obscure mental phenomena and bring order out of seemingly hopeless confusion. Placed before us as a working hypothesis, many other facts, before errant and unclassified, group themselves about it in wonderful clearness and harmony.

Granting, then, provisionally at least, the reality of the secondary self, what are its relations to the primary self and their common physical organization, and how came it to occupy these relations? Mr. Frederick W. H. Myers, to whom I have already referred, whose acute intellect and scholarly attainments have been of the highest value to the society in every department of its investigations, has also taken up this subject with his usual skill and judgment. He looks upon it from the standpoint of evolution, commencing with the earliest period of animal life. He compares the whole psychical organization, together with its manifesting physical organization, to the thousand looms of a vast manufactory.

The looms are complex and of varying patterns, for turning out different sorts of work. They are also used in various combinations, and there are various driving bands and connecting machinery by which they may severally be connected or disconnected, but the motive power which drives the whole is constant for all, and all works automatically to turn out the styles of goods that are needed.

“Now, how did I come to have my looms and driving-gear arranged in this particular way? Not, certainly, through any deliberate choice of my own. My ancestor, the ascidian, in fact, inherited the business when it consisted of little more than a single spindle; since his day my nearer ancestors have added loom after loom.”

Changes have been going on continually; some of the looms are now quite out of date, have long been unused, and are quite out of repair or fallen to pieces. Others are kept in order because the style of goods which they turn out is still useful and necessary. But the class of goods called for has greatly changed of late. For instance, the machinery at present in operation is best adapted to turning out goods of a decidedly egoistic style, for self-preservation, persistence in the struggle for life, and for self-gratification; but a style is beginning to be called for of the altruistic pattern. For this kind of goods the machinery is not well adapted. It is old-fashioned, and changes are necessary. If there are any looms in the establishment unknown and unused which can be turned to account, or any way of modifying such as we have to meet the demand, it is for our interest to know it.

But the methods of adjustment, and arrangements for bringing new looms into operation are hidden and difficult of access, so we observe factories where spontaneous readjustments are going on and new looms, not known to have been in the establishment, are being brought automatically into action and are found to work fairly well. Such instances are found in the establishment of Félida X. or Louis V., from which valuable hints are obtained regarding changes and readjustments.

Furthermore, in hypnotism, we find a safe and, at the same time, powerful lever, for readjustment, by means of which in some establishments new looms can be brought into play and shut off again almost at will; and often while the new looms are at work doing good service we are able to get at the old ones, repair and modernize them so as to make them useful, and the immense value of hypnotism in this educational and reformatory work has hardly begun to be known or appreciated. A single instance out of many must suffice for illustration.

In the summer of 1884 there was at the Salpêtriére a young woman of a deplorable type, Jeanne S., who was a criminal lunatic, filthy, violent, and with a life history of impurity and crime. M. Auguste Voisin, one of the physicians of the staff, undertook to hypnotize her May 31st. At that time she was so violent that she could only be kept quiet by a strait-jacket and the constant cold douche to her head. She would not look at M. Voisin, but raved and spat at him. He persisted, kept his face near and opposite to hers, and his eyes following hers constantly. In ten minutes she was in a sound sleep, and soon passed into the somnambulistic condition. The process was repeated many days, and gradually she became sane while in the hypnotic condition, but still raved when she awoke.

Gradually, then, she began to accept hypnotic suggestion, and would obey trivial orders given her while asleep, such as to sweep her room, etc.; then suggestions regarding her general behavior; then, in her hypnotic condition, she began to express regret for her past life and form resolutions of amendment, which she fully adhered to when she awoke. Two years later she was a nurse in one of the Paris hospitals, and her conduct was irreproachable. M. Voisin has followed up this case by others equally striking.

Such is an imperfect sketch of the discoveries, experiments, and studies which have been made in the domain of human personality. It is merely a sketch, and certainly it is in no spirit of dogmatism that it is presented; but as a collection of facts relating to human nature and the constitution and action of the human mind, it is at least curious.

It need not destroy our convictions regarding the essential unity of personality, but it must necessarily enlarge our conceptions of what constitutes an individual, and how under various circumstances that individual may act.

From many points of view, and in relation to many departments of study and of human development—legal, moral, social, and educational—the subject presents important bearings; and, furthermore, in the solution of other psychological problems it will be found to possess the greatest possible interest and value.