Part 5 (1/2)
_Harper's Monthly Magazine_ for December, 1868, contains an article ent.i.tled ”_The Confessions of a Reformed Planchettist_.” In this article, the writer, no doubt drawing wholly or in part from his imagination, details a series of tricks which he had successfully practiced upon the credulity of others, and concludes by propounding a very sage and charitable theory to account for _all_ Planchette phenomena, on which theory we shall yet have a word to offer.
_Hours at Home_, of February, 1869, contains an article, by J. T.
Headley, ent.i.tled ”_Planchette at the Confessional_.” In this article, the writer cogently argues the claims of these new phenomena upon the attention of scientific men. He says: ”That it [the Planchette] writes things never dreamed of by the operators, is proved by their own testimony and the testimony of others, beyond all contradiction;” and goes so far as to a.s.sert that to whatever cause these phenomena may be attributed, ”they will seriously affect the whole science of mental philosophy.” He relates a number of facts, more or less striking, and propounds a theory in their explanation, to which, with others, we will recur by-and-by.
The foregoing are a few of the most noted, among the many less important, lucubrations that have fallen under our notice concerning this interesting subject--enough, however, to indicate the intense public interest which the performances of this little board are exciting. We will now proceed to notice some of the _theories_ that have been advanced for the solution of the mystery.
THEORY FIRST--THAT THE BOARD IS MOVED BY THE HANDS THAT REST UPON IT.
It is supposed that this movement is made either by design or unconsciously, and that the answers are either the result of adroit guessing, or the expressions of some appropriate thoughts or memories which had been previously slumbering in the minds of the operators, and happen to be awakened at the moment.
After detailing his exploits (whether real or imaginary he has left us in doubt) in a successful and sustained course of deception, the writer in _Harper's_ reaches this startling conclusion of the whole matter:
”It would only write when I moved it, and then it wrote precisely what I dictated. That persons write 'unconsciously,' I do not believe. As well tell me a man might pick pockets without knowing it. Nor am I at all prepared to believe the a.s.sertions of those who declare that they do not move the board. I know what operators will do in such cases; I know the distortion, the disregard of truth which a.s.sociation with this immoral board superinduces.”
This writer has somewhat the advantage of me. I confess I have no means of coming to the knowledge of the truth but those of careful thought, patient observation, and collection of facts, and deduction from them.
But here is a mind that can with one bold dive reach the inner mysteries of the sensible and supersensible world, penetrate the motives and impulses that govern the specific moral acts of men, and disclose at once to us the horrible secret of a conspiracy which, without preconcert, has been entered into by thousands of men, women, and children in all parts of the land, to cheat the rest of the human race--a conspiracy, too, in which certain members of innumerable private families have banded together to play tricks upon their fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters! I feel awed by the overshadowing presence of such a mind--in fact, I do not feel quite _at home_ with him, and therefore most respectfully bow myself out of his presence without further ceremony.
As to the hypothesis that the person or persons whose hands are on the board move it _unconsciously_, this is met by the fact that the persons are perfectly awake and in their senses, and are just as conscious of what they are doing or not doing as at any other time. Or if it be morally possible to suppose that they all, invariably, and with one accord, _lie_ when they a.s.sert that the board moves without their volition, how is it that the answers which they give to questions, some of them mentally, are in so large a proportion of cases, _appropriate_ answers? How is it, for example, that Planchette, under the hands of my own daughter, has, in numerous cases, given correctly the names of persons whom she had never seen or heard of before, giving also the names of their absent relatives, the places of their residence, etc., all of which were absolutely unknown by every person present except the questioner?
A theory propounded by the Rev. Dr. Patton, of Chicago, in an article published in _The Advance_, some time since, may be noticed under this head. He says:
”How, then, shall we account for the writing which is performed without any direct volition? Our method refers it to an automatic power of mind separate from conscious volition. * * * Very common is the experience of an automatic power in the pen, by which it finishes a word, or two or three words, after the thoughts have consciously gone on to what is to follow. We infer, then, from ordinary facts known to the habitual penman, that _if a fixed idea is in the mind_ at the time when the nervous and volitional powers are exercised with a pen, it will often express itself spontaneously through the pen, when the mental faculties are at work otherwise. We suppose, then, that Planchette is simply an arrangement by which, through the outstretched arms and fingers, the mind comes into such relation with the delicate movements of the pencil, that its automatic power finds play, and the _ideas present in the mind are transferred unconsciously to paper_.” (Italics our own.)
That may all be, Doctor, and no marvel about it. That the ”fixed idea”--”the ideas _present in the mind_,” should be ”transferred unconsciously to paper,” by means of Planchette, is no more wonderful than that the same thing should be done by the pen, and _without_ the intervention of that little board. But for the benefit of a sorely mystified world, be good enough to tell us how ideas that are _not_ present, and that _never were_ present, in the mind, can be transferred to paper by this automatic power of the mind. Grant that the mind possesses an automatic power to work in _grooves_, as it were, or in a manner in which it has been previously _trained_ to work, as is ill.u.s.trated by the delicate fingerings of the piano, all correct and skillful to the nicest shade, while the mind of the performer may for the moment be occupied in conversation; but not since the world began has there been an instance in which the mind, acting solely from itself, by ”automatic powers” or otherwise, has been able to body forth any idea which was not previously within itself. That Planchette does sometimes write things of which the person or persons under whose hands it moves never had the slightest knowledge or even conception, it would be useless to deny.
THEORY SECOND--IT IS ELECTRICITY, OR MAGNETISM.
That electricity, or magnetism (a form of the same thing), is the agent of the production of these phenomena, is a theory which, perhaps, has more advocates among the ma.s.ses than any other. It is the theory urged by Mr. Headley with a great amount of confidence in his article already referred to; and with his arguments, as those of an able and, in some sense, _representative_ writer on this subject, we shall be princ.i.p.ally occupied for a few paragraphs.
When this theory is offered in seriousness as a final solution of the mystery in question, we are tempted to ask, Who is electricity? what is his mental and moral _status_? and how and where did he get his education? Or if by ”electricity” is here simply meant the subtile, imponderable, and _impersonal_ fluid commonly known by that name, then let us ask, Who is at the other end of the wire?--for there must evidently be a _who_ as well as a _what_ in the case. But when the advocates of the electrical theory are brought to their strict definitions, they are compelled to admit that this agent is nothing more than a medium of the power and intelligence that are manifested. Now a medium, which signifies simply a _middle_, distinctly implies two opposite ends or extremes, and as applied in this case, one of those ends or extremes must be the source, and the other the recipient of the power or influence that is transmitted through the medium or middle; and it is an axiom of common sense that no medium can be a perfect medium which has anything to do with the origination or qualification of that which is intended simply to flow through it, or which is not absolutely free from action except as it is acted upon. That there are so-called mediums which refract, pervert, falsify, or totally obliterate the characteristics of that which was intended to be transmitted through them, is not to be denied; but these are by no means perfect or reliable mediums, either in physical or psychic matters.
If the little instrument in question, therefore, is, through the medium of electricity or any other agency, brought under perfect control and then driven to write a communication, the force that drives and the intelligence that directs it can not be attributed to the medium itself, but to something behind and beyond it which must embrace _in itself_ all the active powers and qualifications to produce the effect. Now let us see where Mr. Headley gets the active powers and qualifications to produce the phenomena manifested by his Planchette. He shall speak for himself:
”That a spirit, good or bad, has anything to do with this piece of board and the tips of children's fingers, is too absurd a supposition to be entertained for a moment. We are driven, therefore, to the conclusion that what is written (by honest operators) has its origin either in the minds of those whose hands are on the instrument, or else it results from communication with other minds through another channel than the outward senses. At all events, on this hypothesis I have been able to explain most of the phenomena I have witnessed. I had, with others, laughed at the stories told about Planchette, when a lady visiting my family from the city brought, as the latest novelty, one for my daughter.
Experiments were of course made with it, with very little success, till a young lady came to visit us from the West, whose efforts with those of my son wrought a marvelous change. She was modest and retiring, with a rich brown complexion, large swimming eyes, dark as midnight, and a dreamy expression of countenance, and altogether a temperament that is usually found to possess great magnetic power.
My son, on the contrary, is fair, full of animal life, and enjoying everything with the keenest relish. In short, they were as opposite in all respects as two beings could well be. As the phenomena produced by electricity are well known to arise from opposite poles, or differently charged bodies, they would naturally be adapted to the trial of Planchette.”
Mr. H. now finds the mysterious agency, ”electricity,” completely unchained, and under the hands of this couple Planchette becomes ”very active.” Indifferent to its performances at first, he was induced to give it more serious attention by the correct answers given to a couple of questions asked in a joking manner by his wife, concerning some love affairs of his before they were married, and which were known to none present except himself and wife. Of course these answers, being in his wife's mind when she asked the question, were supposed to be ”communicated through the agency of electricity or magnetism to the two operators,” and the mystery was thus summarily disposed of. But an interest being thus for the first time aroused in Mr. H.'s mind, he proceeds to inquire a little further into the peculiarities of this new phenomenon, and proceeds as follows:
”Seeing that Planchette was so familiarly acquainted with my lady friends, I asked it point blank: 'Where is Mary C----?' This was a friend of my early youth and later manhood, who had always seemed to me rather a relative than an acquaintance. To my surprise it answered, 'n.o.body knows.'
I supposed I knew, because for twenty years she had lived on the Hudson River in summer, and in New York in the winter.
'Is she happy?' I asked. 'Better be dead,' was the reply.
'Why?' 'Unhappy' was written out at once.
'What makes her unhappy?' 'Won't tell.'
'Is she in fault, or others?' 'Partly herself.'