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Title: Mental Radio

Author: Upton Sinclair

Author of introduction, etc.: Albert Einstein
        William McDougall

Contributor: Walter Franklin Prince

Release date: November 9, 2020 [eBook #63693]
                Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MENTAL RADIO ***

                              MENTAL RADIO


[Illustration:

  MARY CRAIG SINCLAIR

  1883–1961
]

                      (_Revised Second Printing_)




                              MENTAL RADIO


                   _By_
                   UPTON SINCLAIR

                       _Introduction by_
                       WILLIAM McDOUGALL

                           _Preface by_
                           ALBERT EINSTEIN

                               _With a Report by_
                               WALTER FRANKLIN PRINCE

[Illustration]

                      CHARLES C THOMAS · PUBLISHER
                    _Springfield · Illinois · U.S.A_




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      301–327 East Lawrence Avenue, Springfield, Illinois, U.S.A.

            This book is protected by copyright. No part
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            © _1930 and 1962, by_ CHARLES C THOMAS · PUBLISHER
            Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 62–12057

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 manufacturing and design. It is the Publisher’s desire to present books
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                _Printed in the United States of America_

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                              INTRODUCTION


Mr. Upton Sinclair needs no introduction to the public as a fearless,
honest, and critical student of public affairs. But in the present book
he has with characteristic courage entered a new field, one in which
reputations are more easily lost than made, the field of Psychic
Research. When he does me the honor to ask me to write a few words of
introduction to this book, a refusal would imply on my part a lack
either of courage or of due sense of scientific responsibility. I have
long been keenly interested in this field; and it is not necessary to
hold that the researches of the past fifty years have brought any
solidly established conclusions in order to feel sure that further
research is very much worth while. Even if the results of such research
should in the end prove wholly negative that would be a result of no
small importance; for from many points of view it is urgently to be
wished that we may know where we stand in this question of the reality
of alleged supernormal phenomena. In discussing this question recently
with a small group of scientific men, one of them (who is perhaps the
most prominent and influential of American psychologists) seemed to feel
that the whole problem was settled in the negative when he asserted that
at the present time no American psychologist of standing took any
interest in this field. I do not know whether he meant to deny my
Americanism or my standing, neither of which I can establish. But his
remark if it were true, would not in any degree support his conclusion;
it would rather be a grave reproach to American psychologists. Happily
it is possible to name several younger American psychologists who are
keenly interested in the problem of telepathy.

And it is with experiments in telepathy that Mr. Sinclair’s book is
chiefly concerned. In this part, as in other parts, of the field of
Psychic Research, progress must largely depend upon such work by
intelligent educated laymen or amateurs as is here reported. For
facility in obtaining seemingly supernormal phenomena seems to be of
rare and sporadic occurrence; and it is the duty of men of science to
give whatever encouragement and sympathetic support may be possible to
all amateurs who find themselves in a position to observe and carefully
and honestly to study such phenomena.

Mrs. Sinclair would seem to be one of the rare persons who have
telepathic power in a marked degree and perhaps other supernormal
powers. The experiments in telepathy, as reported in the pages of this
book, were so remarkably successful as to rank among the very best
hitherto reported. The degree of success and the conditions of
experiment were such that we can reject them as conclusive evidence of
some mode of communication not at present explicable in accepted
scientific terms only by assuming that Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair either are
grossly stupid, incompetent and careless persons or have deliberately
entered upon a conspiracy to deceive the public in a most heartless and
reprehensible fashion. I have unfortunately no intimate personal
knowledge of Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair; but I am acquainted with some of Mr.
Sinclair’s earlier publications; and that acquaintance suffices to
convince me, as it should convince any impartial reader, that he is an
able and sincere man with a strong sense of right and wrong and of
individual responsibility. His record and his writings should secure a
wide and respectful hearing for what he has to tell us in the following
pages.

Mrs. Sinclair’s account of her condition during successful experiments
seems to me particularly interesting; for it falls into line with what
has been observed by several other workers; namely, they report that a
peculiar passive mental state or attitude seems to be a highly
favorable, if not an essential, condition of telepathic communication.
It would seem that if the faint and unusual telepathic processes are to
manifest themselves, the track of the mind must be kept clear of other
traffic.

Other experiments reported in the book seem to imply some supernormal
power of perception of physical things such as is commonly called
clairvoyance. It is natural and logical that alleged instances of
clairvoyance should have from most of us a reception even more skeptical
than that we accord to telepathic claims. After all, a mind at work is
an active agent of whose nature and activity our knowledge is very
imperfect; and science furnishes us no good reasons for denying that its
activity may affect another mind in some fashion utterly obscure to us.
But when an experimenter seems to have large success in reading printed
words shut in a thick-walled box, words whose identity is unknown to any
human being, we seem to be more nearly in a position to assert
positively—That cannot occur! For we do seem to know with very fair
completeness the possibilities of influence extending from the printed
word to the experimenter; and under the conditions all such
possibilities seem surely excluded. Yet here also we must keep the open
mind, gather the facts, however unintelligible they may seem at present,
repeating observations under varied conditions.

And Mrs. Sinclair’s clairvoyant successes do not stand alone. They are
in line with the many successful “book-tests” recorded of recent years
by competent workers of the English Society for Psychical Research, as
well as with many other less carefully observed and recorded incidents.

Mr. Sinclair’s book will amply justify itself if it shall lead a few
(let us say two per cent) of his readers to undertake carefully and
critically experiments similar to those which he has so vividly
described.

                                                       WILLIAM MCDOUGALL

  _Duke University, N. C.
  September, 1929_




                                PREFACE


Ich habe das Buch von Upton Sinclair mit grossem Interesse gelesen und
bin überzeugt, dass dasselbe die ernsteste Beachtung, nicht nur der
Laien, sondern auch der Psychologen von Fach verdient. Die Ergebnisse
der in diesem Buch sorgfältig und deutlich beschriebenen telepathischen
Experimente stehen sicher weit ausserhalb desjenigen, was ein
Naturforscher für denkbar hält. Andererseit aber ist es bei einem so
gewissenhaften Beobachter und Schriftsteller wie Upton Sinclair
ausgeschlossen, dass er eine bewusste Täuschung der Leserwelt anstrebt;
seine bona fides und Zuverlässigkeit darf nicht bezweifelt werden. Wenn
also etwa die mit grosser Klarheit dargestellten Tatsachen nicht auf
Telepathie, sondern etwa auf unbewussten hypnothischen Einflüssen von
Person zu Person beruhen sollten, so wäre auch dies von hohem
psychologischen Interesse. Keinesfalls also sollten die psychologisch
interessierten Kreise an diesem Buch achtlos vorübergehn.

                                                         gez A. EINSTEIN

  _den 23. Mai 1930_




                                PREFACE


I have read the book of Upton Sinclair with great interest and am
convinced that the same deserves the most earnest consideration, not
only of the laity, but also of the psychologists by profession. The
results of the telepathic experiments carefully and plainly set forth in
this book stand surely far beyond those which a nature investigator
holds to be thinkable. On the other hand, it is out of the question in
the case of so conscientious an observer and writer as Upton Sinclair
that he is carrying on a conscious deception of the reading world; his
good faith and dependability are not to be doubted. So if somehow the
facts here set forth rest not upon telepathy, but upon some unconscious
hypnotic influence from person to person, this also would be of high
psychological interest. In no case should the psychologically interested
circles pass over this book heedlessly.

                                                    [signed] A. EINSTEIN

  _May 23, 1930_




                                FOREWORD


I contemplated a statement introducing this book to the reader, but on
further thought I realized that the book introduces itself and speaks
for itself all the way through. I will only say that Mary Craig
Kimbrough was my wife for almost half a century. She guarded me, managed
me, and worried about me during that period—for the task was an unending
one. I was often engaged in politically and socially dangerous tasks,
and Craig was the one who realized the dangers and undertook the task of
saving me. This went on all through our marriage, and in the end her
heart weakened, and for almost ten years I dropped all my other tasks
and devoted myself to keeping her alive. She died in April, 1961.

I wrote the text of _Mental Radio_, 1929, under her direction; she
revised every word and had it exactly the way she wanted it. She was the
most conscientious and morally exacting person I have ever known.
Loyalty to the truth was her religion; and every sentence in this book
was studied so that it would be exactly true and so clear that nobody
could misunderstand it. She knew just how we did our experiments; she
had told me exactly what to do, and I had done it; if I set it down
wrong in the manuscript, she made it right.

She has told of her early psychic experiences, and they were enough to
fill her with determination to make sure they were real, and if possible
to find out what they meant. It was she who laid down all the procedures
in our tests. It was she who studied the results and got the record
exact to the last comma. In reading this book bear in mind, there are no
errors. If the book says that the experiment was done in a certain
precise way, that is the way it was done; and always it was done without
prejudice, without a preconception or anything that could affect the
result. When the record was put on paper every word had to be studied,
and every little mistake that I made had to be corrected by her
tenacious memory.

So trust this book. Understand that what is told here happened exactly
as it has been told. Don’t think that maybe there was a slight slip, or
that there is a careless word. I remember in the course of the years
some learned psychologist suggesting that maybe Craig had unconsciously
got some idea of what the drawings were by seeing the movement of my pen
or pencil. This meant just one thing—the learned gentleman didn’t want
to believe, and hadn’t taken the trouble to go back and study the book.
You who are going to read now will note again and again that I went into
another room to make the drawing, and I shut the door. Make note now and
bear it in mind all through the book, I never made a drawing in the same
room with Craig; and always the door was shut. To have done otherwise
would have been to waste her time as well as mine, and she saw to it
that I did not waste either. She wanted to _know_; she was _determined_
to _know_; she laid down the law, and I obeyed it. The only way you can
reject the evidence in this book is to decide that we were a pair of
unconscionable rascals.

I’ll give you one opinion about that. Albert Einstein, possessor of one
of the greatest modern brains, and also of a high character, was one of
our close friends. He came to our home, and we came to his, and he
witnessed some of our experiments. When this book was ready for
publication in 1929 I sent him a set of the proofs and asked him if he
would care to write a preface for the German edition. He consented and
wrote the letter in German to the German publisher. Unfortunately, the
publisher went out of business.

What you are going to read is the exact text of Craig’s book as it was
written in the year 1929 and published in the next year. The only
changes I have made have to do with the lapse of thirty years since the
text was written. Near the end are one or two references to friends who
have since died, but you probably never knew those persons, so it
doesn’t matter.

At the end of the book I have published a few comments on it, and an
account, written by myself, of later experiments. Also I give an
extensive summary of the results of a study of the drawings published by
Dr. Walter Franklin Prince, a Boston clergyman who resigned from his
pulpit in order to become Research Officer of the Boston Society for
Psychic Research. Dr. Prince asked if we would be willing to entrust the
documents to his examination, and I immediately bundled them up and sent
them to him by registered mail. The long commentary which he wrote
appeared in the _Bulletin_ of the society for April, 1932.

Perhaps the most important single item concerning _Mental Radio_ is the
following:

Prof. William MacDougall, who had been head of the Department of
Psychology at Oxford University and later head of the Department of
Psychology at Harvard—and who had won the title of “Dean of American
Psychology”—came to see us in Pasadena soon after the publication of
this book. He told Craig that he had just accepted the job of head of
the Department of Psychology at Duke University, Durham, North Carolina,
and would have at his disposal a considerable fund for research. He had
read _Mental Radio_ and had written the preface which is in this book,
and he said that he would like to be able to say that he himself had
witnessed a test of the genuineness of Craig’s telepathic power.

Craig had always shrunk from anything of that sort because her power
depended entirely upon solitude and concentration; but her respect for
MacDougall was great, and she told him she would do her best. He said
that he had some pictures in his inside coat pocket, and he would like
to see if she could describe them. She sat quietly with her eyes closed
and presently said that she saw a building with stone walls and narrow
windows, and it seemed to be covered with green leaves. MacDougall took
from his inside coat pocket a postcard of one of the buildings at Oxford
covered with ivy.

Other tests with him will appear later. Here I add one more story, how
we took the good man for a test with Arthur Ford, who was then head of a
spiritualistic church in Los Angeles. I had picked out four letters or
postcards from well-known persons, one of them Jack London and another
Georg Brandes, the Danish critic, highly respected. I wrapped each of
these documents in a sheet of green paper to remove any possibility of
holding them up to the light or otherwise getting a glimpse. I showed
this to MacDougall, and he agreed that the concealment was effective. We
then sealed them in four numbered envelopes, and in a little ante-room
of the church Arthur Ford lay back in his chair, covered his eyes with a
handkerchief, and put the envelopes one by one on his forehead.

I subsequently wrote an article about the experiment which was published
in the _Psychic Observer_, but I do not have the text at hand. Ford told
us significant things about the contents of all those envelopes, and I
remember that afterwards MacDougall, Craig and I strolled down the
street and stopped at a little kiosk where we ordered lemonade or orange
juice. I said, “Well, what do you think of it?” and MacDougall’s answer
was, “I should say that it is undoubtedly supernormal.”

He then told Craig that what she had done had already decided him—he was
going to Duke University in a week or two and his first action would be
to set up a Department of Parapsychology. That was a little over thirty
years ago, and I think it is correct to say that what MacDougall did,
with the help of J. B. Rhine, his assistant and later his successor, has
made the subject of Parapsychology scientifically respectable throughout
the United States and Europe.

And now, to the text, as published, 1931.

                                                          UPTON SINCLAIR




                                CONTENTS


                                                                  _Page_

 _Introduction_ by WILLIAM MCDOUGALL                                   v

 _Preface_ by ALBERT EINSTEIN                                       viii

 _Foreword_                                                           xi

 MENTAL RADIO                                                          3

 _Addendum_: The Sinclair Experiments for Telepathy
   (by WALTER FRANKLIN PRINCE)                                       149

 _Epilogue_                                                          237




                              MENTAL RADIO




                                  _1_

If you were born as long as fifty years ago, you can remember a time
when the test of a sound, common-sense mind was refusing to fool with
“new-fangled notions.” Without exactly putting it into a formula, people
took it for granted that truth was known and familiar, and anything that
was not known and familiar was nonsense. In my boyhood, the funniest
joke in the world was a “flying machine man”; and when my mother took up
a notion about “germs” getting into you and making you sick, my father
made it a theme for no end of domestic wit. Even as late as twenty years
ago, when I wanted to write a play based on the idea that men might some
day be able to make a human voice audible to groups of people all over
America, my friends assured me that I could not interest the public in
such a fantastic notion.

Among the objects of scorn, in my boyhood, was what we called
“superstition”; and we made the term include, not merely the notion that
the number thirteen brought you bad luck, not merely a belief in
witches, ghosts and goblins, but also a belief in any strange phenomena
of the mind which we did not understand. We knew about hypnotism,
because we had seen stage performances, and were in the midst of reading
a naughty book called _Trilby_; but such things as trance mediumship,
automatic writing, table-tapping, telekinesis, telepathy and
clairvoyance—we didn’t know these long names, but if such ideas were
explained to us, we knew right away that it was “all nonsense.”

In my youth I had the experience of meeting a scholarly Unitarian
clergyman, the Rev. Minot J. Savage of New York, who assured me quite
seriously that he had seen and talked with ghosts. He didn’t convince
me, but he sowed the seed of curiosity in my mind, and I began reading
books on psychic research. From first to last, I have read hundreds of
volumes; always interested, and always uncertain—an uncomfortable mental
state. The evidence in support of telepathy came to seem to me
conclusive, yet it never quite became real to me. The consequences of
belief would be so tremendous, the changes it would make in my view of
the universe so revolutionary, that I didn’t believe, even when I said I
did.

But for thirty years the subject has been among the things I hoped to
know about; and, as it happened, fate was planning to favor me. It sent
me a wife who became interested, and who not merely investigated
telepathy, but learned to practice it. For three years I watched and
assisted in this work, day by day and night by night, in our home. So I
could say that I was no longer guessing. Now I really know. I am going
to tell you about it, and hope to convince you; but regardless of what
anybody can say, there will never again be a doubt about it in my mind.
I KNOW!




                                  _2_


Telepathy, or mind-reading: that is to say, can one human mind
communicate with another human mind, except by the sense channels
ordinarily known and used—seeing, hearing, feeling, tasting and
touching? Can a thought or image in one mind be sent directly to another
mind and there reproduced and recognized? If this can be done, how is it
done? Is it some kind of vibration, going out from the brain, like radio
broadcasting? Or is it some contact with a deeper level of mind, as
bubbles on a stream have contact with the water of the stream? And if
this power exists, can it be developed and used? Is it something that
manifests itself now and then, like a lightning flash, over which we
have no control? Or can we make the energy and store it, and use it
regularly, as we have learned to do with the lightning which Franklin
brought from the clouds?

These are the questions; and the answers, as well as I can summarize
them, are as follows: Telepathy is real; it does happen. Whatever may be
the nature of the force, it has nothing to do with distance, for it
works exactly as well over forty miles as over a few feet. And while it
may be spontaneous and may depend upon a special endowment, it can be
cultivated and used deliberately, as any other object of study, in
physics and chemistry. The essential in this training is an art of
mental concentration and auto-suggestion, which can be learned. I am
going to tell you not merely what you can do, but how you can do it, so
that if you have patience and real interest, you can make your own
contribution to knowledge.

Starting the subject, I am like the wandering book-agent or peddler who
taps on your door and gets you to open it, and has to speak quickly and
persuasively, putting his best goods foremost. Your prejudice is against
this idea; and if you are one of my old-time readers, you are a little
shocked to find me taking up a new and unexpected line of activity. You
have come, after thirty years, to the position where you allow me to be
one kind of “crank,” but you won’t stand for two kinds. So let me come
straight to the point—open up my pack, pull out my choicest wares, and
catch your attention with them if I can.

Here is a drawing of a table-fork. It was done with a lead-pencil on a
sheet of ruled paper, which has been photographed, and then reproduced
in the ordinary way. You note that it bears a signature and a date (Fig.
1):

[Illustration: Fig. 1]

This drawing was produced by my brother-in-law, Robert L. Irwin, a young
business man, and no kind of “crank,” under the following circumstances.
He was sitting in a room in his home in Pasadena at a specified hour,
eleven-thirty in the morning of July 13, 1928, having agreed to make a
drawing of any object he might select, at random, and then to sit gazing
at it, concentrating his entire attention upon it for a period of from
fifteen to twenty minutes.

At the same agreed hour, eleven-thirty in the morning of July 13, 1928,
my wife was lying on the couch in her study, in our home in Long Beach,
forty miles away by the road. She was in semi-darkness, with her eyes
closed; employing a system of mental concentration which she has been
practicing off and on for several years, and mentally suggesting to her
subconscious mind to bring her whatever was in the mind of her
brother-in-law. Having become satisfied that the image which came to her
mind was the correct one—because it persisted, and came back again and
again—she sat up and took pencil and paper and wrote the date, and six
words, as follows (Fig. 1a):

A day or two later we drove to Pasadena, and then in the presence of Bob
and his wife, the drawing and writing were produced and compared. I have
in my possession affidavits from Bob, his wife, and my wife, to the
effect that the drawing and writing were produced in this way. Later in
this book I shall present four other pairs of drawings, made in the same
way, three of them equally successful.

[Illustration: Fig. 1a]

Second case. Here is a drawing (Fig. 2), and below it a set of five
drawings (Fig. 2a):

[Illustration: Fig. 2]

[Illustration: Fig. 2a]

The above drawings were produced under the following circumstances. The
single drawing (Fig. 2) was made by me in my study at my home. I was
alone, and the door was closed before the drawing was made, and was not
opened until the test was concluded. Having made the drawing, I held it
before me and concentrated upon it for a period of five or ten minutes.

The five drawings (Fig. 2a) were produced by my wife, who was lying on
the couch in her study, some thirty feet away from me, with the door
closed between us. The only words spoken were as follows: when I was
ready to make my drawing, I called, “All right,” and when she had
completed her drawings, she called “All right”—whereupon I opened the
door and took my drawing to her and we compared them. I found that in
addition to the five little pictures, she had written some explanation
of how she came to draw them. This I shall quote and discuss later on. I
shall also tell about six other pairs of drawings, produced at this same
time.

Third case: another drawing (Fig. 3a), produced under the following
circumstances. My wife went upstairs, and shut the door which is at the
top of the stairway. I went on tip-toe to a cupboard in a downstairs
room and took from a shelf a red electric-light bulb—it having been
agreed that I should select any small article, of which there were
certainly many hundreds in our home. I wrapped this bulb in several
thicknesses of newspaper, and put it, so wrapped, in a shoe-box, and
wrapped the shoe-box in a whole newspaper, and tied it tightly with a
string. I then called my wife and she came downstairs, and lay on her
couch and put the box on her body, over the solar plexus. I sat
watching, and never took my eyes from her, nor did I speak a word during
the test. Finally she sat up, and made her drawing, with the written
comment, and handed it to me. Every word of the comment, as well as the
drawing, was produced before I said a word, and the drawing and writing
as here reproduced have not been touched or altered in any way (Fig.
3a):

[Illustration: Fig. 3a]

The text of my wife’s written comment is as follows:

“First see round glass. Guess nose glasses? No. Then comes V shape again
with a ‘button’ in top. Button stands out from object. This round top is
of different color from lower part. It is light color, the other part is
dark.”

To avoid any possible misunderstanding, perhaps I should state that the
question and answer in the above were my wife’s description of her own
mental process, and do not represent a question asked of me. She did not
“guess” aloud, nor did either of us speak a single word during this
test, except the single word, “Ready,” to call my wife downstairs.

The next drawings were produced in the following manner. The one at the
top (Fig. 4) was drawn by me alone in my study, and was one of nine, all
made at the same time, and with no restriction upon what I should
draw—anything that came into my head. Having made the nine drawings, I
wrapped each one in a separate sheet of green paper, to make it
absolutely invisible, and put each one in a plain envelope and sealed
it, and then took the nine sealed envelopes and laid them on the table
by my wife’s couch. My wife then took one of them and placed it over her
solar plexus, and lay in her state of concentration, while I sat
watching her, at her insistence, in order to make the evidence more
convincing. Having received what she considered a convincing telepathic
“message,” or image of the contents of the envelope, she sat up and made
her sketch (Fig. 4a) on a pad of paper.

[Illustration: Fig. 4]

[Illustration: Fig. 4a]

The essence of our procedure is this: that never did she see my drawing
until hers was completed and her descriptive words written; that I spoke
no word and made no comment until after this was done; and that the
drawings presented here are in every case exactly what I drew, and the
corresponding drawing is exactly what my wife drew, with no change or
addition whatsoever. In the case of this particular pair, my wife wrote,
“Inside of rock well with vines climbing on outside.” Such was her guess
as to the drawing, which I had meant for a bird’s nest surrounded by
leaves; but you see that the two drawings are for practical purposes
identical.

Many tests have been made, by each of the different methods above
outlined, and the results will be given and explained in these pages.
The method of attempting to reproduce little drawings was used more than
any other, simply because it proved the most convenient; it could be
done at a moment’s notice, and so fitted into our busy lives. The
procedure was varied in a few details to save time and trouble, as I
shall later explain, but the essential feature remains unchanged: I make
a set of drawings, and my wife takes them one by one and attempts to
reproduce them without having seen them. Here are a few samples, chosen
at random because of their picturesque character. If my wife wrote
anything on the drawing, I add it as “comment”; and you are to
understand here, and for the rest of this book, that “comment” means the
exact words which she wrote _before_ she saw my drawing. Often there
will be parts of this “comment” visible in the photograph. I give it all
in print. Note that drawings 1, 2, 3, etc. are mine, while 1a, 2a, 3a,
etc., are my wife’s.

In the case of my drawing numbered five, my wife’s comment was:
“Knight’s helmet.”

[Illustration: Fig. 5]

[Illustration: Fig. 5a]

On figure 6, the comment was: “Desert scene, camel, ostrich, then
below”—and the drawing in figure 6a. On the reverse side of the page is
further comment: “This came in fragments, as if I saw it being drawn by
invisible pencil.”

[Illustration: Fig. 6]

[Illustration: Fig. 6a]

And here is a pair with no comment, and none needed (Figs. 7, 7a):

[Illustration: Fig. 7]

[Illustration: Fig. 7a]

On the following, also, no comment was written (Figs. 8, 8a):

[Illustration: Fig. 8]

[Illustration: Fig. 8a]

[Illustration: Fig. 9]

[Illustration: Fig. 9a]

I drew Figure 9, and my wife drew 9a, a striking success, and wrote the
comment: “May be elephant’s snout—but anyway it is some kind of a
running animal. Long thing like rope flung out in front of him.”

Next, a series of three pairs, which, as it happened, were done one
after the other, numbers three, four and five in the twenty-third series
of my drawings. They are selected in part because they are amusing.
First, I tried to draw a bat, from vague memories of boyhood days when
they used to fly into the ball-rooms at Virginia springs hotels, and
have to be massacred with brooms, because it was believed that they
sought to tangle themselves in the hair of the ladies (Figs. 10, 10a):

[Illustration: Fig. 10]

[Illustration: Fig. 10a]

My wife’s comment on the above reads: “Big insect. I know this is right
because it moves his legs as if flying. Beetle working its legs. Legs in
motion!”

And next, my effort at a Chinese mandarin (Figs. 11, 11a):

[Illustration: Fig. 11]

[Illustration: Fig. 11a]

The comment reads: “More beetles, or legged bugs”—and she draws the
mustaches of the mandarin and his hair. “Head of dragon with big mouth.
See also a part of his body—in front, or shoulders” The association of
mandarins with dragons is obvious.

And finally, my effort at a boy’s foot and roller-skate, which undergoes
a strange telepathic transformation. I have put it upside down for
easier comparison (Figs. 12, 12a):

[Illustration: Fig. 12]

[Illustration: Fig. 12a]

The comment, complete, reads: “Profile of head and neck of animal—lion
or dog—a muzzle. Maybe pig snout.”

The above are samples of our successes. Altogether, of such drawings, 38
were prepared by my secretary, while I made 252, a total of 290. I have
classified the drawings to the best of my ability into three groups:
successes, partial successes, and failures. The partial successes are
those drawings which contain some easily recognized element of the
original drawing: such as, for example, the last one above. The profile
of a pig’s head is not a roller skate, but when you compare the
drawings, you see that in my wife’s first sketch the eyes resemble the
wheels of the roller-skates, and in her second sketch the snout
resembles my shoe-tip; also there is a general similarity of outline,
which is what she most commonly gets.

In the 290 drawings, the total of successes is 65, which is roughly 23
per cent. The total of partial successes is 155, which is 53 per cent.
The total of failures is 70, which is 24 per cent. I asked some
mathematician friends to work out the probabilities on the above
results, but I found that the problem was too complicated. Who could
estimate how many possible objects there were, which might come into my
head to be drawn? Any time the supply ran short, I would pick up a
magazine, and in the advertising pages find a score of new drawings to
imitate. Again, very few of the drawings were simple. We began with such
things as a circle, a square, a cross, a number or a letter; but soon we
were doing Chinese mandarins with long mustaches, and puppies chasing a
string. Each of these drawings has many different features; and what
mathematician could count the number of these features, and the chances
of reproducing them?

It is a matter to be judged by common sense. It seems to me any one must
agree that the chances of the twelve drawings so far shown having been
reproduced by accident is too great to be worth considering. A million
years would not be enough for such a set of coincidences.




                                  _3_


Much of the evidence which I am using rests upon the good faith of Mary
Craig Sinclair; so, before we go further, I ask your permission to
introduce her. She is a daughter of the far South; her father a retired
planter, bank president and judge, of Mississippi. The fates endowed his
oldest child with the blessings of beauty, health, wealth and wisdom—and
then spoiled it, by adding a curse in the shape of a too tender heart.
The griefs of other people overwhelm Craig like a suffocation. Strangers
take one glance at her, and instantly decide that here is one who will
“understand.” I have seen her go into a store to buy a piece of ribbon,
and come out with tears in her eyes, because of a tragic story which
some clerk was moved to pour out to her, all in a moment, without
provocation. She has always said that she “gets” the feelings of people,
not by their words, but by intuition. But she never paid any attention
to this gift; never associated it with “psychic” matters. She was always
too busy, first with eight younger brothers and sisters, and then with
the practical affairs of an unpractical author-husband.

Early in childhood, things like this would happen: her mother would say
to a little negro servant, “Go and find Miss Mary Craig”; but before the
boy could start, Craig would know that her mother wanted her, and would
be on the way. This might, of course, have been coincidence; if it stood
alone, it would have no value. But the same thing happened with dreams.
Craig dreamed there was a needle in her bed, and woke up and looked for
it in vain; in the morning she told her mother, who slept in another
room. The mother said: “How strange! I dreamed the same thing, and I
woke up and really found one!”

Of her young ladyhood, Craig told this story, one of many: Driving with
a girl friend, miles from home, she suddenly remarked: “Let’s go home;
Mr. B is there.” Now this was a place to which Mr. B had never come; it
was three hundred miles from his town. But Craig said: “I have just had
an impression of him, sitting on our front porch.” Going home, they
found him there.

Another instance, of more recent date. Shortly after our coming to
California, my wife all at once became greatly worried about Jack
London; she insisted that he was in terrible mental distress. As it
happened, George Sterling had told us much about Jack’s troubles, but
these were of old standing, and there was nothing to account for the
sudden notion which my wife took up on a certain day. We had a lot of
conversation about it; I offered to take her to the London ranch, but
she said she would not attempt to meddle in the affairs of a married
man, unless at his wife’s request. I made the laughing suggestion that
she go alone, in the guise of a gypsy fortune-teller—a rôle which in her
young ladyhood she had played with social éclat. Two days later we read
that Jack London was dead, and very soon came letters from George
Sterling, telling us that he had taken his own life. This, again, might
be coincidence; if it stood alone I would attach no importance to it.
But taken with this mass of evidence, it has a share of weight.

When we were married, seventeen years ago, we spent some time in
England, and there we met a woman physician, interested in “mental
healing,” and full of ideas about “psychic” things. Both Craig and I
were in need of healing, having been through a siege of trouble. Craig
was suffering with intense headaches, something hitherto unknown in her
life; while I had an ancient problem of indigestion, caused by excess of
brain work and lack of body work. We began to experiment with healing by
the “laying on of hands”—without knowing anything about it, just groping
in the dark. I found that I could cure Craig’s headaches—and get them
myself; while she found that she could take my indigestion, a trouble
she had never known hitherto. Each of us was willing to take the other’s
pains, but neither was willing to give them, so our experiments came to
a halt.

We forgot the whole subject for more than ten years. I was busy trying
to reform America; while Craig was of the most intensely materialistic
convictions. Her early experiences of evangelical religion had repelled
her so violently that everything suggestive of “spirituality” was
repugnant to her. Never was a woman more “practical,” more centered upon
the here and now, the things which can be seen and touched. I do not go
into details about this, but I want to make it as emphatic as possible,
for the light it throws upon her attitude and disposition.

But shortly after the age of forty, her custom of carrying the troubles
of all who were near her resulted in a breakdown of health. A story of
suffering needless to go into: suffice it that she had many ills to
experiment upon, and mental control became suddenly a matter of life and
death. In the course of the last five or six years Craig has acquired a
fair-sized library of books on the mind, both orthodox scientific, and
“crank.” She has sat up half the night studying, marking passages and
making notes, seeking to reconcile various doctrines, to know what the
mind really is, and how it works, and what can be done with it. Always
it was a practical problem: things had to _work_. If now she believes
anything, rest assured that it is because she has tried it out in the
crucibles of pain, and proved it in her daily regimen.

She was not content to see psychic phenomena produced by other persons.
Even though authorities warned her that trances might be dangerous, and
that _rapport_ with others might lead to dissociations of
personality—even so, she had to find out for herself. A hundred times in
the course of experiments of which I am going to tell, she has turned to
me, saying: “Can you think of any way this can be chance? What can I do
to make it more sure?” When I said, the other night: “This settles it
for me. I am going to write the story,” her reply was, “Wait a while!”
She wants to do more experimenting; but I think that enough is enough.




                                  _4_


Two years ago Craig and I heard of a “psychic,” a young foreigner who
was astounding physicians of Southern California, performing feats so
completely beyond their understanding that they were content to watch
without trying to understand. We went to see this young man, and
befriended him; he came to our home every day, and his strange
demonstrations became familiar to us. He had the ability to produce
anaesthesia in many parts of his body, and stick hatpins through his
tongue and cheeks without pain; he could go into a deep trance in which
his body became rigid and cold; and I put his head on one chair and his
heels on another, and stood in the middle, as if he were a two-inch
plank. We have a motion picture film, showing a 150-pound rock being
broken with a sledge-hammer on his abdomen while he lay in this trance.
The vital faculties were so far suspended in this trance that he could
be shut up in an airtight coffin and buried underground for several
hours; nor was there any hocus-pocus about this—I know physicians who
got the coffins and arranged for the tests and watched every detail; in
Ventura, California, it was done in a ball park, and a game was played
over the grave.

In our home he gave what appeared to be a demonstration of levitation
without contact. I do not say that it really was levitation; I merely
say that our friends who witnessed it—physicians, scientists, writers
and their wives, fourteen persons in all—were unable even to suggest a
normal method by which the event could have happened. There was no one
present who could have been a confederate, and the psychic had been
searched for apparatus; it was in our home, where he had no opportunity
whatever for preparation. His wrists and ankles were firmly held by
persons whom I know well; and there was sufficient light in the room so
that I could see the outline of his figure, slumped in a chair. Under
these circumstances a 34-pound table rose four feet into the air and
moved slowly a distance of eight feet over my head.

We saw this; our friends saw it; yet, in my mind, and likewise in
theirs, the worm of doubt would always creep in. There are so many ways
to fool people; so many conjuring tricks—think of Houdini, for example!
I was unwilling to publish what I had seen; yet, also, I was unwilling
not to publish it—for think of the possible importance of faculties such
as this, locked up in our minds! Here was my wife, ill, suffering pain;
and these facilities might perhaps be used in healing. If by
concentration and auto-suggestion it was possible for the mind to
control the body, and put a veto upon even a few of its disorders,
certainly it was worth while for us to prove the fact. I could not
escape the moral obligation to probe these matters.

This “psychic” claimed also to possess and demonstrate the power of
telepathy, or mind-reading. He would go out of the room while one of us
selected mentally some object in the room, not revealing the choice to
any one else. The “psychic” would then come back, and tell us to stand
behind him and concentrate our thoughts upon that object, and follow
close behind him, thinking of it. He would wander about the room for a
while, and in the end pick up the object, and do with it whatever we
mentally “willed” him to do.

We saw him make this test not less than a hundred times, in California,
New York, and Boston; he succeeded with it more than half the time.
There was no contact, no word spoken, nothing that we could imagine as
giving him a clue. Did we unconsciously make in our throats some faint
pronunciation of words, and did the young man have a super-acuity of
hearing? Again, you see, the worm of doubt, and we never could quite
decide what we really believed about this performance. After puzzling
over it for a year or more, my wife said: “There is only one way to be
certain. I am going to learn to do these things _myself_!”

This young man, whom I will call Jan, was a peculiar person. Sometimes
he would be open and frank, and again he would be mysterious and
secretive. At one time he would agree to teach us all he knew, and again
he would hold on to his arts, which he had had to go all the way to
India to get. Was it that he considered these forces too dangerous for
amateurs to play with? Or was it merely that he was considering his
means of livelihood?

Jan was a hypnotist; and my wife had come to realize that all illness is
more or less amenable to suggestion. She had had the idea of being
hypnotized and given curative suggestions; but she did not know enough
about this stranger, and was unwilling to trust him. After she got to
know him better, her purposes changed. Here was a fund of knowledge
which she craved, and she put her woman’s wits to work to get it. She
told him to go ahead and hypnotize her—and explained to me her purpose
of trying to turn the tables on him. Jan fixed his eyes upon hers in the
hypnotic stare, and made his magnetic passes; at the same time his
patient stared back, and I sat and watched the strange duel of
personalities.

An essential part of Jan’s technique, as he had explained it, was in
outstaring the patient and never blinking his eyes. Now suddenly he
blinked; then he closed his eyes and kept them closed. “Do your eyes
hurt?” asked his patient, in pretended innocence. “No,” he replied. “Are
you tired?” she asked. “No, thank you,” said he. “What was I thinking?”
she asked. “To hypnotize me,” he replied, sleepily. But Craig wanted
further proof, so she closed her eyes and willed that Jan should get up
and go to the telephone. “Shall I go on treating you?” he asked. “Yes,”
said she. He hesitated a moment, then said, “Excuse me, I have to
telephone to a friend!”

I am telling about these matters in the order of time, as they came to
us. I am sorry that these stories of Jan come first, because they are
the strangest, and the least capable of proof. In the hope of taking
part of the onus from our shoulders, let me quote from a book by Charles
Richet, a member of the Institute of Medicine in France, and a leading
scientist; he is citing Pierre Janet, whose name is known wherever in
the world the human mind is studied. The statement reads:

“P. Janet, a most eminent French psychiatrist, and one of the founders
of the famous Salpetriere school of psychology in Paris, and a careful
and sceptical observer, has verified that a patient of his, Leonie B.,
being put into hypnotic sleep by himself, or his brother (from whom
Leonie in her hypnotic sleep was unable to distinguish him), could
recognize _exactly_ the substance that he placed in his mouth—sugar,
salt, pepper. One day his brother, J. Janet, in an adjoining room,
scorched his right arm above the wrist. Leonie, who could have known
nothing about it normally, gave signs of real pain, and showed to P.
Janet (who knew nothing of the occurrence), the exact place of the
burn.”

Or let me cite the late Professor Quackenbos, of Columbia University,
who wrote many books on hypnotism as a therapeutic agency, and tells of
numerous cases of the same kind. He himself would sometimes go
involuntarily into hypnotic sleep with his patient, and so, sometimes,
would the nurse. Frequently between the hypnotist and the subject comes
what is called _rapport_, whereby each knows what is in the other’s
mind, and suggestions are taken without their being spoken. You may
believe this, or refuse to believe it—that is your privilege. All I want
to do is to make clear that my wife is claiming no special achievement,
but merely repeating the standard experiences of the textbooks on this
subject.

This _rapport_ between Craig and her protégé was developed to such an
extent that she could tell him what was in his mind, and what he had
been doing; she told him many stories about himself, where he had been
and what he had done at a certain hour. This was embarrassing to a young
man who perhaps did not care to have his life so closely overseen; also,
possibly, he was wounded in his _amour propre_, that a mere amateur—and
a woman at that—should be coming into possession of his secret arts.

The trick depends upon a process of intense concentration, which will
later be described in detail. After this concentration, Craig would give
to her subconscious mind the suggestion, or command, that it should
bring to her consciousness a vision of what Jan was doing. This giving
an order to the subconscious mind is much the same sort of thing that
you do when you seek to remember a name; whether you realize it or not,
you order your subconscious mind to get that bit of information and
bring it to you. Whatever came to Craig, she would write it out, and
when next she met Jan, she would use her woman’s wits to verify it
without Jan’s knowing what was happening. At times it would be very
amusing—when he would find himself accused of some youthful misdemeanor
which his preceptress was not supposed to know about. In his efforts to
defend himself, he would fail entirely to realize the telepathic aspects
of the matter.




                                  _5_


Please let me repeat, I am not telling here a set of fairy tales and
fantasies; I am presenting a record of experiments, conducted in strict
scientific fashion. All the results were set down day by day in writing.
For an hour or two every day for the past three years my wife has been
scribbling notes of her experiments, and there are eight boxes full in
her study, enough to fill a big trunk. No statement in all the following
rests upon our memories; everything is taken from memoranda now in my
hands. Admitting that new facts can be learned about the mind, I do not
see how any one can use more careful methods than we have done.

My wife “saw” Jan carrying a bouquet of flowers, wrapped in white paper,
on the street, and she wrote this down. She later ascertained that at
this hour Jan had carried flowers to a friend in a hospital in Los
Angeles, and she telephoned this friend and verified the facts. On
another occasion when Jan was in Santa Barbara, a hundred miles from our
home, she “saw” him escorting a blonde girl in a blue dress from an auto
to a hotel over a rainy pavement; she wrote this down, and later
ascertained that it had actually been happening. The details were
verified, not merely by Jan, but by another member of the party. I ought
to add that in no case did my wife tell the other persons what she had
“seen” until after these persons had told her what had happened. No
chance was taken of their making up events to conform to her records.
Always Craig kept her cold-blooded determination to know what was _real_
in this field where so much is invented and imagined.

Again, she “saw” Jan preparing to commit suicide, dressed in a pair of
yellow silk pajamas; then she “saw” him lying dead on the floor. She was
much disturbed—until Jan reminded her that he had been seven times
publicly “buried” in Southern California before she met him. Several
weeks later she learned that in one of these “burials” he had worn
yellow silk pajamas. Jan had forgotten this, but Dr. Frank Sweet, of
Long Beach, who had overseen the procedure, remembered the pajamas, and
how they had been ruined by mud.

Craig saw a vision of a bride, at a time when Jan, in his room in a far
part of the city, was awakening from sleep with a dream about a friend’s
wedding. On two occasions, while “concentrating,” she got the impression
that Jan and a friend of his had returned unexpectedly from Santa
Barbara to Hollywood. In both cases she made careful record, and it
turned out to be correct; I have a written statement of the two young
men, confirming the second instance, and saying that it could not have
been normally known to my wife.

I have also a detailed record—some twenty pages long—of a “clairvoyant”
vision of Jan’s movements about the city of Long Beach, including his
parking of a car, carrying something over his arm, visiting a
barber-shop and a flower-shop, and stopping and hesitating and then
going on. The record includes a detailed description of the streets and
their lay-out, a one-story white building, etc. Jan had been doing all
this at approximately the time specified. He had carried his trousers to
a tailor-shop, with a barber-shop directly opposite; he had stopped in
front of a flower-shop and debated whether to buy some flowers; he had
taken a letter to be copied by a typist, and had stopped on the street,
hesitating as to whether to wait for this copying to be done. All these
details he narrated to my wife _before_ he knew what was in her written
record.

Another curious experience: I took Jan to the home of Dr. John R. Haynes
of Los Angeles, to give a demonstration of his mind-reading. Jan said he
felt ill, and would not be successful. Only one or two of the tests
succeeded. But meanwhile my wife was at home, concentrating, and
ordering her subconscious mind to show her what Jan and I were doing.
When I returned I found that she had written a detailed description of
Dr. Haynes’ home, including a correct ground plan of the entrance hall,
stairs and drawing-room, and a description of the color and style of
decorations, furniture, lamps, vases, etc., in good part correct. Craig
has never been in this house.

Jan goes into one of his deep states—a cataleptic trance, he calls it—in
which his body is rigid and cold. He has the power to fix in advance the
time when he will come out of the trance, and his subconscious mind
apparently possesses the power to keep track of time—days, hours,
minutes, even seconds. I have seen him amaze a group of scientists by
coming out on the second, while they held stop-watches on him.

But now my wife thinks she will vary this procedure. Jan goes into the
trance in our home and Craig sits and silently wills, “Your right leg
will come out; you will lift it; you will put it down again. You will
sit erect”—and so on. Without speaking a word, she can make him do
whatever she pleases.

Another incident, quite a long one. I ask you to have patience with the
details, promising that in the end you will see what it is all about. I
am in the next room, and I hear Jan and my wife having one of their
regular evening arguments, because he will not tell her how he does this
or that; at one moment he insists that he has told her—and the next
moment he insists that he does not know. My wife finally asks him to
concentrate upon an object in the room, and she will see if she can
“get” it. He selects the gas stove, in which a fire is burning; and
Craig says, “I see a lot of little flames.” Jan insists that is “no
good,” she didn’t get the stove; which annoys her very much—she thinks
he does not want to allow any success to a woman. He is a “continental
male,” something she makes fierce feminist war upon.

Craig is suffering from neuralgia in neck and shoulder, and Jan offers
to treat her. He will use what he calls “magnetism”; he believes there
is an emanation from his finger-tips, and so, with his two forefingers
he lightly traces the course of the nerves of her neck and shoulder and
arm. For ten or fifteen minutes his two fingers are tracing patterns in
front of her.

Then it is time for him to go home, and he is unhappy, and she succeeds
in drawing the explanation from him—he has to walk, and his shoes are
tight and hurt him. He has to have them stretched, he tells her. She
offers him a pair of my big tennis shoes to wear home, and then she
scolds him because he has the fashionable notion that white canvas
tennis shoes are not proper footwear for eleven o’clock in the evening.
Finally he puts them on and departs; and my wife lies down and makes her
mind a blank, and orders it to tell her what Jan is doing.

She has a pencil and paper, and presently she is writing words. They are
foreign words, and she thinks they must be in Jan’s native language;
they come drifting through her mind for several minutes. Next day comes
Jan for the daily lesson, and she shows him this record. He tells her
that the words are not in his language, but German—which he knows, but
never uses. My wife knows no German; except possibly sauerkraut and
kindergarten. But here she has written a string of German and
near-German words. I have the original sheet before me, and I give it as
well as I can make out the scrawl: “ei einfinen ein-fe-en swenfenz
fingen sweizzen czie ofen weizen ofen fingen swienfen swei fingern efein
boden fienzen meifen bogen feingen Bladen Meichen frefen eifein.”

Some of this is nonsense; but there are a few German words in it, and
others which are guesses at German words, such as might be made by a
person hearing a strange language, and trying to set down what he hears.
Part of the effort seems to be concentrated on getting one expression,
“zwe Fingern”—two fingers! You remember the two fingers moving up and
down over Craig’s neck and shoulder! And “Ofen”—the argument about the
stove! And “bladen”—to stretch shoes over a block of wood. Where these
ideas came from seems plain enough. But where did the German come
from—unless from the subconscious mind of Jan?

A further detail, especially curious. Jan gave my wife the meaning for
the word “bladen”: “to stretch shoes over a block of wood”; I have the
memo which he wrote at the time. But looking up the word in the
dictionaries, I do not find it, nor can I find any German who knows it.
Apparently there is no such word; and this would clearly seem to
indicate that my wife got her German from Jan. If so, it was by
telepathy, for he spoke no word of it that evening.

It is the fashion among young ladies of the South to tease the men; and
Craig found in this episode a basis for tormenting her psychic
instructor. He had assured his patient that during the treatment he was
sending her “curative thoughts.” But what kind of telepathic healer was
it who sent gas-stoves and shoe-blocks into a neuralgic shoulder? Jan,
missing the humor, and trying to save his reputation, declared that he
hated the German language so greatly, he did not even allow himself to
think in it! Germany was associated in his mind with the most painful
memories, and all that previous day he had been fighting depression
caused by these memories. You see, in this blundering defense, a
significant bit of evidence. Jan had really had the German language in
his thoughts at the time Craig got them!

I have before me a letter from Jan to my wife, postmarked Santa Barbara,
October 19, 1927. He says: “May these lovely Cosmos bring you such peace
and contentment as they have brought me.” He has cut a double slit in
the paper, and inserted cosmos blossoms and violets. Prior to the
receipt of this letter, my wife was making the record of a dream, and
here is what she wrote down: “I dreamed Jan had a little basket of
flowers, pink roses and violets, shaped like this.” (A drawing.) “He
lifted them up and said they were for me, but a girl near him took them
and said, ‘But I want them.’” When Jan came to see us again, my wife
asked about the circumstance, and learned the following: a woman friend,
who had given Jan the flowers, had accused him of meaning to send them
to a girl; but he had answered that they were for “a middle-aged and
distinguished lady.”

[Illustration: Fig. 13]

[Illustration: Fig. 13a]

I present here the basket of “pink roses and violets” which my wife
drew, and then the spray of pink double cosmos and violets which met her
eyes when she opened the young “psychic’s” letter a day or two later. I
explain that my wife’s drawing (Fig. 13) is partly written over by the
words of her notes; while in Jan’s letter the violets had to be at once
traced in pencil, as they would not last. My wife drew pencil marks
around them and wrote the word “violet” in three places, to indicate
what the marks meant. The cosmos flowers, pressed and dried, are still
exactly as Jan stuck them into position and as they remained until I
took them to be photographed (Fig. 13a).




                                  _6_


As I have said, I hesitate to tell about incidents such as these. They
are hard to believe, and the skeptic may say that my wife was hypnotized
by Jan, and made to believe them. But it happens that Craig has been
able to establish exactly the same _rapport_ with her husband, who has
never had anything to do with hypnosis, except to watch it a few times.
A Socialist “muck-raker,” much wrapped up in his job, the husband sits
and reads, or revises manuscript, while the wife works her white magic
upon his mind. Suddenly his train of thought is broken by an
exclamation; the wife has “willed” him to do such and so—and he has done
it! Or maybe she has been asleep, and come out with the tail end of a
dream, and has written down what appears to be a lot of rubbish—but
turns out to be a reproduction of something the husband has been reading
or writing at that very moment! Hear one or two instances of such
events, all written down at the time.

Colonel Lindbergh has flown to France, but Craig does not know much
about it, because she is not reading the papers, she is asking, “What is
life?” A year passes, and in the mail I receive a monthly magazine, the
_Lantern_, published by Sacco-Vanzetti sympathizers in Boston. I open
it, and find an article by a young radical, assailing Lindbergh because
he does not follow in his father’s footsteps; his father was a radical
congressman, but now the son allows himself to be used by the army and
navy people, and by the capitalist press, to distract the minds of the
masses from social justice. So runs the charge; and before I am through
reading it, my wife comes downstairs from a nap. “What are you reading?”
she asks, and I answer: “Something about Lindbergh.” Says my wife: “Here
are my notes about a dream I just had.” She hands me a sheet of paper, I
have it before me now as I write, and I give it with misspelling and
abbreviations exactly as she wrote it in a hurry, not anticipating that
it would ever become public:

“‘I do not believe that Lindberg flew across the ocean in order to take
a ransome from a foreign gov as well as from his own. Nor in order to
induce the nations of the earth to a war in the air.’ Words which were
in my mind as I awoke from nap on aft May 25.”

I should add that my wife had had no opportunity to look at the Boston
magazine, whether consciously or unconsciously. She tells me that
Lindbergh had not been in her conscious mind for a long time, and she
had no remotest idea that the radicals were attacking him.

Another instance: I am reading the latest “book of the month,” which has
just come in the mail, and to which my wife has paid no attention. She
interrupts me with a question: “Are there any flowers in what you are
reading?” I answer, “Yes,” and she says: “I have been trying to
concentrate, and I keep seeing flowers. I have drawn them.” She hands me
two drawings (Figs. 14a, 14b):

The book was Mumford’s _Herman Melville_, and I was at page 346, a
chapter entitled, “The Flowering Aloe.” On this page are six lines from
a poem called “The American Aloe on Exhibition.” On the preceding page
is a discussion of the habits of this plant. While my wife was making
the left-hand drawing (Fig. 14a), I had been reading page 344: “the red
clover had blushed through the fields about their house”; and “he would
return home with a handful of clover blossoms.”

[Illustration: Fig. 14a]

[Illustration: Fig. 14b]

Of experiences like this there have been many. Important as the subject
is, I find it a bother, because I am called upon to listen to long
narratives of dreams and telepathy, while my mind is on Sacco and
Vanzetti, or the Socialist presidential campaign, or whatever it is.
Sometimes the messages from the subconscious are complicated and take
patience to disentangle. Consider, for example, a little drawing (Fig.
15)—one of nearly three hundred which this long-suffering husband has
made for his witch-wife to reproduce by telepathy: a football, you see,
neatly laced up. In her drawing (Fig. 15a) Craig gets the general effect
perfectly, but she puts it on a calf. Her written comment was:
“Belly-band on calf.”

[Illustration: Fig. 15]

[Illustration: Fig. 15a]

While Craig was making this particular experiment, her husband was
reading a book; and now, wishing to solve the mystery, she asks, “What
are you reading?” The husband replies, wearily: “DeKruif’s _Hunger
Fighters_, page 283.” “What does it deal with?” “It is a treatise on the
feeding of cows.” “Really?” says Craig. “Will you please write that down
for me and sign it?”

But why did the cow become a calf? That, too, is something to be
explained. Says Craig: “Do you remember what I used to tell you about
old Mr. Bebb and his calves?” Yes, the husband knows the story of the
half-crazy old Welshman, who thirty or forty years ago was the caretaker
of the Kimbrough summer home on the Mississippi Sound. Old Mr. Bebb made
his hobby the raising of calves by hand, and turning them into parlor
pets. He would teach them to use his three fingers as a nursing bottle,
and would make fancy embroidered belly-bands for them, and tie them up
in these. So to the subconscious mind which was once little Mary Craig
Kimbrough of Mississippi, the idea of a calf sewed up like a football is
one of the most natural in the world.

Since my wife and I have no secrets from each other, it does not trouble
me that she is able to see what I am doing. While I am away from home,
she will “concentrate” upon me, and immediately afterwards write out
what she “sees.” On one occasion she described to me a little red book
which I had got in the mail at the office. By way of establishing just
what kind of book she had “seen,” she had gone to my bookcase and picked
out a French dictionary—and it happened that I had just received the
Italian dictionary of that same series, uniform in binding. On another
occasion, while making a study of dream-material, she wrote out a dream
about being lost in long and involved concrete corridors—while I was
trying to find my way through the locker-rooms of a Y. M. C. A.
basement, running into one blind passage after another, and being much
annoyed by doors that wouldn’t open.

Dreams, you understand, are products of subconscious activity, and to
watch them is one method of proving telepathy. By practice Craig has
learned to lie passive, immediately after awakening, and trace back a
long train of dreams. Here is one of the results, a story worth telling
in detail—save that I fear you will refuse to believe it after it is
told.

On the afternoon of January 30, 1928, I was playing tennis on the courts
of the Virginia Hotel, in Long Beach, California, and my wife was taking
a nap. She did not know that I was playing tennis, and has no knowledge
about the places where I play. She takes no interest in the game,
regarding it as a foolish business which will some day cause her husband
to drop dead of heart failure—and she declines to be present on the
occasion. When I entered the house, she said: “I woke up with a long
involved dream, and it seemed so absurd I didn’t want to write it out,
but I did so.” Here are the opening sentences verbatim:

“Dreamed I was on a pier, watching a new kind of small, one or two
seated sport-boat, a little water car into which a woman got and was
shot by machinery from the pier out to the water, where she skidded
around a minute or two and was drawn back to the pier. With us on the
pier were my sister and child, and two young men in white with white
caps. These appeared to be in charge of this new sport-boat. This boat
is not really a boat. It is a sort of miniature car. I’ve never seen
anything like it. Short, so that only one or two people could sit in it.
An amusement thing, belonging to the pier. The two young men were
intensely interested, and stood close together watching it out on the
water,” etc., etc.

Understand that this dream was not supposed to have anything to do with
me. It was before Craig had come to realize the state of _rapport_ with
me; she had not been thinking about me, and when she told me about this
dream, she had no thought that any part of it had come from my mind. But
here is what I told her about my afternoon:

The Virginia Hotel courts are close to what is called “The Pike,” and
there is an amusement pier just across the way, and on it a so-called
“Ferris wheel,” with little cars exactly like the description, which go
up into the air with people in them. That afternoon it happened that the
tennis courts were crowded, so my partner and I waited out a set or two.
We sat on a bench, in white tennis suits and hats, and watched this
wheel, and the cars which went up in the air, and at a certain point
took a slide on long rods, which made them “skid around,” and caused the
women in them to scream with excitement. Underneath the pier was the
ocean, plainly visible along with the little cars.

(Footnote, 1962: The hotel and the Pike no longer exist, so do not waste
your time trying to verify all this.)

I should also mention the case of our friend, Mrs. Kate Crane-Gartz,
with whom there is a _rapport_ which my wife does not tell her about. My
wife will say to me, “Mrs. Gartz is going to phone,” and in a minute or
two the phone will ring. She will say, “Mrs. Gartz is coming. She wants
me to go to Los Angeles with her.” Of course, a good deal of guessing
might be possible, in the case of two intimate friends. But consider
such guessing as this: My wife had a dream of an earthquake and wrote it
down. Soon thereafter occurred this conversation with Mrs. Gartz. I
heard it, and my wife recorded it immediately afterwards, and I quote
her written record:

“Mrs. Gartz dreamed of earthquake. ‘Wasn’t it queer that I dreamed of
swaying slowly from side to side.’”

“‘I dreamed the same,’ I said. ‘But I was in a high building.’”

“‘So was I,’ she replied.”

Craig calls attention to the word “slowly,” as both she and Mrs. Gartz
commented on this. They didn’t believe that an earthquake would behave
that way; but I pointed out that it would happen just so with a
steel-frame building.




                                  _7_


I come now to a less fantastic and more convincing series of
experiments; those made with the husband of my wife’s younger sister,
Robert L. Irwin. Eight years ago the doctors gave Bob only a few months
to live, on account of tuberculosis. Needless to say, he has much time
on his hands, waiting for the doctors’ clairvoyance to be verified. He
proved to be a good “subject”—the best of all in the tests with Jan. One
day in our home, a series of five tests were made, with Bob holding an
object in mind, while sitting several feet away from Jan. The latter
found the object, and made the correct disposition of it, as willed by
Bob, in four out of the five trials. This included such unlikely things
as picking up a striped blanket and wrapping it about my shoulders.

Bob and Craig made the arrangement that at a certain hour each day, Bob,
in his home in Pasadena, was to take pencil and paper and make a drawing
of an object, and sit and concentrate his mind upon that drawing. At the
same hour Craig, in our home in Long Beach, forty miles away, was to go
into her state of “concentration,” and give orders to her subconscious
mind to find out what was in Bob’s mind. The drawings were to be dated,
and filed, and when the two of them met, they would compare the results,
in the presence of myself and Bob’s wife. If there should turn out to be
a correspondence between the drawings, greater than could be attributed
to chance, it would be evidence of telepathy, as good as any that could
be imagined or desired.

The results were such as to make me glad that it was another person than
myself, so as to afford a disinterested witness to these matters, so
difficult of belief. I repeat that Bob is a young American business man,
priding himself on having no “crank” ideas; he has had a Socialist
brother-in-law for ten years or more without being in the slightest
degree affected in manners, morals, or convictions. Here is his first
drawing, done on a half sheet of green paper. The word “CHAIR”
underneath, and the date, were written by Bob, while the words “drawn by
Bob Irwin” were added for purposes of record by Craig (Fig. 16):

[Illustration: Fig. 16]

[Illustration: Fig. 16a]

And now for Craig’s results. I give her report verbatim, with the two
drawings which are part of her text:

“At 10 o’clock or a little before, while sewing (without effort) I saw
Bob take something from black sideboard—think it was the glass
candlestick. At 11:15 (I concentrate now) I saw Bob sitting at dining
room table—a dish or some small object in front of him (on N. E. corner
table). I try to see the object on table—see white something at last. I
can’t decide what it is so I concentrate on seeing his drawing on a
green paper as it is about 11:20 now and I think he has made his
drawing. I try hard to see what he has drawn—try to see a paper with a
drawing on it, and see a straight chair. Am not sure of second drawing.
It does not seem to be on his paper. It may be his bed-foot. I
distinctly see a chair like 1st on his paper.” (Fig. 16a.)

When Bob and my wife discussed the above test, she learned that he had
sat at the northeast corner of the table, trying to decide what to draw,
and facing the sideboard on which were silver candlesticks. Later he
went to his bedroom and lay down, gazing through the foot of his bed at
the chair which he had taken as his model for the drawing. The bed has
white bars running vertically, as in my wife’s second drawing. The
chair, like Bob’s drawing, has the strips of wood supporting the back
running crossways, and this feature is reproduced in Craig’s first
drawing. Her report goes on to add that she sees a star and some
straight lines, which she draws; they are horizontal parallel lines, as
in the back of the chair. The back of the chair Bob had looked at had a
carved star upon it.

The second attempt was the next day, and Bob drew his watch (Fig. 17).
Craig first drew a chair, and then wrote, “But do not feel it is
correct.” Then she drew the following (Fig. 17a):

[Illustration: Fig. 17]

[Illustration: Fig. 17a]

The comment was: “I see this picture. Later I think it is not flower but
wire (metal, shining). The ‘petals’ are not petals but wire, and should
be _uniform_. This is hasty drawing so not exact as seen. What I mean
is, I try to see Bob’s drawing and not what he drew from. So I see no
flower but shape of one on paper. Then decide it is of wire, but this
may be merely because I see drawing, which would have no flower color.
However, I see it shining as if it is metal. Later a glass circle.”
Drawings then show an ellipse, and then a drinking glass and a glass
pitcher. It is interesting to note that Bob had in front of him a glass
bowl with goldfish.

The next day Bob drew a pair of scissors (Fig. 18):

[Illustration: Fig. 18]

The drawings of Craig follow without comment (Figs. 18a, 18b):

[Illustration: Fig. 18a]

[Illustration: Fig. 18b]

Three days later Bob drew the table fork, which has already been
reproduced (Fig. 1), and Craig made the report which has been given in
facsimile (Fig. 1a): “See a table fork. Nothing else.”

One more test between Bob and Craig, the most sensational of all. It is
quite a story, and I have to ask your pardon for the medical details
involved. So much vital knowledge hangs upon these tests that I have
asked my brother-in-law to forget his personal feelings. The reader will
please consider himself a medical student or hospital nurse for the
moment.

The test occurred July 11, 1928. My wife made her drawing, and then told
me about the matter at once. Also she wrote out all the details and the
record is now before me. She saw a feather, then a flower spray, and
then she heard a scream. Her first thought in case of illness or danger
is her aged parents, and she took it for her mother’s voice, and this so
excited her that she lost interest in the experiment. But soon she
concentrated again, and drew a series of concentric circles, with a
heavy black spot in the center. Then she saw another and much larger
spot, and this began to spread and cover the sheet of paper. At the same
time came a feeling of intense depression, and Craig decided that the
black spot was blood, and that Bob had had a hemorrhage. Here is her
drawing (Fig. 19a):

[Illustration: Fig. 19a]

Two or three days later Bob’s wife drove him to our home, and in the
presence of all four of us he produced the drawing he had made. He had
taken a compass and drawn a large circle; making, of course, a hole in
the center of the paper. “Is that all you thought of during the time?”
asked my wife. “No,” said Bob, “but I’d hate to have you get the rest of
it.” “What was it?” “Well, I discovered that I had a hemorrhoid, and
couldn’t put my mind on anything else but the thought, ‘My God, my
lungs—my kidneys—and now this!’”

A hemorrhoid is, of course, apt to be accompanied by a hemorrhage; and
it seems clear that my wife got the mood of depression of her
brother-in-law, his thoughts of blood and bodily breakdown, as well as
the circle and the hole in the paper. There is another detail which does
not appear in the written record, but is fixed in my memory. My wife
said: “I wanted to draw a little hill.” Upon hearing that, I called up a
physician friend who is interested in these tests, and asked him what a
drawing of a hemorrhoid would look like, and he agreed that “a little
hill” was about as near as one could come. I hope you will note that
this particular drawing test is supported by the testimony of four
different persons, my wife, her sister, the sister’s husband, and
myself. I do not see how there could possibly be more conclusive
evidence of telepathic influence—unless you suspect all four of us of a
series of stupid and senseless falsehoods. Let me repeat that Bob and
his wife have read this manuscript and certified to its correctness so
far as concerns them. The comment written by my wife reads: “All this
dark like a stain—feel it is blood; that Bob is ill—more than usual.”

(Note: Bob Irwin died not long afterwards.)




                                  _8_


The experiments just described were all that were done with Bob, because
he found them a strain. Craig asked me to make some drawings for her,
and I did so, sitting in the next room, some thirty feet away, but
always behind a closed door. Thus you may verify my assertion that the
telepathic energy, whatever it may be, knows no difference between
thirty feet and forty miles. The results with Bob and with myself were
about the same.

The first drawings made with me are those which have already been given
(Figs. 2, 2a), but I give them again for the sake of convenience. I
explain that in these particular drawings the lines have been traced
over in heavier pencil; the reason being that Craig wanted a carbon
copy, and went over the lines in order to make it. This had the effect
of making them heavier than they originally were, and it made the whirly
lines in Craig’s first drawing more numerous than they should be. She
did this in the case of two or three of the early drawings, wishing to
send a report to a friend. I pointed out to her how this would weaken
their value as evidence, so she never did it again.

After my wife and I had compared the above drawings, she wrote a note to
the effect that just before starting to concentrate, she had been
looking at her drawing of many concentric circles, which she had made in
a test with Bob the previous day (Fig. 19a). So her first vision was of
a whirl of circles. This turned sideways, and then took the shape of an
arrowhead, and then of a letter A, and finally evolved into a complete
star. As the agent in this test, I wish to repeat that I made my drawing
in my study with the door closed, that I kept the drawing before my eyes
the entire time, and that the door stayed closed until Craig called that
she was through.

I do not find it easy to concentrate on a drawing, because my active
mind wanders off to side issues. If I draw a lighted cigarette, I
immediately think of the odious advertising now appearing in the papers;
or I think: “Will Craig get this right, and what does it mean, and will
the world accept evidence on this subject from me?”—and so on. Several
times my wife has “got” such thoughts, and so we took to noting them on
the record. On July 29, I drew a cigarette, with two little curls for
smoke, each running off like a string of the letter “eeeee,” written by
hand. Underneath I wrote as follows: “My thought: ‘cigarette with curls
of smoke.’ I said to myself these words: ‘she got the curls but not the
cigarette.’” This would appear to be telepathy coming from Craig to me,
for her drawing was found to contain a lot of different curves—a curly
capital S, several other half circles twisted together, and three ???
one inside the other. She added the following words: “I can’t draw it,
but curls of some sort.”

[Illustration]

Again, here is a work of art from my facile pen, dated July 21, and
having underneath my notation: “Concentrated on bald head” (Fig. 20).

[Illustration: Fig. 20]

My wife’s note was: “Saw Upton’s face.” Then she drew a line through the
words, and wrote the following explanation: “Saw two half circles. Then
they came together making full circle. But I felt uncertain as to
whether they belonged together or not. Then suddenly saw Upton’s profile
float across vision.”

July 20 I drew a three-pronged fork, and made the note that I was not
sure if it was a hay-fork or an oyster-fork, and decided it was the
latter, whereupon my mind went off to “society” people and their many
kinds of forks. Craig wrote: “I thought it was an animal’s head with
horns and the head was on a long stick—a trophy mounted like this”—and
she drew a two-pronged fork.

July 17 I drew a large round stone with a smaller stone on top: at least
so I thought, and then decided they were two eggs. Craig drew two almost
tangent circles, and wrote: “I see two round things, not one inside the
other, as in Bob’s drawing of circles. Then the above vanished and I saw
as below”—and she drew four little oblongs, tangent, which might be a
cluster of fish-eggs or fly-eggs.

July 20 I drew two heavy straight lines making a capital letter T, and
Craig drew a complete cross or square X, which is, of course, the T with
vertical arm prolonged. July 14 I drew a sort of jack-lantern. It is on
next page (Fig. 21). I looked at this drawing and thought of the eyes of
M.C.S., and said mentally, “I should have drawn the curves over eyes.”
Afterwards I told Craig about this, and she noted it down on the
drawing. On the reverse side of the sheet she added the following: “I
told U. it was shaped like a half moon with something in center—I
supposed it must be a star, though I did not see it as star but as
indistinct marks.” Her drawing follows, turned upside down for greater
convenience (Fig. 21a):

[Illustration: Fig. 21]

[Illustration: Fig. 21a]




                                  _9_


A new method of experiment invented itself by accident; and makes
perhaps the strangest story yet. There came a letter from a clergyman in
South Africa, saying that he was sending me a copy of his wife’s novel
dealing with South African life. I get many letters from strangers, and
answer politely, and as a rule forget them quickly. Some time afterwards
came two volumes, entitled, “Patricia, by Marcus Romondt,” and I did not
associate them with the clergyman’s letter. I glanced at the preface,
and saw that the work had something to do with the religious cults of
the South African natives. I didn’t read more than twenty lines—just
enough to classify the book as belonging in Craig’s department.
Everything having to do with philosophy, psychology, religion and
medicine is first read by her, and then fed back to me in her eager
discourses. I took the volumes home and laid them on her table, saying,
“This may interest you.” The remark attracted no special attention, for
the reason that I bring her a book, or a magazine, or some clippings at
least once a day. She did not touch these volumes, nor even glance at
the title while I was in the room.

I went into the kitchen to get some lunch, and when it was ready I
called, “Are you going to eat?” “Let me alone,” she said, “I am writing
a story.” That also is a common experience. I ate my lunch in silence,
and then came into the living room again, and there was Craig, absorbed
in writing. Some time later she came to me, exclaiming, “Oh, I have had
the most marvelous idea for a story! Something just flashed over me,
something absolutely novel—I never heard anything like it. I have a
whole synopsis. Do you want to hear it?” “No,” I said, “you had better
go and eat”—for it was my job to try to keep her body on earth. “I can’t
eat now,” she said, “I am too excited. I’ll read a while and get quiet.”
So she went to her couch, and there was a minute or two of silence, and
then an exclamation: “Come here!”

Craig had picked up one of the two volumes from South Africa, and was
staring at it. “Look at this!” she said. “Look what I opened to!” I
looked at a page in the middle of the book—she has the devilish habit of
reading a book that way—and in the center of the page, in capital
letters, I read the words: “THE BLACK MAGICIAN.” “What about it?” I
said. “Did you ever hear of that idea?” asked Craig. I answered that I
had, and she said, “Well, I never did. I thought it was my own. It is
the theme of the ‘story’ I have just been writing. I have made a
synopsis of a whole chapter in this book, and without ever having
touched it!”

So Craig had a new set of experiments to try all by herself, without
bothering her busy husband. She would go to one of my bookcases, with
which she had hitherto had nothing to do, since her own books are kept
in her own place. With her back to the bookcase, she would draw a book,
and take it to her couch and lie down, placing the book upon her solar
plexus, and taking every precaution to make sure that it never came into
her line of vision. Most of the books, being new, were in their paper
jackets, so there was no lettering that could be felt with her fingers.
This, you note, is not a test of telepathy, for no human mind knew what
particular book Craig’s hand had fallen upon. If she could tell anything
about the contents of that book, it would appear to be clairvoyance, or
what is known as “psychometry.”

My books are oddly varied in character. There are new novels, and works
of history, biography, travel and economics. In addition, there are what
I call “crank books”; the queerly assorted volumes which are destined by
donors all over the world to convert me to vegetarianism,
antivivisection, anarchism, Mormonism, Mohammedanism, infanticide, the
abolition of money, or the doctrine that alopecia is caused by onanism.
Believe me, the person who sets out to guess the contents of the books
that come to me in the course of a month has his or her hands full!

But Craig was able to do it. She did it on so many occasions that she
would sit and stare at me and exclaim, “Now what do you make of _that_?”
She would insist that I sit and watch the process, so as to be able to
state that she never had the book in her line of vision. In my presence
she picked out a volume, and, keeping it hidden from both of us, she
said, “I see a blue cover, with a rising sun and a bare landscape.” It
happened to be a volume circulated by the followers of “Pastor Russell,”
and as the preface tells me that 1,405,000 have been sold, it may be
that you too have it in your library. The title is _Deliverence_, by J.
F. Rutherford, and it has a blue cloth cover, with a gold design of a
sun rising behind a mass of clouds and a globe.

On another occasion Craig wrote: “One big eye, with nothing else
distinct—then lines or spikes came around it, or maybe these project
from the head like stiff long hairs, or eye-lashes. Can’t tell what kind
of head—but feel it must be a tropical something, tho the eye looks
human,” etc. The book was _Mr. Blettsworthy on Rampole Island_, by H. G.
Wells, and in this book is a chapter headed, “The Friendly Eye,” with
the following sentences: “I became aware that an Eye observed me
continually.... It was a reddish brown eye. It looked out from a system
of bandages that also projected a huge shock of brown hair upward and a
great chestnut beard ... the eye watched me with the illuminating but
expressionless detachment of a head-lamp.... Polyhemus, for that was my
private name for the man.”

A long string of such surprises! Craig picked up a book and wrote:
“Black wings—a vampire flying by night.” The title of the book was _The
Devil’s Jest_. She picked up one and wrote: “A Negro’s head with a light
around it.” It is a German volume, called “Africa Singt,” and has a big
startling design exactly as described. She picked up a book by Leon
Trotsky, and wrote the word “Checkro”—which may not sound like Russian
to Trotsky, but does to Craig! And a book with Mussolini on the cover,
wearing a black coat and feeding a lion: she got the shape of the Duce’s
figure, only she labeled him “Black Bird.” And here is a part of the
jacket design of “wings” on the “Literary Guild” books—and below is what
Craig made of it. She added the comment: “Motion—the thing is traveling,
point first (Fig. 22, 22a).”

[Illustration: Fig. 22]

[Illustration: Fig. 22a]

Another volume was described as follows: “A pale blue book. Lonely
prairie country, stretch of flat land against sky, and outlined against
it a procession of people. Had feeling of moving—wheeled vehicle which
seemed to be baby-carriage. This was strange, because country was
covered with snow.” Upon examination, the book proved to be bound in
mottled pale blue boards, title, “I’m Scairt,” with subtitle, “Childhood
Days on the Prairies.” On the first page of the preface occurs the
following: “It was in those days that a company of Swedes left their
beloved homeland in the far North and came to make a home for themselves
and their children on the Kansas prairie.”

Finally, I have obtained the publisher’s consent to reproduce the jacket
design of a recent book, so that I may put Craig’s telepathy alongside
it, and give you a laugh or two. Observe the jolly little tourists, and
what they have turned into! And then the efforts of Craig’s subconscious
mind at French. They taught it to her in a “finishing school” on Fifth
Avenue, and you can see that it was finished before it began (Figs. 23,
23a).

Yet another form of experiment invented itself under the pressure of
necessity. Impossible to have such a witch-wife without trying to put
her to use!

[Illustration: Fig. 23]

[Illustration: Fig. 23a]

I have the habit of working out a chapter of a new book in my head, and
writing down a few notes on a scrap of paper, and sticking it away in
any place that is handy; then, next day, or whenever I am ready for
work, it is gone, and there is the devil to pay. I wander about the
house for an hour or two, trying to imagine where I can have put that
scrap of paper, and reluctant to do the work all over again. On one
occasion I searched every pocket, my desk, the trash-baskets, and then,
deciding that I had dropped it outdoors, where I work with my
typewriter, I figured the direction of the wind, and picked up all the
scraps of paper I saw decorating the landscape of our beach home. Then I
decided it must be in a manuscript which I had given to a friend in Los
Angeles, and I was about to phone to that friend, when Craig asked what
the trouble was, and said, “Come, let’s make an experiment. Lie down
here, and describe the paper to me.”

I told her, a sheet off a little pad, written on both sides, and folded
once. She took my hand, and went into her state of concentration, and
said, “It is in the pocket of a gray coat.” I answered, “Impossible; I
have searched every coat in the house half a dozen times.” She said, “It
is in a pocket, and I will get it.” She got up off the couch, and went
to a gray coat of mine, and in a pocket I had somehow overlooked, there
was the paper! Let me add that Craig had had nothing to do with my
clothing in the interim, and had never seen the paper, nor heard of it
until I began roaming about the house, grumbling and fussing. Neither of
us know of any “normal” way by which her subconscious mind could have
got this information.

My secretary lost two screw-caps of the office typewriter, and I said to
my wife, “I will bring him over, and you see if you can tell him where
to look.” But my wife was ill, and did not want to meet any one, so she
said, “I will see if I can get it through you.” Be it understood, Craig
has not been in the office in a year, and has met my secretary only
casually. She said, “I see him standing up at his typewriting.” That is
an unusual thing for a typist to do, but it happened to be true. Said
Craig: “He has put the screw-caps on something high. They are in the
south room, above the level of any table or desk.” I went to the phone
to ask my secretary, and learned that he had just found the screws,
which he had put on top of a window-sash in the south room.

The third incident requires the statement that, a few months back, while
my wife was away, our home had been loaned to friends, and I had camped
at the little house which I was using as an office. Some medical
apparatus had been left there; at least I had a vague impression that I
had had it there, and I said, “I’ll go and look.” Said Craig: “Let’s try
an experiment.” She took my hand, and told me to make my mind a blank,
and presently she said, “I see it under the kitchen sink.” I went over
to the office, and found the object, not under the sink, but under the
north end of the bathtub. I took it back to the house, and before I
spoke a word, my wife said: “I tried to get you on the phone. I
concentrated again, and saw the thing and wrote it out.” She gave me a
slip of paper, from which I copy: “Down under something, wrapped in
paper—on N. side of room—under laundry tub on floor or under bath tub on
floor in N. corner.”

You may say, of course, if you are an incurable skeptic: “The man’s wife
had been over to the office and seen the object; she had been searching
his pockets, and had seen the paper.” Craig is positive that she did
nothing of the sort; but of course it is conceivable that she may have
done it and then forgotten it. Therefore, I pass on to a different and
more acceptable kind of evidence—a set of drawing tests, in which I
watched and checked every step of the proceedings at my wife’s
insistence. Here again I am a co-equal witness with her, and the skeptic
has no alternative but to say that the two of us have contrived this
elaborate hoax, making nearly three hundred drawings with fake
reproductions, in order to get notoriety, or to sell a few books. I
really hope nobody will say that is possible. Very certainly I could
sell more books with less trouble by writing what the public wants; and
if I were a dishonest man, I should not have waited until the age of
fifty-one to begin such a career.




                                  _10_


Concerning these drawings, there are preliminary explanations to be
made. They were done hastily, by two busy people. Neither is a trained
artist, and our ability to convey what we wish is limited. When I start
on a giraffe, I manage to produce a pretty good neck, but when I get to
the body, I am disturbed to note it turning into a sheep or a donkey.
When I draw a monkey climbing a tree, and Craig says, “Buffalo or lion,
tiger—wild animal”—I have to admit that may be so; likewise when my limb
of a tree is called a “trumpet,” or when Craig’s “wild animal” resembles
a chorus girl’s legs. I will let you see those particular drawings.
Figure 24 is mine, while 24a and 24b are my wife’s.

[Illustration: Fig. 24]

[Illustration: Fig. 24a]

[Illustration: Fig. 24b]

Again, I draw a volcano in eruption, and my wife calls it a black
beetle, which hardly sounds like a triumphant success; but study the
drawings, and you see that my black smoke happens to be the shape of a
beetle, while the two sides of the volcano serve very well for the long
feelers of an insect (Figs. 25, 25a):

[Illustration: Fig. 25]

[Illustration: Fig. 25a]

The tests began with four series of drawings, 38 in all, made by my
secretary. Following these were 31 series drawn by myself, comprising
252 separate drawings. Each drawing would be wrapped in an extra sheet
of paper, and sealed in a separate envelope, and the envelopes handed to
my wife when she was ready for the tests. She would put them on the
table by her couch, and lie down, putting the first envelope, unopened,
over her solar plexus, covered by her hand. Her head would be lying back
on a pillow, eyes closed, and head at such an angle that nothing but the
ceiling could be seen if the eyes were open. A dim light to avoid sense
stimulation; enough light to see everything plainly. When she had what
she judged was the right image, she would take a pad and pencil and make
the drawing or write the description of what she “saw.” Then she would
open the envelope and compare the two drawings, and number both for
identification.

This recording was, of course, an interruption of her passive state, and
made the task difficult. In a few cases she repeated a number or forgot
the number, and this leaves a chance for confusion. I have done my best
to clear up all such uncertainties, but there is a margin of error of
one or two per cent to be noted. This is too small to affect the
results, but is mentioned in the interest of exactness.

Since I found the sealing of envelopes tiresome, and Craig found the
opening of them more so, we decided half way through the tests to
abandon the sealing, and later we abandoned the envelopes altogether. We
reasoned that acceptance of the evidence rests upon our good faith
anyhow, and all that any sensible reader can ask is that Craig make sure
of never letting a drawing get within her range of vision. She was doing
this laborious work to get knowledge for herself, and she certainly made
sure that she was not wasting her own time.

At present the practice is this: I make her a set of six or eight
drawings on little sheets of pad paper, and lay them face down on her
table, with a clean sheet of paper over them. She lies down, and with
her head lying back on the pillow and her eyes closed, she reaches for
one of the drawings, and slides it over and onto her body, covered by
her hand. It is always out of her range of vision, even if the drawing
were turned toward her eyes, which it never is.

For the comfort of the suspicious, let me add that the relaxing of the
conditions caused no change in the averages. In the first four series,
drawn by my secretary, and sealed by him in envelopes, there were only
five complete failures in thirty-eight tests, which is thirteen per
cent; whereas in the 252 drawings made by me there have been 65 outright
failures, which is nearly twice as large a percentage. Series number
six, which was carefully sealed up, produced four complete successes,
five partial successes, and no failures; whereas series twenty-one,
which was not put in envelopes at all, produced no complete successes,
three partial successes, and six failures. Perhaps I should explain that
by a “series” I mean simply a group of drawings which were done at one
time. It is my custom to make from six to a dozen and when Craig has
finished with them, they are put into an envelope and filed away.

I will add that Craig again and again begged me to sit and watch her
work, so that I might be able to add my testimony to hers; I did so,
watching tests both with envelopes and without, and assure you she left
no loophole for self-deception. There was plenty of light to see by, and
some of the most startling successes were produced under my eyes. I will
add that no one could take this matter with more seriousness than my
wife. She is the most honorable person I know, and she has worked on
these experiments with rigid conscientiousness.




                                  _11_


I shall give a number of the successful drawings, and some of the
partial successes, but none of the failures, for these obviously are
merely waste. When I draw a cow, and my wife draws a star or a fish or a
horseshoe, all you want is the word “Failure” and then you want to know
the percentage of failures, so that you can figure the probabilities.
Failures prove nothing that you do not already believe; if your ideas
are to be changed, it is successes that will change them.

I begin with series three, because of the interesting circumstances
under which it was made. Late in the afternoon I phoned my secretary to
make a dozen drawings; and then, after dark, Craig and I decided to
drive to Pasadena, and on the way I stopped at the office and got the
twelve sealed envelopes which had been laid on my desk. I picked them up
in a hurry and slipped them into a pocket, and a minute or two later I
put them on the seat beside me in the car.

After we had started, I said, “Why don’t you try some of the drawings on
the way?” We were passing through the Signal Hill oil-field, amid
thunder of machinery and hiss of steam and flashing of headlights of
cars and trucks. “It will be interesting to see if I can concentrate in
such circumstances,” said Craig, and took one envelope and held it
against her body in the darkness, while I went on with my job of
driving. After a few minutes Craig said, “I see something long and
oblong, like a stand.” She got a pad and pencil from a pocket of the
car, and switched on the ceiling light, and made a drawing, and then
opened the envelope. Here are the pictures; I call it a partial success
(Figs. 26, 26a):

[Illustration: Fig. 26]

[Illustration: Fig. 26a]

Here is the next pair, done on the same drive to Pasadena (Figs. 27,
27a):

[Illustration: Fig. 27]

[Illustration: Fig. 27a]

Then came a drawing of an automobile. Considering the attendant
circumstances, it was surely not surprising that Craig should report it
as “a big light in the end of a tube or horn.” There were many such
lights in her eyes.

Then a fourth envelope: she said, “I see a little animal or bug with
legs, and the legs are sticking out in bug effect.” When she looked into
the envelope, she was so excited that she tried to get me to look—at
forty miles an hour on a highway at night! Here is the drawing, meant to
be a skull and cross-bones, but so done that a “bug with legs” is really
a fair description of it (Fig. 28):

[Illustration: Fig. 28]

After we arrived at our destination, my wife did some more of the
drawings, and got partial successes. On this telephone the comment was:
“Goblet with another one floating near or above it inverted” (Figs. 29,
29a):

[Illustration: Fig. 29]

[Illustration: Fig. 29a]

And then this arrow (Figs. 30, 30a):

[Illustration: Fig. 30]

[Illustration: Fig. 30a]

Concerning the above my wife wrote: “See something that suggests a
garden tool—a lawn rake, or spade.” And for the next one (Fig. 31) she
wrote: “A pully-bone”—which is Mississippi “darky” talk for a wish-bone
of a chicken. I don’t know whether it means a bone that you pull, or
whether it is Creole for “poulet.” Here is what my secretary had drawn
(Fig. 31):

[Illustration: Fig. 31]

I had asked my secretary at the outset to make simple geometrical
designs, letters and figures, thinking that these would be easier to
recognize and reproduce. But they brought only partial successes; Craig
would get elements of the drawing but would not know how to put them
together. There were seven in the first series, and there is some
element right in every one. An oblong was drawn exactly, and then two
fragments of oblongs added to it. A capital M in script had the first
stroke done exactly, with the curl. A capital E in script was done with
the curls left out.

And the same with the second series. Here is a square—but you see that
the two halves of it are wandering about (Figs. 32, 32a):

[Illustration: Fig. 32]

[Illustration: Fig. 32a]

And here is a letter Y, but by telepathy it has been turned from script
into print (Figs. 33, 33a):

[Illustration: Fig. 33]

[Illustration: Fig. 33a]

A quite different story began when my secretary allowed his imagination
a little play. He knows that my wife lives in part on milk, and he knows
that she is particular about the quality, because he has to handle the
bills. So he has a little fun with her, and you see that immediately she
gets, not the form, but the color and feeling of it (Figs. 34, 34a):

[Illustration: Fig. 34]

[Illustration: Fig. 34a]

The comment reads: “Round white foamy stuff on top like soap suds or
froth.” As she drinks her milk sour and whipped, you see that its
foaminess is a prominent feature.

Then comes an oil derrick. We live in the midst of these unsightly
objects, and are liable to be turned out of house and home by drilling
nearby; moreover, I have written a book called “Oil!” and the
exclamation mark at the end has been justified by the effect of it on
our lives. My wife made a figure five with long lines going out, and
wrote: “I don’t know why the five should have such a thing as an
appendage, but the appendage was most vivid, so there it is” (Figs. 35,
35a):

[Illustration: Fig. 35]

[Illustration: Fig. 35a]

After she had opened the envelope and seen the original drawing, the
problem became, not why a figure five should have an appendage, but why
an oil derrick should have a figure five. Craig puzzled over this, and
then lay down and told her subconscious mind to bring her the answer.
What came was this: the German version of my book, called “Petroleum,”
has three oil derricks on the front, and a huge dollar sign on the back
of the cover, and this was what Craig had really “seen.” She had looked
at this book when it arrived, a year or more back, and it had been filed
away in her memory. Of course, this may not be the correct explanation,
but it is the one which her mind brought to her.




                                  _12_


These drawing tests afford a basis for psycho-analysis, and it is
interesting to note some of the facts thus brought up from the childhood
of my wife. For example, fires! She was raised in the “black belt,”
where there are nine Negroes to one white, and the former are still
close to Africa. When Craig was a girl, a nurse in the family, having
been discharged, set fire to the home while the adults were away, and
the children asleep. Another servant, jealous of an unfaithful husband,
put her two babies into a barrel full of feathers and burned them alive.
Other fires occurred; so now, in her home, Craig keeps an uneasy eye out
for greasy rags, or overheated stoves, or whatever else her fears
suggest. When in these drawing tests there has been anything indicating
fire or smoke, she has “got” it, with only one or two failures out of
more than a dozen cases. Sometimes she “got” the fire or smoke without
the object; sometimes she supplied fire or smoke to an object which
might properly have it—a pipe, for example. The results are so curious
that I assemble them together—a series of fire-alarms, as it were.

You recall the fact that in one of the early drawing tests—those in
which, instead of giving the drawings to my wife, I sat in my study and
concentrated upon them—I drew a lighted cigarette, and thought of the
curls of smoke. Craig filled up her drawing with curves, and wrote: “I
can’t draw it, but curls of some sort.” At this time the convention that
“curls stood for smoke” had not been established. But now, in the series
drawn by my secretary, appeared a little house with smoking chimney, and
you will see that my wife got the smoke better than the house (Figs. 36,
36a):

[Illustration: Fig. 36]

[Illustration: Fig. 36a]

This apparently established in her mind the association of curls with
smoke. So when, in series six, I drew a pipe with smoke-curls, my wife
first drew an ellipse, and then wrote: “Now it begins to spin, round and
round, and is attached to a stick.” She then drew (Figs. 37, 37a):

[Illustration: Fig. 37]

[Illustration: Fig. 37a]

In series eight I drew a sky-rocket going up. My first impulse had been
to draw a bursting rocket, with a shower of stars, but I realized that
would be difficult, so I drew this instead (Fig. 38):

[Illustration: Fig. 38]

My wife apparently took my first thought, rather than my drawing.
Anyhow, she made half a dozen sketches of whirligigs and light (Figs.
38a, 38b, 38c):

[Illustration: Fig. 38a]

[Illustration: Fig. 38b]

[Illustration: Fig. 38c]

And here in series twenty-two is a burning lamp (Figs. 39, 39a):

[Illustration: Fig. 39]

[Illustration: Fig. 39a]

And here in series thirty-four another, with comment: “flame and sparks”
(Figs. 40, 40a):

[Illustration: Fig. 40]

[Illustration: Fig. 40a]

I drew another pipe in series twenty-two, with the usual curls of smoke;
and Craig wrote: “Smoke stack.” I drew another in series thirty-three
with the result that, five drawings in advance of the correct one, Craig
drew a pipe with smoke. Of course, this may have been a coincidence; but
wait till you see how often such coincidences happen! (Figs. 41, 41a):

[Illustration: Fig. 41]

[Illustration: Fig. 41a]

In series twenty-one I drew a chimney, and Craig drew a chimney, and
added smoke. In thirty-four I drew an old-fashioned trench-mortar; and
here again she supplied the smoke (Figs. 42, 42a):

[Illustration: Fig. 42]

[Illustration: Fig. 42a]

Cannons are especially horrible things to her, as you may note again and
again in her published war-sonnets:

         The sharpened steel whips round, the black guns blaze,
             Waste are the harvests, mute the songs of birds.

So when, in series eleven, I drew the muzzle half of an old-style
cannon, Craig’s imagination got to work one drawing ahead of time. She
wrote: “Fire and smoke—smoke—flame,” and then drew as follows (Fig.
43a):

[Illustration: Fig. 43a]

The next drawing was the cannon, and I give it, along with the drawing
Craig made to go with it. The comment she wrote was: “Half circle—double
lines—light inside—light is fire busy whirling or flaming” (Figs. 44,
44a):

[Illustration: Fig. 44]

[Illustration: Fig. 44a]

So much for fires, and things associated with fire. Now consider another
detail about life in the Yazoo delta, brought out in the course of our
psycho-analysis. In the days of Craig’s childhood, poisonous snakes were
an ever-present menace, and fear of them had to be taught to children,
and could hardly be taught too early. There is a family story of a
little tot crawling under the house and coming back to report, “I see
nuffin wiv a tail to it!” In the swamps back of Craig’s summer home on
the Mississippi Sound I have counted a dozen copperheads and moccasins
in the course of a half hour’s walk. Also, her father has some childhood
complex buried in his mind, which causes him to have a spell of nausea
at the sight of a snake. All this, of course, strongly affected the
child’s early days, and now it is in her mental depths. So when I drew a
hissing snake, just see the uproar I caused! She made no drawing, but
wrote a little essay. I give my drawing, and her essay following (Fig.
45):

[Illustration: Fig. 45]

“See something like kitten with tail and saucer of milk. Now it leaps
into action and runs away to outdoors. Turns to fleeing animal outdoors.
Great activity among outdoor creatures. Know it’s some outdoor thing,
not indoor object—see trees, and a frightened bird on the wing (turned
sidewise). It’s outdoor thing, but none of above seems to be _it_.”

In other words, little Mary Craig Kimbrough is back on the plantation,
seeing terror among birds and poultry, and not knowing what causes it!
Study the drawing, and you see that I got the action of the snake, but
didn’t get the coils very well, so they might be a “saucer of milk”—and
a sure-enough kitten’s tail sticking out from it. Another childhood
horror here! Craig was a fat little thing, and she slipped and plumped
down on her favorite pet kitten, and exploded it.




                                  _13_


The person whom we are subjecting to this process of psycho-analysis has
a strong color sense, and wanted to be a painter. So we note that she
“gets” colors and names them correctly. Here is my drawing of what I
meant to be a bouquet of pink roses (Figs. 46, 46a):

[Illustration: Fig. 46]

[Illustration: Fig. 46a]

Or take this case of a lobster. Craig’s comment was: “Gorgeous colors,
red and greenish tinges.” Apparently I had failed to decide whether I
was drawing a live lobster or a boiled one! My wife wrote further: “Now
it turns into a lizard, camelian, reds and greens.” When she sees this
about to be made public, she is embarrassed by her bad spelling; but she
says: “Please do not overlook the fact that a chameleon is a reptile—and
so is a lobster.” I dutifully quote her, even though her zoology is even
worse than her spelling! (Figs. 47, 47a):

[Illustration: Fig. 47]

[Illustration: Fig. 47a]

While we are on the “reptiles,” I include this menacing crab, which may
have got hold of little Mary Craig’s toe on the beach of the Mississippi
Sound (Fig. 48):

[Illustration: Fig. 48]

For the crab, Craig made two drawings, on opposite sides of the paper
(Figs. 48a, 48b):

[Illustration: Fig. 48a]

[Illustration: Fig. 48b]

The comments on the above read: “Wings, or fingers—wing effect, but no
feathers, things like fingers instead of feathers. Then many little dots
which all disappear, and leave two of them, O O, as eyes of something.”
And then, “Streamers flying from something.”

Another color instance: I drew the head of a horse, and Craig drew a lot
of apparently promiscuous lines, and at various places wrote “yellow,”
“white,” “blue,” “(dark),” and then a general description, “Oriental.”
Afterwards she said to me: “That looks like a complete failure; yet it
was so vivid, I can’t be mistaken. Where did you get that horse?” Said
I: “I copied it from a Sunday supplement.” We got the paper from the
trash-basket, and the page opposite the horse contained what Craig
described. We shall note several other cases of this sort of intrusion
of things I did not draw, but which I had before me while drawing.

Also anything with metal or shine seems to stand a good chance of being
“got.” For example, these nose-glasses (Figs. 49, 49a):

[Illustration: Fig. 49]

[Illustration: Fig. 49a]

The comment reads: “Opalescent shine or gleam. Also peafowl.”

Or again, a belt-buckle; my wife writes the word “shines” (Figs. 50,
50a):

[Illustration: Fig. 50]

[Illustration: Fig. 50a]

Or this very busy alarm clock—she writes the same word “shines” (Figs
51, 51a):

[Illustration: Fig. 51]

[Illustration: Fig. 51a]

She has got at least part of a watch whenever one has been presented.
You remember the one Bob drew (Fig. 17). There was another in series
thirty-three; Craig made a crude drawing and added: “Shines, glass or
metal” (Figs. 52, 52a):

[Illustration: Fig. 52]

[Illustration: Fig. 52a]

Also, on the automobile ride to Pasadena, series three, there was a
watch-face among the drawings, and Craig drew the angle of the hands,
and added the words, “a complication of small configurations.” Having
arrived in Pasadena, she took the twelve drawings and tried them over
again. This time, of course, she had a one in twelve chance of guessing
the watch. She wrote: “A white translucent glimmering, or shimmering
which I knew was not light but rather glass. It was like heat waves
radiating in little round pools from a center.... Then in the center I
saw a vivid black mark.... So it was bound to be the watch, and it was.”

And here is a fountain. You see that it appears to be in a tub, and is
so drawn by Craig. But you note that the “shine” has been got. “These
shine!” (Figs. 53, 53a):

[Illustration: Fig. 53]

[Illustration: Fig. 53a]

Another instance, even more vivid. I made a poor attempt to draw a bass
tuba, as one sees them on the stage—a lot of jazz musicians dressed up
in white duck, and a row of big brass and nickel horns, polished to
blind your eyes. See what Craig drew, and also what she wrote (Figs. 54,
54a):

[Illustration: Fig. 54]

[Illustration: Fig. 54a]

The comments, continued on the other side of the sheet, are: “Dull gold
ring shimmers and stands out with shadow behind it and in center of it.
Gleams and moves. Metal. There is a glow of gold light, and the ring or
circle is out in the air, suspended, and moves in blur of gold.”

You see, she gets the feeling, the emotional content. I draw a child’s
express-wagon, and she writes: “Children again playing but can’t get
exactly how they look. Just feel there are children.” Or take this one,
which she describes as “Egyptian.” I don’t know if my pillar is real
Egyptian, but it seems so to me, and evidently to my wife, for you note
all the artistry it inspired (Figs. 55, 55a):

[Illustration: Fig. 55]

[Illustration: Fig. 55a]

Sometimes Craig will embody the feeling in some new form of her own
invention; as for example, when I draw an old-fashioned cannon on
wheels, and she writes: “Black Napoleon hat and red military coat.” I
draw a running fox—well drawn, because I copy it from a picture; she
rises to the occasion with two crossed guns, and a hunting horn with a
lot of musical notes coming out of it (Figs. 56, 56a):

[Illustration: Fig. 56]

[Illustration: Fig. 56a]

I draw an auto, and she replies with the hub and spokes of a wheel. Not
satisfied with this, she sets it aside, and tries again a little
later—without looking at the original drawing—and this time she produces
a horn, with indication of a noise. I give both her drawings, which are
on two sides of the same slip of paper (Figs. 57a, 57b):

[Illustration: Fig. 57a]

[Illustration: Fig. 57b]




                                  _14_


An extraordinary incident occurred in connection with the fourth series
of drawings. While my secretary, E. M. Hart, was making the drawings,
there came into the office his brother-in-law, R. H. Craig, Jr., a
teller of the Security First National Bank of Long Beach, a person
entirely unknown to my wife. He heard what was going on, and said, “I’ll
give her some that’ll stump her.” He took a pen and drew two pictures,
which were duly wrapped in sheets of green paper and sealed in
envelopes, and put with the rest of the series. I was not at the office,
and nothing was said to me about Mr. Craig having taken part in the
matter.

My wife did this series under my eyes; and when she came to the first of
Mr. Craig’s two drawings, she wrote, “Some sort of grinning monster,”
and added an elaborate description. Then she opened the envelope, and
found a roller skate with a foot and leg attached. This, naturally, was
called a failure; but seven drawings later in the same series came Mr.
Craig’s other drawing, which was as follows (Fig. 58):

[Illustration: Fig. 58]

Now read the amazing description which my wife had written, seven
drawings back, when the first of Mr. Craig’s drawings had come under her
hand:

“Some sort of grinning monster—see only the face and a vague idea of
deformed neck and shoulders. It is a man, but it looks like a cat’s
face, cat eyes and whiskers. Don’t know just how I know it is a man—it
is a deformity. Not a cat. See color of skin which is deep, flat pink,
as of a colored picture. The face of the creature is broad and weird.
The flesh of neck, or somewhere, gives effect of rolls or creases.”

I asked my secretary what this drawing was meant to be, and he said “a
Happy Hooligan.” My cultural backwardness is such that I wasn’t sure
just what a “Happy Hooligan” might be, but my secretary told me it is a
comic supplement figure, and I then looked it up in the paper, and found
that the face of the figure as printed is a very pale pink, and the
little cap on top is a bright red. I called Mr. Craig on the phone and
asked him this question: “If you were to think of a color in connection
with a ‘Happy Hooligan,’ what color would it be?” He answered, “Red.”

Now I ask you, what chance do you think there is of a person’s writing a
description such as the above by guess work? To be sure, my wife had
eight guesses; but do you think that eight million guesses would
suffice? And if we call it telepathy, do we say that my wife’s mind has
the power to dip into the mind of a young man whom she has never seen,
nor even heard of? Or shall we say that his mind affected his
brother-in-law’s, the brother-in-law’s affected mine, and mine affected
my wife’s? Or, if we decide to call it clairvoyance, or psychometry,
then are we going to say there is some kind of vibration or emanation
from Mr. Craig’s drawing, so powerful that when one of his drawings is
handed to my wife, she gets what is in another drawing which has been
done at the same time?

Whatever may be the explanation, here is the fact: Again and again we
find Craig getting, not the drawing she is holding under her hand, but
the next one, which she has not yet touched. When she picks up the first
drawing, she will say, or write: “There is a little man in this series”;
or: “There is a snow scene with sled”; or: “An elephant, also a
rooster.” I am going to show you these particular cases; but first a
word as to how I have counted such “anticipations.”

Manifestly, if I grant the right to more than one guess, I am increasing
the chances of guesswork, and correspondingly reducing the significance
of the totals. What I have done is this: where such cases have occurred,
I have called them total failures, except in a few cases, where the
description was so detailed and exact as to be overwhelming—as in the
case of this “Happy Hooligan.” Even so, I have not called it a complete
success, only a partial success. In order to be classified as a complete
success, my wife’s drawing must have been made for the particular
drawing of mine which she had in her hand at that time; and throughout
this account, the reader is to understand that every drawing presented
was made in connection with the particular drawing printed alongside
it—except in cases where I expressly state otherwise.

Now for a few of the “anticipations.” In the course of series six, drawn
by me on Feb. 8, 1929, drawing number two was a daisy, and Craig got the
elements of it, as you see (Figs. 59, 59a):

[Illustration: Fig. 59]

[Illustration: Fig. 59a]

Her mind then went ahead, and she wrote, “May be snow scene on hill and
sled.” The next drawing was an axe, which I give later (Fig. 145); she
got the elements of this very well, and then added on the back: “I get a
feeling again of a snow scene to come in this series—a sled in the
snow.” That was number three; and when number five came Craig made this
annotation: “Opened it by mistake, without concentrating. It’s my
expected sled and snow scene.” Here is the drawing (Fig. 60):

[Illustration: Fig. 60]

Series number eight, on Feb. 10, brought even stranger results. This is
the series in which the laced-up football was turned into a calf wearing
a belly-band (Figs. 15, 15a). But even while I was engaged in making the
drawings, sitting in my study apart, and with the door closed, Craig’s
busy magic, whatever it is, was bringing her messages. She called out:
“I see a rooster!” I had actually drawn a rooster; but of course I made
no reply to her words. She at once drew a rooster and several other
things, and after I had brought my drawings into the room, but before
she had started to work with them, she wrote as follows:

“While Upton was making these drawings I sat before the fire thinking
how to dry felt slippers which I had washed. I had my mind on them. Hung
them on grating to see if they would hang there without burning.
Suddenly saw rooster crowing. Then thought, ‘Can U be drawing rooster?’
Decided to make note of this. Did so. Then saw”—and she draws a circle
with eight radiating lines, like spokes of a wheel.

In due course came drawing number eight, and before looking at it, Craig
wrote: “Rooster.” Then she added, “But no—it looks like a picture of
coffee-pot—see spout and handle.” This is hard on me as an artist, but I
give the drawing and let you judge for yourself (Fig. 61):

[Illustration: Fig. 61]

What about the circle and the radiating spokes? That was, apparently, a
fore-glimpse of drawing number five. I give you that, together with what
Craig drew for that particular test when it came. Her effort suggests
the kind of humor with which the newspaper artists used to delight my
childhood; a series of drawings in which one thing turns into some other
and quite unexpected thing by gradual changes. You will see here how the
hub of a wagon-wheel may turn into the muzzle of a deer! (Figs. 62,
62a):

[Illustration: Fig. 62]

[Illustration: Fig. 62a]




                                  _15_


What are the principles upon which I have classified the drawings, as
between success, partial successes, and failures? I will use this
series, number eight, to illustrate. There are eight drawings, and I
have set them down as one success, six partial successes, one failure.
The success is the rooster (Fig. 61), called “a rooster,” even though it
“looks like a coffee pot.” The partial successes are, first, an electric
light bulb, very crudely imitated as to shape in three drawings. Perhaps
this was hardly good enough to be counted; it was a border-line case,
and probably the poorest that I admitted to the classification of
“partial successes” (Fig. 63a).

[Illustration: Fig. 63a]

Second, the ascending sky-rocket, already printed as fig. 38, giving
rise to six different drawings of whirligigs and light. Third, the
following drawing, for which Craig wrote: “See spider, or some sort of
legged pest. If this is not a spider, there is a spider in the lot
somewhere! This I know!” (Fig. 64):

[Illustration: Fig. 64]

The fourth partial success was a drawn bow, with arrow fitted, ready to
be launched. Craig wrote as follows: “Picked this up and saw inside as
it dropped on floor—so did not try it. Suddenly recall I have already
‘seen’ it earlier.” Before starting the tests, along with her written
mention of “a rooster,” she had drawn a bow and crude arrow, and the
resemblance is so exact that it seems to me entitled to be called a
partial success (Figs. 65, 65a):

[Illustration: Fig. 65]

[Illustration: Fig. 65a]

Fifth, the wagon hub (Fig. 60), which became the deer’s muzzle. And
finally the laced-up football (Fig. 15) which became a belly-band on a
calf (Fig. 15a).

As for the failure in this series, it is a cake of soap, which was
called “whirls.” There are a couple of other drawings in the series,
marked: “Too tired to see it,” and “Tired now and excited and keep
seeing old things”—meaning, of course, the preceding drawings.

I tried to avoid drawing the same object more than once, but now and
then I slipped up. In series eleven I drew another rooster, and there
followed, not one “anticipation,” but several. Drawing number one was a
tooth; Craig wrote: “First see rooster. Then elephant.” Drawing number
two was an elephant; and Craig wrote: “Elephant came again. I try to
suppress it, and see lines, and a spike sticking some way into
something.” She drew it, and it seems clear that the “spike” is the
elephant’s tusk, and the head of the “spike” is the elephant’s eye
(Figs. 66, 66a):

[Illustration: Fig. 66]

[Illustration: Fig. 66a]

Next, number three, was the rooster. But Craig had set “rooster” down in
her mind as a blunder, so now she wrote: “I don’t know what, see a
bunch, or tuft clearly. Also a crooked arm on a body. But don’t feel
that I’m right.” Here are the drawings, and you can see that she was
somewhat right (Figs. 67, 67a):

[Illustration: Fig. 67]

[Illustration: Fig. 67a]

This series eleven, containing fourteen drawings, is marked: “Did this
lot rapidly, without holding (mind) blank. The chicken and elephant came
_at once_, on a very earnest request to my mind to ‘come across.’” I
have classified in this series two successes, five partial, and five
failures: throwing out numbers twelve and fourteen, because Craig wrote:
“Nothing except all the preceding ones come—too many at once—all past
ones crowding in memory”; and again, “Nothing but everything in the
preceding. Too many of them in my mind.”

The anticipations run all through this series in a quite fascinating
way. Thus, for number four Craig wrote: “Flower. This is a vivid one.
Green spine—leaves like century plant.” She drew Figure 68a:

[Illustration: Fig. 68a]

And then again, for drawing number seven, she did more flowers, with
this comment: “This is a _real_ flower, I’ve seen it before. It’s vivid
and returns. Century plant? Now it turns into candle stick. See a
candle” (Fig. 69a).

All this was wrong—so far. Number four was a table, and number seven was
the rear half of a cow. But now we come to number eleven, the plant
known as a “cat-tail,” which seems to resemble rather surprisingly the
lower of the two drawings in Figure 69a. My drawing is given as Figure
70, and the one Craig made for it is given as 70a.

[Illustration: Fig. 69a]

[Illustration: Fig. 70]

[Illustration: Fig. 70a]

Comment on the above read: “Very pointed. Am not able to see what. Dog’s
head?”

Drawing five was a large fish-hook; and this inspired the experimenter
to a discourse, as follows: “Dog wagging—see tail in air busy
wagging—jolly doggie—tail curled in air.” And then: “Now I see a cow. I
fear the elephant and chicken got me too sure of animals. But I see
these.”

Now, a big fish-hook looks not unlike a “tail curled in air.” But when
we come to number seven, we discover what Craig was apparently
anticipating. It is the drawing of what I have referred to as “the rear
half of a cow.” It is badly done, with a cow’s hoof, but I forgot what a
cow’s tail is like, and this tail that I drew would fit much better on a
“jolly doggy,” you must admit (Fig. 71):

[Illustration: Fig. 71]

Drawing number six was a sun, as children draw it, a circle with rays
going out all round. Craig wrote: “Setting sun and bird in sky. Big bird
on wing—seagull or wild goose.” This I called a partial success. Number
nine was the muzzle end of an old-style cannon, already reported in
Figures 46, 46a.

I conclude the study of this particular series with drawing thirteen, to
which was added the comment: “Think of a saucer, then of a cup. It’s
something in the kitchen. Too tired to see” (Figs. 72, 72a):

[Illustration: Fig. 72]

[Illustration: Fig. 72a]

In series fourteen, drawing three, Craig wrote: “Man running, can’t draw
it.” She drew as follows (Fig. 73a):

[Illustration: Fig. 73a]

Next came my drawing four, as follows (Fig. 73):

[Illustration: Fig. 73]

In series thirty-five I first drew a fire hydrant, and Craig wrote,
“Peafowl,” and added the following drawing, which certainly constitutes
a partial success (Figs. 74, 74a):

[Illustration: Fig. 74]

[Illustration: Fig. 74a]

My next drawing was the peafowl, as you see. For this Craig wrote:
“Peafowl again,” and apparently tried to draw the peafowl’s neck, and a
lot of those spots which I had forgotten are an appurtenance of peafowls
(Figs. 75, 75a):

[Illustration: Fig. 75]

[Illustration: Fig. 75a]

In series twenty-nine I drew an elevated railway. If you turn it upside
down, as I have done here, it looks like water and smokestacks. Anyhow,
Craig drew a steamboat (Figs. 76, 76a):

[Illustration: Fig. 76]

[Illustration: Fig. 76a]

And then came my next drawing—a steamboat! Craig wrote: “Smoke again,”
and drew the smoke and the stack (Figs. 77, 77a):

[Illustration: Fig. 77]

[Illustration: Fig. 77a]

She added two more drawings, which appear to be the wheel of the boat in
the water, and the smoke (Figs. 77b, 77c):

[Illustration: Fig. 77b]

[Illustration: Fig. 77c]

In series thirty I drew a fish-hook with line, and you see it turned
into a flower (Figs. 78, 78a):

[Illustration: Fig. 78]

[Illustration: Fig. 78a]

Then came an obelisk, and Craig got it, but with novel effects, thus
(Figs. 79, 79a):

[Illustration: Fig. 79]

[Illustration: Fig. 79a]

Now why should an obelisk go on a jag, and have little circles at its
base? The answer appears to be: it inherited the curves from the
previous fish-hook, and the little circles from the next drawing. You
will see that, having used up her supply of little circles, Craig did
not get the next drawing so well (Figs. 80, 80a):

[Illustration: Fig. 80]

[Illustration: Fig. 80a]

In series twenty-two I first drew a bed, and Craig made two attempts to
draw a potted plant. My second drawing was a maltese cross, and Craig
turned it into a basket (Figs. 81, 81a):

[Illustration: Fig. 81]

[Illustration: Fig. 81a]

But she could not give up her plant. She added: “There is a flower
basket in this lot, or potted plant.” The next drawing was a
fleur-de-lis, which looks not unlike a potted plant or hanging basket
(Fig. 82):

[Illustration: Fig. 82]

In drawing four she got the elements of a door-knob pretty well, and
added: “See head of bird, too—eagle beak.” Drawing seven was a crane,
with beak open.




                                  _16_


I could go through all thirty-five of the series, listing such
“anticipations” as this: but I have given enough to show how the thing
goes. Such occurrences make it hard for Craig because, when she has once
drawn a certain object, she naturally resists the impulse to draw it
again, thinking it is nothing but a memory. Thus, in series thirteen, my
first drawing was a savage woman carrying a bundle on her head, and
Craig drew the profile of a head with a long nose. My next drawing was
the profile of a head, with a very conspicuous nose, and Craig wrote:
“Face again, but [I] inhibit this. Then come two hands, and below”—and
she draws what might be a cross section of a skull, side view.

Yet sometimes she overcomes this handicap triumphantly. Series twelve is
marked: “Hastily done,” and she adds the general comment: “Several times
saw bristles on things of different shapes, some flowers, some bristled
brushes. Saw flower, also more than once”—and then she appends a drawing
of a four-leaf clover. As it happened, this series contained a
three-leaf clover, and it contained another flower, and also a
cactus-plant—more of one kind of thing than it was fair to put into one
set of drawings. Nevertheless, Craig scored one of her successes with
the cactus, setting it down as “fuzzy flower” (Figs. 83, 83a):

[Illustration: Fig. 83]

[Illustration: Fig. 83a]

Nor was she afraid to repeat herself when she came to another “fuzzy
flower” in this series (Figs. 84, 84a):

[Illustration: Fig. 84]

[Illustration: Fig. 84a]

Frequently she will make a good drawing of an object, but name it badly.
In that same series twelve I drew a hoe, and she got the shape of it,
but wrote: “May be scissors, may be spectacles with long stem ears”
(Figs. 85, 85a):

[Illustration: Fig. 85]

[Illustration: Fig. 85a]

Also in the same series these reindeer horns, which she calls “holly
leaves.” It is psychologically interesting to note that reindeer and
holly trees were both associated with Christmas in Craig’s childhood
(Figs. 86, 86a):

[Illustration: Fig. 86]

[Illustration: Fig. 86a]

And in series eighteen, this fat baby bird of mine is hardly
recognizable when called “flounder” (Figs. 87, 87a):

[Illustration: Fig. 87]

[Illustration: Fig. 87a]

This very dim stalk of celery, drawn by me, I must admit looks more like
a fish-fork (Figs. 88, 88a):

[Illustration: Fig. 88]

[Illustration: Fig. 88a]

Craig’s verbal description of the above reads: “Stone set in platinum;
may be diamond, as points seem to be white light—at least it shines, not
red shine of fire but white shine.” How does a stalk of celery, which
looks like a fish-fork, come to have a diamond set in it? You may
understand the reason when you hear that three drawings later in the
same series is a diamond set in a stick. Just why it occurred to me to
set a diamond thus I cannot now recall, but the drawing is plain, and it
led to a bit of fun. I had been to lunch with Charlie Chaplin that day,
and had come home and told my wife about it; so here my sparkling
diamond undergoes a transfiguration! “Chaplin,” writes my wife, and
adds: “I don’t see why he has on a halo” (Figs. 89, 89a):

[Illustration: Fig. 89]

[Illustration: Fig. 89a]

From the point of view of bad guessing, the most conspicuous series is
number twenty. In this I have recorded four successes, seven partial,
and one failure; yet there is hardly an object that is correctly named.
Here are the three which I call successes; there may be dispute about
any one of them, but it seems to me the essential elements have been
got. You may be surprised at a necktie which “began to smoke”—but not
when you see that the next drawing is a burning match! (Figs. 90, 90a;
90, 91a; 90, 92a):

[Illustration: Fig. 90]

[Illustration: Fig. 90a]

[Illustration: Fig. 91]

[Illustration: Fig. 91a]

[Illustration: Fig. 92]

[Illustration: Fig. 92a]

As for the partial successes, I give six of them by way of samples. For
the first, Craig’s comment was: “The body is vague, but see there is a
body.” You will agree that my mountain landscape looks oddly like a body
(Figs. 93, 93a):

[Illustration: Fig. 93]

[Illustration: Fig. 93a]

And the pedals of this harp make a charming pair of lady’s feet (Figs.
94, 94a):

[Illustration: Fig. 94]

[Illustration: Fig. 94a]

This balloon is described in my wife’s comment as: “Shines in sunlight,
must be metal, a scythe hanging among vines or strings.”

[Illustration: Fig. 95]

[Illustration: Fig. 95a]

This, which is called “front foot and leg of dog, though I don’t see the
dog,” is really drawn more like the spigot of my drawing (Figs. 96,
96a):

[Illustration: Fig. 96]

[Illustration: Fig. 96a]

A butterfly’s wings are “got” remarkably well (Figs. 97, 97a). And the
trade-marks on my little box are called “tiny stars, or sparks” (Figs.
98, 98a):

[Illustration: Fig. 97]

[Illustration: Fig. 97a]

[Illustration: Fig. 98]

[Illustration: Fig. 98a]




                                  _17_


I have referred to the fact that my wife’s drawings sometimes contain
things which are not in mine, but which were in my mind while I was
making them, or while she was “concentrating.” One of the most curious
of such cases came in series twenty-eight, which was after we had given
up, as too great a nuisance, all precautions in the way of sealing the
drawings in envelopes. I made eight drawings, and laid them face down on
my wife’s table, and then went out and took a walk while she did them.
So, of course, it was easy for her to do what she pleased—and maybe she
“peeked,” the skeptic will say. But as it happens, she didn’t get a
single one right! Instead of reproducing my drawings, what she did was
to reproduce my thoughts while I was walking up and down on the ocean
front. It seems to me that in so doing, she provided a perfect answer to
those who may attribute these results to any form of deception, whether
conscious or unconscious.

There was a moon behind a bank of dark clouds, and it produced an
unusual effect—a well-defined white cross in the sky. I watched it for
nearly half an hour, and my continued thought was: “If this were an age
of superstition, that would be a portent, and we should hear about it in
history.” It was so strange that I finally went home and called my wife
out onto the street. I did not tell her why. I wanted to see her
surprise, so I purposely gave no hint. I said: “Come out! Please come!”
Finally she came, and her comment was: “I just drew that!” We went back
into the house, and she handed me a drawing. I give it alongside my
drawing of an Indian club, which Craig had held while doing hers. You
may see exactly how much of her impulse came from that source (Figs. 99,
99a):

[Illustration: Fig. 99]

[Illustration: Fig. 99a]

The “comment” reads: “Light ‘fingers’—moonlight.” Also: “black shadow.”

Let me add also that in the eight drawings I handed to Craig there was
neither moon, cloud, cross, nor light. Two of these eight my wife failed
to mark, and so I cannot identify them as belonging to this series; but
we examined all eight at the time, and made sure of this point. Those
which I now have are a flag, a bearded man, a chiffonier, a cannon, a
dirt-scraper, and the Indian club, given above.

You will ask, perhaps, did Craig look out of the window. As it happened,
this sky effect was invisible from any window, and I have her word that
she had not moved from her couch. I should add that she is nervous, and
keeps the curtains tightly drawn at night, and never goes out at night
unless it is to be driven somewhere. It was early in March, with a cold
wind off the sea, and I had to labor to persuade her to put a wrap over
her dressing gown and step out into the middle of the street to look up
at the sky.




                                  _18_


The casual reader may be bored by too many of these drawings, but they
are easy to skip, or to take in at a glance, and there may be students
who will want to examine them carefully. So I will add a selection of
the significant drawings, with only brief remarks. I begin with what I
have called partial successes, and then add a few more of those I have
called “complete.”

Let us return to the early drawings, made by my secretary. On the
automobile ride to Pasadena, there was an ash-can (Fig. 100):

[Illustration: Fig. 100]

For the above my wife wrote: “I see a chain dangling from
something—resembling little chimney pot on top of house.”

And here is design for which the comment was: “These somehow belong
together but won’t get together” (Figs. 101, 101a):

[Illustration: Fig. 101]

[Illustration: Fig. 101a]

Here is a fan, with comment: “Inside seems irregular, as if cloth draped
or crumpled” (Figs. 102, 102a):

[Illustration: Fig. 102]

[Illustration: Fig. 102a]

Here is a one-half success (Figs. 103, 103a):

[Illustration: Fig. 103]

[Illustration: Fig. 103a]

Here is a broom, drawn by my secretary (Fig. 104), and several efforts
to reproduce it (Figs. 104a, 104b):

[Illustration: Fig. 104]

[Illustration: Fig. 104a]

[Illustration: Fig. 104b]

The comments accompanying these drawings read: “All I’m sure of is a
straight line with something curved at end of it; once it came” (here is
drawing of the flower). “Then it doubled, or reappeared, I don’t know
which. (Am not sure of curly edges.) Then it was upside down.”

The next drawing was a heart, and my wife got the upper half with what
are apparently blood-drops added (Figs. 105, 105a):

[Illustration: Fig. 105]

[Illustration: Fig. 105a]

The above is interesting, as suggesting that whatever agency furnished
the information knew more than it was telling. For if Craig’s drawing, a
pair of curves, constituted a crude letter N, or had no significance,
why add the blood-drops, which were not in the original? On the other
hand, if her subconscious mind knew it was a heart, why not give her the
whole heart, and let her draw it?

So much for the drawings of my secretary; and now for my own early
drawings. When I was a school boy, we used to represent human figures in
this way; and, as you see, Craig got the essentials (Figs. 106, 106a):

[Illustration: Fig. 106]

[Illustration: Fig. 106a]

Several weeks later, I drew a pair of such figures in action and the
comment was: “It’s a whirligig of some sort” (Figs. 107, 107a).

[Illustration: Fig. 107]

[Illustration: Fig. 107a]

After the following drawing, Craig asked me not to do any more hands,
for the reason that she “got” this, but thought it was my own hand doing
the drawing. She guessed something else, and wrote: “Turned into pig’s
head, then rabbit’s” (Figs. 108, 108a):

[Illustration: Fig. 108]

[Illustration: Fig. 108a]

Next, this bat, with very striking comment.

“Looks like ear-shaped something,” and again:

“Looks like calla lily” (Figs. 109, 109a):

[Illustration: Fig. 109]

[Illustration: Fig. 109a]

A butterfly net (Figs. 110, 110a).

[Illustration: Fig. 110]

[Illustration: Fig. 110a]

A key (Figs. 111, 111a):

[Illustration: Fig. 111]

[Illustration: Fig. 111a]

This highly humorous sunrise (Figs. 112, 112a):

[Illustration: Fig. 112]

[Illustration: Fig. 112a]

A carnation which came after the preceding drawing, and apparently had
been anticipated in the “sunrise” (Figs. 113, 113a).

[Illustration: Fig. 113]

[Illustration: Fig. 113a]

Note that this camp-stool, as I drew it, really does appear to be
standing on water (Figs. 114, 114a):

[Illustration: Fig. 114]

[Illustration: Fig. 114a]

For this little waiter, who follows, no drawing was made by my wife. Her
written comment was: “I see at once the profile of human face. Am
interrupted by radio tune. Something makes me think of a cow. Now see
two things sticking out like horns” (Fig. 115).

[Illustration: Fig. 115]

The following had no comment (Figs. 116, 116a):

[Illustration: Fig. 116]

[Illustration: Fig. 116a]

Nor the next ones (Figs. 117, 117a):

[Illustration: Fig. 117]

[Illustration: Fig. 117a]

The comment on this caterpillar was: “Fork—then garden tool—lawn rake.
Leaf.” I might add that we have a lawn-rake made of bristly bamboo,
which looks very much like my drawing (Figs. 118, 118a):

[Illustration: Fig. 118]

[Illustration: Fig. 118a]

In the following case I drew sixteen stars, and you may count and see
that Craig got twelve of them, and made up the difference with a moon!
(Figs. 119, 119a):

[Illustration: Fig. 119]

[Illustration: Fig. 119a]

Comment on the following: “Looks like a monkey wrench, but it may be a
yardstick” (Figs. 120, 120a):

[Illustration: Fig. 120]

[Illustration: Fig. 120a]

In the next one, the curve of the worm is amusingly reproduced by the
bird’s neck. The comment added: “But it may be a snake.” Craig says this
is an example of how one part of the drawing comes to her, and then, in
haste, her memory-trains and associations supply what they think should
be the rest (Figs. 121, 121a).

[Illustration: Fig. 121]

[Illustration: Fig. 121a]

The umbrella brings up Craig’s reptile “complex” again. I assure you
that in her garden, she turns sticks into snakes when they are far less
snake-like than my drawing. Her comment was: “I feel that it is a snake
crawling out of something—vivid feeling of snake, but it looks like a
cat’s tail” (Figs. 122, 122a):

[Illustration: Fig. 122]

[Illustration: Fig. 122a]

I drew a wall-hook to hang your coat on (Figs. 123, 123a):

[Illustration: Fig. 123]

[Illustration: Fig. 123a]

A design, evidently felt as a design, though not well got (Figs. 124,
124a):

[Illustration: Fig. 124]

[Illustration: Fig. 124a]

A screw, with comment: “light-house or tower. Too fat at base.” If
Craig’s drawing were made narrower at base, it would reproduce the screw
very well. Note that in the right-hand “tower” the screw-like effect of
the “set backs” is kept (Figs. 125, 125a):

[Illustration: Fig. 125]

[Illustration: Fig. 125a]

Here is a love story which seems to go wrong, the hearts being turned to
opposition (Figs. 126, 126a):

[Illustration: Fig. 126]

[Illustration: Fig. 126a]

Here is the flag, made simpler—“e pluribus unum!” (Figs. 127, 127a):

[Illustration: Fig. 127]

[Illustration: Fig. 127a]

Here is a cow, as seen by the cubists. Comment: “Something sending out
long lines from it” (Figs. 128, 128a):

[Illustration: Fig. 128]

[Illustration: Fig. 128a]

Telegraph wires, apparently seen as waves in the ether (Figs. 129,
129a):

[Illustration: Fig. 129]

[Illustration: Fig. 129a]

Comment on the following: “Horns. Can’t see what they are attached to”
(Figs. 130, 130a):

[Illustration: Fig. 130]

[Illustration: Fig. 130a]

And here is a parrot turned into a leaf, with comment. “See veins and
stem with sharp vivid bend in it”—which seems to indicate a sense of the
parrot’s beak (Figs. 131, 131a):

[Illustration: Fig. 131]

[Illustration: Fig. 131a]




                                  _19_


The border-line between successes and failures is not easy to determine.
Bear in mind that we are not conducting a drawing class, nor making
tests of my wife’s eyesight: we are trying to ascertain whether there
does pass from my mind to hers, or from my drawing to her mind, a
recognizable impulse of some sort. So, if she gets the essential feature
of the drawing, we are entitled to call it evidence of telepathy. I
think the fan with “crumpled cloth” (Fig. 102), and the umbrella handle
that may be a “snake crawling out of something,” but that “looks like a
cat’s tail” (Fig. 122), and the screw that was called a “tower” (Fig.
126)—all these are really successes. I will append a number of examples,
about which there seems to me no room for dispute, and which I have
called successes. The first is a sample of architecture (Figs. 132,
132a):

[Illustration: Fig. 132]

[Illustration: Fig. 132a]

And here is an hourglass, with sand running through it. Not merely did
Craig write “white sand,” but she made the tree the same shape as the
glass. I have turned the hourglass upside down so that you can get the
effect better. It should be obvious that “upside-downness” has nothing
to do with these tests, as Craig is as apt to be holding a drawing one
way as another (Figs. 133, 133a):

[Illustration: Fig. 133]

[Illustration: Fig. 133a]

And these three circles, with comment: “Feel sure it is,” written above
the drawing (Figs. 134, 134a):

[Illustration: Fig. 134]

[Illustration: Fig. 134a]

As to the next comment, “Trumpet flower,” let me explain that we have
them in our garden, whereas we do not have any musical trumpets or horns
(Figs. 135, 135a):

[Illustration: Fig. 135]

[Illustration: Fig. 135a]

This strange object from my pencil tried to be a conch-shell, but got a
bad start, and was left unclassified. Craig made it “life buoy in
water,” which is good, except for the spelling. She insists upon my
pointing out that shells also belong in water (Figs. 136, 136a):

[Illustration: Fig. 136]

[Illustration: Fig. 136a]

This one, described in good country fashion, “Muley cow with tongue
hanging out” (Fig. 137):

[Illustration: Fig. 137]

This next one was described by the written word: “Goat” (Fig. 138):

[Illustration: Fig. 138]

And this one is so striking that I give the words in facsimile (Figs.
139, 139a):

[Illustration: Fig. 139]

[Illustration: Fig. 139a]

For the following, my wife described a wrong thing, and then added: “Now
a sudden new thing, cone-shaped or goblet-like. This feels like _it_”
(Figs. 140, 140a):

[Illustration: Fig. 140]

[Illustration: Fig. 140a]

This was correctly named: “2 legs of something running” (Figs. 141,
141a):

[Illustration: Fig. 141]

[Illustration: Fig. 141a]

This Alpine hat with feather seems to me no less a success because it is
called “Chafing dish” (Figs. 142, 142a):

[Illustration: Fig. 142]

[Illustration: Fig. 142a]

Nor this wind-mill because the sails are left off (Figs. 143, 143a):

[Illustration: Fig. 143]

[Illustration: Fig. 143a]

These concentric circles are called “Horn (very curled), or shell”
(Figs. 144, 144a):

[Illustration: Fig. 144]

[Illustration: Fig. 144a]

And here is a curious one, which came early in the tests. I call
attention to the comment about the handle, which ran off the sheet of
paper without any ending, just as she says. “Letter A with something
long above it. Key or a sword, there seems to be no end to the handle.
Think it’s a key” (Figs. 145, 145a):

[Illustration: Fig. 145]

[Illustration: Fig. 145a]

And finally, this still more astonishing one, to serve as a climax. Let
me explain that I am not so good an artist as this; I copied my drawing
from some magazine (Figs. 146, 146a):

[Illustration: Fig. 146]

[Illustration: Fig. 146a]

You note that my wife “got,” not merely the whole top of the drawing,
but some impression of the arms, which are crossed in a peculiar way. I
ask her about this case—the drawing having been made less than a month
ago—and I find that she remembers it well. She saw what she thought was
a turban wound about the head, and got the impression of color. She
wrote the words “not hair” to make this clear. The rest of the comment
written at the time was: “See back of head, ear, and swirling scarf tied
around head.”




                                  _20_


I have now given nearly all the 65 drawings which I call “successes,”
and about half the 155 which I call “partial successes.” This, I think,
is enough for any purpose. No one can seriously claim that such a set of
coincidences could happen by chance, and so it becomes necessary to
investigate other possible explanations.

First, a hoax. As covering that point, I prepared a set of affidavits as
to the good faith of myself, my wife, her sister, and her sister’s
husband. These affidavits were all duly signed and witnessed; but
friends, reading the manuscript, think they use up space to no purpose,
and that the reader will ask no more than the statement that this book
is a serious one, and that the manuscript was carefully read by all four
of the persons mentioned above, and approved by them as representing the
exact truth.

That a group of persons should enter into a conspiracy to perpetrate a
hoax is conceivable. Whether or not it is conceivable of the group here
quoted is something of which the reader is the judge. But this much is
clear: any reader who, having read the above, still suspects us, will
not be convinced by further protestations.

How about the possibility of fraud by one person? No one who knows Mary
Craig Sinclair would suspect her; but you who do not know her have,
naturally, the right to consider such an hypothesis. Can she be one of
those women who enjoy being talked about? The broaching of this idea
causes her to take the pencil away from her husband, and you now hear
her own authentic voice, as follows:

“I happen to be a daughter of that once very living thing, ‘the Old
South,’ and there are certain ideals which are in my blood. The
avoidance of publicity is one of them. But even if I had ever had a
desire for publicity, it would have been killed by my actual experiences
as the wife of a social crusader. My home is besieged by an endless
train of persons of every description, who travel over the place,
knocking on doors and windows, and insisting upon having a hearing for
their various programs for changing the nature of the universe. I have
been driven to putting up barriers and fences around my garden, and
threatening to flee to the Himalayas, and become a Yogic mistress, or
whatever a Yogic ‘master’ of my sex is called.

“Jack London tried to solve this problem by putting a sign on the front
door which read, ‘Go to the back door,’ and on the back door one which
read, ‘Go to the front door.’ But when I tried this, one seeker of
inspiration took his seat halfway between the two doors, and declared
that he would remain there the rest of his life, or until his wishes
were acceded to. Another hid himself in the swimming-pool, and rose up
from its depths to confront me in the dusk, when, as it happened, I was
alone on the place, and went out into the garden for a breath of air. A
third announced that he had a million dollars to present to my husband
in person, and would not be persuaded to depart until my brother invited
him to go downtown to supper, and so got him into a car. Having
faithfully fed the hungry millionaire, my brother drove him to the
police-station, where, after a serious talking-to by the chief, he
consented to carry his million dollars away. A fourth introduced himself
by mail as having just been released from the psychopathic ward in Los
Angeles, and intending to call upon us, for reasons not stated. A fifth
announced himself by telephone, as intending to come at once and shoot
my husband on sight. Yet another, seven feet tall and broad in
proportion, announced that he had a revelation direct from God, and had
come to have the manuscript revised. When politely asked as to its
nature, he rose up, towering over my none too husky spouse and declaring
that no human eye had ever beheld it, and no human eye would ever be
permitted to behold it. Such experiences, as a continuing part of a
woman’s life, do not lead her to seek publicity; they tend rather to
develop a persecution complex.

“Speaking seriously, I consider that I have every evidence of the effect
of people’s thoughts on each other. And my distrust of human nature, in
its present stage of evolution, is so great, that the idea of having
many persons concentrate their attention on me is an idea from which I
shrink. I agree with Richet that the fact of telepathy is one of the
most terrifying in existence; and nothing but a deep love of truth has
induced me to let this very personal story be told in print.”

Next, what about the possibility of unconscious fraud? This also is a
question to be frankly met. All students of psychology know that the
subconscious mind has dubious morals. One has only to watch his own
dreams to discover this. A person in a trance is similar to one talking
or walking in sleep, or a drunken man, or one under the influence of a
drug. But in this case it must be noted that my wife has never been in a
trance. In these mind-reading tests, no matter how intense the
“concentration,” there is always a part of her mind which knows what she
is doing. If you speak to her, she is immediately “all there.” When she
has her mental pictures, she sits up and makes her drawing, and compares
it with mine, and this is a completely conscious act.

Moreover, I point out that a great deal of the most impressive evidence
does not depend upon Craig alone. The five drawings with her
brother-in-law, Figures 1, 16, 17, 18, 19, constitute by themselves
evidence of telepathy sufficient to convince any mind which is open to
conviction. While it would have been possible for Craig and Bob to hoax
Dollie and me, it could certainly not have been done without Bob’s
connivance. If you suggest that my wife and my brother-in-law may have
been fooling me, I reply that there is a still greater mass of evidence
which could not have been a hoax without my connivance. When I go into
my study alone—a little sun-parlor at the front of a beach-house, with
nothing but a couch, a chair and a table—I certainly know that I am
alone; and when I make a drawing and hold it before my eyes for five or
ten minutes, I certainly know whether any other person is seeing it.
This covers the drawings presented as Figures 2, 20, and 21, with four
others told about in the same series. It seems to me these seven cases
by themselves are evidence of telepathy sufficient to convince any open
mind.

Furthermore, there are the several score drawings which I made in my
study and sealed up in envelopes, taking them to my wife and watching
her lay them one by one upon her body and write down more or less
accurately what was in them. I certainly know whether I was alone when I
made the drawings, and whether I made the contents of the envelopes
invisible, and whether my wife had any opportunity to open the envelopes
before she made her drawings. Of course, I understand the familiar
conjuring trick whereby you open one envelope, and hide it in your palm,
and pretend to be describing the next one while really describing the
one you have seen. But I would stake my life upon the certainty that my
wife knows no sleight-of-hand, and anyhow, I made certain that she did
not open the first one; I sat and watched her, and after each test she
handed me the envelopes and drawings, one by one—the envelopes having
previously been numbered by me. She would turn out the reading-light
which was immediately over her head, but there was plenty of light from
other parts of the room, enough so that I could look at drawings as they
were shown to me. Often these tests were done in the daytime, and then
all we did was to pull down the window-shades back of the couch.

It should be obvious that I stand to lose much more than I stand to gain
by publishing a book of this sort. Many have urged me not to take the
risk. It is the part of prudence not to believe too many new and strange
ideas. Some of my Socialist and materialist friends are going to
say—without troubling to read what I have written: “Sinclair has gone in
for occultism; he is turning into a mystic in his old age.” It is true
that I am fifty-one, but I think my mind is not entirely gone; and if
what I publish here is mysticism, then I do not know how there can be
such a thing as science about the human mind.

We have made repeated tests to see what happens; we have written down
our observations as we go along; we have presented the evidence
carefully and conscientiously, without theories; and what any scientist
can do, or ask to have done, more than this, I cannot imagine. Those who
throw out these results will not be scientists, but merely another set
of dogmatists—of whom new crops are continually springing up, wearing
new disguises and new labels. The plain truth is that in science, as in
politics and religion, it is a lot easier to believe what you have been
taught, than to set out for yourself and ascertain what happens.

Of course the thing would be more convincing if it were done in the
presence of strangers. That brings up a question which is bound to be
asked, so I will save time by answering it here. The first essential to
success in these tests is a state of mind; and at present my wife is a
sensitive woman, at the stage of life described as “glandular
imbalance.” She has never tried these experiments in the presence of a
stranger, and has no idea whether she could get the necessary
concentration. She learned from her experiments with her sick
brother-in-law that the agent can send you pain and fear, as well as
chairs and table-forks, and she would certainly not enter lightly into a
condition of _rapport_ with those whom she did not know and trust.

She insists that the way for you to be really certain is to follow her
example. If you sat and watched her do it, you might go away with
doubts, as she did after her experiments with Jan. But when you have
done it yourself, then you _know_. One reason the thing has not been
proven to the public is that people depend on professional mediums, many
of whom are deliberate and conscious cheats. Others are vain and
temperamental, difficult to manage; and research is hindered by their
instability. That is why Craig set to work and learned to do it, and she
believes that others can do the same, if they have the desire and the
patience.




                                  _21_


The next thing is to carry out our promise and tell you the technique.
My wife has, among her notes, a mass of writing on this subject in the
form of instructions to Bob, and others who were interested. I tried to
condense it, but found I could not satisfy her, and in the end I
realized that her point of view is correct. No one objects to repetition
of phrases in a legal document, where the one essential is precision;
and the same thing applies to descriptions of these complicated mental
processes. This was the most difficult writing task she ever undertook,
and the reason lies in its newness, and the complexity of the mind
itself.

If you want to learn the art of conscious mind-reading, this will tell
you how; and if you don’t want to learn it, you can easily skip this
section of the book. Here is Craig’s statement:

“The first thing you have to do is to learn the trick of undivided
attention, or concentration. By these terms I mean something quite
different from what is ordinarily meant. One ‘concentrates’ on writing a
chapter in a book, or on solving a problem in mathematics; but this is a
complicated process of dividing one’s attention, giving it to one detail
after another, judging, balancing, making decisions. The kind of
concentration I mean is putting the attention on _one_ object, or one
_uncomplicated_ thought, such as joy, or peace, and holding it there
steadily. It isn’t thinking; it is inhibiting thought, except for one
thought, or one object in thought.

“You have to inhibit the impulse to think things about the object, to
examine it, or appraise it, or to allow memory-trains to attach
themselves to it. The average person has never heard of such a form of
concentration, and so has to learn how to do it. Simultaneously, he must
learn to relax, for strangely enough, a part of concentration is
complete relaxation.

“There seems to be a contradiction here, in the idea of simultaneous
concentration and relaxation. I do not know whether this is due to a
contradiction in the nature of the mind itself, or to our
misunderstanding of its nature. Perhaps we each have several mental
entities, or minds, and one of these can sleep (be blankly unconscious),
while another supervises the situation, maintaining the first one’s
state of unconsciousness for a desired period, and then presenting to it
some thought or picture agreed on in advance, thus restoring it to
consciousness.

“Anyway, it is possible to be unconscious and conscious at the same
time! Almost everyone has had the experience of knowing, while asleep,
that he is having a bad dream and must awaken himself from it. Certainly
some conscious entity is watching the dream, and knowing it is a dream;
and yet the sleeper is ‘unconscious.’ Or perhaps there is no such thing
as complete relaxation—until death.

“All I can say is this: when I practice this art which I have learned,
with my mind concentrated on one simple thing, it is a relaxation as
restful, as seemingly ‘complete’ as when I am in that state called
normal sleep. The attention is not allowed to be on the sensations of
the body, or on anything but the one thing it is deliberately
‘concentrated’ on.

“Undivided concentration, then, means, for purposes of this experiment,
a state of complete relaxation, under specified control. To concentrate
in this undivided way you first give yourself a ‘suggestion’ to the
effect that you will relax your mind and your body, making the body
insensitive and the mind a blank, and yet reserving the power to ‘break’
the concentration in a short time. By making the body insensitive I mean
simply to relax completely your mental hold of, or awareness of, all
bodily sensation. After giving yourself this suggestion a few times, you
proceed to relax both body and mind. Relax all mental interest in
everything in the environment; inhibit all thoughts which try to wander
into consciousness from the subconsciousness, or from wherever else
thoughts come. This is clearly a more thorough affair than ‘just
relaxing.’

“Also, there is something else to it—the power of supervising the
condition. You succeed presently in establishing a blank state of
consciousness, yet you have the power to become instantly conscious,
also; to realize when you are about to go into a state of sleep, in
which you have not the power of instantly returning to consciousness.
Also, you control, to a certain degree, what is to be presented to
consciousness when you are ready to become conscious. For example, you
want a message from the person who is sending you a message; you do not
want a train of subconscious ‘day dreams.’

“All this is work; and so far, it is a bore. But when you have learned
to do it, it is an art worth knowing. You can use it, not only for such
experiments as telepathy and clairvoyance, but for improving your bodily
health. To relax thoroughly several times each day while holding on to a
suggestion previously ‘planted’ in the subconsciousness is more
beneficial to health than any other one measure I know.

“The way to relax is to ‘let go.’ ‘Let go’ of every tense muscle, every
tense spot, in the body. Pain is tension. Pain can be inhibited by
suggestion _followed by complete relaxation_. Drop your body, a
dead-weight, from your conscious mind. Make your conscious mind a blank.
It is the mind, conscious or subconscious, which holds the body tense.
Give to the subconsciousness the suggestion of concentrating on one
idea, and then completely relax consciousness. To make the conscious
mind a blank it is necessary to ‘let go’ of the body; just as to ‘let
go’ of the body requires ‘letting go’ of consciousness of the body. If,
after you have practiced ‘letting go’ of the body, you find that your
mind is not a blank, then you have not succeeded in getting your body
rid of all tension. Work at it until you can let both mind and body
relax completely.

“It may help you to start as follows: Relax the body as completely as
possible. Then visualize a rose, or a violet—some pleasant, familiar
thing which does not arouse emotional memory-trains. Gaze steadily,
peacefully, at the chosen object—think only of it—try not to let any
memories it may arouse enter your mind. Keep attention steady, just
seeing the color, or the shape of the flower and nothing else. Do not
think things about the flower. Just look at it. Select one thing about
it to concentrate on, such as its shape, or its color, or the two
combined in a visual image: ‘pink and round.’

“If you find that you are made nervous by this effort, it is apt to be
due to the fact that you are thinking things. Maybe the object you have
chosen has some buried memories associated with it—something which
arouses unconscious memories of past unhappy events. Roses may suggest a
lost sweetheart, or a vanished garden where you once were happy and to
which you long to return. If so, select some other flower to concentrate
on. Flowers are usually the most restful, the things which are not so
apt to be involved with distressing experiences. A bottle of ink might
suggest the strain of mental work, a spoon might suggest medicine. So,
find a peace-inspiring object to look at. When you have found it, just
look at it, with undivided attention.

“If you succeed in doing this, you will find it hard not to drop asleep.
But you must distinguish between this and the state you are to maintain.
If you drop asleep, the sleep will be what is called auto-hypnotic
sleep, and after you have learned to induce it, you will be able to
concentrate on an idea, instead of the rose, and to carry this idea into
the sleep with you as the idea to dominate the subconsciousness while
you sleep. This idea, taken with you into sleep in this way, will often
act in the subconsciousness with the same power as the idea suggested by
a hypnotist. If you have ever seen hypnotism, you will know what this
means. You can learn to carry an idea of the restoration of health into
this auto-hypnotic sleep, to act powerfully during sleep. Of course this
curative effect is not always achieved. Any idea introduced into the
subconsciousness may meet a counter-suggestion which, if you are ill,
already exists in the subconsciousness, and a conflict may ensue. Thus,
time and perseverance may be necessary to success.

“But this is another matter, and not the state for telepathy—in which
you must avoid dropping into a sleep. After you have practiced the
exercise of concentrating on a flower—and avoiding sleep—you will be
able to concentrate on holding the peculiar blank state of mind which
must be achieved if you are to make successful experiments in telepathy.
There may be strain to start with, but it is getting rid of strain, both
physical and mental, which constitutes relaxation, or blankness, of the
conscious mind. Practice will teach you what this state is, and after a
while you can achieve it without strain.

“The next step: ask someone to draw a half-dozen simple designs for you
on cards, or on slips of paper, and to fold them so that you cannot see
the contents. They should be folded separately, so that you can handle
one at a time. Place them on a table, or chair, beside your couch, or
bed, in easy reach of your hand, so that you can pick them up, one at a
time, while you are stretched out on the bed, or couch, beside them. It
is best at first to experiment in the dark, or at least in a dimly lit
room, as light stimulates the eyes and interferes with relaxation. If
you experiment at night, have a table lamp within easy reach, so that
you can turn the light off and on for each experiment without too much
exertion, as you must keep your body and mind as passive as possible for
these experiments. If you have no reading light near, use a candle. You
must have also a writing pad and pencil beside you.

“After you have placed the drawings on the table, turn off the light and
stretch your body full length on the couch. Close your eyes and relax
your body. Relax completely. Make the mind a complete blank and hold it
blank. Do not think of anything. Thoughts will come. Inhibit them.
Refuse to think. Do this for several moments. It is essential to induce
a passive state of mind and body. If the mind is not passive, it feels
body sensations. If the body is not relaxed, its sensations interfere
with the necessary mental passivity. Each reacts on the other.

“The next step, after having turned off the light and closed your eyes
and relaxed mind and body full length on the couch, is to reach for the
top drawing of the pile on the table. Hold it in your hand over your
solar plexus. Hold it easily, without clutching it. Now, completely
relaxed, hold your mind a blank again. Hold it so for a few moments,
then give the mental order to the unconscious mind to tell you what is
on the paper you hold in your hand. Keep the eyes closed and the body
relaxed, and give the order silently, and with as little mental exertion
as possible.

“However, it is necessary to give it clearly and positively, that is,
with concentration on it. Say to the unconscious mind, ‘I want the
picture which is on this card, or paper, presented to my consciousness.’
Say this with your mind concentrated on what you are saying. Repeat, as
if talking directly to another self: ‘I want to see what is on _this_
card.’ Then relax into blankness again and hold blankness a few moments,
then try gently, without straining, to see whatever forms may appear on
the void into which you look with closed eyes. Do not try to conjure up
something to see; just wait expectantly and let something come.

“My experience is that fragments of forms appear first. For example, a
curved line, or a straight one, or two lines of a triangle. But
sometimes the complete object appears; swiftly, lightly, dimly-drawn, as
on a moving picture film. These mental visions appear and disappear with
lightning rapidity, never standing still unless quickly fixed by a
deliberate effort of consciousness. They are never in heavy lines, but
as if sketched delicately, in a slightly deeper shade of gray than that
of the mental canvas. A person not used to such experiments may at first
fail to observe them on the gray background of the mind, on which they
appear and disappear so swiftly. Sometimes they are so vague that one
gets only a notion of how they look before they vanish. Then one must
‘recall’ this first vision. Recall it by conscious effort, which is not
the same thing as the method of passive waiting by which the vision was
first induced. Instead, it is as if one had seen with open eyes a
fragment of a real picture, and now closes his eyes and looks at the
_memory_ of it and tries to ‘see’ it clearly.

“It is necessary to recall this vision and make note of it, so as not to
forget it. One is _sure_ to forget it—indeed it is his duty to do so—in
the process of the next step, which is one of blankness again. This
blankness is, of course, a deliberate putting out of the conscious mind
of all pictures, including the one just visioned. One must now order the
subconscious not to present it to the conscious mind’s picture-film
again unless it is the right picture, _i.e._, the one drawn on the card
which is held in hand. Make the conscious mind blank again for a brief
space. Then look again on the gray canvas of mind for a vision. This is
to test whether the first vision came from subconscious guessing, or
whether it came from the deeper mind—from some other source than that of
the subconscious, which is so apt to offer a ‘guess,’ or false picture.

“Do this whole performance two or three times, and if the first vision
persists in coming back, accept it. As soon as you have accepted it—that
is, decided that this is the correct vision—turn on the light, and
without looking at the card, or paper, which contains the real picture,
pick up the writing pad and pencil and make a sketch of every detail of
the vision-picture. This is a nuisance, as it interrupts concentration
and the desired passivity. But it is absolutely necessary to record the
vision in every detail, before one looks at the real picture, the one on
the card he has been holding in hand. If one does not make a record of
his vision in advance of looking at the card picture, he is certain to
forget at least some part of it—maybe something which is essential.
Worse yet, he is apt to fool himself; the mind is given to
self-deception. As soon as it sees the real drawing, it not only forgets
the vision, but it is apt to imagine that it visioned the picture it now
sees on the card, which may or may not be true. Imagination is a far
more active function than the average person realizes. This
conscious-subconscious mind is ‘a liar,’ a weaver of fiction. It is the
dream-mind, and also it is the mind of memory trains.

“Do not omit fragments which seem to be out of place in a picture. These
fragments may be the real things. If in doubt as to what the object of
your vision is, do not try to guess. But if you have a ‘hunch’ that
something you have seen is connected somehow with a watch, for example,
or with an automobile, make a note of this ‘hunch.’ I use this popular
word to indicate a real presentation from some true source, something
deeper and more dependable than our own subconscious minds. I call this
the ‘deep mind’ in order to have a name for it. I do not know what it
is, of course—I am only judging from the behavior of the phenomena.

“Do not fail to record what seems to be a very stray fragment, for it
may be a perfect vision of some portion of the real picture. Record
everything, and then later you can compare it carefully with the real
drawing. Of course, do not be fantastic in your conclusions. Do not
think you have gotten a correct vision of an automobile because you saw
a circle which resembled a wheel. However, I once saw a circle and
_felt_ that it was an automobile wheel—felt it so vividly that I became
overwhelmed with curiosity to see if my ‘feeling’ was correct, and
forthwith turned on the light and examined the real picture in my hand.
I found that it was indeed the wheel of an automobile. But I do not do
this kind of thing unless I have a very decided ‘hunch,’ as it tends to
lead back to the natural impulse of the mind to ‘guess’—and guessing is
one of the things one has to strive to avoid. To a certain extent, one
comes to know a difference between a guess and a ‘hunch.’

“The details of this technique are not to be taken as trifles. The whole
issue of success or failure depends on them. At least, this is so in my
case. Perhaps a spontaneous sensitive, or one who has a better method,
has no such difficulties. I am just an average conscious-minded person,
who set out deliberately to find a way to test this tremendously
important question of telepathy and clairvoyance, without having to
depend on a ‘medium,’ who might be fooling himself, or me. It was by
this method of careful attention to a technique of details that I have
found it possible to get telepathic messages and to see pictures on
hidden cards, and symbolic pictures of the contents of books.

“This technique takes time, and patience, and training in the art of
concentration. But this patience is in itself an excellent thing to
learn, especially for nervous and sick people. The uses of mental
concentration are too various and tremendously beneficial to enumerate
here. The average person has almost no power of concentration, as he
will quickly discover by trying to hold his undivided attention on one
simple object, such as a rose, or a bottle of ink, for just a few
minutes. He will find that a thousand thoughts, usually association
trains connected with the rose, or the ink, will appear on his mental
canvas, interrupting his concentration. He will find that his mind
behaves exactly like a moving-picture film, or a fireworks display. It
is the division of attention that uses up energy, if I am not mistaken.

“Of course this technique is not ‘original.’ I got it by selecting from
hints here and there in my reading, and from my general study and
observation of the behavior of the mind.

“Among the difficulties to be overcome—and this is one which is easily
detected—is the appearing of visions of objects one has observed in the
environment just before closing the eyes. When I close my eyes to make
the next test, I invariably find that the last picture, and my own
drawing of it, and also the electric light bulb which I have lighted in
order to see the last picture—all these immediately appear on the
horizon of my mind. It often takes quite a while to banish these
memory-ghosts. And sometimes it is a mistake to banish them, as the
picture you hold in your hand may be quite similar to the preceding one.
If, therefore, a picture resembling the preceding continues obstinately
to represent itself, I usually accept it, and often find that the
preceding and present cards contain similar pictures.

“Another difficulty is the way things sometimes appear in fragments, or
sections, of the whole picture. A straight line may appear, and it may
be either only a portion of the whole, or it may be all there is on the
card. Then I have to resist the efforts of my imagination to speculate
as to what object this fragment may be part of. For instance, I see a
series of points, and have the impulse to ‘guess’ a star. I must say no
to this guesswork, unless the indescribable ‘hunch’ feeling assures me
it is a star. I must tell myself it may be indeed a part of a star, but,
on the other hand, it may be a complete picture of the drawing in hand,
perhaps the letter W, or M, or it may be a part of a pennant, or what
not. Then I must start over, and hold blank a while. Then repeat the
request to the deep mind for the true picture. Now I may get a more
complete picture, or maybe this fragment reappears alone, or maybe it
repeats itself upside-down, or doubled up in most any way.

“I start all over once more and now I may get a series of fragments
which follow each other and jump together as do the comic cartoons which
are drawn on the screen with pen and ink. For instance, two points
appear, then another appears separately and jumps to the first two, and
joins up with them, then two more. The result is a star, and this may be
the true picture. It usually is. But sometimes this is the subconscious
mind, or perhaps the conscious, trying to finish the object as it has
‘guessed’ it should be. This error of allowing the conscious or the
subconscious mind to finish the object is one to be most careful about.
As one experiments, he realizes more and more that these two minds, the
conscious and the subconscious, are really one, subconsciousness being
only a disorderly store-house of memories. The third, or ‘deep mind’ is
apparently the one which gives us our psychic phenomena. Again I say, I
do not know what this ‘deep mind’ is; I use the words merely to have a
name for that ‘other thing’ which brings the message.

“The conscious mind, combined with the subconscious, not only wants to
finish the picture, but decides sometimes to eliminate a detail which
does not belong to what it has guessed should be there. For example, I
will discuss the drawings which have been given as Figures 35, 35a, in
this book. I ‘visioned’ what looked like a figure 5, except that at the
top where there should be a small vertical line projecting toward the
right, there was a flare of very long lines converging at one end. I
consciously decided that the long lines were an exaggeration and
multiplication of what should properly be at the top of a five, and that
I should not accept them. Here was conscious mind making a false
decision. But by obeying the rules I had laid down in advance, I was
saved from this error of consciousness. I closed my eyes, gave a call
for the true picture, and the lines appeared again, so I included them
in my drawing. When I opened the envelope and looked at the picture
inside, it was an oil derrick. So the flare of long lines was the real
thing, while the figure 5 was the interloper—at least, so I now
consciously decided. I thought that the figure 5 and the flare of lines
were entirely separate mental images, one following the other so rapidly
that they appeared to belong together.

“But again my conscious decision was in error. Several hours later,
after I had put the whole matter out of my mind and had been attending
to household duties, I suddenly remembered the paper jacket of a German
edition of my husband’s novel, ‘Oil,’ which was on a shelf in the next
room to the one in which I had made my experiments. Why did I suddenly
remember this book? I had not noticed it for a long time—its jacket
drawings were out of sight, as the book was wedged between many others
on the book shelves in an inconspicuous place in the room. On one side
of the jacket of this book was a picture of three oil derricks; on the
other side was a large dollar mark, almost covering one entire side of
the book. I had seen this jacket, had indeed taken special notice of it,
at the time of its arrival from Germany. So here seems to have been a
clear case of the subconscious mind at work during my experiment, adding
to my true vision of an oil derrick, the subconsciously remembered
dollar mark which looked like a figure 5, partly hidden by the oil
derrick in my vision. Here was a grand mix-up of the false guesses of
consciousness and subconsciousness, and the true presentations from the
‘deep mind.’

“But this was not the end. This confusion in regard to the dollar mark
went forward, in memory-trains to two other experiments. Several days
later, I was trying a new set of drawings, and one of them caused in my
mind a vision of the capital letter S. Instantly, two parallel straight
lines crossed it, turning it into a dollar mark: $. Then it became an S
again without the lines. Then the lines came back. This strange behavior
of my vision continued. I was in a quandary as to which to accept, the S
or the $. Then there appeared an old-fashioned money-bag, such as I used
to see in my father’s bank as a child, full of small coins. It took its
place in the vision beside the dollar mark. I decided with the usual
erroneous consciousness that this money-bag was a hint from my real
mind, so I accepted the dollar mark as correct. But it turned out not to
be. When I looked at the drawing in hand it was a letter S. My
subconsciousness had supplied the money-bag, and the two parallel lines.

“Several days later, in a vision with a third set of drawings, I saw a
letter S, and then at once the bag of small change appeared, but there
were no parallel lines on the S. This time the real drawing was a dollar
mark! So, my subconsciousness, as soon as the dollar mark had appeared
in subconsciousness, had meddled again; it had remembered the last
experiment and the scolding I had given it for its guess work, so it now
subtracted the parallel lines from the new vision to make it correct,
according to the last experiment. It had remembered the last experiment
only, forgetting the first one, of the oil derrick, just as I had
ordered it to do on the occasion of the second experiment. So, it
subtracted the two parallel lines, but it added the remembered bag of
money, which I had included in my scolding. From this kind of
interference by the subconsciousness, I realized that it is indeed no
simple matter to get things into consciousness from the ‘deep mind’
without guesses and additions and subtractions made by the
subconsciousness. Why the subconscious should meddle, I do not know. But
it does. Its behavior is exactly like that of the conscious mind, which
is also prone to guessing. All this sounds fantastic—to anyone who has
not studied his mind. But I tell you how it seems to me.

“Maybe everything comes from the subconscious. Maybe there is no ‘deep
mind.’ Maybe the subconscious gets its knowledge of what is on the
drawing directly from the drawing, and is merely blundering around,
adding details by guesswork to what it has seen incompletely. But I
think that these experiments prove that this is not the case. I think a
study of them shows that a true vision comes into the subconsciousness,
not directly from the drawing, but from another mind which has some
means of knowing, and sending to consciousness via the subconsciousness
whatever I ask it for. Of course I cannot attempt to prove this here. It
was one of the questions to which I was seeking an answer, and the
result seems to point to the existence of a deeper mind, showing how its
behavior is quite different from that of the subconscious.

“I wanted to find out if the true vision could in any way be
distinguished from ‘imagination,’ or these busy guesses of the
subconsciousness. To help myself in this matter, I first made an
examination of exactly how these guesses come. I said to myself: every
thought that ever comes to consciousness, excepting those due to direct
outside stimulation, may proceed from some deeper source, and by
subconscious memory-trains attaching to them, appear to be the work of
subconsciousness. So I shut my eyes and made my mind blank, without
calling on my mind to present any definite thing. I had no drawing in my
hand. After a brief space of blankness, I relaxed the enforced blankness
and waited, dreamily, for what might come. A picture soon came, with a
whole memory-train. First a girl in a large garden hat, then a garden
path and flowers bordering it, then a spade, a wheelbarrow, and so
on—things associated in my memory with a girl in a garden hat. As to
where the girl in the hat came from, I know not. As to why she should
come instead of any other of billions of things seen by me during my
life, I know not. I had not asked my mind for her. The question of why
she came is interesting.

“But it was easy to account for the other things—the association-train.
I learned from this experiment, and several repetitions of it, that
something always came—a girl, or a steamship, or the fact that I had not
attended to some household duty, or what not—and a train of associated
ideas followed. I learned, in a more or less vague way, how these things
behaved, and how I _felt_ about them. This enabled me to notice, when
later I got a true vision, that there was a difference between the way
this true vision came and the way the ‘idle’ visions came. When the true
visions came, there usually came with them a ‘something’ which I call a
‘hunch.’ There was, of course, always in my consciousness the question:
is this the right thing, or not? When the true vision came, this
question seemed to receive an answer, ‘yes,’ as if some intelligent
entity was directly informing me.

“This was not always the case. At times no answer came, or at least, if
it came, it was obscured by guesses. But usually it did, after I had
watched for it, and a sort of thrill of triumph came with it, quite
different from the quiet way in which the money-bag had appeared in
answer to my uncertainty. The subconscious answers questions, and its
answers are always false; its answers come quietly, like a thief in the
night. But the ‘other’ mind, the ‘deep mind’ answers questions, too, and
these answers come, not quietly, but as if by ‘inspiration,’ whatever
that is—with a rustling of wings, with gladness and conviction. These
two minds seem different from each other. One lies and rambles; the
other sings, and is truthful.

“But do not misunderstand me. I am not a religious convert. I am
searching for knowledge, and recording what I find. Others on this
search may have found these same things, but the conclusions they have
drawn may not turn out to be the ones I shall draw.

“One or two other things of interest should perhaps be mentioned. First,
I found that, in doing a series of several drawings, the percentage of
successes was higher in the first three attempts. Then there began to be
failures, alternating with successes. This may have been due to the fact
that the memory-pictures of these first three experiments now
constituted a difficulty. So much attention had to be given to
inhibiting these memory-pictures, and in deciding whether or not they
were to be inhibited. Or it may be due to some other cause, such as
fatigue or boredom.

“The second detail is that during the earliest experiments, I developed
a headache. I think this was due to the fact that I strained my closed
eyes trying to see with them. I mean, of course, trying to see a vision,
not the card in my hand. Using the eyes to see with is a habit, and
habits are not easily overcome. I soon learned not to use my eyes, at
least not in a strained way, and this was the end of the headaches.
However, this use of the eyes in telepathy may perhaps mean more than a
mere habit. The mental canvas on which these ‘visions’ are projected
seems to be spread in the eyes, and it is the eyes which seem to see
them—despite the fact that the room may be dark, the eyes closed, and
the drawing on the paper be wrapped in thick covering and not within
normal range of the eyes. But this may be due to the habit of
associating all pictures with your eyes.”




                                  _22_


So much for the art of voluntary mind-reading. In conclusion I, the
husband, attempt to say a few words about what these phenomena mean, and
how they come about.

This attempt involves me in a verbal duel with my wife, which lasts into
the small hours of morning. It involves the everlasting debate between
the vitalists and the mechanists, which had best be left to Dr. Watson
and Professor McDougall, and the others who are no more able than I am
to look at the neurons of the brain in action, to see what happens. But
I insist that until Craig and Dr. Watson, Professor Eddington and Mrs.
Eddy have found out positively whether the universe is all mind or all
matter, I must go on speaking in the old-fashioned way, as if there were
two worlds, the physical and the mental, two sets of phenomena which
interact one upon the other continuously, even though the manner of this
happening is beyond comprehension.

With this much apology, I obtain permission to put forth my humble guess
as to the part played by mental concentration in the causing of
telepathy, clairvoyance, and trance phenomena. It seems to me that the
process of intense concentration may cause the nervous energy, or brain
energy, whatever it is, to be withdrawn from some of the brain centers
and transferred to others; and it may be this displacement and
disturbance of balance which accounts for such phenomena as catalepsy,
automatism, and somnambulism. Portions of the mind which are ordinarily
below the level of consciousness are raised to more intense forms of
activity. New levels of mind are tapped, new “personalities” or
faculties are brought into action, and persons under hypnotism develop
mental powers they do not consciously possess.

That it is intense concentration upon one suggestion—the narrowing of
the attention to one focus—which produces the cataleptic trance is
something which my wife set out to prove, and by going close to the
border-line she feels that she did prove it. The rigidity began at the
extremities and crept rapidly over the body. In spite of my protests,
Craig insisted that she was going the whole way, and asked me to stand
by and make some tests. I was to wait three minutes, and then lift her
up by the feet. I did so, and found an extraordinary thing—the body was
perfectly rigid, like a log of wood, except at the neck! When I lifted
her by her feet, the neck bent, so that the head remained on the pillow,
while the feet were raised at least a yard in the air. Later, when Craig
had relaxed, she told me that she had known what was happening; there
had been one point of consciousness left, and she had the belief that
she could let that go in another moment, but was afraid to do so,
because she might not come out again. For an instant, she had felt that
strange terror one feels at the moment he ceases to struggle against the
fumes of gas or ether, and plunges into oblivion. The difference is
that, in the case of gas or ether, one cannot hold on to consciousness;
but in the case of the cataleptic state, he can recall his receding
consciousness. Craig, of course, had not concentrated with complete
attention to one idea; one portion of her mind was concentrated upon
achieving rigidity, while another was watching and protesting against
oblivion.

Dr. Morton Prince wrote to Craig: “You are playing with powerful and
dangerous forces.” And so she dropped this form of experiment. But more
should be known about these trances, which often occur spontaneously,
and can be caused by fear—that is to say, an intense concentration on
the idea of escape from danger, which produces a tension amounting to
paralysis. In such cases there are a number of new dangers; one being
that some doctor will try to restore you with drugs and wrong
suggestions. Every suggestion of fear on the part of the onlookers must
be avoided in case of trances, for the subconscious mind of the victim
hears every word, and believes it; also telepathy has to be remembered.
One must not only speak quietly and firmly, repeating that everything is
all right, and that the person will come out safely; one must also
_think_ this. The trance may last a long time, but keep calm and sure of
success, and keep the doctor and the undertaker away. The condition of
catalepsy is more common than is realized, and it is unpleasant to think
how many persons are embalmed while in this condition.

All this sounds disturbing, but it has nothing to do with our telepathy
experiments, in which the state of concentration is not one of tension
accompanied by the suggestion of rigidity, or of fear, but on the
contrary is a state of relaxation, accompanied by the suggestion of
control, or supervision. This matter of supervision has been carefully
set forth by Craig in her statement. It is one of the mind’s great
mysteries: how, while thinking about nothing, you can not only remember
to give a suggestion, but can also act upon it. Craig insists that we
have three minds; and she has in this the backing of William McDougall,
an Englishman, who was called the “dean” of American psychologists.
McDougall talks about the various “monads” of the mind; so let us say
that one “monad” gives an order to a second “monad” to become blank,
after it has given an order to a third to present to the first a
picture.

The psychic Jan gives such “autosuggestions” to himself when he goes
into a trance, and tells his trance mind to bring him out at a certain
moment. How that trance mind can measure time as exactly as a clock is
another of the mysteries; but that it happens is beyond doubt. My wife
took Jan to a group of scientists in Boston, and several of them held
watches and expressed their surprise at what Jan was able to do. It is
obvious that when the psychic lets himself be buried six feet under the
ground in an ordinary pine-wood coffin, he is staking his life upon his
certainty that he will not come out of the state of lethargy until after
he has been dug up.

He also stakes it upon the hope that the physicians who have the test in
charge will have sufficient sense to realize the importance of having
him dug out at the time agreed. In one case they were several minutes
late, and Jan nearly suffocated. I never saw one of these burials,
because Craig obtained his promise not to do them after she knew him;
but I have talked with several physicians who watched and directed all
the details, and I have a moving-picture film of one.




                                  _23_


Mention telepathy in company, and almost everyone has a story to tell.
You can find a clairvoyant to tell you about yourself for a dollar—and
maybe she is a fraud, but then again, maybe she is a person with a gift
which she does not understand, and the police throw her into jail
because they don’t understand it either. I am sorry if I aid the mass of
fraud which I know exists in this field, but there is no power of man
which may not and will not be abused. The person who invented high
explosives and made possible great tunnels and bridges, also made
possible the destruction of the Louvain library. The person who makes a
dynamo may electrocute himself.

In spite of all fraud, I am convinced that there are thousands of
genuine clairvoyants and psychics. My friend Will Irwin told me recently
how he spent a year or so collecting material and writing an exposure of
fraud, “The Medium Game,” published in _Collier’s Weekly_ some twenty
years ago. At the end of his labors he went, on sudden impulse, into a
“parlor” on Sixth Avenue, a cheap neighborhood of New York, and a fat
old woman in a greasy wrapper took his dollar, and held his hand in
hers, and told him things which he believed were known to no human being
but Will Irwin.

“What is the use of it?” some will ask. I reply with another question:
“What was the use of the lightning which Franklin brought down from the
clouds on his kite-string?” No use that Franklin ever knew; yet today we
make his lightning turn the wheels of industry, and move great railroad
systems, and light a hundred million homes, and spread jazz music and
cigarette advertising thousands of miles in every direction. It is an
axiom of the scientist that every scrap of knowledge will be put to use
sooner or later; get it, and let the uses wait. The discovery of the
cause of bubonic plague was made possible because some foolish-minded
entomologist had thought it worth-while to collect information about the
fleas which prey upon the bodies of rats and ground squirrels.

I know a certain Wall Street operator who employed a “psychic” to sit in
at his business conferences, and tell him if the other fellow was
honest. I believe it didn’t work very well; perhaps the circumstances
were not favorable to concentration. Needless to say, Craig and I have
no interest in such uses to be made of our knowledge. What telepathy
means to my wife is this: it seems to indicate a common substratum of
mind, underlying our individual minds, and which we can learn to tap.
Figure the conscious mind as a tree, and the subconscious mind as the
roots of that tree: then what of the earth in which the tree grows, and
from which it derives its sustenance? What currents run through that
earth, affecting all the trees of the forest? If one tree falls, the
earth is shaken—and may not the other trees feel the impulse?

In other words, we are apparently getting hints of a cosmic
consciousness, or cosmic unconsciousness: some kind of mind stuff which
is common to us all, and which we can bring into our individual
consciousness. Why is it not sensible to think that there may be a
universal mind-stuff, just as there is a universal body-stuff, of which
we are made, and to which we return?

When Craig orders her mind, or some portion of it, or faculty of it, to
get what is in Bob’s mind, while Bob is forty miles away—and when her
mind does that, what are we to picture as happening? If I am correct in
my guess, that mind and body are two aspects of one reality, then we
shall find some physical form of energy being manifested, just as we do
when we communicate by sound waves. The human brain is a storage
battery, capable of sending impulses over the nerves. Why may it not be
capable of sending impulses by means of some other medium, known or
unknown? Why may there not be such a thing as brain radio?

Certainly we know this, that every particle of energy in the universe
affects to some slight extent every other particle. The problem of
detecting such energy is merely one of getting a sufficiently sensitive
device. Who can say that our thoughts are not causing vibrations? Who
can set a limit to the distance they may travel, or to the receiving
powers of another brain, in some way or other attuned thereto? Any truly
scientific person will admit that this is a possibility, and that it is
purely a question of experimenting, to find out if it does happen, and
how.

Again, consider the problem of clairvoyance, suggested by Craig’s
ability to tell what is inside a book she holds in her hand without
seeing it, or to reproduce drawings when no human mind knows what
drawing she holds. How are we to figure that as happening? Shall we say
that brain vibrations affect material things such as paper, and leave
impressions which endure for a long time, possibly forever? Can these
affect another brain, as in the case of a bit of radium giving off
emanations? It seems to me correct to say that, theoretically, it is
inevitable. Every particle of energy that has ever been manifested in
the universe goes on producing its effects somewhere, somehow, and the
universe is forever different because of that happening. The soil of
Britain is still shaking with the tramp of Caesar’s legions, two
thousand years old. Who can say that some day we may not have
instruments sensitive enough to detect such traces of energy? On the
very day that I am reading the galley proofs of this book, I find in my
morning paper an Associated Press dispatch, from which I clip a few
paragraphs.

“A fundamental discovery in photography that takes the ‘pictures’
directly on cold, hard untreated metal without the usual photographer’s
medium of a sensitized plate was made public tonight at Cornell
University. It reveals that seemingly impervious metal records on its
surface unseen impressions from streams of electrons and that these
marks can be brought into visibility by the right kind of a ‘developer,’
exactly as photographic images are brought out on sensitized paper....

“While studying sensitivity of photographic plates to electron rays it
suddenly was realized that polished metal surfaces might be able to pick
up impressions of these beams, and when tests were made they showed that
not only could such records be made on metals, but the amazing fact
appeared that some metals are almost as sensitive as photographic film,
and for very low velocity electrons much more sensitive....

“This young physicist one day was looking at the rough spots produced on
the metal target of an x-ray tube by electron bombardment. Such spots
are commonplace, familiar sights to laboratory workers. It occurred to
Dr. Carr that perhaps long before the electrons produced the rough place
they made an invisible impression, which might be ‘developed’ in the
same manner that the still invisible image on a photo is brought out by
putting it into a developing bath. Carr shot the electron rays at gold
plates and developed them with mercury vapor, he shot them at silver and
developed with iodine, he used hydrochloric acid to develop zinc plates
and iodine to develop copper.”

And now, if x-rays leave a permanent record on metal, why might not
brain-rays, or thought-rays, leave a record upon a piece of paper? Why
might not such energies be reflected back to another brain, as light is
reflected by a mirror? Or perhaps the record might stay as some other
form of energy, turned back into brain-rays or thought-rays by the
percipient. We are familiar with this in the telephone, where sound
vibrations are turned into electrical vibrations, and in this form
transported across a continent and under an ocean, and then turned back
into sound vibrations once again.

That mental activities do leave some kind of record on matter seems
certain; at any rate, it is the basic concept of the materialistic
psychologist. For what is memory, to the materialist, but some kind of
record upon brain cells? He compares these cells to photoelectric cells,
and imagines a lot of stored up records which we can consult. If now it
should be found that such memory records are impressed, not merely upon
living brain cells, but upon the molecules or electrons which compose
any form of matter, what would be so incredible about that?

I have gone this far, in the effort to meet my materialist friends
halfway. For my part, I have no metaphysics; I am content to say that I
do not know what matter is, nor what mind is, nor how they interact. If
you want to realize the inadequacies of the materialistic dogma, so far
as concerns this special field, you may consult the work of Dr. Rudolph
Tischner, a qualified scientist of Germany, whose book, _Telepathy and
Clairvoyance_, is published in translation by Harcourt, Brace and
Company. The last chapter, called “Theory,” deals with the suggested
explanations in more detail than I have the space for here.




                                  _24_


April 21, 1929. I am over at the office fixing up this manuscript to
send to the publisher; and just as I have it nicely wrapped, it has to
be opened again—for this is what has happened. Craig, with her anxiety
complex, has had this thought: “Here is Upton committing himself in this
public way, on a subject about which people know so little and suspect
so much; and suppose this faculty, whatever it is, should be gone in
these last few weeks, while I have been fussing over spring
housecleaning! Suppose I should find I can never do it again!”

She has to make sure all over again. She has in her desk a fat envelope
marked: “To try.” A lot of old drawings, left-overs from different
series that she has tried and failed on during the past several months;
some that she herself has drawn for friends; some that she was
interrupted while doing—a job lot, in short. She does not know how many,
as she has stuck them in from time to time, and never looked into the
envelope; but it is well filled. Now she takes out some drawings, with
averted eyes, and lies down and tries them. The house is quiet, a good
opportunity, so she does nine drawings, and there is only one complete
failure in the lot.

One is a marvel—as good as any. It is a drawing I had made, a donkey’s
head and neck, with a wide collar. Craig writes: “Cow’s head in
‘stock’”—a “stock” being in Mississippi a wooden yoke made to keep
cattle from jumping fences. She draws the head of the so-called “cow”
and the “stock”; it is a perfect donkey’s head, facing just as mine
does.

And then there is a duck, about to eat a snail. Such a jolly duck, and
such a wheely snail shell! Craig has made this drawing to amuse the
little daughter of Bob and Dolly, who had a pet duck, called “Mary Ann,”
fed on snails. Craig made this drawing several months ago, to let the
child “concentrate” on, and try telepathy like the grown-ups. And now,
with this drawing under her hand, Craig writes: “See wheels. Think of
children. Has to do with children.” The drawing of the snail shell is
plainly a lot of “wheels.”

Now, of course, Craig had previously seen every one of these drawings,
and so they were all in her subconscious mind. But these drawings had
never been seen by her at the same time. They were put into the
envelope, some at one time, some at another. Now she has taken out a few
at random. What a jumble for any subconscious mind to keep track of! How
is Craig’s mind to know which drawings she has taken out, and which one
she is holding under her hand?

Again we have something more than telepathy. For no human mind knows
what drawings she has taken from that envelope. No human mind but her
own even knows that she is trying an experiment. Either there is some
superhuman mind, or else there is something that comes from the
drawings, some way of “seeing,” other than the way we know and use all
the time. Make what you can of this, but don’t laugh at it, for most
certainly it happens.




                                  _25_


October, 1929. At my wife’s insistence, I have held up this book for six
months, in order to think it over, and have the manuscript read by
friends whose opinions we value. A score or more have read it, and made
various suggestions, many of which I have accepted. Some of the
reactions of these friends may be of interest to the reader.

The news that I was taking up “psychic” matters brought me letters both
of curiosity and protest. My friend Isaac Goldberg of Boston reported
the matter in the Haldeman-Julius publications under the title:
“Sinclair Goes Spooky.” I hope that when he has read this book, he will
find another adjective. My friends, both radical and respectable, must
realize that I have dealt here with facts, in as patient and thorough a
manner as I have ever done in my life. It is foolish to be convinced
without evidence, but it is equally foolish to refuse to be convinced by
real evidence.

There came to me a letter of warning from a good comrade, T. H. Bell of
Los Angeles, an elderly Scotchman who has grown up in the Socialist
movement, and known the old fighters of the days when I was a child. He
begged me not to jeopardize my reputation; so I thought he would be a
good test for the manuscript, and asked him to read it. Some of his
suggestions I accepted, and the work is the better for them. But Comrade
Bell was not able to believe that Craig’s drawings could have come by
telepathy, for the reason that it would mean that he was “abandoning the
fundamental notions” on which his “whole life has been based.”

Comrade Bell brought many arguments against my thesis, and this was a
service, because it enables me to answer my critics in advance. First,
what is the value of my memory? Can I be sure that it does not
“accommodate itself too easily to the statement Sinclair wishes to
believe?” My answer is that few of the important cases in the book rest
upon my memory; they rest upon records written down at once. They rest
upon drawings which were made according to a plan devised in advance,
and then duly filed in envelopes numbered and dated. Also, my memory has
been checked by my wife’s, who is a fanatic for accuracy, and has caused
me torment, through a good part of our married life, by insisting upon
going over my manuscripts and censoring every phrase. Also Bob and
Dollie and my secretary have read this narrative, and checked the
statements dealing with them.

Next objection, that I am “a man without scientific training.” The
acceptance of that statement depends upon the definition of the word
“scientific.” If it includes the social sciences, then I have had
twenty-five years of very rigid training. I have made investigations and
published statements, literally by thousands, which were criminal libels
unless they were true and exact; yet I have never had any kind of libel
suit brought against me in my life. As to the scientific value of the
particular experiments described in this book, the reader can do his own
judging, for they have been described in detail. I don’t see how
scientific training could have increased our precautions. We have
outlined our method to scientists, and none has suggested any change.

Next, the fact that in the past I have shown myself “naïve and credulous
at times.” No doubt I have; but I have learned by such experiences, and
I am not so naïve and credulous as when I was younger. Neither do I see
how these qualities can play much part in the present matter. I surely
know the conditions under which I made my drawings, and whether I had
them under my eyes while my wife was making her drawings in another
room; I know about the ones I sealed in envelopes, and which were never
out of my sight. As for my wife, she certainly has nothing of the
qualities of naïveté and credulity. She was raised in a family of
lawyers, and was given the training and skeptical point of view of a
woman of the world. “Trust people, but watch them,” was old Judge
Kimbrough’s maxim; and following it too closely has almost made a
pessimist of his daughter.

Next, that Craig is “in poor health.” That is true, but I do not see how
it matters here. She has often been in pain, but it has never affected
her judgment. She chose her own times for experimenting, when she felt
in the mood, and her mind was always clear and keen for the job.

Next, “a husband and wife are a bad pair to make telepathic experiments.
Living so much together, their common life does tend to make them think
of the same thing at the same time.” This is true; but how does it
account for the half-dozen successes with a brother-in-law, twenty or
thirty with a secretary, and many with Jan? How does it account for the
covers and jackets of books in which I had no interest, but which had
come to me by chance, and which Craig had never even glanced at, so far
as she remembers?

It is true that in the early days most of our drawings were of obvious
things which lay about the house, scissors, table-forks, watches,
chairs, telephones; so there was a better chance of guess work. How much
chance, was determined by my son and his wife, who, hearing that Craig
and I were trying telepathy experiments, decided to try a few
also—without knowing anything about the technique. They also drew
scissors, table-forks, watches, chairs, telephones, and such common
objects. The only trouble was that when David tried to reproduce Betty’s
drawings, he drew the chair where she had drawn the scissors, and drew
the watch where she had drawn the table-fork, and so on. They did not
get a single success.

I think that if you will go back and look over those drawings as a
whole, you must admit that the objects were as varied as the imagination
could make them. I do not see how any one could choose a set of objects
less likely to be guessed than the series which I have numbered from 5
to 12—a bird’s nest full of eggs and surrounded by leaves, a spiked
helmet, a desert palm-tree, a star with eight double points, a coconut
palm, a puppy chasing a string, a flying bat, a Chinese mandarin, and a
boy’s foot with a roller-skate on it. None of these objects has any
relationship whatever to my life, or to Craig’s, or to our common life.
To say that a wife can guess such a series, because she knows her
husband’s mind so well, seems to me out of all reason.

Next, the point that some of the cases are not convincing by themselves.
I am familiar with this method of argument, having encountered it with
others of my books. Let me beg you to note that the cases are _not_
taken by themselves, but are taken as a whole. I can think, for example,
of several ways by which Craig might have known that I had put my little
paper of written notes into the pocket of my gray coat, or that I had
left some medical apparatus under the bathtub at the office. She might
have seen these things, and then have forgotten it, and her subconscious
mind might have brought back to her the location of the objects, but
failed to remind her of the previous seeing. If such cases had stood
alone, I would not have thought it worth while to write this book.

The same thing applies to Craig’s production of German words. Having
spent several weeks with me in Germany, and having known many Germans,
she no doubt has German words in her subconscious mind. This also
applies to certain dream cases. Any one who wants to can go through the
book and pick out a score of cases which can be questioned on various
grounds. Perhaps it would be wiser for me to cut out all except the
strongest cases. But I rely upon your common sense, to realize that the
strongest cases have caused me to write the book; and that the weaker
ones are given for whatever additional light they may throw upon the
problem.

If you want to deal fairly with the book, here is what you have to
explain. How did it happen that at a certain agreed hour when Bob at
Pasadena drew a table-fork and dated and signed the drawing, Craig in
Long Beach wrote: “See a table-fork, nothing else,” and dated and signed
her words? If you call this a coincidence, how are you going to account
for the chair, and the watch, and the circle with the hole in the
middle, and the sense of pain and fear, and the spreading black stain
called blood, all reproduced under the same perfect conditions? I say
that if you call all this coincidence, you are violating the laws of
probability as we know them. I say that there are only two possible
explanations,—either telepathy, or that my wife and her brother-in-law
were hoaxing me.

But if you want to assume a hoax, you have to face the fact that my wife
a few days later was reproducing a series of drawings which I made and
kept in front of my eyes in a separate room from her, in such a position
that she could not see them if she wanted to. If I thought it worth
while, I could draw you a diagram of the place where she sat and the
place where I sat, and convince you that neither mirrors, nor a hole in
the wall, nor any other device would have enabled my wife to see my
drawings, until I took them to her and compared them with her drawings.
The only way you can account for that series of successes is to say that
I am in on the hoax.

My good friend and comrade, Tom Bell, does not suggest that I am in it;
but others may say it, so I will answer. Let me assure you, there is no
reason in the world why I should take the field on behalf of the
doctrine of telepathy—except my conviction that it has been proved. I
don’t belong to any church which teaches telepathy. I don’t hold any
doctrine which is helped by it. I don’t make any money by advocating or
practicing it. There is no more reason why I should be concerned to
vindicate telepathy, than there is for my coming out in support of the
Catholic doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, or the Mormon doctrine
of Urim and Thummim, or the Koreshan doctrine that the earth is a hollow
sphere and we live on the inside of it.

I assure you I am as cold-blooded about the thing as a man can be. In
fact, I don’t like to believe in telepathy, because I don’t know what to
make of it, and I don’t know to what view of the universe it will lead
me, and I would a whole lot rather give all my time to my muckraking job
which I know by heart. I don’t expect to sell especially large
quantities of this book; I am sure that by giving the same amount of
time and energy to other books I have in mind, I could earn several
times as much money. In short, there isn’t a thing in the world that
leads me to this act, except the conviction which has been forced upon
me that telepathy is real, and that loyalty to the nature of the
universe makes it necessary for me to say so.

My friend and publisher Charles Boni thinks that I should write this
book without protestations; taking a dignified position, sure that my
readers will trust me. But as it happens, I have read, not merely the
literature of psychic research, but also the literature in opposition to
it, and I know the arguments advanced by persons who are unwilling to
change their “fundamental notions.” It seems common sense to answer here
the objections which are certain to be made.

I submitted this manuscript to the two leading psychologists of America,
Morton Prince and William McDougall. Dr. Prince was taken by death
before he found time to read it, but Professor McDougall read it, and
has stated his reactions in the preface. In writing to me, he expressed
the hope that my wife would be able to make some of these telepathy
tests under the observation of well-known scientists. In replying, I
assured him that my wife and I shared this hope; but whether it can ever
be realized is a problem for the future. All Craig’s work so far has
depended upon a state of complete peace and relaxation. As she has
pointed out, it is a matter of “undivided concentration,” and even such
disturbing things as light and noise are an interference. One friend who
has tried to experiment lately at our instigation gave it up because of
automobile horns in the street outside. She declared that these had
never disturbed her before, but that the effort not to hear them when
concentrating only caused her to concentrate on the horns, and so
threatened to give her a case of “nerves.”

Whether Craig would be able to get the necessary state of mind in the
presence of strangers, skeptical or possibly hostile, is a problem yet
to be solved. Unless we are going to beg the question, we have to assume
that telepathy may be a reality; and if it be a reality, then certainly
what is in the other person’s mind makes a difference, and certainly it
is a serious matter to ask a woman in delicate health to open her mind
to the moods of strangers. Some day in the future Craig is going to make
the test, but whether it succeeds or fails will not alter, so far as I
am concerned, what has already happened in my presence.

Another of my friends who read the manuscript was Floyd Dell, and he
thinks that readers of my books will wish to know to what extent, if
any, my interest in the subject of telepathy is going to change my
attitude to the struggle for social justice. To that I reply that I have
been interested in psychic research for the past thirty-five years, ever
since, as a youth, I met Minot J. Savage; but this has not kept me from
believing ardently in the abolition of parasitism, exploitation, and
war. While the telepathy experiments were going on I wrote “Boston,” a
novel of some 325,000 words, in less than a year. While I am consulting
with my friends about this manuscript, I am writing a novel, “Mountain
City,” which I hope my Socialist friends will find of interest. The only
discovery that can weaken my interest in the economic problem will be
one which enables human beings to live without food, clothing, and
shelter. But in the meantime, I see no reason why Socialists are
required to be ignorant of psychology.

James Fuchs, another patient critic of my writings, thinks I appear
naïve in this book, and should reveal some knowledge of the vast
literature on the subject. My reason for not doing so is that very
vastness; one would need several volumes to handle it. In the
Proceedings of the American and British Societies for Psychical Research
lies buried endless evidence on the subject; but scientific authority
remains for the most part uninterested in that evidence, and would not
be interested in my rehash of it. I have written this book to tell my
readers and friends what I myself have seen with my own eyes. That is my
job, and I leave the rest to others who are better qualified.

Fuchs reminds me that “umbilical sensory perception” is a well-known
psychic phenomenon, and that Craig, in holding the drawings over her
solar plexus, is repeating the method of Justinus Kerner (1786–1862),
about whom you will find an article in the “Encyclopedia Britannica.”
Craig knew about that from various sources, and some of her experiments
were designed to test the explanation. I made eight drawings and laid
them face down on the table by her couch, perhaps three feet from her
head. I put them there while she was out of the room, and I sat and
watched, to be sure she did not ever touch them. She lay on the couch
and made some notes and drawings which reproduced the essential features
of half a dozen of my drawings—all at once! So, if Craig has an
umbilical eye, she must also have one in the side of her head which can
see through several thicknesses of paper.

My daughter-in-law at that time also made suggestions which I accepted.
She spoke for the new generation of radicals, saying: “The book aroused
a storm of metaphysical speculation in my mind, and I could wax eloquent
with slight provocation.” This is different from refusing to “abandon
the fundamental notions on which my whole life has been based.”




                                  _26_


One interesting point I observe: in any company where the subject of
this manuscript is brought up, invariably some person declares that he
or she has had such experiences. One lady, highly educated, assured me
that she and her husband had developed telepathy to a point where it
served them on a lonely ranch in the place of telegraph and telephone.
Only a few days ago I met at luncheon Bruno Walter, orchestra leader,
who had come from Germany to conduct concerts in the Hollywood Bowl. Mr.
Walter narrated to me the incident which follows:

While conducting in some middle western city, he was a guest at a
luncheon, and found himself becoming very ill. He explained matters to
his host, who called a taxicab, but this cab did not arrive, and Mr.
Walter, in great distress, took his hat and left the house, saying that
he would look for a cab. Turning the corner of the street, he came upon
his manager, driving a car, and hailed him. “A most fortunate accident!”
exclaimed the sick man, but the manager assured him that it was no
accident; about half an hour previously, the manager had been seized by
an intense feeling that Mr. Walter was in trouble, and had been moved to
get into his car and drive. He did not know where Mr. Walter had gone,
but simply followed his impulse to drive in a certain direction.

Another incident, told me by Fremont Older, editor of the San Francisco
_Call_, and a veteran fighter in the cause of social justice. Older had
seen many demonstrations of telepathy, and was completely convinced of
its reality. A friend of his, living on a ranch, employed a cook named
Sam who had the gift, and agreed to give a demonstration for the Olders.
Sam asked Older to get a book and wrap it in thick paper, and Sam would
tell the name of the book and the author. Older went out to his car, but
could find no book, only a folder of maps, which he wrapped in several
thicknesses of paper. Sam put the package to his head, and after a
minute or two said, “This is not a book, it is a map or something. Why
don’t you get me a regular book?” So Older went to his car again and
found a book belonging to his wife, and wrapped it with care and tied
it. Sam put it to his head, and began to spell letters, and finally
stated as follows: “Julia France and her Times, by Gertrude Atherton,
published by the Macmillan Company.” This was correct. Sam added: “I get
another name. What has Ernest Hopkins got to do with this book?” Older
and his wife were dumbfounded; for the name was that of a member of the
newspaper staff who had been asked to review the book, but Mrs. Older
had taken the copy from him because at the last moment she wanted
something to read on her trip.

As this book is going to the printer, my attention is called to the fact
that Dr. Carl Bruck of Berlin has published a book entitled
“Experimentelle Telepathie,” in which he reports a series of tests
closely resembling those here described. The main difference is that he
used hypnotized subjects, four different young men, as the recipients of
his telepathic messages. He made drawings at home, and locked them in a
large portfolio, which he placed in an adjoining room from the subject,
two or three yards distant through a wall. He himself sat in front of
the hypnotized subject, and concentrated upon “sending” one of the
drawings. Under these conditions, in a total of 111 experiments,
one-third were successful. The Berlin correspondent of the “Scientific
American” reported these tests in the issue of May, 1924, where those
interested may read the details, and inspect twelve of the drawings. The
tests were conducted in the presence of various physicians and
scientists; and I am interested in a recent comment on the matter by a
German physician living in Mexico City: “Bruck’s work has gone almost
wholly unnoticed.”

I say to scientific men, that such work deserves to be noticed. There is
new knowledge here, close to the threshold, waiting for us; and we
should not let ourselves be repelled by the seeming triviality of the
phenomena, for it is well known that some of the greatest discoveries
have come from the following up of just such trivial clews.

What did Benjamin Franklin have to go on when he brought the lightning
down from the clouds on the string of a kite? Just a few hints, picked
up in the course of the previous hundred years; a few traces of
electricity noted by accident. The fact that you got a spark if you
stroked a cat’s fur; the fact that you got the same kind of a spark by
rubbing amber, and a bigger one by storing the energy in a glass jar
lined with tinfoil—that was all men had as promise of the miracles of
our time, dynamos and superpower, telegraph and telephone, x-ray
surgery, radio, wireless, television, and new miracles just outside our
door. If now it be a fact that there is a reality behind the notions of
telepathy and clairvoyance, to which so many investigators are bearing
testimony all over the world, who can set limits to what it may mean to
the future? What new powers of the human mind, what ability to explore
the past and future, the farthest deeps of space, and those deeps of our
own minds, no less vast and marvelous?

To set limits to such possibilities is not to be scientific, it is
merely to be foolish. The true scientist sets no limits to human powers,
he merely asks that we verify our facts. This my wife and I have tried
to do, and I think that, so far as concerns telepathy at least, we can
claim success. We present here a mass of real evidence, and we shall not
be troubled by any amount of ridicule from the ignorant. I tell you—and
because it is so important, I put it in capital letters: TELEPATHY
HAPPENS!




                                ADDENDUM


  The following was originally published as Part I of Bulletin XVI of
  the Boston Society for Psychic Research in April, 1932. The figure
  numbers listed herein refer to the illustrations in _Mental Radio_,
  with the exception of Figures 147, 148, and 149 which appeared in the
  Bulletin only.

  The author of the report was Dr. Walter Franklin Prince, Research
  Officer of the society. He was a doctor of divinity of the Methodist
  Episcopal Church and had been pastor of several churches. Later he
  retired and took up the work of the society. He died two years after
  this report appeared.




                 THE SINCLAIR EXPERIMENTS FOR TELEPATHY


About eighteen months ago I first opened a new book by the novelist
Upton Sinclair, entitled _Mental Radio_, then newly issued. In 239 pages
it outlined the story of the discovery and development of what purported
to be a supernormal faculty possessed by his wife, and rehearsed a large
number of experiments in which she seemed to have achieved a large and
convincing percentage of successes as a telepathic “percipient,” the
“agent” generally being Mr. Sinclair, but sometimes her brother-in-law
or another person. I confess to misgivings as I began to read, first for
the very reason that the writer is a novelist (unmindful of Wells and
certain other writers of fiction who, nevertheless, have shown
themselves capable of serious and even scientific thinking),[1] and
secondly because I had suspected, rightly or wrongly, that once or twice
in the past he had failed to discover the devices of certain clever
professionals. To be sure, his wife was not a professional, and all the
conditions could be under his own hand, but sometimes through sheer
confidence people are deceived by their own relatives.

This, to be frank, was my initial attitude—one of cautious interrogation
and alertness to find signs of credulity, failure to appreciate the
possibilities of chance, or lack of data by which the calculus of chance
coincidence could be determined. But as I read on and studied the
reproductions of drawings it became more and more evident that something
besides chance had operated, that the conditions of many of the
experiments had been excellently devised, and that where the conditions
were relaxed Mr. Sinclair had been quite aware of the fact and was
candid enough to admit it. He stated that such relaxation did not
increase the percentage of success, and it certainly so appeared from
the examples given. He reported the total number of experiments, and
estimated the percentages of successes, partial successes, and failures.
In 290 experiments, he made these percentages: successes, approximately
23 per cent; partial successes, 53 per cent; failures, 24 per cent. He
admitted that judges probably would not agree upon exactly the same
ratios. In fact I personally think that certain examples which he did
not publish are better than a few which he did, but have not yet found
reason to quarrel with his general estimates.

After considerable study of the book, becoming interested beyond any
expectation, I wrote to Mr. Sinclair, stating that I had become
favorably impressed, and making the somewhat audacious proposal that he
should send me all the original materials for a fresh study by the
individual standards and through the particular methods of a
professional investigator. One can think of several reasons which might
make the most honest and confident man hesitant to assent to such a
proposal, coming from one whom he had never seen, and who might for all
he knew have a set of prejudices which after all would cause him to make
a lawyer’s argument against the case. I was really surprised that the
bundle of materials was sent as quickly as it could be gotten
together.[2]

Among the objects in mind were: (1) To study the materials in their
strict chronological order, day by day. The mode of presentation in
_Mental Radio_ was to give some of the most striking results first, then
many more that were more or less classified according to subjects and
aspects. This is effective for popular reading but not satisfactory to
the serious student. (2) To see if there were signs, in any part of the
results, of profiting from normal knowledge, whether consciously or
subconsciously acquired, of what the “agent” had drawn. Mr. Sinclair
took this theory into account and quite decidedly killed it, but it was
my duty to try it out anew by my own processes, with the same rigor
shown in relation to my own wife and my daughter in _The Psychic in the
House_. Later, in summary fashion, these tests will be set forth. (3) To
try out other theories to account for the ratios and degrees of
correspondence between “original drawings” and “reproductions” in the
Sinclair experiments, such as involuntary whispering and chance
coincidence. (4) To make a large number of guessing tests on the basis
of the Sinclair originals, both as a means of deciding whether the “mere
coincidence” theory is tenable (as aforesaid) and, if it should prove
otherwise, in order to make a rough measurement of the disparity between
telepathic results and those of guessing. (5) In the event that there
appeared to be no reasonable escape from conclusion that telepathy is
displayed by the material, to ascertain (a) whether the telepathic
faculty with Mrs. Sinclair was constant, vacillating, progressively
constant, or what; (b) whether the telepathic impressions came to her in
the form of ideas, images, names or in more than one fashion; (c)
whether any further hints as to the mental processes involved could be
discerned or any particular pieces of information isolated which might
be helpful in this field of study. (6) Finally, to urge readers to
institute experiments of their own, and to give amateurs some directions
as to procedure. If many could be persuaded to start “games” of this
character with their friends, doubtless favorable subjects could be
discovered or developed. Attention being called to these persons, series
of tests could be made with them under conditions against which none of
the old objections could be offered.[3]

The Sinclair experiments are treated first in this Bulletin, since they
are its chief subject. The drier Historical Notes, presenting a sketch
of the first steps in methodical research relating to alleged
Thought-Transference, with summaries of some of the classic series of
tests, particularly such as are based upon drawings, are relegated to
Part Two. The more earnest and methodical students of such matters will
prefer to read that first.

Mr. Upton Sinclair, about fifty-two years old when his book _Mental
Radio_ was issued, is, as everyone is supposed to know, one of the
leading novelists of the United States. His stories are all, or nearly
all, characterized by an intense purpose. To those who claim that art
should be exercised only for art’s sake this may be obnoxious. But from
the point of view of this examination of his book purporting to prove
telepathy, the fact that his novels also attempt to prove something, on
the basis of studies made by him, is quite in his favor.[4] Whether he
has in fact proved the thesis of his respective tales is not within our
province to determine; we do propose rigidly to analyze and review his
claims to have proved telepathy.

Mr. Sinclair is a Socialist, and a very active and prominent one; he has
been Socialist candidate for Congress in New Jersey and later in
California, besides having been Socialist candidate for the United
States Senate and for Governor in the latter-named State. Political
prejudices or predilections should be strictly excluded from the minds
of readers of the book or this review of it.[5] It is another gratifying
indication that Mr. Sinclair was not deterred from publishing _Mental
Radio_ by the solicitations or irony of influential friends in his
political group, for the scientific spirit is in part compounded of
courage, honesty and candor.

Mrs. Sinclair, née Mary Craig Kimbrough, somewhere about forty-five
years old when the experiments afterwards published took place, is the
daughter of a retired judge, bank president, and planter of Mississippi.

The reader may judge of the quality of her mentality by reading Appendix
1. That is, in part, the reason that it is printed. It is a piece of
writing by Mrs. Sinclair shortened according to permission given. Almost
immediately after my suggestion that the experimental materials should
be sent for examination, they were bundled up and sent, together with
some stray scraps, among which was this unfinished piece of manuscript
which, as it proved, the Sinclairs did not know had been included. In
spots the composition may be a bit diffuse and repetitious, but the
woman really thinks and reasons, which is more than many do.

There is in it a sincerity, earnestness and intensity of desire to know,
which can hardly be counterfeited. Its writer fairly rivals Descartes in
her determination to find some salient and secure spot from which to
start in her quest. But in a manner she goes back farther than
Descartes, at least she splits his ultimate in two. She is satisfied
with “I am,” not because “I think,” but because “I am conscious of
thinking”; but she does not so readily grant the “_I_ think.” She wants
to know, “Am _I_ doing all the thinking I am conscious of?”

In fact, the document is so intense in its eagerness to penetrate the
secret of personality in relation to its cosmic environment that it is
almost febrile. At least in its first pages there is something
pathological. To paint life with such dark colors and to dwell so upon
its “discouragements” is not an indication of perfect health.

And yet it is certain that the writer is not self-absorbed. The painful
reactions of the kind which she has experienced, the torture produced in
her by the existence of so much in life that seems unmeaning and
disappointing, she supposes to be quite general with her fellow-men and
so feels a great pity for them. Whereas, in my belief, while more are
complaining than are happy or contented, it is common to fret because of
income taxes, and inability to wear such fine clothes as those of Mrs.
Jones, and cold weather and squalling cats, and such sordid matters, but
uncommon to be agonized by the desire to fathom the mysteries of the
human spirit.

The main points of what Mr. Sinclair tells us of the characteristics of
his wife are to be discerned in this revealing manuscript. He says “She
has nothing of the qualities of naïveté and credulity. She was raised in
a family of lawyers and was given the training and sceptical point of
view of a woman of the world. ‘Trust people, but watch them,’ was old
Judge Kimbrough’s maxim, and following it too closely has almost made a
pessimist of his daughter. In the course of the last five or six years
Craig has acquired a fair-sized library of books on the mind, both
orthodox, scientific, and ‘crank.’ She has sat up half the night
studying, marking passages and making notes, seeking to reconcile
various doctrines, to know what the mind is, and how it works, and what
can be done with it.” This began with a breakdown of health when she was
about forty years old. “A story of suffering needless to go into;
suffice it that she had many ills to experiment upon, and mental control
became suddenly a matter of life and death.” This breakdown, it is said,
resulted directly from “her custom of carrying the troubles of all who
were near her.” She is intensely sympathetic, we are told. “The griefs
of other people overwhelm Craig like a suffocation.”[6]

The book relates several spontaneous experiences of Mrs. Sinclair when
she was young and which, taken together, strongly indicate telepathy.
Her husband rightly remarks that it is the number of such incidents
which is impressive; one or two might well be coincidence. Still the
coincidence of being suddenly impressed that Mr. B, whose home was three
hundred miles away, was at her home where he had never been, and turning
back from a drive and finding him there, even taken by itself, is a very
striking one. Mr. Sinclair himself is witness to the fact that she
suddenly, for no known reason became very much worried about Jack
London, insisting that he was in mental distress, whereas it proved that
London committed suicide at about that time.

Such incidents indicate that her experimental successes were not solely
the result of the method which she explains at length, but that she had
an inborn gift from early childhood. Her interest in that gift seems to
have been much stimulated by her acquaintance with “Jan,” the “young
hypnotist” of Appendix I, whose advent is probably not in that narrative
placed in chronological order. She became convinced that he showed
evidence of telepathy, and tried in turn to ascertain what he was
thinking or what he was doing when absent, and became convinced that
many times she had been successful. Also, “Craig has been able to
establish exactly the same _rapport_ with her husband,” who relates
instances. These were “written down at the time.” So few even
intelligent people do make immediate record of such things that we would
have suspected, even if he had not informed us on another page, that he
has made a considerable study of the literature of psychic research.

One of these incidents we shall particularly notice here, and that
because Mr. Sinclair himself has either not noticed all of its
evidential value, or has not fully called attention to it. * * * [Refer
to Figs. 14a and 14b and experiment.]

Probably Mr. Sinclair thought it would be sufficiently obvious to the
reader that the first drawing is as similar in shape to a clover blossom
as a person having no gift for drawing would be likely to make it, in
addition to the correspondence of color. But it should also be remarked
that the second drawing is like the flower-head of the American aloe, as
one may see by comparing it with the cut shown in the article entitled
“Agave,” in the _Encyclopedia Britannica_. The article provokingly fails
to tell us what are the colors of the flower, but the cut shows that it
is at least much lighter above than below.

Another incident is remarkable for its apparent revelation of
subconscious mechanisms. Seemingly here Mrs. Sinclair not only got an
impression of what her husband had drawn, but it was modified by
something he was then reading, and that by the aid of memories from
childhood. His drawing represented a football, “neatly laced up” (Fig.
15). Hers (Fig. 15a) shows a band of exactly the same shape on a figure
not so very far from that of a football, but with an extension
suggesting the head of an animal, and a line suggesting a leg. And she
wrote “Belly-band on calf.” * * *!

“Wishing to solve the mystery!” But why should the lady have felt that
there was any mystery in her drawing and script, any more than in the
generality of her results? But she evidently did, or she would not have
asked the question. It is one of the most interesting features of this
experiment that she seemed to feel that something else than the original
drawing or her husband’s thoughts about it was influencing her
impression, and suspected that this something was his contemporaneous
reading.

Sometimes the apparent telepathy was exercised in a dream, especially
during its latter stage, while the lady was gradually emerging into full
consciousness.[7]


         The Sinclair-Irwin Long-distance Group of Experiments

On July 8, 1928, the first formal set of experiments with drawings
began, by arrangement between Mrs. Sinclair and the husband of her
younger sister; Robert L. Irwin, “a young American business man, priding
himself on having no ‘crank’ ideas.” The arrangement was that at a
stated hour Mr. Irwin should seat himself in his home in Pasadena, make
a drawing, and then fix his mind upon the drawing from fifteen to twenty
minutes. At the same hour in her home at Long Beach, twenty-five or
thirty miles distant as the crow flies, Mrs. Sinclair proposed to lie on
a couch, in semi-darkness and with closed eyes, compose her mind
according to the rules she had by this time evolved, and after coming to
a decision, make a drawing corresponding with her mental impression. It
appears that there was one such experiment on July 8, two on the 9th,
two on the 10th and one each on the 11th and 13th.

We have here, then, a set of seven experiments under ideal conditions.
Since something like thirty miles separated the parties, there could be
no contact, no “involuntary whispering” that would carry that far and no
conceivable other source of information or material for surmise.

1. On July 8, Irwin drew a chair with horizontal bars at the back (Fig.
16). Mrs. Sinclair drew first a chair with horizontal bars (Fig. 16a),
then a chair with vertical ones. And she distinctly set down on the same
paper her sense of greater satisfaction with her first drawing, her
feeling that the second was not as “Bob” had drawn it, and her feeling
that the second may really express the foot of his bed. She also set
down that his drawing was on “green paper.” Here is a remarkable
combination of impressions: (a) his drawing on _green paper_, (b) seen
as a _chair_ “on his paper,” (c) his chair with _horizontal bars_, (d)
her chair with vertical bars _perhaps derived from “his bed-foot.”_ Even
had there been, as there was not, a pre-understanding that some object
familiar in daily life was to be drawn, to hit exactly the same one
would be very unlikely. To do this and also to get the unusual color of
the paper he drew on is remarkable. To get all the enumerated
particulars exactly correct is incalculably beyond chance expectation.
For he drew a chair, on green paper, with horizontal bars, then gazed at
the chair through the vertical bars of his bed! * * * [Refer to Figs. 16
and 16a and experiment.]

She added that she sees a star and straight lines, and draws the star
and the lines, horizontal like those of the chair.

There are several partial correspondences besides those we have
enumerated. Bob did sit at the northeast corner of the dining-room
table. He faced a sideboard (but apparently did not take anything out of
it) where were silver (not glass) candlesticks; there is a star on the
back of the chair; whether any white object was in front of him as he
sat at the table, before lying down on the bed, is not reported. But it
is to be presumed that Mrs. Sinclair was familiar with his room and
furniture, and these particulars add comparatively little. Once she got
the chair, subconscious memory might supply the star; but it would not
give any clue to the green paper or to his looking through vertical
bars.

2. On July 9, at the stated hour, Bob drew a watch (Fig. 17).[8] First
Mrs. Sinclair drew a chair, but cancelled it with the words then written
down, “but do not feel it is correct.” Then she drew Figure 17a. * * *

This is not a success, but the flower which is not a flower, the petals,
which are not petals and should be more uniform, the “metal,” the “wire”
(adumbration of the hands?), the “glass circle,” the bridging across the
extremities of the “petals” as if from an urge toward making a circle,
the black center corresponding with the center post of a watch, taken
together are very suggestive. Other impressions resulted in the addition
of an ellipse, a drinking-glass and a glass pitcher, and Bob did have in
front of him a glass bowl of goldfish, which may have furnished a
telepathic hint, but this is doubtfully evidential.

3. Another experiment was scheduled for the same day. Bob made an
elaborate drawing of a telephone receiver, transmitter, dial, cord and
all. The top part, the transmitter, as drawn, is strikingly like a
round, black, glass ink-bottle, seen with mouth facing the spectator.
Mrs. Sinclair made four drawings. The first looks like such an
ink-bottle seen from the side, and she writes, “Ink bottle?” The second
drawing shows a twisted line attached to a triangle, reminding one of
the twisted telephone cord attached to a sharp angle of the base, and
the third repeats the twisting line. The fourth inverted is considerably
like the base of the telephone. The correspondences are very suggestive.

4. On the 10th, Bob drew, on the back of the paper having the telephone
drawing (he should not have done this), which he of course saw anew,
what is probably intended to represent a square frame containing a
picture, both very black. The percipient first drew two lines forming an
angle and placed in relation to it about as the dial of the telephone is
placed in relation to the angle of the telephone base, a black disc. Her
next and last drawing was a circle containing about a dozen round spots,
as the circular dial of the telephone contains eight spots.

5. On the 10th, also, Bob drew a pair of scissors (Fig. 18), and the
percipient made two attempts which, taken together, certainly do sense
its parts (Figs. 18a and 18b).

6. On the 11th, Bob, whose health had been in bad shape for several
years, made a circle with a compass, of course producing a hole in the
center of it. And this is what Mrs. Sinclair got (Fig. 19a). There is a
circle—in fact, a number of them concentrically arranged—and there is a
central dot corresponding to the mark made by the compass leg. But other
impressions came to Mrs. Sinclair, accompanied by poignant emotions, and
she seemed to see and tried to draw a spreading stain of blood. She
wrote her feeling and her conviction: “All this dark like a stain,—feel
it is blood; that Bob is ill, more than usual.” She did not draw, but
directly told her husband, “I wanted to draw a little hill.” And why all
this? It transpired that while Bob was making the circle he was in a
state of distress, for, he afterwards testified, “I discovered that I
had a hemorrhoid, and couldn’t put my mind on anything but the thought,
‘My God, my lungs—my kidneys—and now this!’” It is hardly necessary,
perhaps, to point out that a hemorrhoid is like a little hill and that
one is very likely to bring on hemorrhage,[9] so that this possibility
was probably in Bob’s mind.

Had Mrs. Sinclair been in a laboratory with one professor of psychology
or of physics, and her brother-in-law in another laboratory with
another, not all the apparatus of both laboratories nor all the
ingenuity of both professors could have made the conditions more rigid,
or tested the essence of the matter farther. There would simply have
been the testimony of four persons, two at each end, and that is exactly
what there is. Bob’s affliction was of sudden occurrence, and the
particular terms of Mrs. Sinclair’s impressions could not have been
produced by any hint of knowledge. His willingness in the interest of
psychic research, in order that this remarkable demonstration of
telepathy should not be lost, to put aside squeamishness, is a rebuke to
the human violets who shrink, for no intelligible reason from allowing
evidence to be used which relates to them.

7. On the 13th, Bob drew a table fork (Fig. 1), and Mrs. Sinclair, at
the same hour, many miles away, drew nothing but wrote, “See a table
fork. Nothing else.” (Fig. 1a.)

These seven experiments[10] are all that were undertaken between Mrs.
Sinclair and her brother-in-law. This is unfortunate, for it certainly
appears from this short but remarkable series as though they were
remarkably suited to each other, for reasons we cannot yet fathom, for
long-distance experiments. But “he found them a strain,” and since his
health was so poor and strains were most undesirable, we cannot blame
him for discontinuing them.

One pauses to consider the words “he found them a strain.” May it be
that when experiments reveal thought-transference the agent generally
does feel a strain beyond that involved in merely gazing at an object
and wishing (or willing, or what you please) that the percipient may get
the idea of it. If so, it would seem to imply, not necessarily some
energy proceeding outwardly, but at any rate some process going on
within which causes the special exhaustion. But no statistics bearing on
this question have been gathered from successful agents. It is one of
the many sorts of data which must be accumulated in the future.

Mr. Irwin and his wife made corroborating affidavits, as follows:

  To whom it may concern:

  Robert L. Irwin, having been duly sworn, declares that he has read
  the portion of manuscript by Upton Sinclair dealing with his
  experiments in telepathy with Mary Craig Sinclair, and that the
  statements made therein having to do with himself are true according
  to his clear recollection. The drawings attributed to him were
  produced by him in the manner described, and are recognized by him
  in their photographic reproductions. The experiments were conducted
  in good faith, and the results may be accepted as valid.

                                             [Signed] ROBERT L. IRWIN.

  To whom it may concern:

  Dollie Kimbrough Irwin, having been duly sworn, declares that she
  has read the portion of manuscript by Upton Sinclair dealing with
  experiments in telepathy by her sister, Mary Craig Sinclair, and
  having to do with her husband, Robert L. Irwin; that she was present
  when the drawings were made and the tests conducted, and also when
  the completed drawings were produced and compared. The statements
  made in the manuscript are true according to her clear recollection,
  and the experiments were made in good faith and with manifest
  seriousness.

                                      [Signed] DOLLIE KIMBROUGH IRWIN.

  These statements were severally.

  “Subscribed and sworn to before me this 26th day of July, 1929,
  [Signed] LAURA UNANGST, Notary Public in and for the County of
  Denver, Colorado.”


            The Sinclair-Sinclair Group of July 14–29, 1928

We are in two passages told precisely the conditions of this group of
experiments. Since her brother-in-law felt obliged to withdraw from
participation, Mrs. Sinclair asked her husband to make some
drawings. * * *

1. July 14. Mr. Sinclair made the above drawing (Fig. 2), a very
imperfectly constructed six-pointed star. Mrs. Sinclair, reclining 30
feet away, with a closed door between, produced five drawings (Fig.
2a).[11] Immediately after the agent’s and percipient’s drawings had
been compared, the lady stated that just before starting to concentrate
she had been looking at her drawing of many concentric circles made on
the previous day in the concluding test of the Sinclair-Irwin group.
This was bad method, but we can hardly regret it, as the sequel is
illuminating. At first she got a tangle of circles: “This turned
sideways [thus assuming the shape of one of the star-points], then took
the shape of an arrowhead [confused notion of the stair-point, one would
conjecture], and then of a letter A [another attempt to interpret the
dawning impression], and finally evolved into a complete star.” The star
so nearly reproduces the oddities of the original star, its peculiar
shape and the direction which its greatest length takes, that had it
been produced in one of the unguarded series, one would have been
tempted to think that the percipient “peeked.” But the original was
actually _made_, as well as gazed at, behind a closed door, so that
there is no possible basis for imagining any such accident or any
inadvertence on the part of either experimenter.

2. July 14. In his room Mr. Sinclair drew the grinning face of Figure
21, and then Mrs. Sinclair drew in hers Figure 21a. Two eyes in his, one
“eye” in hers. Look at the agent’s drawing upside down (how can we or he
be sure that he did not momentarily chance to look at it reversed and
retain the impression?), and note the parallels. At the top of his two
eyes—at the top of hers one “eye”; midway in his two small angles
indicating the nose—somewhat above midway in hers, three similarly small
angles unclosed at the apexes; at the bottom of his a crescent-shaped
figure to indicate a mouth, with lines to denote teeth—at the bottom of
hers a like crescent, minus any interior lines. Had the percipient drawn
what would be instantly recognizable as a face, though a face of very
different lines, it would be pronounced a success. But such a fact would
be very much more likely as a guess than a misinterpreted, almost
identical crescent (she thought it probably a “moon”), so similar little
marks, angularly related (she “supposed it must be a star”), and an
“eye,” all placed as in the original.

3. July 17. Mr. Sinclair, lying on a couch in one room, drew and then
gazed at a drawing which can easily be described; it is a broad ellipse
with its major axis horizontal, like an egg lying on its side, and a
smaller and similar one in contact over it. Mrs. Sinclair, lying on a
couch in another room, first drew a broad ellipse (not quite closed at
one end), with major axis horizontal, and beside it and not quite
touching, a somewhat smaller circle not quite closed at one end. Then
she got an impression represented in a second drawing, four ellipses of
equal size, _two of them in contact with each other_.

4. July 20. Under the same conditions Mr. Sinclair drew two heavy lines
like a capital T. Mrs. Sinclair drew what is like an interrogation point
with misplaced dot, then a reversed S with two dots enclosed, then an
upright cross composed of lines of equal length, and finally such a
cross circumscribed by a tangential square. Though, as Mr. Sinclair
remarks, the cross is the T of the original with its vertical line
prolonged, I should call this experiment barely suggestive.

5. July 20. Under the same conditions Mr. Sinclair drew a long-handled
fork with three short tines. Mrs. Sinclair, to use the language of her
own record, “kept seeing horns,” and she attempted to draw them. She
also “thought once it was an animal’s head with horns, and the head was
on a long stick—a trophy mounted like this....” But her drawing was like
a long-handled fork with two short tines combining to make a curve very
close to that of the two outer tines of the original.

6. July 20. Under the same conditions Mr. Sinclair drew a cup with a
handle. Mrs. Sinclair twice drew a figure resembling the handle of the
original, then the same with an enclosed dot, then lines parallel and at
an angle. She felt confused and dissatisfied. It is possible that her
first impression was derived from the cup, but we can hardly urge this
evidentially.

7. July 21. Under the same conditions Mr. Sinclair drew a man’s face in
profile (Fig. 20). Mrs. Sinclair wrote: “Saw Upton’s face—saw two
half-circles. Then they came together, making full circle. But I felt
uncertain as to whether they belonged together or not. Then suddenly saw
Upton’s profile float across vision.” Well, Mr. Sinclair is a man, hence
his face is a man’s face, and it was seen in profile like the original
drawing.

Thus far there is no gap in the record of this group. There were
experiments on July 27 and 29, but apparently two or more papers are
missing. It is certain that on the 29th, under the same conditions, Mr.
Sinclair drew a smoking cigarette and wrote beneath it, “My thought,
‘cigarette with curls for smoke,’” and that Mrs. Sinclair drew a variety
of curving lines and wrote, “I can’t draw it, but curls of some sort.”
So it appears that on this date there was a suggestive result, but as
there is doubt whether one or two other experiments may not have been
tried, the papers of which were not all preserved, we had better regard
the group as closed with No. 7.

So far as concerns the question solely whether Mrs. Sinclair has shown
telepathic powers, I would be willing to rest the case right here, after
but fourteen experiments under the conditions which have been
stated.[12] Every intelligent reader who really applies his mind to them
must see the extreme unlikelihood that the results of those fourteen
experiments, taking them as they stand, successes, partial successes,
suggestive and failures, are the products of chance. And any one who has
had hundreds of experiments in guessing, as I have done, will know that
there is no likelihood of getting out of many thousands of guesses
anything like the number and grades of excellence in correspondence
found in these fourteen consecutive tests for telepathy.

We cannot take space to comment on all the tests made, the papers of
which were sent us, and we here pass over three on as many dates, one a
success though not a perfect one, two failures.


The Series of January 28, 1929

Mr. Sinclair asked his secretary “to make simple geometrical designs,
letters and figures, thinking that these would be easier to recognize
and reproduce.” It seems a little strange that when things were going on
so well, he should have wanted a change, though any experiment is
interesting. It is by no means certain, and I very much doubt from these
and earlier printed experiments, that the assumption is a correct one.
It may well be that geometrical diagrams, letters of the alphabet and
such like fail to interest the agent and afford him a lively mental
representation, as do pictures of miscellaneous objects. And if I
understand rightly, another change of method was also initiated, and
that was for Mrs. Sinclair to try to get the drawings not while the
maker of them was gazing intently at them, but after they had left his
hands. This certainly was often the case later on.

I wrote and asked Mr. Sinclair if Mrs. Sinclair was told the fact that
this and several other series of original drawings consisted of
geometrical drawings, letters and figures, and he said that she was not
so told, that he would have regarded this as a vitiation of the
experiments. It would certainly increase the chance of getting drawings
right by guess, but it would hardly have ruined the experiments. In
fact, some people think that the most scientific experiments are those
in which the range of chance guess is limited to an extent known to the
percipient, as when the problem is to determine which of the 52 cards of
a pack is being looked at, or which of only ten known diagrams. This
opinion is probably based on the fact that then the ratio of success to
chance expectation can be exactly calculated, though why it should be
more satisfactory to know that the chance of a correct guess is exactly
1 in 10 than it is not to be able to tell exactly what the chance is but
to be sure at least that it cannot be 1 in 100, I do not know.

Unless I had carefully recorded at the time that there was no chance of
the percipient having a hint that the drawings were now for a time to
consist of geometrical designs, letters and figures, I would not dare to
be certain of it after several years have passed. If Mrs. Sinclair had
no inkling, the change in the general character of her drawings is a
fact of great interest. But we will take cognizance only of whatever
resemblance may or may not be found between the several reproductions
and their originals.

The first series of drawings by the secretary were seven in number, and,
says Mr. Sinclair, “They brought only partial successes; Craig would get
elements of the drawing, but would not know how to put them together....
There is some element right in every one.” Let us see.

1. _Agent’s_ drawing, a script B; _Percipient’s_ drawing, a figure very
like a script 3, practically the B without its vertical line.

2. _Agt._, a script S; _Per._, a script J. As made, each has two
balloon-like parts joined at the small ends, certain details of course
different.

3. _Agt._, a hexagon; _Per._, two lines forming an acute angle, like two
sides of the hexagon, also a capital E with a line drawn down at an
acute angle to the left from the upper extremity of the vertical line.

4. _Agt._, script M made with a peculiar twist in its first line;
_Per._, almost precisely that first line with its twist.

5. _Agt._, a thin, long, quadrilateral, like a shingle; _Per._, (1st
drawing) what would be almost exactly the same quadrilateral, narrow and
long, but its shorter sides are wanting, and (2nd drawing) a closely
similar quadrilateral, with another and longer one attached to its side
at a sharp angle.

6. _Agt._, an interrogation point; _Per._, a figure hard to describe, a
round dot with curves springing from it like concentric 3’s, and two
parallel lines shooting to the left. The points which attract notice are
the dot, like that of the original, and the curves similar to that of
the interrogation point.

7. _Agt._, script E; _Per._, same minus the “curls.”

Several of the above are not impressive taken alone; taken together, the
greater or less approaches to the several originals defeat chance,
though how much no man can measure. Counter-tests by guessing will come
the nearest to measuring.


The Series of January 28–29, 1929

This series also has to do with drawings made by Mr. Sinclair’s
secretary.

1. _Agent’s_ drawing, a diamond or rhombus (Fig. 32); _Percipient’s_
drawing, the two halves of a rhombus, “wandering about,” as Mr. Sinclair
says (Fig. 32a); if connected they would make a rhombus closely similar
to the original.

2. _Agt._, a script capital Y; _Per._, a print capital Y. (Figs. 33 and
33a.)

3. The _Agent’s_ drawing, a bottle of milk with “certified” written on
it, was suggested by his knowledge that Mrs. Sinclair to a considerable
extent lives on milk and is particular about its quality; _Per._, an
ellipse much like the top of the bottle, a straight line depending
therefrom, and the script “Round white foamy stuff on top like soapsuds
or froth.” And foam is characteristic of her milk, as she drinks it sour
and whipped (Figs. 34 and 34a). Here the percipient failed to get much
as to shape, but got considerable in the way of associated ideas.

4. _Agt._, an oil derrick (Fig. 35); _Per._, got what will be seen in
Figure 35a. There are long lines diverging like the long lines of the
oil derrick, but at a slant, and with a 5 or perhaps a 9 at the top
which has no counterpart in the original. This is not a very
satisfactory reproduction, but the general shape and long downward lines
are suggestive.

5. _Agt._, something like a poplar leaf; _Per._, three scrawls like
letters or parts of letters. A failure.

6. _Agt._, three small ellipses attached to a stem; _Per._, script “See
what looks like spider’s web,” but drawing shows a bunch of elliptic
figures.

7. _Agt._, apparently an apple with stem; _Per._, (1) what looks like a
tall script V, (2) the same less tall, (3) one so low and broad that it
is nearly equivalent to the top of the apple minus the stem.

8. _Agt._, a house from whose chimney proceeds smoke represented by a
spiral line (Fig. 36). _Per._, (1) a double spiral cut by a straight
line, same slant as in the original, (2) single spiral of nearly the
same slant, (3) what looks like a battlement, the crenels or openings of
which are like the windows of the house minus the upper sides (Fig.
36a). The rectangular openings are three in number, the rectangular
openings in the house (two windows and a door) are also there.

9. _Agt._, an open fan (Fig. 102); _Per._, a drawing represented by
Figure 102a, accompanied by the script, “Inside seems irregular, as if
cloth draped or crumpled.” Two words, “cloth,” and “draped,” suggest
what takes place as one begins to shut a fan, though the drawing is an
incorrect representation.

10. _Agt._, the figures 13 (Fig. 103); _Per._, (1) what would be a 3 but
for a supernumerary curve, (2) a 3 (Fig. 103a).

11. _Agt._, a conventional heart (Fig. 105); _Per._, practically the
upper part of such a heart, with three spots which may or may not
represent blood-drops, according to Mr. Sinclair’s conjecture (Fig.
105a). We can hardly contend, as an evidential point, that this is the
meaning of the round spots. Some obscure subconscious recollection of
expressions like “My heart bleeds,” expressing suffering, may have come
out in the drawing, though in that case one wonders why the whole heart
was not drawn. But it may be that the three marks proceeding in the
direction of the right side of the original came from a feeling that
_something_ should line in that direction.

12. _Agt._, a broom (Fig. 104); _Per._, several attempts all more or
less resembling the original (Figs. 104a, 104b), and a valuable script:
“All I’m sure of is a straight line with something curved at the end of
it [and this description, _all that she was sure of_, is so far
correct]; once it came [here see the drawing at the left]—then it
doubled, or reappeared, I don’t know which [referring to the upper right
drawing] (am not sure of the curly edges) [and she was justified in her
doubt. Probably the curly edges resulted from the intermingling of her
surmise that the curved something at the end of a line might be a
flower]. Then it was upside down.”


Series of February 8, 1929

Tests with drawings in carefully sealed envelopes.

1. _Agt._, a coiled snake (Fig. 45); _Per._, no drawing, but this
script: “See something like kitten with tail and saucer of milk. Now it
leaps into action and runs away to outdoors. Turns to fleeing animal
outdoors. Great activity among outdoor creatures. Know it’s some outdoor
thing, not indoor object—see trees, and a frightened bird on the wing
(turned sidewise). It’s outdoor thing, but none of above seems to be
_it_.”

This is much more interesting than if there had been the perfect success
of writing the word “snake,” because we seem to get inklings of the
internal process. “Saucer of milk”—observe that the serpent’s coil plus
the unattached ellipse in the center (due to Mr. Sinclair’s confessed
bad drawing) really does look like a saucer. “Something like a kitten
with a tail”—why mention tail? Most kittens have tails. But a tail
sticks up back of the saucer. Later neither kitten, trees nor frightened
bird is _it_, yet something is causing great commotion among outdoor
creatures. It is an outdoor thing, therefore not a kitten, but evidently
something alive. The scene is very appropriate to the appearance of a
snake. Mr. Sinclair tells us that his wife’s childhood was in part spent
where there were many poisonous snakes, and that fear of them was bred
in her. As he conjectures, it is very likely that dawning in the
subconsciousness, not fully emerging in the conscious, the subject of
the drawing stirred up imagery from childhood. I surmise that, if the
truth, which she may not consciously remember, could be known, she saw
while a child a kitten fleeing from a snake.

2. _Agt._, a daisy (Fig. 59); _Per._ got what is very like the petals
around the disk of the daisy, also two stems, also various curving lines
more or less like the daisy leaves or vegetation at least (Fig. 59a).

3. _Agt._, an axe, seemingly a battle-axe, with AX printed (Fig. 145);
_Per._, as in Figure 145a. Note the parallels: (a) “letter A [right as
far as it goes], (b) with something long (c) above it”; (d) “there seems
to be no end to the handle”; (e) the drawing much resembles the
original, in fact one type of ancient battle-axe was very much of the
same shape. Although she finally guessed that it was a key, yet a
suspicion of military use enters in the conjecture “a sword,” which is
perhaps all the more striking since the drawing bears little resemblance
to a sword.

4. _Agt._, a crab (Fig. 48); _Per._ drew as in Figures 48a, 48b, and
wrote “Wings, or fingers—wing effect, but no feathers, things like
fingers, instead of feathers. Then many little dots which all disappear,
and leave two of them, O O, as eyes of something.” And again, “streamers
flying from something.” The reader will judge for himself whether the
drawings do not suggest the crab’s nippers, and one of them the joint
adjoining. “Wing effect but no feathers, things like fingers”—especially
the lower pair in Mr. Sinclair’s remarkable crab _do_ look like fingers.
“Many dots”; well the original has four. Then she sees but two of them
and they are “O O, eyes of something.” True enough, two of the “dots” in
the crab are O O, and they are eyes.

5. _Agt._, a man in a sledge driving a dog-team (Fig. 60). _Per._ by
accident opened this drawing, so of course could not experiment with it.
But after she had made her drawings for No. 2 she wrote “Maybe snow
scene on hill with a sled.” On the back of No. 3, which was so brilliant
a success, she wrote “I get a feeling again of a snow scene to come in
this series—a sled in the snow.” It is unfortunate that an accident
prevented her trying No. 5 when she had actually reached it, but she
certainly got it by anticipation.

6. _Agt._, a tobacco pipe with smoke issuing therefrom (Fig. 37); Per.
first drew an ellipse and wrote “Now it begins to spin, round and round,
and is attached to a stick”; (2) next she made the conventional “curl”
which usually means smoke; (3) then she made another curl of smoke and
pushed the open end of an ellipse into it,[13] joined a line to the
ellipse just about where the stem of a pipe meets the bowl and at the
end of the line made a small circle, which certainly is not found in the
original but may express the feeling that there is a circular opening
(Fig. 37a).

7. _Agt._, a house with smoking chimney; _Per._, two figures, each very
like the frame of a window lacking the upper side, or like the crenels
or openings in the battlement of Figure 36a, but longer. In connection
with that drawing (Experiment of January 28–29) we made the remark
(which may have seemed fanciful) that the number of these openings or
uncompleted rectangles was the same as that of the windows and door in
the original drawing. Here the uncompleted 2 rectangles equal in number
the one window plus the one door of the house. She also wrote “There is
something above this—can’t see what it is part of.” True, the roof and
chimney are above the window and door.


Series of February 10, 1929

1. _Agt._, a bat (Fig. 109); _Per._, as in Fig 109a. The drawing at the
top is accompanied by the remark “Looks like ear shape something.” And
certainly each of the bat’s wings does resemble an ear in shape. The
middle left drawing gets the idea that there are two symmetrical and
diverging curves, but fails to complete them; space is left between them
which in the agent’s drawing is occupied by the body. The middle right
figure again has symmetrical diverging curves, with a further approach
toward shaping the wings. This time they are incorrectly joined at the
bottom, but the perpendicular line between betrays an inkling that
something belongs there. Imperfect as all these attempts are, they
contain hints which it is difficult to attribute to chance. The agent,
looking at his drawing, would of necessity have his attention focus
first on one part of it and then upon another, and the percipient’s
drawings seem as though they caught his several moments of wandering
attention.

2. _Agt._, a hand with pointing finger, and thumb held vertically (Fig.
108); _Per._, (1) a drawing not reproduced here of a negro’s head with a
finger-like projection drawn vertically from his skull, (2) then script
“Turned into a pig’s head, (3) then a rabbit’s,” as in Figure 108a. In
one sense the _percipient’s_ drawings are all failures; that is, none of
them would be recognized as a hand. But in all three a feeling seems to
express itself that there is _something_ sticking up. This is the more
remarkable in Drawing 1, since such an excrescence does not belong on a
head. Drawing 2 gets rid of the face, and the thumb of the original
becomes a peculiarly thumb-like ear.

3. For this experiment see the “line-and-circle men” and their
evidentially suggestive sequel (Figs. 144, 144a).

4. _Agt._, a rudely drawn caterpillar (Fig. 118); _Per._, script:
“Fork—then garden tool—lawn rake. Leaf,” and drawing representing a leaf
which has a certain fantastic resemblance to the caterpillar (Fig.
118a). Mr. Sinclair makes the illuminating remark that he owned “a
lawn-rake made of bristly bamboo, which looks very much like my
drawing.”

5. _Agt._, a smoking volcano (Fig. 25); _Per._, what she called a “Big
black beetle with horns” (Fig. 25a). But the body of the beetle closely
matches the smoke of the volcano, while the antennae or “horns” nearly
correspond to the outline of the mountain.


A Series of February 15, 1929[14]

Let us now inspect a complete and long series of February 15, 1929. It
contains no such brilliant success as in Experiment 4 of February 20,
but out of 13 experiments there is but one absolute failure, the first.
In this the agent drew a rat, the percipient two crossed objects like
keys.

2. In Figure 147, the agent’s drawing represents a door with lattice on
the upper half; it is made up of perpendicular and horizontal lines
only. The percipient’s drawing (Fig. 147a) consists of four
perpendicular lines finishing at the top in curves like fish-hooks, and
these lines are crossed by three horizontal lines. There is in the
crossed lines a suggestion of the agent’s drawing, a resemblance greater
than to any other of the thirteen.

[Illustration: Fig. 147]

[Illustration: Fig. 147a]

3. The agent’s next drawing (Fig. 93) represents a sun over hills. Mrs.
Sinclair first seems to have got the notion of a sun, which was right
(Fig. 93a). Then she made another circle and put features in it, as will
be seen suggested in the agent’s drawing (actually, in the original
drawing, the features are plainly to be seen). Then she got the idea of
something stretching out below it with curving lines, interpreted it to
be a body, so probably, from mere inference, clapped her sun with
features on to it.

4. Agent’s Figure 97 is a butterfly but the percipient did not get the
idea of a butterfly (Fig. 97a). However, the divergent lines and the
spots, five instead of four, and similarly placed, do seem to bear a
relation to it.

5. In Figure 96a, Mrs. Sinclair’s drawing resembles a part of her
husband’s (Fig. 96), although she misinterpreted her mental picture.
What she thought to be the leg of an animal, and which she drew twice,
was judged by the way it bends to be a front one, but the knee of the
leg roughly corresponds with the elbow of the pipe. Note that she seems
to have got the bulge at the end of the pipe, translating it into a
“foot,” naturally at the end of the leg.

6. In Figures 98 and 98a, compare the three “sparks” with the three
crosses on the box.

7. The shape of Figure 94a is like that of Figure 94 reversed, and there
is a suggestion of the strings, while the feet represent the pedals of
the harp.

8. The percipient in the case of Figure 95a did not get the picture of
the whole balloon bag of the agent (Fig. 95), but she did of half of it,
with a strong suggestion of the cords.

[Illustration: Fig. 148]

[Illustration: Fig. 148a]

9. In Figure 148a, bad as the percipient’s drawings are, regarded as
reproductions of Figure 148, yet they do contain suggestions of it. In
her left upper drawing we may suppose that an impression of the
leaf-stem (but badly twisted) was expressed with a leaf-lobe directly
below the stem, together with an idea of the veining, that in the right
upper one the stem is corrected, and that in the lower drawing a notion
of the veining alone is conveyed. Exactly so would the attention of the
agent, when drawing the leaf or afterward looking at or thinking of it,
pass from and to, or at least stress, one part of the leaf after
another.

10. The agent drew a necktie (Fig. 90). The percipient first drew what
much resembled the necktie, even to the shaded knot (not given here),
and almost exactly like Figure 90a aside from the “smoke.” Next she
wrote “Then it began to smoke,” and drew as in Figure 90a. One would
suppose that the knobby extremity and the diverging lines suggested a
burning match.

11. But no, the alteration appears to have been an anticipation of the
agent’s next drawing, already prepared (Fig. 91)! In this case Mrs.
Sinclair achieved a complete success (Fig. 91a), though she distrusted
it, writing beside the drawing, “Must be memory of the last one.”

12. In Figure 92a the percipient got the first two links of the agent’s
chain (Fig. 92) fairly well. The succeeding ones are suggested by a
series of partially superposed ovals, owing to misinterpretation of her
impressions. She wrote: “An egg-shaped thing smoking? Anyway, curls of
something coming out of end of egg.” Note that her combined “egg” and
“curls” describe a curve similar to that of the chain, and one not far
from the same length.

13. The last experiment of this date resulted in two percipient drawings
(Fig. 149a), similar but with differences as noted below. Presumably the
“arm” of the upper drawing is a reflection of the neck of the violin
(Fig. 149), the “hand” of its bridge, the “strings” of the violin
strings, while the “something” very imperfectly stands for the body of
the instrument. The bracelet (?) on the arm may result from an obscure
impression of _something_ curving in that region, really the volute
termination above the keys. The lower drawing stops with the strings,
but makes them more nearly parallel, like those of the violin.

[Illustration: Fig. 149]

[Illustration: Fig. 149a]

No exact mathematics can be applied to such experiments as these. But,
considering the multitude of objects and shapes which must have been
familiar to both experimenters, do you believe that there was 1 chance
in 16 of the successes in Experiments 10, 11 and 12? Or more than 1
chance in 4 for Experiments 5, 6 and 7? Or more than an average of 1 in
2 for such small degree of success as is discoverable in the rest,
excluding the failure of the first? Multiply accordingly, and divide the
product, let us say, by 2 for this failure. The result, on what I think
a moderate basis, is 1 chance in 16,777,216. Figure any other way you
like, but be reasonable.

Or substitute the first above percipient drawing for that in any and
every one of the above 12 pairs. Then take the next drawing and match it
with the other originals. And thus with the others, if your patience
holds out to the end of 132 exchanges. Have you found a single one which
will suit as well as in its actual position?


    COUNTER-TESTS WHICH PROVE THE VAST DISPARITY BETWEEN THE RESULTS
 OBTAINED IN THE SERIES OF FEBRUARY 15TH AND THOSE OBTAINED BY GUESSING

It is proposed at this point to interrupt the review of Mr. Sinclair’s
report of his experiments for telepathy by a test applied to the series
which has just been exhibited. In the light of the test, as it proves,
the evidential weight of both the earlier series and those which will
come later ought to be better appreciated. The only way to explain (?)
such results is to hazard the conjecture that they were due to the
possibilities of chance guessing. Well then, let us have a lot of
guessing done on the basis of the same originals and see what we get and
how it compares.[15]

It seems almost incredible that any intelligent person would hold, or
suggest it possible, that the several degrees of resemblance between 12
of the 13 originals in this series and the reproductions could have come
about by chance guessing. Surely, no one possessing an average quality
of logical and mathematical faculty, if he takes time to consider, will
be guilty of so monstrous a _faux pas_ of the intellect. But experience
teaches that some, even of excellent academic or professional standing,
to whom the notion of the possibility of telepathy has long been
obnoxious, are indeed capable of dismissing an exhibit such as this
after a passing glance, with the exclamation, “Merely chance
coincidence.” It is well, then, to make a large number of experiments in
order to test the chances of chance-coincidence to produce such a
result. Perhaps, after that is done, even those most convinced that
chance cannot account for such correspondences as we have seen will be
astonished to find the extent to which results where telepathy has
played a part and results of mere guessing differ.

Ten ladies offered themselves for experimentation. Of course the
likelihood was very small that any one of them would show a trace of
telepathic faculty. As it proved, there developed no reason to suspect
its possession by a single one of them. And it is certain that no one
who disbelieves that _any one_ gets impressions by telepathy will
complain of our conclusion that the ten ladies did nothing more than
guess.

If they did nothing more than to guess, it made no difference what
method we employed, so long as the ladies were given no inkling of the
original drawings. Nevertheless, the exact replicas of Mr. Sinclair’s 13
drawings of February 15th were separately sealed in numbered envelopes,
and the lady was asked to hold the envelopes, one by one, in her hand,
and to draw what came into her mind visually or by concept, choosing
from such impressions according to vividness, recurrence or by whatever
criterion seemed to her most congenial. She was told to take all the
time she wished and was then left alone. Thus the conditions of the
Sinclair experiments were imitated as closely as possible. The time
occupied by the ladies for the series varied from half an hour to nearly
an hour and a half. Every woman would have been pleased, naturally, if
her results had been such as to give grounds for suspecting telepathy,
but the results of the ladies differed in quality only by narrow
degrees, and, as said, there was not the slightest reason to suppose
that with any of them there was anything but chance in play.

It is, of course, not practicable to reproduce their 130 drawings in
this Bulletin. But they are to be mounted, the ten for each original
drawing on a separate sheet together with a copy of the Sinclair
original and reproduction, and the 13 sheets will be preserved by the
Boston Society for Psychic Research as a permanent exhibit which any
visitor may inspect and judge for himself.

As has been seen, we classified the Sinclair reproductions of this
series as Successes, Partial Successes, Suggestive and Failures. This is
a rough method, and others might increase or decrease the number
assigned to any of these classes, except the last. There can be no
question that there is but one entire failure. But however faulty our
standard of rating, it is the same standard which is applied to the
drawings of the ten ladies.

Not only did I use the utmost care in rating the drawings of the ten
ladies, but I asked my secretary, Miss Hoffmann, a lady of education and
keen intelligence, to do the same. Her rating of the guessing sets was
as absolutely independent of mine as mine was independent of hers.

Our mutually independent estimates were surprisingly alike. According to
both, there were among the 130 trials (by 10 women) not a single
Success, only 1 (Miss H) or 2 (W. F. P.) deserving to be entitled to
Partial Success, 7 Suggestive, 5 Slightly Suggestive and 116 (W. F. P.)
or 117 (Miss H) Failure. Compare with the Sinclair set, 3 Success, 5
Partial Success, 4 Suggestive, 1 Failure, out of a total of but 13.

Before the foregoing judging was done, I had Miss Hoffman guess the
whole set, twice a day, until another 10 sets were produced, based upon
the same Sinclair series. Our wholly independent estimates of the total
results of these additional 130 experiments in guessing proved again to
be surprisingly alike. Neither found a single Success, 1 (W. F. P.) or
no (Miss H) reproduction deserved to be called a Partial Success, 5 (W.
F. P.) or 7 (Miss H) were rated Suggestive, 8 (W. F. P.) or 7 (Miss H)
as Slightly Suggestive and 116 as Failures.

We will now tabulate the two groups (the sets of the 10 ladies and Miss
H’s 10 sets), taken together (260 experiments in guessing).

           _W. F. P.’s Estimate_     _Miss H’s Estimate_
           ─────────────────────────────────────────────────
           S.                      0 S.                    0
           P. S.                   3 P. S.                 1
           Sug.                   12 Sug.                 14
           S. Sug.                13 S. Sug.              12
           F.                    232 F.                  233

If we calculate the averages for the 20 sets of experiments, we can more
directly compare with the Sinclair results.

            _Sinclair Set_  _Average of the 20 Guessing Sets_
           ──────────────────────────────────────────────────
                              _W. F. P.’s       _Miss H’s
                               Estimate_        Estimate_
           ──────────────────────────────────────────────────
           S.             3 S.             0 S.             0
           P. S.          5 P. S.       3⁄20 P. S.       1⁄20
           Sug.           4 Sug.         3⁄5 Sug.        7⁄10
           S. Sug.        0 S. Sug.    13⁄20 S. Sug.      3⁄5
           F.             1 F.        11 3⁄5 F.      11 13⁄20

But there is perhaps a surer way of making comparisons. It is sometimes
difficult to draw the line between a Success and a Partial Success, a
Partial Success and a Suggestive, a Suggestive and a Slightly
Suggestive. But when the drawings represent not simple diagrams, but
objects animate and inanimate, and a reproduction by Mrs. Sinclair is
placed beside a like-numbered one in any of the 20 guessing sets, it is
very seldom that one cannot be certain whether one is better as compared
with the common original, and within fair limits how much better. And
the proof of this statement is found in the fact that when two persons
passed upon the 20 sets of guessing reproductions, comparing them with
the 1 set of Sinclair reproductions, to determine, case for case, in
260, which were more nearly like the originals, and to what degree,
their rating was almost identical, although they worked in entire and
absolute mutual independence of each other.

In the following table, Si. = Sinclair drawing, G. = a Guessing drawing,
v.m.b. = very much better, m.b. = much better, b. = better.

W. F. P. found the guessing reproduction of experiment 1 to be bad to a
degree equal with the Mrs. Sinclair failure, in 16 instances. Miss
Hoffmann found it equally bad also in 16 instances, and deemed another
reproduction equally to possess some tiniest resemblance to the original
in 1 instance. Aside from these we have


              IN THE 20 SETS (10 LADIES AND MISS H’S 10)

            _W. F. P.’s Estimate_       _Miss H’s Estimate_
         ─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
         Si.v.m.b.             222   Si.v.m.b.           222
         Si.m.b.                11   Si.m.b.              13
         Si.b.                   7   Si.b.                 4
         G.v.m.b.                  2 G.v.m.b.                2
         G.b.                      2 G.b.                    2
                               ——— —                     ——— —
                               240 4                     239 4

It is almost incredible that two human beings could come to so close an
agreement, unless one had some clue to the opinions of the other, but it
is even so, no smallest hint passed in either direction. The fact is
that in very few instances can there be the slightest hesitancy in
deciding which is nearer the common original, the Sinclair or the
guessing reproduction.

If there is any reproduction of the Sinclair series whose resemblance to
the original might seem illusory it is that coupling with the leaf of a
tree or plant (Figs. 148, 148a). But of the 20 guesses of that original
not one is so near; in 18 instances (W. F. P.) or at least 15 (Miss H)
Mrs. Sinclair’s is very much the better, in 1 (W. F. P.) to 3 (Miss H)
it is much better, and in 1 (W. F. P.) or 2 (Miss H) it is better.

Perhaps some persons would think that such resemblance as there is
between the butterfly and Mrs. Sinclair’s reproduction (Figs. 97, 97a)
is too faint to count, or at least is accidental. But, by the
independent judgment of two persons, not a single one of the
corresponding guessing reproductions is as near the original or anything
like so near.

Or one might sneer at calling Mrs. Sinclair’s reproduction of Figure 147
“Suggestive.” Only 5 vertical lines, wrongly curving at the top, crossed
by three lines, to stand for a “door with hinges, lower sash,” and wire
screen covering the upper half! But not a single one of the 20 guesses
approaches so much resemblance. Miss H says that of 19 of these, and W.
F. P. of 16, “Si.v.m.b.” Miss H says of 1, W. F. P. of 2, “Si.m.b.,”
while W. F. P. at least is sure of his remaining 2, “Si.b.”

In the light of such tests as those just now made, even such degrees of
resemblance as we have found in the very weakest numbers of the 13 in
this Sinclair series take on deep significance. And the whole mass of
our counter-experiments clearly indicates that the reproductions by Mrs.
Sinclair in that series are prodigiously beyond the reach of chance
guessing.

[Illustration: The Best of the Twenty Guessing-Sets]

As already remarked, it is hardly practicable to reproduce here the 260
drawings resulting from 20 sets of attempts to guess what the 13
originals (the same as those in the Sinclair series of February 15th)
were. But following is shown Mrs. P—n’s set of guesses, the one which
made the nearest, though so distant, approach to success. Let the reader
compare her drawings, one by one, with the reproductions of Mrs.
Sinclair, and judge for himself both which were nearer the originals
they had in common, and by how much.


A Series of February 17, 1929[16]

The conditions under which this series of experiments was conducted were
excellent, and will be given partly in Mr. Sinclair’s words and partly,
for greater conciseness, abridged from his statement, aided by an
examination of the materials.

(a) The original drawings were made by Mr. Sinclair when he was alone in
his study. (b) They were made on green paper. (c) Each drawing was
enclosed “in a separate sheet of green paper.” (d) Each drawing with its
enclosing sheet was folded once, making four thicknesses. (e) And each
pair of sheets, that with the drawing and the blank outside one, was put
in an envelope [Experiment shows that not even when held up to a strong
light can a drawing made and enclosed in such paper and placed in an
envelope be seen at all]. (f) The envelope was sealed. (g) The nine
sealed envelopes were laid on the table by Mrs. Sinclair’s couch. (h)
Her procedure was to put an envelope, and each in turn as the tests
proceeded, over her solar plexus, and when she had made her decision, to
sit up and draw upon a paper pad. (i) Meanwhile, at her own insistence,
Mr. Sinclair watched her throughout. (j) “Never did she see my drawing,”
he declares, “until hers was completed and her descriptive words
written.” (k) “I spoke no word and made no comment until after this was
done.” He adds: “The drawings represented here are in every case exactly
what I drew, and the corresponding drawing is exactly what my wife drew,
with no change or addition whatsoever.”

1. _Agt._, a geographical globe; _Per._, an obscure drawing most
probably representing the head and neck of some animal. Failure.[17]

2. _Agt._, a wall-hook (Fig. 123); _Per._, the drawing of Figure 123a,
which resembles the original to a certain limited degree, having a
narrow extension to the left though not curving, and broadening to the
right with a suggestion of curving at the bottom.

3. _Agt._, a monkey hanging from a bough and grasping at another (Fig.
24); _Per._ drew as in Figures 24a, 24b (except that in the former the
cut fails to give all of the pencil drawing. Instead of four curving
lines hanging from the flower or whatever it is, the ends of each pair
should be united by a curve) and it seems as though elements of the
original were caught but misplaced. Each figure is of the shape of the
under branch in the original drawing, but with the slant of the monkey;
there are two as-it-were arms reaching down instead of one; and while
the drawings do not suggest any animal, the script begins “Buffalo or
lion. Tiger,” and concludes with the conviction that there is at least
some “wild animal.”

4. _Agt._, man and woman standing together; _Per._, two drawings, one
almost exactly the shape of the woman’s skirt, with two black spots
below and touching its bottom line, exactly as the feet of the woman
appear below her skirt; the other drawing similar but less like the
original.

5. _Agt._, an animal shape, probably intended for a goat (certain
species, as the Angora, have long horns which resemble those of the
drawing, and goats generally have a short tail) (Fig. 138); _Per._, no
drawing, but the single word “Goat.”

6. _Agt._, a mandolin, its neck drawn with several parallel lines, the
body of the instrument composed of four curving lines with three
straight ones for the strings; _Per._, what may perhaps be intended for
a flower, but its long stem indicated by several parallel lines and its
blossom drawn with curving and straight lines constitute a strong
resemblance, and entitle it to be regarded a partial success.

7. _Agt._, a nearly round bag with a dollar mark on it, pursed and drawn
up on top, as by a string; _Per._, (1) a circle with a vertical line
protruding from its upper edge, (2) a cup-like figure with a line from
its bottom to above its upper edge.

8. _Agt._, a Lima bean (?); _Per._, a head wearing a turban, which in
shape is conspicuously like the bean.

9. _Agt._, a nest containing seven eggs and surrounded by leaves (Fig.
4); _Per._, a drawing which she interpreted as “Inside of rock well with
vines climbing on outside,” but which presents features startlingly like
the original (Fig. 4a).

There is the outer rim, like that of the nest, and which would probably
have completed the circle if the top of the paper had not been reached.
There are the “stones,” for some unknown reason obscured in the cut but
some of them in the center showing more plainly and more regularly ovoid
in the pencil drawing, resembling the eggs of the original. And there
are not only surrounding leaves as in the original, but they are leaves
of similar shape.


Series of February 20, 1929

There were four experimental tests made this day, the same when the
remarkable case of spontaneous telepathy occurred, in which Mrs.
Sinclair sensed that her husband was reading about flowers and described
them by drawings and script (p. 30).

In the 1st, Mr. Sinclair drew a fire hydrant (Fig. 74); Mrs. Sinclair
drew as in Figure 74a. This was certainly a partial success, as the
drawings compare. And for aught we know it may in fact have been a still
better success, since Mr. Sinclair in looking at his drawing may well
have imagined water bursting forth from the spout of the hydrant. Oddly,
Mrs. Sinclair first wrote “Peafowl,” and then drew what had nothing to
do with a peafowl. This is one of the many cases where it seems as
though Mrs. Sinclair had glimpses ahead in a series.

For the agent’s second drawing _was_ a peacock (Fig. 75). And the
percipient not only said “peafowl again,” which constitutes a complete
success, but she also drew what it seems likely are impressions of the
peacock’s long neck and of the “eyes” or spots of his wings (Fig. 75a).

The agent’s third drawing was of an hourglass, with sand running from
its upper to its lower part (Fig. 133). The resemblance in shape of the
percipient’s tree (Fig. 133a) to the upper half of the hourglass is
evident, its trunk may represent the slender line of flowing sand, and
“white” sand is placed relatively like the sand in the lower part of the
hourglass. The percipient’s results seem to be partly from the lines of
the original drawing, but also from Mr. Sinclair’s thoughts about the
sand.

Mr. Sinclair’s fourth drawing represents an animal (dog?) running after
a ball attached to a string (Fig. 9). Mrs. Sinclair’s drawing shows (a)
an animal, (b) also running, (c) in the same direction, (d) having a
short tail as in the original, (e) the tail represented by two diverging
lines, (f) a line extending from its nose, but touching the nose, while
there is a space between in the original, (g) the line running left and
at about the same angle from the horizontal. Besides the script which
appears in the cut (Fig. 9a) Mrs. Sinclair wrote “Long thing like rope
flung out in front of him.”

I should say that the addition of that “rope” drawn in front of the
animal at that angle made chance guessing of the combination at least
ten times as unlikely, and, on the basis of my hundreds of experiments
in guessing, I should not _expect_ in ten thousand such experiments on
the basis of the same original drawing one reproduction as good in the
summation of its correspondences.


Series of March 11, 1929

1. _Agt._, a fountain which, were it taken alone, might be taken for a
tree, standing in what superficially appears like a long shallow
tub-like structure (Fig. 53); _Per._, a long, shallow tub, with two
tree-like objects above it and on its rim, (2) a drawing, the upper
portion of which parts in the center and leans to either side, as does
the fountain. The tree or plant-like objects are both said to “shine,”
which does not so well comport with a tree or plant as with a fountain
sparkling in the sunshine (Fig. 53a).

2. _Agt._, a melon on an inclined plane, having a stem and leaf on the
stem; _Per._, three drawings: (1) what suggests the leaf and stem of the
original twice over, (2) an unnameable figure, but slanting like the
original, (3) what looks like some kind of fruit with stem, also
slanting like the original.

3. _Agt._, the figure 6 followed by the mark indicating _per cent_, not
single-line drawn but having breadth as if cut out of cardboard; _Per._,
the letter F, a failure except for the curious parallel that this also
is formed as if made with strips of cardboard.

4. _Agt._, a fishhook (Fig. 78); _Per._, (1) a figure very much like the
fishhook except that the barb is transformed into a tiny flower (Fig.
78a).

5. _Agt._, an obelisk (Fig. 79); _Per._, two drawings, the first of
which shows the three long lines of the obelisk but with a slight
curvature (Fig. 79a).[18]

6. _Agt._, as in Figure 80; _Per._, as in Figure 80a. Only point of
resemblance the two angles formed by the legs of the reclining seat.

7. _Agt._, what was probably intended to represent a German
_Pickelhaube_ (Fig. 5); _Per._, what the accompanying script called a
“Knight’s helmet”; very similar (Fig. 5a).

8. _Agt._, a row of five pillars (shown with a rather extraordinary
perspective slant), each mainly indicated by three or four vertical
parallel lines, an entablature above (Fig. 132); _Per._, four
pillar-like objects constructed of vertical parallel lines, three to
five, the presumed pillars having no entablature but in themselves and
additional lines showing the same slant as in the original. The presumed
pillars are likewise nearly equally spaced, but are of unequal heights,
indicating that the percipient’s impression was a visual one and that
she had no clear idea what she was drawing (Fig. 132a).

9. _Agt._, presumably a palm tree (Fig. 8); _Per._, two objects hard to
name, but each in a general way curiously like the original, even to the
bend in what is presumably the trunk, though it is not the same bend
(Fig. 8a).


Series of March 16, 1929

There were seven tests on this date.

1. _Agt._, a burning lamp (Fig. 40); _Per._, as in Figure 40a, whether
the drawing represents a tube from which flame proceeds, or the wick and
that part of the lamp which is within the chimney, at any rate the same
lines which conventionally signify light appear as in the original.
Accompanying script says “flame and sparks.”

2. _Agt._, a butterfly net (Fig. 110); _Per._, the handle of the net is
duplicated, and the general shape of the net is pretty well shown (Fig.
110a).

3. _Agt._, a carnation with four near-angles along its upper edge (Fig.
113); _Per._, four triangles in a row with a hint of lines below (Fig.
113a).

4. _Agt._, a trench mortar (Fig. 42); _Per._, a figure considerably like
but shorter than the trench mortar, and likewise pointing upward, a
stem-like extension like the axle in the original but on the other side,
whiffs of smoke emerging (Fig. 42a). Here the impressions received seem
partly visual, partly ideational.

5. _Agt._, a telegraph pole and four wires proceeding horizontally from
it in two directions (Fig. 129); _Per._, something like a pole, and five
lines proceeding from it in one direction (Fig. 129a).

6. _Agt._, two hearts side by side, transfixed horizontally by an arrow
(Fig. 126); _Per._, two balloon-like shapes side by side, transfixed
horizontally by a line (Fig. 126a).

7. _Agt._, a frieze (Fig. 124); _Per._, what looks like a detail of a
different design yet one which also consists of parallel lines enclosing
narrow tracts which run in different directions (Fig. 124a). Even so
much of distant resemblance would not occur anything like once in ten
times by chance.


Miscellaneous Examples

February 23, 1929. The agent drew a steamboat with incorrectly designed
stem paddle wheel (Fig. 77). The percipient’s results are very
interesting (Figs. 77a, 77b, 77c). There is smoke, so labeled, by
itself, then the smoke stack with smoke issuing from it, then the paddle
wheel in the water, its paddles more correctly placed externally to the
rim, then what may mean smoke containing cinders. The cut of the paddle
wheel has left out the axle-end, very distinctly indicated in the
original pencil drawing.

February 17, 1929. The agent drew an Alpine hat with a feather (Fig.
142). Of the shapes drawn by the percipient (Fig. 142a) the one on the
right may very possibly be related to the rim and the band of the hat,
the top left one is very suggestive of the feather, and the bottom one,
though called in the script a “chafing dish,” is very like the hat. All
this suggests that the attention of the agent was directed first to one
part, then to another and another of his drawing.

February 29, 1929. The agent drew a very intricate and unusual cross,
one with eight arms, notched at the ends (see Figs. 7, 7a). The
percipient also drew a circle of notched arms, but seven in number. One
would suppose that when she began she had no idea where the drawing
would end, or it would be more regular.

Through all the experiments of the period covered by the book _Mental
Radio_, and enough more to make 300, there is no other agent drawing
resembling this. And nowhere is there another percipient drawing like
it. Granting that the percipient should make such a drawing once, which
was by no means certain (nothing like it appears among the 564
Guess-drawings reported in this Bulletin), then the chance of its
coinciding in place with the eight-armed cross of the agent would be 1
in 300.

February 17, 1929. The agent drew an open umbrella, with curved handle
(Fig. 122). The percipient wrote, “I feel that it is a snake crawling
out of something—vivid feeling of snake, but it looks like a cat’s
tail.” And in her drawing (Fig. 122a) we have the curved umbrella
handle, but it has sprouted a tongue and an eye; the ellipse of the
umbrella rim is retained but it is a smaller one; otherwise the
“something” is shaped wrongly.

We have cited instances where Mrs. Sinclair proved that she got an
inkling of some drawing in a series before reaching it, by writing down
at the moment her conviction. In _Mental Radio_ our attention is called
to a number of instances of seeming anticipations even where Mrs.
Sinclair was not so conscious of them, or at least did not write down
her expectation that some particular thing was coming. Here is an
instance not mentioned in the book. The next agent’s drawing after the
umbrella _was_ a snake. Had it not been for the dawning consciousness of
_that_ snake, the umbrella handle might not have undergone
metamorphosis.[19]

February ?, 1929. The agent made an American flag, with pole surmounted
by a ball (Fig. 127). The percipient failed to get the stars but she got
the stripes and the pole, and the ball, which last has wandered from its
place, although the neighborhood in which it should be is sensed (Fig.
127a).

March ?, 1929. Mrs. Sinclair wrote “Muley cow with tongue hanging out.”
And this is the drawing her husband had made (Fig. 137). In 260
experiments in guessing, the originals being replicas of Mr. Sinclair’s
drawings on February 15, there was not one success. We would have said
that Mrs. Sinclair had a success in this case had she merely said “Cow.”
But she did better than this, for she got the particular “tongue hanging
out,” which certainly increases the value tenfold. I venture to say that
not one time in twenty will a picture of a cow show her with her tongue
hanging out.

Pursuing the tests past the period until more than 300 have been had, we
find that Mr. Sinclair drew a cow’s head three times. Once the
percipient’s response was technically a failure; it resembled horns, or
rather antlers. The second time she got a chicken’s face, again strictly
a failure, but at least something with animal life. The third time was
the “cow with tongue hanging out.”

And there were three other times that Mrs. Sinclair either drew a cow’s
head or wrote “cow” or “calf.” For the first see Figures 15, 15a. In the
second instance the agent had drawn a face, not that of a cow but of a
man. The third was a brilliant success, not in name but in form. The
agent had drawn what was doubtless intended for a donkey with a harness
band across its neck. In the reproduction the donkey’s long ears were
metamorphosed to resemble horns, and across the cow’s neck is a band,
which the lady interpreted in the following script: “Cow’s head in
stock.”

March 2, 1929. The agent drew six concentric circles (Fig. 144). As in
the case of the balloon (see Figs. 95, 95a), the percipient seemed to
“see” only part of the original. She also draws concentric circles, but
omits about a quarter of each (Fig. 144a).

We can allow space but for one more exhibit, and this because of its
seeming suggestiveness (Figs. 56, 56a). Of course, when we move away
from correspondences in visual form or direct correspondences in idea we
enter a region where the possibilities of chance relation are
considerable. Nevertheless, literature abounds in associations between
fleeing foxes on the one hand and guns and sounding horns on the other.
It seems likely enough, therefore (though I would not bring forward this
case as _proof_), that the sensing of the original drawing found a path
for emergence through association ideas.

There are many more tests described and illustrated in Mr. Sinclair’s
book. What we have given has been, save for a few exceptions, according
to selected and entire groups or series on particular dates.


      PERCIPIENT SEQUELAE TO CERTAIN CATEGORIES OF AGENT DRAWINGS

Mr. Sinclair remarks that “when in these drawing tests there has been
anything [that is, in his drawings] indicating fire or smoke she has
‘got’ it, with only one or two failures out of more than a dozen cases.”
This would mean a much larger ratio of success for the drawings so
characterized than that for the total number of drawings. Mr. Sinclair
accounts for this by the fact that his wife, owing to terrifying
incidents in her childhood, is exceedingly sensitive to the thought of
fire and given to taking unusual precautions. Readers will probably
agree that this is a plausible and sensible theory. I propose to
tabulate _all_ such tests, including the original drawings significant
of light.


               Original Drawings Indicating Fire or Smoke

  1928

  1. July 29. O:[20] Smoking cigarette—R: Various curved lines, and “I
          can’t draw it, but curls of some sort.”

  1929

  2. Jan. 28. O: House with smoking chimney—R: Curls as of smoke. (See
          Figs. 36, 36a.)

  3. Feb. ?. O: Lighted lamp—R: Pipe, and “Pipe with fire in it.”

  4. Feb. 8. O: Pipe with smoke—R: Drawing similar to a pipe, with
          smoke. (See Figs. 37, 37a.)

  5. Feb. 8. O: House with smoking chimney—R: _Failure_.

  6. Feb. ?. O: Pipe with smoke—R: Written, “Smoke stack.”

  7. Feb. 10. O: Smoking mountain—R: (No _thought_ of smoke but) Drawing
          very like O. (See Figs. 25, 25a.)

  8. Feb. 15. O: Smoking match—R: Smoking match. (See Figs. 91, 91a.)

  9. Feb. 23. O: Steamboat with smoking stack—R: Draws smoke, “Smoke
          again,” and draws figure like stack with smoke. (See Figs. 77,
          77a, 77b, 77c.)

  10. Mar. 16. O: Lighted lamp—R: Drawing somewhat like the part of a
          lamp within the chimney, and “Flame and sparks.” (See Figs.
          40, 40a.)


   Original Drawings Not Indicating But Significant of Fire or Smoke

  1929

  11. Feb. ?. O: Pipe—R: _Failure_ (But a smoking pipe in same series of
          8).

  12. Feb. 2. O: Candelabrum—R: Base of candelabrum correctly drawn.

  13. Feb. 10. O: Fire-rocket (felt unable to draw it bursting)—R: Six
          drawings labelled “light,” several like swirling rocket, and
          words “whirling light lines.”

  14. Feb. 11. O: Muzzle of end of cannon, mouth indicated by double
          circle—R: Drawing of “half circle double lines—light
          inside—light is fire busy whirling or flaming.”

  15. Feb. 16. O: Gable and chimney—R: Chimney with smoke.

  16. Mar. 7. O: Cannon—R: “Black Napoleon hat and red military
          coats.”[21]

  17. Mar. 16. O: Trench mortar, with wheels and axle—R: Drawing similar
          to mortar and axle, plus smoke. (See Figs. 42, 42a.)


                 Original Drawings Significant of Light

  1929

  18. Feb. ?. O: Electric light bulb—R: Drawing and script very
          suggestive; but nothing about _light_.

  19. Feb. 10. O: Electric light bulb—R: Two drawings somewhat like O in
          shape; nothing about _light_.

  20. Feb. 11. O: Sun—R: “Setting sun and bird in sky.”

  21. Feb. 15. O: Sun over hills—R: Sun over a “body.” (See Figs. 93,
          93a.)

This is a very noteworthy exhibit. In idea, shape or both, all the 21
reproductions show marked correspondences, with 3 exceptions only, one
of which is doubtfully an anticipation of an original in the same group,
and another very possibly connected by an interior association of ideas.


              Originals Representing Forms of Animal Life

In some cases, after the agent had drawn an animal, a bird, or some
other creature possessing animal life, the percipient’s drawing was
successful, partly successful or at least suggestive in shape; in many
instances it was a flat failure. But as examination proceeded it began
to appear that a number of the failures represented some other form of
the animal kingdom, however diverse. A careful canvass was made,
including the material in hand produced subsequent to that in the
Sinclair book, embracing in all 388 experiments; drawings of human
beings, animals, birds, fishes, insects, and parts of bodies, as a hand
or a leg, were included.

The Agent drew 103 such out of 388.

The Percipient drew 98 such out of 388.

There were found to be 39 correspondences;[22] that is, in 39 cases,
where the agent drew some animal form or part thereof, the percipient
also drew some animal form or part thereof. If out of a total of 388,
the agent makes 103 drawings of this character, chance would give about
26 correspondences, so defined, among the 98 reproductions. In fact,
there are 39, another proof, by a peculiar test, that something more
than chance is in operation.

Now let us make another test, this time including the material only up
to the close of the period covered by the book, and not insisting, as we
have done above, on strict recognition of reproductions, but stating
precisely how they compare with the originals in form.


         Where the Original Drawings Represent Vegetable Forms

  1929

  Feb. 2. O: Plant with 18 spots for flowers (?)—R: 9 similar spots and
          writing “Many dots.”

  Feb. 6. O: Daisy—R: 8 small assembled figures shaped like petals of
          daisy, and other figures indicating vegetation.

  Feb. 11. O: Cat-tail—R: Three angular protrusions somewhat like
          cat-tail leaves, and “Dog’s head?”

  Feb. 12. O: Flower with stalk—R: Flower resembling O; no stalk.

  Feb. 15. O: Stalk of celery—R: Flower and stalk somewhat resembling O.

  Feb. 15. O: Leaf—R: Indeterminate drawings, but with features like O.

  Feb. 16. O: Acorn—R: Drawing looks like an acorn, whatever is meant by
          it.

  Feb. 16. O: Flower and leaves—R: _Absolute failure_.

  Feb. 17. O: Lima bean—R: Man’s head, but his large turban is curiously
          shaped like O.

  Feb. 17. O: Leaves around nest of eggs—R: Same shape of leaves around
          what much resembles the nest of eggs.

  Feb. ?. O: Fleur-de-lis—R: _Failure_.

  Feb. 20. O: “Red” flower[23]—R: “Red” flower. (See Fig. 14a.)

  Feb. 22. O: Odd tree—R: Similar odd tree.

  Feb. 24. O: Branch of tree with thorns—R: Apparently branch of tree,
          not thorned.

  Mar. 11. O: Melon, with stalk and leaf—R: Indeterminate vegetable or
          flower, with stalk, and what looks like two leaves similar to
          the leaf in O.

  Mar. 11. O: Palm tree—R: 2 indeterminate figures, curiously like O.

  Mar. ?. O: Dead tree with pointed limbs—R: 3 “horns,” somewhat
          suggestive.

  Mar. ?. O: Bouquet of “pink” roses, and leaves—R: An odd half
          flower-like figure, marked “green” exteriorly and “pink”
          inside.

  Mar. 16. O: Carnation—R: Similar exterior four sharp angles; no other
          resemblance.


             All the Original Drawings Representing Crosses

  1929

  1. Feb. ?. O: Swastika cross (Fig. 101)—R: 3 drawings which together
          give 3 of the 4 rectangular quarters of the swastika cross,
          and the directions in which they open; 2 drawings, each of
          which practically represents a half of the cross, but one of
          these reversed (Fig. 101a).

  2. Feb. 6. O: Swastika cross—R: _Failure_.

  3. Feb. ?. O: Pattée cross (Fig. 81)—R: A figure, four of which
          rightly placed make the cross; but by adding a bail (because
          of inference?) it is made a basket (Fig. 81a).

  4. Feb. 10. O: Eight-armed crosses (Fig. 64)—R: Script, “See spider,
          or some sort of legged pest.” (Note that the Arachnida are
          eight-legged.)

  5. Feb. 15. O: Three four-armed crosses on a box—R: Three six-armed
          crosses. (See Figs. 98, 98a.)

  6. Mar. ?. O: Eight-armed cross with notched ends (Fig. 7)—R:
          Seven-armed cross with notched ends (Fig. 7a).


                     Originals Representing the Sun

In the course of 300 experiments, extending a little beyond the period
reported by the book, there were but two of these.

The first was on February 11, 1929. The agent made a sun as children
draw it, a circle with rays surrounding it. The percipient made no
drawing but wrote “Setting sun and bird in the sky. Big bird on the
wing—sea gull or wild goose.” Mr. Sinclair calls this a partial success,
and surely it is.

The second was on February 15, more than fifty experiments having
intervened. The agent drew a sun over hills, the percipient a circle
with rays around it actually labelled “a sun,” over a “body.” (See Figs.
93, 93a.) This also was a partial success.

Thus both times out of 300 experiments when Mr. Sinclair made a sun, his
wife “got it” and drew one also.

But twice, also, Mrs. Sinclair drew what was meant for the upper half of
a sun at the horizon when there was no sun in the original. In one of
these instances the original did have something, not a sun, considerably
like the reproduction, and there was a certain degree of resemblance in
the other. But let these count as failures. We will allow the reader to
figure out the chances of two of Mrs. Sinclair’s four suns, in the
course of 300 experiments, being drawn at the same time when Mr.
Sinclair drew his two suns.


                    “Line-and-Circle-Men” Originals

On February 6, 1929, Mr. Sinclair made a line-and-circle man; that is,
one drawn in schoolboy fashion (Fig. 106). The percipient got the head
circle, adding dots for features, and her crossing lines, properly
placed below the circle, roughly represent the spread of arms and legs
(Fig. 106a).

On February 10th, thirty experiments having intervened, the agent made
two such men, facing each other in boxing attitudes (Fig. 107). It will
be seen that just two vertical lines, longer than any of the others,
enter into their composition. The longest lines in what the percipient
drew are also two and vertical. And she got a confused notion of the
legs and arms, each with its angle for knee or elbow. She failed to get
any circles (Fig. 107a).

All through the period covered by the book, and past it until the 300th
experiment, there is no other line-and-circle man original. The
percipient in the same number of experiments made one drawing in which
head and body are represented by a circle and an ellipse, and the rest
of the man by single lines. And she made one fairly well drawn head with
hair, the rest of the figure represented by single lines.


                       A STUDY IN “ANTICIPATIONS”


Series of February 11, 1929

We have been pursuing the rigorous rule of estimating a percipient
drawing by its correspondence or lack of correspondence with the agent
drawing then in hand. Only when Mrs. Sinclair announced in advance that
a described drawing would come in a series, and it actually came, have
we given weight to an anticipation. Such an instance was that of the
snow and sled drawing of February 8th. This is not by any means to say
that other “anticipations” have not had weight, as a matter of fact. In
some of the instances exhibited in _Mental Radio_ the original drawings
represented objects of such character that it was extremely unlikely
that there should be a near correspondence among the half dozen or dozen
reproductions constituting the whole series, or in fifty guesses.

Again, there could be a series with so many of these correspondences out
of order that one is mathematically[24] and logically compelled to
acknowledge that there was anticipation. Such a series is that of
February 11, 1929.

1. _Agt._, a molar tooth; _Per._, an ellipse containing 19 tiny circles.
This is emphatically a failure compared with the contemporaneous
original drawing. However, see No. 12. Before the drawing was made, the
percipient wrote “First see rooster. Then elephant.”

2. And now _Agt.’s_ drawing _was_ an elephant, as far back as but
lacking hind legs. And _Per._ wrote “Elephant comes again. I try to
suppress it, and see lines, and a spike sticking some way into
something.” And she draws two vertical lines, related to each other in
ribbon fashion, what looks like a pin with circle for head, crossing the
band through a slit indicated by two short vertical lines, and below the
“spike” two widely separated vertical lines. The “spike” crosses what I
have called a ribbon exactly as the elephant’s tusk crosses his trunk,
the round eye of the elephant has moved slightly to form the head of the
“spike,” and the vertical lines below may stand for a feeling that
_something_ (really the front legs) should be below. We have some
warrant for our interpretation from the words “Elephant comes again. I
try to suppress it.” Had she not tried to suppress it (because of the
erroneous notion that it is but a memory of the elephant impression of
Experiment 1), it is fair to assume that she would have tried to draw an
elephant. She “tried to suppress” the animal, but his eye and “spike,”
which was really “sticking into something,” but not in the manner drawn,
seem to have persisted. (See Figs. 66, 66a.)

3. And now _Agt._ _did_ draw a rooster. Both elephant and rooster, with
which she was impressed at Experiment 1, had come by the time Experiment
3 had been reached. This is rather too much for “chance coincidence,”
especially as the Sinclairs do not have an elephant among their domestic
pets. But this is not all. As _Per._ not only announced an elephant in
advance but got details of the elephant when that animal actually was in
hand as the original, so not only was a rooster announced in advance but
when the original is a rooster, _Per._ gets correspondences. She writes
“I don’t know what, see a bunch, or tuft clearly. Also a crooked arm on
a body. But don’t feel that I’m right.” What she drew was remarkably
like the rear three-quarters of the rooster, the “tuft” representing its
tail, “the crooked arm” its two legs in conjunction. (See Figs. 67,
67a.)

4. _Agt._, a table; _Per._, “Flower. This is a very vivid one.
Green-spine-leaves like century plant,” and a corresponding drawing with
tall flowering spike in the center. (See Fig. 68a.) A flat failure, but
wait for Experiments 7 and 11.

5. _Agt._, a fishhook; _Per._, no drawing but script: “Dog wagging
tail—see tail in air busy wagging—jolly doggie—tail curled in the air.”
Well, a fishhook _is_ somewhat like a tail curled in the air. But script
followed: “Now I see a cow. I fear the elephant and chicken got me too
sure of animals. But I see these.” A tail curled in the air—a dog or a
cow! Wait for No. 7.

6. _Agt._, a sun represented by a large circle surrounded by rays;
_Per._, “Setting sun and bird in the sky. Big bird on wing—sea gull or
wild goose.” Obviously this is a partial success.

7. _Agt._, what was intended for the rear half of a cow, with tail
curled almost exactly like a fishhook. Remember that in No. 5 _Per._ had
an impression of a dog with “tail curled in the air” and a later
impression of a cow. As a matter of fact, Mr. Sinclair’s cow does not
have a cow’s tail but one made in the fashion of a hound’s tail. _Per._
in this No. 7 experiment makes a drawing like that of No. 4, except that
the central spike is not so long, and writes “This is a _real_ flower.
I’ve seen it before. It’s vivid and returns. Century plant. Now it turns
into a candlestick. See a candle.” And she drew what she probably meant
for a five-armed candlestick, with one candle in the center. But it is
much like the plant called “cat-tail,” except that the leaves diverge
too widely. (See Fig. 69a.)

8. _Agt._, a long line with seven short evenly-spaced lines running from
it at right angles—probably meant for a rake-head; _Per._, what is
probably intended for two sticks of wood, fire proceeding from one of
them, and smoke above. Script: “Fire and smoke—flame.” Also, “Must be
campfire as I now see an Indian warrior near it in a war dress—feathered
headpiece, etc.” There is a certain amount of resemblance between the
rake-head and the stick of wood with the more or less straight lines
springing from one side of it. (See Fig. 43a.) And one remembers that an
Indian headdress, of the type which hangs down the back, consists of
feathers on one side and directed outwardly from the band to which they
are attached. But these are only suggested possibilities of connection,
and are doubtful. There is even another possible connection, for it may
be that “Fire and smoke” was influenced by the cannon of the following
original.

9. _Agt._, the forward part of an old-style cannon, a double-line
ellipse marking its mouth seen in perspective; _Per._, the half of a
double-line ellipse with a curving tangle as of smoke, labeled “Fire,”
and outside the script: “Half circle, double lines—light inside—light is
fire busy whirling or flaming.” Partly right and very suggestive. (See
Fig. 44a.)

10. _Agt._, three concentric triangles; _Per._, two wheels and over them
the suggestion of some vehicle-body—only a line and two angles. Failure.

11. _Agt._, a “cat-tail,” its leaves by no means correctly drawn, but
there is no doubt of its identity; _Per._, a drawing doubtfully marked
“Dog’s head,” its ears, if such they are, also its muzzle, long and
pointed, much resembling the upper halves of Mr. Sinclair’s cat-tail
leaves. But remember Mrs. Sinclair’s “century plant” of No. 2 with its
somewhat similar leaves and its central spike; remember especially the
“candlestick” of No. 7, which so much resembles a cat-tail. (See Figs.
69a, 70, 70a.)

12. _Agt._, ten small circles arranged in rows, pyramidal fashion;
_Per._ wrote only “Nothing except all the preceding ones come—too many
at once—all past ones crowding in memory.” I wish she had stated which
past one, if any, crowded most, and which came first. For it happens
that her drawing for No. 2, so different from the impressions “a
rooster” and “an elephant,” set down at the same time, also consisted of
little circles, also in rows, but more in number and enclosed within an
elliptical line.

13. _Agt._, a drinking-glass with double elliptic line at the top and
small ellipse indicating the bottom; _Per._, double elliptic line above,
same below with indefinite lines rising from the latter. The script is
more significant: “Think of a saucer, then of a cup. It’s something in
the kitchen. Too tired to see.” Pretty close. (See Figs. 72, 72a.)

The occurrence of so many correspondences, direct and oblique, among
thirteen consecutive experiments constituting the entire series
performed at one time, and these by mere accidental coincidence, is
practically unthinkable.


Later Experiments by Professor William McDougall

In the main, this review has dealt only with the period covered by
_Mental Radio_, although it has exhibited some experiments not
illustrated or even mentioned therein. A few of the special tabulations
have also included a part or all of the later tests made by Mr. and Mrs.
Sinclair, to the number of more than a hundred, the materials of which
are in my hands. When the tabulations have reached so far, the fact has
been stated.

But it may be well to say something about tests made by Professor
William McDougall during a sojourn in California, July-August, 1930. He
examined the proofs of previous work and consented to write an
introduction to _Mental Radio_, saying: “A refusal would imply on my
part a lack either of courage or of due sense of scientific
responsibility. * * * It is the duty of men of science to give whatever
encouragement and sympathetic support may be possible to all amateurs
who find themselves in a position to observe and carefully and honestly
to study such phenomena. Mrs. Sinclair would seem to be one of the rare
persons who have telepathic power in a marked degree and perhaps other
supernormal powers. The experiments in telepathy, as reported in the
pages of this book, were so remarkably successful as to rank among the
very best hitherto reported. The degree of success and the conditions of
experiment were such that we can reject them as conclusive evidence of
some mode of communication not at present explicable in accepted
scientific terms only by assuming that Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair either are
grossly stupid, incompetent and careless persons, or have deliberately
entered upon a conspiracy to deceive the public in a most heartless and
reprehensible fashion.” As we have seen, the circle of conspirators
would have to be enlarged to admit Mr. and Mrs. Irwin, for they vouched
for an extraordinarily successful series of experiments at long
distance. And it would have to be enlarged to include Professor
McDougall himself, since he sent me the materials of his experiments,
whose results, though inferior to many of the series of 1928 and 1929,
yet show a ratio and quality of correspondence vastly beyond chance
expectation. Remember that the 260 Guessing tests resulted in not one
drawing which, being compared with the original, could possibly be
regarded as a Success, and this by the independent verdicts of two
judges. Of course, this does not mean that another set of 260 guesses
would not show one Success or more than one, but it does show the great
improbability that a particular drawing made by guess will correspond
with the particular original enough so that it is possible to call it a
Success. The 260 guess-drawings, according to one of the judges, showed
3 Partial Successes, 1 according to the other. Then say there was no
Success and but 3 Partial Successes, and it is still unlikely that a
particular drawing made in any short guess series will correspond with
the particular original to the extent of being worthy of the title
Success or Partial Success. On the basis of those 260 guesses we would
be warranted in assuming that there would be about one-third of a
likelihood of getting either a Success or a Partial Success in a series
of 25. But another series of 260 guesses might be more fortunate, so
call it an expectation of getting one. Professor McDougall had 25
experiments with Mrs. Sinclair.

On July 19th, “five cards drawn or chosen and sealed in envelope and
thick paper at Santa Monica and presented in turn sealed to Mrs. S. at
Long Beach.” Reproductions 1, 3 and 4 were failures. But agent’s No. 2
was a “prairie schooner” showing two wheels with spokes and a long black
line crossing the wheels at their hubs and standing for both the bottom
of the vehicle-body and the shafts in front, while the percipient drew
(1) a wheel with spokes and a long black line running from the hub, and
(2) a wheel-like shape without spokes, but the line extending far in one
direction and passing through the hub and beyond the wheel a short way
in the other direction, as in the original. Here we have a distinct
Partial Success. Agent’s No. 5 was a postal-card picture of a part of
Oxford, the most conspicuous feature in which is the tower of Magdalen
College with pinnacles and high, narrow windows. The percipient made a
drawing which anyone would recognize as a tower, with bristling short
lines projecting upward from the top suggesting pinnacles, and high,
narrow windows. The proportions of height and width are approximately
correct. Below the lower window level are two parallel horizontal lines,
which call attention to such lines in the original. This was drawn,
however, while the percipient was holding agent’s No. 4, his No. 5, the
tower, still being in his pocket. It looks like an anticipation. But
when she arrived at No. 5 she wrote “Turret of a castle and trees,” and
now she is right for the very original in hand, which does display,
besides a river, a bridge and buildings, the conspicuous tower, and
trees prominent in the picture. She added “Sword,” “Scissors,” and
“Key,” which may possibly be erroneous impressions from the pinnacles.
So we have here a striking result, worthy to be called a Success. I have
again taken pains to go through all the originals and all the
reproductions, 413 of each, and find that but once besides did an
original represent a tower. It was the Eiffel Tower, and all will
remember its tall, slender and tapering shape. The percipient’s drawing
represented a long, slender and tapering cone—a Partial Success. And but
once besides, among all 413 drawings, did the percipient present a
tower. This was on the following August 16th, when, apparently as an
experiment, the drawings were “done in a hurry” and no record made of
the order. If compared with a particular one of the originals, the
“tower top” is a Partial Success, but it probably was a Failure. So here
we have the factors: out of 418 agent drawings two represent towers, and
one results in a percipient Success, the other in a Partial Success; out
of 418 percipient drawings two represent towers, and one is a Success,
the other a Failure.

On July 20th Professor McDougall made 5 drawings “at one end of a long
room, while Mrs. Sinclair tried to reproduce them at the other end.” The
agent made what is supposed to be a stork, each foot furnished with
three toes. The percipient made two long legs with three-toed feet, the
legs extending from a curved line like the under side of a bird. Above
and isolated is what looks like a crest, which the stork does not have.
Partial Success. The 4th agent drawing is of a ringed target and a
feathered arrow sticking in it, the barb not visible. The percipient
drawing is practically the feathered part of the shaft. Partial Success.
The 5th agent drawing shows a drum-like object with elliptical top, from
the center of which a tube or spout projects vertically, with water
rising from the spout, parting and falling to right and to left so that
it looks something like a tree. The percipient drew (1) an ellipse, (2)
an ellipse, (3) something like a very round teapot, with elliptic top
and spout at an angle of 45 degrees, (4) something like the vertical
trunk of a tree surmounted by a ball of foliage. Success; there are too
many suggestive partial parallels to allow this to be doubted.

July 26th there were 5 experiments, all drawn by Professor McDougall
except one, that being a postal-card picture of trees, bushes and the
yucca in bloom. Agent’s No. 2 was a wheel with spokes and tire nicely
drawn. Percipient made three circles in a row with something like the
connecting rod of a locomotive across them. This is at least Suggestive.
Directly before the yucca picture, the percipient described plants with
flowers, but the description did not fit the original next to come, nor
did the impression of flowers persist when the yucca was at hand, so I
do not allow this to count at all. There were no other successes in any
degree.

Then followed experiments, one a day, with Professor McDougall drawing
at Santa Monica, Mrs. Sinclair drawing at the same time at Pasadena,
thirty miles distant.

July 30th. A failure.

August 2nd. Original drawing: a coffee-pot, its spout at the right of
peculiar shape, somewhat like the profile of a boat’s stern. The
percipient’s drawing was principally made up of a vertical line like the
edge of the coffee-pot, and turned to the right from its upper extremity
a projection curiously like the coffee-pot’s spout. To the left of the
vertical line seven dots. It may be a mere coincidence that in the
original there are several, but not seven, dark spots in the drawing,
placed relatively about as far from the right edge of the coffee-pot as
the dots are from the vertical line in the percipient drawing. The
drawing is Suggestive, at least.

August 10th. Original drawing a teapot, and percipient’s drawing, a palm
frond, was relatively to it, a failure.

August 11th. Agent drew a faucet. Percipient wrote “Teapot,” which is a
failure. But agent had drawn a teapot the previous day—did percipient
get a deferred telepathic impression?

August 13th. Agent drew a palm tree and percipient’s result was a
failure. But, records agent, “Had it in mind to draw the palm in patio
several days before. Mrs. S. seemed to get it August 10th.” No agent
should have in mind to draw one thing when he actually draws another. If
the result is from telepathy, not clairvoyance, a percipient is at least
as likely to get that on which the agent’s mind has dwelt. On the whole
it would perhaps be fair to count this as a Success.

August 16th. Agent drew a flower-pot and in it a plant with sword-shaped
leaves, somewhat like a century plant. Percipient first drew what one
might take to be a stalk with five straight, short leafless branches,
but with the script “Velvet bow with band.” She added, “Then saw” and
drew a plant—no pot—with leaves exactly of the form of the leaves in the
original, and added, “I have too many leaves in the above.” Right: she
had 11 leaves, the original had 7. This certainly is at least a Partial
Success.

August 17th, August 18th and August 19th each yielded a Failure.

Now let us take account of stock. On the basis of our 260 experiments in
guessing we would have about one-third of an expectation of finding in
the McDougall experiments one Partial Success, but as another series of
260 guesses might be more fortunate we proposed to reckon a full
likelihood of getting one Success or Partial Success, on the theory that
Mrs. Sinclair was guessing also. But we have found 3 Successes and 4
Partial Successes (not counting a possible “anticipation,” and 2
instances of Suggestive). It is not mathematics, it is not logic, it is
not common-sense to conclude that we have not, even in this series of
Professor McDougall, although it does not equal some which have been
exhibited, something for which chance is wholly unable to account.

It is not at all difficult to account for the fact that Professor
McDougall’s results were not quite up to the average of Mrs. Sinclair’s
work during the period covered by _Mental Radio_, both quantity and
quality taken into consideration. In the first place, it has for many
years been evident that something depends upon the degree of _rapport_
between agent and percipient; in other words, that some persons are
better suited than others to act as agents in relation to a particular
percipient. Thus, we are told in the book (pages 33–34) that among the
friends of Mrs. Sinclair there was one peculiarly adapted in this
respect—Mrs. Kate Crane-Gartz. I venture to relate my own very limited
experience, as fact, not scientifically guaranteed. I have had reason to
suppose that I was getting telepathic messages only with two persons.
One was with my wife the first time I ever experimented with her, and
then I got most of the objects she was thinking of, more or less
satisfactorily, in about eight trials. But I never again had _any_
measurable success with her, though I tried repeatedly. The other person
I was for a time in sympathetic relations with, and there occurred a
number of incidents which convinced me that I was acting as a
spontaneous percipient. The most striking category of these is the same
which Mr. Sinclair describes when he says: “My wife will say to me,
‘Mrs. Gartz is going to phone,’ and in a minute or two the phone will
ring.” Repeatedly, when I had no particular reason to think that the
lady to whom I refer would ‘phone me, and when I was occupied with work,
I would suddenly, as by a jerk, look at the ‘phone, expecting it to
ring, and in a few moments it would do so. I have even gone to the
‘phone, almost without thinking, and stood there for half a minute or so
before it did so. This period lasted for perhaps three or four months
only, then faded out. Never at any other time, nor with any other
person, not even with my daughter between whom and me there is the most
cordial sympathy, has there been evidence of this kind sufficiently
striking and repetitious to arrest serious attention. So it may well be
that Professor McDougall, however amiable and fairminded he is, not
having been long known to the percipient and being invested with the awe
of a psychologist of extended reputation, was not so well adapted to be
an agent in relation to her as her husband or her brother-in-law.

But again, while at times Mrs. Sinclair to the last of her
experimentation analyzed by me got excellent results, I find that,
whether because she was wearied, or too much occupied by other things,
or more anxious and less spontaneous, or for whatever reason, did not in
the later months do so well on the average as during the earlier months.
The poorest stretch of the period after the material covered by the book
was that from August 1 to August 28, 1929, inclusive. There were 27
experiments, of which, according to my reckoning, 2 were Successes, 1 a
Partial Success, 3 Suggestive, 2 Slightly Suggestive and 19 Failures in
a series of 27 experiments. The poorest stretch of experiments during
the book period was that ending with the series of February 17, 1929,
nevertheless shown on account of its significance. Here there were 4
Successes, 8 Partial Successes, 4 Suggestive, 1 Slightly Suggestive and
10 Failures out of the same total number of 27. So, after all, while the
McDougall results did not reach the highest level of the later period,
they did not by any means mark the lowest level. They greatly transcend
the expectation of chance, and, with the exception of five experiments
only, were achieved when agent and percipient were either thirty miles
apart or at the two ends of a long room.


            Attempts to Explain Otherwise Than by Telepathy


Would Chance Coincidence Explain?

It has already been proved by experiments in guessing that even the
comparatively poor Dessoir results were far beyond the reach of chance.
And it has been shown by experiments in guessing that the Sinclair
results were much farther beyond the reach of chance. Such counter-tests
may be repeated by any reader _ad libitum_.


Would the Kindred Ideas of Relatives Explain?

It makes one feel foolish to add anything more about the curious “thob”
to the effect that what is taken for telepathy between husbands and
wives is really coincidence brought about by their community of thought
and tendency to think about the same things. It should be evident that
even if a husband and wife knew only one hundred objects in common, that
astonishing fact of limitation would not imply that the lady would be
likely to think of a particular one of these, say No. 92, at the
particular time that her spouse chose it. For once it may be well to
show just how narrow and connubial a range of drawings a husband may
submit to his wife. (See Appendix II.)


Would Conscious or Subconscious Fraud on the Part of the Percipient
Explain?

We must squarely face every possible theory, and this is one. Mr.
Sinclair himself dealt with it. We must do so more thoroughly, in spite
of Mrs. Sinclair’s testimony to remarkable telepathic experiences in her
earlier years (_Mental Radio_, p. 16), in spite of her husband’s
testimony about her actually setting down in writing what “Jan” was
doing at a distance before she got from him the substantially
corresponding facts (pp. 21–24), and getting in dreams or by
“concentration” facts concerning himself at a distance (pp. 31–33), in
spite of Mrs. Sinclair’s reputation for practicality and non-credulity
(pp. 17, 139), honor and conscientiousness (p. 53), her impressing her
husband as being “a fanatic for accuracy” (pp. 138–139), the grave
reasons which caused her to institute these experiments (p. 18; Appendix
I), her intense desire to be sure, and to satisfy every misgiving of her
own (pp. 136–137), her urgency that her husband should watch her work
(p. 53), her variations in the methods of experimentation to see what
effect they would have (pp. 80, 136–137, 144), her reluctance that her
husband should publish his book until still more experiments were had
(p. 137), and the great pains she takes to describe her method of
development and “preparation” in order to encourage others to experiment
(pp. 116, 128). All these considerations are cumulatively almost
overwhelming, yet we proceed in disregard of them.

But the 7 experiments with “Bob” were at long distance, and the
conditions guaranteed by “Bob” and his wife.

The 7 experiments of July 24–29, 1928, were conducted with the agent in
one room and the percipient in another, thirty feet away, with a closed
door between. That is to say, Mr. Sinclair, in one room, would call out
“All right” when ready to draw, his wife, lying in another room, would
call “All right” when she had completed her drawing, and then the two
drawings were compared. He declares that there was no possible way by
which Mrs. Sinclair could have seen his drawing. So that any charge of
fraud would have to include him.

The 9 experiments of February 17, 1929, were thus conducted. The
original drawings were made by the agent, Mr. Sinclair, while alone in
his study, on green paper, enclosed in a sheet of green paper, the whole
folded, making four thicknesses absolutely impervious to sight (as
established in the office of the B.S.P.R.), put in an envelope, the
envelope sealed, and the 9 envelopes put on a table by the percipient’s
couch. She took each in turn and placed it over her solar plexus, kept
it there until her decision was made, then sat up and made her drawing.
All the while her husband sat near, but absolutely speechless until her
drawing was done, when the wrappings were taken from the original
drawing and it was immediately compared with the reproduction. If the
experiments were at night, the reading light immediately over the
percipient’s head was extinguished, since she found that somewhat
subdued illumination favored passivity, but there remained sufficient
light in the room for comparison of the drawings, and every movement of
the woman was distinctly visible. If in the daytime, the window shades
back of the couch were lowered, but again every object was distinctly
visible. Under precisely these conditions, step by step, no professional
magician could have obtained knowledge of the original drawing before
making his own.[25]

As we have seen, 9 of Professor McDougall’s experiments, later than the
period of the book and reaching results defying the doctrine of chance,
were made with thirty miles between the parties, and 10 of them with the
parties at opposite ends of a long room. Five more were done with
McDougall at least watching his sealed envelopes. It will probably not
be suggested that he was in a conspiracy to deceive the public, but in
these cases fraud could hardly have been practiced by the percipient
alone.

Already we have 47 experiments, 16 with an intervening distance of above
thirty miles, 7 with agent and percipient in different rooms, and 10
with agent and percipient at the two ends of a room; 14 with agent near
the percipient but closely watching her and his sealed opaque envelopes.

But since Mr. Sinclair says that “several score drawings” were drawn in
his study, sealed in envelopes made impervious to sight, and watched by
him as one by one his wife laid them on her body and set down her
impressions, the total number of experiments, guarded to this or a
greater extent, aside from the later ones by McDougall, could hardly
have fallen short of 120.

Later, since Mr. Sinclair was very busy writing his novel “Boston” and
disliked the interruptions, he ceased (about midway of the whole lot, he
tells us) to enclose his drawings in envelopes and to watch his wife’s
work. Had this been the case throughout, any report based on such
“experiments” would not, scientifically speaking, be worth the paper it
was written on. As it is, I should be quite willing to rest the whole
case on the 120 or more guarded experiments covered by the last two
paragraphs. More than that, I would be willing to rest it upon the 33
experiments conducted with the participants separated by the length of a
room, thirty feet and a closed door, or thirty miles.

But the logic of the situation is entirely against the assumption that
fraud was used any more after it became easily possible than before,
when it would have been possible only by the connivance of various
conspirators. Let us see.

1. If advantage were to be taken of the relaxation of precautions it
would plainly be but for one purpose, to increase the number or the
excellence of favorable results, or both. But neither the number nor the
excellence of favorable results was enhanced. On the contrary, not at
once, but by a general though irregular decline, the results
deteriorated. The last 120 experiments of the period covered by the book
brought about half again as many complete Failures as the first 120 had
done. Mr. Sinclair reminds us that “Series No. 6 which was carefully
sealed up, produced 4 complete Successes, 5 Partial Successes, and no
Failures; whereas Series 21, which was not put in envelopes at all,
produced no complete Successes, 3 Partial Successes, and 6 Failures.”
The declension, which has been noted in experiments with other persons,
continued, in irregular fashion, after the period of the book. We have
already noted that the worst consecutive run of 27 experiments during
that last period yielded 19 Failures, while the worst consecutive run of
experiments during the period of the book yielded but 10 Failures. Nor
is there ever again, after precautions were relaxed, a single
consecutive run of seven experiments with quite such astounding results
as those of the first seven experiments of all, with “Bob,” at some
thirty miles distance in an air-line. Hence the percipient took no
advantage of the relaxation of conditions, or she did so to make her
work poorer on the average than it had been, which is against human
nature and practically inconceivable.

2. It was almost silly to go further after fixing the fact that the
opening up of opportunities for improving results by clandestine means
was followed not by improvement but deterioration of results. But an
examination was made to see whether the drawings underwent any
modification such as would rather be expected from the introduction of a
new causative factor. None; they continued to express in seemingly the
same proportions, some the shape, some the idea. Still in many cases
they were unrecognizable as any namable object, yet when compared with
the original, showed more or less of its marked characteristics.

3. We even went so far as to compare the most of the later drawings with
what could be seen of them folded and in envelopes, but unenclosed in
opaque paper, when held up to the light. To be sure, Mrs. Sinclair had
been accustomed to subdue the light, to lie with closed eyes in such a
position that only the ceiling would have been visible had they been
open, and to hold the envelope, or after the envelope itself was
discarded, the paper in her hand lying on her solar plexus, all of which
is an arrangement ill-adapted to “peeking.” And, to be sure, Mr.
Sinclair would have been considerably surprised had he come in and found
a different situation. But our experiments were meant to test whether,
on the supposition that she did alter her procedure, her drawings were
such as would have been explained by what was seen, even accidentally,
through the folded paper held up to the light. Certainly, in that case,
there would have been signs of the selection of heavy lines which showed
through clearly, and some evidence of the effects from the paper being
doubled. The result of the tests was negative.

It is concluded, mainly on the basis of Section 1 above, but assisted by
Sections 2 and 3 were assistance necessary, that Mrs. Sinclair was as
honest when unwatched as when watched, since, had fraud been used, it
would have left traces. But, let me reiterate, I am favorable to any
proposition to take into account only the guarded experiments, or even
those guarded to an extent beyond cavil.


Would Involuntary Whispering Explain?

F. C. C. Hansen and Alfred Lehmann, Danish psychologists, in 1895
published a pamphlet of 60 pages entitled _Über Unwillkürliches
Flüstern_ (_On Involuntary Whispering_). This brochure reported
experiments by the authors which, they claimed, showed that the apparent
success in telepathic transmissions of numbers achieved under the
control of representatives of the S. P. R. and published in its
_Proceedings_ (Vols. VI and VIII) might not have been due to telepathy,
but to involuntary whispering with closed lips. Messrs. Hansen and
Lehmann sat between concave spherical mirrors so that the concentration
of sound, their heads occupying the foci, would presumably be an
equivalent for the hyperaesthesia of a _hypnotized_ “percipient.” Each
in turn acted as agent, to see if figures could be conveyed by
“involuntary whispering,” and seemed to have a large degree of success.
How it is possible to test whether audible whispering can be produced
with closed lips and do so without the exercise of volition is something
of a mystery. And how they could be certain that some factor of
telepathy did not enter into their own experiments is not clear.[26] But
Professor Sidgwick, who five years before Hansen and Lehmann’s pamphlet
had considered and discussed the possibility of “unconscious
whispering,”[27] later instituted experiments of his own and concluded
that something in this direction was possible. But he, William James and
others thoroughly riddled the Hansen and Lehmann dream that perhaps they
had explained the published S. P. R. series of experiments for the
transfer of numbers. For one thing, a part of the experiments had been
with the parties in different rooms. And the notion that when the
voluntarily involuntary whisper[28] of a digit was misheard, a digit
whose name somewhat resembled was most likely to be selected by the
agent, was riddled too, so far as it applied to the English experiments.
The Danish gentlemen had never claimed that their explanatory theory was
proved, but only that it was probable. Later they quite frankly
acknowledged that the Sidgwick and James “experiments and computations”
had weakened even its probability.

Since their pamphlet had attracted much and widespread interest, as it
deserved to do, and since if they could establish or even strengthen the
probability of their theory it would mean a restoration and enhancement
of their prestige, set back by the counter-strokes of Sidgwick, James,
Schiller and others, it would seem that the inducement not to stop
short, but to go on with the experimentation would be almost
irresistible. But they either did stop there or their results were
disappointing, for nothing more, so far as I can learn, was ever heard
from them on this subject.

Nevertheless, the possibility, especially on the part of a
hyperaesthetic percipient, of catching, to some extent, the sound of
unintended whispering by the agent stationed nearby, especially where
there is no guarantee that his lips are always closed, must be
admitted. This possibility has impressed some investigators, and
especially Herr Richard Baerwald, even beyond all logical grounds. The
named writer has said _also fort mit den Nahversuchen_ (so away with
near-experimentation)! I certainly agree that experiments for
telepathy should be made with sufficient space between agent and
percipient to make the suggestion that there may have been some
perception of involuntary whispering manifestly incredible and absurd.
Such was Mrs. Sinclair’s success under such conditions as to make it
probable that if there had been many scores of experiments under the
same conditions a like staggering ratio of success would have been
maintained. Nevertheless, I must maintain that the involuntary
whispering theory fails to touch many of the Sinclair experiments
attended with one or another degree of success, considering their
nature and the peculiar character of the percipient drawings.

In the first place, let me observe that where the experiments were to
transfer numbers the range of choice on the part of the percipient,
endeavoring to interpret any faintly heard indications by the posited
involuntary whispering, was strictly limited. If the agent were to
choose a figure from one to naught inclusive, the percipient’s range for
guessing would be but ten digits. If the agent was to choose some figure
from one to ninety-nine inclusive, the range for guessing would of
course be greater, yet more limited than at first appears to be the
case. There would be the ten digits, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen,
fifteen, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, and in addition only combinations
from among the foregoing or made up of a digit with “teen” or “ty”
added. But where the agent drew whatever he pleased, generally an
object, his range was unlimited, and the task of the percipient
interpreting any indications by involuntary whispering would be much
more difficult. But still it would be theoretically possible. So we turn
to the next and overwhelming point.

Whenever the agent’s drawing was one which could be indicated by a name,
and the percipient’s result corresponded to the extent covered by the
name, it is easy to apply the theory of involuntary whispering if the
agent was near the percipient. Granting that this was the case (which
often, as will appear later, we cannot grant, since the facts forbid
it), it is easy theoretically to explain the response “Sailboat” to the
drawing of a sailboat. We have only to suppose that the agent was so
intently interested that, unknown to himself, he faintly whispered the
name, and that the percipient, having _ex hypothesi_, abnormal alertness
of hearing, caught the word, or enough of it so that she successfully
guessed the whole. Still easier is it to imagine the transmission of Y
in the series of January 28–29. The agent, being absorbed and desirous,
simply whispered “Y, Y, Y,” until the percipient got it. The reader may
pick for himself other plausible instances in Mr. Sinclair’s book, or
even from the materials furnished in this Bulletin, such as the helmet
experiment (Figs. 5, 5a). It is even conceivable that the agent’s eye,
flitting over the drawing of the peacock (Fig. 75) caused him to whisper
“long neck” and “spots” or “eyes” (Fig. 75a), although no spots appear
in this drawing and “peacock” is the word he would be expected to
whisper, if any. But every increasing complexity in the agent’s drawing,
which finds duplication in that of the percipient, every increasing
difficulty of defining the drawing by one or two words increases the
difficulty of the explanation. Take the remarkable correspondence
between Figures 7, 7a. The agent, it seems, would have to whisper the
following, or its equivalent: “Cross” (or “radiating figure”), “eight
arms” (or “many arms”), “arms not made of a single line but having
breadth,” “notches in the ends.” That is a lot for the agent to whisper,
and it appears improbable, but maybe it is “conceivable.”

A much-esteemed friend writes me: “Those willing to press the
unconscious whispering hypothesis to its extreme consequences need not
invariably postulate the _transmission direct_ of a word. They may go
further. Let us suppose that in an experiment at close quarters the name
thought of by the agent is ‘Napoleon,’ and that the percipient gets a
small island and the name ‘Helen.’ It is theoretically conceivable that,
nevertheless, the explanation is to be sought in involuntary whispering;
the name ‘Napoleon’ was perceived in a normal way (unconsciously) and
then in the percipient’s subconscious _transformed_ into an idea
associated with Napoleon’s name. I do not say this is my opinion, but
what I do say is that such an hypothesis is no more absurd than other
‘explanations’ put forward in the sphere of psychical research. Anyhow,
experiments at close quarters seem to be open to the grave objection
that some competent investigators reject them altogether—whatever we may
think of the grounds of such objection.”

Conceivable, yes, though hardly likely. When a medium for “automatic”
writing or speaking is in undoubted trance, she habitually makes direct
response to any intimations from without, and it is common to make it a
reproach that she makes direct and unblushing use of any information
inadvertently dropped by a person present. Why the subconscious should
act in so devious a fashion in another species of experimentation, why
it should either from device or some mechanism now set in motion
withhold the word “Napoleon” caught from the agent’s involuntary
whispering and set down instead words significantly associated with
Napoleon, is something of a puzzle. The trance-medium’s subconscious,
according to the explanation theory, is always eager to shine, and takes
advantage of every source of information or inference to improve its
product. Yet the subconsciousness of the percipient in experiments for
telepathy, having heard the word “Napoleon” involuntarily whispered,
deliberately avoids achieving a full success! If done at all, I should
judge this was consciously done, that the percipient consciously heard
and consciously avoided the word. And this is conceivable.

_But that there should be so many reproductions which strikingly
resemble the originals in shape, yet which do not represent the objects
which the agent drew, and have no more ideational connection with them
than can be traced between a cockroach and an archangel, or between a
violin and an eel, and yet that the explanation for the correspondences
should lurk in the involuntary whispering of the agent, I maintain is
practically inconceivable._ Between Figures 25 and 25a there is an
unmistakable close resemblance of shape, in each two lines forming an
inverted and sprawling V, with a swirl of lines in each forming a
similar shape of similar dimensions proceeding in the same direction
from the apex. But the percipient wholly misinterpreted the meaning of
what she was impressed to draw. What affinity is there between an active
volcano and a “big black beetle with horns”? Run through all the terms
you can think of which the agent could have involuntarily whispered
descriptive of his drawing, if he whispered anything—“volcano,”
“mountain,” “smoke,” “angle,” etc., and what could possibly have
suggested the impression which the percipient received? Look at Figures
118, 118a in the same series, and ask what the agent could have
whispered about his caterpillar which should suggest a shape
considerably resembling that of the caterpillar but intended to
represent a long narrow leaf with serrated edge. To be sure, a
caterpillar sometimes walks on a leaf, as a big black beetle may perhaps
light on the side of a volcano, but surely it will not be concluded that
the agent would have whispered so discursive a remark. Whispering
“caterpillar” would not result in “leaf,” and if “legs” had been
whispered, surely legs would have resulted and “many” would at least
have increased their number beyond the number of points in the
reproduction. View again Figures 108 and 108a in the same series with
the two foregoing. If the agent whispered anything, would it not have
been “hand,” solely first and principally? Imagine, if you please, that
he also whispered “thumb sticking up.” But a negro’s head is not a hand,
nor what the word “hand” would suggest, nor does a thumb ever grow out
of a negro’s head, yet out of this negro’s head rises that projection
curiously like a thumb. Neither would “hand” suggest a “pig’s head,” yet
the pig’s ear resembles the thumb, and the rest of the head carries a
certain amount of analogy with the hand. Again, “rabbit’s head” is
written, but little more than the ears are drawn, each a thumb-like
projection, and as in the other attempts at reproduction and in the
original, straight upward. There is no association of ideas between a
hand and a pig’s or rabbit’s head. Look at Figure 20, representing a
coiled snake, and read again the description of her impressions which
the percipient wrote. Between the snake and much of that description
there _is_ an association of ideas which we can follow. The whispered
word “snake” might naturally rouse a picture of the fright which the
apparition of a snake inflicts upon birds and small animals. While it
does not seem like either the conscious or subconscious, having heard
the word “snake,” which surely would have been the first and foremost
one to whisper, to suppress it and make a clear success a debatable one,
we admit that this is “conceivable.” But what about the “saucer of
milk”? The agent may theoretically be supposed to whisper “snake,”
“coiled,” “tail,” “head,” but hardly “saucer.” I may here be reminded
that some snakes drink milk, whether from a saucer or any other
receptacle. But in Mrs. Sinclair’s imagery it is a kitten that is
associated with the milk—a much more common combination. Leaving this
case, which is conceivably conceivable as the result of involuntary
whispering plus a strange effort to spoil a success in hand, let us turn
to the series of February 15th. Most of its members are to the point,
but we will mention only a few. What association of ideas is there
between a spigot and a dog’s leg (Figs. 96, 96a)? The name “Napoleon”
might indeed cause one to think of an island named St. Helena, or
another one named Elba, or a woman named Josephine. But why on earth
should the whispered word “spigot” cause one to think of a dog’s leg and
“front foot”? The association of ideas is not there, but the curiously
resembling particulars of shape are there. Whatever the agent may be
supposed to whisper in connection with the drawing shown in Figure 98,
surely “box” would be a part of it. And as surely, if the three marks of
the box were mentioned in the whispering they would have been called
“crosses,” and not “stars” or “sparks” as in the reproduction. And
“crosses” do not naturally suggest either stars or sparks. Figures 94
and 94a unquestionably have resemblances in general shape, in the two
pedals which are transformed into feet, in vertical lines within the
periphery. But why should the word “harp” bring a woman’s skirt and feet
peeping beneath it? Perhaps we shall be told it is because a woman plays
on a harp. A _woman_ does, yes, but not half a woman, and that half
standing so that her skirt takes the form of a harp. If conceivable that
“Napoleon” should rouse a vision of an island and induce the drawing of
an island, would the island take the shape of half of Napoleon’s body?
The mind, conscious or subconscious, does not act in that fashion.
Again, the percipient’s drawing which was the sequel to the agent’s
balloon (Figs. 95, 95a) is not by itself recognizable as a balloon, and
was not recognized by the percipient as a balloon, for she wrote, as we
inadvertently neglected earlier to state, “Shines in sunlight, must be
metal, a scythe hanging among vines or strings.” The involuntarily
whispered word “balloon” would hardly, by any association of ideas, have
led to such a reaction; nor would the agent have whispered “half a
balloon” or “scythe.” But we _can_ understand how the agent’s eye may
have dwelt upon one side or half of the balloon and how his attention
may have wandered to the cords, with corresponding telepathic results.
See Figures 92, 92a. Here the analogies of form, although imperfect, are
nevertheless unmistakable, but what association of ideas could have led
from the involuntarily whispered word “chain” or “links,” to “eggs” and
“smoke,” or to “curls of something coming out of the end of an egg”? At
a later date the agent drew a mule’s head and neck, with breast-strap
crossing the lower part of his neck, forming a strip curving very
slightly up from the horizontal. The percipient’s drawing is of the head
and part of the neck of a cow, turned in the same direction. The long
ears of the mule have become the horns of the cow, and matching the
breast-strap of the mule there appears a narrow horizontally extended
parallelogram in front of the cow’s neck and extremity of its muzzle,
which last the percipient seemingly tries to explain by the script
“Cow’s head in ‘stock.’” But if the agent involuntarily whispered
“mule,” it would hardly suggest a cow, if he whispered “long ears,” it
should not have resulted in long horns, if “breast-strap” or “strap” or
“harness,” this would hardly bring as its reaction the narrow
parallelogram, which, whatever it is, is manifestly no part of a
harness. The resemblances in shape are distinct and unmistakable, but
they are incomprehensible as the result of overheard whispering. Or look
again at Figures 78, 78a. The percipient, especially in the first of her
two drawings, very nearly reproduces the original, but the barb of the
fishhook has become a tiny flower with a curving stem. The resemblance
in shape is exceedingly impressive, but what words could have been
whispered about a fishhook which by association of ideas led to the
flower?

So we might go on citing examples in the same category, which the
doctrine of transformation by association of ideas of words whispered
and heard utterly fails to explain. But the reader may find them for
himself, either in this Bulletin or from the wider range of
illustrations in _Mental Radio_.[29]


Concluding Observations

We have remarked that if there was involuntary whispering, it could
easily explain the percipient response “Sailboat,” and that by no
circumambulatory process but by direct reaction, since the original
drawing was a sailboat and “sailboat” would be the most natural if not
inevitable word for an agent, intent on the experiment, and anxious for
its success, to whisper involuntarily. The same may be said of the goat
(Fig. 138), the chair (Figs. 16, 16a), the fork (Figs. 1, 1a), the star
(Figs. 2, 2a)—except the extraordinary correspondence of odd shape, and
the man’s face (Fig. 20). But the star and man’s face results were
obtained when the agent was thirty feet away in another room with closed
door between, while the agent looked at it but probably did not whisper
so as not to attract his own attention but to be audible through walls
for thirty feet. The chair and the fork were reproduced when the agent
was some thirty miles away. The sailboat and goat were made in the
latter period when the percipient was left alone with the drawings, and
involuntary whispering is not a possible explanation. Part of the other
examples given are from the period when Mr. Sinclair sat in the same
room and watched the percipient’s work, and partly from the later
unguarded period.

So, in order to explain the results of the experiments as a whole they
have to be divided into three categories, and a different theory applied
to each.

I. Experiments in which the agent was near the percipient. Theory:
_Involuntary Whispering_. Insuperable difficulty in applying the theory:
_Many of the percipient drawings are shaped significantly like the
originals in whole or in parts, yet do not represent the same objects as
do the originals, or objects which whispered words relevant to the
original objects would suggest, directly or by association of ideas._

II. Experiments of the later stage when the percipient was left alone
unwatched with the original drawings in her possession. Theory:
_Conscious or unconscious inspection of the original drawings_.
Difficulty which the theory faces: _The results did not improve or
undergo alterations due to a new cause during the unguarded period_.

III. Experiments when agent and percipient were either thirty feet apart
in different rooms, with a closed door between, under which
circumstances it is incredible that involuntary whispering could have
been heard, or thirty miles apart, in which case it is unquestionably
impossible that involuntary whispering could have carried. Theory:
_Chance coincidence_. This is the only theory left for such experiments,
unless conspiracy is charged, and that at different times would have to
include not only Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, but Mr. Irwin, Mrs. Irwin, the
Sinclairs’ secretary and Professor McDougall. Refutation of the theory:
_The experiments in this class were of such number and had such success
both in number and quality as to challenge the production of any such
success by guessing though hundreds of series each of an equal number of
experiments should be gone through with_.

It is credible that the large percentage of Successes and Partial
Successes in the first 14 experiments and 24 among the latest ones
should have been obtained by one method, that (aside from these) during
the earlier months another and quite different method should have been
employed, and that (still aside from these) later a third and quite
different method should have been resorted to, and yet the whole mass of
results be homogeneous? It would certainly be expected that the
inauguration of any new method would in some way be reflected in the
nature of the results. But the lot produced with intervening distances
too great to admit of the involuntary whispering theory melts
imperceptibly into the lot produced with the agent and percipient
together so that the involuntary whispering process is conceivable, and
this in turn melts imperceptibly into the lot where all precautions are
discarded, and this again into long-distance experiments and out,
without it being possible to detect any changes in the character of the
results at the points of junction. Throughout there is homogeneity, some
successes being correct literally, some incompletely and partially, some
results only suggestive and some entire failures. Throughout we find
some corresponding in both shape and meaning, some in idea but not
shape, and some in shape only and misinterpreted by the percipient; in
fact, all the peculiarities of Mrs. Sinclair’s work are to be found in
about equal proportions in all stages. There is perceptible a gradual
though irregular tendency to decline in the ratio of success achieved,
but in such a manner that the decline cannot be chronologically
connected with any of the changes of method.

The “peeking” theory cannot be applied to the experiments of Class I.
The “involuntary whispering” theory cannot be applied to the experiments
of Class II. Neither the “peeking” nor the “involuntary whispering”
theory can be applied to experiments of Class III.

Only the theory of chance coincidence can be applied as a single
explanation of the experiments of all three classes. Let this be done
and there is simply massed a greater amount of material for the
demolition of the chance coincidence theory by anyone who will undertake
a large series of precisely parallel experiments in Guessing.

For myself, I am willing to say, perhaps for the fourth time, that I am
willing to rest the whole case on those experiments to which no one,
presumably, will have the hardihood to apply either the theory of
“involuntary whispering” or that of “peeking,” that is to say, those
experiments in which agent and percipient were either in separate rooms
or many miles apart.


            An Interpretation of Mrs. Sinclair’s Directions

Mrs. Sinclair, on pages 116–128 of _Mental Radio_, outlines on the basis
of her own experience the method which she thinks best calculated to
develop an ability to attain at will a mental state which will enable
some of her readers to receive and record telepathic impressions to an
evidential degree. I propose, at the same time recommending that
prospective experimenters shall obtain the book and read the full
directions, to attempt a condensation of them. To some extent I shall
interpret them; that is, state them in other terms, which it is hoped
will not be the less lucid. As a matter of psychological fact, you
cannot “make your mind a blank,” though you can more or less acquire the
art of doing at will what you sometimes involuntarily do—you can
practice narrowing the field of consciousness, so that instead of being
aware of many things external and of various bodily sensations, your
attention is fixed almost exclusively for a time on one mental object.
Some persons at times become so absorbed in a train of thought that with
eyes open and with conversation around them they are hardly conscious of
anything seen or heard. But it is best to assist the attainment of such
a state as Mrs. Sinclair does, by closing the eyes, and it is best that
silence should prevail. When one remembers how in revery he has become
oblivious to all around him, or how when witnessing an entrancing
passage in a play everything in the theatre except the actors and their
immediate environment has faded out of consciousness, he will have no
difficulty in understanding what Mrs. Sinclair really means by saying
that “it is possible to be unconscious and conscious at the same time,”
although taken literally that is not a correct statement.

But, according to her, in order to be in the state best fitted for
telepathic reception, it is not enough to narrow the field of
consciousness until, approximately, only one train of thought on a
mentally conceived subject occupies it. There must be cultivated also,
in as high a degree as possible, an ability to shut out memories and
imaginations, and to wait for and to receive impressions, particularly
those of mental imagery, which seem to come of themselves, and to expend
the mental energy upon watching, selecting from and determining these.

We are told that it is important to relax—“to ‘let go’ of every tense
muscle, every tense spot, in the body,” and that auto-suggestion,
mentally telling oneself to relax, will help. Along with this there
should be a letting-go, or progressive quietening, of consciousness.

                  *       *       *       *       *

She wisely says that if in spite of you the selected mentally-visualized
rose or violet rouses memories by suggesting a lost sweetheart, a
vanished happy garden, or what not, you should substitute thinking of
another flower which has no personal connotations for you. It must be
some “peace-inspiring object,” even a spoon might suggest medicine. The
reader will understand that we are now discussing the means for
cultivating ability to fall at will into the state for telepathic
reception; we are not talking about experiments with that end in view.

After considerable practice of this kind one will tend to fall asleep.
It seems that it is right to nearly come to that point, but one must
stop a little this side of the sleeping stage.

When one feels that some success has attended the practice described
above, he may proceed to actual experiments. The amateur experimenter is
advised at first to experiment in the dark, or at least in a dimly-lit
room, as light stimulates the eyes.

                  *       *       *       *       *

She goes on to say what means that you should induce mental relaxation
and passivity, narrow the field of consciousness. But at this point I
must depart from Mrs. Sinclair’s precepts and recommend her own best
practice. Her very first seven formal experiments were with her
brother-in-law making his drawings some thirty miles away. The results
were so remarkable that they deserve to arrest the attention of every
psychologist. The next seven experiments were made with agent and
percipient in different rooms, shut off from each other by solid walls;
and their results also were very impressive. Therefore I see no reason
why amateurs experimenting according to the light that they get from
Mrs. Sinclair should not make their very first attempts in another room
from the agent. Let the latter do as we find in the book was done; make
his drawing, call out “All right” when he is done, and gaze steadfastly
at the drawing until the percipient has made hers and signalized the
fact by calling out “All right,” then proceed to make another and repeat
the process. At least part of the time, let there be another person with
the agent keeping watch upon his lips and throat muscles, lest the
desperate theory should be advanced that at the distance of, say, thirty
feet and through solid walls “involuntary whispering” on the part of the
agent reached the ears of the percipient.

But how shall the percipient further conduct herself (we are here
supposing the percipient is a woman) as the means of getting telepathic
impressions? Adapting the directions given in the book, we should say
that, lying on the couch with eyes dosed, and having sunk into that
state of mental abstraction which she is supposed now to be capable of
attaining, she is to order her subconscious mind, very calmly but
positively, to bring the agent’s drawing to her mind.

And now we quote literally from the book, even to the expressions about
making the mind a blank. Although not technically correct, it may be
that to many not versed in psychology the expressions will be actually
the best to suggest to them what they are to do.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. Sinclair warns that “the details of this technique are not to be
taken as trifles,” and that to develop and make it serviceable “takes
time, and patience, and training in the art of concentration.” There are
special difficulties, at least in her case. In undertaking a new
experiment what she last saw before closing her eyes again, particularly
the electric light bulb which she lighted in order to make her drawing
or drawings, appeared in her mind, and also the memory of the last
picture. “It often takes quite a while to banish these memory ghosts.
And sometimes it is a mistake to banish them,” a fact which we have
noted several times in the account of her work. Another difficulty is to
restrain one’s tendency when a part or what may be a part of the
original appears, to guess what the rest may be, and to keep the
imagination bridled.

                  *       *       *       *       *

It is quite probable—and this Mrs. Sinclair recognizes—that the
procedure, now fairly clearly outlined, may not in all its details be
suited to all minds capable of telepathic reception. Mr. Rawson, as we
shall see in Part II, when successful, was nearly always so almost
instantly. On the other hand, the percipients in the Schmoll and Mabire
series were often as long as fifteen minutes making their choice. But it
would be wise to begin along the lines of the instructions, and make
modifications of method, if any, in the light of what personal
experience suggests.

It is hoped that there will be readers of this Bulletin disposed to
school themselves and to experiment in conformity with the above
instructions, patiently and persistently, and that, successful or not,
they will make careful records and report to the Research Officer.


                               APPENDIX I


                         Why Are We Like This?

    (_Parts of a Hitherto Unpublished Manuscript by Mrs. Sinclair_)

There comes a time in the life of each of us when we begin to wonder
what it is all about—this life. I mean, to want, with all one’s
bewildered and troubled heart, to _know_. What is life, what is the
purpose of it, above all, what is the reason for the preponderance of
the pain of it? This brief earthly existence, with its series of cares
and sorrows and bafflements—what is the purpose of it? It seemed so full
of purpose in our youth—full, rather of purposes, for youth has no one
purpose. Youth’s purpose is to fulfill what seems to be the little
purposes of each day, such as evading unpleasant things and pursuing the
pleasant ones. But as we pass on through the days of our youth, toward
early middle-age, we realize that these eagerly, zestfully pursued
purposes of youth were thwarted, one by one. If achieved, they brought
some penalty, or disappointment.

Three years ago, being ill and not happy,[30] reached the crisis of
questioning. I wanted to know how to get well, and I wanted to know why
I wanted to get well. And so, I began to ask, where is the path toward
knowledge? In which little store-house will I find a clue to the answer?
I went to see the medical men who have access to one little store-house.
I went to the psychological healers who have access to another little
store-house. And I went to the only religious group in the world today
which seemed to have any real, or living religion.[31] From all three of
these sources, one clue, one hint, stood out as a real clue. From the
mass of purported knowledge it appeared to me to be the most
significant. It seemed to be the thing which produced results in all
these three domains, though the priests and priestesses of but one of
them seemed aware of the great significance of this hint.

It had to do with man’s mind, to begin with, but it seemed to lead into
the very heart of all the universe—into our “material bodies,” as well
as into our mental hopes and longings and joys and despairs. So I set to
work to experiment first with telepathy and clairvoyance. If
clairvoyance is real, I said, then we may have access to all knowledge.
We may really be fountains, or outlets of one vast mind. To have access
to _all knowledge_.

If telepathy is real, I said, then my mind is not my own. I’m just a
radio receiving set, which picks up the thoughts of all the other
creatures of this universe. I and the universe of men are _one_. I had
long known, of course, that my body was not my own—that it picked up
sun-rays, and cold-waves, and sound-vibrations, which shook the atoms of
my being into new forms; that I picked up iron and sulphur, and
phosphorus, and vitamines, and what not, when I ate the plants and
animals of my universe; in short, that I had to pick up the constituents
of a new body in the form of “fresh air” and “water” and “food” every
day of my life in order to maintain the hold I had on the thing I called
_my_ body. But somehow, in the vague way in which we think of the mind,
I had felt that mine was entirely my own. Surely it was not dependent
on, nor at the mercy of, outside forces—except in the one horrible,
inexorable way of its dependence on my own body. It was free, of course,
to accept ideas from other minds, if it wished; but it did not have to,
unless it wanted to. So I had believed. Now, with my new clue, I began
to wonder if all my life I had not been in error in my thinking, if I
had not got the scheme of things turned upside down. Had I been looking
at an image in a mirror, a reversal of the truth? Was my body dependent
on my mind when I had thought my mind was dependent on my body? Was it
sick when my mind was, and did it die when my mind died—of
discouragement? And was my mind my own, or did it receive and accept
thoughts constantly from all the other creatures of the universe without
my being able to prevent it, without my even knowing it? * * *

What is myself, anyway—body or mind, or both, or one and the same thing,
or—what? I must find out! Is my mind a hodge-podge of its own thoughts
and the silent, ever-changing thoughts of all other creatures, just as
my body is a hodge-podge of the elements of the plants and animals and
light-rays it is fed on and made of?

Here were a lot of questions which had become terribly important, and I
couldn’t answer them, I couldn’t really answer any of them. But I had a
clue—a new clue which might lead—anywhere—to heaven or to hell. * * *

Some of the best scientific minds of the world have experimented with
telepathy and believe that it is a proven fact. I have read much of this
evidence, and I have watched a “medium” demonstrate telepathy. But
perhaps he was deceiving himself—perhaps he used some trick without
realizing it, such as listening to the breathing of the sender of the
thoughts he received. I do not see how this could be, but it is
possible, so I am told by experienced investigators of psychic
phenomena. However, there is this mass of evidence, in books, written by
men of the highest scientific training who have made experiments in
telepathy and who are convinced that it is a fact. * * *

But despite all this evidence, I seem to be uncertain. And this is too
serious a matter to leave to uncertainty. So I set to work to make my
own experiments. I have experimented already with a “medium,” but I have
been warned about the mediumistic temperament. These psychically
sensitive persons are, thanks to the very quality of mind which causes
them to be sensitive, overly prone to unconscious thinking which is
supposed to take a form of conscious instability. So I must find a
hard-boiled materialistic-thinking person to experiment with—one who is
prone to object thinking, who can maintain a wide-awake consciousness
with which to watch his own thoughts to prevent any self-deception,
while I, by a trustworthy mechanical device, _i.e._, a writing pad and
pencil, protect my mind from deceiving itself. I find such a hard-boiled
object mind in the person of my brother-in-law, who is a most capable,
practical business man, and whose philosophy of life does not include
any “mysticism,” or unconscious knowledge. Being ill, however, and with
no better way to pass the time, he consents to act as sender of
telepathic messages to me. He is domiciled thirty miles away from me,
and so we cannot look over each other’s shoulders at drawings, nor
listen to each other’s breathing.

We proceed as follows: Each day at one o’clock, an hour which suits the
convenience of both of us, he sits at a table in his home and makes a
drawing of some simple object, such as a table-fork, or an ink-bottle, a
duck, or a basket of fruit.[32] Then he gazes steadily at his drawing
while he concentrates his mind intently on “visualizing” the object
before him. In other words, he does not let his mind wander one instant
from the picture of the fork, or the ink-bottle, or whatever he has
drawn. He may gaze at the original object instead of at his drawing, but
he must not think of anything else but how it looks. The purpose of the
drawing is for proof to me that this was actually what he thought of at
the appointed hour. If his mind wanders off to thoughts of something
else, which he has no drawing of, I may get these wandering thoughts.
Then he will forget these wandering, unrecorded thoughts, and I will
have nothing to prove that he ever thought them.

When he has finished the fifteen minutes of steady concentration on one
object, he dates his drawing and puts it away, until the time when we
are to meet and compare our records. At my end of the “wireless,” I have
done a different mental stunt. I have reclined on a couch, with body
completely relaxed and my mind in a dreamy, almost unconscious state,
alternating with a state of gazing, with closed eyes, into grey space,
looking on this grey background for whatever picture, or thought-form
may appear there. When a form appears, I record it at once. I reach for
my pad and pencil and write down what I have seen, and make a drawing of
it, and then I relax again and look dreamily into space again to see if
another vision will appear, or if this same one will return to assure me
that it is the right one. At the end of fifteen minutes, the period of
time we arbitrarily agreed upon for each day’s experiment, I date my
drawing and file it until the day comes to compare notes with my
brother-in-law.

Each day thereafter, for several days, my brother-in-law goes through
this same performance, varying it only by his choice of a different
object to draw and concentrate upon each time. Every three or four days
we meet and compare notes.

One day, while I lay passively waiting for a “vision,” a chair of a
certain design floated before my mind. It was so vivid that I felt
absolutely certain that this was the object my brother-in-law, thirty
miles away, was visualizing for me. Other objects on other occasions had
been vivid, but this one was not merely vivid; in some mysterious way,
it carried absolute conviction with it. I knew positively that my mind
was not deceiving me. I was so sure that this chair had come “on the
air” from my brother-in-law’s mind to mine, that I jumped up and went to
the telephone and rang him up. His wife was in the room with him and my
husband was in the room with me, and we called on them as witnesses—for
we had set out on the experiment determined that there was to be no
deception, of each other, nor of ourselves. I wanted the truth about
this matter—I was at life’s crisis, at the place where my whole soul
cried out, “What is the meaning of it all, anyway?” And my
brother-in-law knew my mood, and a painful, lingering illness was
rapidly bringing him to share it. My vision of the chair, and my drawing
of it, were entirely correct. This was our first thrilling success.
Others followed it, and in the meantime, my husband and I had made
together some similar experiments, with success. Before the summer was
over, four persons—my husband, my brother-in-law, his wife, and I—had
become convinced of the reality of telepathy. Then, having read a book
by an English physicist (_An Experiment With Time_, by J. W. Dunne), I
began keeping records of my dreams according to Mr. Dunne’s method, in
order to see if, as he thought, they would render evidence of
foreknowledge of future events. Clairvoyance is the usual term for this
form of psychic phenomena, but Mr. Dunne, being a physicist, is averse
to mixing it with psychic things to the extent of using the regular
language, so he calls it “an experiment with time” and writes a book
about it in the language of physics. Not being a physicist, I’m quite
willing to stick to the well-known word, clairvoyance, even at the risk
of repelling those ignorant persons who think that all psychic phenomena
is trickery. There are hordes of charlatans who call themselves mediums,
just as there are hordes of physicians who are charlatans, and of
Christians who are cheats, and of bankers who are dishonest. So, having
read Mr. Dunne’s useful book, I set out to record my dreams and to watch
for their “coming true.” Some of them did. Some which could not be
accounted for by coincidence. Some others came true which were clearly
due to telepathy between my husband’s mind and my own. I dreamed that I
was doing things which it turned out he was actually doing, at a
distance from me, and at the time at which I was having the dream. Also,
during these months, I made some experiments on a young hypnotist I
knew. I had no intention of letting him hypnotize me, but I asked him to
try to. I knew he would never consent to the telepathy experiment if he
suspected it; he would not want me reading his secret thoughts. But he
had played some tricks on me, so I felt justified. And so, when he
concentrated on the task of putting me into a hypnotic sleep, I
concentrated on “seeing” his thoughts. Again and again I succeeded in
this experiment. I discovered his sorrows, his sins, his hopes, his
daily adventures. And I recorded them and faced him with them and became
his “Mother Confessor,”—and most generously rewarded his unintentional
confidence. I am sure he will agree that I made a full return to him for
the knowledge he inadvertently enabled me to obtain—the knowledge of the
interaction of minds. * * *


                              APPENDIX II

Classified complete list of drawings made by Mr. Upton Sinclair in his
experiments with Mrs. Sinclair, plus those by his secretary, mostly
diagrams, and the seven by her brother-in-law, from July 8, 1928, to
March 16, 1929, inclusive, being the period covered by his book.


                             Diagrams, Etc.

  Asterisks—five. Circles—five small, Circles—ten small, Circles—six
  concentric, Circles—three interlinking, Circle and Center, etc,
  Crescent—approximate, Cross—pattée, Cross—swastika, Cross—swastika,
  Cross—eight arms, notched at ends, Diamond, Heart, Hexagon,
  Horn-shaped figure, Oblong—vertical, Oval—over larger oval and
  touching it, Spiral, Spiral, Squares—four concentric,
  Star—odd-shaped, Star—six-pointed, Triangles—three concentric,
  Wheel—figure like rimless.


                          Letters of Alphabet

  (Script) B, E, M, Y. (Print) KKK, M.C.S., M.C.S., T, UPTON, W—lying
  on its side?


                             Figures, Etc.

  2, 5, 13, 6, $


                              Human Beings

  Boy—with hoop, Eye—dropping tears, Face—grinning, Face—grinning,
  Face—hairy, Face—man’s, bearded, Face—round, with round ears,
  Foot—with roller skate, Girl, Hand—with pointing finger, “Happy
  Hooligan,” Head—of boy, wearing hat, Head—of girl, wearing hat,
  Head—of man, bald, profile, Head—profile, Head and Bust—of woman,
  bundle on head, Leg and Foot—in buckled shoe, Leg and Foot—with
  roller skate, Legs—two, one of wood, Man—line and circle,
  Man—profile, waiter, Man—walking, Man and Woman, Mandarin, Men—line
  and circle, Skull and Crossbones, Woman—nude.


                                Mammals

  Bat, Bat—with wings spread, Cow—head, Cow—head, tongue protruding,
  Cow—horned, Cow—rear half, Cow—rear half, Deer—running, front part,
  Dog—and man’s foot, Elephant, Fox—running, Goat (probably),
  Horse—head, Kitten—running after string, Monkey—hanging from bough,
  Rat, Reindeer, Walrus, Whale—spouting, Wolf—head.


                                 Birds

  Bird—baby, Bird—head, Chicken—coming from shell, Chicken—cooked, on
  plate, Duck—with feet, Eagle, Heron, Nest—with eggs, Parrot—head,
  Peacock, Rooster.


                         Insects, Fishes, Etc.

  Butterfly, Caterpillar, Crab, Fish, Inch-worm—curved,
  Insect—eight-legged, Lobster, Shell—sea, Snake, Snake, Spider,
  Turtle.


                               Vegetation

  Acorn, Apple, Bean—lima (?), Cactus—branch, Carnation, Cat-tail,
  Cat-tail, Celery, Clover—three-leaf (?), Clover—three-leaf (?),
  Daisy, Flower, Flower—on stalk, Flower—with narrow leaves, Leaf,
  Leaf—poplar (?), Melon—on inclined plane, Plant—potted, Roses—pink,
  with green leaves, Tree—branch, Tree—odd, Tree—palm, Tree—bare, with
  pointed limbs.


                               Household

  Ash-can—with bail, Bed, Bottle, Bottle—milk, Bottle—square, lower
  half shaded, Broom, Broom, Bureau and mirror, Camp-stool,
  Candelabrum, Chair, Chair, Chair—easy, Cup—with handle,
  Desk—four-legged, Dish—with rising steam, Door-knob, Electric Light
  Bulb—(_object itself_), Electric Light Bulb, Fork—table,
  Fork—three-pronged, long handle, Glass—drinking, Key, Key,
  Lamp—burning, Lamp—burning, Picture—black frame, Spigot, Table,
  Table—with curved legs, Telephone, Telephone, Vase—ovoid, Wall-hook.


                                Personal

  Bag, Bag—round, with protruding top, Belt-buckle, Book—black,
  Bottle—pen and ink, Box—rounded, with cover up, Cane, Cane, Cap,
  Cigarette—smoking, Clock—alarm, Eye-glasses, Eye-glasses, Fan—partly
  spread, Fan—spread, Hat, Hat, Hat—with feather, Necktie,
  Pin—diamond, Pipe—smoking, Pipe—smoking, Ring—with stone, Scissors,
  Shoe, Soap—cake, Suit—man’s, with knee breeches, Tooth-brush,
  Tooth-brush, Watch, Watch, Watch, Watch—face.


                           War, Hunting, Etc.

  Arrow, Bow and Arrow, Cannon, Cannon—muzzle, Daggers—with hilts,
  crossed, Epaulet, Fish-hook, Fish-hook, Fish-hook, Helmet,
  Trench-mortar—pointing up.


                               Recreation

  Balloon, Cart—child’s, Dumb-bell, Dumb-bell, Football, Hammock—slung
  from post, Indian Club, Skyrocket, Sled, Tennis Racket, Tennis
  Racket, Tennis Racket.


                             Transportation

  Automobile, Elevated Railroad, Railroad Engine, Sailboat, Sailboat,
  Sailboat—side view, Sled—drawn by dogs, Steamboat—on water.


                        Objects Related to Sound

  Bell, Bell, Bell—lines radiating from tongue, Harp, Horn—straight,
  Mandolin, Musical Staff, Notes—musical, Tuba—brass, Violin.


                            Buildings, Etc.

  Column, Derrick—oil, Derrick—oil, Door—with grating, Frieze Design,
  Gable end—with tall chimney, House—with many dots for windows,
  House—with smoking chimney, House—with smoking chimney, Obelisk,
  Pillar, etc., Pillars—row, etc., Wind-mill.


                             Miscellaneous

  Ax and written word “Ax,” Box—open, Box—with three crosses,
  Butterfly-net, Flag, Flag—Japanese, fringed, on staff, Fleur-de-lis,
  Gate, Gibbet and Noose, Globe—world, Hearts—two, pierced by arrow,
  Hill—with birds above, Hill—with sun above, Hoe, Hook—in hasp,
  Hose—end, with water, Hourglass—with running sand, Hydrant, Ladder,
  Machine—scraper (?), Mail Bag, Money—five-cent piece, Mortuary
  monument (?), Police Billy, Rake—head, Rule, Screw, Shovel, Sun,
  Telegraph Wires and Pole, Trowel, Volcano, Wheel.




                                EPILOGUE


Such was the end of Dr. Prince’s study; as careful and precise a piece
of scientific investigation as I have ever come upon. She did not fail
to appreciate it, and to thank him. He died a couple of years later.

Craig survived him by a quarter of a century; but she did no more
experimenting. She had satisfied herself, her husband, and such
authorities as Dr. Prince, Prof. McDougall, and Albert Einstein, and
that was enough. Her mind went on to speculate as to the meaning of such
phenomena; to psychology, philosophy, and religion. What was the source
of the powers she possessed and had demonstrated? What was the meaning
of the mystery called life? Where did it come from, and what became of
it when it left us, or appeared to? She filled a large bookcase with
works on these subjects, studied them far into the night, and discussed
them with a husband who would have preferred to wait and see.

At the age of seventy she had her first heart attack, and from that time
on was never free of pain. For eight years I had her sole care, because
that was the way she wished it. Her death took many weeks, and to go
into details would serve no good purpose. I mention only one very
curious circumstance: During her last year she had three dreadful falls
on a hard plastone floor, and I had taken these to be fainting spells. A
few days after her death I received a letter from a stranger in the
Middle West, telling me that he had just had a séance with Arthur Ford
and had a communication from Mary Craig Sinclair, asking him to inform
me that her supposed fainting spells had been light strokes. I called
the doctor who with two other doctors had performed an autopsy; I did
not mention the letter, but asked him the results, and he told me that
the brain lesions showed she had had three light strokes.

I tell this incident for what it may be worth. I myself have no
convictions that would cause me to prejudge it, to say nothing of
inventing it.

Ford has promised me a visit.

-----

Footnote 1:

  Oliver Wendell Holmes was a poet and novelist, but as the
  _Encyclopedia Britannica_ says: “In 1843 he published his essay on the
  _Contagiousness of Puerperal Fever_, which stirred up a fierce
  controversy and brought upon him bitter personal abuse, but he
  maintained his position with dignity, temper and judgment, and in time
  was honored as the discoverer of a beneficent truth.” It was about the
  same time that Semmelweiss was making similar observations, but he did
  not take preventive measures until 1847, and Lister came still later.

  S. Weir Mitchell was one of the most prominent novelists of America at
  the close of the 19th century, but he was also conspicuous as a
  neurologist and member of many scientific societies.

  The mentality of a man cannot be determined by his profession or by
  his prevailing occupation. Mendel, who influenced biology hardly less
  than did Darwin, was a monk and an abbot. Copernicus, who
  revolutionized solar astronomy, was canon of a cathedral, and
  astronomy was only his avocation.

  A thing _is_ as it acts. An automobile is a good automobile if it
  behaves as an automobile should. We shall see how Mr. Sinclair carried
  on his experiments and how he reported them. At times he pursued a
  defective method, but he was aware of the fact and reports it, while
  certain technically scientific investigators of telepathy and other
  matters have not seemed even to be aware of their mistakes.

Footnote 2:

  From earlier correspondence and other sources, Mr. Sinclair was quite
  aware that the man to whom he was sending the materials is hard-boiled
  enough to reject them and drop the whole case or report on it
  adversely if the results of examination were unsatisfactory.

Footnote 3:

  In some cases it might be necessary to increase rigidity of the
  conditions gradually, as friendly confidence and ease of the
  percipient became better established. It is futile to ignore the fact
  that nervous excitement and mental unrest are unfavorable to success.

Footnote 4:

  For example, in 1906 Mr. Sinclair assisted the Government in the
  investigation of the Chicago stockyards.

Footnote 5:

  [Historical reference deleted.]

Footnote 6:

  If there are those who think there is no value in knowing something of
  the make-up of the chief witnesses in this case, I emphatically do not
  agree with them. That such knowledge is not absolutely determinative
  is, of course, true.

  We are investigating a field of phenomena by all the methods which are
  practicable. The larger part of the phenomena are sporadic and
  spontaneous, and can hardly be expected to occur in a laboratory.
  There are many cases where a man has experienced but one apparition in
  his lifetime, and that at or close to the time when the person imaged
  died. Will any director of a laboratory consent to keep people under
  surveillance for a lifetime, to test if such an experience will take
  place in a laboratory, and can any persons be found who will consent
  so to spend a lifetime? And if under such conditions an apparition
  should be experienced and it should prove beyond doubt that the person
  imaged died at that moment, even though the apparitional experience
  occurred in a laboratory, in no sense would or could _laboratory_
  tests be applied to it. The authentication of the incident would be
  the _testimonies_ of the scientific gentlemen present, to the effect
  that the story of the apparition was related to them and written down
  before the death of the person was known, with, perhaps, details of
  how the person who experienced the apparition looked and acted at the
  time. But the testimonies of witnesses outside of the laboratory are
  evidence of precisely as much weight, _provided that_ their mentality
  and reputation for veracity are equal.

  With favorable subjects experiments for telepathy can sometimes be and
  sometimes have been carried on with all the rigidity of method and the
  scrupulosity of a laboratory, or, if there remain doubts and
  objections on grounds seemingly almost of as “occult” a nature as
  telepathy itself, doubtless in time to come methods will be devised to
  meet these doubts and objections. But subjects of singularly calm and
  poised nature will be required. It seems to be a fact with which we
  have to deal, however regrettable, that with most persons who under
  friendly and unstrained conditions at times strongly evidence
  telepathic powers, suddenly to place them in a room containing strange
  apparatus, and before a committee of strangers, some perhaps cold and
  stern in appearance, others whose amiable demeanor nevertheless
  betrays an amused scepticism, is to make it improbable that they can
  exhibit telepathy at all. It will have to be recognized as a
  scientific datum that a state of mental tranquillity and passivity is
  generally requisite for such manifestations. Nor is this peculiar to
  psychical manifestations; the principle applies more or less to a
  variety of psychological manifestations and powers. Mark Twain could
  reel off witty utterances when he was mentally at ease, but had he
  been surrounded by a solemn-visaged group of psychologists with his
  wrists harnessed to a sphygmometer, and placed in face of an apparatus
  for recording graphs and a stenographer with poised pencil, it is very
  certain that his reactions would not have been those of brilliant and
  original humor. So I have seen a prominent violinist, invited to play
  at a reception, try to keep on amidst the waxing murmur of
  conversation, and finally falter and almost break down.

  In this laboratory-fixation age it is well to remember that certain
  even of the physical sciences quite or mostly elude laboratory
  experimentation. Take astronomy, a great and promising but difficult
  and problematical field of research. No sun of all the millions, no
  planet, no planetary satellite, no comet, no tiniest of the asteroids
  can be brought into a laboratory. Once in a while a meteoric stone
  reaches the earth, and this can be analyzed, but no laboratory can
  control or predict time or place of its falling. It is necessary to
  devise agencies, telescopes, spectroscopes and so on, which, in a
  sense, go out and bring back data about the subjects of this science,
  and to develop methods of mathematical deduction by which to reach
  conclusions which are accepted by most people on authority only, since
  to most people the mathematics is quite unintelligible.

  Astronomy, perhaps entitled to be called the most ancient of sciences,
  is one of the most difficult. A multitude of theories to account for
  its multitudinous phenomena have been supplanted by others; within the
  memory of persons now living many opinions once firmly held have been
  discarded or at least called in question. This is not in the least to
  the discredit of the science, but it is a fact. Today there are many
  contradictions of opinion among astronomers. While an article by a
  scientific man was printing in the _Scientific American_ expressing
  the common view that in a little while, about a million million years,
  the earth will become too cold for anybody to live on it, another
  scientist was announcing to the world his reasons for questioning that
  conclusion. Even facts of a declared visual character are called in
  question. Professor Percival Lowell to his death in 1916 supported
  Schiaparelli’s announced discovery of canals on Mars, described them
  as he saw them through the telescope, and declared that they must be
  of artificial origin. It is said that there are astronomers who can
  see the canals but who question that they are artificial. And it is
  certain that there are astronomers who deny that there are any canals
  at all, and who claim that what seem to be canals to some are optical
  illusions or sheer hallucinations. (Is not astronomy getting to look
  like psychic research?)

  But in spite of all its shifting and reconstruction of theories, its
  assertions and counter-assertions, the complexity and enormous
  difficulty of its numerous problems, and the exceedingly subtle
  methods by which, in a great measure, these problems must be studied,
  no one is so foolish as to think that astronomical investigation
  should not be pursued, or that there does not lie before it a great
  field for the pursuit of truth.

  To a very large extent psychic research is analogous with astronomy.
  It, the youngest of the sciences (by few as yet acknowledged to be a
  science), has a very difficult field, lying as far apart from the
  ordinary life of most men as the multitudinous realities of infinite
  space lie outside the range of thought of ordinary men; its problems
  are many, theories are shifting and contradictory, certain facts are
  both affirmed and denied, and, what is more to the point for our
  present purpose, only to a limited extent can its problems be taken
  into the laboratory, but for the most part techniques and logical
  methods have to be devised to fit the nature of the facts with which
  we deal. In astronomy, most of the subjects of study can be found in
  place at any time; the great drawback is that they are so fearfully
  distant as to be sensed very slightly. On the other hand, with certain
  exceptions, either of kind or degree, the subjects of psychical study
  cannot be found in place whenever wanted but appear occasionally, yet
  when they do appear often do so with a nearness and clearness which
  spares the witnesses the necessity of those cautious qualifying
  phrases so common in articles dealing with astronomy.

  In order at length to turn the attention of scientific men to a
  quarter of reality to which most of them are now voluntarily blind, we
  must continue to do what some people contemn as “old stuff,” and that
  is to multiply the number of _intelligent_ and _reputable_ witnesses
  by teaching people how to observe and how to record, and by ridding
  them of the cowardice which now keeps at least five out of six
  potential witnesses of such standing silent.

Footnote 7:

  It is so judged from such expressions as “Or maybe she has been asleep
  and comes out with the tail end of a dream, and has written down what
  appears to be a lot of rubbish but turns out to be a reproduction of
  something her husband has been reading or writing at that very
  moment”; “Says my wife, ‘There are some notes of a dream I just had.’”

Footnote 8:

  The words “Bob drew watch,” etc., were added by Mrs. Sinclair after
  she had read his statement.

Footnote 9:

  “Ulceration and bleeding are also common symptoms, hence the term
  ‘bleeding piles.’” _Encyclopedia Britannica._

Footnote 10:

  [Deleted.]

Footnote 11:

  “I explain that in these particular drawings the lines have been
  traced over in heavier pencil; the reason being that Craig wanted a
  carbon copy, and went over the lines in order to make it. This had the
  effect of making them heavier than they originally were, and it made
  the whirly lines in Craig’s first drawing more numerous than they
  should be. She did this in the case of two or three of the early
  drawings, wishing to send a report to a friend. I pointed out to her
  how this would weaken their value as evidence, so she never did it
  again.”

Footnote 12:

  Of course, there would be theoretical possibility that the four
  persons involved joined in a conspiracy to deceive, and there would be
  the same theoretical possibility if four psychologists from the
  _sanctum sanctorum_ of a laboratory announced similar results.

Footnote 13:

  The cut does not show that the end is open like a pipe, but it is
  plainly so in the pencil drawing.

Footnote 14:

  “A Series” since there was another of the same date at a different
  hour.

Footnote 15:

  If it be objected that we are not told exactly what the conditions of
  the series of February 15th were, though assured that all series were
  carried out with scrupulous honesty, that is true. But it is also true
  that the results of this series were not better than some where we do
  know that the conditions were excellent, and that this series contains
  no successes of such astounding significance as three in the
  Sinclair-Irwin Group, when many miles separated the experimenters. I
  would have been quite willing to have employed for the guessing tests
  the originals in that group, plus those of February 17th, done under
  excellently satisfactory conditions. (To be sure, the parties were in
  the same room, but it will be shown later that, even granting all
  which the egregious “unconscious whispering” theory claims, it could
  not account for the results actually obtained.) In fact, the
  Sinclair-Irwin Group was avoided for the test for the very reason that
  it is an exceptionally good one. That of February 15th was selected
  because I wanted a series of a considerable number of experiments, an
  unbroken one produced at one time, and one which exhibited results of
  a more nearly average character.

Footnote 16:

  “_A_ series” because there were other experiments at another hour of
  the same day.

Footnote 17:

  The general assumption is that Mrs. Sinclair got her successful
  results by telepathy. But could Mr. Sinclair remember just in what
  order his drawings came, so to be thinking of each just when his wife
  was holding that particular one? Unfortunately he did not record
  whether he laid them down in the order of their production.

  We have judged Experiment 1 to be a failure. And yet it is not
  fanciful to say that if the drawing of the globe is looked at from its
  left side there is considerable resemblance between the very
  incorrectly drawn South America and Isthmus of Panama on the one hand,
  and the “animal’s” head and neck on the other. If clairvoyance were
  involved, there would be no necessary guarantee that the drawing would
  be sensed—to a degree—right side up. Nor do we know how the envelope
  was held.

Footnote 18:

  Mr. Sinclair says, “Now why should an obelisk go on a jag, and have
  little circles at its base? The answer appears to be: it inherited the
  curves from the previous fish-hook, and the little circles from the
  next drawing.”

  It is psychologically likely that a drawing just before made or even
  looked at sometimes unfortunately influences a succeeding drawing. The
  most interesting apparent example of this is Figure 8a made just after
  Mrs. Sinclair had been looking at the several concentric circles of
  her last reproduction in the Sinclair-Irwin Group. First she got a
  whirl of circles, then the whirl assumed the shape of a triangle, then
  came two angles differently characterized, and finally the angles
  multiplied and constituted a star duplicating the original. And a
  careful study makes it impossible to doubt that there were
  anticipations. Some are too striking to be likely as accidents in the
  same series, and in some cases Mrs. Sinclair announced ahead that
  such-and-such an object would be found among the originals, and was
  right. Indeed, in cases where a set of originals was not viewed by the
  agent one by one, as the tests were proceeding, but were submitted in
  a heap together, it is a wonder that as a general rule the
  correspondences were found in due order, and we are hardly able to
  explain it. I do not, however, count any feature theoretically left
  over from the previous drawing as evidential, but only as an
  interesting glimpse into the mental processes. Neither does Mr.
  Sinclair, as I understand him. Nor do I reckon any “anticipation” as
  evidential, unless it was announced in advance, and then only in a
  reduced degree. And Mr. Sinclair’s principles of estimation were
  nearly the same. For he says (the italics mine):

  “Manifestly, if I grant the right to more than one guess, I am
  increasing the chances of guesswork, and correspondingly reducing the
  significance of the totals. What I have done is this: where such
  _cases have occurred, I have called them total failures, except in a
  few cases, where the description was so detailed and exact as to be
  overwhelming—as in the case of this ‘Happy Hooligan.’_ Even so, I have
  not called it a complete success, only a partial success. In order to
  be _classified as a complete success, my wife’s drawing must have been
  made for the particular drawing of mine which she had in her hand at
  that time_; and throughout this account, the reader is to understand
  that every drawing presented _was made in connection with the
  particular drawing printed alongside it—except in cases where I
  expressly state otherwise_.”

Footnote 19:

  When she reached the snake original, the percipient made no drawing,
  but wrote “Man running fast.” If the reader will turn back to
  Experiment 2 of February 8th, where the original was a snake, he will
  again find the cat’s tail and living things fleeing. I more than ever
  suspect that buried in her subconsciousness is the memory of some
  incident wherein a snake and a cat and something else in flight
  figure.

Footnote 20:

  O—original drawing. R—reproduction. Quoted matter was written by Mrs.
  S as a part of her result.

Footnote 21:

  Statistically this must be rated a failure. But it is quite possible
  that in fact there is an underlying real connection. Perhaps Mrs. S
  had read the life of Napoleon, and had been aware that he was by
  education primarily an artillerist, and that the increased and
  peculiar use of artillery was the chief distinctive feature of his
  campaigns. If so, it is quite possible that the idea of cannon,
  struggling for emergence in her mind, by association of ideas got
  sidetracked to Napoleon, and became expressed in “Black Napoleon hat
  and red military coat.” I have not discovered what the uniform of
  Napoleon’s artillerists was; his infantry, at any rate, wore coats
  brilliantly faced with red.

Footnote 22:

  Let it be understood that there were reproductions rated as
  Suggestive, Partial Successes or even Successes, where there was no
  such “correspondence.” That is to say, the reproduction might not
  recognizably represent any living thing, might even be indeterminable
  as to its nature, and yet so notably imitate the leading features of
  the original (though omitting something necessary for identification)
  as to give it one grade or another of ranking otherwise than Failure.

Footnote 23:

  Here the original was not a drawing but a “red flower” that Mr.
  Sinclair was simultaneously reading about.

Footnote 24:

  Mathematically, that is, on the basis of a large number of counted
  experiments in guessing.

Footnote 25:

  Unless by “involuntary whispering,” a theory to be attended to later.

Footnote 26:

  There was one experiment with drawings. One of the Danish
  experimenters drew a candlestick, with a lighted candle in it. The
  other in response drew what in the cut looks like a crooked
  milk-bottle with a short curved line proceeding from one end and two
  short curved lines proceeding from one side. The latter says he meant
  it for a cat, but does not know why he furnished it with only two
  “legs.” The only use made of this drawing in the pamphlet is to
  compare it with a selected and very poor example from the Richet
  series and to assert that it is as good a reproduction. The utmost I
  should grant for the Richet drawing is that, regarded as one of a
  series containing a number of far more impressive ones, it is
  Suggestive, and the most I could grant for the “cat,” is that it may
  possibly be Slightly Suggestive. But did Hansen and Lehmann think
  there was any resemblance between their reproduction and original? If
  so, how did they know that there was no thought-transference and why
  did they not continue to experiment with drawings? Were they afraid
  that if they did, they might have an intractable problem on their
  hands? But if they thought there was no real resemblance, what
  possible weight had their failure against a series of experiments
  wherein a large percentage of the reproductions beyond question _did_
  notably resemble the originals?

Footnote 27:

  S.P.R. _Proceedings_, VI, 164–5.

Footnote 28:

  Professor Sidgwick declared that the whispering of himself and his
  colleagues was certainly voluntary, and that there was no success
  otherwise.

Footnote 29:

  Neither M. C. S. or I ever made the faintest trace of a sound during
  an experiment. That was the law. And I never knew which drawing she
  was holding. I had just one order: to watch steadily, and be able to
  say that she never “peeked.” I did this, and I say it, on my honor.
  This is an honest book.—Upton Sinclair.

Footnote 30:

  She was undergoing the menopause; hence the special depression. It is
  important that every such fact should be stated. It might even be that
  the condition heightened the telepathic faculty.

Footnote 31:

  Of course Mrs. Sinclair is solely responsible for this as every other
  of her expressed opinions.

Footnote 32:

  This was written when it was expected that the experiments with the
  brother-in-law would continue some time. The general character of the
  objects is stated. In fact neither duck nor basket of fruit figured.
  The experiments with “Bob” soon ceased, not only because they involved
  a strain upon him in his then condition of health but because Mrs.
  Sinclair suspected that she was telepathically having her own feelings
  of depression increased by his.

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 1. P. 66, changed “lizard, camelian, reds” to “lizard, chameleon,
      reds”.
 2. P. 69, changed “Also, an the automobile ride to Pasadena” to “Also,
      on the automobile ride to Pasadena”.
 3. P. 190, did not alter February 29, 1929.
 4. Ignored variations in “MacDougall” and “McDougall”.
 5. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
 6. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
 7. Footnotes were re-indexed using numbers and collected together at
      the end of the last chapter.
 8. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.



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