LESSON II.
TELEPATHY vs. CLAIRVOYANCE
In this work I shall use the term "clairvoyance" in its broad sense of "astral perception," as distinguished from perception by means of the physical senses. As we proceed, you will see the general and special meanings of the term, so there is no necessity for a special definition or illustration of the term at this time.
By "telepathy," I mean the sending and receiving of thought messages, and mental and emotional states, consciously or unconsciously, by means of what may be called "the sixth sense" of the physical plane. There is, of course, a form of thought transference on the astral plane, but this I include under the general term of clairvoyance, for reasons which will be explained later on.
You will remember that in the preceding chapter I told you that in addition to the five ordinary physical senses of man there were also two other physical senses comparatively undeveloped in the average person. These two extra physical senses are, respectively, (1) the sense of the presence of other living things; and (2) the telepathic sense. As I also told you, these two extra physical senses have their astral counterparts. They also have certain physical organs which are not generally recognized by physiologists or psychologists, but which are well known to all occultists. I shall now consider the first of the two above-mentioned extra physical senses, in order to clear the way for our consideration of the question of the distinction between ordinary telepathy and that form of clairvoyance which is its astral counterpart.
There is in every human being a sense which is not generally recognized as such, although nearly every person has had more or less experience regarding its workings. I refer to the sense of the presence of other living things, separate and apart from the operation of any of the five ordinary physical senses. I ask you to understand that I am not claiming that this is a higher sense than the other physical senses, or that it has come to man in a high state of evolution. On the contrary, this sense came to living things far back in the scale of evolution. It is possessed by the higher forms of the lower animals, such as the horse, dog, and the majority of the wild beasts. Savage and barbaric men have it more highly developed than it is in the case of the civilized man. In fact, this physical sense may be termed almost vestigal in civilized man, because he has not actively used it for many generations. For that matter, the physical sense of smell is also deficient in man, and for the same reason, whereas in the case of the lower animals, and savage man, the sense of smell is very keen. I mention this for fear of misunderstanding. In my little book, "The Astral World," I have said: "All occultists know that man really has seven senses, instead of merely five, though the additional two senses are not sufficiently developed for use in the average person (though the occultist generally unfolds them into use)." Some have taken this to mean that the occultist develops these two extra physical senses, just as he does certain higher psychic or astral faculties. But this is wrong. The occultist, in such case, merely re-awakens these two senses which have been almost lost to the race. By use and exercise he then develops them to a wonderful proficiency, for use on the physical plane.
Now, this sense of the presence of other living beings is very well developed in the lower animals, particularly in those whose safety depends upon the knowledge of the presence of their natural enemies. As might be expected, the wild animals have it more highly developed than do the domesticated animals. But even among the latter, we find instances of this sense being in active use—in the case of dogs, horses, geese, etc., especially. Who of us is not familiar with the strange actions of the dog, or the horse, when the animal senses the unseen and unheard presence of some person or animal? Very often we would scold or punish the animal for its peculiar actions, simply because we are not able to see what is worrying it. How often does the dog start suddenly, and bristle up its hair, when nothing is in sight, or within hearing distance. How often does the horse grow "skittish," or even panicky, when there is nothing within sight or hearing. Domestic fowls, especially geese, manifest an uneasiness at the presence of strange persons or animals, though they may not be able to see or hear them. It is a matter of history that this sense, in a flock of geese, once saved ancient Rome from an attack of the enemy. The night was dark and stormy, and the trained eyesight and keen hearing of the Roman outposts failed to reveal the approach of the enemy. But, the keen sense of the geese felt the presence of strange men, and they started to cackle loudly, aroused the guard, and Rome was saved. Skeptical persons have sought to explain this historical case by the theory that the geese heard the approaching enemy. But this explanation will not serve, for the Roman soldiers were marching about on their posts and guard-duty, and the geese remained silent until they sensed the approach of the small number of the enemy's scouts, when they burst into wild cries. The ancient Romans, themselves, were under no illusion about the matter—they recognized the existence of some unusual power in the geese, and they gave the animals the full credit therefor.
Hunters in wild and strange lands have told us that often when they were lying concealed for the purpose of shooting the wild animals when they came within range, they have witnessed instances of the existence of this strange faculty in the wild beasts. Though they could not see the concealed hunters, nor smell them (as the wind was in the other direction) all of a sudden one or more of the animals (generally an old female) would start suddenly, and a shiver would be seen to pass over its body; then it would utter a low warning note, and away would fly the pack. Nearly every hunter has had the experience of watching his expected game, when all of a sudden it would start off with a nervous jerk, and without waiting to sniff the air, as is usual, would bolt precipitately from the scene. Moreover, many beasts of prey are known to sense the presence of their natural prey, even when the wind is in the other direction, and there is no sound or movement made by the crouching, fearstricken animal. Certain birds seem to sense the presence of particular worms upon which they feed, though the latter be buried several inches in the earth, or in the bark of trees.
Savage man also has this faculty developed, as all travellers and explorers well know. They are as keen as a wild animal to sense the nearness of enemies, or, in some cases, the approach of man-eating beasts. This does not mean that that these savages are more highly developed than is civilized man—quite the reverse. This is the explanation: when man became more civilized, and made himself more secure from his wild-beast enemies, as well as from the sudden attacks of his human enemies, he began to use this sense less and less. Finally, in the course of many generations, it became almost atrophied from disuse, and ceased reporting to the brain, or other nerve centres. Or, if you prefer viewing it from another angle, it may be said that the nerve centres, and brain, began to pay less and less attention to the reports of this sense (trusting more to sight and hearing) until the consciousness failed to awaken to the reports. You know how your consciousness will finally refuse to be awakened by familiar sounds (such as the noise of machinery in the shop, or ordinary noises in the house), although the ears receive the sound-waves.
Well, this is the way in the case of this neglected sense—for the two reasons just mentioned, the average person is almost unaware of its existence. Almost unaware I have said—not totally unaware. For probably every one of us has had experiences in which we have actually "felt" the presence of some strange person about the premises, or place. The effect of the report of this sense is particularly noticed in the region of the solar plexus, or the pit of the stomach. It manifests in a peculiar, unpleasant feeling of "gone-ness" in that region—it produces a feeling of "something wrong," which disturbs one in a strange way. This is generally accompanied by a "bristling up," or "creepy" feeling along the spine. The organs registering the presence of a strange or alien creature consist of certain delicate nerves of the surface of the skin, generally connected with the roots of the downy hair of the body—or resting where the hair roots would naturally be, in the case of a hairless skin. These seem to report directly to the solar-plexus, which then acts quickly by reflex action on the other parts of the body, causing an instinctive feeling to either fly the scene or else to crouch and hide oneself. This feeling, as may be seen at once, is an inheritance from our savage ancestors, or perhaps from our lowly-animal ancestral roots. It is a most unpleasant feeling, and the race escapes much discomfort by reason of its comparative absence.
I have said that occultists have developed, or