“At three feet apart, fifteen trials were successively made, and in every case the ‘subject’ responded or did not respond in exact accordance with the silent will of Mr. Smith, as directed by me.
“At six feet apart, six similar trials were made without a single failure.
“At twelve feet apart, six more trials were made without a single failure.
“At seventeen feet apart, sixmore trials were made without a single failure.
“In this last case Mr. Smith had to be placed outside the study door, which was then closed with the exception of a narrow chink just wide enough to admit of passing a card in or out, whilst I remained in the study observing the ‘subject.’ To avoid any possible indication from the tone in which I asked the question, in all cases except the first dozen experiments, I shuffled the cards face downwards, and then handed the unknown ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to Mr. Smith, who looked at the card and willed accordingly. I noted down the result, and then, and not till then, looked at the card.
“A final experiment was made when Mr. Smith was taken across the hall and placed in the dining-room, at a distance of about thirty feet from the ‘subject,’ two doors, both quite closed, intervening. Under these conditions, three trials were made with success, the ‘Yes’ response being, however, very faint and hardly audible to me, who returned to the study to ask the usual question after handing the card to the distant operator. At this point, the ‘subject’ fell into a deep sleep, and made no further replies to the questions addressed to him.
“Omitting these final experiments, the total number of successive trials at different distances was forty-three. If the result had been due to accident, there would have been an even chance of failures and of successes,—whereas in fact there was not a single failure in the entire series.
“I subsequently made a series of a dozen successive trials in an absolutely dark room, conveying my intention to Mr. Smith by silently squeezing his hand, once for ‘No,’ twice for ‘Yes.’ Every trial was successful. When Mr. Smith was placed outside the darkened room, I handed him the card through a small aperture, which could be closed. Eight trials gave six results quite right, one wrong, and one doubtful. Afterwards twenty trials, made when Mr. Smith was recalled, and the room lighted, were all entirely successful. There was, I need hardly say, no contact between operator and ‘subject’ in any of these experiments.
“The difference in the power of the will of the hypnotist and that of any other person was strikingly manifest, and the proof of the existence of a peculiar ‘rapport’ between operator and subject was simply overwhelming. I several times exerted my will in opposition to that of Mr. Smith—that is to say, willed that the ‘subject’ should or should not respond, when Mr. Smith willed the opposite, both of us being equally distant from the ‘subject.’ In every case his will triumphed. As in the case of Mr. Beard, the ‘subject,’ on being aroused, stated that he had heard the question each time, but that when he gave no answer he felt unaccountably unable to control his muscles so as to frame the word.
“It was noticeable that neither in the normal nor in the hypnotic state was this subject able to tell any word or number or describe any diagram thought of or viewed by the operator. Only his ability to act in a particular way could be controlled, and he was not susceptible to even the most rudimentary form of thought-transference proper.”
The following shorter series with another operator, Mr. Kershaw, of Southport, and with Mrs. Firth, a sick-nurse, as “subject,” though the precautions were less elaborate than in the case just recorded, was to an eye-witness almost equally satisfactory. For the trial was quite suddenly suggested to Mr. Kershaw by the present writer; and not only was it planned out of Mrs. Firth’s hearing, but Mr. Kershaw himself had some difficulty in understanding what was wanted. A variety of small circumstances combined to show that the form of experiment was entirely new both to operator and “subject.”
The trial took place at Southport, on September 7th, 1883. Mrs. Firth, who had been previously thrown into a light stage of trance, was placed in a chair in the middle of a bare room. Mr. Kershaw and I stood about three yards behind her; and sight of us, or of any part of us, on her part was out of the question. The window was in the wall in front of her, but altogether on one side; and there were no other reflecting surfaces in the room. I drew up the subjoined list of yeses and noes, and held it for Mr. Kershaw to see. He made a quiet connecting motion of the hand (not touching me, and being many feet from Mrs. Firth), when there was to be an answer, and an equally quiet transverse or separating pass when there was to be none. I attribute no virtue to the passes, except so far as they were a means of vivifying Mr. Kershaw’s silent intention to himself. The passes were almost absolutely noiseless, and the extremely faint sound which they made, from the very nature of the gentle motion, can scarcely have varied. Complete silence was preserved but for my question, “Do you hear?” repeated time after time, in a perfectly neutral tone and there did not appear to be the very faintest chance of signalling, even had there been an opportunity for arranging a scheme.
1.—Yes.........Right (i.e., Mrs. Firth responded).
2.—No......... Right (i.e., Mrs. Firth did not respond).
3.—Yes.........Right.
4.—Yes.........Right.
5.—No.........Right.
6.—Yes.........Right.
7.—No.........At first no answer, which was right: then I gave a very loud stamp, which provoked a “Yes.”
8.—No.........Right.
9.—Yes.........Right.
I will add one more short series, which took place at my lodgings at Brighton, on September 10th, 1883. The operator was Mr. Smith; the “subject” an intelligent young cabinet-maker, named Conway. Mr. Smith and I stood behind him, without any contact with him. I held the list, and pointed to the desired answer each time. The silence was absolute. I repeated the question, “What is your name?” in a perfectly neutral and monotonous manner.
1.—Yes.........Right (i.e., the “subject” said “Conway”).
2.—Yes.........Right.
3.—No.........This time the answer “Conway” was given; but when the next question was asked, the “subject” seemed unable to answer for some seconds, as though Mr. Smith’s intention had taken effect a little too late.
4.—Yes.........Right.
5.—No.........Right.
6.—No.........Right.
7.—Yes.........Right.
8.—No.........Right.
9.—Yes.........Right.
10.—Yes.........Right.
11.—No.........Right.
12. Yes.........Right.
§ 12. But in experiments of this class it is clearly difficult to be sure that the conscious idea of the evoked or the inhibited action does not precede or accompany the muscular effects. Indeed, as we have seen, the percipient’s own account has sometimes shown that it did so. I proceed, then, to our second class of cases. There is, fortunately, one sort of act where the verdict of the performer that it was automatically performed may be taken as conclusive; the act of writing. If words are written down which the writer is obliged to read over, and even to puzzle over, just as anyone else might do, in order to learn what they are, his unconsciousness of them in the act of writing may be taken as established. Now written words are of course as good as spoken ones, as evidence that a particular idea has been in some way communicated. If, then,