CHAPTER VIII.. Automatic Writing, Drawing and Painting.

AUTOMATIC WRITING, DRAWING AND PAINTING.

The subject of Automatism has thus far been illustrated by reference to Planchette-writing alone. It was selected because it is the kind most frequently seen and most easily proved by experiment. The little instrument Planchette, however, is not essential; it is used because, being placed on casters, it is more easily moved.

The Chinese, long ago, used for the same purpose a little basket, with style attached, placed upon two even chopsticks.

The same results also occur with some persons when the pencil is simply held in the usual manner for writing. The hand then being allowed to remain perfectly passive, automatic movements first take place--the hand moving round and round or across the paper, and then follows writing or drawing, as the case may be. Some persons produce written messages in mirror writing--that is, reversed--or so written that it can only be easily read by causing it to be reflected in a mirror. This kind of writing is sometimes produced on the first attempt of the experimenter, and even by young children without any experience or knowledge of the subject.

As previously shown, different strata of consciousness may, and in some well observed cases, most certainly do, exist in the same individual. In these well observed cases, each separate consciousness had its own distinct chain of memories and its own characteristics and peculiarities; and these distinct chains of memories and well defined characteristics constitute, so far as we can judge, distinct personalities. At all events, they are centres of intelligence and mental activity which are altogether independent of the ordinary, everyday consciousness or personality, and often altogether superior to it. Accordingly this other centre of intelligence and mental activity has been named the second personality or subliminal self; that is, a consciousness or self or personality beneath the threshold, so to speak, of the ordinary or primary self.

Ansel Bourne and A. J. Brown were separate and distinct personalities, having entirely distinct, and apparently unrelated, chains of memory, distinct characteristics, opinions, and peculiarities, acting at different times through the same body.

Ansel Bourne was the usual or primary personality; A. J. Brown was a second personality, a separate focus of intelligence and mental activity, a subliminal self. What the exact relationship existing between these two personalities may be we do not attempt at present to explain; but that they exist and act independent of each other we know. In other instances, as, for example, that of Madame B., the hypnotic subject of Prof. Janet of Havre, and also that of Alma Z., we have been able to observe these separate centres of intelligence, these distinct personalities, both in action at the same time, upon altogether separate and unrelated subjects. Sometimes the subliminal self takes full control, making itself the active ruling personality to the entire exclusion of the primary self; and sometimes it only sends messages to the primary or ordinary self, by suggestion, mental pictures, or vivid impressions made upon the organs of sense and producing the sensation of seeing, hearing, or touch.

To illustrate these different methods of communication between the ordinary and subliminal self, suppose an individual, whom we will designate as X., manifests this peculiar condition of double consciousness. As we have seen, the subliminal self often takes cognizance of things concerning which the ordinary self is entirely ignorant, but it may not always have the power to impress the primary self with this knowledge, nor to take full possession, so as to be able to impart it to others by speaking or writing. This is the usual condition of most persons; with some peculiarly constituted persons, however, the possibility of being so impressed surely exists, and with them these impressions are direct and vivid.

Our individual, X., is one in whom this ability to receive impressions in this manner exists.

To illustrate: Suppose first that X. is asleep, is taking his after-dinner nap, and that children playing in his grounds have set fire to some straw in close proximity to buildings near by. No one notices the danger. X. is asleep, but his subliminal self is on the alert--like the second self of the somnambulist or subject in the hypnotic trance--it sees that unless checked there will be a destructive conflagration. It impresses upon X. a dream of fire so vivid that he wakes in alarm, discovers the mischief and averts the danger. Or suppose X. to be awake and sitting in his office in a distant part of the house, quite unconscious of anything unusual. All at once he becomes restless, unable to pursue his work; he is impelled to leave his desk, to go out, to walk in the direction of the fire, and thus become aware of the danger. Or again, that X. is an automatic writer--that paper and pencil are at hand and he receives a sudden impulse to write. He has no knowledge of what he is writing, but upon examination he finds it a warning to look after the threatening fire; or still again, that he hears a voice distinctly saying, "Look out for fire;" or sees a distinct picture of the place and circumstances of the fire; all these are possible methods by which the subliminal self might communicate to X., the ordinary personality, the danger which was threatening.

Automatism, therefore, does not necessarily take the form of written messages, but may take any form by which the subliminal self can best transmit its message to the primary self--or in the same way from one person to another, whether by words written or spoken automatically--by voices heard, by action influenced, as when X. is influenced to leave his office and walk, or the mischievous Leontine unties the apron of Leonie, or by vision or vivid mental picture, as when Peter sees a "sheet let down by the four corners," from which he learns an important lesson.

The messages received automatically may not all be true; they may be trivial and even false; on the other hand, they may not only be true and important but they may convey information quite out of the power of the primary self to acquire by any ordinary use of the senses. Nor need we be greatly surprised at this; it is a normal function of the subliminal self; with some persons that function is active, with others it is dormant, but in all, at some moment in life, circumstances may arise which shall awaken that function into activity.

A remarkable example of messages received by automatic writing is that furnished by Mr. W. T. Stead, occurring in his own experience. Mr. Stead is a well-known author, journalist, and the editor of the London edition of the Review of Reviews, in which magazine his experiences have, on various occasions, been published.

As he regards the matter, there is an invisible intelligence which controls his hand, but the persons with whom he is in communication are alive and visible--for instance his own son on various occasions, also persons in his employ, writers upon his magazine, casual acquaintances, and even strangers.

None of these persons participate in any active or conscious way in the communications. Mr. F. W. H. Myers has often conversed with Mr. Stead and with several of his involuntary correspondents in relation to the phenomena, and the facts are so simple and open, and the persons connected with them so intelligent and evidently sincere and truthful, that no doubt can be entertained as to the reality of the incidents, however they may be interpreted.

One of the most remarkable of these involuntary correspondents is known as Miss A., a lady employed by him in literary work of an important character. She testifies in regard to the matter: "I, the subject of Mr. Stead's automatic writing, known as 'A.,' testify to the correctness of the statements made in this report. I would like to add what I think more wonderful than many things Mr. Stead has cited, namely, the correctness with which, on several occasions, he has given the names of persons whom he has never seen nor heard of before. I remember on one occasion a person calling upon me with a very uncommon name. The next day I saw Mr. Stead and he read to me what his hand had written of the visit of that person, giving the name absolutely correctly. Mr. Stead has never seen that person, and until then had no knowledge of his existence."

The following is a description of a journey made by Miss A., automatically written by Mr. Stead, he at the time not having the slightest knowledge where she was, what she was doing, or that she intended making any such journey. The slight inaccuracies are noted:--

"I went to the Waterloo station by the twelve o'clock train, and got to Hampton Court about one. When we got out we went to a hotel and had dinner. It cost nearly three shillings. After dinner I went to the picture-galleries. I was very much pleased with the paintings of many of the ceilings. I was interested in most of the portraits of Lely. After seeing the galleries I went into the grounds. How beautiful they are! I saw a great vine, that lovely English garden, the avenue of elms, the canal, the great water sheet, the three views, the fountain, the gold fishes, and then lost myself in the maze. I got home about nine o'clock. It cost me altogether about six shillings." On communicating this to Miss A. she found that everything was correct with two exceptions. She went down by the two o'clock train instead of the twelve, and got to Hampton Court about three. The dinner cost her two and elevenpence, which was nearly three shillings, and the total was six and threepence. The places were visited in the order mentioned.

A second instance was where the needs of a comparative stranger were written out by Mr. Stead's hand. Mr. Stead goes on to say: "Last February I met a correspondent in a railway carriage with whom I had a very casual acquaintance. Knowing that he was in considerable distress, our conversation fell into a more or less confidential train in which I divined that his difficulty was chiefly financial. I said I did not know whether I could be of any help to him, but asked him to let me know exactly how things stood--what were his debts, his expectations, and so forth. He said he really could not tell me, and I refrained from pressing him.

"That night I received a letter from him apologizing for not having given the information, but saying he really could not. I received that letter about ten o'clock, and about two o'clock next morning, before going to sleep, I sat down in my bedroom and said: 'You did not like to tell me your exact financial condition face to face, but now you can do so through my hand. Just write and tell me exactly how things stand. How much money do you owe?' My hand wrote, 'My debts are L90.' In answer to a further inquiry whether the figures were accurately stated, 'ninety pounds' was then written in full. 'Is that all?' I asked. My hand wrote 'Yes, and how I am to pay I do not know.' 'Well,' I said; 'how much do you want for that piece of property you wish to sell?' My hand wrote, 'What I hope is, say, L100 for that. It seems a great deal, but I must get money somehow. Oh, if I could get anything to do--I would gladly do anything!' 'What does it cost you to live?' I asked. My hand wrote, 'I do not think I could possibly live under L200 a year. If I were alone I could live on L50 per annum.'

"The next day I made a point of seeking my friend. He said: 'I hope you were not offended at my refusing to tell you my circumstances, but really I do not think it would be right to trouble you with them.' I said: 'I am not offended in the least, and I hope you will not be offended when I tell you what I have done.' I then explained this automatic, telepathic method of communication. I said: 'I do not know whether there is a word of truth in what my hand has written. I hesitate at telling you, for I confess I think the sum which was written as the amount of your debts cannot be correctly stated; it seems to me much too small, considering the distress in which you seemed to be; therefore I will read you that first, and if that is right I will read you the rest; but if it is wrong I will consider it is rubbish and that your mind in no way influenced my hand.' He was interested but incredulous. But, I said, 'Before I read you anything will you form a definite idea in your mind as to how much your debts amount to; secondly, as to the amount of money you hope to get for that property; thirdly, what it costs you to keep up your establishment with your relatives; and fourthly, what you could live upon if you were by yourself?' 'Yes,' he said, 'I have thought of all those things.' I then read out. 'The amount of your debts is about L90.' He started. 'Yes,' he said, 'that is right.' Then I said: 'As that is right I will read the rest. You hope to get L100 for your property.' 'Yes,' he said, 'that was the figure that was in my mind, though I hesitated to mention it for it seems too much.' 'You say you cannot live upon less than L200 a year with your present establishment.' 'Yes,' he said, 'that is exactly right.' 'But if you were by yourself you could live on L50 a year.' 'Well,' said he, 'a pound a week was what I had fixed in my mind.' Therefore there had been a perfectly accurate transcription of the thoughts in the mind of a comparative stranger written out with my own hand at a time when we were at a distance of some miles apart, within a few hours of the time when he had written apologizing for not having given me the information for which I had asked."

In the following case the correspondent is a foreign lady, doing some work for the Review, but whom Mr. Stead had only met once in his life. On the occasion now referred to be was to meet her at Redcar Station at about three o'clock in the afternoon. He was stopping at a house ten minutes' walk from the station, and it occurred to him that "about three o'clock," as mentioned in her letter, might mean before three; and it was now only twenty minutes of three. No timetable was at hand: he simply asked her to use his hand to tell him what time the train was due. This was done without ever having had any communication with her upon the subject of automatic writing. She (by Mr. Stead's hand) immediately wrote her name, and said the train was due at Redcar Station at ten minutes of three. Accordingly he had to leave at once--but before starting he said, "Where are you at this moment?" The answer came, "I am in the train at Middlesborough railway station, on my way from Hartpool to Redcar."

On arriving at the station he consulted the timetable and found the train was due at 2:52. The train, however, was late. At three o'clock it had not arrived; at five minutes past three, getting uneasy at the delay, he took paper and pencil in his hand and asked where she was.

Her name was at once written and there was added: "I am in the train rounding the curve before you come to Redcar Station--I will be with you in a minute."

"Why the mischief have you been so late?" he mentally asked. His hand wrote, "We were detained at Middlesborough so long--I don't know why."

He put the paper in his pocket and walked to the end of the platform just as the train came in.

He immediately went to his friend and exclaimed:--"How late you are! What on earth has been the matter?" To which she replied: "I do not know; the train stopped so long at Middlesborough--it seemed as if it never would start."

This narrative was fully corroborated by the lady who was the passenger referred to.

In all these cases it should be noticed the so-called correspondent took no active part in the experiment, was not conscious of communicating anything, nor of trying to do so; nor is there any evidence of a third party or any intervening intelligence or personality; but the subliminal self of the writer went forth and acquired the needed information and transferred it automatically to the primary self, as was the case in the Planchette-writing of Mrs. Newnham and the Wedgwood cases.

During the years 1874 and 1875 I had under my care Mrs. Juliette T. Burton, the wife of a physician who came to New York from the South at the close of the war. She was a woman of refinement, education, and excellent literary ability. She wrote with unusual facility, and her articles were accepted by newspapers and magazines, and brought her a considerable income. I knew her well, and her honesty, good faith, and strong common-sense were conspicuous. She died of phthisis in 1875. It is to her varied automatic powers as illustrating our subject that I would call attention.

Many of her best articles were prepared without conscious effort of her own, either physical or mental; she simply prepared pencils and paper, became passive, and her hand wrote. Sometimes she had a plan to write up a certain subject, and sometimes the subject as well as the matter came automatically.

She knew that she was writing, but of what was written she had no knowledge until she read her own manuscript.

She had no talent for drawing nor for painting; she could not, in her ordinary condition, draw a face, nor even a leaf, which could be recognized. Soon after coming to New York she began to see faces and other pictures before her on the blank paper and to sketch them with marvellous rapidity and exactness, all in the same automatic manner as that in which she did her writing. These drawings were not crude, but were strongly characteristic and were delicately done with ordinary lead pencils, several of which were prepared beforehand with sharp delicate points. I remember one drawing in particular--a man's head about half life-size, with full flowing beard. At first glance there was nothing peculiar about the picture, except that one would say that it was a strong and characteristic face; but on close examination in a strong light, and especially through a reading-glass, the beard was seen to be made up entirely of exceedingly minute faces of sheep; every face was perfectly formed and characteristic, and there were thousands of them. It was done with the same wonderful rapidity which characterized all her automatic work.

Later she was impelled to procure colors, brushes, and all the materials for painting in oil; and although she had never even seen that kind of work done, and had not the slightest idea how to mix the colors to produce desired tints, nor how to apply them to produce desired effects, yet at a single sitting in a darkened room she produced a head of singular strength and character and possessing at least some artistic merit. Certainly no one could imagine it to be the first attempt of a person entirely without natural talent for either drawing or painting. It was done on common brown cardboard, and it has been in my possession for the past twenty-two years. The reproduction which appears as frontispiece to the present volume gives some idea of its character.

The impression received by the painter was that it was the portrait of an Englishman named Nathan Early. No date was assigned.

See Frontispiece.

As a further illustration of her automatic power, it may be mentioned that another uncultivated faculty developed itself, namely, the power of referring to past events in the lives of those who were in her presence. The knowledge of past events so conveyed was frequently most remarkable and was circumstantially correct, even rivalling in this respect the reports which we have of Jung-Stilling and Zschokke.