Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

But even if the brain were divided into compartments, each resting against the skull, it would next be necessary for the phrenologist to prove that quantity means quality or that quantity means power. Otherwise, a person might have a large quantity of, say, combativeness, and a small quantity of, say, veneration, as donated by the size of the bumps, at the places where those faculties are supposed to reside, but the brain matter in the veneration compartment might be twice as dense, compact, active, powerful or flexible as the brain matter in the combativeness compartment, and hence the phrenologist would be deceived by outward appearances. The phrenologist must depend upon size, and he must assume that every part of the brain is of the same density, texture and power. For example, when he sees a head that is large and full in the upper forehead and small at the back, he at once declares that that person's casuality, eventuality and comparison, are highly developed, and that his amativeness and philoprogenitiveness are poorly developed. Size is the measure, and he assumes that size means volume, and that volume means power. Hence, a man with a large head must have more brains than a man with a small head, and the more brains he has, the greater his power, other things being equal. He forgets that many idiots have enormous heads, and that the heads of many of the world's greatest characters were very small. Several kinds of monkeys, the dolphin, the canary and the sparrow, all have larger brains than man, in proportion to the size of the body. The ground mole and field mouse have about the same proportion as man. The whale, the rat, the porpoise and the goose have more.

Again, the researches of physiologists of the highest authority seem to have established the fact that the brain acquires its full size and weight at the age of eight years! How can the phrenologist reconcile his philosophy to this stubborn fact? The skull and head continue to grow after the age of eight, but the brain remains the same in weight and size. Everybody knows how the skulls of children change as they grow up, and yet the brains never do. As the child acquires knowledge and develops his mental faculties, the brain remains the same size and weight. What then have bumps to do with his mind? We may polish our brains, but we cannot add to them. And so, when the phrenologist says that this pulpy matter called brains gradually grows larger and crowds the skull bones out so as to make bumps, or that it shrinks, for want of exercise, and makes the skull contract with it, causing indentations, he is not talking from facts but from a premise founded on a delusion.

If the theory of phrenology is true, then, if a person should have an accident or a disease, and lose a portion of his brain, he will lose control of those faculties which are supposed to be located within the lost part. Now, every physician knows of cases where patients have lost portions of their brains, and you will probably not find a single case where the patient lost control of the precise faculty said to be located in that portion. The medical books are full of proof of this. Once in a while a physician has to remove a portion of the brain where the faculty of, say tune, is located, or it is destroyed by accident or disease, but after the operation the patient has the same fondness and talent for music that he formerly had. The brains of able men have been examined after death, and certain portions have been found to be diseased; yet the patients had shown no signs of having lost any of their faculties.

These examples show that the brain is not and cannot be composed of a plurality of organs, each of which is the seat of a separate faculty, as claimed by the phrenologists, because if such were the case the destruction of one of these organs would result in the destruction of the particular faculty connected with it.

Again, the phrenologist assumes that all skulls are of the same thickness, and that every skull is of the same thickness at every point. There are variations of this rule, as he will tell you, but in the main the statement is true; for, if it were not so, bumps and indentations would be almost meaningless. But the fact is that some skulls are only one-eighth of an inch thick and some are a full inch in thickness. And there is no certain way of telling just how thick a skull is, except by an examination of its interior and not every subject is willing to undergo this inconvenience. The phrenologist may thump it with his knuckle and sound it, but he can never be certain how near he is to the brain nor how much brains are within. And still again, nearly every skull has thin parts and thick parts, and in some heads there are actual cavities in places. So, even if the size of the brain is the sure test of mentality, how is one to tell the size of a brain which is incased in a skull of unknown and variable thickness?

And then, the mistaken notion that there are just and only thirty-five or so faculties and that each acts independently of the others. As well might one say that the retina of the eye is divided into compartments, one to see flowers, one to see trees, one to see letters and figures, and so on; or that the ear-drum is divided into sections--one section to hear the voice, one to hear the violin and one to hear other sounds. If there is a separate compartment for every faculty there should be nearer thirty-five thousand compartments than thirty-five. But there are not even thirty-five faculties, and there are certainly not more than two or three compartments, if any. Aristotle divided the brain into only three parts. Veneration is the result of fear, admiration, love, respect, conscientiousness, and a dozen other things. Destructiveness and combativeness, continuity, stubbornness and many other faculties produce in greater or less degree, the same emotion and results. Form and size are the same faculty, the knowledge of extension including both. To say that each of these faculties has a separate plot or parcel of brains staked out for its own private and exclusive use is about as sensible as to say that there is a separate compartment of brains devoted to love of children, another for the love of parents, another for brothers, another for dogs, and so on. It requires no philosopher or psychologist to see that every single faculty is a part of an inseparable indivisible whole. Instead of endowing the mind with certain faculties and designating these according to the nature of their function, the phrenologist designates them according to the nature of object upon which they are exercised. According to this, to be logical, he should have as many faculties and compartments as there are things in the universe.

There are two ways of looking at phrenology. If there is a portion of brains for each faculty, then we must determine how many faculties there are, and we must assume that each portion or compartment performs only its own function, for otherwise, if a certain compartment frequently does the work of some other compartment, then the whole theory of phrenology falls, because it matters not how much or how little brains a person has in one compartment when other sections are to lend a hand in helping its weak or deficient neighbors. The phrenologist must assume that "comparison," for example, is the faculty that does all of the work in that line, and that "color" does all of the work in its particular line. Otherwise bumps would be meaningless. Fowler and Wells, the latest authorities, give thirty-nine distinct and separate faculties, each with its particular location. Now, many of these conflict, such as comparison, form and size, combativeness and destructiveness, firmness and continuity, cautiousness and secretiveness, veneration and spirituality and conjugal love, friendship, amativeness, inhabitiveness and philoprogenitiveness. True, these words of each group are not synonyms, but they require the same mental process, produce like emotions, or proceed from the same motives and sensations. If this be true, part of the bottom of phrenology falls out. There is redundancy. The faculty of cautiousness makes one cautious when one is exercising one or more of the other faculties, and continuity is the faculty which gives us the power of keeping one or more other faculties applied to the task. Nearly every organ must be endowed with the power of imagination, yet there is a faculty called ideality which is assumed to have a monopoly of this power. Nearly every faculty is also endowed with casuality, particularly calculation, constructiveness and comparison. And if the phrenologist should say that there is no redundancy here, that each of these things is a different and distinct faculty, surely if there is not redundancy, there is at least deficiency (either of which is fatal) in that according to his theory there should be separate faculties for mechanical constructiveness and literary constructiveness, separate faculties for love of children and love of cats, separate faculties for the English language and the Chinese language, and every language, and a separate faculty for every object of attention in the universe.

Until the phrenologist can find some way of measuring the quantity of neurine in the brain of his subject he cannot tell much about that person's mentality; and when he does this he is no longer a phrenologist.

Phrenology takes in a wide field which contains so many avenues of escape, that it is quite impossible to attack it at one point without letting it out at another, for its powers to evade the issue are almost unlimited. When the skull of Voltaire was examined, it was found to have the organ of Veneration developed to an extraordinary degree. The phrenologist would promptly explain: "His veneration for the Deity was so great and his sensibility upon the subject of devotion so exquisite that he became shocked and disgusted with the irreverence of even the most devout Christians, and that out of pure respect for the Deity he attempted to exterminate the Christian religion from the earth."

If you have a large bump of destructiveness, the phrenologist might declare you were like the early English who would often say: "It's a fine day; let's go out and kill somebody." Yet you may be only inclined to destroy delusions; or to destroy the rum demon; or to demolish gambling; or to combat vice.

The novel "Mr. Midshipman Easy," by Capt. Maryatt, might be recommended for the consideration of phrenologists. Prof. Easy built a great machine with tubes and pistons; the subject would get into the machine and, by suction, the professor would draw out the good organ indentations and by pressure suppress the "bad organ" bumps. If the brain grows, as phrenologists claim, this system ought to help the brain grow in the right direction and create perfect men.

The irregular formation of the skull, features, fingers and of other parts of the anatomy are mere accidents of nature, and are no more a test of a person's character and capacity than a cask is of its contents. The verdict of phrenology retards the moral and intellectual advancement of the subject and lessens the influence of reason, religion, environment and education.

After Professor Porson's death, his head was dissected, when, to the confusion of craniologists and the consolation of blockheads, it was discovered that he had a skull of extraordinary thickness. Professor Gall, on being called upon to reconcile the intellectual powers and tenacious memory of Porson with a skull that would have suited an ignorant prizefighter, replied: "How the ideas got into such a skull is their business, not mine; but, when they were once in, they certainly could never get out again."

_Physiognomy_

Physiognomy is not entirely a delusion. There is no "science" of Physiognomy, however, nor is it an exact art. The rules laid down by Adamantius were quite different from those of Aristotle, just as those of Baptist Porta and Robert Fludd were quite different from Levater's. Physiognomy is the art of knowing the humor, temperament or disposition of a person from observation of the lines of the face, and from the character of its members or features. While there is as yet no code of rules laid down by any author which constitutes a trustworthy guide, there in an apparent analogy between the mind and the countenance, which is discernible to keen observers. Probably every man and woman prides him or herself on the ability of translating expression, because we all imagine that we are good judges of human nature; yet, we have all erred in this regard, and often they were costly errors. Our instincts and intuitions, are perhaps the safest guides, after all, for there is but little reliance to be placed on the text books; and the common beliefs regarding the meaning of the features are anything but reliable. The best that can be done, for the present, is to assemble the predominating characteristics of the great men of history and compare these with their portraits.

It is generally conceded that the greatest authority on Physiognomy is Levater; yet, in my copy of his principal work, which, by the way, is the voluminous 15th London edition, he says: "I understand but little of physiognomy, and have been, and continue daily to be, mistaken in my judgment." Since no greater physiognomist ever lived, it seems fair to assume that there is no "science" of physiognomy, and no infallible system with which we can read the character and capabilities of a person by means of the features. Whether such a science will yet be discovered or devised, remains to be seen. However, it is possible, and even probable, that the features all have meanings, even if we do not know those meanings, and that the code finally adopted by Levater is fairly correct. This being true, the best we can say for Physiognomy is that it _helps_ us to interpret character by showing us _tendencies_. That is, given a face the chin of which denotes firmness, and the mouth tenacity, we may be reasonably certain that the individual will have a strong tendency to do thus and so under certain conditions, provided those characteristics are not over-balanced and offset by other characteristics. That the tendency is not conclusive, is apparent: for the person may be born with a nose which, according to Physiognomy, denotes criminal propensities; yet, he may have overcome his immoral tendencies by means of education, religion or environment, while his nose remains unchanged. Again, he may have certain features which are said to denote generosity, for example, yet there may be various other features which denote love of power, acquisitiveness, vanity, etc., which would make it quite impossible to say that generosity would predominate, and to which tendency the subject would yield. Indeed, it is a grave question if all the accumulated knowledge of the ages on Physiognomy would not be misleading, even if every person knew the precise meaning of every section of the face; for, however skilful we might be, our judgment would constantly be taxed to the utmost to weigh and balance, to compare and distinguish, one indication with another, and then that other with still another, and with perhaps a whole group of others,--a task for a mathematician, psychologist and philosopher combined. Again, who may say that a large nose, which was esteemed so highly by Napoleon, or a strong jaw, which is generally understood to denote perseverance, may not be mere accidents of nature, for are not some born tongue-tied, cross-eyed or flat-footed, without design, meaning or tendency, so far as those physical conditions are concerned? And do not all persons develop one or more faculties, and neglect others, without causing any change in the bones of the face? One may conquer and conquer, like Alexander, until there are no more worlds to be conquered, and yet not acquire a conqueror's nose. If we treat Physiognomy as the science of interpreting expression by means of the muscular anatomy of the face, that is a different matter; but the real Physiognomy deals with bones as well as with muscles. If there is doubt as to whether the shape of the bones of the face are indicative of character, there is no doubt that the flesh and muscles of the face form what we call expression of the countenance, and that this can be interpreted with some degree of accuracy.

Levater says that the forehead is the image or mirror of the understanding; the nose and cheeks the image of moral and sensitive life; and the mouth and chin the image of the animal life; while the eye will be to the whole as the summary and center. I am prepared to believe without hesitation that nothing passes in the soul which does not produce some change in the body, and that even desire, and the act of willing, create a corresponding motion in the body; but it requires extraordinary credulity to believe that bones are enlarged or diminished by this process, and, consequently, that part of Physiognomy I must reject. But it is quite certain that, on the countenance discernibly appear light and gloom, joy and anxiety, stupidity, ignorance, and vice, and that, on this waxen tablet are deeply scribed every combination of sense and soul. On the forehead, all the Graces revel, or all the Cyclops thunder! Nature has left it bare, that, by it, the countenance may be enlightened or darkened. At its lowest extremities, thought appears to be changed into action. The mind here collects the powers of resistance. Here resides the _cornua addita pauperi_. Here headlong obstinacy and wise perseverance take up their fixed abode. Beneath the forehead are its expressive confines, the eyebrows; a rainbow of promise, when benignant; and the bent bow of discord, when enraged; alike descriptive, in each case, of interior feeling. The nose imparts solidity and unity to the whole countenance,--the mountain that shelters the fair vales beneath. How descriptive of the mind and character are its various parts; the insertion, the ridge, the cartilege, and the nostrils, through which life is inhaled. The eyes, considered only as tangible objects, are by their form, the windows of the soul, the fountains of light and life. The eye-bone, whether gradually sunken, or boldly prominent, is also worthy of attention; as likewise are the temples, whether hollow or smooth. That region of the face which includes the eyebrows, eye, and nose, also include the chief signs of soul; that its of will, or mind, in action. The occult, the noble, the sublime, sense of hearing, has nature placed sideways, and half concealed. On the inferior part of the face, nature has bestowed a mask for the male, and not without reason, for here are displayed those marks of sensuality, which ought to be hidden. All know how much the upper lip betokens the sensations of taste, desire, appetite, and the enjoyments of love; how much it is curved by pride and anger, drawn thin by cunning, smoothed by benevolence, made flaccid by effeminacy; how love and desire, sighs and kisses, cling to it, by indescribable traits. The under lip is little more than its supporter, the rosy cushion on which the crown of majesty reposes. If the parts of any two bodies can be pronounced to be exactly adapted to each other, such are the lips of man, when the mouth is closed. Words are the pictures of the mind. We judge of the host by the portal. He holds the flaggon of truth, of love and endearing friendship. The chin is formed by the under lip, and the termination of the jaw-bones, and it denotes sensuality in man, according as it is more or less flexible, smooth, or clear: it discovers what his rank is among his fellows. The chin forms the oval of the countenance; and when, as in the antique statues of the Greeks, it is neither pointed nor indented, but smooth, and gradually diminishes, it is then the keystone of the superstructure. With apologies to Herder for much of the foregoing, thus endeth this brief dissertation on Physiognomy.

_Dreams_

It is quite clear that the phenomena of dreams could be perfectly accounted for by natural laws and therefore they should not be attributed to supernatural causes.

Ancient divines taught that dreams either proceeded from the Deity or from the devil, but it is now quite certain that all dreams originate only in the dreamers. Dreams come only from a state of imperfect sleep. When sleep is perfect, all the faculties are at complete rest, and there can be no dreams--and even if there were, memory being absent, the dream could never be recalled. Bodily sensations are the most common cause of dreams. A hot-water bottle at the feet might cause dreaming of a fire; kicking the bed-clothes from the lower extremities might carry the dreamer to scenes of snow and ice; getting one's head accidentally under the pillow might involve the dreamer in a drowning episode or other incident of strangulation. Physical ills also have their influence upon the unsound sleeper, and the nature of the pain is usually similar to the nature of the dream. The mind, during unsound sleep, is irrational, and often groups incongruous things and scenes into meaningless and impossible situations. Stored away in hidden recesses of the memory, are innumerable items, and during imperfect sleep the mind seizes some of these haphazard and forms some of the most fantastic and ludicrous pictures.

The cause of the dream is sometimes the cause of its fulfilment. For example, a person might think, in his waking moments, of writing a poem, and if it is strongly on his mind he is likely to dream of it. The dream may suggest some missing link or idea, and when he awakes he is better prepared to complete it. Belief in the supernatural origin of dreams is also the frequent cause of their fulfilment. If a person dreams of approaching sickness, and is superstitious, his fears and imagination are likely to hasten the calamity. There is recorded somewhere in history the case of a general who dreamed of a defeat, and, being superstitious, his courage deserted him, and the enemy conquered. There is also recorded the case of a German student, who dreamed that he was to die the next day at a certain hour. His friends found him next morning making a will and other preparations, and as the time drew near, he had every appearance of a person about to die. His friends used every argument to shake his belief in dreams, but to no purpose, and they were despairing of saving him, when the physician contrived to set the clock forward, and thus prolonged matters until the student's life was at last saved. There are several instances on record where death has actually ensued in consequence of the belief in the supernatural origin of dreams, and there is no doubt that believers in dreams often cause fulfilment by mental influence. It is true that there are instances on record where a person has dreamed of the death of a relative, and found that that relative had died at about the time of the dream, but these instances are rare and prove nothing. When it is considered that there are doubtless millions of instances where persons have dreamed of the death of relatives, when they have not died, the comparatively few cases where the dreams came true must be taken as mere coincidence. It is not a miracle for a dream of this kind to come true, but it would indeed be a miracle if one or more of such dreams did not come true, like the one that is recorded of a proud young divinity student who dreamed three times in one night that he must turn to the seventh verse of the fifth chapter of Ecclesiastes, where he would find important instructions. He arose in the morning, and turning to the specified passage, found this: "In the multitude of dreams there are divers vanities."

The mental process by which the human mind arrived at the conclusion that dreams result from supernatural causes is due to the same propensity of the mind for the marvelous, and to that excess credulity which attributes all unusual or remarkable mental impressions to some external agency. The average mind is prone to reason out the causes of phenomena to the limit of its mental powers, and then, when it arrives at the point when it can go no farther, and can give no rational explanation, to attribute the phenomena to the supernatural.

All dreams originate from former sensations. These sensations were introduced into the mind by the senses, at some previous time or times, and the mind has stored them away where they have lain dormant and forgotten. The dream-state is that condition of temporary subconsciousness when the memory recalls the aforesaid sensations and submits them to the scrutiny of the reasoning faculty, by which their relations are determined, through the agency of association. During perfect sleep there can be no dream, because the dream is caused by a state of activity of certain faculties, which, in perfect sleep, are in a state of torpor. There could be no dream if the mental faculties, including memory, are at perfect rest. Only when part of the mental faculties are sufficiently active to recall the sensations and impressions that are stored away, and to institute association, can there be dreams. Some of the faculties must be active, and some inactive, to produce a dream, and only in imperfect sleep does this condition obtain. Among the inactive faculties in the dream state is judgment, which, were it active, would correct the mental process and discover the fallacy. Imagination is often brought strongly into play by the dreamer; and the combination of imagination, previous sensations and associations often create fantastic objects and pictures wholly different from those occurring in nature. The mind of the dreamer can readily combine parts of the sensations previously derived from beholding an elephant, a crow and a cow, and may see in his dream a crow with a trunk, a cow with a bill, or an elephant with upright horns and a black feathered tail. It can also readily associate with his own self parts of various sensations derived from reading or hearing of certain crimes or improprieties, and picture himself in the act of doing things utterly at variance with his morals and inclinations when in a conscious state.

It also may happen, in the various modes of combination, that objects or events are portrayed in accordance with nature and facts, but, perhaps, in exaggerated, diminished or distorted forms, in which case an erroneous standard of judgment is formed that will throw all after sensations out of perspective with truth.

The dreamer generally dreams of things which have lately been weighing on his mind, but not necessarily so, nor does it follow that he will dream what has been ardently expected or painfully dreaded. Association of ideas may lead his unguided mind to a scene or object which, in his wakeful moments, he cannot trace, for his memory usually preserves only the final objects or scene, and not the various steps that led to it. Thus, if moving be on his mind, he may, in his dream, see a moving van, then a painting on the side of the van, then an artist, then a paint shop, a model, another picture on an easel, and finally a very pleasant or a very horrible scene in a studio. When the dreamer awakes he remembers only the scene, and he is at a loss to know why he should have dreamed of a scene so foreign to his previous thoughts.

There appears to be no truth whatever in the theory that dreams come as omens or warnings, for they are purely accidental. Neither is there apparently any truth in the belief that dreams come by opposites, that they are the manifestation of some invisible agency, or that there is anything supernatural, uncanny or mysterious about them.

To maintain that one can foretell future events, or read past events, from dreams, is absurd. Nearly every person dreams each night, and particularly during the moments when losing consciousness and the moments when awakening, since imperfect sleep then obtains; and, it would be strange indeed if, during one or more of these occasions, we did not by chance dream of something which afterwards actually happens.

All bodily derangements that interrupt healthy sleep, such as irritation of the digestive organs, and even over-exertion, worry, and undue excitement, will produce dreams, and it is therefore fairly obvious that, since we know the cause of dreams, their effects and results, there is nothing marvellous, unnatural, wonderful, extraordinary or supernatural in dreams.

Until the past few hundred years, the cause of dreams was not understood. Aristotle believes the cause of dreams to be common sense, but placed in the fancy. Avicen thought it to be an ultimate intelligence moving the moon in the midst of that light with which the fancies of men are illuminated while they sleep. Averroes, an Arabian physician, ascribed it to the imagination. Democritus referred the cause of them to little images, or representations, separated from the things themselves. Plato placed it among the specific and concrete notions of the soul. Albertus attributed dreams to superior influences, which continually flow from the sky, through many specific channels.

In order to disdelusionize, it will be necessary to get a clear understanding of the nature of the mind and of its workings. "When the mind turns its view inward upon itself," says John Locke, "and contemplates its own actions, _thinking_ is the first that occurs. In it, the mind observes a great variety of modifications, and from them receives distinct _ideas_. Thus the perception, which actually accompanies, and is annexed to any impression on the body, made by an external object, being distinct from all other modifications of thinking, furnishes the mind with a distinct idea which we call _sensation_; which is, as it were, the actual entrance of an idea into the understanding by the senses.

"The same idea, when it occurs again without the operation of the like object on the external sensory, is _remembrance_; if it be sought after by the mind, and with pain and endeavor found, and brought again in view, it is _recollection_; if it be held there long under consideration, it is _contemplation_; when ideas float in our mind without any recollection or regard of the understanding, it is that which the French call _reverie_; our language has scarce a word for it. When the ideas that offer themselves (for, as I have observed, while we are awake, there will always be a train of ideas succeeding one another in our minds) are taken notice of, and, as it were, registered in the memory, it is _attention_; when the mind, with great earnestness, and of choice, fixes its view on any idea, considers it on all sides, and will not be called off by the ordinary solicitations of other ideas, it is what we call intention or study. _Sleep_ without dreaming is rest from all these; and dreaming itself, is the having of ideas (while the outward senses are stopped, so that they receive not outward objects with their usual quickness) in the mind, not suggested by any external objects, or known occasion, nor under any choice or conduct of the understanding at all, and whether that which we call _ecstasy_, be not dreaming with the eyes open, I leave to be examined."

We often converse with a dead or absent friend, in our dreams, without remembering that the grave or the ocean is between us. We float, like a feather, or fly like a bird, upon the wind, one moment in New York, and the next in Melbourne, without reflecting that the laws of nature are suspended, or inquiring how the scene could have been so suddenly shifted. We accommodate ourselves to every event, however romantic, impossible, unreasonable, extravagant and absurd.

We also dream awake, which dreams may be called _reveries_ or _waking-dreams_, and they are sometimes as chimerical, and impossible to be realized, as our sleep dreams. Many fabulous stories of apparitions, magic, and apparent miracles, owe their origin to some form of dream.

_Superstitions_

_Superstition has done more harm than war, famine and pestilence._

It has been said that all men are tainted with superstition, in greater or less degree, and that they are credulous from the cradle to the grave. We may be particularly strong on Friday, on the thirteenth, on walking under a ladder, and other foolish superstitions which have thousands of times been exposed, yet we find ourselves weak on something else equally absurd. We are credulous because we are naturally sincere, which indicates that superstitious belief proceeds from honorable principles. All men have a strong attraction to truth, and the man who is the most deceitful is usually the most disposed to belief that other men respect truth. And thus, before rejecting the statements of others, we usually require to detect something in them which is not in accord with our previous knowledge, unless, perchance, we have cause to suspect a design to deceive us. Credulity is, therefore, natural, in part, and it is also the result of the faulty education that we have received from our distant ancestors.

Perhaps many of the superstitions owe their origin to religion. If people had not been taught about devils, hells, miracles and other mysteries, they would not be so susceptible to other beliefs equally absurd.

It is commonly known that gamblers are very superstitious, but fashions change with them as they do with everything else; for, where unsuccessful gamblers used formerly to make a knot in their linen, to change their luck, they now content themselves with changing their chairs, and performing other silly things which some successful gamester has lately done. And so with other superstitious persons. As a security against cowardice, it was once only necessary to wear a pin plucked from the winding sheet of a corpse; now, all one needs is to rub the back of a hunchback. To insure a prosperous accouchement to your wife, you once had to tie her girdle to a bell and ring it three times, while now all that is necessary is to see the new moon over your right shoulder and wish. To get rid of warts, you were to fold up in a rag as many peas as you had warts, and throw them into the highroad, when the unlucky person who picked them up became your substitute; but now, they may be cured by finding a pin, head toward you. To cure a tooth-ache you had to solicit alms in honor of St. Lawrence, but in these enlightened times it can be done by staring at a horseshoe over the door. And so on, _ad infinitum_ do we find the superstitions, like the fashions, ever changing.

The birth of science was the death of superstition, said Huxley; but, alas, it is a slow and painful death. But, science is only half born as yet, and that is why superstition is only half dead.

P. T. Barnum was known as the prince of humbuggers, yet few men have ever lived who had a keener insight into human nature. He knew the human heart, he knew its weaknesses, and he knew how to profit by his knowledge.

The gullibility of the public is shown in various ways: first, by the prosperity of the palmists, astrologers and mediums; second, by the success of all get-rich-quick enterprises; third, by the crowds who patronize the street fakirs who sell articles which nobody can operate but themselves; and fourth, by the apparent success of certain officials who operate through their press agents.

Palmistry, graphology, physiognomy, phrenology, clairvoyancy, chirognomancy, and the other "sciences," have not yet been accepted by the powers that be, fortunately, as an infallible detector of crime. Very few, indeed, of the believers in these isms and ologies would care to have their fate in court determined by experts in one or more of these theories. Only a few hundred years ago, persons were tried and convicted of witchcraft by the same sort of "experts," and the result was that the accused had a very slight chance of acquittal.

Most of our great men have had their illusions, delusions and superstitions, but that is no excuse for people of our times. Genius is always ill-balanced, in accordance with the law of compensation. Napoleon believed in the exploded theory of astrology, and he once said of a bright star, "It has never deserted me. I see it on every occurrence urging me onward; it is an unfailing omen of success." Oliver Cromwell says he saw the figure of a gigantic woman enter his chamber, who told him that he would become the greatest man in England. Sir Joshua Reynolds thought the lamps in his gardens were trees, and the women bushes, agitated by the breeze. Descartes thought he was followed by an invisible person, whose voice urged him to continue his researches. Loyola, lying wounded after the siege of Pampeluna, imagined he saw the Virgin, who encouraged him to prosecute his mission. Pope thought he saw an army come through the walls of his home to inquire after his welfare. Goethe says that he once saw his exact counterpart coming towards him. Byron was also visited by ghosts, and Dr. Johnson thought he heard his mother's voice, though she was in a distant city. Swedenborg imagined that he could converse with departed spirits. Cellini was deterred from suicide by the apparition of a beautiful woman, and Nicolai was annoyed by various spirits, one of which had the appearance of a dead body. And when we remember that some of the world's greatest minds were deluded by the doctrines of witchcraft, alchemy, astrology, spiritualism, and kindred superstitions, now known to be false and silly, including the mighty search for the Philosopher's Stone, we should hesitate long before accepting any strange theory just because somebody else believed in it.

ABRACADABRA was one of the names given to the Persian sun-god Mithra. This word was supposed to have magic powers to cure diseases, provided it was written in the form of a magic triangle several times, as follows, and worn on the bosom for nine days:

ABRACADABRA
BRACADABR
RACADAB
ACADA
CAD
A

Why is superstition so deep-rooted? Why do we cling to error so tenaciously? Why does every new, occult fad soon attract a host of followers? Let us see. First, there is a charm to everything that is extraordinary--we love the unusual, the different, the marvelous, the miraculous; second, we hate to see destroyed that which we love. Hence, the tendency to exaggeration, which is a consequence of it; and hence the regretful reluctance to have our dreams of wondrousness dispelled. Is there anything quite so unpleasant, when we have told a friend of some marvelous manifestation we had witnessed, as to have that friend prove to us that the manifestation was but a trick? Not only is our pride hurt, but our pet joy is spoiled; we had been hugging a sacred mystery, only to find it a delusion.

That which we call mystery is unfinished knowledge--not complete ignorance. That which we call the supernatural is but the natural not yet understood, or only partly understood. We know a little of everything, but not everything of everything, nor even everything of any one thing. Science is only a mystery solved.

A prevalent and dangerous form of credulity or enthusiasm is that which makes us extremists or faddists. A faddist is an extremist, and an extremist is a faddist. It is one thing to be so stubborn and old-fashioned that nothing new has any interest to us, and it is another to be so credulous and catholic that we seize every new theory with a mad enthusiasm. Every fad and delusion is founded on a truth, but the extremist sees in them more than a truth; his brain becomes a kaleidoscope, with numerous reflecting surfaces which reflect multifold imaginary pictures. From two or three simple truths, sprang an immense false system of astrology; from the simple truth that our temperaments and characters are more or less expressed upon our bodies, sprang some of the silly doctrines of palmistry and physiognomy; from the simple truth that every person has an individuality which is expressed in his apparel, his home and his manners, sprang the ridiculous theory of psychometry; from the simple truth that souls live beyond the grave, and that our imagination may picture those souls, sprang the untenable belief in ghosts, spirits and mediums; and from the simple fact that our pains and troubles are intensified by brooding over them, sprang the fallacy of Christian Science. Who would say that the Boston tea party _caused_ the Revolutionary war, or that the firing on Fort Sumpter _caused_ the "late unpleasantness"? The quarrel between Queen Anne and the Duchess of Marlborough over a pair of gloves did not cause the change of ministry and the following peace with Louis XIV, nor did the blood of Lucretia put an end to the kingly powers at Rome, as some say, and neither did the sight of Virginia terminate the decemviral power, nor did the view of Caesar's body and mantle enslave Rome. It seems to be that love of the marvellous, of the curious, of the strange, and of the impossible, that makes us ascribe great results to the most insignificant and isolated causes.

There is a book entitled "Current Superstitions," which can be had in any library, that should cure any reasonable mind of superstition. It contains some thousands of superstitions common throughout the United States, and if a person were to believe in them all, that person could not live one day without violating a dozen or more that would involve him into fatal consequences. Fortunately, the superstitious person usually clings to only two or three, which are not bothersome, and he does not see the folly of them. Some superstitions seem harmless enough, such as, for example, the belief that holding an open umbrella over the head in the house is productive of bad luck, for who wants to do such a thing? or, that of walking under a ladder, for how many times in a lifetime does a person have occasion to avoid doing so? But all superstitions are harmful to the mind, and harmful in their influence upon others--particularly upon children. A man cannot successfully contend against an unknown enemy in the dark, and superstition pre-supposes that there is some unknown, relentless, all-powerful force at work, against God, Nature, common sense, and against the laws of the universe.

There is an old story, but a well-authenticated one, which serves to illustrate the dangers of superstition. In Hamburg, in 1784, a singular accident occasioned the death of a young couple. The lady, going to the church of the Augustin Friars, knelt down near a Mausoleum, ornamented with divers figures in marble, among which was that of Death, armed with a scythe, and a small piece of the scythe being loose, fell on the hood of the lady's mantlet. On her return home, she mentioned the circumstances as a matter of indifference to her husband, who, being a credulous and superstitious man, cried out in a terrible panic, that it was a presage of the death of his dear wife. The same day he was seized with a violent fever, took to his bed and died. The disconsolate lady was so affected at the loss that she was taken ill and soon followed him. They were both interred in the same grave, and their inheritance, which was very considerable, fell to some distant relatives.

Under the head of "Thirteen at Dinner," Edwards in "Words, Facts and Phrases" says: "The common superstition which makes it unlucky to have thirteen at dinner is no doubt a reference to the Last Supper of our Lord and his disciples, where thirteen were present and Judas was among them. He left first, and therefore the first of a party of thirteen to leave the table is the unlucky one." Perhaps this is correctly stated, but if so, how many persons now make the _dangerous_ mistake of at once leaving a table as soon as they discover thirteen present! By leaving at once they hope to avert the evil, whereas they are rushing into it. What folly, either to leave the table or to remain at it, because of this superstition!

The Thirteen Club of New York serves a useful mission. Composed of several hundred prominent people, it meets, discusses the folly of popular superstitions, exposes the fallacies of the supernatural, and breeds a healthy condition of the mind. They meet on Fridays, usually on the 13th of the month, they enter the clubrooms by passing under a ladder, the dues are multiples of thirteen, umbrellas are hung over every chair, salt is spilled on every table, and so on, in defiance of the laws of superstition.

Those foolish persons who believe in the silly superstition "Thirteen at table, one of them sure to die," should remember that if there are fourteen at table, or more, the chances of one of them dying soon are much greater than if there were only thirteen, so that it is far safer to reduce the number to thirteen!

Wonder is the effect of novelty upon ignorance, it is said, but the ignorant are not the only ones to wonder over novelty, and other things than novelty cause wonder, such as want of familiarity with common things met with every day. Knowledge is the cure of both ignorance and superstition, but of the love to wonder there appears to be no cure.

The reason we are so quick to believe in the supernatural is that we are prone to discern in it either good luck or bad luck--benefit or punishment. We are all governed by our passions--principally Hope and Fear, and nothing is more capable of creating those hopes and fears than unrestrained credulity concerning the mysterious.

Everybody has doubtless seen those wonderful, supernatural mind-readers at Coney Island, who profess to be able to tell you your name. I listened to one of their dialogs recently, in which a young lady and her companion were amazed at having the magician look in their eyes and read there their true names, fully convinced of the supernatural powers of the operators. Guessing at how it was done, my friend and I strolled off, made a plan, returned, stopped in front of the camp, and began a conversation in which I addressed my friend as "William"--which was not his name at all--and he called me "Washington," to all of which the several fakirs were intently listening, though pretending not to. Just as they thought they had enough to work upon they approached us, and we yielded to their entreaties. We were ushered into the mystic chamber, there was some whispering among them, and then we were dramatically ordered to think intensely of our names, the chief fakir all the while glaring tragicly into my friend's eyes. "Ah, I has it," said he, gesticulating wildly, "William!" he exclaimed, exultantly. "Wonderful!" was our reply. Devoting his attention to me, he appeared puzzled, but finally said: "You no think; I no get name, but I tell you something wonderful--I tell you what on your mind." "Very well," said I, "that will do." And then he put his greasy forefingers on my temples and cried, "You think you have some _washing done_!"

If every spiritualist, astrologer, palmist, clairvoyant, mind reader and fortune teller were compelled by law to hang out a sign, "I am a professor of tricks, magic, sleight-of-hand, legerdemain, and tomfoolery; come in and match your wits against mine!" they would still have many customers; but, if everybody believed in signs, there would be no harm done. But perhaps the people would rather have it the other way, as it is, so that they can nurse the delusion that "Perhaps there may be something in it, after all."

_Stage Tricks and Occultism_

Stage tricks are usually harmless, except when played by fakirs who claim to be possessed of supernatural powers. There is a large variety of these, such as spiritualists, slate-writers, clairvoyants, telepathists and mind-readers, who perform ordinary stage tricks under the guise of occultism, and they deserve something more than mere exposure. Every operator has his or her own particular method of performing certain tricks, and it would be impossible to explain in a brief article how each is done; but it may be helpful to expose a few of the more common ones. All of these tricks may be accounted for as follows: Sleight-of-hand, confederacy, ingenious contrivance, or the application of some natural law, and most of the best tricks are performed with the aid of two or more of these. Had Hermann the Great, or Keller, been dishonest, they could almost have had the world at their feet, by maintaining that their tricks were done through spirit or physic force; but they were honest enough to admit that all their feats were done by means of one or more of the devices just mentioned. There is no slate-writing trick, or materialization, or mind-reading exhibition, that they could not have duplicated, or even excelled; in fact, they did actually duplicate and expose most of them. Had they claimed that spirits or devils, aided them, a majority of the people would probably have believed it without question. Perhaps one reason why more mediums, and such, are not exposed and arrested, is because there is something grew-some and awe-inspiring in the thought that possibly the on-looker is in the presence of the inhabitants of another world; or, perhaps the feeling of sadness, or of the sacredness of the occasion, shuts off all sentiments of revenge, however doubtful he may be of the genuineness of the exhibition. The fact that one by one practically all the great mediums have been exposed, seems to make no difference, because in our anxiety to learn if there is not some possible way to get news of the departed loved ones, we reason that because one, or a dozen, imposters have been exposed, this particular one may be genuine, and that there may possibly be something in it after all.

Why is it that so many are willing to attribute occult powers to all magicians who perform inexplicable tricks? There is scarcely a person who cannot do one or more card tricks which will puzzle the most astute observer, but we do not marvel because we know that they are merely tricks; but let the trickster once announce that he is a mind-reader or a hypnotist, and three out of every five will accept the statement as truth and not seek further to disprove it. Thus, we are taught that credulity is a disease with which most persons are afflicted, and that it is very easy to fool the best of us. Those who are so weak as to accept every mystery as a manifestation of supernatural power, should obtain one of the many books which can be had at any library, and make a study of the art of legerdemain. Then, when attending a spiritualistic seance, or a slate-writing exposition, the student will be able readily to detect the fraud and to duplicate it for the amusement of his own friends.

If every investigator would, before going to a seance, buy one or more of the books, which are on sale at every bookstore, showing how the various stage tricks are done, there would not be many spiritualists in the world. These books sharpen the wits, and while they may not give the precise methods adopted by the medium to be visited, they will show how easy it is to deceive the eye and to fool the best of us.

Much has been said of the wonderful tricks of the fakirs in India, particularly of the Great Mango Trick, and all kinds of supernatural powers have been ascribed to these clever people. In these exhibitions, the fakirs take a seed and a pile of sand, and make a Mango tree grow, in a few minutes, to the height of three or four feet. The secret lies in the fact that the leaves and twigs of the Mango are such that they can be folded into a very small compass and rolled up within the hollow seed, so that when they are unrolled they do not show the slightest crease. The fakir covers the whole with a cloth, and operates beneath it, piling the dirt around it, and exhibiting the building tree occasionally to his astonished audience. Baldwin, "The White Mahatma," has exposed this and many others of the Indian tricks, in his book, "The Secrets of Mahatma Land Explained."

Slate-writing tricks are done in a hundred different ways. Some operators carry a tiny point of pencil under their thumb nail, some have chemical compounds which render writing invisible until heated, or moistened, and some have duplicate slates. The messages they write are obtained in various ways, often by means of accomplices, and still oftener by guess-work.