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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

S uch 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.

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.

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.

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.

4. For example, in 1906 Mr. Sinclair assisted the Government in the

investigation of the Chicago stockyards.
 5. [Historical reference deleted.]

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.

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.’”

8. The words “Bob drew watch,” etc., were added by Mrs. Sinclair after she
had read his statement.

9. “Ulceration and bleeding are also common symptoms, hence the term
‘bleeding piles.’” Encyclopedia Britannica.

10. [Deleted.]

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.”

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.

13. The cut does not show that the end is open like a pipe, but it is plainly so
in the pencil drawing.

14. “A Series” since there was another of the same date at a different hour.

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.

16. “A series” because there were other experiments at another hour of the
same day.

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.

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