The Law of Psychic Phenomena. Thomson Jay Hudson
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comprehension.
Musical prodigies furnish further illustrations of the principle involved. Of these the most remarkable is the negro idiot, known as Blind Tom. This person was not only blind from birth, but was little above the brute creation in point of objective intelligence or capacity to receive objective instruction. Yet his musical capacity was prodigious. Almost in his infancy it was discovered that he could reproduce on the piano any piece of music that he had ever heard. A piece of music, however long or difficult, once heard, seemed to be fixed indelibly in his memory, and usually could be reproduced with a surprising degree of accuracy. His capacity for improvisation was equally great, and a discordant note rarely, if ever, marred the harmony of his measures.
These well known facts of Blind Tom's history furnish complete illustrations—first of the perfection of subjective memory; and second, of the inherent power of the subjective mind to grasp the laws of harmony of sounds; and that, too, independently of objective education.
Music belongs to the realm of the subjective; it is a passion of the human soul, and it may be safely affirmed that all really good music is the direct product of the subjective mind. It is true that there is much so-called music to be heard which is the product of the objective intelligence. But no one can fail to recognize its origin, from its hard, mechanical, soulless character and quality. It bears the same relation to the product of the subjective mind that mere rhyme does to the poetry of a Milton. Music is at once the legitimate offspring of the subjective mind and one of the most potent means of inducing the subjective condition. It is a well-known practice of so-called "spiritual mediums" to have music at their séances, for the ostensible purpose of securing the "harmonious conditions" necessary to insure a successful performance. Their theory is that the music harmonizes the audience, and that by a reflex action the medium is favorably affected. It is probable that such would be the effect to a limited extent, but the greatest effect is direct and positive upon the medium.
The East Indian fakirs invariably invoke the aid of music to enable them to enter the subjective state when they are about to give an exhibition of occult power. In fact, the power of music over the subjective mind is practically unlimited. It speaks the universal language of the soul, and is comprehended alike by prince and by peasant. It is the most powerful auxiliary of love, of religion, and of war. It nerves the soldier to deeds of heroism, and soothes his dying moments. It inspires alike the devotee of pleasure and the worshipper of God. But whilst it interprets every human emotion and embodies the inward feelings of which all other arts can but exhibit the outward effect, its laws are as fixed and immutable as the laws of mathematics.
The next subdivision or branch of the subject pertains to the faculty of measuring the lapse of time. This power is inherent in the subjective mind, and in that alone; the objective mind, per se, does not possess it. The only means by which the objective mind can measure time is by the exercise of the physical senses, either in the observation of the motions of the heavenly bodies, or of some other physical object or phenomenon which objective experience has shown to be a safe criterion upon which to base an estimate.
The subjective mind, on the other hand, possesses an inherent power in that direction, independent of objective aids or the exercise of reason. It is possessed by man in common with many of the brute creation. It is strikingly exhibited in dogs, horses, and other domestic animals accustomed to regular hours of employment.
A friend of the writer once owned a large plantation in one of the Southwestern States, upon which he worked a large number of mules. They were regularly employed on week-days, but on Sundays they were turned into a corral and allowed to rest. On regular work-days they were tractable and easily handled; but if one was wanted for a Sunday excursion it was with the greatest difficulty that he could be caught or made to perform any labor whatever.
An English gentleman, well known to the writer, relates a curious anecdote of a dog which was raised in his family. After the dog had come to maturity, one of the sons married and set up an establishment about three miles from the parental mansion. It was the habit of the family to see that the dog was fed regularly, immediately after each meal, with the scraps from the table. At the home mansion the Sunday dinner-hour was the same as on week-days, but was just two hours earlier than that adopted at the son's establishment. This fact the dog by some means became acquainted with, and he never failed to take advantage of the information. Every Sunday he would wait patiently for the home dinner; and having finished it, he would promptly take his departure, and never failed to put in an appearance at the son's house on time for dinner, where he was sure to be welcomed and entertained as an honored guest. On week-days the dinner-hour at the two houses was the same, and consequently he never made a pilgrimage in search of an extra meal on any day but Sunday.
A favorite mastiff in the family of the writer has taken upon himself the regulation of the household affairs. He awakens the family in the morning at a certain hour, and insists upon promptitude in rising. At precisely twelve o'clock he notifies the family that it is time to feed the horse, and will give no one any peace until his friend's wants are supplied. His own meal seems to be a secondary consideration. At three o'clock he notifies his mistress that it is time to visit the kitchen and give directions for preparing dinner. It is not because he expects to be fed at that time, for he is never fed until the family have dined, two hours later. At nine o'clock he rises from his rug on the library floor, and insists upon a visit to the kitchen for a lunch. It is rare that he varies five minutes from the regular hours above noted, but is generally within a minute.
This power is exhibited in its perfection in hypnotic subjects and in ordinary sleep. It is that faculty which enables one to awake at an appointed hour in the night, when, before going to sleep, he has made a firm resolution to do so. M. Jouffroy, one of the most celebrated philosophers of France, in speaking of this subject says:—
"I have this power in perfection, but I notice that I lose it if I depend on any one calling me. In this latter case my mind does not take the trouble of reasoning the time or of listening to the clock. But in the former it is necessary that it do so, otherwise the phenomenon is inexplicable. Every one has made or can make this experiment."
M. Jouffroy is doubtless mistaken in supposing that the mind is necessarily employed in watching the clock; for the experiment is just as successful in the absence of any timepiece. Besides, the fact that animals possess the faculty shows that it is an inherent attribute of the subjective mind. It is the lapse of time that is noted by men as well as by animals, and is wholly independent of artificial methods or instruments for marking the divisions of time. Every one possesses this faculty in a greater or less degree, and the subject need not, therefore, be enlarged upon.
As before intimated, hypnotic subjects possess in a very remarkable degree the faculty of noting the lapse of time. On this subject Professor Bernheim[10] says:—
"If a somnambulist is made to promise during his sleep that he will come back on such and such a day, at such and such an hour, he will almost surely return on the day and at the hour, although he has no remembrance of his promise when he wakes up. I made A say that he would come back to me in thirteen days, at ten o'clock in the morning. He remembered nothing when he waked. On the thirteenth day, at ten o'clock in the morning, he appeared, having come three kilometres from his house to the hospital. He had been working in the foundries all night, went to bed at six in the morning, and woke up at nine with the idea that he had to come to the hospital to see me. He told me that he had had no such idea on the preceding days, and did not know that he had to come to see me. It came into his head just at the time when he ought to carry it out."
It is also well known to all hypnotists that subjects in a hypnotic sleep will awaken at any hour prescribed to them by the operator, seldom varying more than five minutes from the time set, even when the sleep is prolonged for hours. If the subject is commanded to sleep, say, ten or fifteen minutes, he will generally awaken exactly on time. This fact also is universally recognized by those familiar with hypnotic phenomena, and the subject need not be further illustrated.
In concluding this chapter, it is impossible to refrain from indulging in a few general observations regarding the conclusions derivable from the peculiar characteristics of the subjective