Supernatural

by Colin Wilson

  The same conclusion seems to emerge from a more recent case, described by the science journalist Robert Temple, in his monumental book Open to Suggestion (1989).

  In January 1985, Maria Malheiras, a Portuguese woman living in London, was accosted by a Portuguese man who seemed to be in some distress, and who asked her if she knew of a clinic in the Notting Hill area of London. He introduced himself as Manuel, and went on to explain that his father had once worked at the clinic, and had found an envelope containing £3,000 under a pillow. Now the old man was on his deathbed, and could not rest in peace unless the money was restored . . . He waved a fat envelope under Maria’s nose.

  Maria said she knew of no such clinic, although she had been familiar with Notting Hill for many years. As they stood talking, Manuel stopped another passer-by and asked him if he knew of the clinic. This passer-by—a younger man—who also happened to be Portuguese (and was also called Manuel) said he was unable to help, but he joined in the conversation. And as he introduced himself and took her hand, Maria experienced a strange cold feeling, and felt disoriented. And as she stood talking, she began to experience a dreamlike sense of unreality, a kind of amnesia.

  The newcomer now told her to go home, collect her jewellery and her building society savings book, and go and draw out all her savings. She did as she was told, and returned to Notting Hill Gate, where the two men were waiting. (She had, in the meantime, spoken to her husband on the telephone and been uncharacteristically rude, hanging up on him.) They now asked her to go to the post office to buy a stamp, and told her they would hold her handbag. They were, of course, gone when she returned. She had lost a total of £1,141.

  The swindlers were caught by accident. A Portuguese hairdresser happened to overhear one of her customers telephoning someone and agreeing to cash a cheque and hand over £8,000. The hairdresser had heard of the two swindlers, and she persuaded the woman to tell her why she was about to give away such a large sum of money. Her story proved to be almost identical to Maria’s. The police were notified, and arrested the two Manuels as the money was being handed over. It emerged subsequently that another victim had given them £1,500, while yet another had handed over his life’s savings of £6,000. The swindlers were each sentenced to eighteen months in prison and deported back to Portugal.

  Here it seems clear that the younger of the two swindlers—his name proved to be Manuel de Matos Amaro—was the hypnotist; the role of the elder was merely to lull her into a state of trust. (The fat envelope later proved to be stuffed with a wad of newspaper.) But it seems clear that here, once again, the hypnotist induced a ‘trance’ merely by touching her hand.

  Temple goes on to demolish the notion that (a) people cannot be hypnotised against their will, and (b) that people under hypnosis will not commit acts that they would not commit in their normal state—he cites many cases of people who have been prepared to commit crimes or acts of violence under hypnosis. And a chapter on rape discusses once more the question raised by the Heidelberg case: whether a woman who is raped under hypnosis is really submitting because she secretly wants to. In a case cited by Magnus Hirschfeld, this is obviously so:

  ‘A good many years ago I was consulted in a case where a doctor had assaulted a woman patient while she was in a hypnotic state—many such occurrences are recorded in scientific literature. The patient was a married woman who suffered from weak nerves, irritability, and hysterical “spasms.” As is the case with many hysterical women, she had unlimited confidence in her doctor, who had commenced a course of hypnotism for various neuralgic complaints, heartburn, and insomnia. The patient was an excellent subject for hypnosis. It was sufficient for the doctor to lower his upraised hand for the woman to shut her eyes immediately. At the court hearing of the action, instituted against the doctor by the husband, the doctor made a full confession and described the suggestions he made and to which the woman automatically yielded, as follows: He ordered her to raise her skirt, lie down, spread her legs, take out his penis, introduce it into her vagina, then, during the act, perform parallel movements until mutual orgasm occurred, which in her case took place in the same way as in the waking state. The woman became pregnant. The impotent husband, who had long suspected the doctor, engaged a detective who was able to prove his suspicions. The doctor alleged that he had used the woman for therapeutic reasons. She had, he said, an unhappy life with her husband, and her depression had finally become so intense that she decided to kill herself; sexual intercourse with him had cured her both physically and mentally. He was rewarded for his “therapeutic conscientiousness” with one year in prison.’

  In this case, it is clear that the woman herself was a more-or-less willing participant, and that the induction of hypnotic trance was intended to allow her to feel totally guiltless.

  On the other hand, a case cited by Erik Hoencamp clearly involves more than a game of make-believe:

  ‘He said I should not be afraid of him and kept talking to me. While he was saying that, he started to caress my lower body in the area of my genitals. I just let that happen, did not feel like, nor had the power to say no. He asked me if I liked it. Although I did not like it, I said yes. Only I did not have any fear which normally would have been there.

  ‘Then he started to rub my breasts. He told me I should not be scared and he kept going and pulled up my bra and caressed my bare breasts. At the end of the session we made a new appointment. When the time of the appointment came near, I still trusted him, hoping that he would not touch me in that way.

  ‘He started as usual again, but talked directly to me. I felt heavy, like the other time. He told me that I would like to unbutton my blouse and pants. I didn’t do it, but then he said that I would like to prove and show that the first treatment sessions really had helped me. He caressed my breast again and after a while pulled down my pants and panties and he even put his hand in my vagina. I heard him say “You will go deeper and deeper and become more excited.” I just said yes to everything, he kept on going and wanted me to take his genitals in my hands. I said no, I would rather not, I’m scared. I was very scared. After a while I held his penis, he caressed me and rubbed his lower body against the inside of my legs. He said I had to go on. I would have liked to have knocked him away, but one way or another I couldn’t do it. I felt as if I was paralyzed and was very scared. He kept saying to me, you will go deeper and deeper. He started to get closer with his genitals, I started to panic and cried.’

  It seems here very clear that the girl had no basic wish to submit.

  In another case cited by Temple, a girl met a man on a train, and he touched her forehead and blew into her ears. When they met by chance on another train two weeks later, he repeated this behaviour, then went to the girl’s room and made love to her. She wanted to resist, but felt powerless. The next day she felt that she had been forced against her will, and went to the police to report it.

  But if the girl was wide-awake, could she really be made to do something against her will? Temple describes one of his own experiences that helps to explain how this is possible.

  ‘Moving about while in a trance is a strange experience, and I have done it once myself. Having been hypnotized several times by my medical doctor, there was one occasion when I left his office while still hypnotized. He hypnotizes patients after hours, and on this occasion we had taken rather a long time over it and I could sense that he was becoming very anxious to get home to see his wife about some matter which had arisen. I worried about detaining him, and so when he counted me out of the trance and I did not awaken, I did nevertheless open my eyes and simulate being awake in order to fool him. This is an ironical twist, for it is usually the other way round in hypnosis: people simulate being hypnotized when they are still awake. In my case, the tables were turned. He scrutinized me and I convinced him I was out of the trance. We then parted company and I joined my wife, who always waited for me because I didn’t trust myself driving after hypnosis. When we got into the car I confessed to her
that I was not really awakened from the trance, and told her to blow on my face. This is generally a foolproof way to waken some one. But it did not work, partly because my wife found it a ridiculous thing to do and could not help laughing. The more sternly I insisted that she blow on my face, the more uncontrollable did her mirth become. She found it impossible to believe I was still hypnotized. We began to drive home and after a time I ordered her to stop. I had seen a beautiful old tree and, being very fond of old trees, and being very emotional while in the trance, I got out of the car and ran across a field to see the tree. I embraced the trunk and sobbed, telling the tree how beautiful it was, and crying generally at the beauty of everything in the world in the way a maudlin drunk might do. I then reeled backwards and fell flat on my back on the grass. I remember looking dreamily up at the night sky and admiring its beauty and uttering maudlin remarks about the grandeur of the cosmos. By this time my wife had caught up with me and helped me to my feet, and she dragged me back to the car. I kept insisting, “Blow in my face! Blow in my face!” This time she did so earnestly, but it didn’t work. I then mumbled to her that in extreme circumstances like this there was only one sure-fire method to wake me up, and that was to take me home and give me some neat gin. (I should add that I hate neat gin, and this was not a ploy!) That was precisely what happened: moments after I drank the neat gin I woke up from the trance completely.’

  This fascinating instance provides an important insight into hypnosis. It is clear that, in a certain sense, Temple was ‘drunk’. He was wide-awake, and yet aware that he had not achieved the normal level of focused attention that characterises the waking state. It was as if a certain level of his being remained asleep. It becomes possible to see how a girl could be wide-awake and yet feel powerless to resist the hypnotist’s orders.

  Now according to the suggestion theory, hypnosis is merely a matter of inducing a certain kind of ‘self-consciousness’—the kind that causes teenagers to blush. Temple tells a story of a girl who was told that she would forget the combination of the safe while she was actually turning the dial. She was unable to recall it until the suggestion was discontinued. What happened is clear. At the suggestion that she might not be able to remember, she began to doubt herself, and went into a state of confusion that prevented her from recalling the combination.

  This is certainly a plausible theory of how hypnotism works—yet it obviously fails to explain how hypnosis could be induced merely by a squeeze of the hand.

  The alternative view—suggested by the experiments of Puységur—is that hypnosis involves some kind of telepathic contact or ‘thought pressure’. The writer J.B.Priestley has a story that seems to support this. In Outcries and Asides, under the title ‘True Strange Story’, he tells how he attended a Poetry Society banquet in New York. Priestley remarked to his neighbour and he admits he has no idea why he did so—‘I propose to make one of those poets wink at me, and I’ll try the fifth one from the left, that dark heavy-set sombre woman, obviously no winker.’ ‘After concentrating on her for a minute or two, it seemed to me that she winked at me, and I cried triumphantly, ‘She did it . . .’ But my neighbour did not believe me, and I really was not sure myself . . . However, after the speeches and awards had been made . . . the dark, sombre woman poet . . . came up to me. ‘You’re Mr Priestley, aren’t you? Well I must apologise for winking at you. I’ve never done such a thing before and I can’t imagine what made me do it then. Just a silly sudden impulse . . .’

  Again, according to Psi; Psychic Discoveries Behind the Iron Curtain by Lynn Schroeder and Sheila Ostrander, the Polish ‘mind reader’ Wolf Messing had even greater abilities in this direction. Forced to flee to Russia at the beginning of the Second World War because he had predicted Hitler’s death if the dictator ‘turned towards the East’, Messing captured the interest of Joseph Stalin, who ordered a series of experiments. In the first of these, Messing walked into the bank, presented the teller with a ‘note’ (actually a blank sheet of paper), and asked for 10,000 roubles. The cashier handed these over, and Messing packed them into his briefcase and left. Then, with the two observers who had witnessed the experiment, he re-entered the bank and handed back the money. The cashier collapsed with a heart attack when he realised what he had done.

  The supreme test set by Stalin was to enter his country-house—bristling with guards—without a pass. And one day, as Stalin sat working in his office, Messing walked coolly into the grounds and into the house. The guards and servants stood back respectfully. Stalin looked up with astonishment as Messing walked into his room. The mind reader explained that he had simply sent out a mental suggestion that he was Lavrenti Beria, the much-feared head of the secret police, and the guards had actually seen him as Beria.

  But long before Messing was born, the part played by telepathy in hypnosis had been demonstrated beyond all doubt in 1885 by a French doctor, J.H.A. Gibert, who invited the eminent psychologist Pierre Janet to Le Havre to witness some of his experiments. Janet had a patient called Leonie, a peasant woman who was an example of the condition known as multiple personality (which we shall study in a later chapter). Leonie was normally rather dull and stolid, but during her attacks of ‘somnambulism’ (to which she had been subject since childhood) she became a completely different person, lively, gay and sarcastic. This secondary personality denied that she was Leonie, whom she regarded with some contempt. Finally, a third personality emerged, who was more mature and balanced than either of the others.

  Leonie was easy to hypnotise—Gibert could do it simply by touching her hand. What interested Janet was that if Gibert tried to do this without concentrating, it did not work. Eventually, Gibert was able to hypnotise Leonie solely by concentrating his mind—he could even do so when she was on the other side of Le Havre. Several scientists came to Le Havre to observe these experiments, including Frederic Myers, one of the founders of the Society for Psychical Research. On one occasion they witnessed Gibert standing outside the house where Leonie was staying, mentally ordering her to appear. Three minutes later she came out, and walked across the town to Gibert’s house.

  On the same evening, Gibert sent out a suggestion that Leonie should go down into the drawing-room of the house, where she was staying, at eleven o’clock the next morning, and open a photograph album. The doctors were watching in the garden at eleven when Leonie came into the drawing-room. She seemed confused, and touched several objects. Then she opened the photograph album, and was looking through it when the doctors entered the room.

  Janet’s paper describing all this caused a sensation in the following year, but was quickly forgotten; it failed to fit into the ‘scientific’ theories of the time, which were dominated by Charcot’s ‘hysteria’ theory of hypnosis. But in America at about this time, another investigator was pursuing the mystery of hypnosis with total indifference to what the scientists thought. His name was Thomson Jay Hudson, and he was a Detroit newspaper editor and an official of the Patent Office.

  Hudson’s interest began as a result of a lecture he attended in Washington D.C.; it was given by the eminent physiologist William B. Carpenter. The audience of ‘highly cultivated ladies and gentlemen’ included a young college graduate to whom Hudson refers as C.

  C. was placed under hypnosis, then asked by Carpenter if he would like to meet Socrates. He replied that he would esteem it a great privilege if Socrates were still alive. Carpenter explained that he had the power to invoke the spirit of Socrates, and pointing to a corner of the room exclaimed, ‘There he is.’ C. looked at the place indicated, and his face took on an expression of awe and reverence. Carpenter performed the introductions, and C. looked speechless with embarrassment, although he still retained his wits enough to offer Socrates a chair. Carpenter then explained that Socrates was willing to answer any questions, and C. proceeded with some hesitation to open a conversation. Since Carpenter had explained that he was unable to overhear the philosopher’s replies, C. acted as intermediary and repeated everything Soc
rates said. For two hours this amazing ‘conversation’ continued, and the answers were so brilliant and plausible that some of the audience began to wonder whether there really was an invisible spirit in the room.

  Later Carpenter offered to introduce C. to the spirits of more modern philosophers, and with most of these he felt a great deal more at ease than with Socrates. What emerged from these conversations was a ‘wonderful system of spiritual philosophy . . . so clear, so plausible, so perfectly consistent with itself and the known laws of Nature that the company sat spellbound.’ With each new philosopher C.’s manner changed, exactly as if he were speaking to a series of real people, and the language and style of the invisible philosophers changed too: it was all so weirdly real that the audience felt as if they were watching a play.

  Hudson watched the demonstrations with baffled amazement. Hudson knew that C. was a total sceptic on the question of ‘spirits’—as was Hudson himself. Under hypnosis he accepted the existence of the spirits of the great philosophers because he could obviously see them. What seemed most surprising was that the ‘spiritual philosophy’ expressed was not that of C. himself—he frequently expressed his astonishment at some of the statements of the dead philosophers. Yet the whole philosophy was such a coherent system that according to Hudson, it could have been printed in a book verbatim and would have ‘formed one of the grandest and most coherent systems of spiritual philosophy ever conceived by the brain of man’.

  There happened to be a number of spiritualists present in the audience, and many of them were inclined to the hypothesis that real spirits were present, until Carpenter disillusioned them by summoning up the spirit of a philosophical pig which discoursed learnedly on the subject of the Hindu doctrine of reincarnation.