native who had 'dead palsy,' affecting the whole of one side. He was dragged on a sledge, 'reduced to a mere skeleton,' and so was placed in the magic lodge. The first step in his cure was the public swallowing by a conjurer of a board of wood, 'about the size of a barrel-stave,' twice as wide across as his mouth. Hearne stood beside the man, 'naked as he was born,' 'and, notwithstanding I was all attention, I could not detect the deceit.' Of course, Hearne believes that this was mere legerdemain, and (p. 216) mentions a most suspicious circumstance. The account is amusing, and deserves the attention of Mr. Neville Maskelyne. The same conjurer had previously swallowed a cradle! Now bayonet swallowing, which he also did, is possible, though Hearne denies it (p. 217).
The real object of these preliminary feats, however performed, is, probably, to inspire faith, which Dr. Charcot might have done by swallowing a cradle. The Indians explain that the barrel staves apparently swallowed are merely dematerialised by 'spirits,' leaving only the forked end sticking out of the conjurer's mouth. In fact, Hearne caught the conjurer in the act of making a separate forked end.
Faith being thus inspired, the conjurer, for three entire days, blew, sang, and danced round 'the poor paralytic, fasting.' 'And it is truly wonderful, though the strictest truth, that when the poor man was taken from the conjuring house … he was able to move all the fingers and toes of the side that had been so long dead. … At the end of six weeks he went a-hunting for his family' (p. 219). Hearne kept up his acquaintance, and adds, what is very curious, that he developed almost a secondary personality. 'Before that dreadful paralytic stroke, he had been distinguished for his good nature and benevolent disposition, was entirely free from every appearance of avarice, … but after this event he was the most fractious, quarrelsome, discontented, and covetous wretch alive' (p. 220).
Dr. Charcot, if he had been acquainted with this case, would probably have said that it 'is of the nature of those which Professor Russell Reynolds has classified under the head of "paralysis dependent on idea."'[7] Unluckily, Hearne does not tell us how his hunter, an untutored Indian, became 'paralysed by idea.'
Dr. Charcot adds: 'In every case, science is a foe to systematic negation, which the morrow may cause to melt away in the light of its new triumphs.' The present 'new triumph' is a mere coincidence with the dicta of our Lord, 'Thy faith hath made thee whole. … I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel.' There are cures, as there are maladies, caused 'by idea.' So, in fact, we had always understood. But the point is that science, wherever it agrees with David Hume, is not a foe, but a friend to 'systematic negation.'
A parallel case of a 'miracle,' the stigmata of St. Francis, was, of course, regarded by science as a fable or a fraud. But, now that blisters and other lesions can be produced by suggestion, the fable has become a probable fact, and, therefore, not a miracle at all.[8] Mr. James remarks: 'As so often happens, a fact is denied till a welcome interpretation comes with it. Then it is admitted readily enough, and evidence quite insufficient to back a claim, so long as the Church had an interest in making it, proves to be quite sufficient for modern scientific enlightenment the moment it appears that a reputed saint can thereby be claimed as a case of "hystero-epilepsy."'[9]
But the Church continues to have an interest in the matter. As the class of facts which Hume declined to examine begins to be gradually admitted by science, the thing becomes clear. The evidence which could safely convey these now admittedly possible facts, say from the time of Christ, is so far proved to be not necessarily mythical—proved to be not incapable of carrying statements probably correct, which once seemed absolutely false. If so, where, precisely, ends its power of carrying facts? Thus considered, the kinds of marvellous events recorded in the Gospels, for example, are no longer to be dismissed on a priori grounds as 'mythical.' We cannot now discard evidence as necessarily false because it clashes with our present ideas of the possible, when we have to acknowledge that the very same evidence may safely convey to us facts which clashed with our fathers' notions of what is possible, but which are now accepted. Our notions of the possible cease to be a criterion of truth or falsehood, and our contempt for the Gospels as myths must slowly die, as 'miracle' after 'miracle' is brought within the realm of acknowledged law. With each such admission the hypothesis that the Gospel evidence is mythical must grow weaker, and weaker must grow the negative certainty of popular science.
The occurrences which took place at and near the tomb of Paris were attested, as Hume truly avers, by a great body of excellent evidence. But the wisdom which declined to make a judicial examination has deprived us of the best kind of record. Analogous if not exactly similar events now confessedly take place, and are no longer looked upon as miraculous. But as long as they were held to be miraculous, not to examine the evidence, said Hume, was the policy of 'all reasonable people.' The result was to deprive Science of the best sort of record of facts which she welcomes as soon as she thinks she can explain them.[10] Examples of the folly of a priori negation are common. The British Association refused to hear the essay which Braid, the inventor of the word 'hypnotism,' had written upon the subject. Braid, Elliotson, and other English inquirers of the mid-century, were subjected to such persecutions as official science could inflict. We read of M. Deslon, a disciple of Mesmer, about 1783, that he was 'condemned by the Faculty of Medicine, without any examination of the facts.' The Inquisition proceeded more fairly than these scientific obscurantists.
Another curious example may be cited. M. Guyau, in his work 'The Non-Religion of the Future,' argues that Religion is doomed. 'Poetic genius has withdrawn its services,' witness Tennyson and Browning! 'Among orthodox Protestant nations miracles do not happen.'[11] But 'marvellous facts' do happen.[12] These 'marvellous facts,' accepted by M. Guyau, are what Hume called 'miracles,' and advised the 'wise and learned' to laugh at, without examination. They were not facts, and could not be, he said. Now to M. Guyau's mind they are facts, and therefore are not miracles. He includes 'mental suggestion taking place even at a distance.' A man 'can transmit an almost compulsive command, it appears nowadays, by a simple tension of his will.' If this be so, if 'will' can affect matter from a distance, obviously the relations of will and matter are not what popular science tells us that they are. Again, if this truth is now established, and won from that region which Hume and popular science forbid us to investigate, who knows what other facts may be redeemed from that limbo, or how far they may affect our views of possibilities? The admission of mental action, operative à distance, is, of course, personal only to M. Guyau, among friends of the new negative tradition.
We return to Hume. He next argues that the pleasures of wonder make all accounts of 'miracles' worthless. He has just given an example of the equivalent pleasures of dogmatic disbelief. Then Religion is a disturbing force; but so, manifestly, is irreligion. 'The wise and learned are content to deride the absurdity, without informing themselves of the particular facts.' The wise and learned are applauded for their scientific attitude. Again, miracles destroy each other, for all religions have their miracles, but all religions cannot be true. This argument is no longer of force with people who look on 'miracles' as = 'X phenomena,' not as divine evidences to the truth of this or that creed. 'The gazing populace receives, without examination, whatever soothes superstition,' and Hume's whole purpose is to make the wise and learned imitate the gazing populace by rejecting alleged facts 'without examination.' The populace investigated more than did the wise and learned.
Hume has an alternative definition of a miracle—'a miracle is a transgression of a law of nature by a particular volition of the Deity, or by the interposition of some invisible agent.' We reply that what Hume calls a 'miracle' may result from the operation of some as yet unascertained law of nature (say self-suggestion), and that our business, at present, is to examine such events, not to account for them.
It may fairly be said that Hume is arguing against men who wished to make so-called 'miracles' a test of the truth of Jansenism, for example, and that he could not be expected to answer, by anticipation, ideas not current in his day. But he remains guilty of denouncing the investigation of apparent facts. No attitude can be less scientific than his, or more common among many men of science.
According to the humorous wont of things in this world, the whole question of the marvellous had no sooner been settled for ever by David Hume than it was reopened by Emanuel Swedenborg. Now, Kant was familiar with certain of the works of Hume, whether he had read his 'Essay on Miracles' or not. Far