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strength attendant on the healthy activity of the organism as a whole turns to weakness, which if the disease is not arrested may ultimately lead to organic death and dissolution.

Here we have the operation of the radiative principle, which is the opposite of that of concentration, on which depend the strength and perfection of all nature's involuntary processes. The activity of a single sense, or of a single bodily organ, will be attended with some good effect, but this must, under the most favorable circumstances, be very limited in its scope. The best result can be obtained only when all the senses, or the organs, co-operate so that their actions are concentrated and thus become co-ordinated. Nevertheless, the principle of concentration is applicable to each one of them separately; that is, by concentration of effort in one direction any particular sense or organ may be educated so as to exhibit almost abnormal strength or perfection. This accounts for the acuteness of certain senses often exhibited by animals as well as by men. Some of the lower races appear to possess almost telescopic vision, in which respect they agree with various animals, especially birds that take long flights at great altitudes. The sense of smell is developed to a high degree with many animals, especially the carnivora, and also probably with some of the uncultured human races. The New Zealand Maoris, like some other Eastern peoples, use their noses, instead of their lips, in salutations, to inhale the atmosphere of a friend: smelling thus taking the place of kissing. The increase of the strength of a particular organ of the body through continual use, particularly where the muscles are concerned, has often been noted and need not be further mentioned.

In all these instances we have illustrations of the effect of the concentration of effort, i.e., of will, in a particular direction. This concentration may be attended with effects of a different nature, and it probably explains the peculiar mental activity which displays itself, especially in the lowest organic forms, as instinct, which, as shown by Haeckel in treating of the "cellsoul," is exhibited even by plants. The less differentiated is the sensibility, the more perfect, under similar conditions, are

the special senses actually developed; and so also the less differentiated the instinctive nature the more acute are the instincts which become specialized. Senses and instincts are both alike psychical habits of the organism, so firmly fixed as to have become organically intuitive. Consciousness, as distinguished from sensibility, is the condition attendant on volition or choice, and is a focal concentration of attention on a particular object. But by repetition of such concentration consciousness gives place to habit, which may be regarded as unconscious (instinctive) volition, or, as it might be termed, volitional sensibility. The more unconscious the action the more perfectly adjusted to the desired end will it usually be, and the more closely will the habit approach to the perfection of the general sensibility, of which it is a concentrated expression.

We may suppose that the fewer the special instincts or senses the more acute will be those that are developed, owing to the sensibility being restricted to fewer avenues of attention, and having greater concentration at those particular points. If, therefore, there is only one such avenue, or if the sensibility can be concentrated at will in any direction required by the conditions of the organic environment, we may expect to find that its efficacy is greater than it would otherwise be. From this point of view, the special organs of sense must be considered limitations of the psychical powers of the organism, but they are limitations designed to enable it to acquire a knowledge of its physical surroundings which without them it could not have attained. The physical knowledge thus acquired is gained at the expense of the general sensibility of the organism, but it is the process of education provided by nature, and is attended with the development of faculties which would otherwise necessarily remain latent.

Nevertheless, it is not impossible that the psychic factor of the organism may be able unconsciously to obtain a knowledge of psychic and other facts through the general sensibility, that is, without the use of the special senses. There are certain phenomena, such as telepathy and clairvoyance, which would seem to require the exercise of such a faculty. Probably this

depends on the possession by the organism, first, of the power of receiving impressions from abroad without the intervention of the sensory apparatus, and secondly, of the power so to concentrate its sensibility, unconsciously we must suppose, that it can either send out to a distance, so to speak, psychical feelers, answering to the pseudopodia of the amœba, or set up a kind of vortex motion so as to draw to itself psychic influences from a distance. It may be that the seat of concentration is really in the brain, which then acts by centres different from those which are employed in the ordinary thinking process.

That by mental concentration the mind acquires, if not fresh faculties, yet a fresh field of view, as if the consciousness were focalized inward instead of outward, has long been known, particularly to Eastern philosophy. Mr. Spence Hardy's "Legends and Theories of the Buddhists" contains a curious: chapter on mystic rites, in which we read that there are certain powers, supposed to be possessed by Hindu Rishis and Rabats, which they could exercise at will. There are other endowments which are connected with the exercise of certain prescribed ascetic rites. The principal of these rites is that of dhyana, the process of profound meditation in which Gautama was engaged when he attained the Nirvana of Buddhahood. Mr. Hardy tells us that the priest who thus meditates attains. first to rejoicing, in which "he is refreshed in body, he has comfort, and his mind is composed." In the second dhyana, “the priest has put away and overcome reasoning and investigation, and attained to clearness and fixedness of thought, so that his mind is concentrated on one object, and has rejoicing and gladness." In the third dhyana, there is tranquillity, which is diffused through every part of the body. In the fourth dhyána, reason, investigation, joy and sorrow are overcome, and the priest attains to "freedom from attachment to sensuous objects, and has purity and enlightenment of mind."

He who practised the four dhyanas aright had thus acquired the full power of vidhi, which is thus exercised: (1) Being one, he multiplies himself and becomes many; being many, he individualizes himself and becomes one; he makes himself visible

or invisible at will, etc. (2) By the possession of divine ears, he can distinguish the sounds made by men and Devas, that are not audible to others, whether near or distant. (3) By directing his mind to the thoughts of others, he can know the mind of all beings. (4) By directing his mind to the remembrance of former births, he sees one, two, a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, and many kalpas of existence. He acquires, moreover, divine vision, by which he sees sentient beings, as they pass from one state of existence to another; also divine. knowledge, by which he knows the cause, the cessation, and the cause of cessation of sorrow, evil, etc.; also the knowledge that he has overcome the repetition of existence.


Much the same end was supposed to be attained by the Yajna, or Sacrifice of Brahmanism. The Yajna was regarded as a means for obtaining power over the visible and the invisible worlds, visible and invisible beings, and animate and inanimate objects. Taken as a whole, it was conceived, says Dr. Haug, as a kind of machinery by which one may ascend to heaven. is supposed to have always existed, and “to extend, when unrolled, from the Abavanêya, or sacrificial fire, into which all oblations are thrown, to heaven, forming thus a bridge or ladder, by means of which the sacrificer can communicate with the world of gods and spirits, and even ascend, when alive, to their abodes." The Yajna is so potent an instrument that the creation of the world was thought to be the effect of a sacrifice performed by the Supreme Being. But its efficacy depends on the mode in which the sacrifice is performed, and if the rupa, or form, is vitiated the whole sacrifice is lost. Hence it is necessary to have at a sacrifice the Hotri priests, who alone are masters of the "sacred word," the effect of which depends mainly on the form in which it is uttered. Here we see the power of concentration; for the essential part of the sacrifice is the sacred word, and the word is a concentrated expression of the thought.

The ascription of magical power to sacred words was anciently universal throughout the East. It was known to the Egyptians, who, according to Maury, employed certain sacramental formulas "to constrain the divinities to obey their de

sires, to manifest themselves to their eyes. Called by his true name, the god could not resist the effect of the evocation." So also with the ancient Babylonians, one of whose cosmic myths relates how, by the utterance of the secret names of the gods, the goddess Ishtar was delivered from Hades. Owing to its sacred character, the real name of the Hebrew God was never pronounced, and its true sound is supposed to be now unknown. The notion that the utterance of the name of a person possesses some magical influence is still widely spread among uncultured peoples. It would seem to be regarded much in the same light as the taking of a person's likeness. This is looked upon as part of the person himself, and so the name is identified with the individual, and becomes a verbal expression of his special characteristics. It is thus a concentration of the attributes of the individual, particularly those which are occult, and the use of the name, therefore, gives the same influence over the individual as he himself can exercise over others.

But knowledge of the name was not really necessary to be able to control even the gods themselves. This could be effected by a mere effort of will, a power which was attained by the performance of certain ascetic rites which required great concentration of thought and purpose. The exercise of this will-power has always been an important feature in black magic or witchcraft, and its secret lies in the nature of the will itself. The will is the effective element of the psychic principle, the volitional expression of its disposition at a particular time. It is thus the concentration of the thought for the accomplishment of a special aim, and the thought may be embodied in action or in word, or the will may rely for its efficacy on purely psychic influence. The development of the power of the will, to a much greater degree than is usually supposed to be possible, accounts for many of the phenomena not only of magic but of hypnotism. The suggestion which forms the basis of the control of the hypnotist over his patient is really volitional, and not suggestive in the ordinary sense of the term.

That the will can be exercised at a distance has been fully established, although how it operates in such a case is still a

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